THE WHITE 
 DARKNESS 
 
 lAWRENCEMOTT
 
 The White Darkness 
 
 UNIT. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS
 
 "Ha, Elsie! " he gasped 
 
 (See page 85.)
 
 AND OTHER STORIES OF 
 THE GREAT NORTHWEST 
 
 BY 
 
 LAWRENCE MOTT 
 
 Author of "Jules of the Great Heart" 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 FRANK E. SCHOONOISER AND CYRUS CUNEO 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 1907
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 THE CENTURY COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 HARPER AND BROTHERS 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1905 AND 1906, BY 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 Entered at Stationers Hall, London, Eng. 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE WHITE DARKNESS i 
 
 JAQUETTE 17 
 
 . THE SILVER Fox 35 
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 53 
 
 FRIENDS . 77 
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE ....... 93 
 
 ^THE CURRENT OF FEAR 117 
 
 1 ONE OF THREE ........ 131 
 
 A A DAY S WORK IN THE MOUNTED POLICE . . . 149 
 JEAN BAPTISTE S CHRISTMAS PRESENT . . . . 171 
 
 . THE BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE . . . .191 
 
 WA-GUSH . . . . . . . . .211 
 
 * FOLLETTE ... . . 225 
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE ...... 245 
 
 v THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE . . . 263 
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH ...... 283 
 
 2131596
 
 Illustrations 
 
 "HA, ELSIE!" HE GASPED .... Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 ARRETE! HE ORDERED . . .12 
 
 HE HURRIED FRANTICALLY ON 144 
 
 "I LL SHOOT!" HE YELLED l66 
 
 "ADIEU, WA-GUSH, AH ALWAY LOOVE YOU," HE GASPED 224
 
 Co 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 These little tales as memories, 
 
 I dedicate to thee, 
 
 Of wand ring days in summer breeze 
 
 All full of joy for me. 
 
 To thce I owe all thoughts I pen, 
 
 Take these as tribute small, 
 
 Let s strike the dear old trails again 
 
 To the North wind s sigh and call.
 
 The White Darkness
 
 1 
 
 The White Darkness 
 
 afternoon light faded gradually 
 till the tall pines cast no shadows, and 
 the white landscape was gray. Whist 
 ling faintly, the wind swayed the forest branches 
 to and fro, now in long sweeps with strong puffs, 
 then in short bowings. The leaden sky was dark 
 and low, cold and repellent. 
 
 Laflin filled his pipe slowly at the door of 
 the N. W. M. P. Post, Onion Lake, his home. 
 "Looks like snow," he muttered, his eyes roam 
 ing over the long distances beyond the forests. 
 Little by little the pipe was filled; he lighted a 
 match. Puff-puff, "I don t suppose (puff) that 
 Jake will (puff) get back to-night (puff-puff- 
 puff). Anyhow, I ll have supper by n by and 
 take a run over to the Store." He stood there 
 smoking quietly. Then the flakes of white 
 came ; dropping one by one at first, then falling 
 in silent quantities, finally coming down in eddy 
 ing and pirouetting myriads. As he watched, 
 they piled themselves on the wood heap, hid 
 (3)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 the bright bit of the axe, settled on its handle, 
 and clung damply to the shingles and logs of 
 the cabin. "Wonder how far they come?" He 
 looked up. Out of pale gray nothingness the 
 big spots of white came in noiseless masses; 
 appearing like magic from the oneness of the 
 heavens, and, as he followed them, disappear 
 ing into the cold gray oneness that lay on the 
 north. Always tumbling, always blending, the 
 particles dropped in clouds. The wind had 
 gone entirely; only the crisp, settling, seething 
 sound of the flakes could be heard. He went 
 into the cabin. A bright fire sent forth cheery 
 snappings from a little stove, whose red-hot 
 cover cast a sheen on the log ceiling. He lifted 
 the cover from a pot ; a burst of steam rose, bil 
 lowed about the small interior, and vanished. 
 Laflin stirred the contents. "Those beans are 
 the hardest I ever saw!" The water boiled and 
 bubbled with liquid hissings. He took down a 
 frying-pan from its nail behind the stovepipe 
 oven, put bacon and sliced potatoes in it and a 
 bit of butter; it began to sizzle and cook at 
 once. He was making his tea when the door 
 opened and a tall, strong figure came in, snow- 
 shoes in hand. 
 
 (4)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 "Bo jou , bo jou , Lafleen!" 
 
 "Hello, LaGrange; where are you bound?" 
 
 The trapper unwound his muffler, stuck the 
 snowshoes in a corner and sat on the rough 
 bench. "Me? Ah m goin longue way baim - 
 by; wan talk leetle firs !" 
 
 "Anything wrong?" Laflin asked, noting the 
 sullen voice and the gleam of the deep-set blue- 
 gray eyes. 
 
 "Mabbe ye-es, mabbe non," the French- 
 Canadian answered hesitatingly. 
 
 The constable waited for him to go on, stir 
 ring and turning the bacon and potatoes the 
 while. 
 
 "You know dat Gros Gorge an ma femme 
 gon way?" 
 
 Laflin turned quickly. "No! When was 
 this?" 
 
 Steadily and impassively the other answered: 
 "Mabbe t ree day h ago, mabbe two day. Ah 
 come f om de trap lignes dees aftairenoon, fin 
 de cabane emptee, not in dere, onlee dees pair 
 ol snow-shoe!" He pointed to them contemp 
 tuously. 
 
 "But your wife maybe went to Tomah s, or 
 to her father s house?" 
 
 (5)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 The other laughed bitterly. "Ah mak fin 
 h out ev w ere een post; no dere ! Som de boy 
 dey say dat she gon weet Gros Gorge, dat 
 sacre Metis!" The voice thrilled and shook 
 with fury, but the huge body was quiet. 
 
 "I m very sorry for you, LaGrange, but she s 
 not worth having if that s the sort of thing she 
 has done; and " 
 
 The trapper leaped to his feet. "Ah no come 
 for h ask you eef she good for have or no! 
 LaGrange he wan you say w at appen eef he 
 shoot dose two!" 
 
 The constable stared at the powerful square 
 face, the ominous flash of the eyes, and saw the 
 clenched fists, whose muscles stood out like taut 
 ened ropes. "You can t do that, LaGrange, or 
 I should have to arrest you, and murder s a bad 
 charge." 
 
 The trapper stared at the other, still, save 
 for the quick trembling of his nostrils. "An 
 ef you no can catch . . . me?" 
 
 Laflin chuckled. "Then you d be safe; but 
 we would get you, LaGrange, and you know it !" 
 
 The bacon was done; he put out a tin plate, 
 cup and saucer on the tiny table, and began to 
 eat, the Canadian watching him stolidly. 
 (6)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 "Have a bite? Come on, now forget that 
 killing plan. I know it s damned hard, but 
 you ll have to do it, LaGrange, that s sure !" 
 
 "No wan for h eat. Ah go ! Bo jou !" He 
 took up the snowshoes, slung the woolen muf 
 fler about his massive throat and went out into 
 the snow without another word. 
 
 "He s hit hard," Laflin said aloud. "I al 
 ways felt that he was too good for her." He 
 ate on comfortably. When his meal was fin 
 ished he cleaned away the remains, lighted the 
 pipe again and took a look outside. 
 
 The night was clammy and raw, the air still 
 laden with the tumbling snow that showed white 
 in the candle-light that came from the open 
 door. Down in a hollow the lights of the 
 Hudson Bay Company s Post twinkled brightly 
 through the trunks; now and then the sound of 
 voices was wafted to him by the light draught. 
 The heavens were black and forbidding. 
 
 "An ugly night by the look of it now," Laflin 
 whispered, and turned. As he did so he heard 
 the short, sharp breathing of dogs, and in an 
 instant a sledge drew up in the circle of yellow 
 light. 
 
 "Ah m goin fin dose two," the muffled fig- 
 
 (7)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 ure said that crouched on it, "an Ah m goin 
 keel w en Ah fin : you no catch . . . me ! 
 Allez Marse!" 
 
 A few yelps, the whine of a whip thong, and 
 the circle of light was empty. The constable 
 stared, and listened to the fast fading swi-i-ish 
 of the sledge-runners through the snow. They 
 were gone! 
 
 "He won t find them, and if he does he won t 
 dare anything beyond a fight. My, but it s 
 cold!" and he went in. 
 
 He tried to read some old magazines that 
 furnished the only literature the cabin boasted 
 of, but somehow he could not focus his attention 
 on the pages. Then he put out the candles, 
 took off his heavy service boots, stretched him 
 self comfortably between the long blankets and 
 tried to sleep. No use. The more he tried the 
 more wide awake he became. 
 
 "Why did that fool come and tell me his 
 story? I feel that that . . . damn it, I don t 
 know what I feel," and he lighted up again. 
 
 He went to the door and listened. Nothing 
 but the wind that crooned softly through the 
 pine needles answered his unacknowledged quest 
 for sound and lurking dread of something. 
 (8)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 All night he sat up, troubled and wondering. 
 He waited impatiently for daylight, going to 
 the door often, then throwing himself on the 
 bunk again. 
 
 "There s something wrong, and I know it!" 
 he muttered, tossing restlessly. "Poor old La- 
 Grange; it s pretty hard lines on a man when 
 his eyes are nearly gone snow-blind working for 
 that girl, and she plays this sort of a game." 
 
 He got up and walked the floor, sometimes 
 throwing bits of wood into the stove. "What s 
 the matter with me?" he asked himself angrily. 
 "I suppose it s just sympathy, but it s uncom 
 fortable." 
 
 "At last," he said, as, opening the door for 
 the manyeth time, he saw the first faint streaks 
 of daylight through the shrouds of drifting 
 flakes. He watched the lightness grow. In 
 solid mass the trunks stood, dark and shapeless; 
 then, bit by bit, outline by outline, they stood 
 away from each other, growing in breadth and 
 depth till each was clear and defined. The 
 branches crept into silhouette against the bright 
 ening sky, gray as ever, and ever belching snow. 
 He boiled some tea, fried some caribou meat, 
 warmed some bread and ate slowly. As he was 
 (9)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 finishing, a ray of pallid sunlight stole timidly 
 athwart the floor. 
 
 "A fine day after all!" Having quenched 
 the fire, he took down his snowshoes and 
 buckled on his side arms. "I ll have a look 
 round toward Battleford; Father Lesbauts said 
 that two hours in the bright sun would blind him 
 for months !" 
 
 The snow was deep and heavy, clinging to 
 his snowshoes with soggy weight and strength 
 as he pushed on among the trees. Higher and 
 higher the now open sun climbed, shedding 
 warm rays that instilled in him a sense of power. 
 The white surface offered a dazzling glare to 
 his eyes ; they cringed and squinted. At the end 
 of the strip of woods began the Long Barren. 
 Straight away it stretched before him, pale blue- 
 white and chilling gray in the sun. Billions of 
 frost points shimmered on the surface, all burn 
 ing his eyes with their power and gleam. He 
 pulled his fur cap well down. "Very bad glare 
 to-day!" he muttered, and started across the 
 apparently endless distance. 
 
 Click-clack, click-clack, sounded his snow- 
 shoes as they struck together, the noise muffled 
 by the impeding snow. Hour after hour passed, 
 (10)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 Laflin swinging in a great circle toward Battle- 
 ford. Of a sudden he stopped. Far off, a mere 
 speck against the whiteness of everything, was 
 a figure at least, he thought it so. He worked 
 his way toward it, and at last distinguished a 
 man, standing alone and motionless. He kept 
 his eyes on him, fearing to lose the dark form 
 if he looked away, so bright and strong was the 
 glare. He drew closer. 
 
 "LaGrange! but where s his team?" he asked 
 aloud. 
 
 The man was standing quiet, snowshoes on 
 his feet, dog lash in his hand, his face turned 
 toward the west. Unconsciously Laflin looked 
 there too, and saw a larger spot, apparently 
 motionless, in the near distance. 
 
 "L " he started to call, but did not, and 
 
 edged nearer. When he was quite close he 
 understood. LaGrange was absolutely snow- 
 blind. The tall figure stood, straining the sight 
 less eyes to the west; the snow was disturbed 
 about, as though in a struggle. 
 
 "I wonder if Yes, by h 1, it must be! 
 
 I ll see pretty quick." Laflin decided, and 
 
 worked his way noiselessly past the blind man, 
 
 keeping at some distance from him, so as to be 
 
 (n)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 sure that he should not be heard. He hurried 
 along then toward the far black spot, that was 
 in the same place ; striding on, he kept under the 
 brow of a snow rise until he was close to the 
 place; then he crept forward. Just over the 
 top was a sledge and two people beside it a 
 man and a woman. The man was busily at 
 work demolishing the remains of a sledge, 
 whose bone runners lay on the snow by him; 
 the woman stood waiting. A double team of 
 dogs sat about, their tongues lolling and drool 
 streaming to the softening snow under their feet. 
 
 "The devils! they ve got his sledge and team 
 away from him, and now they are going to leave 
 him to die! Not if I know it, even if I can t 
 arrest any one !" He drew his revolver, sneaked 
 to the very top of the rise, then "Arrete!" he 
 ordered. 
 
 The girl screamed, the man, Gros Gorge, 
 flinching at the sight of the gun. Laflin scram 
 bled to them. "I ll give you just one minute to 
 start away from here; and if I ever see you 
 again in Onion Lake Post I ll have you sent to 
 Stony Mountain* for stealing a sledge ; you un 
 derstand?" 
 
 *The penitentiary of the Northwestern Provinces. 
 (12)
 
 
 
 "Arrclc! " lie ordered
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 The half-breed (Metis) mumbled his will 
 ingness to do anything for "de Polees." 
 
 "Take your own dogs and sledge. GO!" 
 Gros Gorge went, the dogs feet stirring up 
 clouds of snow-dust that sparkled in the sun 
 light. Laflin watched him out of sight to the 
 westward. He turned to the girl. How did 
 you get your husband s sledge?" 
 
 She began to cry. 
 
 "None of that ! Speak up, or I arrest you !" 
 
 She looked at him with tear-dimmed brown 
 eyes. "He fallen h off w en sledde turn ovaire 
 een hole la bas." 
 
 "What were you doing there?" 
 
 She stammered and hesitated. 
 
 "Come, speak up!" 
 
 "Gros Gorge he loove me," she whimpered. 
 "We no wan for to keel LaGrange." She 
 leaned forward. "Onlee tak hees sledde." 
 
 "And leave him to die, you fiend ! You know 
 that LaGrange is snow-blind, and blind for your 
 sake, working like a dog for the Company to 
 give you a home and food!" 
 
 She whined and cried softly. 
 
 "I am going to take you to him; he loves 
 you more than his life; and listen well to what 
 
 (13)
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 I say. I am going to tell him never mind 
 what I tell him, only obey me, or I will take you 
 to Barracks. You know what that means?" 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 "And if I ever see anything like this again, 
 I " 
 
 "Non, non!" she pleaded; and the two 
 started back for the lone figure. It came in 
 sight soon, but not quite as it was when Laflin 
 passed it. LaGrange was stumbling slowly 
 about, wandering aimlessly over the dazzling 
 Barren; groping weirdly with his hands, and 
 muttering to himself. 
 
 "Holla, LaGrange !" 
 
 Hearing Laflin^ s voice, he stiffened and stood 
 still. 
 
 "I ve found your wife I" 
 
 "Were? w ere?" he asked thickly. 
 
 "Why, she got lost out here on that long trap 
 line of yours ; I always told you it was too long 
 for her to look after!" 
 
 "Go to him," Laflin whispered fiercely. 
 
 She went. 
 
 He put his great arms about her lithe figure. 
 "Dieu merci ! Dieu merci!" he groaned. 
 "Ah m loss de team een dat hole down dere;
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 dey gon ouest. Ah was comen ," he stuttered 
 a moment "Ah was comen for lock de line, 
 but my eye hes dey go bad. Ah no can see now ! 
 Ah, Nanette, your oF mari he h ave sooch terri 
 ble drream bout you, but eet no trrue. Dieu 
 merci ! no trrue !" He wrapped his long, gaunt 
 arms about her, and the tears came from the 
 temporarily sightless eyes. "You tak me home, 
 Nanette, hein?" 
 
 Laflin nodded, glowering at her. 
 
 "Certaine, mon pauvre." 
 
 The three started, LaGrange holding tightly 
 to the girl s hand, Laflin following. They came 
 to the police cabin. 
 
 "What in the devil ?" began a figure in the 
 doorway. 
 
 "It s all right, Jake. Nanette got lost, and 
 LaGrange has gone snow-blind, just as Father 
 Lesbauts said he would if he didn t take care." 
 
 The girl, leading the tall, helpless figure, 
 moved on toward the group of houses in the 
 valley. 
 
 "Don t forget," Laflin whispered as she 
 passed; and she nodded slowly. 
 
 The two mounted police watched them down 
 the path, the sun in its afternoon glory soften-
 
 WHITE DARKNESS 
 
 ing the outlines of the forest, and throwing the 
 two departing figures into strong relief. 
 
 "She s young may be all right yet," Laflin 
 muttered as they disappeared. 
 
 "Who s young? what s young?" the other 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing, nothing; I was thinking, that s 
 all." And the two went into the cabin. 
 
 (16)
 
 Jaquette
 
 Jaquette 
 
 T TT T HY for he no come?" 
 
 %/%/ Jaquette went to the door of 
 V V the log house and listened. The 
 forest stood about the little clearing, tall and 
 silent. Here and there the bushy tops of the 
 highest pines swayed and whispered uncertainly, 
 and from beyond she heard the sound of run 
 ning waters. 
 
 The girl was lithe and strong, and as she 
 leaned against the board door, her brown eyes 
 wandered keenly among the trees. 
 
 "Dat fonnee Toma no come," she muttered 
 again. 
 
 Night crept slowly out of the east as she 
 watched, and the fir turned blacker and sharper 
 against the fading light in the skies. The sur 
 roundings were somber and still as the starlight 
 reached the earth. 
 
 A rabbit hopped quietly from the under 
 brush; she could just see it moving the long, 
 delicate ears inquiringly and nosing on the 
 ground almost at her feet. She watched the 
 
 (19)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 little animal unseeing, yet noting its every move 
 ment. Behind her the fire in a small stove threw 
 yellow rays that were as streaks across the clear 
 ing, showing the white chips of wood and glint 
 ing on a bright axe. 
 
 "Hoo-hoo-a-a." 
 
 She looked up quickly, and, putting her hands 
 to her lips, she answered, "Hoo-hoo-a," imi 
 tating the owl s cry. "He come ver soon!" 
 She laughed gayly. "Ah mak soupe for heem; 
 hee hongree v en hee arriv ." 
 
 Singing, she bustled about the little interior, 
 built up the fire, and placed a kettle of tea and a 
 frying-pan full of deer-meat and salt pork in 
 the flames. Then she went over to an oblong 
 box in the corner, lifted a quilt-covered bundle, 
 and rocked it in her arms, crooning gently to it. 
 
 "Bebe, petite bebette, le pere, he come weed 
 leetle present for toi to-mor , Noel !" The child 
 was quiet, its tiny white face nestled against her 
 rough jacket, its big solemn eyes looking up at 
 her unblinkingly. Then they closed wearily, 
 and Jaquette put the little one back in the box, 
 covering it carefully with the tattered but clean 
 quilt of many patches and colors. 
 
 The meat sizzled, sending up vapors that 
 
 (20)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 filled the room with their suggestion of hunger, 
 the pork sputtered, and the flying drops hissed 
 angrily on the dull red surface of the stove. 
 
 Jaquette turned the venison, then she lighted 
 a candle. The feeble flame illumined every 
 thing vaguely. Over by a bough bed a rifle 
 was supported by two forked sticks, and some 
 snowshoes hung above it, their hoops white and 
 gracefully curved. A few clothes dangled on 
 pegs by the rough table, and beneath them a pile 
 of light-weight steel traps showed black, their 
 jagged teeth clenched, and their chains twisted 
 and tangled on the floor. 
 
 The girl put two heavy china cups on the 
 table they were cracked and had no handles; 
 two tin plates were already there; these, with 
 three odd knives and one fork with bent prongs, 
 constituted the arrangements of the table for 
 supper. From a canvas bag she drew out a 
 soggy loaf of bread, and from behind it a small 
 jug of molasses and a few potatoes. 
 
 "He mus be tout pres; dat taim he call was 
 comen h ovaire the Beeg Montaigne, certaine- 
 ment," she whispered, and went to the door 
 again. 
 
 It had begun to snow, and a soft, cold wind 
 
 (21)
 
 moved the silent branches restlessly. Great 
 white flakes drifted quiet and chill through the 
 darkness and settled with audible crispness on 
 everything. The stars had disappeared; the 
 skies were black and low to the earth. The 
 wind increased slowly from a faint murmur to 
 a droning moan that shook the forest, causing 
 it to creak and complain as its branches swayed 
 violently to and fro. The ghostlike bits whirled 
 and eddied about, and melted in the girl s hair, 
 trickling over her face as she stood waiting, 
 straining her senses to hear. Nothing but the 
 shrill sounds of the storm answered her. She 
 went out into the clearing and over to the dark 
 edges of the trees. 
 
 "Ah hear heem," she began, when: 
 
 "Hoo-hoo-a-ar" sounded harshly over her 
 head from the impenetrable blackness of a tall 
 fir. She staggered a moment. 
 
 "Bon Dieu ! dat no Toma," she muttered 
 weakly. 
 
 "Hoo-hoo-al" was her answer; then an in 
 stant s flapping, and the owl was gone. 
 
 She went back to the hut slowly, while the 
 snow, clustering upon her, soaked its clammy 
 way to her throat and breast. She almost fell 
 
 (22)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 in the little interior, and sank wearily on the 
 bough bed. 
 
 "Toma Toma," she whispered, rocking 
 nervously back and forth, while the gale 
 screamed in the surrounding forests and the 
 snow hurtled itself, piling up in white masses 
 about the logs. 
 
 The fire in the stove dimmed and sank, till 
 only red glows peeped from the cracks in the 
 door and draught-holes as she sat waiting. Then 
 from the box in the corner came a fretting cry 
 that changed into a shrill wail. 
 
 Jaquette was instantly beside it and rocked the 
 little bundle, humming softly. Loud and in 
 cessant the voice sounded, and then the child 
 coughed raspingly. She twisted some rags into 
 a pitiful imitation of a doll and gave it to the 
 little one, but the thin hands pushed it away, 
 and the cough came more often, accompanied 
 by a hoarse rattle and wheezing. Holding the 
 child on one arm, Jaquette threw some wood on 
 the dying fire, and, bending low, looked closely 
 at the small face in her arms. By the growing, 
 dancing light she saw the flush on the cheeks, 
 and the solemn eyes glittered strangely while 
 the hands clasped and unclasped spasmodically. 
 (23)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 "Bon Dieu, Bebette she have la fievre d hiver 
 [winter fever]," the girl said, with choking 
 sobs, and great tears dropped on the quilt of 
 many colors. "Wat Ah do, O Sainte Vierge 
 w at Ah do?" She threw up her head wildly. 
 
 Outside, the storm roared and yowled, and 
 the driving white beat against the little hut with 
 stinging strength. 
 
 "Ah have netting for geef to her netting," 
 she whispered, her eyes traveling over the bare 
 furnishings and empty shelves. "Netting!" she 
 breathed, as the tears trickled over her face 
 steadily. 
 
 The child shivered against her body, then 
 broke out in more violent coughings. 
 
 "Eet fef ten mile to Beau Rivage; dere s doc- 
 teur dere las wic ; mabbe he dere now. Ah go 
 an tak Bebette," she decided, and put the child 
 down by the heat while she hurriedly pulled on 
 a fur cap of Toma s and threw a long caribou 
 coat over herself. 
 
 "Toma he no know w ere Ah gon ," she mut 
 tered, and hunted about, at last finding an old 
 liniment bottle. This she put in the box crib on 
 the rough pillow. 
 
 "He know by dat Bebette seeck," and, taking 
 (24)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 up the child again, she wrapped the quilt about 
 it securely and opened the door. A howling 
 blast of wind rushed in, carrying myriads of 
 snow particles that struck her face and caused 
 her to gasp and catch her breath. 
 
 "Mus tak snowshoe." She went back, pulled 
 down a pair, slung them over her shoulder, and 
 went out into the darkness and sleeting white, 
 shutting the door after her. 
 
 The tearing gale pushed her here and there 
 as she started, but with head bent forward and 
 the child protected as well as possible by her 
 arms and the caribou coat, she forced her way 
 ahead bravely. In a few moments the hut was 
 gone in the blackness behind, and before her the 
 trail to the settlement showed vague and bewil 
 dering, as clouds of snow billowed across it in 
 great freezing drifts, sometimes hiding it en 
 tirely. The trees moaned and creaked eerily, 
 rubbing together and squeaking with sounds that 
 pierced the roaring of the pines and suggested 
 the Windigos of the Storm. 
 
 The snow grew deeper at each step, till finally 
 it reached her knees and chilled them through 
 and through ; then she struggled with the snow- 
 shoe thongs, lashing them about her ankles as 
 (25)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 well as she could with one hand, and pushed on. 
 The way led across a mile of lake; the ice was 
 black and hard, but the shrieking wind tore at 
 her dress while the snow climbed in under it and 
 stung icily, then, melting, froze. 
 
 "Mus go mus go!" the girl repeated over 
 and over again, fighting her way, and pausing 
 often for breath. 
 
 She could feel the coughings at her breast, 
 though the arm that held the child was stiff and 
 numbed. 
 
 When almost at the black forest line again, 
 she saw a dark figure coming toward her. In a 
 moment it was at her side. 
 
 "Who ees " began a deep voice. 
 
 "Torna !" she cried, holding out the bundle 
 in her arms. Be " 
 
 The big man gripped her arm and dragged 
 her face to his. 
 
 "Dos poleece, dey aftaire me for keel 
 Etienne!" 
 
 "Ah h !" she cried, weakly. 
 
 "You rememb dat taim Ah keel heem, w en 
 he go for to mak bad t ing on you?" the man 
 shouted, to make himself heard above the hiss 
 ing of the snow and howling of the wind. 
 (26)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 Jaquette nodded. 
 
 "Dos poleece dey say dat Ah do dat, an dey 
 aftaire me by dam now 1 You look for me?" 
 and he laughed happily. "Ah was to have to 
 go roun , cherie. You go back queeck you can, 
 mak hide dat Etienne his gun; eef de poleece 
 dey fin dat at hut, eet feenesh for me. Ah come 
 back on t ree call du hibou w en dey gon . Au 
 r voir!" And Toma disappeared, wrapped in 
 stantly in the shifting masses of flying snow. 
 
 The girl strangled in her agony. 
 
 "Toma ! Toma !" she called then, and 
 screamed, "De bebe ! shee seeck!" 
 
 Nothing but storm sounds answered her, 
 while the drift piled on her snowshoes, threat 
 ening to bury them. 
 
 "Poleece! Poleece keel Toma," she mum 
 bled, brokenly, swaying with the wind "po 
 leece keel Toma !" 
 
 Keel ! The gale seemed thunder in her ears. 
 She looked in the direction he had gone, and 
 sought to pierce the blinding, biting hurtleclouds 
 of snow, while the child coughed and shook 
 under its covers. Then her head turned toward 
 the back trail, and from it to the settlement path, 
 and she hesitated. 
 
 (27)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 "Bebette, Toma Bebette, Toma," she 
 moaned, then turned fiercely on her tracks and 
 started back. 
 
 She bent her head over the form in her arms, 
 great sobs quivering her body. 
 
 "Adieu, Bebette, mon Bebe ! Your faddaire 
 he say go back for sauf his laif, an Ah go!" 
 
 The strength of the hurricane wind hurried 
 her on, pushing her ahead of it. She stumbled 
 forward, unconsciously lifting her snowshoes 
 and mechanically putting them down again till 
 she came to the hut. She fell against the door 
 and dragged herself inside. With feverish 
 hands she unwound the child and put it in the 
 box; then she leaped for the rifle, snatched it 
 from its rest of crotched sticks, ran to the door 
 and out into the storm again, across the clear 
 ing, into the woods, till she came to a little 
 brook. The swift water had not frozen, and it 
 gurgled cold and repellent at her feet. Just 
 below the ice was thick, and she pushed the rifle 
 far under the hard surface, dipping her arm to 
 the shoulder, so as to get the gun absolutely out 
 of sight. 
 
 "Bebe!" she whispered, when she came to 
 their home again, lifting the child "Bebe!" 
 (28)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 No answer. The little figure lay stiff in her 
 arms, quiet. 
 
 "Bebette!" she cried, and shook it gently, 
 peering at the white face; then she understood. 
 
 For a time the girl stood like a statue in the 
 cold room. At last, dry-eyed, but with an awful 
 tightening at the heart, she laid the child slowly 
 in its box, and pulled the ragged quilt over it 
 with all a mother s tenderness, and turned 
 away, seeing nothing, heeding nothing, knowing 
 nothing. 
 
 The hours passed on, pain-laden and storm- 
 fraught, till a faint gray light grew timidly out 
 side. Haggard and witless, Jaquette went to 
 the door, propping her aching body against it. 
 
 "De poleece, dey come !" she murmured, for 
 cing her brain to action as she heard voices. 
 They ceased, and from the gloom of the forest 
 five men on horses came in single file to the 
 hut. 
 
 "Hello, Jaquette!" one of them called. 
 "Where isToma?" 
 
 She swallowed hard and bit her lip to the 
 blood. 
 
 "He gon mak trap on Lac des Pluies." 
 
 "H m!" grunted another, "gon mak trap, 
 (29)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 hein? Wen?" The voice was crafty and sus 
 picious. 
 
 The girl thought quickly now. 
 
 "Dis night he gon , mabbe seex hour." 
 
 "That makes it right, Ay-ma-te; stop growl 
 ing. We saw Toma at the settlement yesterday 
 you know !" The first man tethered his horse 
 to a log and blanketed him as he spoke. 
 
 "Ai-hai !" growled the Indian. It was an 
 Indian who questioned Toma s absence. "You 
 Englese know all t ing, Ma-tche-man-itou ! Ah 
 no t ink Toma he gon I" 
 
 "Look for yourself, ye Indian go on, look 
 then !" and another member of the police 
 cursed. "Damn ye, go look! I m goin to 
 warm me; kin we, Jaquit?" 
 
 The girl nodded, and stood aside as the five 
 tramped in. The Indian walked softly about 
 while the others built up the dead fire. 
 
 "Ha !" he called, when he found the crotched 
 sticks the rifle had rested on. "De gun he way ! 
 dat certaine. Who gun stay dere?" he asked, 
 frowning at the girl. 
 
 "No gun," she answered, steadily; "speare 
 for de saumon, so," and she picked up a long 
 salmon-spear and hung it on the sticks. 
 (30)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 "H m!" The big Indian grumbled, and 
 moved up to the fast-reddening stove. The 
 Northwest Police, for the five were of that corps, 
 sat around the heat. 
 
 "De horse col ?" Jaquette asked, looking out. 
 The five horses stood clustered together, their 
 tails to the storm, their heads sunk low; the long 
 manes crackled sharply under the ice-hung outer 
 hairs, while the heavy stirrups swung to and 
 fro. 
 
 The dull-blue blankets flapped wildly in the 
 wind, and the growing light showed globules 
 of white on the horses lips and frozen bits on 
 their fetlocks. The ugly carbine-butts were 
 coated with frost, and the revolver-holsters 
 showed black and damp. The snow fell more 
 slowly and drifted unevenly on everything. 
 
 "Ah ope la neige she no stop teel my trac 
 couvert," the girl whispered to herself, and 
 turned as the Englishman spoke. 
 
 "How s the kid?" 
 
 As answer, she went over to the box and pulled 
 aside the quilt. "Bebette dead las night," she 
 announced, abruptly. 
 
 "Good God !" and the man sprang to his feet. 
 "No, Jaquette not dead?" 
 
 (3O
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 The mother moved her head affirmatively and 
 let the cover fall on the tiny face, bursting into 
 dry shakings of her shoulders. The men took 
 off their caps in awe, and a deep silence settled 
 on the interior. 
 
 "Jaquette, I m sorry," the Englishman said 
 then, in low tones. "God bless and keep you in 
 your trouble and pain. Come on, men!" he 
 said to the others. 
 
 They rose. 
 
 " Ow boutToma? Hee keel Etienne!" The 
 Indian looked round searchingly. 
 
 "Ye didn t find Etienne s gun, did ye? An 
 tan t here ef ye didn t find it. He didn t kill 
 him. Come on !" another hissed, and the five 
 passed out, unblanketed their horses, mounted, 
 and rode away, the dull champing of bits and 
 thick plod-plod of horses feet sounding heavy 
 on the snowy air. 
 
 Jaquette watched them go from the clearing, 
 saw them disappear in the half-light of the for 
 est trunks, and waited for two hours, while the 
 thin light grew into full day and the snow-clouds 
 parted, letting through warm, soft rays of the 
 climbing sun. The air was still. 
 
 Weakly she put her hands to her mouth. 
 (32)
 
 JAQUETTE 
 
 "Hoo-hoo-a !" she called three times, and lis 
 tened. From a distance came the answer, "Hoo- 
 hoo-a !" and she closed her eyes. 
 
 Then two arms lifted her. 
 
 "We fool dose poleece, hein, cherie?" a strong 
 voice waked her. "An Bebette? Ah go mak 
 kees!" and Toma went over to the box. "O 
 Dieu 1" he stuttered, and looked at his wife. 
 
 Jaquette nodded very slowly. "For you dees, 
 Toma for you!" and she told him. 
 
 He put his strong hands over his face; then 
 he drew from his shirt a little wax doll and a 
 tin whistle and laid them reverently on the little 
 form. 
 
 "Dose for you !" he whispered huskily. 
 
 The girl went to him, and they stood in silence 
 while the sunlight crept in beams of white across 
 the log floor. 
 
 "Mabbe som taim le bon Dieu He geef to 
 us nodder Bebette," Toma whispered. 
 
 "Mabbe," she answered, and laid her head 
 on his great shoulder "mabbe." 
 
 (33)
 
 The Silver Fox
 
 The Silver Fox 
 
 WHEN the days were short and the 
 forest bare of leaves; when au 
 tumnal colors had gone, leaving 
 brown trunks and the dark green pines and firs; 
 when the caribou called hoarsely on the barren 
 lands and the beaver worked to get in their win 
 ter supply, then Sebat gathered the few steel 
 traps he had, packed some food, his blanket and 
 two shirts around them, slung the whole on his 
 axe-handle, tossed the bundle to his shoulder, 
 picked up his carbine and started from Fort a 
 la Corne for Lac le Rouge through the wilder 
 ness. 
 
 The day was dark and a raw wind muttered 
 among the tall tops. 
 
 "Hm!" he snorted as he traveled rapidly on. 
 "Dat facteur Daniele he t ink he h ave som t ing 
 for not ing. Ah goin see dat Murchee-son h at 
 le Rouge, mabbe so he mor honorable." 
 
 Around windfalls, down ravines, up the 
 rough river beaches, over low mountain runs, 
 
 (37)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 past lakes and the dead water stretches of 
 streams, he plodded on. 
 
 Always the wind mourned and the forest was 
 deserted save for a hurrying rabbit now and 
 then and sometimes a fleeting glimpse that he 
 got of a caribou, its thudding feet rustling in 
 the depths of frosted leaves. He camped that 
 night near the Hudson Bay Post at Green Lake, 
 but he did not go in there because he knew that 
 the factor was short of trappers and would try 
 to make him stay. 
 
 "De troubl weet dees Compagnie," he whis 
 pered as he boiled some tea by the little fire, 
 "ees dat les facteurs dey fighten too much wan 
 noddaire for mak beeges lot monnaie; d ln- 
 dians no get nough for h eat an die. Sacree," 
 he spoke aloud in his vehemence, u dey no goin 
 starrve Sebat, dat sure!" and he ate his supper. 
 Tiny snowflakes dropped into the firelight as 
 he finished. 
 
 "Snow? she come earlee dees saison," and he 
 laid on a few more boughs over his one-man 
 lean-to. Soon he was asleep and the night 
 passed on, cold and dismal. The snow ceased 
 and the wind came stronger and stronger, shrill 
 ing in the hemlocks with long-drawn sounds. 
 (38)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 By the first signs of light Sebat had his fire 
 going again, and when the frugal breakfast was 
 over he shouldered his load and went on. Late 
 in the afternoon of the next day he stopped 
 suddenly, while passing through a muskeg 
 swamp. 
 
 "Silvare fox?" and he got down on his knees 
 by a log that had fallen outward from the tim 
 ber. He searched the bark keenly. 
 
 "Ha !" He carefully drew a long gray hair 
 from the rough edges. 
 
 "Ha ha ! by diable, dat wan nombair wan 
 silvaire fox," he muttered. "Dat feller mus 
 be leeven clos . S posen ovaire dere een dat 
 spleet rock, hein?" Then he answered his own 
 questions. 
 
 "Certain ! Ah goin get dat fine animal leetle 
 mor late, w en snow deep !" 
 
 At dusk he reached the Company s Post at 
 Lac le Rouge. 
 
 "Bo jou , bo jou , Michele," he said, push 
 ing open the door of a little log house. 
 
 The man looked up startled. "Eh? Ben 
 dat you, Sebat! Ah t ink you down a la 
 Corne." 
 
 "Jus so, but Ah no lak de facteur; Ah m 
 (39)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 comen le Rouge for trappen dees wintare ; for 
 mek beeg lot monnaie, go see Annette and dose 
 petits Ah got," and he chuckled. "Par Dieu, 
 you know Ah got seez ! T ree gargons, an 
 t ree filles!" 
 
 The other laughed. 
 
 "Dat all ver bon w en you got strong han s 
 for worrk; s posen you seek, w at happens?" 
 
 "Ah dunno," Sebat answered, and his face 
 sank; then brightened, "Ah m strong feller 
 manee year yet!" 
 
 Michele Poitrin lighted his pipe. 
 
 "You get suppaire ef you want, hein?" 
 
 They talked long, for they were old friends; 
 then Sebat went to the store. 
 
 "Bo jou , M sieu Murcheeson." 
 
 The factor, at his desk behind the counter, 
 nodded, and Sebat glanced about the white 
 washed and raftered interior. 
 
 A few "outside" trappers, one or two Cana 
 dians and a lot of Indians squatted and stood 
 round, talking in low, soft voices. The air 
 was thick with the reek of pipes ; candles lighted 
 the scene. 
 
 Murchison looked up: "What is t ye r 
 wantin ?" 
 
 (40)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 Sebat gazed at the little Scotchman from his 
 towering height. 
 
 "Ah m t inkin mak hunt for you dees win- 
 taire." 
 
 "Trap an welcome," Murchison chuckled; 
 then in a whisper to the clerk, "We ll have the 
 grreatest lot o skins ever come out the dees- 
 trict this year! They re all flockin to us." 
 His subordinate acquiesced wearily and con 
 tinued to add rows of small figures that danced 
 before his eyes as the candle in front of him 
 guttered and wavered. 
 
 "D ye want some grub?" 
 
 "Ai-hai" (yes). Sebat walked over to the 
 counter and brought his fist down with a crack 
 ling thump. 
 
 "An Ah wan grub at de line cost! Ha 
 ha ! You see Sebat he know w at de cost ees at de 
 line, an w at dey geef for skeens dere aussi." 
 
 The factor stared. The store was silent 
 then Murchison s eyes narrowed, but he turned 
 to his desk without further remark. 
 
 "H m !" Sebat snorted again, and went out. 
 "Dat Murcheeson ees fraid h of me! he an 
 nounced proudly, entering Michele s hut. 
 
 "You bessis tak care h of dat mans! He
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 h ave wan hearrt lak " Michele took up 
 
 a stone hammer and slammed it on the floor 
 "dat." 
 
 Sebat laughed. "Ah don t ink he goin 
 hurrt me !" and the two rolled up in their blan 
 kets on the little bough beds. 
 
 Outside, dogs yowled singly and in unison; 
 the long-drawn wails echoing and re-echoing 
 fainter and fainter in the silent forests. They 
 listened to their own voices, then yelped on. 
 
 The waters of the lake rolled noiselessly; 
 sometimes breaking on the shingle with chill 
 whisperings; then curling liquidly, lapping one 
 another. Across from the Post islands stood 
 out black and lonely, only their outlines visible 
 in the darkness. 
 
 As the first signs of day came, pale green 
 and scarlet in the east, the Post was awake. 
 After breakfast Sebat went over to the store 
 again. 
 
 "Geef me twent pound flour, t ree pound 
 tea, ten pound porrk an wan pound salt !" 
 
 The clerk weighed each article and put the 
 amount in his ledger. "Sebat Duval four dol 
 lars and twelve cents." The voice was apa 
 thetic and dull. 
 
 (42)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 "How dat?" 
 
 "Those are our prices ! Take it or leave 
 it!" 
 
 The big trapper started to push the food 
 back, thought better of it and tucked the pack 
 ages under his arms. 
 
 "You goin see!" he called over his shoulder, 
 "Ah m no Indian for mak starrve, par Dieu !" 
 
 The clerk paid no attention, and Sebat went 
 back to Michele s. 
 
 "Ah m goin by Churcheel Riviere to-day," 
 he said, packing his supplies and outfit. 
 
 "Wat for dere?" 
 
 Sebat looked about the yard. "Beeg lot fur 
 la bas," he whispered, "mabbe Ah get den 
 h ave plent monnaie, go home, see Annette 
 an de leetle wans." 
 
 "B en, au woir," Michele called as Sebat 
 started, snowshoes, axe, traps, food, blankets 
 in a firm pack-load on his back, tump line over 
 his forehead. He waved his hand, and disap 
 peared among the hemlock on the lake trail. 
 
 Every two hours or so he would rest, either 
 
 propping his heavy load on a high-fallen tree, 
 
 or slipping it to the ground; then he would 
 
 smoke, his eyes coursing through the forest the 
 
 (43)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 while, noting everything. He saw the shuf 
 fling, padded track of a bear, and noted that 
 the footprints were far apart. 
 
 "He goin fast, looken for place sleep win- 
 taire," he muttered. On a ridge he was cross 
 ing later he found a moose trail leading to the 
 river beyond; he followed it, and crossed the 
 stream at a shallow ford. 
 
 "De moose dey know w ere good place," he 
 chuckled as he waded to his knees. - 
 
 At noon the next day he reached the spot 
 he wished to camp on, at Churchill River, and 
 he soon had a strong lean-to built. 
 
 The following weeks were spent in setting 
 traps, and collecting his fur, that was not plenti 
 ful, as luck seemed against him. Then he had 
 no more cartridges or food and he went back 
 to the Post. Michele was away trapping; so 
 were nearly all the Indians, save for a few de 
 crepit old men and squaws that sewed mocca 
 sins and made snowshoes. 
 
 He took his fur to the factor. Twelve 
 beaver, seven sable, three red fox, two sable, 
 one marten, five mink and eighteen muskrat. 
 
 "Eighteen dollars," Murchison said abrupt 
 ly, examining the skins. 
 
 (44)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 "Non!" Sebat shouted. "For -five dol- 
 laires! 1 
 
 The Scotchman looked at him. 
 
 "Ye r crazy, mon," he said quietly. 
 
 "Mabbe Ah m crazee, but you no get dose 
 skeens les dan w at Ah say!" 
 
 "Take em away then, and get out my store." 
 
 "Ah wan grub!" 
 
 "So that s it, is t? Ye want this and that 
 and t other for naething! Get out, I tell ye!" 
 
 Murchison kept three beaver and a marten, 
 the best of the lot. 
 
 "That s for the grub ye got afore." 
 
 "By diable, down h at de line dey geef " 
 
 "I don t care what they give at the line 1 I m 
 running this place, and what I say stands, d ye 
 hear?" 
 
 Sullenly Sebat took the other skins and went 
 away. 
 
 By dint of coaxing and threatening he got a 
 little flour here, some tea there, thus eking out 
 enough food for a two weeks hunt. It was 
 late; he slept that night in Michele s hut. The 
 next morning the ground was deep with snow; 
 he put on the caribou-thonged snowshoes and 
 started for the silver fox. 
 
 (45)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 The way was long and slow, the traveling 
 hard, and the cold bitter in its strength. The 
 white surfaces were indented by tracks, even 
 and stretching away somberly into the depths 
 of the trees. 
 
 Sebat came at last to the muskeg swamp and 
 built his camp. He ate sparingly, then slept 
 by starts while another winter s night passed, 
 the moon shining mystically on the white of 
 the north and creating deep, black shadows. 
 
 As he slept there came a fox by the lean-to. 
 It stooped, seeing the embers of the fire, and 
 stood there, motionless, head lifted, dainty 
 pointed ears thrown forward inquiringly; its 
 silvered coat reflecting the light rays that crept 
 through the spruce branches above. The fox 
 sniffed high, then low and vanished noiselessly. 
 
 "Hah ! Fox, by gar !" Sebat said next morn 
 ing when he started out to set his traps, seeing 
 the track. 
 
 All day he worked. Down by the frozen 
 stream he put out three "steels," cunningly hid 
 den by snow that looked as if it had fallen nat 
 urally. This he did by gathering it on boughs, 
 and tossing it in the air over the trap; the bait 
 lay tempting on top. 
 
 (46)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 In other places he put dead-falls for marten 
 and sable, and at the last took off the tump line 
 (that he used for a belt), sprung down a sturdy 
 young birch, and fixed a noose on a caribou trail. 
 As he shuffled home, his snowshoes clinking 
 sharply, he talked aloud. 
 
 "Dat Murcheeson? Sacree, he wan voleur! 
 He don get my fur fur h eighteen dollaires! 
 B en non!" 
 
 The sound of his voice was deadened by the 
 snow-laden branches. 
 
 Day after day he went to his traps, and al 
 ways the same result nothing. 
 
 Sometimes the bait was stolen (this was bad 
 as he did not have any to spare) ; again the 
 traps were sprung, but nobody was between the 
 sharp jaws. His food grew lower and lower; 
 then he ate but once a day, saving his scanty 
 supply. 
 
 "Mus go back to-mor ," he whispered 
 mournfully. A thought came. He took off 
 his fur cap. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, dees pauv r Sebat h ave not ing, 
 onlee Annette an seex child en ! He wan for 
 go see dem, an mus catch dat silvaire fox for 
 to go dere." Satisfied he slept. 
 
 (47)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 The morning dawned red and calm, with the 
 sting of frost and the silence of daylight. As 
 soon as he could see, Sebat went the mile to the 
 muskeg swamp for the last time. He looked, 
 rubbed his eyes, and stared. A few yards from 
 the timber edge was a dark body; attached to 
 one of its hind legs a steel trap, chain and clog. 
 
 "De silvaire fox!" he cried and ran out. It 
 was stiffened and straight was the lithe form; 
 glossy and perfect its coat, each hair tipped with 
 silver points, the under mass pure gray and of 
 one tone. The eyes were half closed and 
 glassy, frozen in their sockets. Almost in awe 
 at its beauty, Sebat released the jaws; the trap 
 clinked to the light crust. He picked up the 
 body and ran like mad to camp; sat down, the 
 fox in his arms, crooning like a child. 
 
 "Ah goin see Annette, Ah goin see An 
 nette; dey geef me hund er dollaires for dees," 
 he repeated over and over again. 
 
 Realizing that he had no food he packed his 
 load and started for the Post again, carrying the 
 fox always. 
 
 At dark he reached the store, hungry, tired, 
 snowshoe sore, but so happy and triumphant. 
 
 "How dat, M sieu Murcheeson ?" he asked, 
 (48)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 carefully putting the silver fox on the counter 
 and smoothing the glorious coat that shone, 
 even in the candle-light. 
 
 The factor looked carelessly, then a gleam 
 of greed flitted across his face. He examined 
 thoroughly. 
 
 "Thirty dollars," he said, and put out his 
 hand to take the fox. 
 
 Sebat seemed not to understand; he gazed 
 at the Scotchman in astonishment. 
 
 "T irt dollaires?" he asked in sing-song 
 voice. 
 
 "Aye, mon, and a guid price, too!" 
 
 The trapper awoke to the bitter disap 
 pointment. He struck fiercely at the hand that 
 was drawing the fox, his Silver Gray for An 
 nette, from him, and the factor winced. All 
 the fury of the French blood boiled out, and 
 Sebat cursed the Company and the factor. 
 
 "You steal f m de Indians, dey starrve an 
 you get deir monnaie. Ah m goin tak dees 
 to de line an get hund er dollaires ! You 
 you you Ah sacree," he snarled, seized the 
 fox and darted out. 
 
 He ran headlong to Michele s. It was dark 
 in the hut; he strode in, and stood there pant- 
 
 (49)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 ing, listening to the violent surging of his heart. 
 Silence stillness everywhere, and he was hun 
 gry and tired. He hid the fox under a bunk, 
 wrapping it in his jacket, and went back to the 
 factor. 
 
 "Geef me for h eat, for go to line, Ah geef 
 you all dose skeens Ah have." 
 
 Murchison cursed him. "Go to the line and 
 be damned to ye, ye French cur! Ye ll get 
 naething here!" 
 
 Sebat went. 
 
 From tepee to tepee he tried to obtain enough 
 food for the two hundred mile trip, but every 
 where there was some excuse. He realized then 
 that the factor had ordered it so among the 
 Indians, and that they dared not disobey. 
 
 In Michele s home he found an old crust of 
 bread, hard as wood, but it was food, and he 
 gnawed eagerly. 
 
 "Par Dieu, Ah m goin line jus same! 
 Ah m strrong nough for go t ree day hongree !" 
 
 Fox under his arm, snowshoes on his feet, 
 he started on the trail. The night was black, 
 and snow clouds hung heavy and low. 
 
 He traveled on relentlessly, though the 
 thongs wore into his ankles and his body craved 
 (50)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 nourishment and rest. Daylight came, grew 
 and broadened, as he was crossing a long bar 
 ren; then it began to snow. Faster and faster, 
 thicker and thicker came the flakes, deadening 
 the sound of his snowshoes, clogging the swing 
 of his stride; but he pushed on, shifting the 
 fox from arm to arm. 
 
 Of a sudden he looked up and saw a high 
 ridge before him. "Dees no de way," he mut 
 tered and swung to the left. 
 
 On and on and on he traveled, head low to 
 the blinding snow that swept across the open in 
 whirling clouds, urged by the strong wind. To 
 the right, then to the left, he struggled. At 
 last he knew that he was lost, and he stood still. 
 
 Crisply the snow settled about him, lonely 
 the wind yowled and sirened across the wastes. 
 Daylight was nearly gone. He was weak and 
 trembling. Far in the distance, only intermit 
 tently visible through the shifting white, was a 
 hill. 
 
 "Ah go dere, mabbe see w ere Ah m goinV 
 he muttered hoarsely. 
 
 Dragging his feet along, he fought his way; 
 stumbling, slipping, he tried to reach the top 
 and fell. He rose slowly, worked his way a lit- 
 (51)
 
 SILVER FOX 
 
 tie farther and fell again. Up, more painfully, 
 and on. Another fall, the snow cutting his face 
 and trickling over his throat. On one hand and 
 knees now, the silver-gray fox weakly clasped to 
 his body, he strove to reach the top of the rise. 
 
 A sense of warmth, of unutterable comfort, 
 came over him. 
 
 "Ah m tire ," he whispered, as he felt the 
 drowsiness creep on his giant frame; and he lay 
 still. 
 
 "Ah mus go, Ah mus go!" he gasped, and 
 tried to move; but the peace and luxurious rest 
 his body felt was too great and his brain could 
 enforce no action. 
 
 "Ah m goin die here die ici jus here 
 alon !" 
 
 He dragged the fox to his face. The fur felt 
 warm and soft. 
 
 "Annette Annette," he murmured, "so 
 manee, manee leetle chil d n !" 
 
 The snow fell seething on the still figure; cov 
 ering it lightly at first, then blending its shape 
 with the whiteness of everything. Finally the 
 place was level with the rest. The wind shrieked 
 spasmodically and the white clouds tossed and 
 drifted. 
 
 (52)
 
 Love in the Wilderness
 
 Love in the Wilderness 
 
 I 
 
 "^TTTTHERE is Chictou?" Constable 
 
 \/l/ Clyde, of the R. N. W. M. Police, 
 v T asked the girl for the third time. 
 
 She was quick-witted and clever, this half- 
 breed woman of the North. Tossing her small 
 head derisively "Gon mabbe somew ere, Ah 
 tol to you 1" 
 
 The Constable seated himself on the edge of 
 the rough table, one leg swinging, the drip of the 
 snow-water falling from the moccasin in a little 
 stream to the floor. "Come, come, Nanon; 
 there s no use in lying about it. He s been here 
 to-day!" 
 
 "How you ?" she began. 
 
 "A ah !" He leaned forward quickly. "He 
 has been here, then!" He chuckled softly. 
 
 The girl s eyes flamed, but she controlled her 
 self, humming a French-Canadian voyageur s 
 song. Her voice was soft, and the cadence filled 
 
 (55)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the interior of the log cabin with gentle, lulling 
 effect. 
 
 Clyde listened, his body tired from long miles 
 by snowshoes on the trail of Chictou Benard, 
 "wanted" for robbing the Hudson Bay Com 
 pany s Store at Spirit River. The track had led 
 straight to the cabin, fresh made that morning; 
 Clyde knew it; now he sought further informa 
 tion. "Do you remember when we used to 
 dance together at Dunvegan?" 
 
 She looked at him sharply. "Si, Ah mem- 
 baire." 
 
 Silence then, broken only by the snow that fell 
 slowly through the pine and fir outside, dropping 
 with a faint, almost inaudible seething. 
 
 The half light showed a clean, square room 
 with a big bunk of boughs in one corner, tri 
 angular fireplace in another; old clothes, traps, 
 unfinished snowshoes, caribou hides and a few 
 bearskins filling up the rest of the floor-space 
 under the low eaves. Clyde s leg swung on, the 
 water dropping now. "Look here, Nanon," 
 and he went toward her, "it doesn t mean much 
 to Chictou six months at the most, and I ve 
 got to find him. I will too!" he added. 
 (56)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Seex mois ! An who goin tak care de me 
 dose taimes, hein?" 
 
 "You can get somebody to come up with you; 
 any of the boys would be glad to," he answered, 
 unthinkingly. 
 
 "Beas f Diable!" she screamed at him, quiv 
 ering. 
 
 Clyde was startled for an instant. "I m sorry, 
 Nanon; I didn t know you cared so much for 
 him." 
 
 The girl drew herself up in her tanned caribou 
 shirt and skirt, till her black hair mingled with 
 the gloom overhead, so it seemed to the Consta 
 ble. "Et no for you, Poleec , to mak t ink t all 
 bout Chictou an me ! Ve tres good liv wid out 
 you t ink!" 
 
 Night settled slowly on the vast forests, caus 
 ing shapes to vanish, outlines that were against 
 the sky only remaining. Snow drifted more 
 slowly from the heavens, the flakes great, white, 
 and damp, heavy with the moisture of the lower 
 air. 
 
 "Since you won t save him a long, hard trail 
 trying to dodge me, I ll have to " 
 
 "Bo jou , petite! De Poleec no fin " 
 
 (57)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The great gaunt figure in the doorway stopped, 
 seeing the Constable. 
 
 Clyde recognized his man. The girl tried to 
 hold him, but he tore from her, drawing his 
 revolver. "Halt!" The flitting shadow of a 
 form vanishing among the trees answered him. 
 He fired two shots. 
 
 The girl laughed hysterically as the Constable 
 rushed into the night. She leaned against the 
 doorway, her hands clenched tightly. "Allez, 
 Chic l Allez queeck! Ah, mon Dieu !" The 
 tones, loud and piercing because of her fear, 
 vibrated in the dark mass of branches, as though 
 the forest grudgingly permitted them a tortuous 
 path in its labyrinth of needles. 
 
 Solemn and still was the night; the lonely, far 
 away hoo-hoo-hooo of an owl floated with inde 
 scribable suggestion of the absolute wilderness; 
 and from the barren beyond the shrill yelping of 
 foxes at play came sharply. The snowfall ceased 
 as she waited, the flakes diminishing in numbers 
 till but a few pirouetted to earth. No more 
 came then; and the breathless silence of a mid 
 winter snow-night was over everything. 
 
 "Cr-ang!" 
 
 She shivered when the faint report struck on 
 (58)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 her ears. Very distant it was, but it brought 
 visions of what might be, and she began to cry. 
 Softly at first the tears draggled down her face. 
 Then, as no further sound came, she cried bit 
 terly, her sobs waking vague echoes among the 
 trees. 
 
 "Chic , Chic / you keel, Ah m know!" she 
 muttered brokenly, and staggered to the bunk, 
 throwing herself on it, her body racked with sad 
 ness. A long time she lay there, whispering, 
 moaning to herself, while the hours fled on in 
 silence and cold. 
 
 The crunching of snow aroused her. She 
 sat up. 
 
 "Lost him, Nanon, at the top of Moose Hill; 
 he got his snowshoes on there before I could 
 reach him !" 
 
 She stared at Clyde, her eyes heavy and puffed 
 with tears. He lighted a candle, and looked at 
 her in the yellow flare. "I m sorry, girl; but I 
 must get him; it s my duty!" He spoke re 
 gretfully. 
 
 "You no get!" she murmured. 
 
 "I will!" his voice was strong. "By daylight 
 I ll find his snowshoe trail and follow it, even if 
 it leads me to Eskimo House!" He turned to 
 (59)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 close the door and missed the flash that crossed 
 her face. 
 
 "Mabbe," she breathed softly, standing up. 
 "iMabbe, Cly !" 
 
 She gathered chips from the little wood pile 
 by the hearth, and knelt, blowing on the tiny 
 blaze. He watched her graceful figure, as in 
 lithe abandonment it was bent in rounded lines. 
 The fire grew rapidly, showing her features as 
 if they were curved in light brown marble. The 
 shadows danced over her limbs, striking a bold 
 outline of her on the logs behind. Her black 
 eyes vere big, reflecting the leaping flames as 
 tvould tiny mirrors. 
 
 "Do you mind if I sleep here, Nanon?" 
 
 "Non!" She stirred the fire thoughtfully. 
 "Non; you Poleec , Cly , an beeg Engleesh 
 homme; you sle p een cabane, s posen you 
 like !" 
 
 He sat on the edge of the bunk. "There s 
 many an English woman that wouldn t have the 
 confidence and trust in me that you have!" he 
 whispered. 
 
 She heard him, but did not understand. 
 
 "You say som ting?" 
 
 "No nothing, Nanon." 
 (60)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 A curious tense look in her eyes, she got some 
 food for him, because the Police can comman 
 deer sustenance and shelter anywhere when on 
 duty. 
 
 The meal finished, he signed a slip from his 
 record-book. She tucked it in her shirt. 
 
 "Merci." 
 
 He lighted his pipe and went to the door. 
 "It ll be daylight in four hours, Nanon. Have 
 you a spare blanket? I ll take a nap by the 
 fire." 
 
 The girl tossed him a rabbit-skin covering. 
 
 He shoved his pipe in his pocket, took off the 
 wet moccasins, and rolled up in the deliciously 
 warm fur, his arm for a pillow. She blew out 
 the candle, and crept on the bunk, drawing the 
 rough coverings over her. 
 
 The fire crackled sharply, myriads of sparks 
 ascending the crooked flue. The embers cast a 
 dull red glow over his figure at rest near the 
 hearth. 
 
 No wind, no whisper of breeze disturbed the 
 stillness outside. The gigantic trees loomed tall 
 and graven as images against the dull skies, 
 their branches blurred into a hazy denseness of 
 silent black. The snow-clouds, far up in the 
 (61)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 heavens, moved on sluggishly, but the wind that 
 pushed them did not reach the wilderness of the 
 North. 
 
 The Constable snored then, his grunts and 
 indrawings of breath sounding sleepily in the 
 stillness of the cabin. 
 
 The girl pushed her coverings aside, inch by 
 inch. She got to the floor without a sound, 
 listening to the breathings of the man stretched 
 at her feet. She looked down at him in the 
 dying firelight, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. 
 "You tell too mooch, Cly ! You mooch beeg 
 fool!" 
 
 She stole to where an extra pair of her hus 
 band s snowshoes hung on a peg; got them 
 down, opened the door with but few light creak- 
 ings that did not waken the man, and slipped 
 out, closing the aperture with the greatest care. 
 The thonged hoops under her arm, she sped 
 away into the gloom of the forest, vanishing, 
 instantly, in the silent darkness. 
 
 Slowly the snow began to fall when she had 
 been gone but a short time, and with it daylight 
 grew apace. Faint, and as a thread of reflec 
 tion, the pale lights of a gray dawn, tinged with 
 scarlet, appeared through the trees toward the 
 (62)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 east, across the Big Barrens. The red of the 
 rising sun, glowing for several moments through 
 the quiet thick veil of snow, was peculiarly angry 
 and foreboding; showing the flakes ruddily for 
 an instant. 
 
 Clouds drifted then, and the dreary dullness 
 of day followed. 
 
 Clyde stirred, muttered in half-sleep, turned 
 over; remembering his work then, he sprang 
 up. "Nanon!" seeing the light filtering in 
 the forest round the cabin. He looked at 
 the bunk. "Gone for wood!" stretching and 
 yawning. 
 
 "D it all!" as he pulled on the damp 
 
 moccasins. "The devil of a job having to travel 
 after that poor trapper again!" He yanked 
 viciously at the thongs. "And all for that 
 dashed Company! It ll be hard on the girl for 
 six months, but" he sighed, staring at the cold 
 hearthstones "it s none of my business; I ve 
 got to get him, and that s all there is to it !" He 
 laced the thongs, grumbling. "She trusted me !" 
 he murmured, watching the few bits of white 
 snow that dropped from above. 
 
 He was hungry. 
 
 "Where d she go?" he asked himself aloud 
 (6 3 )
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 finally, when an hour passed and no sound of 
 the girl. 
 
 The snow had ceased entirely; a vague, des 
 ultory wind whined in the tree tops with mourn 
 ful sound. The loneliness of it all moved him 
 deeply. 
 
 "Home," he murmured, "home and so far, 
 so very far away!" His eyes became moist as 
 he stood in the sullen, chill light. "And she 
 ha!" he laughed harshly, the grim sound ugly 
 under the forest. "She in England, and I 
 where, and what?" 
 
 The bitterness of his position sank further 
 than ever before in his mind. 
 
 "A policeman whose work is to track, to trail, 
 to hound down wretched beggars, who only ask 
 to be allowed to exist !" A dry sob came from 
 his throat. "A little love from Her, just a little 
 confidence far less than this half-breed 
 showed," he snarled, his anger growing "far 
 
 less, and I should have been Rot!" he 
 
 said, quietly. "Duty, duty, DUTY for me now ! 
 Here s at it!" 
 
 He belted his side arms a hole tighter, picked 
 up his snowshoes by the door, and swung away 
 to the north. He turned when the cabin was 
 (64)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 barely visible, among the massive trunks: 
 "Good-by, Nanon; when you get back you will 
 know that I m after him!" His voice echoed 
 dully. "And sorry to have to do it, because you 
 love him!" 
 
 Unerringly he traveled through the dense 
 timber-lands, startling foxes and sables from 
 their meanderings in search of food, frightening 
 the ptarmigan that scratched for pine-bark lust 
 ily. They broke from his path with trembling 
 wings, and disappeared into a somewhere 
 beyond. 
 
 In an hour he reached the little valley at the 
 foot of Moose Hill. "Last night s flurry won t 
 hide his trail much!" he muttered, working his 
 way up the steep side. He stopped when nearly 
 at the top. 
 
 Plainly visible through a light cover of white 
 a snowshoe trail crossed his course. 
 
 "I thought it was farther on!" He followed 
 it for several yards. "No; this is it! I know 
 Chictou s make of shoe!" 
 
 He got out his pipe, lighted it and puffed, 
 resting. 
 
 The gray North was still, save for the spas 
 modic wind. Below him, stretching out in a 
 (65)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 vastness of trees, the forest dwindled away to 
 the horizon. The fir under which he stood 
 murmured sibilantly. 
 
 "Off again !" He strode on, snowshoes on 
 his feet now, that he might travel the faster. 
 Over hills and through valleys, across frozen 
 streams, and along their snow-crowded banks, 
 in and out of the forest when it fringed long 
 barrens; across them sometimes, he traveled on, 
 his snowshoes clacking in the silence. 
 
 The wind came in his face. "D curious 
 
 the breeze should change so suddenly!" He 
 strode on, tireless, following the trail that grew 
 clearer and clearer. "I ve got him !" 
 
 After hours of work, and sticking close to 
 the snowshoe marks, he saw the cabin in front 
 of him. "The man s a fool," he whispered, 
 stealing on "to leave a trail like that or he 
 must think me one !" 
 
 He got to the door noiselessly. "My pris 
 oner, Benard !" he shouted, revolver in hand. 
 
 "Me?" the girl asked, taking off her wet 
 socks, eyes open wide in surprise "Me?" 
 
 He searched the interior rapidly with his 
 eyes no one there but the woman, and no possi 
 ble place for a man to hide. He went outside, 
 (66)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 studying the scarcely disturbed snow of the little 
 clearing no moccasin track, no trail of any 
 kind. "And yet his shoes led to the door!" 
 
 He went in. 
 
 "Where did " He stopped. The girl 
 
 was watching him quizzically, a lurking smile 
 round her lips, her black eyes dancing. Slowly 
 suspicion came on him. 
 
 "How in the world " he whispered, look 
 ing about "Ah! that s it!" 
 
 Chictou s extra pair of snowshoes stood drip 
 ping in the darkest corner; her heavy, wet stock 
 ings were spread on a stool by the fire. Her 
 hair was damp on her forehead, with exertion. 
 
 He bolstered his weapon slowly, the snap of 
 the hammer, as he half-cocked it, sounding 
 sharply. 
 
 Nanon squatted before the blaze, her long, 
 tapering hands spread to the heat. He stood 
 over her, arms folded. 
 
 "You got me that time, Nanon!" 
 
 There was no anger in his voice, and his eyes 
 were kind. The girl, with a woman s quick 
 instinct, felt the attitude of his mind. 
 
 "Ah do eet onlee for sauf Chic da s all; 
 you no mooch angry weet Nanon ?" 
 (6 7 )
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Not angry, Nanon; I suppose I ought to be, 
 having traveled a good many hard miles on your 
 trail!" 
 
 The cleverness of her scheme made him 
 laugh, and the sound filled the small spaces 
 pleasantly. 
 
 "No, not angry. You saved him this time by 
 the use of your wits, by the hardest kind of work 
 in your body; but I ll get him some day, when 
 you are not watching!" 
 
 "Eet hav to be lak dat! Wen me dere, no 
 catch Chic , Cly !" 
 
 He stared at her moodily then, the fire snap 
 ping and glowing, she sitting at his feet, looking 
 up at him. "You love him very much, Nanon? 
 He s kind to you ? Takes care of you ?" 
 
 She nodded vehemently. "Me love si ! He 
 good to Nanon si!" 
 
 She leaped to her feet, one hand on his arm, 
 face close to his, her hair falling in great luxuri 
 ant quantities about her shoulders. In her ex 
 citement she spoke in the Ojibway language; 
 now and then he could understand a few words, 
 and from them gathered the girl s fierce devo 
 tion for her husband. 
 
 "It s all right, Nanon; sssh," as tears 
 
 (68)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 came; "it s all right, but I ll have to get him 
 just the same!" 
 
 She pushed him away. "You Engleesh," she 
 said, with slow precision, "no know w at de 
 Canadienne love, she ees! Bah allez !" 
 
 "No!" taking up his snowshoes and mits 
 "no, we don t, Nanon. Bo jou , bo jou !" He 
 started away to the south. 
 
 She watched him out of sight in the forest. 
 "Ah sauf Chic , jus same!" 
 
 II 
 
 ON a wild, stormy night, Clyde pushed ahead 
 against a driving, biting snow, that stung his 
 face and clogged his way, bound for the Police 
 shanty at Spirit River. The distances were but 
 yards, and each one had to be fought for in the 
 howling fury of the wind. It tugged and 
 lashed at his form, creeping up his sleeves, chill 
 ing and strong. He stopped to rest, and turned 
 his back that he might open his eyes fully and 
 breathe more easily. 
 
 "This is a bad one!" He tried to light his 
 pipe, but the tobacco was damp with the sweat 
 of his body, and would not draw. 
 (69)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 He went on slowly, head bent, snowshoes 
 lifting hard. Over Moose Hill and down Long 
 Gulch he traveled. The storm abated; the gusts 
 grew weaker, and the snow ceased of a sudden. 
 Daylight came little by little ; with it a breeze 
 stillness. He swung on fast now, hungry for 
 the food and heat that awaited him beyond. 
 "What ?" 
 
 A rounded shape on a little hillside caught 
 his eyes. It was not quite covered with snow, 
 being sheltered by a group of young birches. 
 
 "A caribou dead, maybe!" and he kept on, 
 looking at the gray-brown thing as he passed it. 
 
 A strange feeling came over him that he 
 must go and see what it was. 
 
 He swerved from his course, laboring up the 
 hill, and brushed the snow from the figure. 
 
 "It s a woman, by God!" He slipped off his 
 snowshoes, that he might kneel beside her, and 
 turned the body over. "Nanon!" 
 
 The girl s heart beat faintly, as with trembling 
 fingers he felt under her shirt. Working des 
 perately now, he chafed her hands, slapping 
 them with all his strength. He breathed his 
 warm breath into her mouth, and lifted the eye 
 lids for signs of returning consciousness. An 
 (70)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 hour he toiled, sweat pouring from him. He 
 gathered the hot drops from his face and put 
 them over her heart, on her skin. 
 
 "Thank God !" he groaned, as the girl moved, 
 opening her eyes. 
 
 "Chic , Chic ," she called faintly. Then, see 
 ing the Constable, she shivered. "He gon 
 way!" her first thought to hide the whereabouts 
 of Benard from "de PoleecV 
 
 "Are you frozen anywhere, Nanon? Answer 
 me!" 
 
 She looked at him dazedly. "De feet, mabbe, 
 Aht ink!" 
 
 He ripped off his capote, put it under her 
 head, gathered wood as fast as he could find it 
 dry enough, and lighted the little heap. When 
 it flamed, he drew off her moccasins and stock 
 ings. The small feet were marble white, and 
 hard to his fingers. 
 
 "Good God !" he moaned, rubbing them pow 
 erfully with snow. As it melted in his hands he 
 gathered more, and rubbed till his arms ached 
 from wrist to shoulder. The sensation roused 
 the girl thoroughly; she lifted her head, watch 
 ing him at work. 
 
 "You Engleesh good mans!" 
 (70
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Never mind that, girl; can you feel?" pinch 
 ing her foot sharply. 
 
 She drew it up. "Ai dat hurt!" 
 
 "Ah-h-h! Saved, then!" He pinched the 
 other; she flinched. He rubbed on till he could 
 see the veins purple and swell with the rush of 
 liberated blood. Then he gathered her in his 
 arms and shook her up and down till her cheeks 
 were flushed and her breath came audibly. Ex 
 hausted, he laid her on the capote, and wrung 
 her stockings damp-dry. 
 
 "What were you doing out here?" 
 
 "Ah go see trap fo Chic !" 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "No tell you !" Her eyes glittered. "Ah die 
 een snow bee-for Ah tell !" 
 
 The doggedness of her bravery in her suffer 
 ing awed Clyde. 
 
 "Why doesn t he look after you better than 
 this? Hell!" he cursed "to let you tend a 
 line when a storm was coming!" 
 
 "Ah los w en de win she come so bad." 
 
 "Does he know where you are?" 
 
 "Si !" Her head moved up and down. 
 
 "Why doesn t he come, then, when you didn t 
 get home last night?"
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Ah don know!" 
 
 Silence between the two, as the shifting 
 breeze whispered about them, fanning the fire 
 by spurts. 
 
 "Can you walk, Nanon?" He lifted her to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Oh h h!" she cried, when her weight 
 came on them. She sagged in his arms. "No 
 can!" 
 
 "I ll have to carry you home, then!" 
 
 "Non non!" She fought him. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She was silent, writhing slightly as the throbs 
 of returning life in her feet tortured her. 
 
 Clyde knew why, but he said nothing. He 
 laced on his snowshoes, and picked her up, one 
 arm under her knees and the other under her 
 shoulders, and plodded to the north, her weight 
 dragging his body forward. 
 
 "Non! non!" she screamed, struggling and 
 twisting. He held her close, his great strength 
 overcoming her. Her endeavors grew less and 
 less; the heat of his body soothing her mentally 
 and physically. 
 
 She slept in his arms. 
 
 The miles passed very slowly; his body ached 
 
 (73)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 from her weight, but he pushed on, teeth 
 clenched, legs working automatically. 
 
 "Arretel" 
 
 He swung on his shoes at the voice behind 
 him. 
 
 Chictou Benard, face drawn out of shape with 
 anxiety, came straight to him ! 
 
 "Nanon, cherie!" he mumbled, kissing the 
 sleeping girl passionately paying no attention 
 to the Constable. He knelt, and covered the 
 little brown hands with his face, Clyde still hold 
 ing her. 
 
 "Ah m readee go weet you, Poleec , w en you 
 say so. Par Dieu, Ah t ink ma leetle girrl los 
 an die, an folio de track." 
 
 She awoke, hearing the last words. 
 
 "Ah be n dead aussi, only Cly , he come ! 
 Ah ai !" as she remembered; "go queeck, 
 Chic allez!" 
 
 The gaunt trapper stood up, huge on his 
 snowshoes. 
 
 "Non Ah no go; dat Poleec homme he sauf 
 yo r laif ! Ah go weet heem, s posen he want 
 me." 
 
 She trembled in Clyde s arms and sobbed. 
 "Chic , w at Ah do seex mont weed out you?" 
 (74)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 She writhed out of the Constable s arms, regard 
 less of the pain in her feet. "Chic !" kissing 
 him, her arms about his swarthy neck "Chic , 
 oh h, Chic !" 
 
 Thus they stood, the three, in the stillness of 
 the forests, the snow as a sharp background 
 against their figures. 
 
 Clyde coughed harshly making up his mind. 
 "You, Benard, take her home, and don t let her 
 tend a trap line in a storm!" 
 
 The girl was the first to realize what he 
 meant. She flung herself at his knees, clutching 
 them. 
 
 He lifted her till her face was on a level with 
 his own. "Remember, Nanon, that an English 
 man well enough knows love when he sees it!" 
 
 Her eyes burned into his for an instant. "Ah 
 membaire !" she whispered. 
 
 "Take her home, Benard, and keep out of my 
 way unless you want six months!" 
 
 The trapper took off his fur cap. "Le Bon 
 Dieu w el t ank you for dees, Poleec , an Chic- 
 tou Benard, he mak beeg merci !" 
 
 The giant figure, before Clyde could resist, 
 kissed his hand. The Constable helped him to 
 get the girl firmly on his back. 
 
 (75)
 
 LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 "Au r voir, Chictou ! bo jou bo jou !" 
 
 "Bo jou bo jou !" the girl answered, a deep 
 gratitude in her eyes. 
 
 Benard turned. "Ah no forget dees!" he 
 said, and plodded away, the girl clinging to his 
 shoulders. 
 
 Clyde saw them out of sight among the sear 
 black trunks of the forest. 
 
 "That s Love!" he muttered sadly, striking 
 off for home. 
 
 (76)
 
 Friends
 
 Friends 
 
 "y TOLLA, Niko!" Andre La Farge 
 
 1 1 shouted lustily, as his canoe ap- 
 
 M M preached the other. 
 
 "Eh, la has, where go?" answered a powerful 
 voice. 
 
 The two canoes drifted together and were the 
 only specks that marred the placid surface of Lac 
 du Mirage. The still waters reached away on 
 every side to the distant green shores. Each 
 dawdling cloud was mirrored faithfully and the 
 heat was great. Here and there the swirls of 
 trout broke the flatness and little bubbles floated, 
 round and iridescent. 
 
 "Phu-i-i !" Niko Detanges mopped his face 
 with a large red handkerchief that seemed to 
 intensify the temperature of the torpid air. 
 
 "Ah go ovaire to de store for buy som ting 
 for to mak de trap bairn by; where go toi ?" 
 
 "Tak de grub to dose mans w at mak feesh 
 and la chasse up dere on Portage du Rat." La 
 Farge pointed to several bundles that lay in the 
 bottom of his canoe. 
 
 (79)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 "You got tabac , Andre? Ah leeve dat leet 
 piece Ah had at de camp las night." 
 
 "Certainement," the other answered, and 
 pulled out a dirty half plug of black tobacco. 
 He passed it across and watched Detanges idly 
 as he laid his paddle over his knees and filled his 
 pipe. 
 
 "La !" the latter exclaimed, as he lighted the 
 stubby bowl and inhaled great breaths of the 
 harsh smoke. "Ve go togedder leet taim !" 
 
 The two took up their paddles again and the 
 canoes moved forward silently over the calm 
 waters, scarce creating ripples. The sun shone 
 with hot northern summer brilliancy, piercing 
 the green depths with long rayonnings; the air 
 was breathless, humid and still. Ahead the 
 two far-off mountains loomed hazy and indis 
 tinct, dark colored at their bases, their peaks 
 gray and overhung with mists. 
 
 "Ah goin be marrie dam queeck," Detanges 
 announced abruptly. La Farge looked at him 
 and chuckled. 
 
 "You be marrie ! Dat fine. Who de girrl ?" 
 
 "OF Batiste Victeur, hees girrl." 
 
 La Farge started violently; his big hands 
 clutched the paddle till the muscles stood out in 
 (80)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 knots on his bare forearms. The gray eyes nar 
 rowed and snapped and the square underjaw 
 advanced aggressively. 
 
 "Ah goin be marrie too!" His voice 
 quivered, and he looked straight ahead. 
 
 "By gar, dat magnifique ! Ve be marrie, you 
 an moi, de sam taim, hein? Vhat fille you 
 got?" 
 
 "Ol Batiste Victeur hees girrl !" An 
 dre s tones were of deep emotion barely sup 
 pressed. Niko s face contorted into an ugly 
 snarl. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, how you tell dat?" he asked 
 through his teeth. 
 
 "Ah goin be marrie to dat girrl," La Farge 
 answered stolidly. 
 
 The two let their canoes drift. Then De- 
 tanges controlled himself sufficiently to articu 
 late, though his breathing was deep and his 
 nostrils contracted and expanded. 
 
 "Andre, you an me be n fren s dis long taim; 
 ve have mak chasse togedder, ve have sleep 
 togedder, h eat, drink togedder. Tell to moi 
 v at you talk dis Vay h about?" 
 
 "Ah no talk netting onlee dat Ah goin be 
 marrie to dat ol Victeur hees girrl," the broad- 
 (81)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 shouldered man in the other canoe answered 
 quietly. "She tell to me dat she loove moi an 
 dat she goin to marrie moi, das all !" 
 
 He looked his friend squarely in the face and 
 met the flashing eyes steadily. 
 
 "Ah goin h ave dat leet girrl, Andre ! She 
 tell to me dat she loove Niko de bessis !" De- 
 tanges shrugged his massive frame as if his 
 answer left no room for doubt on the other s 
 part. 
 
 "An by diable Ah tell to you dat she no can 
 h ave us deux! She mus marrie you or me; no 
 can do dat for two; v at mans have dat girrl?" 
 
 The canoes were side by side now, their occu 
 pants sitting immovable on the last thwart. A 
 light breeze grew on the lake, fanning its waters 
 into faint undulations that dimpled along noise 
 lessly. The clouds overhead swung on, at first 
 slowly, creating dark shadows that scurried over 
 the surface ghostlike and slow, then vanished 
 into the distance. The canoes turned with the 
 wind that grew. 
 
 "Ah no know how feex," Niko whispered. 
 
 Andre thought for an instant. 
 
 "Fight?" he inquired, tentatively. The other 
 stared at him. 
 
 (82)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 "Mak fight wid toi, Andre?" 
 
 La Farge nodded. "Weed knife," he added, 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Ah mak fight den; ve go to de shore an 
 feenesh dees by dam queeck!" Detanges de 
 cided. 
 
 They started for the nearest shore silently. 
 The light draught had grown into a steady 
 breeze ; this in turn grew to a strong wind. Long 
 wavelets curled about the men, breaking liquidly 
 into foam. The sun was gone. Dull and dark 
 gray clouds gathered in swiftly moving masses 
 across the heavens, and over in the southwestern 
 horizon huge banks of black thunder heads 
 grouped themselves and advanced deliberately. 
 
 When Niko and Andre grounded their canoes 
 a muffled rumbling sounded. The beach they 
 were on was a small one, fringed by tall pine and 
 hemlock. The underbrush was thick and waved 
 in the wind that now whistled and shrilled 
 through the forest. 
 
 "Mak feex for fight!" 
 
 Detanges drew his long knife and tore off his 
 shirt, showing the powerful chest and solid mus 
 cled arms. La Farge took off his shirt more 
 slowly, disclosing a gigantic pair of biceps, mus- 
 (8 3 )
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 cles that stretched the skin over them to the 
 semblance of brown marble. His shoulders 
 were smaller than those of his friend, but they 
 were more wiry and supple. The knife he pulled 
 from its sheath was shorter than that of Detan- 
 ges, but thicker at the haft and double edged. 
 
 "Pret?" Niko shouted. 
 
 "Pret!" and the two watched each other 
 warily. 
 
 "Vait min te," Detanges said; they faced each 
 other, grave and silent. 
 
 "Andre, Ah no h ave enemie for toi, but by 
 diable deux ol f ren s no can marrie sam girrl ! 
 You say you goin h ave dat fille?" La Farge 
 drew his forehead down till the skin wrinkled 
 like brown leather. 
 
 "Certaine, Ah marrie Elsie ef le bon Dieu 
 mak eet so dat Ah keel you ; ef He no vant me 
 for to have dat fille, den you keel me, je sup 
 pose," he answered, thickly. 
 
 "Bien! tout pret?" Detanges asked. 
 
 "Pret!" the other answered, and they circled 
 about each other. 
 
 The atmosphere was thick and heavy; crash- 
 ings and rumblings of thunder sounded near by, 
 while jagged tines of lightning ripped and tore 
 (84)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 the southern skies. Dark it became, and 
 darker, as the two edged about; then of a sudden 
 they rushed in and grappled fiercely. 
 
 "Elsie!" one grunted, trying to wrest his 
 knife hand from the other s grip. 
 
 "Elsie !" and the other hung on grimly. They 
 fell, rolling over and over, fighting and dodging 
 each other s thrusts. 
 
 The heavens opened, and the rain poured 
 down in sheets and torrents, soaking the two 
 that struggled mutely. The thunder crackled 
 with sharp detonations and rolling vibrations 
 after each flash of lightning had zigzagged its 
 steel-blue way to the earth. 
 
 Niko, his body slippery from water and 
 sweat, wrenched his knife arm free. 
 
 "Ha, Elsie!" he gasped, and struck down 
 ward viciously, but Andre caught his hand in 
 time, and the sharp steel barely scratched La 
 Farge s side. The two rolled and grunted, each 
 striving to get in the death blow. 
 
 The wind shrieked through the underbrush 
 and lifted the wave heads, driving them in damp 
 spray over the beach. 
 
 Boom ! Boom ! Cr-a-a-ack ! The thunder 
 peals echoed and re-echoed from the mountains. 
 (85)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 that lent themselves as sounding-boards to the 
 violent crashings of the skies. 
 
 La Farge held Niko s wrist in a grip of iron, 
 and Detanges had Andre s knife haft and the 
 hand that held it in a convulsive grasp that 
 could not be shaken off. Thus they lay, glaring 
 at each other, breathing in hoarse gasps, while 
 the rain beat on them and the wind droned 
 through the trees. 
 
 Waves broke on the beach near them with 
 cold furlings; then the thunder passed on and 
 faded gradually away to the westward. 
 
 Andre jerked tremendously, but Niko hung 
 on with teeth clenched and fingers set like bands 
 of metal on the other s wrist. 
 
 "No good!" he grunted, after more of the 
 silent struggle. 
 
 "Ve try som ting h else." 
 
 La Farge moved his head affirmatively. Each 
 relaxed his hold, and they rose. The storm itself 
 had gone ; the rain had ceased, but the wind blew 
 strongly yet, as peeping rays of the afternoon 
 sun broke through the thinning thunder clouds. 
 
 The men dressed in silence. 
 
 "Eh bien?" Andre asked. 
 
 "Ah goin marrie dat girrl!" Niko answered. 
 (86)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 His friend laughed wildly. 
 
 "You no keel me, Ah no keel you; vhat ve do 
 maintenant?" 
 
 "Leesten a moi ; you know de rapides h at de 
 Grande Riviere?" Detanges looked keenly at 
 La Farge; the latter nodded. 
 
 "Ve go ovaire dere an run dose rapides; ve 
 mak de chance for see who go en avant; de man 
 v at h alive marrie Elsie. Vat say?" 
 
 "Bon," the other answered. 
 
 They pushed off their canoes and paddled 
 toward the other shore. The wind died away 
 slowly till the waters were almost as calm as 
 they had been. Above the two the skies were 
 azure blue again, and the sinking sun shot 
 streaks of warm, softened light over everything. 
 
 When near the forest line again the mellow 
 roar of quick water came to them softly, and in 
 a short time the current of the lake outlet pushed 
 on their paddles. 
 
 "Go shore an mak see who go en avant." 
 
 They shoved the canoes ashore almost at the 
 brink of the white water. Hungry and fierce it 
 looked, rolling and dashing away in great reef 
 breaks and tumbling rock waves. The tw r o stood 
 up and gazed silently at the downward rush. 
 (8 7 )
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 "Vone mans go troo dere sauf, fif ten year 
 gon ; datwas d Indien Ma-na-le-to; he go troo." 
 
 "Mabbe ve bot go sauf; ow dat?" Detanges 
 asked from the shore. Andre swung on his heel 
 in the canoe. 
 
 "Ef bot go sauf, den fighd avec gun at de 
 store." 
 
 "Ah m content," and Niko picked up a bit of 
 dried stick that had a forked end. 
 
 "Ef de crook d end she pointe to d E st ou 
 Nord w en de leet steeck he fall, you go en 
 avant; of Sout ou Quest, Ah go." 
 
 "Certaine!" 
 
 The piece of dead branch whirled rapidly in 
 the air under the impulse of Niko s strong twirl, 
 struck the ground, bounced and fell. The 
 forked end pointed fairly toward the sun that 
 shone hot yellow in the west. 
 
 "Eet for me to go," Niko said gently. He 
 emptied his canoe of the rain water, started to 
 push out, thought a moment and came back. 
 
 "Aur voir, Andre, mon gar, mabbe Ah no see 
 you h again. Ef Ah m feenesh la bas," he 
 nodded toward the snarling rapids, "you geef 
 promesse for to come h aftaire me an try get 
 troo?" 
 
 (88)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 La Farge drew himself up proudly, and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Ah geef promesse, Niko, ve ol fren s, dat 
 a nough; de mans dat laif in half heure have 
 Elsie. Aur voir, mabbe adieu !" 
 
 Detanges rolled up his sleeves, grasped his 
 paddle firmly and shoved out into the whirling 
 current. La Farge stood up on a high rock at 
 the river edge. 
 
 "Bonne chance!" he called, as his friend 
 struck the first crests. Niko s canoe bobbed up 
 and down, cleared gulch after gulch of tumbling, 
 white-toothed waters, staggered for a moment, 
 steadied and kept on, then reached the worst of 
 the heavy water. Andre held his breath and 
 watched. 
 
 Niko was standing now and pushed hard on 
 his paddle. Suddenly his canoe swayed, twisted 
 round, fluttered on a sea and overturned in an 
 instant, disappearing like magic from La Farge s 
 straining eyes. Many minutes Andre watched; 
 nothing was to be seen but the foaming current. 
 
 "Bien," he whispered to himself. "Ah geef 
 promesse to Niko dat Ah try. He dead; Ah try 
 jus sam !" 
 
 He looked all around before he stepped from 
 (89)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 the high rock. The sun had gone and the even 
 ing skies were tinted purple, yellow and dark 
 blue. To the eastward the evening star twinkled 
 brightly. 
 
 "Elsie, Ah loove you; Niko he dead, he loove 
 you aussi ; le bon Dieu be goin say ef Ah marrie 
 you. Niko he no can h ave you maintenant !" 
 
 Before pushing out from the shore Andre 
 carefully piled the provisions that were in the 
 bottom of his canoe on the bank under a thick 
 spruce, and tied his yellow handkerchief to one 
 of its piney branches. 
 
 "Dey see dat an come look for see v at ees," 
 he muttered, went to the canoe again, knelt 
 solidly in it, bracing his knees and back. 
 
 "Bonne chance a moi!" he shouted loudly, 
 pushing out. He struck the first rapids skill 
 fully, edging his light craft now to the right, 
 then to the left, and dodging the harsh rocks 
 cleverly. 
 
 The hardest was still to come, and he knew it. 
 His face was drawn with pain, haggard and 
 gray as he rushed on, nearly helpless, toward the 
 frightful breakers on the steepest pitch of all. 
 
 "Elsie !" he screamed as he struck them; then 
 he felt the canoe sag and lurch sickeningly; he 
 (90)
 
 FRIENDS 
 
 tried frantically to keep control of it, but the 
 paddle was torn from his hands. 
 
 "Adieu, Elsie, cherie, Ah loove toi," he 
 mumbled. 
 
 Wssht-t-swa-a-sh br-m-oom ! and it was 
 over. 
 
 The thousand stars peeped glittering from the 
 dark vaults and shone on a desolate wild stretch 
 of hurtling waters. Nothing living anywhere; 
 only the silent forest that loomed black and for 
 bidding over the furious, rushing river. 
 
 (91)
 
 Wilkinson s Chance
 
 Wilkinson s Chance 
 
 SHADING his eyes from the blistering 
 glare, holding his horse by the bridle 
 while the sweat rolled in streams, Con 
 stable Wilkinson, of the Royal Northwest 
 Mounted Police, rested on a little rise of land. 
 Overhead the sun scorched and burned, and 
 across the great prairie distance the shimmering 
 heat waves caused the dreary perspective to roll 
 sluggishly like the sea; brown, gray and green 
 mingling together, chaosing before the man s 
 sun-dulled eyes. No sound disturbed the 
 parched air; no living thing moved, and as he 
 looked about him the only relieving objects were 
 bleached buffalo skulls and bones, reminders of 
 the presence of man in the desolate wilderness. 
 "God," he muttered, "this is hell !" 
 He went around and sat down in his horse s 
 
 shadow, drew out a pipe, lighted it 
 
 "Can t smoke, can t see worth a cent, no 
 
 water, lost track of the men I m after, damn em, 
 
 and now , what s next?" he finished slowly. 
 
 The horse looked wonderingly at him, then nib- 
 
 (95)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 bled at the stiff, baked grass. Wilkinson s head 
 fell forward in little jerks and he dozed with 
 exhaustion. 
 
 Slowly the hours passed on, the man limp on 
 the hot ground, the horse waiting patiently, its 
 bridle over Wilkinson s arm. As the sun neared 
 the musty horizon, red and fiery, life came to the 
 prairie; gophers sat up and their sharp, shrill 
 whistlings pierced the cooling atmosphere. 
 
 Suddenly the man stirred, scrambled to his 
 feet and listened eagerly. 
 
 "That was a shot, I m sure!" he whispered, 
 peering through the dusk that now wrapped the 
 prairie in purple and gray lights. 
 
 Bang Bang Crack ! 
 
 "I knew it! Down, Andy, down!" He 
 pushed the horse, gently kicking its knees as he 
 did so; obediently it sank and rolled over with 
 a grunt. The Constable dropped beside it, and 
 saw several shapes fleeing toward him; in a 
 moment they were gone. 
 
 "Antelope ! That s what they were shooting 
 at! Wonder who it is? I ll wait here." 
 
 It was dark now, and the prone figures of 
 man and horse were but black splotches in the 
 faint starlight. Then from off to the right came 
 
 (96)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 the sound of voices, faintly at first, then 
 stronger, until words were distinguishable. 
 
 "Laramie, Laramie !" 
 
 Wilkinson trembled with eagerness. 
 
 "Laramie? My men, after all! Here s luck! 
 Here s fame ! I ll make a name for myself 
 yet!" he whispered, exultantly. Carefully he 
 lifted his head, reached over and pressed his 
 fingers strongly in the horse s soft muzzle. 
 
 "Quiet, Andy, old nag, quiet!" 
 
 "Talk erbout pure, cussed luck," a voice came 
 to him from a little flat below, "missed thet 
 jumpin deer cleaner n a gopher huntin his 
 hole! Nawthin t eat, nawthin but rotten 
 whisky to drink, and sixty critters to watch !" 
 
 "Don t blame me," another voice answered 
 from farther in the darkness; "ye would run 
 em off!" 
 
 "Would run cm off, ye idjiot? And why 
 shouldn t I? Fifty dollars a head for this lot 
 sure, and a cinch to get em!" 
 
 "Quit yer kickin , then, an strike a light 
 whilst I watches these dod-blamed ponies!" 
 
 A blaze soon flickered its feeble glow in the 
 valley, and Wilkinson saw the strong features 
 of Slick Ben Laramie, "bad" man, dead shot, 
 
 (97)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 and horse thief. These were the men he had 
 been sent to capture, and whose trail he had lost 
 on the seared and withered prairie. 
 
 "Tom!" Laramie called. 
 
 "Whut?" 
 
 "Where d that red-coat sojer o th Queen 
 go?" 
 
 "Way out yander to th south ard; last I seen 
 him he was goin like blazes!" 
 
 Laramie laughed. "Neat trick o mine, 
 doublin on our tracks, wa n t it?" 
 
 "Yep !" 
 
 "Wonder whose arter us this time?" and 
 Slick Ben stared at the little fire that crackled 
 but faintly and from which no smoke came. 
 "Last trip it was Dunn; you mind Dunn, don t 
 you, Tom ? An I done him, right ertween th 
 eyes! Time afore thet two sojers tickled our 
 trail fer four days; you winged one, you mind? 
 T other got skeered an vamoosed!" 
 
 Laramie was silent; the world was silent for 
 Wilkinson, save for the stamping of the stolen 
 horses feet in the gloom beyond, and the work 
 ing of his heart. 
 
 "There s nawthin 11 run the critters t night, 
 Tom ; come up an hev a drink." 
 (98)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "Thet hits me, pard!" and in a few moments 
 the Constable saw another man appear in the 
 circle of yellow light; this one was of a wiry 
 build, heavily bearded, and carried a revolver. 
 Wilkinson thought the matter over. 
 
 "There s just one chance," he muttered 
 finally, while the two below laughed and talked, 
 "and that is to rush them now; I ll have to risk 
 Andy s whinnying." He withdrew his hands 
 from the muzzle; the horse sighed and lay quiet. 
 "Here goes for a name!" Wilkinson drew his 
 service revolver, and crept slowly back for a 
 few feet; then he rose swiftly and ran, bending 
 low, toward the fire. At fifteen yards he 
 stopped. 
 
 "Hands up, and quickly!" 
 
 The man called Tom had his in the air like a 
 flash, and Laramie was not far behind. The 
 latter looked Wilkinson up and down critically. 
 
 "Wall, sojer, ye got th best of us! Here s 
 my gun." He started to reach down to his 
 holster. 
 
 "Another inch and I ll drill you!" 
 
 "Alright, sojer, alright; no offense!" Lara 
 mie smiled grimly: "You re doin well fer a 
 youngster!" 
 
 (99)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "Thanks," the Constable chuckled; "now side 
 by side, you two, backs to the fire." The men 
 did as they were told, and Wilkinson relieved 
 them of two revolvers, two knives and a short, 
 round thong, loaded with lead at one end; all 
 these he placed on the ground at his feet. 
 
 "That ll do now, men; sit down," he said, 
 when he had finished the search. 
 
 "What s your name, sojer, ef I may presoom 
 to eenquire?" Laramie stretched himself lazily 
 by the feeble blaze. 
 
 "Frank Wilkinson." 
 
 "B en long in th force?" the other horse thief 
 asked, as he seated himself. 
 
 "Only two years; came out here to see if I 
 could make a name for myself; never was much 
 good at home." 
 
 Laramie chuckled. "You ll do fust rate ef 
 you kep on th way ye re goin , won t he, Tom ?" 
 
 "Sure, pard, sure; but say, sojer, honest now: 
 ye got us more by cussed, all-fired good luck n 
 by good judgment, now didn t ye?" 
 
 "That is true, but my lucky star to-night 
 means a lot to me with the Commissioner. You 
 two have done for some of our boys, besides 
 running off a thundering lot of horses in the last
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 three years !" Wilkinson s voice rang with a 
 triumphant, sharp, crisp sound, and the faint 
 light sparkled in his brown eyes. 
 
 "True fer ye, sojer, true as ye say it; and we d 
 ha done fer ye, too, ef we d a had th chanst, 
 bet yer life on that!" 
 
 "Let that go, Tom; we kinder went off half- 
 cocked, as ye mought say; what I m eenterested 
 in, is why this young feller should come out o a 
 civilized, God-fearin country to this blasted, 
 alkali wilderness, an , on top o that, go to 
 sojerin at seventy-five cents a day." Slick Ben 
 lifted himself on his elbow as he continued, 
 "Whut d ye say, sojer, ef we swap yarns erbout 
 our lives? We can t leave here till ye gets yer 
 hoss in the mornin , and as ye got ter set up an 
 watch us, curse me ef I don t stay awake with ye, 
 purvided ye tell th story o yer life; how 
 erbout it?" 
 
 "Mine isn t worth listening to." Wilkinson 
 stopped a moment, and his eyes became set in a 
 thoughtful, remembering stare. "But," he hur 
 ried on, "I ll tell it so that I can hear yours; only 
 remember that anything you say will be used 
 against you." 
 
 "Don t let thet worry you, sojer; I ain t 
 (101)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 agoin ter eencriminate myself, you bet! Wall, 
 here goes!" 
 
 Laramie tore up some grasses, gathered a few 
 twigs that were near him, and, as the flames 
 danced into the cool darkness, Wilkinson won 
 dered at the clean-cut features, the high, square 
 forehead, the strong mouth and firm chin of this 
 noted "bad man." "They said he was good- 
 looking; he is, too," he muttered to himself. 
 Meanwhile Laramie sat lost in a reverie; he 
 started suddenly, then, looking keenly at Wilkin 
 son, he began, and the Constable listened in 
 astonishment, for the voice he heard was quiet, 
 modulated, that of an educated man. 
 
 "I was born in New England, my friend, 
 thirty-two years ago. My mother died when I 
 was a little lad, and my father didn t much care 
 what became of me, at least I presume this to be 
 the case, for I never saw him after I was five 
 years old, though I heard of him indirectly. 
 Somehow or another, I grew until I was old 
 enough to go to school. My father paid my ex 
 penses and gave me a good allowance, beyond 
 that, nothing. I went to school, and then formed 
 the ambition to go to Harvard College " 
 
 "But " Wilkinson began. 
 
 ( 102 )
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "Please let me finish," Laramie said quietly. 
 "Having this object in mind, I worked hard at 
 my books, and, my allowance still keeping up 
 to the standard, at seventeen I entered Harvard. 
 My sophomore year I fell in love with the dear 
 est woman, to me, in the whole of this bitter, 
 hard world, and in my junior year, or rather at 
 the beginning of it, we were married. Then, 
 without a word of warning, the allowance ceased 
 absolutely; no word of explanation, nothing. 
 The firm through which the money had been 
 paid refused all information, and there I was, 
 penniless. My money had been ample to sup 
 port two quietly, and I felt sure that I could 
 obtain work that I should be fitted for after I 
 graduated; that was why I married when I did. 
 Bess, that is my wife s name, had a little of 
 her own, and we decided to come west; we 
 went down into Texas, to a place called the 
 name is immaterial, however and I obtained 
 employment in a milling concern. Things went 
 on pretty well for a time, then came the deluge. 
 The foreman hit me one day with a block of 
 wood; I hit back, and he came at me with a 
 knife; I picked up a wrench, and let him have it, 
 killing him on the spot. I fled the country, a 
 ( 103 )
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 posse after me, and since then You know 
 
 the rest." 
 
 The silence was absolute when Laramie fin 
 ished. His partner, Tom, sat moodily in his 
 place, twisting and twirling grass roots between 
 his fingers. Now and then one of the ponies 
 snorted or stamped; otherwise everything was 
 still. 
 
 "Where is your wife now?" Wilkinson asked 
 slowly. 
 
 Tom jerked his head up. "Don t be more n 
 a fool than ye hev be n, Ben! We re took; 
 don t give th gal away!" 
 
 "Aw, th sojer ain t lookin fer her; he 
 wouldn t find her ef he was!" The voice had 
 all its original harshness; and the steel-blue eyes 
 were fathomless and cold again. 
 
 "Come on, sojer, tell yer leetle story," Tom 
 sneered viciously. 
 
 "It s short, and goes somewhat like this," 
 Wilkinson began. "I, too, was born in New 
 England." He watched for a gleam of recogni 
 tion to cross the other s face, but the features 
 were stony hard and set, and he continued, "I 
 had every advantage, and threw them all 
 away. Now I m out here trying to do some- 
 ( 104)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 thing that s decent. My mother is the only one 
 in the world that has a single ray of hope left 
 for me; after all, one s mother s hope and confi 
 dence are the last to go. I promised her I would 
 go straight and come back with something to my 
 credit; that s all there is to my life." 
 
 "Ever been in the jug?" Laramie asked 
 shortly. 
 
 The Constable hesitated an instant. 
 
 "I kin see ye hev," the other said. "Whut 
 fur?" 
 
 "That doesn t matter, does it?" 
 
 "Naw, I don t suppose it do. Wall, she s 
 a-comin daylight." Laramie stood up slowly. 
 
 Faint and far over the eastern horizon shiv 
 ering, timid veils of light were creeping up the 
 heavens. Pale-blue at first, then as they grew 
 stronger changing to green and yellow. Little 
 by little the prairie distances took shape, until 
 the rolling hills and hollows loomed everywhere. 
 Once more the gophers whistled, and the coy 
 otes became silent; here and there appeared 
 their vague brown-gray shapes as they scuttled 
 over the rises of the land. 
 
 "Go ahead of me, men, over that flat there, 
 till I find my horse." Wilkinson took all the 
 (105)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 cartridges from the prisoners guns, then throw 
 ing his rifle across his arm, he walked after the 
 two. Some distance away they found the horse, 
 which was quietly grazing on such bits of grass 
 as had not been entirely blasted by the sun. 
 The Constable mounted, and, with the two still 
 in front of him, went back to the herd of stolen 
 ponies. 
 
 "There s nothing to eat, men, so we might as 
 well start!" Slowly the ponies began to move; 
 then they trotted along. "Sorry, men, but I ll 
 have to put these on you." 
 
 Laramie drew back. Instantly Wilkinson 
 covered him with the rifle. "Better come 
 quietly, Laramie; you ve got to come any 
 way!" 
 
 They looked at each other, then the horse 
 thief held out his wrist. A rattle, clink, snap, 
 and the prisoners were handcuffed to each 
 other. 
 
 "You can ride if you can keep your horses 
 near enough together." 
 
 Tom looked up gratefully. "T anks, sojer; 
 she s a-goin ter be a scorcher to-day, no mis 
 take." 
 
 The sun, in fierce, red glory, was just coming 
 (106)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 over the sky-line, and its hot rays burned even at 
 this early hour of the morning. 
 
 Suddenly, as they moved onward, Wilkinson 
 saw Laramie looking sharply across the prairie, 
 and heard him mutter to his companion. He 
 himself searched the bare wastes and saw a mov 
 ing speck approaching rapidly. 
 
 "Rescue," he whispered; then, "Halt! Dis 
 mount! Lie down!" 
 
 Laramie and Tom lay flat, while Wilkinson 
 sat his horse, watching. Nearer and nearer 
 came the speck; at last he could distinguish a 
 horse and rider, traveling very fast. The rider 
 saw him then, and swerved in his direction. 
 
 "By God, it s a woman!" unconsciously he 
 spoke aloud. 
 
 "Woman? Woman?" and Slick Ben leaped 
 to his feet, dragging his companion with him. 
 "It s Bess, Tom, sure as fate!" 
 
 "Stand where you are, men, or I shoot!" The 
 Constable cocked his rifle. The woman was 
 very near now; still nearer; the pounding of her 
 pony s feet was plainly discernible in the morn 
 ing stillness. It lurched up the slope, staggered, 
 groaned, and rolled over, dead; the woman slid 
 to her knees, utterly exhausted. 
 ( 107 )
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "Charlie, Charlie!" she gasped. 
 
 "Steady, Bess, steady," Laramie answered, 
 stiffening and straining at the handcuff; "what 
 is it, the boy?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes dying, ca calling for you; 
 you said you would be back last night; I waited 
 and waited, and then couldn t stand his calling 
 for you any longer, so I started out to find you 
 if I could. I have tra traveled nearly all 
 night; the brave little horse did his best." 
 
 She looked up and saw Wilkinson s red coat. 
 
 "Cha Ben, oh, Ben, it s too late, then?" 
 Her face went white, and she sank slowly, her 
 eyes fixed on the Constable in a strange, wild 
 stare. 
 
 Laramie looked over his shoulder. "Can I 
 can I talk to my wife?" he asked huskily. Wil 
 kinson nodded. 
 
 Tenderly, as well as he could with one hand, 
 Tom helping, Laramie lifted the girl, for she 
 was hardly more than that, and leaned her body 
 against his. 
 
 "Yes, I m afraid it s too late this time, Bess, 
 too late." His strong body shook, but no tears 
 showed in the steel-blue eyes. "What hap 
 pened?" 
 
 (108)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 Shudderingly the words came in answer. 
 
 "He was playing cowboy yesterday, and he 
 fell among the horses; one of the stallions kicked 
 and bit him. Oh, Charlie, it s awful ! he s dying, 
 calling, calling for you; I can hear him now!" 
 The girl got to her feet. "I always said it would 
 come to this; the horses have taken everything 
 I have in the world, my boy, and because of them 
 the police have taken you !" The tears came 
 then, in gasping, choking torrents to her eyes, 
 and the four stood thus, while the broiling, blis 
 tering heat grew and grew. 
 
 Laramie, his voice trembling, his eyes on the 
 Constable, said, "Wilkinson, will you take my 
 word, that I will deliver myself to the Regina 
 barracks within thirty hours, and let me go to 
 my boy for the last time?" 
 
 The girl caught her breath. As if by magic, 
 there passed before Wilkinson s memory eyes 
 a sweet old figure; he saw it at a window, and 
 the face was wet with tears. He dismounted, 
 fumbling at his chain. 
 
 "Go ! I ll take your word ! Remember what 
 it means to me !" and he unlocked the handcuff. 
 
 Before he could move, the girl had kissed his 
 hand. 
 
 ( 109)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "God bless you, Policeman; Charlie will be 
 on time; ride, ride, Charlie, you may not be too 
 late; I ll walk back. Go! Go!" she screamed. 
 
 Wilkinson s face worked and quivered, he 
 swallowed hard. 
 
 "Take my horse, girl, quick! Tell him to 
 bring it back when he comes," he shouted 
 hoarsely after her as she sped away. 
 
 They were gone, lost in the seared, brown 
 lands. 
 
 The Constable turned and saw Tom watching 
 him. He tried to smile, but somehow the smile 
 wouldn t come; then the other held out his hand. 
 
 "I m nothin but a horse thief an , an wuss, 
 but I ve seed all kinds o men, an , sojer, I jest 
 wants fer ter say this, thet ye r the whitest God 
 ever made, an ef ye d take my hand, I ll never 
 go crooked again." 
 
 They shook hands silently, and as silently 
 started on their way, Wilkinson riding Tom s 
 horse. All that day, through the glowing heat 
 waves, their eyes reeling and aching, their brains 
 numbed in their skulls, the two plodded slowly 
 on. When night, with its short hours of life- 
 saving coolness, came again, they stopped. 
 
 "No need o hitchin me t night, sojer; I d cut 
 (no)
 
 me right fist off fer ye." Wilkinson said noth 
 ing, and the two lay down hungry, side by side. 
 At daylight they went on, and when the sun was 
 straight over them in all its fury they reached 
 the Mounted Police Barracks at Regina. Wil 
 kinson turned the horses over to the officer of 
 the day, then saw his prisoner registered, meas 
 ured, weighed and safely locked up in the guard 
 house. Weak from his long trip and lack of 
 food, he reported to the Adjutant, who com 
 mands the Barracks and who looks after all 
 routine. 
 
 "Well?" Adjutant MacAlbee asked, seeing 
 the dusty, sun-stained figure before him at at 
 tention. 
 
 "Found Laramie and a man called Tom with 
 the stolen horses, sir; came on them near Wat 
 son s Creek. Captured them, and the horses, 
 sir, full count." There he stopped. 
 
 "Where are they?" curt and sharp came the 
 question. 
 
 "Horses delivered to officer of the day, the 
 man called Tom delivered to the guard." 
 
 "Well? And the other? Come, man, speak 
 
 up! 
 
 "I let him go, sir." 
 
 (in)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "What?" the Adjutant leaped from his 
 chair "you WHAT?" 
 
 "Let him go, sir." 
 
 MacAlbee stared in furious astonishment. 
 
 "And, if I may ask, since when has a Consta 
 ble had the power of permitting prisoners to go 
 free? Answer me that, sir!" 
 
 "May I tell the circumstances, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, go on ! I suppose the truth is that 
 the other got away from you; of course it s the 
 man we have wanted for four years, and you 
 were told so, but that doesn t make the slightest 
 difference; oh, dear, no, not the slightest!" 
 
 The Adjutant gradually worked himself into 
 a frightful rage, and paced wildly up and down 
 his office while Wilkinson repeated what had 
 happened. When he had finished, MacAlbee 
 stopped in front of him. 
 
 "And you expect me to believe this damned 
 rot?" 
 
 Then swinging on his heel, he pressed a but 
 ton ; an orderly came. 
 
 "Send the officer of the day here at once!" 
 
 The latter appeared in a few moments and 
 saluted. 
 
 "You will take Constable Wilkinson to the 
 
 (112)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 guard-house, and see that he is in close confine 
 ment ! For this, my fine fellow, you will get six 
 months in the guard-house and dismissed from 
 the force! Take him away!" 
 
 Wilkinson moved after the officer of the day 
 as in a terrible dream. As he went out of the 
 Adjutant s office he looked up at the clock. 
 
 "It s half an hour past his time, and this is the 
 end of everything for me!" And again that 
 tear-stained, dear old face flitted before his 
 eyes. 
 
 Mutely following, he was crossing the Bar 
 racks square to the guard-house, and was almost 
 there when a tumult arose in the far corner of 
 the yard; he looked back and saw two horses 
 galloping wildly across the lawns. On one of 
 them huddled a human form, the other was 
 riderless, its bridle fastened to the man s waist. 
 Wilkinson turned, and, heedless of the officer s 
 shouts, ran back. Laramie, for it was he, rolled 
 off into the Constable s arms, and he saw blood 
 streaming from his open shirt collar, and slug 
 gishly dripping from his back. The wounded 
 man looked at him through half-open and dull 
 ing eyes. 
 
 "I I I got there on on on time," he
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 whispered; then, gathering himself, went on, 
 "had a br ush with Pol ic e from Woods 
 Mo u n ta in, they tr led to to get 
 me, but I was afr aid that you would be 
 court-mart 1 d, so so I ca me as soon as 
 I could." The head fell back; a slight tre 
 mor ran through the muscles, and Laramie was 
 dead. From behind the crowd of men that had 
 gathered came a choking, rasping voice. 
 
 "Let me see my old pard, just once!" The 
 crowd parted, and Tom came through. He 
 knelt beside the stiffening form, and a deep 
 silence was on everything. The evening skies 
 shed a soft glow, and, strangely enough, through 
 a rift in the clouds came the last ray of the setting 
 sun; and it shone for an instant on the dead 
 man s face, then it was gone. Tom knelt silent, 
 his shoulders heaving and falling. Finally he 
 stood up. 
 
 "Good-by, old pard." 
 
 Wilkinson, just as the guards were about to 
 take their prisoner away again, grasped him by 
 the arm 
 
 "The girl, the girl," he whispered; "where 
 is she, and who was he?" 
 
 The other looked at him an instant. 
 (H4)
 
 WILKINSON S CHANCE 
 
 "Sorry, sojer, but I swore I d never tell, an 
 I won t!" and he walked away, his leg irons 
 clanking softly. 
 
 "It is finished!" Wilkinson whispered, and 
 brushed off the tears that would come. 
 
 (H5)
 
 The Current of Fear
 
 The Current of Fear 
 
 c< T "W" "T HO says the dogs in this blamed 
 
 % /\ I country is savage?" Black Dan 
 T V waited, glowering drunkenly, re 
 volver in hand, at the crowd in the bar. 
 
 "Who says it?" he roared again, cursing. 
 "Yur a passel o cowards; yu dassent shout!" 
 
 One man s hand reached toward his hip. A 
 spit of flame from Black Dan s weapon, and a 
 lifeless thing twitched on the floor. The Indians 
 stared, expressionless; then Tim Samson, with 
 a sweeping throw, hurled his whisky in Black 
 Dan s face. The crowd were on him as he 
 staggered and got his gun. 
 
 The huge man stood up slowly, his face 
 twisted into a frightful snarl. "That s whut 
 yu call a fair show, is t? Yur wuss cowards 
 than I thunk, damn yu !" 
 
 "He s drunk, boys, and Jake did try fer to 
 draw on him, so that s fair nuff; but, by God, 
 we won t stand fer no cheap skate from Simpson 
 
 (H9)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 a-comin up hyar and callin us cowards, whut?" 
 English Jack sprang on a chair as he spoke. 
 
 "No!" the crowd thundered. 
 
 "Well, then, let s make the skunk take my 
 team they re the wust I knows of hyar-a-bouts, 
 bein part wolf ev ry one of em and drive to 
 Skagway !" 
 
 Black Dan s eye glittered. "Yu dassent! I ll 
 take yur dogs clear to Yukon an back!" 
 
 "Yu take that bunch to Skagway, an yu kin 
 have em; if yu don t get em there we ll fix yu 
 next trip!" Whispers passed round. "What s 
 Jack up to?" "Ought to ride the cuss!" "He 
 knows his biz." 
 
 "Neow yur talkin , Jack." Dan s face light 
 ened. "I ll " 
 
 "Hoi on, hoi on, I ain t done yit! We ll 
 give yu some grub, a pair o snowshoes, but no 
 knife nor gun." 
 
 Black Dan hesitated, the crowd jeered. 
 
 "Who s a coward now, yu big bully ! Yu kin 
 drop a man, I ll admit, when his weepon s in his 
 holster, but yur a-scared to take eight dogs to 
 Skagway!" English Jack snapped his long 
 fingers in derision. 
 
 "I ll go," the big man said, sullenly, "s posin 
 ( 120 )
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 Hell freezes over; gimme a drop o whisky ter 
 take erlong?" 
 
 "Shall we, boys?" 
 
 "Sure, an a good drop; he ll need it with yur 
 team," and the men roared with laughter; why, 
 Black Dan did not understand. So it was 
 arranged. 
 
 "They ll tear him ter bits ef he falls down," 
 Long Anderson whispered to Jack. 
 
 "Sssh! Thet s whut I m countin on," the 
 other answered; "we cyant shoot him in cause 
 Jake reached fer his gun, but by the etarnel, 
 this 11 fix him good. I m a-goin ter foller him, 
 so s not ter lose my team; they ll have a good 
 feed fer onct!" English Jack chuckled. "Lend 
 me yur outfit, Andy?" 
 
 "Cert! Jiminy blazes, but yu ve got a imagi 
 nation !" Dirty Dick, the bartender, furnished 
 the whisky; he shook his head solemnly as he 
 did so, but it was no affair of his. The gang 
 tramped out to see Black Dan start. 
 
 The afternoon was cold, freezing with bitter 
 sting, and the wind yowled mournfully across 
 the wild country. The skies were low and 
 drear, the clouds moving with imperceptible 
 slide. To the right, mountains loomed gray- 
 
 (121)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 dark and hazy, reaching beyond the foot-hills 
 in vanishing heights. The lonely wind came 
 in nasty gusts, whirling the snow in biting 
 masses. In the stables, dogs howled sadly; one 
 yelping, the others taking up the weird cadence. 
 English Jack brought out his team; eight ugly 
 brutes with drooling mouths and wolf-like coats. 
 They snapped and bit at him as he curled the 
 long whip about their heads. 
 
 "Get in there, Swift!" The leader showed 
 his teeth and took his place before the team. 
 Jack slung the last straps over them; then fas 
 tened the light sledge. The food, a small blanket 
 and the whisky were all tied down. 
 
 "Now then, Dan, come on ef yur not 
 afeard !" All this time the man had been watch 
 ing, liquor courage in his heart; he grabbed the 
 whip, "Psh sht marse!" and away. 
 
 The crowd gazed after him, out of sight on 
 the plains, going like mad. 
 
 "He ll get there, Jack, by God, he will!" 
 
 "Don t yu fuss yurself bout it; he ll git 
 
 skeared purty soon, and then " They all 
 
 went back to the bar. 
 
 English Jack took a drink. "I ll start in an 
 hour or so, catch him bout on Crooked Plains." 
 ( 122 )
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 "Them fools," Black Dan muttered as the 
 dogs coursed on, "a-thinkin I cyant run this 
 hyar team ter Skagway ! I ll git my crowd thar, 
 come back, wait fer night, an wipe out the whul 
 shebang!" He sat comfortably on the sledge, 
 its whirring sound lulling him almost to sleep. 
 Then the snow began to fall as he climbed into 
 the uplands. Straight and damp the flakes came, 
 clinging to his face, coating his clothes with 
 prismatic myriads. The north wind blew merci 
 lessly, and the dogs whined as they sped on. 
 Deeper and deeper the layers of white became, 
 until the team could pull no more, even though 
 the man lashed them hard, bringing away bits 
 of fur at every stroke. 
 
 "Marse, damn yu, marse, go on !" The soft 
 ness reached the bottom of the sledge, impeded 
 its way heavily, and the eight stopped, gasping 
 in loud pantings, audible above the weird whist 
 lings of the storm. 
 
 Black Dan got off the sledge and put on the 
 snowshoes; tied a bit of rope to the runners. 
 "Ah-hai marse!" The brutes struggled on. 
 
 "I ll show them cusses back thar," he swore. 
 On and on till the snow was more firm on the 
 hills. The whisky began to lose its effect, and 
 
 ( 123 )
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 he remembered all that he had ever heard of 
 "wolf" teams. Strangely a fear grew within 
 him; like a stream that swept him along, power 
 less, and he watched the dogs furtively. 
 
 No sign yet. They plodded ahead sullenly, 
 heads low, tongues streaming. He pulled out 
 the flask and took a drink. "That s better," he 
 whispered, as the hot liquid ran down his throat. 
 "Hai-a marse!" The animals pulled away 
 sluggishly. Thicker and thicker came the snow, 
 deadening the click of his snowshoes as he 
 strode, clogging his way. He took another 
 drink soon, and the way seemed easy, the world 
 a glorious thing, success within his grasp. "I ll 
 bust that crowd!" he muttered. 
 
 Drink after drink, hour after hour was 
 passed, till the bottle was empty. "Hell !" He 
 threw it away. The whip thong was red with 
 blood from the vicious blows. All night he kept 
 on, the alcohol stirring his blood, urging his 
 mind to false action, forcing his muscles to work. 
 Daylight found him over the hills, heading for 
 the Crooked Plains and keeping his course fairly 
 well for Skagway; the dogs bleeding at every 
 step, snarling at every curl of the whip, snapping 
 at each other in their distress. Little by little 
 (124)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 the fumes wore away, and the hints, whisperings, 
 of the savagery of the "wolf" teams came to 
 him stronger than before. 
 
 "They re a-lookin at me now," he said un 
 easily, as Swift, the shaggy leader, turned his 
 dripping jaws toward him from time to time. 
 Still the team kept on obediently, and the snow 
 softness grew into a crust as he came down to 
 ward Taku River. He tried to sit on the sledge, 
 but his weight was just enough to force the run 
 ners through, and the dogs would stop, eyeing 
 him. He had to walk. The whisky was past 
 stimulation; he felt no hunger, the team did; 
 their pulls became weaker and weaker, then they 
 stopped again. 
 
 "They re a-watchin me !" he grumbled, and 
 tried to beat them into movement. No use. At 
 each whine of the lash and snap of its tip they 
 huddled closer together and growled. As it 
 was hopeless to attempt more, Black Dan got 
 some food and squatted on the snow. Swift 
 came forward with a sneaking step, eyes aflame. 
 "God!" the man screamed, leaping to his feet; 
 he lashed the brute; it retreated, mane stiff, fangs 
 showing. He had to eat standing, the dogs 
 watching him the while with starving eyes; then 
 (125)
 
 he tossed them the remains, and they fought for 
 it, tangling the harness. When Black Dan was 
 ready he tried to undo the mess; Swift foamed 
 and crouched when he approached. 
 
 "Damn yu, I ain t afeard!" But there was 
 a quiver in the tones. By dint of kicks and beat 
 ings he got the harness straight. He slipped as 
 he started. 
 
 "No fallin down!" The whispered words 
 of a friendly Indian, as he left the night before, 
 forced themselves on him, grew in his ears till 
 the very wind seemed to shriek them. Was it 
 his fancy, or did the dogs keep their eyes on him 
 continually? Did they wait for him to fall? 
 
 "I ain t a-goin ter fall," he shouted in answer 
 to his thoughts, and lashed away. 
 
 Then the sun burst forth, dazzling his eyes 
 with its violent glare. Spots of blue appeared 
 between the rifts in the snow clouds and the 
 wind came less harshly. 
 
 "My God, fer some whisky!" Dan whim 
 pered as he felt the current of fear sweeping, 
 sweeping him on, his body and mind too tired to 
 resist. Again he attempted to sit down; Swift 
 turned each time; the seven others waited, 
 watching. The man now was the one to strug- 
 ( 126)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 gle, and the fight was hard against nature, 
 against the fear that was slowly maddening him. 
 
 "I killed Jake, mu fust mu der!" he whis 
 pered again and again; the dogs swung their 
 heads, studying him, almost as though they were 
 wondering how much longer he would last, so 
 it seemed to Dan. 
 
 "No fallin down!" The words seared his 
 mind, crazed him by their suggestion. Hour 
 after hour he stuck to it, picking each step with 
 assiduous care. The face of the man he had 
 killed, with the shadow of agony on it, stood 
 before him often and frightened him still more. 
 
 "No fallin down !" Yet he began to slip and 
 totter on his snowshoes. "Curse the luck," he 
 mumbled; "cyant I stand up? Ha!" He almost 
 fell. The dogs saw and turned. "Marse!" as 
 he recovered himself; the whip sang again and 
 again in the bitter air. 
 
 "I ll show yu !" Then he swore till his voice 
 was gone. His powerlessness struck him like a 
 blow. The team seemed to realize, and hesi 
 tated in their traces. Often now he slipped, 
 caught the toes of the shoes and stumbled badly. 
 The harder he tried the worse he became. Night 
 grew slowly, darkening the distances, hiding 
 ( 127)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 the long plains in misty gloom. Tears in his 
 eyes, the man crawled along, the dogs barely 
 moving. "That s it," as he fell on one knee. 
 "No, by Heaven, not yet !" as he picked himself 
 up. Swift saw, but kept on when the thong cut 
 a bit of fur from him. At last Black Dan knew 
 that he could do no more. One final attempt to 
 lie down, but the team crowded as close as they 
 dared, snarling. He went on a few paces. "The 
 whip, my whip!" he groaned. In his fear he 
 had lost it, and dared not turn his back to the 
 dogs. Overhead the cold-glittering stars of a 
 mid-winter night shone strangely far away, 
 twinkling with eerie effect. The aurora glowed 
 in the eastern heavens, bulging with clouds of 
 nebulous light. The wind had gone; everything 
 was silent save for the panting of the dogs and 
 the liquid lap-lap of their tongues. The man s 
 knees refused to carry his huge bulk. 
 
 "No fallin down !" He saw the words in 
 letters of fire, and understood their full meaning 
 as the brutes sat about him, waiting waiting. 
 
 "If I fall, they ll tear me ter bits," he whis 
 pered aloud; then, "Sha n t do it, s help me!" 
 
 Wearily, slowly, he undid the knots in the 
 rope that fastened the blanket to the sledge; 
 (128)
 
 THE CURRENT OF FEAR 
 
 wrangled off the harness, lifted the long thing, 
 and by dint of many poundings drove it into 
 the snow, not very far, because he was weak, but 
 far enough for his purpose. The dogs edged 
 closer in a half circle; he kicked at them. With 
 his back to the support, he managed to lash him 
 self securely, so that when he relaxed the upright 
 sledge held him. 
 
 "Thar, yu cowards, ye dassent touch me ! I ll 
 rest awhile, and git ye inter Skagway yit!" 
 
 Then all was still. The night became freez 
 ing cold at the approach of dawn. A drowsi 
 ness came over Dan. "This is great!" he stut 
 tered, feeling himself warm and comfortable. 
 His head sank on his chest and he was quiet, the 
 team still waiting. 
 
 They did not know. 
 
 ( 129)
 
 One of Three 
 
 "T^ON!" Guillaume Bouchard shouted, 
 1-^^ crashing his heavy fist on the board 
 M M counter. "Napoleon no de grreates 
 man en de worrl ! Dat feller ees Laurier, by 
 Gar, Laurier !" Moutin, the storekeeper, leaned 
 forward, his little black eyes sparkling with 
 enjoyment of the argument. The store was 
 close and hot, and the air thick with the reek and 
 fumes of many pipes. Here were gathered all 
 the gossips and wise men of the tiny Quebec 
 village, according to time-worn custom, and the 
 debate to-night was an especially good one. Old 
 Pere Donvalle nodded slowly, then in the silence 
 after Guillaume s assertion he took the clay pipe 
 from his mouth, stroked his long, gray beard 
 premeditatively and spoke: 
 
 "Bon, Guillaume, mon garqon, eef you t ink 
 no man so beeg en le monde as Laurier, vat you 
 goin say ven Ah say dat Laurier no so grand 
 as le Jesu Christ? Hein?" 
 
 Murmurs from the group showed that this 
 ( 133 )
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 indeed was a hard proposition, and they all 
 waited gravely for Bouchard s answer. The 
 low-hanging lamp shed but weak rays of yellow 
 light that scarce reached the walls, and only 
 vaguely illumined the neat rows of frying pans 
 and kettles that were strung in precise lines from 
 the smoke-darkened roof beams. The clusters 
 of rubber boots and shoepacks seemed blacker 
 than ever, and bunches of brooms dangled for 
 lornly at all angles. Guillaume, a huge lumber 
 man of magnificent physique, viciously gnawed 
 a chew of tobacco from his plug, and stared 
 fixedly at the open door of the big round stove, 
 whence came comfortable beams of heat. 
 
 Moutin touched Bouchard playfully on the 
 ear: "You an Josephe an Raphael, you got all 
 arrange bout Lucille, hein?" 
 
 "Par Dieu, non," Josephe Bouchard laughed 
 from across the store, "broddaire Guillaume ees 
 slow lak de molass ; run up de hill when she s 
 col !" 
 
 "Oui, so slow lak de moose go long een de 
 deep snow!" and Raphael St. George chuckled. 
 
 Guillaume s strong, heavy face wrinkled with 
 amusement. "You attends, you fellers; to-night 
 Ah goin starrt een hour for Camp Seex, be back 
 (134)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 to-mor apres-midi, den we mak see bout dees 
 affaire; dat agreable?" 
 
 "Le Camp Seex? Why for?" Moutin asked. 
 
 "De Boss, he say for me breeng hup de tele- 
 gramme w en she comme, an maudit, she ees 
 arrive jus taim suppaire, damn!" 
 
 " Ow you goin , by de Run Roun or by de 
 longue traverse?" 
 
 "Ah t ink Ah go longue traverse; de snow she 
 no so bad for de dog dat way." As he spoke, 
 Guillaume went to the door and opened it. It 
 was a glorious mid-winter night. At his feet 
 the ice-bound river twined its frozen shape past 
 the village out to the open country, where its 
 contour melted into the white that covered every 
 thing, and was lost. The glittering stars sent 
 steel-like shafts of light to the earth, while the 
 setting moon dispersed the fading shadows and 
 glistened on the chimney pots of the compact 
 little mass of houses. Here and there shone 
 twinkling lamps that seemed to warm Guil 
 laume, notwithstanding the bitter sting of freez 
 ing in the air; as he watched, a figure came run 
 ning up the hill on which the store was built; it 
 reached him. 
 
 "Eh, you grand bebe," a cheery voice laughed 
 
 (135)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 from under a heavy shawl, "no tak all de door." 
 The figure brushed by him into the house. He 
 followed it. 
 
 "Bien, Lucille, you no go bed tall?" Moutin 
 asked, as he deftly unwound the cloth from the 
 girl s head and throat. 
 
 "Bien sure, Grandpere, onlee Grandmamman 
 she want for de 1 huile a leetle, so den Ah come," 
 and she glanced roguishly at the three, Guil- 
 laume, Josephe and Raphael, that crowded 
 about her as close as they could. 
 
 "Petite coquette!" Moutin chortled, rubbing 
 his thin, worn old hands gleefully the while; 
 "ef you know dat dese t ree gardens here, Ah 
 goin mak de bet you no come for de 1 huile !" 
 
 "You say too much dose t ings, Grandpere," 
 but Lucille s big brown eyes danced with mis 
 chief, and she tossed her head merrily. 
 
 "Why toi no come to-day cut de wood for 
 me ?" She took hold of Josephe s coat. "Lazee, 
 hein? Bah, mauvais gargon!" 
 
 "No lazee tall, Lucille; onlee Guillaume an 
 Josephe an moi, we mak arrange for no go 
 cut wood, no do netting teel you say w at mans 
 we t ree you goin marrier, voila !" 
 
 "C estvrai?" 
 
 (136)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 "Si, dat trrue!" the other two answered 
 together. 
 
 Most of the group that had been in the store 
 had gone home; those that remained, however, 
 smothered their chucklings to listen. 
 
 The girl looked at the three big men in pretty 
 defiance. 
 
 "You t ink you all somt ing magnifique for 
 to mak sooch talk to moi ! Bon, Ah goin see 
 w at you do! (^a for you!" and she snapped 
 her fingers in derision. 
 
 "Par Dieu," growled Raphael, good-na 
 turedly, making a grab for her. She was too 
 quick, picking up the oil can, her shawl, and 
 darting out of the door, apparently all in one 
 motion. 
 
 The three stared at one another. 
 
 "Sapristi ! you, Guillaume, by Gar, you was 
 de wan w at say for do dees way weet la petite ! 
 Sacree, eet no goin worrk!" 
 
 "Nev min , gardens, ev t ing be fus -class 
 by m-by." 
 
 Moutin climbed slowly on the sugar barrel 
 to put out the lamp as he spoke. 
 
 "Bon soi , bon soi , Moutin," and the three 
 departed, leaving him to lock up with the pon- 
 
 ( 137)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 derous key that scraped and squeaked shrilly in 
 its lock. 
 
 "Be back to-mor certain?" 
 
 "Bien sure," Guillaume answered, as he 
 turned in at the little gate in the picket fence 
 that surrounded his tiny home. "Au revoir." 
 
 "Au revoir, Guillaume." The other two 
 passed on, the sound of their voices sinking grad 
 ually away down the silent road. 
 
 Guillaume pushed his door open and walked 
 in. A warm little blaze flickered and fluttered 
 on the stone hearth, its light showing up the 
 colored prints and old-fashioned pictures on the 
 low walls. In the center was a large one of 
 Laurier. 
 
 "Guille, c est toi?" came a strange, thin voice 
 from behind a partition. 
 
 "Oui, Mamman, Ah goin Camp Seex jus 
 queeck." 
 
 u Eet ver col , hein, Guille?" 
 
 "No so bad lak las night, Mamman." 
 
 "You comme back to-mor , je suppose!" 
 
 "Oui, Mamman, bon soi , cherie." 
 
 "Bon soi , mon fils!" 
 
 Guillaume went to his corner of the sleeping 
 attic, found his heavy mitts and stockings, his 
 ( 138)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 coarse woolen muffler, and his sheepskin-lined 
 capote; then he went softly down again. From 
 a cupboard he got some meat and bread and 
 stuffed it in his great pockets. 
 
 "By Gar, eet plenty col !" he whispered to 
 himself as he closed the door tightly behind 
 him. The dogs in the warm, thatched stable 
 whimpered and whined as he came among 
 them. 
 
 "Nannette, Mouton, Pierrot, Vitesse," he 
 whistled softly. Like gray shadows the four 
 rustled from their hay beds and scampered out. 
 Quickly he harnessed them to the light sledge 
 and sat himself comfortably on it. 
 
 "Marche!" and away they went; out of the 
 yard gate, flying down the silvery road and from 
 that into the somberness of the mute forest. On 
 and on, now across openings between the trees 
 where the snow shone cold and brilliant, now 
 through tall, majestically silent groves of heavy 
 Norway pine, then down to and along the frozen 
 river where the night light was perfect. Foxes 
 scuttled away before this thing that moved so 
 fast and so quietly, and once as the whee-ing 
 sledge passed under a gigantic fir, an owl, 
 startled from its watching, gave a muffled Hoo! 
 ( 139 )
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 and sailed over his head to the darker shades of 
 the forest on the other bank. 
 
 Traveling rapidly, the swift motion created a 
 drowsiness; try as he would his eyelids would 
 droop, and in this semi-conscious state he imag 
 ined that he was talking to Lucille. 
 
 "You no marrie me?" he muttered thickly, 
 then a pause. 
 
 "Ah loove you so mooch, petite, mak nice 
 home, ev t ing for you." Another pause. "Ah 
 know Josephe he loove you, an Raphael aussi, 
 but moi, ha ! Ah loove you lak Laurier he 
 loove le Canadaw!" A long silence this time, 
 then, "Fair play for t ree? Bon, Ah m satisfy, 
 but w en you goin decider?" A short hesita 
 tion and he hurried on, his words clear and 
 strong. "You say you goin marrier de man dat 
 have bessis courage?" In an instant he spoke 
 again. "Ah oon stan , petite, Ah goin try!" 
 
 Just then the sledge struck a branch that had 
 been frozen; it lurched, rose on one runner, then 
 settled back with a crash. This thoroughly 
 wakened Bouchard, and he began to whistle 
 jauntily. As the stars dimmed one by one and 
 the air became sharper and more biting, he 
 guided the dogs off the river on to a wood road.
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 Along this they dashed, cleverly avoiding the 
 deep ruts made by the log sledges from day to 
 day as they transported monster loads from the 
 cuttings to the river landings. 
 
 When the chill grays and blues of a winter 
 dawn lightened the eastern horizon, Guillaume 
 reached Camp Six. The men were just getting 
 up, and the smoke from the cook fires rose 
 straight into the air. 
 
 The foreman ran out. 
 
 "Holy tickets, I m glad ye ve come!" 
 
 "Wat s mattaire?" Bouchard asked, as he 
 stood up slowly, stiff from the long ride. 
 
 "Mike Lawson damn near cut his leg off yes 
 terday; he s purty near dead now, but if any one 
 can save him you can, by taking him as quick as 
 God 11 let you with your dogs; the horses 
 couldn t get down to the village now !" 
 
 Guillaume stood still for a moment; then, the 
 facts having thoroughly soaked into his mind, 
 "Bon," he said; "Ah tak heem, but dogs mus 
 have for eat!" 
 
 "Sure, man, sure; hurry up, by jiminy, 
 hurry up !" 
 
 Bouchard got some food for the four that 
 stood panting from their fast pace, and while 
 (I4O
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 they ate he swallowed a steamlng-hot pan of tea 
 and gulped down a handful of bread and pork. 
 
 "Readee!" he shouted. Five men carefully 
 brought the unfortunate Lawson to the sledge. 
 The man was as weak as a child, and suffering 
 great pain. His left leg was swathed in strips 
 of cloth, blankets, anything that they could find 
 in camp to stop the bleeding, but the red flow 
 had soaked through, and it turned black in the 
 freezing air. 
 
 "Easy, boys, easy!" Lawson whispered as 
 they laid him on a pile of bagging which Guil- 
 laume had fastened to the sledge. 
 
 "Thanks, boys, you ve been mighty good to 
 me," the poor fellow called weakly as Bouchard 
 seated himself on the little space he had left at 
 the rear of the sledge for the purpose. 
 
 "That s O.K., Mike; good luck to ye, son!" 
 the whole crew shouted as they sped off. 
 
 The dogs did their best, Guillaume urging 
 them on from time to time, but what with the 
 heavy load arid the run they had just finished, 
 the pace was not as fast as before. The sun was 
 up now, but its rays could barely be felt; pale 
 and sickly it looked, peering out now and then 
 from the heavy, soggy masses of snow clouds. 
 (142)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 They came to the river again; the speed in 
 creased here. 
 
 " Ow, was dat you cut " 
 
 Cra-a-ack! Sw-a-a-asssssh ! The ice, thin 
 here over swift water, had let them through, 
 dogs, sledge and all ! 
 
 Guillaume grabbed the wounded man by his 
 capote collar; they both went under for an in 
 stant, but luckily when the ice broke it did so 
 over a large circumference, so that when Bou 
 chard came to the surface, pulling Lawson after 
 him, they had not been swept under the ice 
 beyond by the current. 
 
 "Oh, Dieu, oh, Dieul" Guillaume shouted 
 this again and again in his excitement and fear 
 for Lawson. The latter had lost consciousness. 
 By dint of crushing the weak edges of the hole 
 with his free arm, Guillaume reached strong ice 
 and struggled out, dragging the other. He 
 stared at the senseless man. 
 
 u Oh, bon Dieu an Laurier, w at do, w at 
 do?" 
 
 He felt the man s pulse; it was fairly strong. 
 Ice was forming on both of them; indeed, 
 when Guillaume moved, even now, his clothes 
 crackled. 
 
 (H3)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 "Eet two mile a half f om here; Ah goin 
 carry heem, par Dieu !" 
 
 No sooner had he decided what to do than 
 he did it. 
 
 He got Lawson on his own powerful back, 
 with the cut leg stuck forward through the crook 
 of his arm, and he started. 
 
 The violent exertion soon warmed him 
 through, but the other s clothes froze fast to 
 Guillaume s. He hurried frantically on, the 
 dogs, their harness dragging, following behind. 
 In less than an hour he saw the village in the 
 white distance and renewed his efforts. Pere 
 Donvalle saw him coming, and men came out to 
 help. Josephe and Raphael were the first to 
 reach him. 
 
 "Dat too damn badl" Josephe said as Guil- 
 laume, breathless, gasped out the story. 
 
 "Tak heem queeck to le Docteur, queeck you 
 can!" he begged, as the other two relieved him 
 of his heavy load. They staggered off, Guil- 
 laume coming more slowly. 
 
 As he drew nearer his eyes sought Lucille s 
 
 home ; he looked, but somehow he could not find 
 
 it in its accustomed place. He rubbed his face 
 
 and searched again ; then he saw a few charred 
 
 ( 144)
 
 He hurried frantically on
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 embers, that was all. A pang of agony went 
 through his every fiber. 
 
 "Lucille, Lucille!" he cried aloud and ran on. 
 
 With tears in his eyes he came to the house, 
 and was dully looking at the remains when an 
 adored voice called him. 
 
 "Guillaume, grand bebe !" He looked up at 
 the heavens first, and then saw Lucille coming 
 from a neighbor s home. 
 
 "Dieu and Laurier, merci!" 
 
 "You Mamman an Grandmamman an 
 Adolphe?" He scarcely dared listen to her 
 answer. 
 
 "All sauf by Raphael an Josephe; dey have 
 du grand courage !" 
 
 His heart sank within him at her words, and 
 he suddenly realized that he was terribly cold; 
 he turned away sadly, when she spoke again. 
 
 "Toi aussi, you have du grand courage !" He 
 came back swiftly, his arms half outstretched, 
 then he remembered the arrangement; no, he 
 could not in honor take advantage of Josephe 
 and Raphael s absence to glorify himself. 
 
 "Wen you are dress an warrm an have eat, 
 comme to de store; Ah have som ting for to 
 say." Lucille disappeared in the house. 
 d45)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 With a feeling of an impending great event 
 Guillaume changed his clothes, had a drink of 
 "w isky blanc," a bite to eat, then he rushed out, 
 having scarcely told his mother anything, though 
 she clamored for information. 
 
 To his astonishment the store was crowded 
 when he got there ; every one in the village was 
 on hand, all in their best clothes. He did not 
 understand. 
 
 "Aha, Guillaume, w at Ah tell to you ?" Old 
 Moutin grinned. "Lucille she goin mak 
 choose maintenant !" 
 
 The faces, the kettles, the boots, everything 
 danced for a moment before Guillaume s eyes, 
 but he gathered himself. 
 
 Josephe and Raphael came then and the three 
 stood silently together. 
 
 A happy laugh, a little song, and Lucille 
 appeared; the three drew long breaths. 
 
 "Dat Lawson, ow ees he?" she asked of 
 Josephe. The latter coughed, stuttered and 
 looked at Raphael, who nodded solemnly. 
 
 "De Docteur say he goin get well, but dat 
 eef Guillaume had no breeng heem so fas , den 
 la mort!" 
 
 The crowd sighed in admiration. 
 (146)
 
 ONE OF THREE 
 
 "Merci, my broddaire an my frien !" Bou 
 chard stammered. 
 
 "No merci necessaire; dees ees fair play een 
 honeur!" Raphael answered, and the three drew 
 themselves up proudly. 
 
 The girl looked at each. "Pleas go dere," 
 she said, pointing to an open space by the coun 
 ter. Then she was silent. Men and women 
 stood on cracker boxes, bags of flour, anything 
 that would lift them up, for was this not the 
 engagement of their favorite to one of three 
 men that worshiped her, and for each of whom 
 she had a warm corner in her heart? 
 
 "My frien s, Ah goin marrie dees man I" 
 She ran lightly across and threw her arms about 
 one of the three. The group laughed and 
 shouted, cheering and crying out good fortune 
 and happiness. Then they all departed silently, 
 leaving the girl and her choice, while the snow- 
 flakes drifted slowly to earth and the church bell 
 tolled the vesper hour. 
 
 (147)
 
 A Day s Work in the Mounted 
 Police
 
 A Day s Work in the Mounted 
 Police 
 
 "A NY complaints?" 
 
 /% One of the mounted policemen slid 
 .JL m wearily from his saddle as he spoke. 
 
 A November sky spread the cold yellow hues 
 of a stormy sunset over the endless prairies, and 
 a chill, strong wind mourned its desolate way 
 through the horses tails, whistling around the 
 corners of the squatter s shed with a doleful 
 whine that rose and fell monotonously. 
 
 A woman had come to the low door in answer 
 to their halloo and the two men looked at her 
 disconsolately. She rubbed her work-worn 
 hands together nervously. 
 
 "No ther hain t, leastways" she hesitated 
 and looked keenly past the horses, seeking to 
 pierce the winter s gloom that lay heavy over 
 the bare landscape "leastways, none that I can 
 tell on," she continued, with a catch in her voice. 
 "Jim ain t ter hum; ye d best stay th night; it s 
 
 (ISO
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 er goin ter snow, I guess, by th feelin . Yer 
 kin stable yer critters down in th shed an 
 welcome." 
 
 "I reckon we d better, Fred; it s a long thirty 
 mile to old Ned Blake s, and / think snow s 
 a-comin , too." 
 
 The other nodded and, still mounted, walked 
 his horse toward the shed. The first speaker 
 followed, leading his animal. The long, rick 
 ety building was down in a little roll of the 
 prairie, and as the two approached it a forlorn 
 old hen cackled harshly, and a pig, disturbed by 
 the sound of the horses feet, grunted and rustled 
 in the straw. 
 
 "Who s the old gal, Bert?" Fred asked, as 
 he undid his girths, the horse playfully nibbling 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Sho, forgot ye warn t over this route yet; 
 she s widder Gleeson; a feller called Jim Ste 
 phens lives yere; kinder helps round the farm, 
 y know !" and they both chuckled. 
 
 Bert Saunders was an old member of the 
 N. W. M. P.* The years had grown on his 
 broad back in the service, and, as he said, "I 
 hain t no good for nawthin else." 
 
 * Northwest Mounted Police. 
 
 (152)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 With gray hair and deep-set eyes that were 
 hardly to be seen behind fierce, bushy eyebrows, 
 Saunders showed that if age brings experience, 
 he must have his full share of it. The other was 
 a young man; tall, well built, a good horseman, 
 with a "good eye," but old Saunders would 
 quietly suggest that "he was a leetle too quick." 
 
 "Th widder seems to hev sum n on her 
 mind," Bert remarked, as they went back to the 
 house, "but tain t nawthin excitin , I ll bet; 
 mabbe she s lost a calf, or mabbe ol Jim got 
 some whisky som ere." 
 
 "Set ye down, boys, set right down near, till 
 I gets ye some vittles." The old woman hur 
 ried about, pottering among the kitchen imple 
 ments, or rather makeshifts for them, and rat 
 tling vigorously in a huge tin box that served as 
 tea-bag, salt-cellar, meat holder and bread 
 basket. 
 
 "Queer old place," Fred muttered, looking 
 about as they stood by the fire. 
 
 "Yes," Saunders answered, in a whisper, "an 
 ther used to be some queer doin s too, when 
 she" he jerked his thumb toward the kitchen 
 "was a young oman." 
 
 The inside of the main room was dark and 
 (153)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 dingy with age and dirt. A huge four-poster 
 bed stood in one corner, the blankets on it rolled 
 up in a tangled heap, and the shabby, ragged pil 
 lows had evidently been used as footstools. Old 
 cowhide boots stuck out from beneath the bed, 
 and overalls with a strange assortment of clothes 
 dangled ungracefully from pegs all about. The 
 candles spluttered and flickered, giving out but 
 faint, weak rays of light that scarce illumined 
 the long, narrow room. 
 
 "Thar, ye kin eat!" Widow Gleeson drew 
 up the dangerously tottering stools, and seated 
 herself on the edge of the bed while the two men 
 began their supper. For some minutes nothing 
 was to be heard but the metallic clinking of the 
 tinware, and the gurgling sips Saunders took of 
 the hot tea. 
 
 "I m damn glad we re in here, instead of 
 
 fightin our way to Blake s; listen to that " 
 
 Fred said then. 
 
 "Gosh, yes!" 
 
 The threatened snow had come outside, 
 brought by a gale of wind. The particles were 
 hard frozen and battered viciously in their mil 
 lion numbers against the walls, while the wind 
 screamed fitfully. When supper was over the 
 (154)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 men got out their pipes and smoked by the crack 
 ling fire, whose flames shot up the flue in straight, 
 roaring lines, drawn by the fierce draught. 
 
 "No complaints, d ye say, Widder?" Bert 
 asked slowly, rubbing the tobacco fine between 
 his palms. She fidgeted nervously, then hesi 
 tated again, seemingly listening for something. 
 
 "Nawthin that I can tell on, but Jim, he 
 hain t been good ter me lately; hit me with th 
 axe handle two weeks go, an cussed som n orful 
 becos I didn t have no whisky; ye boys know thet 
 since ye ve be n so sharp a-watchin them fellers 
 cross the line it s purty hard ter get whisky, 
 ain t it, now?" she finished, appealingly. 
 
 "Yes, Widder, we re lookin arter em purty 
 close now, sure," and Saunders laughed; "it s 
 tol ably hard ter run th liquor over inter Can- 
 ady now! Wall, what about Jim? What s he 
 done?" The chance question told, and the old 
 woman was startled. 
 
 "How d ye know?" she whispered. 
 
 "Don t, but I m guessin ." 
 
 "Now, boys, I don t know nawthin , but since 
 I corned back from Uncle Jack s I went over 
 thar when Jim got c ntanker us, ye know I 
 seed som n funny bout h ar; look ahere 1" 
 (155)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 She reached down and pulled out one of the 
 cowhide boots. Saunders examined the rough, 
 worn leather carefully; then he gave a short, 
 sharp whistle. Any one that knew Bert s ways 
 would have realized that something was wrong, 
 and Fred did know the old fellow well, having 
 made many a ride and route with him; therefore 
 he leaned forward eagerly. 
 
 Saunders turned the boot over and over. 
 
 "How long s Jim had these yer boots?" 
 
 "They hain t hisn!" the woman answered 
 quickly. 
 
 "Oh, ho! so they hain t Jim s? Did ye ever 
 see em afore?" 
 
 "Um mm," and a strong negative shake of 
 her head. 
 
 "Looks like blood, don t it, Bert?" 
 
 "Looks like blood an es blood." 
 
 Saunders put the boot down. "We ll look 
 round a mite, Widder." 
 
 With stolid eyes the woman watched them 
 searching here and there, peering into dark cor 
 ners, shaking old baggings while the dust rose in 
 clouds. 
 
 "Here s something!" Fred called, and held 
 up a red-stained block of wood that he had 
 (156)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 found under the mess of plow chains and old 
 metal. 
 
 The older man examined it as carefully as he 
 had the boot, and again whistled sharply to him 
 self; the block he put by the boot. 
 
 "Look furder, Fred." They hunted and 
 prodded in silence, then Saunders turned on his 
 heel. 
 
 "Looky here, Widder, what you got gin 
 Jim?" 
 
 The old woman seemed to shrivel and her 
 eyes grew large and black. 
 
 "Nawthin , cept he s cross an I m sick o 
 him," she answered shortly. 
 
 "H m," and they searched again. 
 
 "When did Jim go way?" 
 
 "Three days ago, jus afore the last snow." 
 
 "Where dhego?" 
 
 "Dunno; said as he was goin ter Rickson s, 
 but he allus wuz a liar." 
 
 "H m, Rickson s; that s eighty mile by the 
 trail," Saunders said more to himself than for 
 the benefit of the others. 
 
 "How d he go ride?" 
 
 "Yep, took th horse, an I kin stay here an 
 starve, or walk out, I s pose !" 
 
 (157)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 They found nothing more, though the search 
 had been long and thorough. 
 
 "What do you think about it, Bert?" 
 
 "I hain t thought nuff yet; let ye know in th 
 mornin ; better turn in now!" 
 
 He pulled off the long service boots and 
 stretched his feet gratefully to the fire. The 
 old woman watched them awhile longer, then 
 took a candle and crawled slowly up the shaky 
 ladder that led to the small attic over one end of 
 the long room. 
 
 "You boys kin hev the bed," she called down. 
 
 Saunders looked at the mess of clothes. "I 
 guess not for mine, Fred; I ll roll up in the 
 blankets right here." 
 
 "The same for me !" Fred got their blankets 
 from their saddle rolls they had brought in, and 
 unfolded them on the rough floor. They took 
 off their coats, and these, with the long fur ca 
 potes, made excellent pillows. 
 
 When the candles were out, and the tiny glows 
 at the ends of the wicks had vanished, the 
 interior was dark save for the ember glow, and 
 silent save for the storm sounds outside. 
 
 Gust on gust the fierce breaths shook the old 
 timbers till they creaked, drone on drone came 
 (158)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 from the flue, and the bitter cold air found its 
 way through the cracks in the floor, biting the 
 men s faces as they lay rolled in the warm, blue 
 wool blankets. 
 
 Just then the door blew inward, burst by a 
 gust more powerful than the others. 
 
 "Damn, damn !" Fred grumbled, as he got 
 up slowly to close it. He looked out first. It 
 was a wild winter s night on the prairie. In the 
 faint snow sheen the short distances were hazy 
 and vague, laden with hurtling masses of white. 
 Overhead the sky was dark, but the heavy cloud 
 banks were black, and their dim shapes could 
 faintly be seen tearing in great rent and split 
 masses across the heavens. Fred shivered as he 
 pushed the boards into the aperture and fastened 
 it with a bar of wood. 
 
 "The horses 11 catch it t night," he muttered 
 as he curled up again. It seemed to him that 
 he was hardly asleep when something moving 
 caught his attention. He lay quiet, listening 
 intently, trying to locate the sound. From his 
 position he could just see the foot of the attic 
 ladder, as it was between him and the window; 
 then a black something came between him and 
 the faint white reflection. It moved aside. 
 (159)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 u Th old woman! What s she want?" he 
 whispered, his lips scarcely moving. The dull 
 scrape of a sulphur match came to him softly in 
 answer, and he shut his eyes to slits. The blue 
 flame spluttered into life, then came the yellow 
 shine, and he saw the widow carefully light a 
 candle stub under cover of her hands. Its light 
 came redly through the flesh of the fingers. 
 
 She looked a long time at the sleeping men, 
 and the policeman felt his eyes twitch and jerk 
 with the strain. Then she turned her back and 
 moved noiselessly to the far end of the building. 
 She stopped there, looking back, and Fred 
 started at the ugly expression on her face. She 
 shook her gnarled fist at the two, then leaned 
 over and began pulling and tugging at some of 
 the floor boards. Now wide awake and alert, 
 Fred sat up carefully under cover of the blanket 
 and watched. At last she got one of the boards 
 well up and drew a long something from the 
 bosom of her tattered dress. The policeman 
 looked hard, but could only see that it seemed 
 black, and a piece of cloth. 
 
 As slowly the woman dropped the thing in 
 the hole, lowered the board, quietly replaced the 
 things that had been on it and turned to 
 (160)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 come Hack. Quick as he was she saw Fred 
 drop. 
 
 Instantly the candle went out and everything 
 was quiet save for the weird sounds of the wind. 
 
 He felt for his revolver, and was about to call 
 Saunders, when the bar at the door was violently 
 pushed aside, the door itself flew open, and he 
 caught a fleeting glimpse of a muffled figure 
 sneaking out. 
 
 "Halt there !" he shouted, but the wind 
 forced the sound of his voice into his throat. 
 
 "W s matter?" Saunders asked, sleepily. 
 
 "Wake up, man, quick! Something s 
 wrong!" 
 
 As though to the bugle call the other was out 
 of the blankets and on his feet, revolver in hand. 
 The two stood still for an instant in the dark 
 ness, the snow piling coldly on the floor. 
 
 "The old woman s skedaddled," he called 
 then, and hurried over to the corner where he 
 had seen her mysterious actions. 
 
 In his haste he broke match after match try 
 ing to get a light. 
 
 "Take it easy, boy, take it easy!" Saunders 
 followed him over. 
 
 "What s all this anyhow? What ye doin ?" 
 (161)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 as Fred hauled at the boards, tossing everything 
 right and left. He got them up and the light 
 showed a dark, long hole dug in the earth. He 
 leaned over, lowering the candle. 
 
 "Holy tickets, Bert, look at that I" 
 
 The other craned his neck. "He hain t be n 
 dead more n two days neither!" he said slowly; 
 "she s done it, an tried fer ter set us on this 
 same pore feller, so s we d go ter Rickson s ter- 
 morrer an give her a chanst to git out. The 
 ol varmint didn t expec us till next week. I 
 tol ye we were early on this route. Well, come 
 on an find her; she ain t far t night; hidin in 
 th barn, mos likely. Hell of a job to take her 
 ter th post, now, ain t it?" So, talking quietly, 
 with the coolness of long years at this sort of 
 work, Saunders calmly pulled on his boots, while 
 the younger man chafed at the delay. 
 
 "Look out she don t shoot ye, Fred; may hev 
 her gun," he advised, as the two, with lowered 
 heads, went out into the fury of the night. 
 
 They reached the shed ; the thatch door was 
 wide open. 
 
 "She s in there all right." Saunders stood at 
 the entrance. "Come out, ye 
 
 we ve got ye, ye !" 
 
 ( 162 )
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Slowly Bert s anger grew, and he swore at 
 the black interior. 
 
 His voice echoed each time very faintly in 
 the straw-smelling place. 
 
 "Le s go in an haul her out come on!" 
 
 They went, and Fred struck a light. 
 
 "The horses!" he gasped. Saunders turned; 
 the horses were gone. 
 
 "Out wi ye quick, less ye want ter walk! 
 Strike fer Blake s; she won t go agin this 
 wind for Rickson s, an I don t believe she can 
 manage them horses, not both on em, any 
 how!" 
 
 They floundered on to the trail, discernible 
 only under the snow by its flatness, and hurried 
 along it as fast as they could. The snow hin 
 dered them more and more, piling against their 
 legs and creeping up under their trousers, where 
 it clung freezingly. 
 
 "There s one of em !" Saunders shrieked, as 
 a black object came in sight just off the track. 
 They came up to it; one of the horses, and 
 cleverly hobbled ! The poor brute stood there 
 helpless, its mane and tail heavily laden with ice 
 particles, the nostrils edges solid and eyes tight
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 frozen. When the hobble was cut it moved 
 stiffly. 
 
 Saunders started to mount. "Get out o that," 
 and Fred shoved him aside; "I ll go! Ye ain t 
 fit to go on such a night as this; ye r a better 
 man fer it, but I m younger, and you ll freeze 
 thout yer fur; go back and wait. I ll find her 
 if she s between here and Blake s!" and he rode 
 off, hearing Saunders curses but for an instant. 
 The latter turned against the flying snow sheets. 
 
 "He s a good un, jus same," he muttered. 
 "Gosh, it s damn cold! I believe I must be 
 gettin old after all." He went back to the 
 house and built up the dead fire. 
 
 Meanwhile Fred struggled on. Little by lit 
 tle the horse recovered its strength and moved 
 faster, but the cold began to tell on the man s 
 body, damp from the exertion of the run he had 
 had. He got the horse into a gallop and swung 
 his arms viciously. 
 
 "That s better," he whispered, as the flying 
 scud showed brighter in the east. He kept on 
 steadily and daylight grew; the snow drifted 
 worse and worse. The little horse labored 
 badly, sank into a trot, and from that to a walk, 
 hanging its head and licking the snow. 
 (164)
 
 "/ // shoot!" h, \cllcd
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 Then far ahead the policeman saw a speck, 
 and urged the horse to a trot again. 
 
 "That s her," he said aloud, in a few 
 moments. 
 
 The distance between them lessened. There, 
 astride of the other stolen mount, was the old 
 woman, her head and body wrapped in an Indian 
 rabbit-skin blanket; the horse was walking 
 steadily along, she huddled in the saddle. She 
 heard nothing because of the noises of the wind 
 till Fred reached her side. 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 She stuck her face out, saw him, and, before 
 the man could move, grabbed her bridle, jerked 
 the horse off the trail and galloped across the 
 snow plains. 
 
 He drew his revolver. 
 
 "I ll shoot!" he yelled, but he might as well 
 have thought it for all she heard. 
 
 "By God, I will shoot!" he swore, and took 
 aim. "Great tickets, can t I catch her? I will!" 
 and away he went, firing twice in the air to try 
 to intimidate the fleeing figure, but without suc 
 cess. His horse stumbled, gathered itself and 
 stumbled again, and he saw that she would get 
 away from him. 
 
 (165)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 "I ll have to shoot the horse. Poor old Bill; 
 but I ll have that woman, so help me 1" 
 
 He drew up, took aim and fired. 
 
 "Too low 1" as a spit of snow rose behind the 
 other horse. 
 
 Bang! 
 
 "Too far to the left!" 
 
 Bang! 
 
 "Got him !" as the brute staggered to and fro. 
 
 He moved on slowly and came up to the 
 fugitive. 
 
 The ugly face peered at him through the 
 blankets. 
 
 "I ve got you now; get off that horse!" 
 
 She did not move; he dismounted, grabbed 
 the blankets and yanked her off. 
 
 Another shot and the wounded beast was 
 dead. He patted the lifeless head as it lay on 
 the snow. 
 
 "Poor old Bill good horse !" he said, husk 
 ily; "you died for the service." He turned 
 savagely. 
 
 "Now you walk, d ye hear? Walk!" He 
 waited. No move from the shape on the crust. 
 
 "I ll kill yer if you don t get up !" 
 
 "Ye dassent," she snarled then, speaking for 
 (166)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 the first time. He coaxed, threatened, promised 
 all to no end. 
 
 Then he picked her up, slung her over his sad 
 dle, fastened her there, stripped the dead horse 
 of its saddle and bridle and fastened them on 
 his own. 
 
 "I ll have to walk; the hoss can t carry both," 
 and so they started, he leading, bridle rein over 
 his arm. 
 
 The exercise warmed him, as he was chilled 
 through and through and his ears were frozen. 
 He rubbed snow on them as he went on. They 
 proceeded thus for some time. 
 
 "Funny I don t hit that trail!" He led the 
 way to a snow rise. As far as he could see in 
 the now full gray light were moving clouds of 
 snow; no flat anywhere, nothing but hills or 
 hollows that appeared and vanished between the 
 squalls. 
 
 "Here, you !" He shook the mass in the 
 saddle roughly. "Where are we?" 
 
 "S pose I m goin ter tell?" the cracked voice 
 answered fiercely. 
 
 "But we ll die out here I m lost!" 
 
 "S pose I care? They ll kill me at the Post 
 fer killin Jim what s th dif rence?" 
 ( 16?)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 "You admit murdering Jim?" he shouted. 
 
 She nodded, as he could tell by the shaking 
 of the blankets. 
 
 "Here s a fine outfit," he said to himself. "A 
 clear, good case; maybe stripes if I land her at 
 the Post, and certain death if I don t find the 
 way!" 
 
 He thought hard and an idea came. 
 
 He put the bridle rein over the horse s head 
 again, patted it, and stroked its ice-hung muzzle. 
 Then he stood aside, and struck its back sharply 
 with his hand. 
 
 The horse threw up its nose, hesitated, then 
 swerved sharp to the right and started to trot. 
 Fred ran behind, holding it lightly by the tail. 
 On the animal went, its ears pricked forward, 
 life in its movements where it had been sluggard 
 and slow. Sometimes walking, then trotting 
 again, but always moving decisively, the horse 
 kept on. 
 
 The man was tired and the snow chafed his 
 ankles and legs badly. His body was warm, but 
 his hands, feet and face pained severely. They 
 came up over a rise, and the long-familiar house 
 stood just beyond. 
 
 "Thank God !" he muttered incoherently, and 
 (168)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 kissed the poor frozen muzzle again and again. 
 The animal seemed to understand and tried to 
 nip his hand. 
 
 Saunders was waiting. 
 
 "Ye got her?" was the first question. 
 
 "Sure!" 
 
 "Where s my Bill?" 
 
 When Fred told the story the old sergeant s 
 face quivered hard, but, "A good horse was 
 Bill, an many miles I ve done wi him!" was 
 all he said. 
 
 He helped to undo the lashings, and the 
 blanketed figure dropped into his arms. 
 
 "Here, none o that stand up 1" He let go 
 and it fell inert. 
 
 "Froze a mite, I guess." 
 
 Saunders pulled aside the blankets. The face 
 he saw leered up at him white and lifeless, the 
 eyes open and dull set. With a curse he drew 
 the blankets back. A short knife was driven in 
 over the heart, and the old, worn hand was still 
 fast to the handle. 
 
 "D ye know this?" he asked. 
 
 "God! no," Fred answered. "I saw nothing, 
 cept when the horse started out right the blank 
 ets moved a trifle." 
 
 (169)
 
 A DAY S WORK 
 
 "That s it, then; she knowed th way, an 
 when she seed you was a-comin right she did 
 this job ; wouldn t that beat all ? Wall," he con 
 tinued, with a sigh, "it s all in the day s world" 
 
 ( 170)
 
 Jean Baptiste s Christmas Present
 
 Jean Baptiste s Christmas Present 
 
 SMOKE curled lazily from the top of the 
 birch-bark tepee and drifted away until 
 it was lost among the dark pines. The 
 morning air was biting cold and the crust on the 
 snow crackled sharply as two puppies rolled and 
 snapped at each other on it. Then one obtained 
 a firm hold of his comrade s ear; the result was 
 a long screech from the persecuted one. The 
 blanket over the tepee entrance was pushed aside 
 and Jean Baptiste stepped out. 
 
 "Ah, you leet diables, alway mak nois ! 
 Marche-on, allez!" Baptiste looked up at the 
 heavens; they were threatening and dull; great 
 brows of cloud writhed and twisted along, 
 though there was no wind in the forest. Then 
 his eyes swept the long white horizon that 
 showed here and there through the trees. 
 
 "Mor snow, by dam !" he muttered as he 
 gathered up some wood at his feet. "Marie, 
 mak dejeuner queeck; Ah mus go see de trap 
 befor de storm he come !" 
 
 ( 173)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 "B en oui," a woman s voice answered from 
 inside the wigwam. 
 
 Baptiste threw the wood past the blanket 
 door, and proceeded to feed his six dogs with 
 pemmican. They fought at once over the food. 
 
 "An you, Rico, you gourmand, alway steal 
 somet ing f om oddaire. By gar, Ah geef you 
 keeckl" 
 
 Jean landed a rapid thrust with his toe, and 
 the shaggy brute drew away growling. 
 
 Then silently the white flakes eddied down; 
 in groups and one by one they gathered on the 
 bark of the little home, clustered on the far- 
 reaching branches of the firs and hemlocks, and 
 filtered slowly through the pine needles. 
 
 "Wee-se-ne! [Breakfast!]" 
 
 Baptiste brushed the snow from his arms and 
 shoulders, stamped his moccasins free of it, and 
 went in. 
 
 A small fire burned hotly in the center ; a girl 
 sat beside it, gently shaking a frying-pan; a 
 pannikin of tea, some pieces of bread and meat, 
 and a bit of salt pork formed the breakfast fare. 
 Jean spoke seldom during the meal, and Marie 
 had curled herself up again in the rabbit-skin 
 blankets. 
 
 (174)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 "B en adieu, cherie; Ah be back een two day 
 a half eff no too beeg storm." 
 
 He bent over the delicate brown face and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "Certainement be back, Jean?" the girl asked 
 with a little catch in her voice. 
 
 "Certainement." And Baptiste picked up his 
 snowshoes, an axe, and a blanket in which Marie 
 had put provisions; then he laughed softly. 
 
 "Wen you expec " 
 
 "Non, Jean; no say dat," she answered shyly. 
 
 He went back and sat down beside her. 
 
 "Tell to moi, your Jean, cherie, so dat Ah be 
 sure know, hein?" 
 
 She hid her face in his skin capote. 
 
 "Ah be ici sans doute." He laughed gayly. 
 "Au revoir, bo jou , bo jou , petite!" 
 
 "Bo jou , bo jou ," she answered steadily, 
 though her big brown eyes were troubled and 
 moist. He was gone. 
 
 No sound save a faint whisper of the forest 
 caused by the wind that was coming slowly. 
 Then the two puppies, lonely now that the dogs 
 were away, nosed their way past the blanket and 
 stretched themselves by the dying fire. Marie 
 lay there, thinking, wondering, sometimes sleep- 
 
 (175)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 ing, while the storm grew outside till the forest 
 creaked and shook and its branches waved 
 wildly to and fro. Suddenly a powerful blast 
 brushed the blanket at the entrance aside, and 
 whirled in, carrying myriads of snow particles, 
 and waving the rabbit furs over the girl in tur 
 bulent ridges. She sat up, wakened by the cold, 
 clammy bits on her face. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, vat tempete I" she whispered, and 
 stood up. Her figure was not as lithe and slim 
 as it had been some months before, and she 
 seemed weak. Before fastening the blanket 
 again, she looked out. Everywhere the snow, 
 tossed and tumbled by the wind, drove in 
 white sheets across the tiny clearing; she could 
 hear the angry roaring of the pines and dis 
 tinguish the whistling of the firs and the fierce 
 droning of the hemlocks as gust after gust 
 swept madly through them. 
 
 "Misere, misere!" she murmured, and built 
 up the fire. The puppies whined at being dis 
 turbed and crept close to her. The girl then 
 boiled some tea and ate a little food, but very 
 little, and lay down again in the furs. Slowly 
 the hours dragged by, but the storm yowled on 
 with unabated force; gradually the gray light
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 that came through the fire-hole in the tepee-top 
 faded. From time to time Marie threw wood 
 on the fire. Then it was dark. No light in the 
 wigwam but that of the bright-red embers that 
 cast their shadows on the circular bark wall; 
 their glow was vague and mysterious because 
 the gale sounds overcame the faint cracklings, 
 and the fire-eyes shone ruddy and noiseless. A 
 tin kettle in the corner diffused a green-white 
 reflection on one spot, and the girl watched it 
 unconsciously. 
 
 Suddenly the puppies jumped up and barked 
 not really barked, but did their best in short 
 yelps and diminutive howls. Marie was wide 
 awake instantly and listened. No unusual sound 
 could she hear, but the dogs scratched and dug 
 valiantly at the blanket she had securely fast 
 ened. The girl moved to rise, when a heavy 
 body fell against the entrance and rolled almost 
 to her feet, tearing the door with it. Marie 
 leaped to her feet and stared, frightened at 
 first. The body lay there motionless. 
 
 "Vone mans, b en vrai !" she whispered, hold 
 ing the rabbit-skins about her. She went over 
 softly and listened; no sound came from the 
 blurred heap beside the embers. Then she
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 leaned over and pulled from the man s face the 
 blanket in which he was entangled. 
 
 "Bon Dieu!" she screamed, and looked 
 again. 
 
 The face she saw was of snowy whiteness, 
 except for a small round hole just under the 
 black, dank hair, from which a red stream 
 trickled heavily. The eyes were closed and the 
 mouth was drawn out of shape with pain. To 
 see better, she hurriedly threw nearly all the 
 stock of wood Baptiste had left for her on the 
 fire, and furiously blew at the embers till a 
 strong blaze cast a lurid yellow glare in the 
 interior. She bent down and listened at the 
 man s chest, then started up in alarm. 
 
 "Jesu Christ! he alive an Ah have netting 
 for do for heem," she cried. The silence after 
 her words was greater than ever. The wind 
 had decreased and now sobbed fitfully; between 
 the gusts the stillness was absolute. 
 
 Then from afar in the white distance came 
 the long, mournful howl of a wolf. The sound 
 startled her, and her senses were at once alert; 
 she chafed the man s hands and face with snow, 
 listening now and again at his heart. Little by 
 little its beats grew stronger and more regular; 
 (178)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 at last his eyes opened and roved blankly over 
 the little interior. 
 
 "Ni-be, nibe! . [Water!]" he whispered. 
 
 Marie poured a thin stream between his 
 parched lips. 
 
 "Miguetch! [Thanks!]" But in the big, 
 wandering eyes there was a look of terror, the 
 fear of a hunted animal. 
 
 The girl questioned him softly in the Ojibway 
 language, but he did not understand; then she 
 tried French, but without success; in despair, she 
 lapsed into the broken English frequently used 
 by the Indians in conversing with men of differ 
 ent tribes whose language they do not know. 
 
 "Who you?" 
 
 "Gwinguish," he muttered feebly. "Cree 
 f om Longue Lac. Hodsonbaie mans send po 
 lice aftaire win [me] for why Ah have no skins 
 for paie de debt." Here he coughed, and the 
 exertion started again the red flow from the tiny 
 round hole under his hair. With deft fingers 
 the girl wound her handkerchief about the 
 wound and pressed it down firmly with her long, 
 thin hands. The flow ceased. 
 
 "Las night," the weak voice began again, 
 "de police mak shootin at win. I fallin down 
 
 ( 179)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 een de snow and mak hide een bush; dey go 
 pas win, an Ah comme creep, creep, t rough 
 de fores teel Ah fin dees place. Baim-by de 
 police fin de track my snowshoe an comme dees 
 
 place, an " The Indian s voice trailed off 
 
 in a groan, and he rolled over, unconscious. 
 
 "Bon Dieu !" Marie whispered to herself. 
 "Bon Dieu ! pauvre diable ! Ef Jean vas onlee 
 here ! Maintenant vat Ah do?" She went to 
 the entrance and listened; the storm had gone 
 and the forest loomed massive and black against 
 the dim, cold light of the snow underneath and 
 beyond. No sound not a whisper disturbed 
 the throbbing stillness. Uneven and jagged, 
 the tops of the firs and hemlocks pointed straight 
 upward to the heavens, where the northern 
 lights fluttered and streamed in long pennants 
 of drifting, shifting vividness. 
 
 "De tempete gone! Jean no back two day! 
 Vat Ah do?" She spoke aloud in her distress. 
 "Ah no can go fin heem; am no strong nough. 
 An ef de police Dieu !" She almost screamed 
 then, as through the forest she heard the clink 
 ing of bits and the muffled plod, plod of horses 
 feet in the heavy snow. Instantly she leaped 
 back into the wigwam, her weakness and her ex- 
 ( 180)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 pected child forgotten, and in her terror she 
 shook the wounded Indian roughly. 
 
 "Ah ah ah!" he groaned, and opened his 
 eyes. 
 
 "De police dey come!" she hissed. The 
 words seared his mind and forced his brain to 
 action; he tried to stagger up, but fell helpless. 
 
 "Be quiet say notting!" she hissed again, 
 covered his face with her rabbit blankets, rolled 
 him by main force into a corner, his back to the 
 fire, and leaped again to the entrance. 
 
 "Hillo! Hillo! Bo jou I" 
 
 The mounted police six of them had 
 reached the little clearing and stopped, seeing 
 the tepee. 
 
 "Bo jou , bo jou !" she answered steadily, 
 though her heart-beats suffocated her. "What 
 ees?" 
 
 "We air looking for a damned scamp named 
 Gwinguish; fired at him yesterday, saw blood 
 on the snow, and lost him when this rotten storm 
 came up. Haven t seen him, have you?" 
 
 The girl clutched at her throat, as though to 
 force her voice to steady speech. 
 
 "Non," she answered; "no see t all." 
 
 "Curse the luck!" The man slid from his 
 (181)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 saddle as he spoke. "Chasing about this God 
 forsaken country, and then to miss our man! 
 We " 
 
 "Whose wigwam s this?" one of the police 
 asked in Ojibway. 
 
 "Jean Baptiste," Marie answered bravely. 
 
 "Free trapper?" 
 
 Mto[Yes]." 
 
 "We ll stop here and feed the horses, Ah-teg," 
 the first man ordered; and the six tethered their 
 horses to trees and drew the dark-blue blankets 
 carefully over them. 
 
 "Got fire?" he asked, and the girl nodded. 
 
 The police stalked into the tepee, their spurs 
 tinkling in the silence. 
 
 Marie shivered, and entered after them. 
 
 "Who s that?" the leader asked quickly as 
 the fire blazed up, pointing to the figure under 
 the rabbit-skins. 
 
 "Baptiste." Her voice quivered, then was 
 steady again. "He hurt hees foot yes day." 
 
 "Too bad." 
 
 Soon the rattling of tea-pannikins filled the 
 tepee, while the police joked and laughed, some 
 times cursing their luck and the weather, and 
 wondering if they could still catch Gwinguish. 
 (182)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 "He s making for Wabinoosh, sure." 
 
 "I don t think so; more likely to try for Fort 
 Hope, and hide among the Indians there." 
 
 "Say," the one who spoke Ojibway stood 
 up, tall and swarthy in the yellow light, "Ah 
 goin tak look round." 
 
 "Go ahead, Michele; go ahead, and wel 
 come." The sergeant chuckled as the man went 
 out. "Always looking for things he can t find; 
 but, by ! he s a good trailer, boys! If it 
 hadn t been for that cursed snowstorm, he d 
 have found our man sure enough." 
 
 Marie said nothing, but her heart was full of 
 fear, because she knew that but little snow had 
 fallen since Gwinguish had come, and that Mi 
 chele was one of the best trackers in the whole 
 mounted police force. She reasoned that the 
 Indian would in all probability find the waver 
 ing, wandering tracks made that night, and she 
 shuddered at the result, because a short shrift is 
 given thieves of the Hudson Bay Company, and 
 she was friendly to the poor devil who sought to 
 evade the company s crushing maw, because her 
 husband was a free trader and trapper. 
 
 As the police ate and drank, the fear at her 
 heart became unbearable. Strangely weak and 
 ( 183)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 dizzy she felt; nevertheless she stood up, and 
 with wavering steps sought the cold air outside. 
 Daylight was just coming over the eastern hori 
 zon. Leaning against the bark walls, she caught 
 her breath quickly at seeing the tracker, Michele, 
 hunting here and there like a hound, his dark 
 figure dimly discernible in the faint light. As 
 she stood there, a hand was laid on her shoulder, 
 its fingers gripping her flesh. 
 
 "Jean," she sobbed, as the gaunt face peered 
 into hers, "Gwinguish, honted, shot by police, 
 een dere. Ah tell dat heem you. Pauvre diable, 
 sauf heem for me!" And she fainted. 
 
 Jean Baptiste carefully laid Marie on the 
 snow. "Cherie !" he muttered; "alway do some- 
 t ing good ! Ah sauf Gwinguish." He straight 
 ened up and listened. 
 
 Within the tepee the policemen laughed and 
 chatted; without all was stillness, and his trained 
 ears caught the light scrunch, scrunch of the 
 tracker s feet as the latter sought here and there. 
 
 Baptiste stiffened on his snowshoes. 
 
 "By gar, dose confoun police! Ah goin 
 fooldem!" 
 
 He moved noiselessly to the tepee entrance, 
 his snowshoes clicking but very softly. Then 
 (184)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 dashing the blanket aside "You all too beeg 
 dam fool for to catch moi !" he called loudly, 
 and darted away among the gray and black 
 trunks. 
 
 "The devil!" The sergeant jumped to his 
 feet. "Gwinguish, by all that s holy!" He 
 sprang to the entrance. "Michele! Blast you, 
 you red devil, you re not worth your salt ! Here s 
 our man just here." The six tumbled helter- 
 skelter into the clearing, rushed to their horses, 
 rolled the blankets in a heap on the saddle-bows, 
 and galloped away in the gloom. 
 
 Baptiste, the storm having covered his track, 
 had decided to return to his camp for two rea 
 sons: the expectation of a "papoose" and the 
 fact that fur was not plenty at the time of a 
 heavy fall of snow. 
 
 When he approached his tepee he had heard 
 the voices of the mounted police, and, free trap 
 per though he was, had thought it best not to 
 approach too openly. He left his dogs and 
 sledge in the timber, crept carefully, met Marie, 
 heard her warning and appeal, and was first 
 with the task, a difficult one enough, of leading 
 the police a vain chase. 
 
 The bushes had scarce closed behind his figure 
 (185)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 when they parted again as Michele slunk rapidly 
 after the flying figure. 
 
 "Allez!" The team leaped to their work. 
 Jean was a light man, and the sledge whirred 
 fast over the snow. 
 
 "Matche Manito!" Michele cursed as he 
 floundered after; then, raising his head, he 
 whooped, "Ho-e-e-e-a!" 
 
 Far off to the right the police answered, and 
 he waited for them. Gray, pink, purple, the 
 night clouds drifted away, hued by the coming 
 sun, whose rays pierced the somberness of the 
 forest and tinged the snow-laden branches white, 
 gold, and silver. 
 
 Nearer and nearer the horses feet sounded; 
 then: 
 
 "Damnation ! Michele, where in thunder d 
 he go?" 
 
 "Dees way," and he pointed out the sledge 
 trail. 
 
 "After him after him, men!" And away 
 they went, the horses lurching heavily, the men 
 growling and swearing. 
 
 Back at the tepee, Marie opened her eyes and 
 struggled to her feet. Everything was silent; 
 the sun, two hours up, gilded the horizon in a 
 (186)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 dazzling glare. "Jean, Jean," she murmured 
 vaguely, then she remembered. Her weak foot 
 steps roused the figure in the blankets in the 
 tepee, and Gwinguish sat up. 
 
 "Who you ?" he began, blankly staring before 
 him. 
 
 With feverish haste the girl knelt at his 
 side. 
 
 "Jean, he follow by police. Dey t ink heem 
 you; Ah say so! You go way queeck!" 
 
 "Ai-hai," he moaned, and tried to stand up. 
 A lurch, a stagger, and he fell, while Marie 
 stood by, weak and dizzy. 
 
 "Stan up stan up an go!" she begged. 
 
 Again and again the wounded man tried, but 
 always he tumbled at her feet. 
 
 Then the tears forced their way to the girl s 
 eyes; she understood at last that she was help 
 less, while the police were on her husband s 
 trail. She sat down wearily by the faint embers 
 of the fire, and waited. 
 
 Higher and higher the winter sun climbed in 
 the heavens. Drip, drip, drip ! the snow melt 
 ing, in its heat, dropped to the crust beneath. 
 Silence in the timber deep silence. The pup 
 pies played outside, their sharp yelping echoing 
 (187)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 among the stalwart trunks and dark-green 
 recesses. 
 
 "Hurrah!" And again, "H-u-r-r-a-h !" 
 
 With many whoopings and yells the mounted 
 police came to the clearing again. Lashed se 
 curely behind a trooper was Jean Baptiste. They 
 had him cornered in a blind gorge behind the 
 mountains and captured him. 
 
 Stillness reigned in the wigwam as they ap 
 proached. McPherson slipped from his horse 
 and looked in. 
 
 "Whisht, b ys; there s a chyild amang em 
 nou !" 
 
 The other five dismounted and slid Baptiste 
 from the horse. 
 
 "Strange, lads, that he ain t wounded ! Sure 
 we saw blood way out t other side o Mackenzie 
 Mountain !" They searched the prisoner for a 
 wound, but not even a scratch rewarded their 
 efforts, Jean meanwhile standing mute and firm 
 before them. 
 
 "Well, we got him, anyhow," one policeman 
 said cheerfully, "woun or nae woun ; but tis 
 vera, vera cur ous, na theless," he finished in 
 a whisper. 
 
 As the police talked and built a fire, Gwin- 
 (188)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 guish, inside the tepee, heard, understood, and 
 staggered to his feet. His head troubled him 
 frightfully, but in the corner his bleared eyes 
 saw the girl, and, tottering body and soul as he 
 was, he understood what she had done for him. 
 He fell to his knees, then rolled over, picked 
 himself up again, dragged his body the length of 
 the tepee, and crawled out. 
 
 "What s this? An , i faith, f t is Baptise!" 
 the sergeant said; then, seeing the blood-soaked 
 neckerchief over the forehead "but the girrl 
 said he d hurted his foot." 
 
 Gwinguish, by an awful effort, got to his 
 knees. Jean stood silent and grave, looking at 
 him. 
 
 "No Baptiste me. Me Gwinguish you shoot 
 yes day; de girl, hees eqwe [woman], she tell 
 you me heem; he try for let me get way. Ah 
 m m guetch [thanks] to heem; tak me no 
 heem!" The body of the senseless man sagged 
 between Baptiste and the sergeant. 
 
 "I ll be clean damned!" the latter muttered. 
 
 Unnoticed, Saunders, the youngest of the 
 force, thumbed his report-book. "Lads, it s 
 Christmas Day." 
 
 The sergeant looked up quickly. "Christ- 
 (189)
 
 JEAN S CHRISTMAS PRESENT 
 
 mas, did ye say? I would nae hae 
 thought it." 
 
 Every man was silent. From within the tepee 
 came the faint wailings of a new-born child. 
 Jean Baptiste must have heard, but he gave no 
 sign. The wounded man tossed and muttered 
 incoherently. 
 
 "Loose him, men!" 
 
 Jean was free. 
 
 "I m a lang, lang way from th Hielands, lad ! 
 but God bless ye an a merry Christmas!" the 
 sergeant said hoarsely. "Mount, men ! Ride I" 
 
 Plud-a-plud, plud-a-plud, plud-a-plud! The 
 horses feet, striking the soft snow, sounded 
 fainter and fainter and fainter; then they were 
 gone. 
 
 "Dieu merci !" and Jean stepped over the un 
 conscious Indian and disappeared in the tepee, 
 while the mid-winter sun shone its short hours 
 over the great wilderness. 
 
 ( 190)
 
 The Black Thing of Hatchet 
 Lake
 
 The Black Thing of Hatchet 
 Lake 
 
 A French-Canadian Legend 
 
 the wind!" John Arnold mut- 
 tered angrily, as he looked over the 
 ruffled waters of Hatchet Lake. 
 
 He stood on a clay bank that overhung the 
 water; at his feet it was mirror-like, but beyond 
 ripples on ripples hurried away, growing in size 
 till on the other shore the blue distance was 
 spotted with the white crests of waves that 
 gleamed in the vague sunlight. 
 
 "Curse the wind!" he repeated; "we ll never 
 get them damned sticks acrost!" 
 
 As he spoke, his eyes turned to the boom of 
 logs that was kedged under the protection of a 
 long point. Thousands of them were there, 
 lying brown and half-submerged in the water. 
 
 "Breakfus , Jack!" shouted one of the men 
 of a group that moved about a brightly blazing 
 fire on the beach a few yards away. 
 
 ( 193 )
 
 Arnold went back slowly, his face wrinkled in 
 an ugly frown. 
 
 "More blow, Jack, eh?" said a big lumber 
 man to his boss. 
 
 Arnold growled something, and began help 
 ing himself to "salt horse" and potatoes. 
 
 "Tarnation, thar goes that dory!" one of the 
 crew shouted, leaping to his feet. 
 
 The dory in question had worked off the 
 beach with the wind and drifted away fast; the 
 man waded after it to his armpits, but he was 
 too late. "Thar s a skunk o a tramp arter her 
 now," he grumbled, as he dripped ashore. 
 
 Arnold rose deliberately, took off his heavy 
 jacket and kicked the awkward "corks" from his 
 feet. 
 
 "Don t be er fool, Jack; th water s ice-cold!" 
 the man advised, as the foreman walked to the 
 edge. 
 
 "I ll git that thar dory or breakfust in hell !" 
 he called, and plunged in. 
 
 He swam strongly, and was gaining on the 
 boat, when he suddenly threw up his arms and 
 sank without a cry. 
 
 The men gasped and looked at each other. 
 Then several threw off their reefers and swam 
 ( 194)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 out, braving the freezing chill, but found noth 
 ing; and it was a solemn crowd that finished 
 their meal on the beach after that. 
 
 "He ll breakfus whar he said he w ld, sure 
 nought !" Dick Donald announced gravely. 
 
 The others nodded in silence. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Ow mooch you geef for me to tak dat lettre 
 dam queeck to you fren ?" Batiste Clement 
 asked slowly, as he rubbed tobacco between the 
 palms of his big hairy hands, preparatory to 
 filling his pipe. 
 
 The lumbermen s little store was hot and 
 close; river drivers, teamsters, choppers, men of 
 rough life and endurance, squatted about, smok 
 ing. The one oil lamp that hung low from the 
 dingy ceiling gave out a pallid light, scarce 
 strong enough to create shadows. 
 
 "I ll give any man twenty-five dollars to take 
 this message to Nixon, camped on Beaver 
 Pond," a young man, evidently a sportsman, 
 answered quickly. 
 
 The crowd shuffled and waited for Clement s 
 answer. 
 
 The latter, a brawny French-Canadian, 
 looked down on the man from civilization, and 
 
 (195)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 grinned. "Eet fef ten mile to Lac au Portage, 
 ten mile down de riviere, t ree mile to portager 
 roun de bad water, twent mile h across Hatch t 
 Lac, den four mile by de trail; ow far all dat, 
 Tonee?" he asked of the storekeeper. 
 
 The latter added up on his fingers. "Fifty- 
 two miles, Bat!" 
 
 "Ah go," the big fellow decided, "an Ah go 
 by dam ver queeck ! Be bac en two day a half, 
 mabbe t ree day ef beeg win ." 
 
 "Look out not to strike Hatchet Lake at 
 night, Bat!" one of the men laughed; "Jack 
 Arnold s hangin bout thar yit !" 
 
 The others winked. 
 
 "Bah, dat Jacko! Ah heer all taim Jacko; 
 v at he do, hein ?" Batiste asked good-naturedly. 
 
 "He s liable ter do most anythin to ye," the 
 same man answered; then continued impres 
 sively, "They sent a crew up thar last spring ter 
 look fur him, an they sot off dinamite an fired 
 guns an grappled, but they didn t find nawthin ; 
 he s thar, sartin , an he never did hev a great 
 likin fur ye, since th time ye licked him so bad 
 at th mill." 
 
 "Sacre-e-e! Ah lak see heem, he no beeg 
 mans v en he h alive, no can be mor beeg dead !" 
 (196)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 Batiste tucked the letter he was to deliver 
 under his shirt, and carefully stowed the money 
 in a little bag that hung on his massive chest. 
 
 "Au r voir!" he shouted, and left the store. 
 
 His employer followed him to the river. 
 "Hurry up, Clement; the man s wife is sick." 
 
 "Dat dam bad; Ah go plent queeck!" 
 
 He threw his food-bag and a blanket in the 
 light canoe, pushed off, stepped in, and disap 
 peared instantly in the night gloom. 
 
 On down the river he paddled with long, pow 
 erful strokes, humming to himself sometimes, 
 sometimes whistling. The dark banks and som 
 ber shadows passed swiftly, and the sluggish 
 current gurgled mysteriously from beneath half- 
 sunken logs and rotting brush. 
 
 The night was sullen; the skies overhung with 
 dense masses of moving cloud. At intervals a 
 few stars shone from the upper heavens, but 
 they were soon hidden. A light breeze sported 
 on the river, baffling and weak; now it blew 
 against him, then helped him on. Scr-a-a-c! 
 Scr-a-a-c! croaked a heron as it flapped away 
 from a marsh with audible swishing of its 
 wings. 
 
 Splash ! Ker-pluck ! A musk-rat, startled by 
 
 ( 197 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 the silently moving canoe, dived loudly, and 
 came up ahead of it, only to dive again, more 
 frightened than before. 
 
 "By gar, musquash ver plent ," Batiste said 
 to himself; "Ah mak de trap baim -by." 
 
 In three hours he came out of the river on to 
 Portage Lake; the wind was stronger here, but 
 it was favorable, and he paddled on fast. The 
 shore behind him faded from a dark outline to 
 nothingness, and he was alone on the whispering 
 lake. Soon little waves moved the canoe up and 
 down, and from the bow came the purlings of 
 disturbed waters. Off to the right a loon called 
 eerily, then liquid stillness; the next time it 
 screamed with a quavering falter at the end. 
 
 "Beeg win to-mor !" and Clement hastened 
 on. 
 
 As mile after mile passed under him the wind 
 increased, lifting the black waters into long un 
 dulating waves; then these had crests that broke 
 around the canoe with wet snarls and hissings. 
 He could not see them, but he felt their power as 
 he bobbed on, often dampened by the spray of a 
 high sea as it curled itself spitefully against the 
 stern of the canoe. 
 
 "H eet mak day!" he muttered, when a faint 
 (198)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 light crept out of the eastern horizon. It grew 
 stronger and stronger; at first green-gray, then 
 yellow and pink; showing up the angry waters 
 and far ahead the outline of a distant shore. 
 
 Then the sun rose lazily in the island- 
 clouded sky. It gilded the swaying canoe, 
 painted the man in soft colors, and brought out 
 the forests in dark green hues. To the right 
 and left mountains appeared, first indistinct, 
 then solid against the fleeing night-clouds, at 
 last clear and distance-blued. 
 
 Behind Batiste the shining wave-peaks curled 
 along, breaking into foam that vanished for an 
 instant to grow again in fresh and sparkling 
 white. Before him were moving, heaving 
 waters, but their crests were invisible. The 
 warmth fused him to a sense of geniality, and he 
 sang as the strong blow helped him on. 
 
 "Ah m hongree!" he decided, and went 
 ashore. 
 
 He landed on a tiny beach of yellow sand. 
 There were many tracks of deer on it, and a few 
 loup-cervier trails. When he had gathered some 
 wood and built a small hot fire, he set his panni 
 kin on it and explored. At the farthest end of 
 the beach were the heavy footprints of a bear. 
 ( 199)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 "Par Dieu, Ah get dat ours som taim ," he 
 shouted gayly, as he followed it into the woods. 
 The trail led through an alder swamp, and the 
 five-claw track showed plain and aggressive in 
 the damp earth. 
 
 "Bon! Dat bear he leef h at de cascades," 
 he thought, and turned back to the shore. His 
 tea was ready, and he sipped the bitter stuff, 
 munching cold moose-meat the while, with great 
 comfort. 
 
 "De voman s seeck, he tol to me; Ah go!" 
 he said aloud, as he finished, packed the food- 
 bag, and shoved off. In a short time he reached 
 the outlet; the water was fast, and in places 
 white with rapids. Skillfully he guided the canoe 
 past jutting reefs, between cold glancing water 
 shoulders, and over rolling foam-covered bars, 
 till he came to the dead water below. Then he 
 went ashore again, emptied the canoe of the 
 river that had lapped in, pushed off and kept on. 
 
 "Where dat portage?" he whispered to him 
 self, as the distant roar of a fall sounded thick 
 and muffled. He searched the left bank care 
 fully as it slid past. 
 
 "Ha, dere ees!" as a bush-grown opening 
 showed. He steered to it with swift strokes, 
 ( 200 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 pulled his little craft out, lashed the bag, the 
 blanket and the paddle to its thwarts, and hove 
 it on his broad back. With loose knees and 
 gracefully swaying shoulders he lugged over the 
 three-mile carry, and rested only when Hatchet 
 Lake stretched away before him, twenty miles 
 to the far shore. 
 
 He sat down on the canoe and got out his 
 pipe, his eyes wandering over the gently moving 
 waters. They looked cold in the autumn sun 
 light, and troubled by the October wind that 
 blew invigoratingly from the northwest. On 
 both sides of him the forests fell away in dwind 
 ling lines of multi-colored hues ; the solemn green 
 of the fir and pine, the bright yellows of the 
 birch, and up on the hillsides the red and purple 
 of the maple and oak; two lines of shades and 
 shadows as big white wind-clouds drifted over 
 the face of the sun. Gray blotches hurried across 
 the lake, distinct and silent. 
 
 "By dam , dat win he blow h agan me; Ah 
 try go jus sam !" Batiste said aloud, and pushed 
 out. He threw his jacket in the bottom of the 
 canoe, tossed his cap after it, and bent to the 
 paddle. The wind increased steadily, till at 
 last, with all his great strength, he could forge 
 ( 201 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 ahead no farther than the gale forced him back 
 between each stroke. 
 
 "Sacre diable!" he grumbled, and swung 
 back. The wind drove him rapidly ashore 
 again ; he leaped out and carried the canoe on the 
 bank beyond the water, that tumbled with liquid 
 rumblings and cold splashes on the big shale. 
 
 "Dat eternellement dam win !" he ejacu 
 lated, as he threw himself on the fresh-smelling 
 pine needles and rustling dead leaves. He lay 
 there, his long arms clasped behind his head, 
 watching the furious lake, and waiting for it to 
 become tranquil again in the evening. 
 
 Branches crackled and snapped sharply in the 
 woods; withered leaves dropped from baring 
 forest limbs, and scurried away, eddying and 
 pirouetting among the stalwart trunks. A large 
 fish-hawk, its wings set, sailed into his view, and 
 he watched its long curvings idly. Round and 
 round, now high in the air, then low, it moved 
 by unseen power. Its distant, hoarse call came 
 faintly to him, and he smiled. 
 
 "Hongree, hein?" and he laughed as the bird 
 plunged, a bit of brown and white against the 
 blue, into the lake, and flapped its way up again 
 with empty talons. 
 
 ( 202 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 "De trouts, dey no sooch beeg fool!" he 
 called to the hawk. Once, twice, thrice it dived; 
 at last a glittering fish squirmed in the sharp 
 claws, and with a parting screech the bird 
 wheeled and vanished over the tree-tops. 
 
 Clement smoked and dozed all the morning; 
 then as the sun stared in his face on its down 
 ward course he built a fire and ate. 
 
 The sun fell slowly, turning from dazzling 
 white to orange, from orange to pink-red, then 
 crimson; bloody it seemed as it neared the tinted 
 waters. Streaks of feathery masses moved more 
 slowly from west to east as the wind died away 
 and the waves sank, weak and crestless. Long 
 ropes of cloud crept over the forest line beyond, 
 and warped themselves in fantastic knots and 
 twistings across the evening skies. 
 
 "Go now!" Batiste decided, put his canoe in 
 the lake and started out. 
 
 "Dees good, dam fine, allez fas !" he mut 
 tered, and worked hard. The shores disap 
 peared behind as the miles were passed and night 
 settled down. The wind had gone entirely, and 
 when the stars scintillated into view the waters 
 were ink-hued and calm, a monster mirror for 
 the myriads of twinkling points above. 
 ( 203 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 Batiste coughed tentatively and cleared his 
 throat, 
 
 For dere en Canada dere ees one girrl for me, 
 Shee ees de finest vomans dat evaire you deed see, 
 Wit haire lak goP, an eye so-o-o blu-e-e, 
 Shee vait forr me, shee good an tru-e-e! 
 
 His strong, clear voice carried far over the 
 still surface, faintly echoing to him from the 
 nearest shore, 
 
 Som day to dees girrl lak dees to her Ah say, 
 You marrie me, dat so, an appy den we stay 
 H at Lac des Loups togedder, you an me-e-e; 
 Dees leetle girrl, her nam lak dees Marie! 
 
 "Rie rie!" the echoes flung back at him. 
 
 "Dat s v at Ah say MARIE!" he shouted 
 merrily. 
 
 "Rie rie ie!" was the answer from over 
 the flat water. 
 
 The stars gave a mystic light on the lake: 
 that light in which objects are seen but not 
 recognized; when forms are but indistinct 
 shapes, and shapes but vague outlines. 
 
 Clu-u-uck -- thump ! Clu-u-uck thump ! 
 ( 204 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 sounded his paddle regularly, while little bubbles 
 and tiny rolls marked his water trail. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, v at dat?" he whispered suddenly, 
 holding the ash blade still. 
 
 To his right, close by, loomed a long point of 
 land, its trees silhouetted unevenly against the 
 night heavens. At the edge of the water a 
 Black Thing oscillated evenly from side to side, 
 now upright, then bending almost to the sur 
 face. 
 
 "Onlee tree!" he laughed, but was sober 
 instantly. "By dam , no win !" he breathed, 
 staring motionless. 
 
 The silence was superb; his canoe had lost its 
 headway, and lay quiet. Batiste was close to 
 the point now, and the giant forest on it was as 
 carved of stone. Not the faintest whisper dis 
 turbed the gripping stillness. Only the Thing 
 moved, and it swung to and fro in dizzying 
 sweeps. Clement looked in curiosity at first, 
 then he remembered. 
 
 "Jacko!" he mumbled softly, and watched 
 spellbound, helpless. IT was blacker than the 
 night; sharp in its density, standing out clear 
 and menacing from the heavily somber back 
 ground of underbrush and pine. 
 ( 205 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 "Bon Dieu! Jacko!" he spoke dully, and 
 fumbled under his shirt; when he drew out his 
 hand it held a little cross, that gleamed metallic 
 in the star-darkness; he shook it toward the 
 point. 
 
 "By gar, you see dat?" he called, and in 
 stantly the Black Thing disappeared. He stared 
 in fascination. 
 
 "Merci, bon Dieu!" he said weakly, and in 
 the relaxation of the fear his hand opened. 
 
 Plu-uck ! The cross was gone under the lake. 
 He watched the little ripples stupidly, then 
 looked up, and the Thing met his eyes, oscilla 
 ting as before. 
 
 For an instant he gazed, then screamed in his 
 terror, and paddled away with all his might. 
 The canoe trembled under the furious strokes, 
 and parted the waters with foam at the bow and 
 surging eddies at the stern. 
 
 Batiste looked over his shoulder in a few 
 moments, and saw the Thing following on 
 scarce three canoe-lengths behind. He threw 
 himself on his knees, and paddled with the wild 
 energy and strength of despair, whither he knew 
 not nor cared. But always when he looked back 
 IT glided after him, tall, silent, and swaying. 
 (206)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 Absolute terror controlled him then; he 
 worked on savagely, streams of sweat rolling 
 from his face, his body a mass of tired muscles; 
 but hard as he worked and agonizingly as he 
 strove, the Thing was ever three canoe-lengths 
 astern. 
 
 Then his strokes grew weaker and weaker, 
 his breath came in harsh gasps and hoarse whist 
 lings. The lake seemed to whirl round; the 
 heavens and waters mingling and falling about 
 him. His fear-cringed eyes flashed defiantly 
 for an instant as he felt himself exhausted. 
 
 With a yelping shout he flung his paddle from 
 him; it fell, splashing loudly. 
 
 "Dam you, Jacko! Ah go wit you to de 
 diable," he grunted, as the canoe slackened speed 
 gradually. 
 
 Just as the next sun warmed the morning air, 
 and kingfishers shrilled harshly on the shore, a 
 canoe came up Hatchet Lake, manned by two 
 Canadian trappers on their way to the fur coun 
 try beyond. 
 
 "Dat one canot, hein?" the man in the bow 
 asked of the other; they held their paddles and 
 ( 207 )
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 gazed at something that floated brown and mo 
 tionless to their right near the long sharp point. 
 
 u Ai-hai," the other answered in a moment; 
 "she get way f om som mans; vee catch!" 
 And they went over to it. 
 
 "Grace Dieu !" the man in the bow whispered 
 as he came alongside. The other looked and 
 breathed sharply; they both took off their caps. 
 
 Stretched out on the bottom of the drifting 
 canoe was Batiste Clement, his limbs straight 
 and stiff, his face drawn into a half-snarl, his 
 eyes open and glaring, and little flecks of dried 
 foam on his lips. 
 
 "Tak heem h ashor ," Josephe Hebert said 
 solemnly; and while his companion held on to 
 the death canoe, he paddled slowly ahead. 
 
 "Jesu Christ !" he screamed then, and pointed 
 at the water. The other looked and turned 
 gray. Submerged all but the face, that shone 
 green-white in the sun s rays, was a body; it 
 wobbled soggily on the little waves created by 
 Josephe s paddle. 
 
 "Sainte Vierge, dat Jean Arnauld ! He drown 
 few mont gon h on dees pointe !" he whispered. 
 The two sat staring. 
 
 "Par Dieu, dees place no good stay!" the 
 (208)
 
 BLACK THING OF HATCHET LAKE 
 
 man holding on to the canoe muttered, and gave 
 it a shove backward. It went a short distance 
 and stopped across the floating body, hiding it. 
 Without a word the two put on their caps, 
 grasped their paddles and hurried away, the 
 wet blades flashing in the sunlight. 
 
 ( 209 )
 
 Wa-gush
 
 1 
 
 Wa-gush 
 
 north wind flung itself wildly, 
 viciously over the gray barrens; 
 shrieking and whistling, it passed into 
 the dark forests beyond. 
 
 A lone figure, urging on his dog team, some 
 times pushing the sledge behind them when the 
 snow was soft, struggled slowly across the 
 mournful distances. 
 
 "Sacree, Ah no get to de Poste dees night," 
 he murmured. 
 
 As though in answer to his words the dogs 
 stopped, panting, their feet bleeding, their eyes 
 half closed; worn out with the weight of their 
 load and the killing softness of the snow. 
 
 The man, Phine Poleon, straightened up and 
 looked about, while the wind tore at his clothes, 
 bellowed in his ears and slung the biting drift 
 over him. Everywhere loomed the solitude of 
 the winter barrens; everywhere the snow flew 
 along in tumbling clouds; ever and always the 
 gale shrieked in gusts. The dogs had lain down 
 ( 213 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 together, creeping to one another that their 
 warmth might keep off the fury of the storm. 
 
 "Ah mus get to de fores ," Phine said aloud, 
 took up his whip and curled the thong about 
 the tired brutes. 
 
 "Allez! allez! Marse!" 
 
 They got to their feet painfully and started 
 on, he helping from the rear. 
 
 At last, after hours of fighting against the 
 whirling snow, he came to the forest. Tall, 
 black and grim the hemlock and pine stood be 
 fore him, their tops pirouetting wildly in the 
 wind. 
 
 In their shelter Poleon halted, built a lean-to, 
 gathered some dry wood and lighted his fire. 
 The flames ate their red way speedily, and 
 roared their heat to the coldness of the air. 
 
 After supper he fed the dogs, rolled himself 
 in his rabbit-skin blanket and slept. 
 
 It was nearly daylight when he woke, his 
 mind roused to action by the feeling of the pres 
 ence of something. He got up, started to call 
 the dogs, when the gleam of a fire in the forest 
 below arrested his voice. 
 
 "Who s dere?" he muttered. 
 
 In yellow lines of light that flickered and 
 (214)
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 shone, the other fire gleamed warmly. His own 
 had gone out. 
 
 "Ah go see!" and he went, stealing from tree 
 to tree, the sound of his feet crunching in the 
 snow covered up by the noises of the angry 
 night. 
 
 By the brightly blazing fire were two figures 
 close together, a man and a woman. Her face 
 he could not see for the dancing shadows. 
 
 "Dat ees Le Renard," he whispered, recog 
 nizing an old comrade in the man. He was 
 about to go forward when the woman rose and 
 passed behind the other figure. Poleon saw the 
 flash of steel, but could not hear the groan. He 
 saw the body roll over and twitch convulsively. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, w at you do?" he shouted, leap 
 ing on. The woman saw him coming and 
 darted away in the blackness, seizing a pair of 
 snowshoes that were near as she ran. 
 
 "D n you," he cursed and tried to follow. 
 
 He stumbled and slipped, then stopped breath 
 less. Only the impenetrable mass of trunks met 
 his eyes, their branches flapping monotonously 
 to and fro. 
 
 "No can catch now," and he went back to 
 the wounded man. 
 
 (215)
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 "Renard, w at ees?" he asked frantically, 
 tearing open his friend s capote and shirt. The 
 latter opened his great black eyes for an instant. 
 
 "Dat you Poleon?" 
 
 "Si si," the latter answered, trying to stop 
 the flow of blood that reddened the snow. 
 
 " Ah m een de Pol -eece dees year ; 
 catch mans for steal, he go Stonee Mon 
 taigne;* dees girl mak me t ink she loove 
 me; she sistaire dat mans!" the voice fin 
 ished. 
 
 "Ah catch her sure !" Poleon screamed, seeing 
 that his friend s death was near. "Wat her 
 name? no could see her, me." 
 
 The dying trapper gasped and gurgled a 
 moment, "W g " and died. 
 
 The dead man in his arms, the glazing eyes 
 looking unseeing into his, Poleon crouched, 
 dazed, horror-stricken. As in a dream, old 
 scenes, memories of trapping days together, 
 days that were fraught with success sometimes, 
 sometimes burdened with failure, but always 
 hours of companionship and a deep friendliness, 
 passed before his memory eyes. 
 
 "An now," he muttered sadly, "eet all feen- 
 
 * The penitentiary of the Northwestern Provinces. 
 
 (216.)
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 esh forevaire." Then he stood up and took off 
 his cap. "Bon Dieu, hear w en Ah, Phine 
 Poleon, say dat Ah goin keel dat girl som- 
 taim !" He looked up at the heavens. They 
 were dull gray and black with the coming light. 
 Clouds sped over in banks and hurrying rifts. 
 Gloomy, forbidding and cold they were. 
 
 He picked up the dead man and carried him 
 to where his dogs were waiting, curled up, 
 asleep. On top of the load of fur he fastened 
 the stiffening form. Without breakfast or even 
 a thought of food he crackled his whip. 
 
 "Allez hoop !" 
 
 The half light in the forest showed the drifts 
 and piled-up masses of snow, and the dogs 
 worked slowly along. Weaker and weaker their 
 pulls at the load became, then they stopped, 
 powerless to pull more. 
 
 "W at Ah do?" Phine whispered, wiping 
 the beads of sweat from his face. "Ah mus 
 leave Renard or my skeens." 
 
 He stood long, hesitating between the body 
 of his friend and the fur he had collected from 
 his traps; these meant money and food to him. 
 At last "Ah buree Renard," and he fell to 
 work. 
 
 ( 217 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 With his axe he dug through the snow and 
 hacked at the frozen earth beneath, finally sink 
 ing a hole big enough for his purpose. Then 
 he undid the lashings, lifted the dead man from 
 the sledge, lowered him carefully, put back the 
 earth, dragged the snow over the spot and 
 stamped it down. Gravely he stood on it then, 
 and said his Ave Maria twice, called to the 
 team and turned away, tears in his eyes. 
 
 At night he reached the Hudson Bay Com 
 pany s Post at Mistassiny and took his furs to 
 the factor, receiving for them food and some 
 money. 
 
 " Tis a good thing ye got a fair lot this 
 time," the Scotchman said as he examined the 
 skins, "fur ye hae nae doun so well lately, 
 Phin I" 
 
 But the big French-Canadian said nothing. 
 
 For days he fought with himself as to 
 whether he should tell of the murder he had 
 seen committed, because the Post was asking for 
 Le Renard, but he argued, "Ah no know dat 
 w man; dey no b lief me; mabbe t ink Ah keel 
 Renard," and he was silent. 
 
 The knife that he had found in his friend s 
 back he kept. It was a peculiar blade, with a 
 (218)
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 moose-horn handle and a blunted haft. He 
 would take it out when he was alone in his tepee 
 and look at it, moisture in his gaunt eyes. 
 
 "Ef Ah onlee knew who deed dat !" he would 
 whisper over and over again. 
 
 Each night before he slept he solemnly re 
 peated his vow to kill the girl "somtaim," and 
 each day he watched everything and every one 
 about the Post furtively, but learned nothing. 
 The questions about Le Renard faded away. 
 
 "He mus ha lost hisself," the factor said. 
 
 But Poleon knew and he chafed at his own 
 powerlessness. All winter he worked on at his 
 traps, and when spring came he had a good 
 credit account at the store. 
 
 "Ah goin be marry," he announced abruptly 
 one day to the factor. 
 
 "Who?" the latter asked. 
 
 "Wa-gush." (Little Fox.) 
 
 "She is a fox, too," and the Scotchman 
 chuckled, "but I hae nae doot ye can beat her 
 well enou to keep her frae foxin ," and he 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 "Ah loove her, dat all I know," Poleon an 
 swered gravely and went out of the store. 
 
 On a glorious June day, when the trees were 
 ( 219 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 green with springing life, and the air warm 
 with the luxury of the coming short months of 
 heat, Poleon was married to Wa-gush, the little 
 Indian girl he had grown to love, if a rough 
 mastership with a passionate adoration besides 
 can be called love. All the Post were there, 
 and when the Jesuit father pronounced his bless 
 ing, they cheered. 
 
 Wa-gush and Phine took up their home in a 
 large, fine tepee that Poleon had built for the 
 occasion. The girl was slim, but strong in 
 body, muscular and active. Her face was of 
 the Chippewa type, with long, slender nose, 
 aloe eyes, high forehead, straight black hair, 
 tiny feet and hands. 
 
 "Dieu, Ah loove you!" Poleon whispered 
 softly to her one night as the little supper fire 
 flamed and spluttered at their feet. She looked 
 at him and her eyes narrowed more than ever. 
 
 "An Ah loove you !" she answered softly, 
 tapping her beaded moccasins with a little stick. 
 Poleon never beat her; on the contrary he car 
 ried the wood, built the fires, hauled the nets 
 on the lake ; in short, did everything that is usu 
 ally done by the squaws so much so that the 
 Post laughed at him. 
 
 ( 220 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 "Ye do love her, don t ye, Poleon?" the fac 
 tor said one day sarcastically. 
 
 "Ai-hai" (yes), he answered. 
 
 All this time of great happiness with the girl, 
 the old sorrow for his friend was working at 
 his heart. He would sit by his fire, with her 
 on the other side, and somberly dream, some 
 times seeing the death picture, sometimes al 
 most feeling Le Renard in his arms. 
 
 Often he tried to tell her of his pain, but at 
 each attempt the words stuck in his throat. No, 
 he could not make her unhappy, especially be 
 cause they both hoped for a child. Unseen he 
 would take out the knife and gloomily handle 
 it, wondering, praying that some time he might 
 have his vengeance. 
 
 The days passed on, one by one, each filled 
 with its own particular happiness with Wa-gush, 
 each bringing nearer the longed-for event. In 
 the evenings, when his nets were hauled and the 
 dogs fed, Poleon would take her out on the 
 lake in one of his birch-bark canoes and paddle 
 quietly along the warm, dark shores, startling 
 the deer from their feeding, and listening to 
 the lonely hoot of owls. 
 
 One night his sorrow was too great. 
 ( 221 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 "Cherie," he said quietly. 
 
 "Ai?" She put her hand on his knee that 
 rested on the canoe bottom. 
 
 "Ah have beeg pain!" 
 
 "Ai?" she said again, waiting. 
 
 He drew out the knife from his bosom. 
 
 "Dees kn fe " he began, when he heard 
 
 the startled gasp, felt her shiver run over the 
 canoe and looked up. In the moonlight her 
 dusky face was white, and her eyes burned 
 strangely at him. She controlled herself by a 
 valiant effort. 
 
 "Ai?" 
 
 A wild thought flashed across him, and he 
 remembered, could hear the dying man s at 
 tempt at a name: "W g " 
 
 She was herself again. "Tell to me?" 
 
 And he told her the story, watching, now that 
 the iron was in his heart, with the keenness of 
 a hound, but Wa-gush gave no further sign. 
 
 "Dat too bad, Poleon," she said when he fin 
 ished; "you mus fin dat girrl an keel!" 
 Straight she looked at him and he stared back. 
 No waver of an eyelid met his gaze. 
 
 "You t ink dat?" 
 
 "Ai-hai" (yes), she answered steadily, and 
 ( 222 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 they went home. More days passed, but now 
 they were fraught with double pain to Poleon. 
 
 "It no can be dat!" he would say to himself 
 when alone. 
 
 At supper one night the blanket at the en 
 trance was pushed aside and a great Indian 
 came in. 
 
 "Bo jou , Poleon, bo jou , sistaire, Ah 
 comme f om Stonee Montaigne, Ah m free at 
 las !" and he sat down. 
 
 Poleon turned to the girl; she was watching 
 him with a tense, hunted look. 
 
 "Ah-h !" he whispered, and talked on gayly. 
 
 She was lulled to carelessness, thinking he 
 did not know, and when he suggested they go 
 on the lake, the next evening, she got into the 
 canoe quietly. The moon shone in all its glo 
 rious splendor, silvering the waters and causing 
 the forest to appear as black lines. When at a 
 distance from the Post, Poleon got out the old 
 knife. 
 
 "You keel Le Renard," he said, with no an 
 ger in his voice, only an ineffable sorrow. 
 
 "Non non," she answered, seeing the light 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "Ah say yes, an Ah m goin keel youl" 
 ( 223 )
 
 WA-GUSH 
 
 She begged for mercy as he put the paddle 
 down. 
 
 "T ink of you petit," she whispered then; 
 he crawled over the thwart. 
 
 "Ah am t inken," he said, and struck 1 The 
 canoe trembled for an instant, then was quiet 
 on the calm waters. 
 
 He looked at her, dead at his feet, her little 
 hands resting over the side. The knife was still 
 in his hands. 
 
 "Bon Dieu, Ah have keel lak Ah say, now 
 Ah keel h again." 
 
 He thrust at his own chest with a powerful, 
 heavy blow. "Adieu, Wa-gush, Ah alway 
 loove you," he gasped as he fell, overturning 
 the canoe by his weight. 
 
 The waters rolled away in sullen ripples after 
 the splash; and the upturned canoe floated mo 
 tionless and dark on the still, moonlit surface. 
 
 (224)
 
 Follette
 
 Follette 
 
 BRISBOIS BRI^RE took off his dogs 
 harness slowly. He was tired from the 
 long trail and disappointed in the day s 
 collection of fur. 
 
 "Sacre Dieu!" he muttered, throwing the last 
 trace into a corner, "an you, Follette, look mos 
 lak womans som taim !" He bent over one of 
 the eight dogs that sat about his feet, staring 
 fixedly into its face. The look was given straight 
 back unblinking and steely light gray the 
 brute s eyes were. 
 
 "Tiens," Brisbois whispered, "tiens? Dere 
 ees som t ing fonnee een dose eye dat look 
 comme c.a !" He turned away, went out of the 
 shed, leaving the dogs to rustle their beds into 
 the pine needles and leaves. 
 
 The wild north land was deep with snow, and 
 the forest about was somber; cold in the fading 
 afternoon hours. The light wind that droned 
 wearily away among the peaks of the hemlock 
 and pine had the sting of the ice barrens. Bris 
 bois stopped at the low doorway of his hut, look 
 ing at the skies. 
 
 (227)
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 Mass on mass, sluggishly turning and writh 
 ing, the snow clouds dragged across the tree- 
 tops, vanishing only because forced on by the 
 crowding banks behind. 
 
 To the left of the little clearing a trail led 
 away somewhere into the northeast, its faintly 
 discernible opening visible for but a few feet 
 beneath the spreading branches. At the right, 
 a winter road broke the evenness of the forest 
 ring, but its bed was clean and even; unbroken 
 by man or beast. 
 
 "Lisette," he called, going in. 
 
 "Hein?" 
 
 "Souper readee?" 
 
 "Baim-by, few minutes!" 
 
 He sat down by the little stove, and slowly 
 drew off one moccasin. It dripped water over 
 the bright floor. 
 
 "Tu Bris !" she laughed, noticing, "tak h off 
 h out side !" 
 
 "Bon, Lisette." 
 
 The big Canadian stalked to the door again, 
 leaned against the jamb, pulled off the other 
 moccasin, wrung it dry in his powerful, massive 
 hands. 
 
 "Stockeeng aussi?" he asked, smiling. 
 (2:28)
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "Non." She turned from her fry-pan on the 
 stove. "For toi Ah mak clean de floor!" 
 
 He took two steps, huge they were, reached 
 her side and kissed her. 
 
 "Dat s paie for do eet!" and he laughed, the 
 great sound filling every nook and corner of 
 the cabin, reverberating within its cramped 
 walls. 
 
 "Tu mauvais !" she smiled, unconsciously ar 
 ranging the great masses of black hair that 
 coiled loosely on her head. 
 
 "La !" She put hot moose steaks on the tiny 
 table; these were cut thick, and the red juice 
 eddied about them in the deep tin plate. Warm 
 bread, steaming tea, and molasses followed. 
 
 He began eagerly, while she watched, a glow 
 of pleasure on her strong, yet pretty, face. 
 
 "Cestbon, hein?" 
 
 His mouth full, another piece on his fork, he 
 looked up. 
 
 "Dat de bessis een le Canadaw ! You mak 
 eet, dat nough for me, Lisette!" He chewed 
 hard and swallowed. 
 
 "Mechant!" she murmured, softly. 
 
 "Com ! Eat den !" he ordered ; she sat down 
 opposite to him, and they ate together, he watch- 
 ( 229 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 ing her furtively, she noticing each mouthful he 
 took. 
 
 No sound for a few moments, but the clatter 
 of knives, the harsh rattle of tin forks on tin 
 plates, the great sucking gulps that Brisbois 
 took of the tea (his mouth crammed with bread 
 each time) , but she didn t care, as long as he had 
 what he wanted. 
 
 After supper, he stretched himself indolently 
 on a rabbit blanket near the stove, lighted his 
 pipe and smoked in silence thinking. Lisette 
 cleared away the plates, brushed the table clean 
 with a spruce bough, and sat by him. 
 
 For a time all was still, save for his draws on 
 the pipe and the exhalations of thick blue smoke. 
 The cabin was dark; only the sheen of the red- 
 hot stove-cover broke the pall. 
 
 "Lisette!" taking a breath of clear air. 
 
 "Hein?" She waited, listening. 
 
 "You kno dat Follette ees som t ing crazee 
 weet her eye z?" He smoked again. 
 
 "Non; Ah no see tall." She waited again. 
 
 "Si ! Dat chienne hav drole look een face ! 
 
 Ah see eet dees aftairenoon, near to Lac de Pres. 
 
 Ah was for mak de trap dere ; no see good place ; 
 
 ask self, Were ; by gar, turn roun , see Follette 
 
 ( 230 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 leesterT, an she ronne h up de wataire to Cari 
 boo cross n ; stan dere den ! Ah mak trap ; 
 to-mor go see eef catch som ting; by gar, Ah 
 t ink dat chienne she leesten !" 
 
 The girl laughed merrily, "Tu Bris, mon gar, 
 you tink tings curious all taim; not ing dere! 
 Follette, she no know w at you say, onlee 
 Marse! Allez !" 
 
 "Mabbe!" he answered slowly. "Mabbe." 
 They sat in stillness then, he smoking calmly, 
 she with half closed eyes. 
 
 "Ah m go bed!" she whispered, and crawled 
 into the big bunk. 
 
 The great Canadian paid no attention, smok 
 ing on. 
 
 Of a sudden he sat up, shoved his pipe under 
 the stove, crept carefully to the door and list 
 ened. Way out among the forests echoed a 
 strange wild cry. It rang and rang, cutting the 
 black stillness sharply. 
 
 "W at dat?" he breathed. 
 
 No wind, no sound nothing. 
 
 "Ah drream, hein?" he turned back, when 
 again the eerie sound filled the silence of the 
 forests with its piercing volume. As he list 
 ened, breathing fast now, the call came oftener, 
 ( 231 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 each time nearer still nearer. Brisbois was 
 frightened. 
 
 "Dieu an Sainte Vierge," he muttered, "dat 
 le Ninivoshi !" But he stayed by the door. 
 
 Then everything was quiet. Not a crackle 
 of a branch, not a soft step on the snow, not a 
 whisper of living thing came to his straining 
 ears. Long he waited and watched, his eyes 
 wide open; keen with a trapper s keenness. 
 Nothing but shooting stars, and the glowing 
 Northern lights met them. The vast trees stood 
 motionless as images carved into the dark blue 
 scintillating heavens. 
 
 "Bah !" he whispered then, and "Bah !" again. 
 "Ah m tire h out an h ave bad t ink!" 
 
 He went in, curled up beside the girl and slept 
 deeply while the dark hours passed on. 
 
 The next morning it was snowing hard. 
 From far up in the low skies the white flakes 
 tumbled and whirled, eddied and circled. Bris 
 bois woke, saw the girl still asleep, crawled out 
 of the bunk quietly and lighted the fire. He 
 went to the door. 
 
 "Misere," he muttered, then cursed. "Dam
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 dat snow ! She come w en Ah wan find h out 
 som t ing!" 
 
 As he pulled on his coarse stockings and moc 
 casins, still damp, she opened her eyes. 
 
 "Et tu?" sleepily. 
 
 "Go sleep, Lisette; Ah m mak dejeuner; go- 
 in Lac des Pres, be back een h aight ten hour 
 mabbe." 
 
 She turned under the blankets and slept again. 
 
 He cooked a slice of caribou meat, fried a bit 
 of pork, gulped some tea, inhaled a few whiffs 
 of his pipe, and went out to the dog-shed. The 
 brutes leaped round him, licking his hands, but 
 none so caressingly as Follette, the bitch leader 
 of the team. He fed them one by one; they 
 didn t fight; they knew him, and the result. 
 Brisbois watched them eat, and chuckled grimly. 
 
 "Eef Ah no giv you for food, w at h appen, 
 hein?" 
 
 Seven paid no attention, but Follette looked 
 up quickly from the dried fish she was tearing, 
 and whined. The trapper started back involun 
 tarily. 
 
 "Dieu ! She on stand !" he whispered. 
 
 When they had finished, he harnessed them to 
 the light sledge. 
 
 ( 233 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "Allez! Marse!" Away the eight went, 
 Follette in the lead, pulling valiantly. Two 
 hours passed, he sitting on the sledge some 
 times, sometimes striding beside it on his snow- 
 shoes. They came to Caribou Crossing. 
 
 "Merci done!" he said aloud, seeing a black 
 fox in his trap. He carefully sprung the steel 
 jaws, releasing the long, lithe body. 
 
 "Dat fine!" he muttered in ecstasy, smooth 
 ing the black hairs, unbending the rigid limbs. 
 
 Something disturbed his happiness and tri 
 umph. He looked down and saw Follette s 
 gray eyes on him, and he remembered that by her 
 insistent pawings at Caribou Crossing, he had 
 set his trap where she indicated, and the choic 
 est fur of the forests was in his hands. 
 
 "By gar, ef you no hav show to moi w ere 
 for mak de trap Ah no got dees!" he whis 
 pered, a superstitious fear creeping over him. 
 He was fascinated by the intelligent gleam in 
 the dog s eyes. 
 
 "Wat, you?" He sprang at her, shaking 
 her by her long, rough coat. 
 
 "Dieu !" he screamed then, as she licked his 
 hands. "Wat you? Tell, hein?" She turned 
 from him, settled in the traces and waited. 
 ( 234 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "Allez ! Marse !" He flung himself to the 
 sledge, already coated with snow. 
 
 The team went on and on obediently, first to 
 the right, then to the left, as he directed. Then 
 he stopped them. As far as his eyes could reach 
 were wavering, trembling drifts. No wind 
 moved the flakes they eddied by their own 
 weight. The silence was drear; only the seeth 
 ing of falling snow came to him. He tried this 
 way and that, then gave it up. 
 
 "Ah m los ! Oh, bon Dieu !" Sweat burst 
 from his forehead, and froze there as it came 
 into contact with the bitter air. An unutterable 
 sadness dropped into his eyes; he caressed the 
 black fox, muttering hoarsely. 
 
 "An weet dees Ah wass goin de Ligne, got 
 two t ree hun er dollaires for mak present Lis- 
 ette!" He looked round, agony and loneliness 
 in his face. "Ah m no los !" He cursed then 
 fiercely, started the team and traveled for a 
 long time, twining his slow way in the bewilder 
 ing drifts. No familiar landmark could he 
 find nothing but the mercilessly falling snow 
 that heaped on his shoulders heavily. He real 
 ized that he was absolutely lost. He stopped. 
 Gently piling on him, coldly embracing him, 
 ( 235 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 the great flakes came in silent myriads, dropping 
 from the skies with coquettish motion. Here, 
 there, everywhere, was the same death-like still 
 ness. 
 
 The snow seemed to know, and gathered 
 about his legs, climbing upwards inch by inch. 
 He shook it off, turning his head dazedly to the 
 four points of the world. Then he knew that 
 he was face to face with death, and he idly won 
 dered how long he could withstand the cold. 
 The knowledge of what death meant, numbed 
 his mind. 
 
 "Ah starve h ere!" he groaned and felt a 
 warm tongue on his hand. 
 
 Toilette?" 
 
 The brute licked on appealingly, looking at 
 him with the same steady gray eyes. 
 
 "Wat?" he spoke aloud, unconsciously. 
 
 She yelped, started off to the north-east, came 
 back, licked his hands again and squatted on 
 her haunches, staring at him. 
 
 He thought hard. 
 
 "B en, allez, Follette! Marse vous autre !" 
 
 Into the north-east they went, the leader 
 straining every muscle. 
 
 "Dere ees de beeg pine!" he shouted with 
 (236)
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 relief in a few hours. Follette looked back and 
 yelped. 
 
 Some time later he reached his home, stabled 
 the team, fed them bountifully and took the 
 black fox in the cabin. 
 
 "Qu est magnifique!" 
 
 The girl cried out, seeing the gorgeous fur. 
 
 "An Ah m IDS eef no for dat Follette!" 
 he announced gravely. 
 
 Tears came to her eyes as he told how he had 
 been saved. 
 
 "An she mak eet so Ah catch black fox 
 aussi I" 
 
 A silence then. The interior was shadowed 
 by the coming of night. Corners lost their out 
 line, the roof seemed farther away, the bunk a 
 vague big thing. 
 
 "Par Dieu!" he worked his great hands to 
 gether till their joints cracked. "Dat chienne 
 ees de fines in Canadaw; een monnaie, mabbe 
 hun er feefty dollaires, hein?" 
 
 The girl looked at him with surprise and 
 sorrow. 
 
 "You goin sell Follette aftaire w at she h ave 
 do for you ? Bah !" She swung away. "In- 
 grate!" 
 
 ( 237 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 He stared at her, not understanding her point 
 of view. 
 
 "Mais, cherie, ef Ah get hun er feefty dol- 
 laires, dat paie de debte au Hodson Baie Com- 
 pagnie." He was hurt that she couldn t under 
 stand him. 
 
 "You h ave mor beeg debte to Follette," she 
 answered slowly. "Tak de black fox an paie 
 Hodson Baie." 
 
 "By gar, dey no geef not ing tall, mabbe 
 debte, pas plus, an black fox breeng two t ree 
 hun er dollaires at de ligne !" 
 
 Lisette shrugged her clean-cut shoulders and 
 lighted the candles. They had supper. Neither 
 spoke often; he trying to make his rough, sim 
 ple mind see what she wanted; the girl, with 
 a woman s quick sentiment and sympathy, re 
 volting against selling this dog that had done 
 so much for her. 
 
 When his pipe was drawing well, the stove 
 sending out a luxurious warmth, the table 
 cleared, she sat down on the blanket beside 
 him, and worked a small brown hand into the 
 huge fist that lay at rest on his knee. 
 
 "Bris!" 
 
 "Hein?" He looked down at her kindly. 
 (238)
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "No sell Follette, for me?" She edged 
 closer; then put her head on his giant shoulder. 
 
 He stared for a time into the open draught- 
 holes of the little stove, and the red reflec 
 tion of the wood coals glittered dreamily in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Non !" He rubbed the black bowl nervously. 
 "Ef you no want me for sell Follette, Ah no 
 sell !" And he smoked again. 
 
 "Merci, Bris." She came still closer to him, 
 and his long, gaunt arm encircled her. Thus 
 they sat in peace. 
 
 A knock. 
 
 "Who ees?" he asked, leisurely standing up, 
 taking his arm away unwillingly. 
 
 "Osasquinini," came a heavy, powerful voice. 
 
 "Dat Indian, f om Baie Terrible," Brisbois 
 muttered, opening the door. A blast of wind, 
 burdened with snow, whirled in as the tall, lanky 
 Indian entered. He shook the white bits from 
 his capote, took it off, threw it in a corner and 
 went over to the heat. 
 
 "Bo jou bo jou !" he said, quietly. 
 
 "Bo jou ." Brisbois lighted his pipe as he 
 spoke. "An you, w ere go?" 
 
 "Ev place!" 
 
 ( 239 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 The Canadian looked up, startled by the sad 
 ness in the other s voice. 
 
 "Hungree; giv eat!" The Indian waited. 
 
 Lisette looked at her husband, he motioned, 
 and she got cold moose meat, some bread and 
 soggy flour cakes. 
 
 "Miguetch" (thanks). Osasquinini bolted 
 the food. When it was all gone he squatted 
 cross-legged on the blanket. 
 
 "Smok ?" 
 
 Brisbois took his pipe from his lips and passed 
 it to the other. 
 
 "Miguetch!" 
 
 Puff puff puff from the Indian, no words. 
 
 "Were go?" Brisbois asked again. 
 
 The Indian, his emaciated face aglow, spoke 
 monotonously. 
 
 "You white man, understand Indian?" 
 
 "Ai-hai" (yes), the Canadian answered. 
 
 "You want hear story?" 
 
 "Ai-hai!" 
 
 Stillness in the cabin, while the Ojibway 
 warmed his long hands, smoking the while. 
 Brisbois sat down. 
 
 "You know Indian belief? When dead, In 
 dian turn into animal?" 
 
 ( 240 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "Ai-hai!" 
 
 "Long time ago, twenty-four moons, Osas- 
 quinini marry. Be marry eight moons. White 
 man s sickness come to squaw. Osasquinini 
 don t know what do. Squaw die!" The 
 Indian s voice shook, and the guttural words 
 of his language trembled at each utterance. 
 
 "Indian know she animal, Indian know she 
 love him now and Indian cannot find. Osas 
 quinini has searched everywhere, and called the 
 language of the animals he knows. Was near 
 here last starlight, calling to the wolves; no 
 answer!" 
 
 The Canadian drew a deep breath, shudder 
 ing. 
 
 Lisette was staring at the bronzed face with 
 breathless curiosity. 
 
 "An squaw? W at like?" she asked, in the 
 jargon the Indians know. 
 
 "She was strong like the beaver, tall like the 
 caribou, quick as the sable, clever as the fox." 
 He stopped, smoking hard; then continued. 
 "Osasquinini hunt everywhere for her. Can see 
 only her gray eyes, can 
 
 "W at say?" the girl interrupted fiercely. 
 
 The Indian looked at her contemptuously. 
 (2 4 I)
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 "Osasquinini get no help from white woman; 
 he go!" 
 
 "Pash-ke-san !" [wait] she whispered, getting 
 to her feet. Brisbois felt the Indian s power, 
 and hers. He sat on. She went out into the 
 wild night, struggled to the dog-shed. 
 
 "Follette," she called. A whimper, a rustling 
 and the leader crouched at her feet. 
 
 "Marse !" she ordered, while the seven others 
 growled and grumbled. She fastened the door 
 on them ; then led the way in the chilling snow 
 drifts, to the cabin. 
 
 "Viens, Follette!" she coaxed; the dog hung 
 back. 
 
 "Viens, marse!" She stamped excitedly on 
 the threshold; the brute followed her in then. 
 She shrank behind the shadows of the bunk, 
 watching. 
 
 Follette looked about, saw the Indian, leaped 
 to him, crouching between his knees, her eyes 
 on his face. He stiffened, leaned forward, and 
 kissed the long mouth, smoothing the rough hair 
 on her head. 
 
 Brisbois face was white in the wavering 
 candle-light. 
 
 "Dieu !" he whispered. 
 
 ( 242 )
 
 FOLLETTE 
 
 The Indian stood up, inch by inch, Follette at 
 his knees. 
 
 "Osasquinini has found," he muttered. 
 "Miguetchl" 
 
 He went to the door, Follette at his heels, 
 her gray eyes fixed on him. 
 
 "Miguetch," the Indian said again slowly, 
 and vanished into the stormy night, the dog 
 following. 
 
 ( 243 )
 
 The Indian s Vengeance
 
 The Indian s Vengeance 
 
 M 
 
 sun rose clear and strong over the 
 silent forests, and shot long, golden 
 paths on the sullen moving waters of 
 the Albany River. It was mid-summer and the 
 dark green of the fir and pine stood out in sharp 
 relief against the lighter shades of the hard 
 wood ridges. Far off a range of mountain 
 heights loomed heavy and massive; a wavering 
 line reaching up toward the pale, tinted skies. 
 In a clearing, surrounded by alder bush and 
 growing hemlock stood a little log hut; prim 
 and severe it seemed in this blaze of forest 
 color. Below it the river flowed silently on, 
 its flat surface broken only by eddies, and bur 
 dened with white froth that floated down from 
 the falls, whose roar came faintly through the 
 trees. Two birchbark canoes were drawn on 
 the shale, their yellow sides shining with the 
 night s dew. The split-board door of the hut 
 opened suddenly with a jerk; Jim Blake, trap 
 per, stepped out. 
 
 "Tom said as how it ud be a fine day," he 
 ( 247 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 yawned, stretching his long, wiry arms. He 
 turned and stuck his head through the door. 
 
 "Tom ! Tom ! get up ye lazy scamp ! Th 
 sun s hour high!" 
 
 Without waiting to see the result of his call 
 Blake went down to the river, rolled up his 
 tanned skin shirt-sleeves, and "washed." Hav 
 ing thoroughly spattered himself, snorted and 
 gurgled he drew an old rag from under one of 
 the canoes and made a pretense at drying his 
 dripping face and hair. 
 
 "Gosh all hemlock, yer the orneriest cuss fur 
 washin an swabbin yer carciss ever I see!" 
 Tom, his partner, shouted from the bank. The 
 other peered at him through the holes in the 
 rag. 
 
 "Bet yer life, but y don t care how dirty 
 y are!" 
 
 "Naw, why fur? The more good old dirt 
 the less blasted flies bothers." Tom answered, 
 pulling on his long moccasins. "Whut 11 ye 
 hev fur breakfus ?" 
 
 "Gol ! I clean furgot thet our meenuu lowed 
 
 much o a choice in vittles." Jim clambered up 
 
 the steep little bank and stood beside the other. 
 
 Both large, raw-boned, powerful men were 
 
 (248)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 these two that lived in the absolute wilderness, 
 and both big-hearted, rough creatures of Na 
 ture s own making. 
 
 "Say, Tom" Blake put his scarred hand on 
 the younger man s shoulder "honest, now d y 
 think thet Ah-teg stoled them furs? Kinder 
 pears ter me thet As-sin-ab is the wust critter 
 o th two." The other stared thoughtfully 
 across the now white shining river. 
 
 "Wall, I dunno; Ah-teg is. n bad company 
 with thet other skunk Indian, an I think as 
 how we d oughter go up an larrup the two on 
 em jus on gineral principles." Jim laughed 
 quietly. 
 
 "Le s eat fust." They went indoors, and 
 while one shaved a bit of dry wood for kind 
 lings the other got out the bread, salt and tea 
 and a lump of pork. From a bag that hung out 
 side he brought in some caribou meat, cut in 
 long, thin strips; then he cooked on the little 
 stove in which a bright fire crackled and snapped. 
 The appetizing odors of frying meat soon filled 
 the pine-scented interior, and particles of pork 
 fat spluttered angrily on the hot metal. 
 
 "Damn, I put in too much tea !" and Tom 
 made a dive with the tin spoon into the boiling 
 ( 249 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 kettle. "Ouch, damn twict! I bu nned me- 
 self!" 
 
 "Easy, son, easy; ye always jump too quick, 
 an when ye finds thet out ye jump ag in, makin 
 two breaks stead o one, see?" 
 
 "Shut up !" Tom growled good-naturedly, 
 " r I ll pour it all over y !" The two then 
 ate in silence, the rattling of the tin plates and 
 cups sounding harshly loud in the little room. 
 
 Just as they were finishing two shadows fell 
 athwart the rude table. Blake looked up. 
 
 "Damn if it ain t Ah-teg! An who ve ye 
 got with ye?" he asked, seeing the tall, gaunt 
 Indians standing impassive in the doorway. 
 The one he had addressed moved forward and 
 squatted near the stove. His keen, black eyes 
 roved around, noticing everything. 
 
 "As-sin-ab," he answered, gutturally, waving 
 his brown hand toward his companion, who sat 
 cross-legged on the threshold. 
 
 Meanwhile Tom was clearing up the break 
 fast remains. Ah-teg reached out and took the 
 meat that was left, tore it in two and threw a 
 piece to his friend. 
 
 "We hon-gre-e," he said, as he munched 
 slowly. There was a silence. Jim filled his 
 ( 25 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 pipe and lighted it; Tom sat on the table swing 
 ing his legs. The Indians gravely wiped their 
 hands on their leggings, then Ah-teg stood up. 
 
 "We come, Ogama [Chief], to ask white 
 man counsel. Our medicine man no tell what 
 Inssen-abe [Indian] want to know. In white 
 man hunting-ground can Ogama an fr en have 
 same squaw?" 
 
 Blake smiled, then, not wishing to hurt the 
 Indian s feelings, he answered gravely: "No, 
 white man have squaw for himself." 
 
 "Miguetch" [thanks]. Ah-teg turned to go. 
 
 "Hold on a min te, hev ye got any fur to 
 trade?" Jim asked. The bronze face looked 
 steadily at him. 
 
 "Ogama know no fur when Te-bek-te-ge-sis 
 [noon] hot, an Ah-teg no steal white man 
 ad-ik [beaver] ! Ah-teg see cache open when de 
 leaf come out." With these words the Indian 
 stalked out, his companion following closely, 
 their light blankets fluttering in the breeze. 
 
 "Wall, wouldn t thet h ist ye?" Tom said in 
 amazement. "How in all tarnation did they 
 know we suspicioned em of breakin our 
 cache?" 
 
 "They re pretty sharp, them Indians; I axed 
 (251)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 Ah-teg too suddint like bout fur I guess. Shoo, 
 thet s too bad altogether; thar ain t no use in 
 tryin ter find out now !" Jim sucked viciously 
 at his pipe for a few moments. 
 
 "Where Ve I see d thet As-sin-ab afore?" he 
 muttered to himself then. 
 
 "He looks a heap like one o the critters we 
 knowed down in th Pine Creek country when 
 we was workin thar," Tom suggested. Blake 
 leaped to his feet. "By thunder, son, ye re dead 
 right ! I recollect him now; he s the sucker thet 
 won a quarter o caribou when we was asleep, 
 d ye mind?" 
 
 "Sure!" the other answered, "an I ll bet a 
 week s fur thet them two broke our cache !" 
 
 "Cain t do nawthin bout it, leastways not 
 now, nohow!" and Blake spat angrily at the 
 box. "Hell!" 
 
 They sat there idly watching the long grasses 
 in the clearing wave and bow in the wind, and 
 Jim s eyes became fixed on a mother sheldrake 
 and her brood of young ones that disported 
 themselves on the river in front of the hut. 
 
 "Fool bird," he whispered, but Blake heard. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Don t know nawthin t all; wouldn t hev so 
 ( 252 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 many little ones thet only get eat up by pike an 
 sich, if she did!" 
 
 "I m a-goin terpull th net; those dogs hain t 
 had a bite since yes erday mornin ," Blake said, 
 got up, went down to the canoes, shoved one in 
 the water and paddled off down stream. Tom 
 still sat in his place on the table; suddenly he 
 saw something shining on the floor where As- 
 sin-ab had sat. He went over and picked it up. 
 
 "Where d thet cuss get this?" he asked 
 aloud, staring at the little round brass button 
 in his hand; he looked closely at it, went out 
 into the strong light and puzzled the dented sur 
 face into a meaning. 
 
 "R N W M P," he said, slowly. 
 "R N W M P; why, holy smoke, this is 
 a p lice button, an last winter one o them fel 
 lers bosses come in to Longue Lac alone; they 
 didn t never find th feller neither! Now, I 
 
 wonder if By golly, I ll bet my hand 
 
 thet s it !" he shouted. A curious silence fol 
 lowed the sound of his voice. He felt it; even 
 the wind lulled, and the grasses ceased waving. 
 He ran round the corner of the hut, somehow 
 feeling a presence. The alders were agitated; 
 he rushed among them, and stopped, listening. 
 ( 253 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 An instant s crackling, then deep stillness until 
 the wind puffs whispered again among the 
 boughs; beyond that nothing. 
 
 "By G , thet sneakin devil come back fer 
 
 to try an git this !" he cursed as he went back. 
 "Now I know!" 
 
 He sat on the bank, thinking it all over when 
 Blake came back. 
 
 "Any fish?" 
 
 "A few trout, couple o good ones an a mess 
 o suckers." 
 
 Jim told the other the story of the button. 
 Blake listened quietly. 
 
 "Wall, an what kin y do bout it? Ye cain t 
 prove nawthin , not a damned thing !" 
 
 "I don t sepose we can, wuss luck, but I ll 
 find out some day fer sure, see if I don t!" 
 
 They fed their twelve dogs, sewed some new 
 moccasins for the winter, then traveled through 
 the woods ten miles to the Indian camp. There 
 was nothing there! Tepees all gone, only the 
 tall, lonely frames standing in semi-circles were 
 left. 
 
 Charred embers of the fires were still warm, 
 tea leaves were still moist on the ground, that 
 was all. 
 
 (254)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 "Funny they lit out so suddint!" Jim said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yep, thar s a row o some kind on, sure!" 
 and Tom s face looked worried. 
 
 Overhead great wind clouds whirled along, 
 casting heavy shadows now and then over the 
 empty camping place. A grove of high pines 
 surrounded the spot, and the steadily growing 
 wind whistled mournfully through the needled 
 branches. The two went home again, and 
 talked till long in the night. 
 
 The late summer months passed quickly, Tom 
 and Blake blazing new trails, building traps, 
 making snowshoes, and stiffening up their log 
 cabin to withstand the furious winter storms and 
 snows. 
 
 Thus the autumn came and went. The 
 two laid in a supply of caribou and bear meat, so 
 that when at last Jim woke up one morning to 
 find the ground deep covered with white they 
 were ready for it. 
 
 "I seed a long shoe track to-day, Tom," Blake 
 announced, one night in January, as he came in 
 from the bitter cold evening air. "Traps warn t 
 tetched, though ; did purty fair this trip," he con 
 tinued, throwing off his fur bag. 
 (255)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 "Whar d ye see it?" 
 
 "D ye mind th place whar you an me sot 
 out thet bunch o sable traps, all clost t gether?" 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 "Right thar, leadin nigh onto sou west." 
 
 "He must hev gon ercrost th Long Barren, 
 then, cause thar ain t no way in this heft o snow 
 to git round either side." 
 
 "I guess thet s so." Jim pulled off his wet 
 socks and woolen trousers. "I m dog tired! 
 Give us a snack, an I ll bunk early." 
 
 They ate their supper, smoked a while, then 
 darkness reigned within the little shelter, while 
 a freezing moon moved slowly over the great 
 white lonely North. 
 
 The next morning the two were off soon after 
 light, each working his own trap lines. Tom 
 was traveling south, toward the Long Barren, 
 when he suddenly came across a sledge trail. He 
 followed it a short distance. 
 
 "Who in hell is this?" he muttered, growing 
 excited as he saw that the track led straight on 
 for the Giant Split, as it was called, a deep cre 
 vasse between two rock ridges. "Damn fools, 
 don t know much bout th lay o land!" 
 
 He followed a bit farther, then, as the sun 
 (256)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 was getting down toward its chilling horizon, 
 he turned back for home. 
 
 "Curse it all, Jim, I don t half like this bus - 
 ness; if it was squar Indians, they d come to us, 
 cause they ve seed our lines alright nuff!" he 
 said, as the two sat at the stove side. 
 
 "I guess it s O.K., son; they hain t tetched 
 none o th fur?" 
 
 "Naw, but I " 
 
 He was interrupted by the sudden, quiet open 
 ing of the door; a blanket-shrouded and muffled 
 figure came in, carrying snowshoes. The man 
 unwound his coverings. 
 
 "How, Ogama." It was Ah-teg. 
 
 "Whut ye doin round here?" Blake asked, 
 keeping back the surprise he felt. 
 
 The Indian had moved up to the stove. 
 
 "Ah-teg come tell Ogama story." He pulled 
 out an old clay pipe, lighted it. "Ski-di-wa-bo 
 [whisky] ?" Tom gave him a tablespoon ful of 
 their one bottle supply. The Indian puffed 
 stolidly, then he looked up, and his eyes were 
 flashing fire, though his voice was low and soft. 
 
 "Ogama rememb when Ah-teg come, As- 
 sin-ab, too, for white man counsel?" 
 
 Blake nodded.
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 "Ogama rememb counsel he give Ah-teg?" 
 
 Blake nodded again. 
 
 "Ah-teg, As-sin-ab want same squaw. Say do 
 what Ogama counsel. Ogama say white man 
 have one squaw self. Ah-teg get squaw, for 
 Ah-teg heap rich Missen-abe in tribe. As-sin-ab 
 took squaw, go way far, Ah-teg follow fast lak 
 de am-ik [caribou]. No find, no catch. See 
 trail, follow all time. Near to dead, see?" He 
 drew aside his long, beaded shirt and showed a 
 body worn to skin and bone. Then he smoked 
 again. The two listened as though in a trance, 
 so magnetic was the soft, purring voice in which 
 lurked the Indian s relentless vengeance. 
 
 " Ah-teg heap great think, follow more fast, 
 drive As-sin-ab up mountain, no catch. Follow 
 more, an find to-day track of Ah-teg, his squaw, 
 and As-sin-ab, where two fall in de mouth of 
 land." 
 
 "Thet was their track I seed ter-day," Tom 
 interrupted, eagerly. The Indian looked at him, 
 and a grim smile fled across the thin, tight lips. 
 
 "Young Ogama lak young eagle, mak heap 
 noise, no feathers, no fly!" 
 
 "Thar s an end to it, then, eh?" Blake asked, 
 reaching for a match. His hand stopped half 
 ( 258 )
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 way as the Indian rose. Fierce and wild he 
 looked in the candle-light, standing there, his 
 feet apart, his head thrown back, his long black 
 hair falling in rigid lines about his pain-fur 
 rowed face. His eyes burned and glowed in 
 their sockets, and his nostrils quivered like those 
 of a well-bred horse. 
 
 "End, Ogama say?" The world of sarcasm 
 in the ever-purring voice stung like a whip. 
 
 "Thet s what I said, end, and what can Ah- 
 teg do?" 
 
 "Ah-teg can kill, kill, kill !" came the breath 
 less answer. 
 
 "How, if they re dead in the Split?" 
 
 "Ogama no know that Missen-abe live like 
 animal after dead?" 
 
 "Shucks, rot, hell, anything," Tom blurted 
 out. 
 
 The tall Indian looked at him in withering 
 contempt, then turned to Blake. 
 
 "Will Ogama lend Ah-teg gun?" 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 In majestic silence the Indian lifted his hand 
 till the fingers pointed straight at the trapper. 
 
 "De Manito he tell Ah-teg dat As-sin-ab is 
 fox now, an dat Ah-teg squaw is Wa-ba-boos 
 ( 259)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 [white rabbit]. As-sin-ab he kill man of Great 
 White Squaw an " 
 
 "Th p liceman; I knowed I was right !" Tom 
 rubbed his hands in glee. The Indian paid no 
 attention. 
 
 "An great Manito tell Ah-teg to shoot self 
 in head, then Ah-teg be wolf and kill, kill, kill 1 
 Give Gun !" 
 
 Hypnotized by the black eyes that stared 
 through and through him, Blake reached slowly 
 for the rifle, and handed it to the Indian. With 
 a wild, ringing cry, Ah-teg cocked it, put it to 
 his head, between his eyes, and pulled the trig 
 ger. He dropped, a lifeless heap. 
 
 The two stared; the silence was absolute. 
 
 "My God!" Tom whispered, in awe. "My 
 God!" 
 
 All night they talked in whispers, not daring 
 to move the body, so strong had been the In 
 dian s power. At daylight Jim looked out. It 
 had begun to snow, and the white particles 
 floated down in silent myriads. 
 
 "We d best go to th traps this mornin , Tom ; 
 we ll lose fur if we don t; we can bury him 
 this arternoon." 
 
 They started out together tacitly, neither car- 
 ( 260)
 
 THE INDIAN S VENGEANCE 
 
 ing to be alone. Blake was in the lead as they 
 came to the Split, which they had to cross. He 
 stopped, shaking all over. 
 
 "Look," he muttered, hoarsely, "look!" 
 
 On the far side of the Split, just where a 
 sledge trail led into the soft engulfing, choking 
 snow, sat a timber wolf; it watched them 
 steadily. 
 
 "At its feet, man, at its feet !" Tom whispered. 
 
 There, under the half-open jaws, with the 
 drool dripping slowly on them, lay the dead 
 bodies of a white rabbit and a fox. 
 
 The two turned and sped away, the lone great 
 wolf watching them disappear in the snowy 
 distance. 
 
 ( 261 )
 
 The Taking of Almighty Voice
 
 The Taking of Almighty Voice 
 
 An Incident of the R. N. W. M. P. 
 
 HAT S that moving?" 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Just between those two hills; see 
 it? There it goes!" 
 
 The two Mounted Policemen stared at the 
 rolling hills and valleys, purplish blue in the 
 fading daylight. 
 
 "I see it, now !" Then silence. 
 
 The horses champed nervously at their bits, 
 the tinkling of metal sounding loud in the quiet 
 of the twilight prairie. Now appearing, then 
 vanishing, then coming into view again, a mov 
 ing mass crawled along, sometimes lost in the 
 shadows, again strong in the high lights between 
 the hills. 
 
 "Looks like cattle moving," Somers said then, 
 slowly. The two watched on. 
 
 "It s cattle all right, but who d be moving 
 them at this time of night?" 
 (265)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 Andrews, the other Constable, offered no 
 suggestions. 
 
 Slowly the daylight dimmed. Shade by 
 shade, shadow by shadow the twilight grew, 
 enveloping the distances in vague misty hues. 
 In the east a lone star glowed and twinkled 
 brilliantly, sharp cut against the azure deep of 
 the heavens. 
 
 "I m going to see; you wait here," Andrews 
 said, sharply, spurred his horse and cantered 
 away. 
 
 Somers watched the easily loping horse, its 
 rider lending himself gracefully to the motion, 
 out of sight among the glooms. 
 
 "A late farmer, maybe Nicholls," he mut 
 tered, and dismounted. The horse stretched its 
 neck to lengthen the reins, then nibbled daintily 
 on the green spring grasses that carpeted the 
 June prairies with long, luxuriant growth, so 
 different from the blasted, stiff verdure of the 
 summer months. 
 
 "It s too bad," he whispered on, "that there 
 never is any excitement; in the good old days of 
 Indian fights a man could find some fun now 
 and " 
 
 Crang crack crang crang- 
 ( 266)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 The spits of fire pierced the gloaming angrily; 
 then a deep stillness reigned. Somers sought to 
 focus his eye on the spot from which the tongues 
 of flame had leaped. Nothing! He mounted 
 quickly, and waited, listening. No sound dis 
 turbed the silences of the prairie night. Insect- 
 eating hawks darted hither and thither with 
 light swishing of wings; coyotes yelped here and 
 there in the valleys; beyond these sounds 
 silence ! 
 
 Somers waited and waited, his horse fret 
 fully pawing, throwing its head up and down. 
 
 "By God! I must go, even if he ordered me 
 to stay, as a superior." And away he went, car 
 bine clattering against his saddle, spurs jingling. 
 
 "It s somewhere about here," he said aloud, 
 after a good ride. 
 
 "Steady, girl, who-a, steady!" He slid off, 
 hobbled the little mare and walked on. 
 
 "Who-e-e!" he called, putting forth the 
 strength of his lungs in the wild, weird call. 
 
 No answer. Darkness, with its palls of black, 
 hung heavy on the wastes. He lighted a match. 
 
 "Somewhere here those shots were fi " 
 
 He stopped and saw. 
 
 Huddled in a senseless heap was Andrews. 
 ( 267 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 Frantically Somers felt the cooling hands, 
 desperately he listened for a heart beat; but no 
 beat came. 
 
 He stood up. 
 
 "Forty fifty miles to barracks, but I ll do it 
 before daylight," and he mounted. 
 
 Pound, pound, plud-a-plud sounded the mare s 
 hoofs on the turf. Mile after mile passed under 
 the swiftly-moving feet, and as daylight came 
 faintly in the east Somers reached the Region 
 Barracks. 
 
 "Andrews killed, sir!" 
 
 "What s that?" the Adjutant who was work 
 ing late asked sharply, looking up from the sheaf 
 of papers before him. Somers told the story. 
 
 "Yes, yes, cattle moving, Andrews went to 
 investigate, shots, yes, yes, go on !" And Somers 
 repeated what he had done. 
 
 "Four shots; go on !" 
 
 Then Somers told of having found the Con 
 stable s body, and of having left it there to 
 bring the news. 
 
 "It s Indians, but I don t think they ll touch 
 him now, sir," he finished. 
 
 "Right, quite right!" the Adjutant answered, 
 pressing a button by his desk. An orderly came. 
 (268)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "Call the officer of the night!" 
 
 Lieutenant Roy appeared. 
 
 "You will order forty men into the saddle at 
 once; Somers will guide you; find out who killed 
 Andrews and take them, dead or alive!" 
 
 "Yes, sir." Roy saluted and disappeared. 
 
 "Nothing to eat, man, have you?" 
 
 "No, sir; but I m all right, sir." 
 
 "Tush, nothing! Get something, tea, any 
 thing you like, but be ready in half an hour to 
 start." 
 
 Somers saluted and went out into the barracks 
 square. 
 
 The sun was barely creeping over the skyline 
 when, his hasty breakfast finished, he mounted 
 a fresh horse and was ready for work. Men 
 ran hither and thither; horses whinnied and 
 stamped; officers shouted orders; in short, the 
 barracks were greatly excited. 
 
 "Fall in ! Tention ! By column, right fours, 
 fours right, TROT !" and they were off. 
 
 Now and then the subdued sounds of conver 
 sation broke the monotony of the ride, but most 
 of the time it was clickety-clack, clickety-clack, 
 clickety-clack over the green prairie. The air 
 was soft and sweet, and the gophers whistles 
 (269)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 came sharply through space. Clouds swung on 
 overhead, while grasses rustled under the four 
 score hoofs, and a light breeze played through 
 manes and tails, carrying fresh wilderness sug 
 gestions. 
 
 Somers rode beside Captain MacDonald, at 
 the head of the troop. 
 
 "Bear a bit to the right, sir." The necessary 
 orders were given and the file swung, then trotted 
 on. Hour after hour passed as the rolling wild 
 lands rose up and dwindled away in the rear. 
 The sun climbed straight into the upper heavens 
 and shone there brilliantly warm and soothing. 
 The lonely buttes and sand-banks stood stiffly 
 about, rigid lines of clay and earth. A hasty 
 stop was made for lunch and to rest the horses, 
 then it was "ride" again. 
 
 Late in the afternoon a long rise of hill coun 
 try came into sight. 
 
 "That s the place, sir; beyond that nearest 
 range of buttes." 
 
 MacDonald held up his hand, and the line of 
 horsemen slowed, then stopped. The officer 
 took out his glasses and looked long and care 
 fully. 
 
 "It seems to me there is a haze over there,
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 across that high ridge; can you make anything 
 of it?" 
 
 Somers rested his arm on the pommel of his 
 saddle and was quiet for some moments, search 
 ing the horizon with the powerful instrument. 
 
 "I think that s smoke, sir; but if it s them, 
 they re a long way this side of where Andrews 
 was killed." 
 
 "Very probably, very probably. They 
 wouldn t stay there, surely. Advance at slow 
 trot, and no unnecessary noise," MacDonald 
 called to the men, and they went on again. 
 
 The long, narrow, shrubbed butte grew nearer 
 and nearer; at last they reached it, but there was 
 no sign of smoke or human being. 
 
 "Halt!" MacDonald dismounted. 
 
 "How far should you say that Andrews is 
 from here?" 
 
 "About twenty miles, sir," Somers answered. 
 
 "Hm m ! And yet I know that I saw smoke 
 or something very like it in this butte!" The 
 officer turned. 
 
 "Michaels, take ten men, surround the brush 
 from the far side, then line up at close intervals 
 and drive it through!" 
 
 "Right, sir!" 
 
 ( 271 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "That ought to fetch em out if they re in 
 there," MacDonald whispered to himself. 
 
 The eleven mounted men cantered off round 
 the corner of the high undergrowth, and the rest 
 sat waiting. 
 
 "How many ?" MacDonald began, when 
 
 the crackling of a rifle and the dull bo-oom of a 
 smooth bore interrupted him. 
 
 "They re in there, by Jove, they are!" he 
 shouted then. "Steady now, men, steady, and 
 if they break out, get after them sharply!" 
 
 Craaaaack! Bang! Bang! Bang-bang-pa- 
 ang ! Bo-o-oom ! 
 
 The tension was supreme. Men strained to 
 get into action, and it was a strain for MacDon 
 ald to hold them back. 
 
 "Quiet, men, quiet! Wait till the others get 
 through; they ll have the devils right enough." 
 
 A silence followed his words; nothing but the 
 wind whispered in the white ash and quivering 
 birch leaves. Of a sudden every ear was turned 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Give it to em, blast em, give em hell!" 
 they heard faintly, and a cheer broke out. 
 
 "SILENCE, there!" Then, pang bo-om, 
 crang ! and a far-away medley of yells.
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 From the thick brush the snapping and break 
 ing of twigs sounded, and a single policeman 
 galloped through. 
 
 Reining his horse to its haunches, he saluted 
 MacDonald. 
 
 "Tims and Ryerson killed, Dickens and Aud- 
 ley wounded, three horses down, sir!" 
 
 "What in God s name is there in the butte?" 
 
 "Three Indians, sir, Almighty Voice and two 
 others." 
 
 "That fiend again? We ll finish him this 
 time ! Nelson and two men go to relieve the 
 wounded, the rest of you in open formation and 
 close in on the butte; quickly now, quickly!" 
 
 Bang! A Constable rolled from his horse. 
 The men flinched. 
 
 Bang! The nearest heard the store bullet 
 whistle, but they set their teeth and waited. 
 
 Bang ! MacDonald s jacket twitched near the 
 elbow, and he saw a ragged tear. He thought 
 rapidly, and grasped the only thing to do. 
 
 "Retreat steadily beyond that next rise!" 
 
 The lone gun spanged again and again, but 
 missed each time. They fell back, taking the 
 last wounded man with them, and halted under 
 the cover of the hill. 
 
 ( 273 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "That devil knows we don t dare fire into 
 him on account of our men on the other side, 
 damn him!" MacDonald cursed bitterly. The 
 shots died away, and from the butte came the 
 remainder of the eleven men, bringing their 
 dead. The waiting troop looked on sadly, 
 growling vengeance. The Sergeant, Michaels, 
 came up. 
 
 "Did you get them all but this one that has 
 been potting us?" 
 
 "No, sir, didn t get nary one t all !" the burly 
 Irishman answered grimly. "Ye moight as wull 
 look fur a nadle in a field o hay as thry to git 
 thim suckers outen that!" 
 
 It was getting dark rapidly, and the fact was 
 obvious that it was merely a waste of life to try 
 any more that night. 
 
 "Flint, return to barracks, report to the Com 
 missioner, present my compliments and say that 
 the field guns will be needed here unless, we want 
 to lose a lot of men. Ride hard, don t spare the 
 horse. I want those guns here in the morning 
 without fail; do you understand?" 
 
 "Right, sir !" The man swallowed some cold 
 tea from his canteen, leaped Into the saddle, and 
 the sound of his horse s feet faded quickly away. 
 ( 274)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "Michaels, post sentries all round the butte 
 with big fires; have each man keep out of the 
 circle of his own fire-light, or they will snipe 
 
 him, and have a sharp watch kept, or those 
 
 things will slip out!" 
 
 "Yis, sor!" And it was done. 
 
 Suppers were eaten in whispering silence. 
 The wounded men tossed and tumbled in their 
 blankets, and beyond, in the shadows, two mute, 
 stiff forms were lying, covered with their cloaks. 
 MacDonald paced slowly up and down. 
 
 "This is excitement in the Northwest 
 Mounted Police," he muttered; "not much like 
 South Africa, but better than being under an 
 uplifted commoner at barracks, anyway. I won 
 der if he will think it dignified to send those 
 guns?" He strode on, traveling about the sen 
 try line. 
 
 Crack ! and he heard the hum-m-m-whe-e-e 
 of the lead. 
 
 Several of the Police fired into the brush from 
 whence the shot had come, and everything was 
 still again. 
 
 An hour later, the men that had been sent 
 out from barracks to get Andrews body came, 
 having heard the firing. The Constable had 
 
 ( 275 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 not been mutilated; they put him beside the 
 other two. 
 
 "If anything happens, call me," MacDonald 
 ordered, as he wrapped himself in his blankets. 
 He had scarcely lain down when he heard the 
 sound of ponies feet. An old squaw and a 
 young Indian girl came into the light and dis 
 mounted silently. 
 
 "What do you want?" he asked, rising. 
 
 The old woman looked him squarely in the 
 face, and her shining black eyes glowed in the 
 yellow light. 
 
 "Me Tu-no-sin, mother to Almighty Voice. 
 Me come see him die like his fadder, Big Chief," 
 and she sat down. The girl said nothing. The 
 near men grumbled and swore at the two, but 
 they heeded not. 
 
 At last the night lifted and began to move, 
 giving way to shafts of tinted light from the 
 east. Little by little the butte grew in distinct 
 ness, till each bush and stunted tree was plainly 
 visible. Nothing moved in it anywhere; only 
 birds that fluttered audibly about in the morning 
 quiet. Then came the sun, gilding the vast 
 prairies in soft tone, banishing the dampness, 
 mists and wreaths of hazy fog that swirled gen- 
 (276)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 tly with the faint wind. The fires glow was 
 gone; only smoke curled upwards slowly. The 
 men ate their breakfasts in turn, keeping steady 
 watch the while on the inscrutable butte where 
 death lurked silently. 
 
 "Can t we have a thry at em, sor?" Mi 
 chaels begged, and the rest hung on MacDon- 
 ald s answer. 
 
 "No ; wait for the guns. I m not going to have 
 any more of you finished in there." The words 
 were final, and the big Sergeant turned away. 
 
 In the middle of the butte was an open grass 
 spot of a few yards width. Something moving 
 on it caught MacDonald s eye, and just as he 
 distinguished what it was a wild, eerie scream 
 quavered on the air. Every one looked, and two 
 threw up their rifles. 
 
 "Wait!" and they put them down again. 
 
 The thing was a tall Indian, standing boldly 
 out in the opening. As they watched he began 
 to dance, and the sounds of a long-drawn minor 
 chant floated in soft cadence over the brush. 
 
 The old squaw leaped to her feet. 
 
 "My son, he sing the Death Song of his great 
 people; he no afraid." 
 
 The girl stood by her side, her eyes fixed on 
 ( 277 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 the rhythmically swaying form. Tu-no-sin 
 turned fiercely on the Police. 
 
 "You rabbits all! See him dance the Death 
 Dance and you are fraid to go !" All the emo 
 tion of a wild, untamable race showed in her 
 seared face as she cackled brokenly. The girl 
 said nothing, but there was a fire in her eyes. 
 The Sergeant lifted his hand to strike. 
 
 "No!" MacDonald said, quick and sharp. 
 
 They watched and waited. In a few mo 
 ments the song was finished, and the Indian 
 glided out of sight again. 
 
 MacDonald went up to the silent, patiently 
 waiting women, who waited to see the end they 
 knew was coming. 
 
 "Why do you stay?" he asked, a pity in his 
 heart for them. The old squaw never even 
 lifted her eyes to him. He asked again, then 
 the girl spoke softly. 
 
 "Almighty Voice my chief, Tu-no-sin, young 
 Eagle. We come to see him die like great brave 
 and wake in the Manito land. He sleep here. 
 We have no son, no chief, no moon, no star, 
 when he is gone, and we come to see him go. 
 Ogama* is not angry with poor Indians." 
 
 *White officer. 
 (2 7 8)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 He swung on his heel abruptly, a lump in his 
 throat. 
 
 "The guns are coming, they re coming, sir!" 
 
 In the distance a line was approaching fast; 
 it came nearer, and they heard the rattle-clank- 
 clank of the wheels, and the jingling of harness. 
 Sweating and breathing hard, the line drew up. 
 The Adjutant was at its head. 
 
 "What s all this nonsense about guns? Can t 
 you get three Indians out of a butte without 
 artillery?" 
 
 Bang! A gun-horse fell, kicking and strug 
 gling to rise. 
 
 "Unlimber! Load! Five hundred yards 
 No. i gun, Fire! No. 2 gun, six hundred yards 
 Fire! Too low, men, too low and to the 
 left! Rake that thick stuff in that corner 
 smartly ! Ready ! No. i gun, seven hundred 
 yards Fire! That s much better! No. 2 gun 
 Ready! Same range, Fire! Now keep at 
 that for ten rounds, then work to the right! 
 Sharply now, look sharp there, No. 2 gun!" 
 So volleying his orders, the Adjutant dis 
 mounted, and noticed the women who stood 
 close to the guns, watching the effect of each 
 shot. 
 
 ( 279 )
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "Who s that, who s that?" he asked, fret 
 fully, and MacDonald told him. 
 
 "Fools!" was his superior s answer. 
 
 "Now, gunners, sweep that high bank and 
 clean out the foot of it. That s too low, 
 damn it, too low ! Get up in the air some 
 where ! That s it !" he shouted, as a shell burst 
 fairly on the bank and the sand flew up in 
 clouds. 
 
 The air was sultry and sullen with acid 
 powder fumes, through which the sun came in 
 thickened, dingy rays. An hour the firing 
 continued. 
 
 "Cease firing!" and the bugle rang out clear 
 and strong. The silence was great after the 
 tumult. 
 
 "Cleaned up that place a bit!" and the Ad 
 jutant chuckled. 
 
 The brush was torn and gashed, scattered by 
 the explosions; whole spots were swept bare, 
 and here and there lone trees sagged weakly, 
 trembling toward the ground. Long rifts 
 showed through the high grasses where shells 
 had hurtled along, and the sand banks were 
 deep-pitted and jagged. 
 
 The two squaws stood there, impassively. 
 (280)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 "Eight men in there to search ! The rest out 
 side in cordon formation!" MacDonald com 
 manded the searching squad and the little party 
 advanced, revolvers in hand, scrutinizing every 
 shelter. 
 
 "Here s one of them, sir!" 
 
 "And here s the other two !" 
 
 There they were, the three, their guns in their 
 hands, one of them evidently killed in the act of 
 firing at the Police. 
 
 The squaws crept in, following the searchers. 
 The mother sank on her knees beside her son, 
 and stroked his face, smoothing the long black 
 hair. The girl was on the other side, simply 
 touching the dead man s hand. The bodies were 
 near the outer edge of the butte. 
 
 "What shall I do with them, sir?" MacDon 
 ald called to the Adjutant. 
 
 "Leave the carrion there if they re dead, and 
 come along; we ve got to hurry to get these 
 wounded men to barracks. Limber! Attach! 
 Left wheel TROT ! Gallop !" 
 
 MacDonald put his hand on the woman s 
 shoulder; she rose in fury. 
 
 "Go, White Ogama ! We came to see braves 
 die, not rabbits live!" 
 
 (281)
 
 THE TAKING OF ALMIGHTY VOICE 
 
 He called his men, arranged litters for the 
 sufferers, then 
 
 "Prepare to mount ! MOUNT! Forward, 
 TROT ! Men with wounded follow slowly ! 
 Gallop !" 
 
 At the top of the last rise MacDonald stopped 
 alone to look back. The smoke had all gone; 
 nothing remained of the shelling but the wrecked 
 butte. 
 
 "Poor devils," he whispered, as he thought of 
 the two women alone with their dead. 
 
 He trotted on after his men, and all was 
 silent again on the prairie. 
 
 ( 2S2 )
 
 The Light of a Match
 
 The Light of a Match 
 
 WAVE upon wave in the wind, undu 
 lation on undulation, the wheat 
 fields rippled their wealth. The 
 glorious August sun heated the air with shim 
 mering tenseness, baking the short grass on the 
 wild lands, but urging on the feathered ears of 
 grain to finer growth and proportion. Far 
 away, like shreds of veils, faint clouds were scat 
 tered over the horizon, timidly reaching out 
 overhead as though afraid of the scorching rays. 
 The light hot wind that played along was laden 
 with the smell of the grain, tainted with the 
 green reek of the sloughs. 
 
 On the top of a rise was a squatter s home; 
 rough and gray it looked in the fierce sunlight. 
 A shed for the horses, an apology for a granary, 
 a miserable coop for some chickens, completed 
 the little group of buildings. Hysterically a hen 
 cackled, announcing that rare thing on the 
 Northwestern prairie, a fresh egg. 
 
 The clatter of a stool, a rush of footsteps, and 
 (285)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 Samuel King tumbled helter-skelter from the 
 low, fly-beset doorway. 
 
 "Marthy! Marthy!" he shouted, shrilly, his 
 voice dying away on the instant in the burning 
 atmosphere, "Susan s laid a egg fo sure this 
 time!" 
 
 Still cackling, the speckled hen retreated; he 
 advancing eagerly to her nest under the stable 
 sill. 
 
 "I got it, Marthy, I got it!" 
 
 Brown, oblong, and warm it lay in his rough 
 palm. 
 
 "Thank ye, Susan." He drew the sweat from 
 his forehead with a quick accustomed motion. 
 The hen perched angrily on a plowshare and 
 cackled on vociferously. Then from over in the 
 corner of the yard a cock crowed its harsh tones, 
 softened by the heat. 
 
 "Thank ye, too, Dick," old Sam said, gravely, 
 and went back to the log house. 
 
 "Thar, girl ! a right fresh egg I got fur ye !" 
 He placed it carefully on the table. 
 
 The interior was small and neat; a bed, a 
 
 table, three chairs, and a rusty stove were its 
 
 only furnishings. Clothes dangled here and 
 
 there from wooden pegs on the wall, worn boots 
 
 (286)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 peered forlornly from beneath the attic ladder 
 nothing more. She looked up at him, eyes 
 tremulous and pleading. 
 
 "It s so hot, Sam," she murmured, from her 
 position by the crack of the north door. "It s 
 so hot!" 
 
 "Aye, girl; but ye must eat! Ye hain t ate 
 nothin fur two days I" 
 
 She gave a quick, petulant motion. 
 
 "I don t want anything!" 
 
 With a deep sigh the old man sat down, while 
 the blistering heat grew. He looked fondly 
 and with great pride over the vast acres that 
 belonged to him; acres that were heavy in 
 weight, golden with dollars money. 
 
 "Aye, money," he whispered; "money ter 
 give her everythin she wants, money ter make 
 up ter her incause I m old, money ter make her 
 happy! An it s all out thar, out thar; growin , 
 fillin ter twenty-five an thirty dollars an acre; 
 an , by God, it s fur her!" 
 
 "What are you muttering about, Sam?" the 
 girl asked, tossing uncomfortably in the tiny 
 breeze that came from the northwest. 
 
 "About you, girl; allus about you; I ain t got 
 nawthin else!" 
 
 (287)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 She stood up wearily, smoothing her rough 
 blouse and skirt, throwing back the loose damp 
 masses of hair that clung about her face. She 
 was beautiful, but the great hazel eyes had some 
 thing unanswerable in them, something that no 
 man could fully understand. 
 
 "It s frightful hot, Sam," she said, moving to 
 him. "I m choking here!" She tore at her 
 throat. 
 
 "Girl, girl; since yer father gi en yer ter me 
 as wife, I ve loved ye all I knowed how. I m 
 only an old man, an a rough one, but I d 
 I d" he looked about in desperation "I d 
 give up anythin ye asked, ef et wuld make ye 
 happy!" 
 
 "Dear old Sam," she whispered, "dear old 
 Sam. I know ye would give me anything I 
 wanted!" She turned from him impulsively 
 and threw herself down by the north door again. 
 
 He jumped to his feet, the strong old figure 
 alert and keen, his eyes bright, and flashing 
 a strange gleam from beneath their shaggy 
 brows. 
 
 "What d ye want then? I giv s yer money, 
 I giv s yer clo es, I giv s yer my old life, an I 
 worships yer, girl; ain t that enough?" 
 (288)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 She looked at him steadily for a moment, 
 while the flies buzzed and sang, while the heat 
 grew in its suffocating strength. 
 
 "Sammy," she spoke with an effort, almost 
 forcing the words, "Sammy, I ve loved yer like 
 a" she hesitated "like a woman should; but 
 I m lonely!" 
 
 The old man looked at her; then turned away 
 with an ineffable sadness in his eyes. 
 
 "Aye," he muttered, "she s lonely 1" 
 
 Thus the afternoon passed in reeking, swel 
 tering hours. Slowly the broiling sun sank into 
 a scarlet west; degree by degree the air cooled 
 until, with the shadows of evening, the atmos 
 phere was less burning in its draught, less sweat 
 ing in its grip. 
 
 "Girl!" He crawled beside her. "Girl!" 
 
 "Yes, Sammy." She woke from a welcome 
 doze. "What?" 
 
 The old man fought with himself for an in 
 stant, then swallowed what he wanted to say. 
 "Ye know I loves yer, don t ye?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, slowly. 
 
 "Ye know I d sell my soul fur ye; giv up 
 everythin fur ye, ef ye asked it?" 
 
 "Ye-es," more slowly. 
 
 (289)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "What is t, then, ye s wantin ? Tell me, girl ; 
 tell me, an I ll giv it ye ef I can ! I hain t got 
 much, but what s mine s yours, Honey; what 
 d ye want?" The old man s voice was strong 
 and clear; cracked a little with years perhaps, 
 but ringing true. 
 
 She lifted herself on one elbow; reached out 
 and stroked the long gray hair affectionately, 
 kindly. 
 
 "Sammy, I shouldn t talk this way, I 
 shouldn t; but a woman s just a woman, Sammy; 
 ye can t always understand her ways, nor see the 
 meanin of her words; a woman s a cur ous 
 thing, Sammy!" She sank back slowly into the 
 little draught that stole in under the north door. 
 
 "Aye, girl, but ye r the only woman in the 
 world; ye r honest, ye r squar to me, an I I, 
 by God," he burst into deep sobs that disturbed 
 the quiet, "I m only a rough old man !" 
 
 His sorrow appealed to her. She smoothed 
 his wet forehead tenderly, and caressed the 
 worn, gnarled hands. 
 
 "Never mind, Sammy, never mind; women 
 don t know when they re well off, they re fools 
 sometimes; that s Nature, Sammy." 
 
 "Natur ! What s Natur ?" he said, standing 
 ( 290 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 up. "I loves ye, and ye know it; but I m old 
 and cain t go galivantin round ter dances and 
 sich, incause all the strength I got I want ter 
 use in makin money fur ye out in the wheat." 
 He waved his thin arms toward the doorway 
 through which the stars now flickered and 
 gleamed. "That s the Natur I knows the 
 sun, rain, and frost; thar ain t no other, Marthy 
 -is thar?" 
 
 Her great hazel-brown eyes opened wide in 
 the semi-gloom. 
 
 "Poor old Sammy," she whispered softly; 
 "poor old Sammy; always the wheat!" 
 
 Silently he went out to the stables and gravely 
 milked their only cow, the warm white liquid 
 hissing metallically in the tin pail. The odor 
 of straw soothed, the smell of the animal body 
 before him calmed his sorrow. 
 
 "Sho, Bess," he slapped the gaunt beast 
 playfully "ye r gettin shy o milk; grass is 
 p utty stiff, ain t it?" 
 
 The cow looked at him over her shoulder and 
 chewed her cud placidly. 
 
 "That s the only Natur I knows," he mut 
 tered, as he went out into the hot night. "Onct !" 
 he drew himself up proudly in his old tattered 
 ( 291 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 overalls, his faded blue shirt "Onct, it seems 
 as though I knowed somethin different, but I ve 
 clean lost it!" 
 
 His eyes wandered over the dark landscape. 
 Gray-black and far away the nearest rises in the 
 prairie seemed stifling; the air came and went 
 in his lungs; even his long gray beard dripped 
 with the heat of his body. The darkness was 
 laden with the invisible noises of the night; 
 myriads of wings hummed as insects stung and 
 flew away. Out yonder coyotes yelped, their 
 doleful voices rising and falling as the draught 
 breathed and died. Gophers whistled sharply 
 at the entrances of their holes, piercing the 
 blackness with sounds that tingled the ear. And 
 over it all a sky spotted with stars that wavered 
 in their gleam as he looked at them. The old 
 man went and lighted a candle. By its flicker 
 ing yellow sheen he saw the girl tossing by the 
 north door. Hurriedly he poured some milk 
 into a cracked coarse china cup. 
 
 "Here, Honey, have some o this." 
 
 With half-opened eyes she took it and tasted, 
 then flung it from her. 
 
 "Sammy!" she coughed; "I thought it was 
 water." 
 
 ( 292 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 He picked up the broken bits one by one and 
 carefully threw them out of doors. 
 
 "I ll get ye some water," he said, quietly, and 
 took down a bright bucket that shone faintly in 
 the candle-light. 
 
 She started up quickly. 
 
 "Never mind, Sammy, it isn t worth four 
 miles walk." 
 
 But he was gone, and a breathless silence came 
 on the interior, broken only by the buzzing of 
 flies and flappings of moths toward the candle. 
 She settled back to her old position, gasping for 
 a cool whiff of air. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A figure appeared in the door tall, lithe, and 
 strong, with steady blue eyes that had no furtive 
 intention in them, even in the candle-light. 
 
 "Martha !" The voice was low, soft. 
 "Martha!" 
 
 The girl sat up. "Here, Fred," she an 
 swered, quietly. 
 
 With light steps he reached her side, blowing 
 out the candle as he passed. 
 
 "Martha !" He sought to kiss her. 
 
 "No, lad !" She pushed him away resolutely. 
 "It can t be." 
 
 ( 293 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "Why, why?" the man begged, his tones 
 vibrating with his great feelings. 
 
 A silence between the two deep silence. 
 Then, "Because he loves me, Fred; that s 
 enough !" 
 
 "But he doesn t love you he can t as I 
 do!" 
 
 "Ssssh !" she warned. "Even if he can t give 
 me everything in the world, no one else has the 
 right to, onless he says the word." 
 
 "I ll tell him, I ll show him how he can t, 
 and he ll understand." 
 
 "No, Fred, you mustn t, because he s honest 
 in his love; are you?" 
 
 She turned on him quickly. 
 
 "You know," he whispered, pressing her 
 hand, "you know what I have resisted for 
 you !" He stood up. "I ll come to-night for 
 your answer, Martha to-night." 
 
 Silence again. 
 
 A sultry hour and another passed on, she ly 
 ing there battling with herself. 
 
 "Here s water, girl; fresh f om th river, but 
 I m afeared it s a trifle warm!" 
 
 She drank eagerly in great gulping swallows 
 the tepid water that was in old Sam s bucket. 
 ( 294 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "It s not bad, Sammy," she murmured. 
 
 "I m glad, Honey." 
 
 He sat on the door sill, slowly waving a ket 
 tle cover to and fro for a breeze. The night 
 became darker and more dark, closing in over 
 the prairies in sultry heaviness. 
 
 "I guess I ll turn in," he said presently, and 
 stretched himself in some blankets near the 
 empty stove. 
 
 "I ll stay here awhile," the girl said, and 
 edged herself as near as possible to the north 
 sill. 
 
 His heavy breathing was the only sound, 
 while she listened and waited. Hot, hot and 
 more choking the night was, threatening a thun 
 derstorm or hail. 
 
 Sam King breathed hard because of his sor 
 row, because of his helplessness. And then he 
 slept. As though in answer to his last waking 
 thoughts, he heard a careful sound. He opened 
 his eyes, and, silhouetted against the star- 
 speckled heavens of the door, saw two figures. 
 Their outlines were sharp against the sky. He 
 almost cried out but held his peace. No 
 sound came from these two forms; no whisper 
 of their meaning, but he guessed who was one 
 
 ( 295 )
 
 of them. They passed out, stopped again, and 
 one lighted a match. No word aloud; only the 
 look in their eyes at each other. The match 
 died out instantly. The sound of careful feet 
 coming in the hut, then silence. 
 
 Through the long hot hours he tossed and 
 turned. "She keers fur me, but she don t love 
 me," he whispered, great beads of sweat on his 
 brow. "And how could she? fool that IVe 
 been; I m not suited for the likes of her; tain t 
 Natur , an I knows what she meaned this arter- 
 noon; I knows what she meaned." 
 
 On one side the jealousy of a one-time youth 
 urged him to declare his knowledge and use his 
 power of right; on the other the sense of justice 
 to her made him helpless. He thought for a 
 long time. "I ll do it fur her," he whispered 
 then. In a little while, when she was quiet, he 
 stole out bareheaded, in his coarsely-stockinged 
 feet, and walked slowly along the breast-high 
 wheat. 
 
 "It was all fur her," he said aloud, mourn 
 fully, letting the nearly ripe ears slide roughly 
 through his fingers. Careless of his steps, he 
 wandered here and there through the tall 
 growth. Stems cracked and broke, whole doz- 
 (296)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 ens of stalks were bent and crushed, but he 
 walked on. Then from far in the east crept 
 the first green-yellow tints of dawn. He stood 
 still and watched the colors change and brighten, 
 brighten and change, till the lower heavens were 
 aglow, then ablaze, with the coming sun. 
 
 He leaned over impulsively, and drew hand- 
 fuls of the standing grain to his face, kissing it, 
 rubbing it between the powerful old hands. 
 
 "I ve watched ye grow, as I hev her; 
 I ve tended ye, as I hev her; I d not let one wind 
 o heaven hurt ye, all fur her, if I c uld help it; 
 an now" he flung away the crumbled remains, 
 his hands stained green "now I ve got ter giv 
 up to Natur an Life, as ye ve got ter be cut 
 with th reaper!" His head sank on his chest, 
 the long beard flowing low. "What for? Is 
 there a God in heaven? What for?" He 
 threw his arms toward the bright overhead. 
 
 The sun burst over the horizon in a fierce 
 glare of power, gilding the vistas of wheat, em 
 purpling the last clouds of night that vanished 
 beyond the west, glowing the air with its might. 
 
 "Aye," he said, facing it, so that the light 
 shone full on his face, softening the outlines of 
 his figure. "Aye, thar s the answer, an it s 
 ( 29? )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 true true, it s Natur in all her glory. What s 
 laws, what s anythin in life but Natur ?" He 
 went back, bathed in the fierce rays. When 
 nearly at the hut he stopped again. 
 
 The morning draught played daintily about 
 him, rustling the grasses at his feet, stirring his 
 beard and bushy eyebrows with gentle, caressing 
 softness. As far as his eyes could reach were 
 fields acres miles upon miles of gorgeous 
 splendor of wealth. The ears of wheat rolled, 
 rippled, bowed, and rolled again to the south 
 wind, changing hue from brilliant yellow to 
 shadowed green at each puff. 
 
 "It s all mine mine," he said, dully, "but 
 what s the good? Money, aye; but money 
 don t buy all I wish I culd giv her, an money 
 don t buy what I want an can t have. Thar s 
 no room in life for an old man like me. I ve 
 done my best, an tain t good enough fur her; 
 I knows it, an she s right, bless her, allus she s 
 right; I m wrong, but I ll make it squar to her, 
 God helpin me." 
 
 She awoke as he entered. 
 
 "Sammy?" 
 
 "Aye, Sammy," he answered, softly. 
 
 "Where ve you been so early?" 
 (298)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "Just seein that th grain s all right." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "Fur ye, girl, it s right an growin , heapin 
 money with every day s sun." 
 
 She winced in half awakedness, shrinking 
 from his earnest tones; and now he saw and was 
 glad, for he had decided. 
 
 "A bit o bacon? some gruel for breakfast, 
 
 girl?" 
 
 She put her hands over her eyes; they were 
 clenched tight, and he saw now that he knew 
 what to look for. With a strong heart he pre 
 tended that he did not see. 
 
 "Is it going to be hot again, Sammy?" 
 
 He went to the door, standing in the blister 
 ing light. 
 
 "I m afeard so, Honey; but yon sun" he 
 looked almost straight into its white heat 
 "gives us money, gives us" he stumbled in 
 search of the word "life!" 
 
 She murmured something, and dozed again 
 while he got some breakfast. 
 
 The reaping was over. The crowd of men 
 had gone, and the vast fields no longer rang 
 
 ( 299 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 with the whirring of steel, the harsh champing 
 of toothed knives, the clattering chatter of bind 
 ers. The year s work was done. No hail, no 
 frost, nothing had marred the success of the 
 crop, and the old man had a long credit account 
 at the bank in Brandon. He and his two men, 
 load by load, took the grain to the railway ele 
 vator, and watched it disappear in the dust- 
 funnels. Then it was all gone. Instead of the 
 waving wheat-heads on stalk he had money 
 gold, that he could draw from the bank, for it 
 was his. 
 
 As he milked one night, he drew the bank 
 book from his inside pocket. It was already 
 chafed with the continual carrying. 
 
 "Six thousand dollars," he whispered. "Six 
 thousand dollars ! I ll take two hundred ; that ll 
 get me far away some ere an leave enough for 
 her an him!" 
 
 The same familiar cow gazed placidly at 
 him, whisking her rough tail with a swi-sh 
 swi-sh swi-sh that betokened annoyance of the 
 flies. The next day he went, while the girl was 
 sewing at his clothes, to the station. 
 
 "Gimme a ticket fur th West." 
 
 "Whereabouts?" the agent asked, noting this 
 ( 300 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 face more than the others that passed his little 
 window. 
 
 "As far as the line goes," King answered, 
 slowly. 
 
 The sound of tearing paper, the dull clack- 
 click of a hand-stamp, then 
 
 "Here ye are; all the way through British 
 Columbia to the Pacific, $60.50!" 
 
 The old man paid his money unseeing, and 
 turned away. 
 
 "Good for ten days only," the agent called 
 after him. 
 
 For nine of these days he worked about the 
 house, cleaning up, straightening the farm im 
 plements, getting everything right. That night, 
 when the girl was asleep in the cold of the Sep 
 tember frost, he went out, and paced the de 
 serted fields, his feet crunching softly on the 
 crust of the new earth. Glittering eerily, like 
 distant winking eyes, the stars shone on him, 
 and he watched the flashing comets trail their 
 short, sparkling course. The darkness was in 
 tensely silent; not even a breath of wind dis 
 turbed the absolute peace. 
 
 "I m goin ter-morrow," he said aloud, "goin 
 so s she kin live. Girl, ef ye only knowed how 
 ( 30 1 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 I loves yer ! Honey " His voice broke and 
 
 quavered. "But I m old, old, old an donel 
 Great God," he flung his arms wide "I loves 
 her with a young heart, but I cain t show it. 
 I m too fond o makin money on th land ! 
 What I kin do is to giv her all I hev an go ; 
 an I m agoin . Fred s a good lad, clean an 
 honest; an since she loves him, since that s Life, 
 I kin only show my love by this." He drew in 
 great breaths of the night chill, and it strength 
 ened him. 
 
 ****** 
 
 "Come over to the station this mornin , 
 Honey; I got business thar," he said, at break 
 fast. 
 
 She wondered then why he had on his best 
 clothes, patched and worn as they were but 
 his best. 
 
 "Yes, Sammy, I d like the drive, I think." 
 She kissed him. "Nothing wrong?" 
 
 "No," he answered, steadily, "nuthin !" 
 
 By a coincidence (that she did not know) 
 Fred Halson joined them, riding his new cay- 
 use, a pretty beast, full of life and deviltry. 
 
 "Whar ye bound, Sam?" he called gayly, 
 looking at the girl. 
 
 ( 302 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "Over to th station, lad; come along." 
 
 Once there, he fastened the team securely to 
 a fence-post. 
 
 "I ll go to the store, Sammy," she said; 
 "wait for me." 
 
 Wo, don t, girl; I may want ye." 
 
 She was surprised; but stayed willingly. 
 
 "Sam," Fred shouted. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "If thar s anythin for me on th express, 
 take it home, will ye? I ve got to go cross th 
 road." He started away. 
 
 "Fred!" 
 
 The young man stopped at the unusual com 
 mand in the voice. 
 
 "Wait a minute, will ye? Train 11 be here 
 p utty soon, an I may need ye." 
 
 "Oh, all right, Sam; sure, ef I kin be of any 
 use." 
 
 They walked up the long platform together. 
 The old man contrived to leave the girl and 
 the other, while he went along the raised boards, 
 his eyes focusing themselves on the long dis 
 tance, to a certain roll in the cold prairie where 
 he knew was his home. The skies were overcast 
 and gray, chilling and repulsive. No faint 
 ( 303 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 gleam of sunlight warmed his body, no ray of 
 happiness soothed the agony in his heart. 
 
 "For th last time I look on ye, my lands 
 hers and his n now. But I m content, incause 
 she ll be happy!" 
 
 To-ot to-ot, toot toot. Far away yet, 
 from the east, but plainly discernible, came the 
 whistling of the express; and as he watched 
 toward the sound he saw a thread of black rising 
 over the prairie; furling, folding, and dwindling 
 away. 
 
 "She s comin ," he whispered, and turned 
 swiftly to the two that waited side by side. 
 
 "Girl!" 
 
 "You re sick, Sammy," she said, quickly, fear 
 fully, seeing his haggard face and eyes dulled. 
 
 "I wants ter speak ter ye a minute." 
 
 She walked with him, the young man wait 
 ing. 
 
 "Thar s no use" he coughed a moment as 
 the rushing sound of iron wheels came to them 
 "thar s no use in tryin ter pretend a girl like 
 you can love a rough old man like me." 
 
 "Sammy!" she gasped, and stared in bewil 
 derment. 
 
 "Thar s no good in it, girl; here" he pulled 
 
 (304)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 out his bank-book, and some papers "here s 
 your credit now at th bank, an here s th 
 deeds o th land!" He forced them into her 
 hands, hurrying on "I m goin , Honey, goin 
 out of your life, that I hain t no right to ruin." 
 
 She tried to interrupt. 
 
 "You ve been squar to th old man, an 
 he kin appreciate THAT!" His words were 
 drowned by the roar and rumble of the long 
 train as it came slowly to a standstill beside 
 them. 
 
 "Sammy!" she said, dully, the heroic thing 
 he was doing for her numbing her mind. 
 
 He looked into her eyes for an instant, the 
 whole of his great love twisting his face as 
 though in pain. 
 
 "And me, Sammy? Without you She 
 
 stopped, his sacrifice glaring into her soul. All 
 his kindness and rough tenderness, all his little 
 pathetic ways, all his honor and thoughtfulness, 
 rushed past, and, woman-like, she weighed what 
 she was losing, and what she might have in the 
 future torn between the two. "Why, Sammy? 
 Why? Poor old Sammy!" she gasped, seeing 
 the clinched jaws, the muscles working spas 
 modically in his face. 
 
 ( 305 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 "Incause" he spoke almost fiercely "I saw 
 it all by th light o a match." 
 
 She was silent, knowing then that he knew. 
 He took her by the hand, dragged her through 
 the crowd of tourists, passengers, immigrants, 
 that thronged the station, to where the other 
 stood. 
 
 "Fred, lad, ye r honest, an ye loves Marthy 
 as a man should, don t ye?" 
 
 The other was amazed, dumb almost. 
 
 "I do!" he answered, before he had time to 
 think. 
 
 "All aboard all board!" 
 
 "I trusts her to ye, lad, fur she loves ye, an 
 kin show it now, incause I gives my consent, an 
 he coughed again harshly "my blessin . 
 Look arter her well, lad, as I hev ; an read this 
 when I m gone!" He gave him a sheet of 
 paper, and sprang away. 
 
 Slowly the great wheels revolved to the spurt 
 ing chug-chug of the engine. White-jacketed 
 porters closed the vestibules of the Pullmans. 
 Gradually, then faster and faster, the long cars 
 moved away; the two gripping each other s 
 hands convulsively, tears streaming down her 
 face. No sign of old Sam King. The two 
 (306)
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 watched the express fade away to a blur in the 
 west. She turned on him then. 
 
 "Are you a man like him, Fred?" 
 
 He looked into her eyes. 
 
 "He is a man," he whispered. "I can only 
 try to love ye as he did !" 
 
 "You ll have to try hard!" she answered, 
 softly. 
 
 For an instant then a single ray of yellow 
 sunlight forced its way through the gray clouds, 
 and hesitated weakly on the two; it was gone. 
 
 "Sammy" she waved her hand to the west 
 ward, along the unsympathetic cold lines of 
 steel "ye didn t kiss me good-by," and the 
 tears rolled faster. 
 
 "No, he didn t," the man whispered; "but I ll 
 watch over ye ! I don t love the grain most!" 
 
 He opened the paper, and his face became 
 soft with a deep glow of feeling. 
 
 "Read thet, dear!" 
 
 She could distinguish the words but slowly 
 for her tears. 
 
 "ye an (red kin marry in tou weks I l be out o th wurld 
 then ye l be hapy i gues an ets ryght ye shuld incaus ye an 
 him hev bin squar in this thing i aint jelous i m hapy fur it 
 
 "lovinle 
 
 " SAM." 
 (307 )
 
 THE LIGHT OF A MATCH 
 
 For a moment both were silent, looking to 
 the west. 
 
 "He didn t love the grain most after all," 
 Fred whispered, sadly. 
 
 "I don t think he did," she answered, and 
 turned away. 
 
 THE END 
 
 (308)
 
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