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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5895-8.txt b/5895-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0be5b19 --- /dev/null +++ b/5895-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7123 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Honor of the Big Snows + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #5895] +Release Date: June, 2004 +First Posted: September 18, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + +THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS + +By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +Author of "The Danger Trail," "The Courage of Captain Plum," etc. + +NEW YORK + +1911 + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MUSIC + +"Listen, John--I hear music--" + +The words came in a gentle whisper from the woman's lips. One white, +thin hand lifted itself weakly to the rough face of the man who was +kneeling beside her bed, and the great dark eyes from which he had +hidden his own grew luminously bright for a moment, as she whispered +again: + +"John--I hear--music--" + +A sigh fluttered from her lips. The man's head drooped until it rested +very near to her bosom. He felt the quiver of her hand against his +cheek, and in its touch there was something which told John Cummins +that the end of all life had come for him and for her. His heart beat +fiercely, and his great shoulders shook with the agony that was eating +at his soul. + +"Yes, it is the pretty music, my Mélisse," he murmured softly, choking +back his sobs. "It is the pretty music in the skies." + +The hand pressed more tightly against his face. + +"It's not the music in the skies, John. It is real--REAL music that I +hear--" + +"It's the sky music, my sweet Mélisse! Shall I open the door so that we +can hear it better?" + +The hand slipped from his cheek. Cummins lifted his head, slowly +straightening his great shoulders as he looked down upon the white +face, from which even the flush of fever was disappearing, as he had +seen the pale glow of the northern sun fade before a thickening snow. +He stretched his long, gaunt arms straight up to the low roof of the +cabin, and for the first time in his life he prayed--prayed to the God +who had made for him this world of snow and ice and endless forest very +near to the dome of the earth, who had given him this woman, and who +was now taking her from him. + +When he looked again at the woman, her eyes were open, and there glowed +in them still the feeble fire of a great love. Her lips, too, pleaded +with him in their old, sweet way, which always meant that he was to +kiss them, and stroke her hair, and tell her again that she was the +most beautiful thing in the whole world. + +"My Mélisse!" + +He crushed his face to her, his sobbing breath smothering itself in the +soft masses of her hair, while her arms rose weakly and fell around his +neck. He heard the quick, gasping struggle for breath within her bosom, +and, faintly again, the words: + +"It--is--the--music--of--my--people!" + +"It is the music of the angels in the skies, my sweet Mélisse! It is +OUR music. I will open the door." + +The arms had slipped from his shoulders. Gently he ran his rough +fingers through the loose glory of the woman's hair, and stroked her +face as softly as he might have caressed the cheek of a sleeping child. + +"I will open the door, Mélisse." + +His moccasined feet made no sound as he moved across the little room +which was their home. At the door he paused and listened; then he +opened it, and the floods of the white night poured in upon him as he +stood with his eyes turned to where the cold, pale flashes of the +aurora were playing over the pole. There came to him the hissing, +saddening song of the northern lights--a song of vast, unending +loneliness, which they two had come to know as the music of the skies. + +Beyond that mystery-music there was no sound. To the eyes of John +Cummins there was no visible movement of life. And yet he saw signs of +it--signs which drew his breath from him in choking gulps, and which +sent him out into the night, so that the woman might not hear. + +It was an hour past midnight at the post, which had the Barren Lands at +its back door. It was the hour of deep slumber for its people; but +to-night there was no sleep for any of them. Lights burned dimly in the +few rough log homes. The company's store was aglow, and the factor's +office, a haven for the men of the wilderness, shot one gleaming yellow +eye out into the white gloom. The post was awake. It was waiting. It +was listening. It was watching. + +As the woman's door opened, wide and brimful of light, a door of one of +the log houses opened, and then another, and out into the night, like +dim shadows, trod the moccasined men from the factor's office, and +stood there waiting for the word of life or death from John Cummins. In +their own fashion these men, who, without knowing it, lived very near +to the ways of God, sent mute prayers into the starry heavens that the +most beautiful thing in the world might yet be spared to them. + +It was just two summers before that this beautiful thing had come into +Cummins' life, and into the life of the post. Cummins, red-headed, +lithe as a cat, big-souled as the eternal mountain of the Crees, and +the best of the company's hunters, had brought Mélisse thither as his +bride. Seventeen rough hearts had welcomed her. They had assembled +about that little cabin in which the light was shining now, speechless +in their adoration of this woman who had come among them, their caps in +their hands, their faces shining, their eyes shifting before the +glorious ones that looked at them and smiled at them as the woman shook +their hands, one by one. + +Perhaps she was not strictly beautiful, as most people judge; but she +was beautiful here, four hundred miles beyond civilization. Mukee, the +half-Cree, had never seen a white woman, for even the factor's wife was +part Chippewayan; and no one of the others went down to the edge of the +southern wilderness more than once each twelvemonth or so. + +Melisse's hair was brown and soft, and it shone with a sunny glory that +reached far back into their conception of things dreamed of but never +seen. Her eyes were as blue as the early wild flowers that came after +the spring floods, and her voice was the sweetest sound that had ever +fallen upon their ears. So these men thought when Cummins first brought +home his wife, and the masterpiece which each had painted in his soul +and brain was never changed. Each week and month added to the +deep-toned value of that picture, as the passing of a century might add +to a Raphael or a Vandyke. + +The woman became more human, and less an angel, of course, but that +only made her more real, and allowed them to become acquainted with +her, to talk with her, and to love her more. There was no thought of +wrong, for the devotion of these men was a great, passionless love +unhinting of sin. Cummins and his wife accepted it, and added to it +when they could, and were the happiest pair in all that vast Northland. + +The girl--she was scarce more than budding into womanhood--fell happily +into the ways of her new life. She did nothing that was elementally +unusual, nothing more than any pure woman reared in the love of God and +of a home would have done. In her spare hours she began to teach the +half-dozen wild little children about the post, and every Sunday she +told them wonderful stories out of the Bible. She ministered to the +sick, for that was a part of her code of life. Everywhere she carried +her glad smile, her cheery greeting, her wistful earnestness, to +brighten what seemed to her the sad and lonely lives of these silent +men of the North. + +And she succeeded, not because she was unlike other millions of her +kind, but because of the difference between the fortieth degree and the +sixtieth--the difference in the viewpoint of men who fought themselves +into moral shreds in the big game of life and those who lived a +thousand miles nearer to the dome of the earth. + +A few days before there had come a wonderful event in the history of +the company's post. A new life was born into the little cabin of +Cummins and his wife. After this the silent, wordless worship of their +people was filled with something very near to pathos. Cummins' wife was +a mother! She was one of them now, an indissoluble part of their +existence--a part of it as truly as the strange lights for ever +hovering over the pole, as surely as the countless stars that never +left the night skies, as surely as the endless forests and the deep +snows! + +Then had come the sudden change, and the gloom, that brought with it +the shadow of death, fell like a pall upon the post, stifling its life, +and bringing with it a grief that those who lived there had never known +before. + +There came to them no word from Cummins now. + +He stood for a moment before his lighted door, and then went back, and +the word passed softly from one to another that the most beautiful +thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little cabin +at the end of the clearing. + +"You hear the music in the skies--now, my Mélisse?" whispered the man, +kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!" + +"It was not that," repeated the woman. + +She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the +effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the +fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes +were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film, +so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and +Cummins heard a thrilling sound. + +"It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the +music--of--my--people!" + +The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He +heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Mélisse? He +rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out, +to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his +life in this endless wilderness. + +He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through +the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell +chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet +this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the +wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to +make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the +black forest. + +"My Mélisse! My Mélisse!" he sobbed. + +A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music, +sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face +straight up to the sky. His heart died within him. + +The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to him, +staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved came +with it. It was a boy's face. + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the +thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak +again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--" + +The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted them +as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and +lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more: + +"It is the--music--of my people--the violin!" + +John Cummins turned his head. + +"Play!" he breathed. + +"Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew his +bow gently across the strings of his violin. + +From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John +Cummins closed his eyes as he held the woman against his breast and +listened. Not until he opened them again, and felt a strange chill +against his cheek, did he know that his beloved's soul had gone from +him on the gentle music of Jan Thoreau's violin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MUKEE'S STORY + + +For many minutes after the last gentle breath had passed from the +woman's lips, Jan Thoreau played softly upon his violin. It was the +great, heart-broken sob of John Cummins that stopped him. As tenderly +as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep from which he feared to awaken +her, the man unclasped his arms and lowered his wife's head to the +pillow; and with staring black eyes Jan crushed his violin against his +ragged breast and watched him as he smoothed back the shimmering hair +and looked long and hungrily into the still, white face. + +Cummins turned to him, and, in the dim light of the cabin, their eyes +met. It was then that Jan Thoreau knew what had happened. He forgot his +starvation. He crushed his violin closer, and whispered to himself: + +"The white angel ees--gone!" + +Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly, like a man who had suddenly +grown old. His moccasined feet dragged as he went to the door. They +stumbled when he went out into the pale star-glow of the night. + +Jan followed, swaying weakly, for the last of his strength had gone in +the playing of the violin. Midway in the cabin he paused, and his eyes +glowed with a wild, strange grief as he gazed down upon the still face +of Cummins' wife, beautiful in death as it had been in life, and with +the sweet softness of life still lingering there. Some time, ages and +ages ago, he had known such a face, and had felt the great clutching +love of it. + +Something drew him to where John Cummins had knelt, and he fell upon +his knees and gazed hungrily and longingly where John Cummins had +gazed. His pulse was beating feebly, the weakness of seven days' +starvation blurred his eyes, and unconsciously he sank over the bed and +one of his thin hands touched the soft sweep of the woman's hair. A +stifled cry fell from him as he jerked himself rigidly erect; and as if +for the desecration of that touch there was but one way of forgiveness, +he drew his violin half to his shoulder, and for a few moments played +so softly that none but the spirit of the woman and himself could hear. + +Cummins had partly closed the door after him; but watchers had seen the +opening of it. A door opened here, and another there, and paths of +yellow light flashed over the hard-trodden snow as shadowy life came +forth to greet what message he brought from the little cabin. + +Beyond those flashes of light there was no other movement, and no +sound. Dark figures stood motionless. The lonely howl of a sledge-dog +ended in a wail of pain as some one kicked it into terrified silence. +The hollow cough of Mukee's father was smothered in the thick fur of +his cap as he thrust his head from his little shack in the edge of the +forest. A score of eyes watched Cummins as he came out into the snow, +and the rough, loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed in fearful +anticipation of the word he might be bringing to them. + +Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe in the last moments of its dying +chief, and the black wings of calamity gather over its people, +enshrouding them in a strange gloom and a stranger fear; and so, +because the greatest of all tragedies had come into their little world, +Cummins' people were speechless in their grief and their waiting for +the final word. And when the word came to them at last, and passed from +lip to lip, and from one grim, tense face to another, the doors closed +again, and the lights went out one by one, until there remained only +the yellow eye of the factor's office and the faint glow from the +little cabin in which John Cummins knelt with his sobbing face crushed +close to that of his dead. + +There was no one who noticed Jan Thoreau when he came through the door +of the factor's office. His coat of caribou-skin was in tatters. His +feet thrust themselves from the toes of his moccasins. His face was so +thin and white that it shone with the pallor of death from its frame of +straight dark hair. His eyes gleamed like black diamonds. The madness +of hunger was in him. + +An hour before, death had been gripping at his throat, when he stumbled +upon the lights of the post, That night he would have died in the deep +snows. Wrapped in its thick coat of bearskin he clutched his violin to +his breast, and sank down in a ragged heap beside the hot stove. His +eyes traveled about him in fierce demand. There is no beggary among +these strong-souled men of the far North, and Jan's lips did not beg. +He unwrapped the bearskin, and whispered: + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" + +He played, even as the words fell from him, but only for a moment--for +the bow slipped from his nerveless grip and his head sank forward upon +his breast. + +In the half-Cree's eyes there was something of the wild beauty that +gleamed in Jan's. For an instant those eyes had met in the savage +recognition of blood; and when Jan's head fell weakly, and his violin +slipped to the floor, Mukee lifted him in his strong arms and carried +him to the shack in the edge of the spruce and balsam. + +And there was no one who noticed Jan the next day--except Mukee. He was +fed. His frozen blood grew warm. As life returned, he felt more and +more the pall of gloom that had settled over this spark of life in the +heart of the wilderness. He had seen the woman, in life and in death, +and he, too, loved her and grieved that she was no more. He said +nothing; he asked nothing; but he saw the spirit of adoration in the +sad, tense faces of the men. He saw it in the terror-stricken eyes of +the wild little children who had grown to worship Cummins' wife. He +read it in the slinking stillness of the dogs, in the terrible, +pulseless quiet that had settled about him. + +It was not hard for Jan to understand, for he, too, worshiped the +memory of a white, sweet face like the one that he had seen in the +cabin. He knew that this worship at Lac Bain was a pure worship, for +the honor of the big snows was a part of his soul. It was his religion, +and the religion of these others who lived four hundred miles or more +from a southern settlement. + +It meant what civilization could not understand--freezing and slow +starvation rather than theft, and respect for the tenth commandment +above all other things. It meant that up here, under the cold chill of +the northern skies, things were as God meant them to be, and that a few +of His creatures could live in a love that was neither possession nor +sin. + +A year after Cummins brought his wife into the North, a man came to the +post from Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay. He was an Englishman, +belonging to the home office of the Hudson's Bay Company in London. He +brought with him something new, as the woman had brought something new; +only in this instance it was an element of life which Cummins' people +could not understand. + +It breathed of tragedy from the first, to the men of the post. To the +Englishman, on the other hand, it promised to be but an incident--a +passing adventure in pleasure. Here again was that difference of +viewpoint--the eternity of difference between the middle and the end of +the earth. + +Cummins was away for a month on a trap-line that went into the Barren +Lands. At these times the woman fell as a heritage to those who +remained, and they watched over her as a parent might guard its child. +Yet the keenest eyes would not have perceived that this was so. + +With Cummins gone, the tragedy progressed swiftly toward finality. The +Englishman came from among women. For months he had been in a torment +of desolation. Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to +relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert; and with the wiles and +ways of civilization he sought to breathe its fragrance. + +In the days and weeks that followed, he talked a great deal, when +heated by the warmth of the box stove and by his own thoughts; and this +was because he had not yet measured the hearts of Cummins' people. And +because the woman knew nothing of what was said about the box stove, +she continued in the even course of her pure life, neither resisting +nor encouraging the new-comer, yet ever tempting him with that +sweetness which she gave to all alike. + +As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the +Englishman's friendship, for he was a stranger among her people. She +did not hear the false note, she saw no step that promised evil. Only +the men at the post heard, and saw, and understood. + +Like so many faithful beasts, they were ready to spring, to rend flesh, +to tear life out of him who threatened the desecration of all that was +good and pure and beautiful to them; and yet, dumb in their devotion +and faith, they waited and watched for a sign from the woman. The blue +eyes of Cummins' wife, the words of her gentle lips, the touch of her +hands, had made law at the post. If she smiled upon the stranger and +talked with him, and was pleased with him, that was only one other law +that she had made for them to respect. So they were quiet, evaded the +Englishman as much as possible, and watched--always watched. + +One day something happened. Cummins' wife came into the company's +store; and a quick flush shot into her cheeks, and the glitter of blue +diamonds into her eyes, when she saw the stranger standing there. The +man's red face grew redder, and he shifted his gaze. When Cummins' wife +passed him, she drew her skirt close to her; and there was the poise of +a queen in her head, the glory of wife and womanhood, the living, +breathing essence of all that was beautiful in her people's honor of +the big snows. + +That night Mukee, the half-Cree, slunk around in the edge of the forest +to see that all was well in Cummins' little home. Once Mukee had +suffered a lynx-bite that went clear to the bone, and the woman had +saved his hand. After that, the savage in him was enslaved to her like +an invisible spirit. + +He crouched for a few minutes in the snow, looking at the pale filter +of light that came through a hole in the curtain of the woman's window; +and as he looked something came between him and the light. Against the +cabin he saw the shadow of a sneaking human form; and as silently as +the steely flash of the aurora over his head, as swiftly as a lean +deer, he sped through the gloom of the forest's edge and came up behind +the woman's home. + +With the caution of a lynx, his head close to the snow, he peered +around the logs. It was the Englishman who stood looking through the +tear in that curtained window. + +Mukee's moccasined feet made no sound. His hand fell as gently as a +child's upon the stranger's arm. + +"Thees is not the honor of the beeg snows," he whispered. "Come!" + +A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was soft +and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went with +the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a +companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman chuckled. + +Then Mukee's hands changed. They flew to the thick, reddening throat of +the man from civilization, and without a sound the two sank together +upon the snow. + +The next day a messenger behind six dogs set out for Fort Churchill, +with word for the company's home office that the Englishman had died in +the big snow--which was true. + +Mukee told this to Jan, for there was the bond of blood between them. +It was a painting of life, and love, and purity. Deep down in the +loneliness of his heart, Jan Thoreau, in his own simple way, thanked +the great God that it had been given to him to play his violin as the +woman died. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE MELISSE + + +The passing of Cummins' wife was as quiet as had been her coming. With +bare heads, their shaggy hair falling wildly about their faces, their +lips set tight to choke back their grief, the few at the post went, one +by one, into the little cabin, and gazed for the last time upon her +face. There was but one sound other than the gentle tread of their +moccasined feet, and that was a catching, sobbing moan that fell from +the thick gray beard of Williams, the old factor. + +After that they carried her to where a clearing had been cut in the +edge of the forest; and at the foot of a giant spruce, towering +sentinel-like to the sky, they lowered her into the frozen earth. +Gaspingly, Williams stumbled over the words on a ragged page that had +been torn from a Bible. The rough men who stood about him bowed their +wild heads upon their breasts, and sobs broke from them. + +At last Williams stopped his reading, stretched his long arms above his +head, and cried chokingly: + +"The great God keep Mees Cummins!" + +As the earth fell, there came from the edge of the forest the low, +sweet music of Jan Thoreau's violin. No man in all the world could have +told what he played, for it was the music of Jan's soul, wild and +whispering of the winds, sweetened by some strange inheritance that had +come to him with the picture which he carried in his throbbing heart. + +He played until only the tall spruce and John Cummins stood over the +lone grave. When he stopped, the man turned to him, and they went +together to the little cabin where the woman had lived. + +There was something new in the cabin now--a tiny, white, breathing +thing over which an Indian woman watched. The boy stood beside John +Cummins, looking down upon it, and trembling. + +"Ah," he whispered, his great eyes glowing. "It ees the LEETLE white +angel!" + +"It is the little Mélisse," replied the man. + +He dropped upon his knees, with his sad face close to the new life that +was to take the place of the one that had just gone out. Jan felt +something tugging in a strange way at his heart, and he, too, fell upon +his knees beside John Cummins in this first worship of the child. + +From this hour of their first kneeling before the little life in the +cabin, something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which +it would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many +moments' contemplation of the little Mélisse, Jan gazed straight into +Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means +"father." This was Jan's first word for Mélisse. + +When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had seen +tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open. His +beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot +iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly +fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly as +if he had been burned. + +That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin, +Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said: + +"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?" + +Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north. + +"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone +through the beeg snow." + +Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He +dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone +outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of +silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern +skies. + +"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!" + +Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north. + +"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at +night." + +"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?" + +Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then +to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than +curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan +Thoreau. + +The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed. + +"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg +snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!" + +There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan could +not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the cabin. +There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he placed his +hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not understand that. + +"There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you +stay with the little Mélisse and me?" + +"With the leetle Mélisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny +cot and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long +black hair shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in +quick, sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for +ever and ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing +ears of the child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I give +it to you--and ze museek!" + +He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE PROBLEM + + +In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not +understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked +little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he +would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which +ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought +with him more than his starved body from out of the unknown wilderness. +This was the chief cause of those things which he could not understand. + +No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his history +was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from out of +the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands meant +death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and at another +time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his people would have +believed him mad. + +But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them +from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, like +Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little of +God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in other +ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from the +angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that she +had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the boy, +with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, became a +part of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a part of +her they accepted him, without further questioning as to who he was or +whence he came. + +In a way, he made up for her loss. The woman had brought something new +and sweet into their barren lives, and he brought something new and +sweet--the music of his violin. He played for them in the evening, in +the factor's office; and at these times they knew that Cummins' wife +was very near to them and that she was speaking to them through the +things which Jan Thoreau played. + +Music had long passed out of their lives. Into some, indeed, it had +never come. Years ago, Williams had been at a post where there was an +accordion. Cummins had heard music when he went down to civilization +for his wife, more than two years ago. To the others it was mystery +which stirred them to the depths of their souls, and which revealed to +them many things that had long been hidden in the dust of the past. + +These were hours of triumph for Jan in the factor's office. Perched on +a box, with his back to the wall, his head thrown back, his black eyes +shining, his long hair giving to his face a half savage beauty, he was +more than king to the grim-visaged men about him. They listened, +movelessly, soundlessly; and when he stopped there was still neither +move nor sound until he had wrapped his violin in its bear-skin and had +returned to John Cummins and the little Mélisse. Jan understood the +silence, and took it for what it meant. + +But it was the audience in the little cabin that Jan liked best, and, +most of all, he loved to have the little Mélisse alone. As the days of +early spring trapping approached, and the wilderness for a hundred +miles around the post was crisscrossed with the trails of the Cree and +Chippewayan fur-seekers, Cummins was absent for days at a time, +strengthening the company's friendships, and bargaining for the catch +that would be coming to market about eight weeks later. + +This was a year of intense rivalry, for the Révillons, French +competitors of the company, had established a post two hundred miles to +the west, and rumor spread that they were to give sixty pounds of flour +to the company's forty, and four feet of cloth to the yard. This meant +action among Williams and his people, and the factor himself plunged +into the wilderness. Mukee, the half-Cree, went among his scattered +tribesmen along the edge of the barrens, stirring them by the eloquence +of new promises and by fierce condemnation of the interlopers to the +west. Old Per-ee, with a strain of Eskimo in him, went boldly behind +his dogs to meet the little black people from farther north, who came +down after foxes and half-starved polar bears that had been carried +beyond their own world on the ice-floes of the preceding spring. Young +Williams, the factor's son, followed after Cummins, and the rest of the +company's men went into the south and east. + +The exodus left desolate lifelessness at the post. The windows of the +fireless cabins were thick with clinging frost. There was no movement +in the factor's office. The dogs were gone, and wolves and lynx sniffed +closer each night. In the oppression of this desertion, the few Indian +and half-breed children kept indoors, and Williams' Chippewayan wife, +fat and lazy, left the company's store securely locked. + +In this silence and lifelessness Jan Thoreau felt a new and +ever-increasing happiness. To him the sound of life was a thing vibrant +with harshness; quiet--the dead, pulseless quiet of lifelessness--was +beautiful. He dreamed in it, and it was then that his fingers +discovered new things in his violin. + +He often sent Maballa, the Indian woman who cared for Mélisse, to +gossip with Williams' wife, so that he was alone a great deal with the +baby. At these times, when the door was safely barred against the +outside world, it was a different Jan Thoreau who crouched upon his +knees beside the cot. His face was aflame with a great, absorbing +passion which at other times he concealed. His beautiful eyes glowed +with hidden fires, and he whispered soothing, singsong things to the +child, and played softly upon his violin, leaning his black head far +down so that the baby Mélisse could clutch her appreciative fingers in +his hair. + +"Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and +kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze +violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel +lak--HER!" + +He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan +Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin. + +Sometimes Mélisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things he +was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed upon +him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust into +her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him blankly, the +more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him; and his voice +grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist as he told her +those things which John Cummins would have given much to know. + +"Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Mélisse," he +whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring +finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!" + +There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby Mélisse +talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy. With the +baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her tiny cot, he +would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the pride and +happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of her kittens. + +Once, when Mélisse straightened herself for an instant, and half +reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he +gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had not +dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that +frightened the little Mélisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan, +in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he +ventured to kiss her again. + +It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan +discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last +days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge of +the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in plenty +when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon, he +returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with the +meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his slender +body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying sight +greeted him in the little clearing at the post. + +Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously +rolling the half-naked little Mélisse about in a soft pile of snow, and +doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and thorough +manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted toward her +like a wild thing. + +"Sacre bleu--you keel--keel ze leetle Mélisse!" he cried shrilly, +snatching up the half-frozen child, "Mon Dieu, she ees not papoose! She +ees ceevilize--ceevilize!" and he ran swiftly with her into the cabin, +flinging back a torrent of Cree anathema at the dumbly bewildered +Maballa. + +Jan left the rest of his musk-ox to the wolves and foxes. He went out +into the snow, and found half a dozen other snow-wallows in which the +helpless Mélisse had taken her chilling baths. He watched Maballa with +a new growing terror, and fifty times a day he said to her: + +"Mélisse ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--lak HER!" And he would +point to the lonely grave under the guardian spruce. + +At last Maballa went into an ecstasy of understanding. Mélisse was not +to be taken out and rolled in the snow; so she brought in the snow and +rolled it over Mélisse! + +When Jan discovered this, his tongue twisted itself into sounds so +terrible, and his face writhed so fiercely, that Maballa began to +comprehend that thereafter no snow at all, either out doors or in, was +to be used in the physical development of the little Mélisse. + +This was the beginning of the problem, and it grew and burst forth in +all its significance on the day before Cummins came in from the +wilderness. + +For a week Maballa had been dropping sly hints of a wonderful thing +which she and the factor's half-breed wife were making for the baby. +Jan had visions of a gorgeous garment covered with beads and gaudy +braid, which would give the little Mélisse unending delight. On the day +before Cummins' arrival, Jan came in from chopping wood, and went to +the cot. It was empty. Maballa was gone. A sudden fear thrilled him to +the marrow, and he sprang back to the cabin door, ready to shriek out +the Indian woman's name. + +A sound stopped him--the softest, sweetest sound in all the world to +Jan Thoreau--and he whirled around like a cat. Mélisse was smiling and +making queer, friendly little signals to him from the table. She was +standing upright, wedged in a coffin-shaped thing from which only her +tiny white face peered out at him; and Jan knew that this was Maballa's +surprise, Mélisse was in a papoose-sling! + +"Mélisse, I say you shall be no papoose!" he cried, running to the +table. "You ees ceevilize! You shall be no papoose--not if twen' +t'ous'nd devil come tak Jan Thoreau!" + +And he snatched her from her prison, flung Maballa's handiwork out into +the snow, and waited impatiently for the return of John Cummins. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LOVE PATCHES + + +Cummins returned the next day--not that his work among the wild +trappers to the south was finished, but because he had suffered a hurt +in falling from a slippery ledge. When Jan, from his wood-chopping in +the edge of the forest, saw the team race up to the little cabin and a +strange Cree half carry the wounded man through the door, he sped +swiftly across the open with visions of new misfortune before him. + +What he saw when he reached the door was reassuring. Cummins was upon +his knees beside the cot, his big shoulders hunched over, and Mélisse +was welcoming him with her whole vocabulary of sound. The injury to +Cummins' leg was not serious; and not being serious, it was accepted as +a special incident of Providence by Jan, for the new thoughts that had +come into his head were causing him great uneasiness. + +He lost no time in revealing his fears, after Maballa had been sent to +the factor's wife. With graphic gesture he told of what had happened. +Cummins hobbled to the door to look upon the wallows in the snow, and +hobbled back to the table when Jan ran there in excited imitation of +the way in which he had found the little Mélisse in Maballa's sling. + +"She ees ceevilize!" finished Jan hotly. "She ees not papoose! She mus' +be lak--HER!" His great eyes shone, and Cummins felt a thickening in +his throat as he looked into them and saw what the boy meant. "Maballa +mak papoose out of Mélisse. She grow--know not'ing, lak papoose, talk +lak papoose--" + +Jan's feelings overwhelmed his tongue. His shining hair rumpled thickly +about his face as he leaned anxiously toward Cummins; and Cummins, in +turn, stared down in dumb perplexity upon the joyful kickings and +wrigglings of the growing problem. + +"Ees she not ceevilize?" demanded Jan ecstatically, bending his black +head over her. "Ah, ze sweet Mélisse!" + +"Yes, she must be like HER, Jan--just as good and just as sweet and +just as beautiful," interrupted Cummins gently. + +There was a quick intaking of his breath as he hobbled back to his own +cot, leaving Jan at play with the baby. + +That night, in the dim, sputtering glow of an oil-lamp, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau solemnly set to work to thrash out the great problem +that had suddenly entered into their existence. To these two there was +no element of humor in what they were doing, for into their keeping had +been given a thing for which God had not schemed them. The woman, had +she been there, would have laughed at them, and in a dozen gentle +breaths might have told them all that the world held in secret between +mother and child; but, leaving them, she had passed on to them +something that was life, like herself, and yet mystery. + +Had fate given Maballa to Mélisse for a mother there would have been no +mystery. She would have developed as naturally as a wolf-whelp or a +lynx-kitten, a savage breath of life in a savage world, waxing fat in +snow-baths, arrow-straight in papoose-slings, a moving, natural thing +in a desolation to which generations and centuries of forebears had +given it birthright. But Mélisse was like her mother. In the dreams of +the two who were planning out her fate, she was to be a reincarnation +of her mother. That dream left a ray of comfort in Cummins' breast when +his wife died. It stirred happy visions within Jan. And it ended with a +serious shock when Maballa brought into their mental perspective of +things the possibilities of environment. + +So far as Cummins knew, there was not a white woman nearer than Fort +Churchill, two hundred miles away. In all that region he knew of only +two full-white men, and they were Williams and himself. The baby +Mélisse was hopelessly lost in a world of savagery; honest, loyal, +big-souled savagery--but savagery for all that, and the thought of it +brought the shadows of fear and foreboding to the two into whose lives +the problem had just come. + +Long into the night they talked seriously of the matter, while Mélisse +slept; and the longer they talked, the greater loomed the problem +before them. Cummins fancied that he already began to see signs of the +transformation in Mélisse. She was passionately fond of the gaudy +things Maballa gave her, which was a sign of savagery. She was charmed +by confinement in the papoose-sling, which was another sign of it; and +she had not died in the snow-wallows--which was still another. + +So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into +finger-touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they +determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be +ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children +would not be allowed to come near Mélisse. They two--John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the sentinel +spruce. + +"She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her +ceevilize!" + +Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Mélisse was +four months and eighteen days old! + +"To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the +baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the +papoose-slings!" + +"An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing. +"That ees ceevilize!" + +Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a +calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room. + +"There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling +thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped +upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt +beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing +catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast. +"Now--we will give them--to Mélisse." + +He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his breath +coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things, holding +within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the woman he had +lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into the +wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the +pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred +places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man +gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he +might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief. + +Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something +else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In +these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in +civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful +for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held up +a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins. + +"Theese are picture for Mélisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach +her--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!" + +Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly +for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it. At the +last one of all, which was more ragged and worn than the others, he +gazed for a long time. It was a little Bible, his wife's Bible, +finger-worn, patched, pathetic in its poverty. The man gulped hard. + +"She loved this, Jan," he said huskily. "She loved this worn, old book +more than anything else, and little Mélisse must love it also. Mélisse +must be a Christian." + +"Ah, yes, ze leetle Mélisse mus' love ze great God!" said Jan softly. + +Cummins rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the sleeping +baby. + +"A missionary is coming over from Fort Churchill to talk to our +trappers when they come in. She shall be baptized!" + +Like a cat Jan was on his feet, his eyes flashing, his long, thin +fingers clenched, his body quivering with a terrible excitement. + +"No--no--not baptize by missioner!" he cried. "She shall be good, an' +love ze great God, but not baptize by missioner! No--no--no!" + +Cummins turned upon him in astonishment. Before him Jan Thoreau stood +for a minute like one gone mad, his whole being consumed in a passion +terrible to look upon. Lithe giant of muscle and, fearlessness that he +was, Cummins involuntarily drew back a step, and the mainspring of +instinct within him prompted him to lift a hand, as if to ward off a +leaping thing from his breast. + +Jan noted the backward step, the guarded uplift of hand, and with an +agonized cry he buried his face in his hands. In another instant he had +turned, and, before Cummins' startled voice found words, had opened the +door and run out into the night. The man saw him darting swiftly toward +the forest, and called to him, but there was no response. + +There was a hot fire burning in Jan's brain, a blazing, writhing +contortion of things that brought a low moaning from his lips. He ran +tirelessly and swiftly until he sank down upon the snow in a silent +place far from where he had left John Cummins. His eyes still blazed +with their strange fire upon the desolation about him, his fingers +clenched and unclenched themselves, digging their nails into his flesh, +and he spoke softly to himself, over and over again, the name of the +little Mélisse. + +Painting itself each instant more plainly through the tumult of his +emotions was what Jan had come to know as the picture in his brain. +Shadowy and indistinct at first, in pale, elusive lines of mental +fabric, he saw the picture growing; and in its growth he saw first the +soft, sweet outlines of a woman's face, and then great luring eyes, +dark like his own--and before these eyes, which gazed upon him with +overwhelming love, all else faded away from before Jan Thoreau. The +fire went out of his eyes, his fingers relaxed, and after a little +while he got up out of the snow, shivering, and went back to the cabin. + +Cummins asked no questions. He looked at Jan from his cot, and watched +the boy silently as he undressed and went to bed; and in the morning +the whole incident passed from his mind. The intangible holds but +little fascination for the simple folk who live under the Arctic +Circle. Their struggle is with life, their joys are in its achievement, +in their constant struggle to keep life running strong and red within +them. Such an existence of solitude and of strife with nature leaves +small room for curiosity. So the nature of John Cummins led him to +forget what had happened, as he would have forgotten the senseless +running away of a sledge-dog, and its subsequent return. He saw no +tragedy, and no promise of tragedy, in the thing that had occurred. + +There was no recurrence of the strange excitement in Jan. He gave no +hint of it in word or action, and the thing seemed to be forgotten +between the two. + +The education of the little Mélisse began at once, while the post was +still deserted. It began, first of all, with Maballa. She stared dumbly +and with shattered faith at these two creatures who told her of +wonderful things in the upbringing of a child--things of which she had +never so much as heard rumor before. Her mother instincts were aroused, +but with Cree stoicism she made no betrayal of them. + +The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change +when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Mélisse was about to +begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when between +them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried vainly to +persuade Mélisse to use her feet. + +It was great fun for Mélisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as +the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their eyes, +the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an unceasing +physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming mental +development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin, which +was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into +ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered them +in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more suggestive +grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the greatest +token of all. + +Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee +followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the +Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs stolen. +From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers trailed +back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a growing +warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were near. And +when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the factor's +people, wore patches at their knee. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DAYS OF TRIUMPH + + +One afternoon, in the beginning of the mush-snow, a long team of rakish +Malemutes, driven by an Athabasca French-Canadian, raced wildly into +the clearing about the post. A series of yells, and the wild cracking +of a thirty-foot caribou-gut whip, announced that the big change was at +hand--that the wilderness was awakening, and life was drawing near. + +The entire post rushed out to meet the new-comer--men and dogs, the +little black-and-tan children, and even Williams' fat and lethargic +wife. For a few moments there was a scene of wild disorder, of fighting +Malemutes buried under a rush of angry huskies, while men shouted, and +the yelling Frenchman leaped about and cut his caribou-gut in vicious +slashes over the wolfish horde around his heavily laden sledge. + +Partial order being restored, Mukee and Per-ee took charge of the +snarling Malemutes, and, surrounded by Williams' men, the trapper +stalked to the company's office. He was Jean de Gravois, the most +important man in the Fond du Lac country, for whose good-will the +company paid a small bonus. That he had made a record catch even the +children knew by the size of the packs on his sledge and by the swagger +in his walk. + +Gravois was usually one of the last to appear at the annual gathering +of the wilderness fur-gatherers. He was a big man in reputation, as he +was small in stature. He was known as far west as the Peace River, and +eastward to Fort Churchill. He loved to make his appearance at the post +in a wild and picturesque rush when the rest of the forest rovers were +there to look on, and to envy or admire. He was one of the few of his +kind who had developed personal vanity along with unerring cunning in +the ways of the wild. Everybody liked Gravois, for he had a big soul in +him and was as fearless as a lynx; and he liked everybody, including +himself. + +He explained his early arrival by announcing in a nonchalant manner +that after he had given his Malemutes a day's rest he was going on to +Fort Churchill, to bring back a wife. He hinted, with a punctuating +crack of his whip, that he would make a second visit, and a more +interesting one, at just about the time when the trappers were there in +force. + +Jan Thoreau listened to him, hunching his shoulders a little at the +other's manifest air of importance. In turn, the French-Canadian +scrutinized Jan good-naturedly. Neither of them knew the part which +Jean de Gravois was to play in Jan's life. + +Every hour after the half-breed's arrival quickened the pulse of +expectancy at the post. For six months it had been a small and solitary +unit of life in the heart of a big desolation. The first snow had +smothered it in a loneliness that was almost the loneliness of +desertion. With that first snow began the harvest days of the people of +the wilderness. Far and wide they were busy along their trap-lines, +their lonely shacks hidden in the shelter of thick swamps, in deep +chasms and dense forests. For six months the short days and the long +nights had been days and nights of fur-gathering. + +During those months the post was silent. It lived and breathed, but +that was all. Its life, for Williams and the few people whom the +company kept with him, was a life of waiting. Now the change was at +hand. It was like the breath of spring to the awakening wilderness. The +forest people were moving. Trap-lines were being broken, shacks +abandoned, sledge-dogs put to harness. On the day that Jean de Gravois +left for Hudson's Bay, the company's supplies came in from Fort +Churchill--seven toboggans drawn by Eskimo dogs, laden with flour and +cloth; fifty pounds of beads, ammunition, and a hundred other things to +be exchanged for the furs that would soon be in London and Paris. + +Fearfully Jan Thoreau ran out to meet the sledges. There were seven +Indians and one white man. Jan thrust himself close to look at the +white man. He wore two revolver-holsters and carried an automatic. +Unquestionably he was not a missionary, but an agent of the company +well prepared to care for the company's treasure. + +Jan hurried back to the cabin, his heart bubbling with a strange joy. + +"There ees no missioner, Mélisse!" he cried triumphantly, dropping +beside her, his face glowing with the gladness of his tidings. "You +shall be good and beautiful, lak HER, but you shall not be baptize by +missioner! He has not come!" + +A few minutes later Cummins came in. One of his hands was torn and +bleeding. + +"Those Eskimo dogs are demons!" he growled. "If they knew how to stand +on their legs, they'd eat our huskies alive! Will you help me with +this?" + +Jan was at work in an instant, bandaging the wounded hand. + +"It ees not deep," he said; and then, without looking up, he added: +"The missioner did not come." + +"No," said Cummins shortly. "Neither has the mail. He is with that." + +He did not notice the sudden tremble of Jan's fingers, nor did he see +the startled look that shot into the boy's down-turned eyes. Jan +finished his bandaging without betraying his emotion, and went back +with Cummins to the company's store. + +The next morning, two Chippewayans trailed in with a team of mongrel +curs from the south. Thereafter Cummins found but little time to devote +to Mélisse. The snow was softening rapidly, and the daily increasing +warmth of the sun hastened the movement of the trappers. Mukee's people +from the western Barren Lands arrived first, bringing with them great +loads of musk-ox and caribou skins, and an army of big-footed, +long-legged Mackenzie hounds that pulled like horses and wailed like +whipped puppies when the huskies and Eskimo dogs set upon them. + +From east and west and south all trails now led to the post. By the end +of the third day after the arrival of the company's supplies, a babel +of fighting, yelling, ceaselessly moving discord had driven forth the +peace and quiet in which Cummins' wife had died. The fighting and +discord were among the dogs, and the yelling was a necessary human +accompaniment. Half a hundred packs, almost as wild and as savage as +the wolves from whom half of them possessed a strong inheritance of +blood, were thrown suddenly into warring confusion. + +All the dogs were fighters except the big, soft-throated Mackenzie +hounds, with the slow strength of oxen in their movements, and the +quarter-strained and half-strained mongrels from the south; and upon +these unfortunates the others preyed. Packs of fierce Labrador dogs, +never vanquished except by death, came from close to Hudson's Bay. Team +after team of the little yellow and gray Eskimo dogs, as quick with +their fangs as were their black and swift-running masters with their +hands and feet, met the much larger and darker-colored Malemutes from +the Athabasca. Enemies of all these, fighting, snapping, and snarling, +with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wolf progenitors, +packs of fierce huskies trailed in from all sides. + +There was no cessation in the battle of the fangs. It began with the +first brute arrivals. It continued from dawn through the day, and +around the campfires at night. There was never an end to the strife +between the dogs, and between the men and the dogs. The snow was +stained and trailed with blood, and the scent of it added greater +fierceness to the wolf-breeds. Half a dozen battles were fought to the +death each day and night. Those that died were chiefly the south-bred +curs--mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane, and sheep-dogs--and the fatally +slow Mackenzie hounds. + +From its towering height the sentinel spruce frowned down upon the +savage life that had come to outrage the grave it guarded. Yet beyond +all this discord and bloody strife there was a great, throbbing human +happiness--a beating of honest hearts filled to overflowing with the +joys of the moment, a welding of new friendships, a renewal of old +ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things +under the cold gray of the northern skies. + +There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against man +in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the +caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the +life-blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter +of the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel. + +One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big +spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in the +afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about the +grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around it a +barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to the +cabin and Mélisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near the +spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin the +paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild forest +men who came to look upon the little Mélisse. + +These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby, +as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange +things, for all who came gave something to Mélisse. There were polar +bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got +them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of fur, +bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at fabulous +prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk--from +Mukee's people of the west barrens. + +To Jan this homage to Mélisse was more than gratifying. It formed a +bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and +he went more freely among them, and made friends. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL + + +Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de Gravois; +but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Mélisse: + +"They have been good to you, my Mélisse. I will give them ze museek of +ze violon." + +It was the big night at the post--the night that is known from +Athabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week had +passed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the company's +ledger each man had received his credit, and in the company's store the +furs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had been killed by Per-ee +and his hunters; and on this night, when Jan took down his violin from +its peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in the open, and on spits six +inches in diameter the caribou were roasting. + +The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above the +fighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices in +wild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, the +silence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them. +Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was +the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in +meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped +fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red +glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the +company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these +same men back again at the end of another trapping season. + +Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real +butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the +occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it in +yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, bubbled +and steamed half a barrel of coffee. + +The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs +gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters, +their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not +for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion +stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the +pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated into +the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was luring +from out of the South. + +Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of +men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and +black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes, +he began to play. + +It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Mélisse that +he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the autumn +winds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man and dog +in a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life about him +became like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed Jan saw +nothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half-cringing +little black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet away, +nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking upon +this miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there was a +deep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and sweeter; +and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was playing that +which he loved most of all--the music that had filled the little cabin +when Cummins' wife died. + +As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--a +low refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grew +beyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rose +from the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's violin. +To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness and grief +of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and unconsciously his voice +rose and fell softly with the wailing of the brute chorus. But to the +others it was a thing that rose portentous above their understanding, a +miracle of mystery that smote them with awe even as they surrendered +themselves to the wonderful sweetness of the music. + +Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He +saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to man, +and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the dogs sat +full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed straight to +the stars in the sky. + +Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through +the crouching Eskimos to Jan. + +"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's +ear. "Play something fast!" + +Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the +strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of +his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and +clear in words familiar to them all: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the +firelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of the +company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in crescendos of +stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent circle of +awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices. + +The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the odors +in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the fire, +long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses were +turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell sizzling into +the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's violin rose +higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper in the tumult. + +The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and +his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the +long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts +driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a +final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence +fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms +frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze +cariboo-oo-oo--'" + +With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his +violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of untamed +voices. + +"Now!" yelled Cummins again. + +The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay, +burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air. + +"Now!" he shrieked. + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! + Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + He ready now to come 'n' eat!" + +With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and his +Crees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon the +snow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watched +the wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, they +crowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from his +vocal exertions, joined him. + +"Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribou +roast." + +"So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostling +crowd. + +"It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond the +Great Slave country." + +"Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near to +ze Great Bear." + +The factor stared at him in amazement. + +"You saw it?" he exclaimed. + +But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond the +packs of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on the +cabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him, +and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no word +to Mélisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot. + +Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement about +the great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his head, he +plunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and jostling with +the others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he forced himself +through to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, kneeling with +turned-up sleeves and greasy hands beside the huge roast, and when he +saw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was neither laughter nor song +in Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with a strange savageness which +was more savage than the wildest yells of the half-breed Crees, and his +great eyes burned fiercely as they rested for an instant upon Cummins' +face. + +Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife dropped +to his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew back a +step, Jan sprang to him. + +"Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who you +fight at ze Great Bear?" + +The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel as +he saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and gripped +the boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch. + +"For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze Great +Bear?" + +"We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking so +low that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped. + +"Ze missioner!" panted Jan. + +The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, and +the softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's grip +on the boy's wrists. + +"Yes, the missioner!" + +Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his way +among the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his Crees +pulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to the +fresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ran +swiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the scraps +that had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the savage +banquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to Mélisse. + +Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caught +the baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to and +fro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand. + +"An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angel +Mélisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for letting +out the blood of a missioner!" + +He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down his +violin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE FIGHT AT DAWN + + +For a few moments Jan stood with his back to Mélisse and his eyes upon +the carnival about the great fire. As he looked, the third caribou was +pulled down from its spit, and the multitude of dogs rushed in upon the +abandoned carcasses of the other two. + +He caught his breath quickly as a loud shout and the wailing yelp of a +hurt dog rose for an instant above all other sounds. Only one thing was +wanting to complete another picture in his brain--a scene which had +burned itself into his life for ever, and which he strove to fight back +as he stood staring from the doorway. He half expected it to come--the +shrill scream of a boyish voice, an instant's sullen quiet, then the +low-throated thunder of impending vengeance--and the fight! + +With marvelous quickness his excited mind reconstructed the scene +before him into the scene that had been. He heard the scream again, +which had been HIS voice; saw, as if in a dream, the frenzied rush of +men and the flash of knives; and then, from where he lay trampled and +bleeding in the snow, the long, lean team of swift huskies that had +carried in mad flight the one whose life those knives sought. + +Williams had been there; he had seen the fight--his knife had flashed +with the others in its demand for life. And yet he--Jan Thoreau--had +not been recognized by the factor out there beside the caribou roast! + +He hurried toward the fire. Half-way across the open he stopped. From +out of the forest opposite Cummins' cabin there trailed slowly a team +of dogs. In the shadows of the spruce, hidden from the revelers, the +team halted. Jan heard the low voices of men, and a figure detached +itself from the gloom, walking slowly and in the manner of one near to +exhaustion in the direction of the carnival. + +It was a new team. It had come from the trails to the east, and Jan's +heart gave a sudden jump as he thought of the missionary who was +expected with the overdue mail. At first he had a mind to intercept the +figure laboring across the open, but without apparent reason he changed +his course and approached the sledge. + +As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind +the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it +stopped and waited. + +"Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any +nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" + +The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that +he could see the stranger. + +"You come from Churchill?" he asked. + +His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him +to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the +glowing fire flashed in his eyes. + +"Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day." + +Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into +the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within +reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's +violin dropped to the snow. + +For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself +back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the +boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a +name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast. + +The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared +himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the +knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent the +boy reeling to the ground. + +Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the dogs +turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the sledge +disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his feet, and +stood swaying in his weakness. Then he followed. + +He forgot that he was leaving his knife in the snow, forgot that back +there about the fire there were other dogs and other men. He only knew +that once before he had seen a sledge slip off into the wilderness; +that its going had left him a life of hatred and bitterness and desire +for vengeance; and that this was the same man who was slipping away +from him in the same way again. + +He followed, sickened by the blow, but gaining strength as he pursued. +Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the toboggan and the cautious +lashing of a whip over the backs of the tired huskies. The sounds +filled him with fierce strength. He wiped away the warm trickle of +blood that ran over his cheek, and began to run, slowly at first, +swinging in the easy wolf-lope of the forest runner, with his elbows +close to his sides. + +At that pace he could have followed for hours, losing when the pack +took a spurt, gaining when they lagged, an insistent Nemesis just +behind when the weighted dogs lay down in their traces. But there was +neither the coolness of Mukee nor the cleverness of Jean de Gravois in +the manner of Jan's running. When he heard the cracking of the whip +growing fainter, he dropped his arms straight to his sides and ran more +swiftly, his brain reeling with the madness of his desire to reach the +sledge--to drag from it the man who had struck him, to choke life from +the face that haunted that mental picture of his, grinning at him and +gloating always from the shadow world, just beyond the pale, sweet +loveliness of the woman who lived in it. + +That picture came to him now as he ran, more and more vividly, and from +out of it the woman urged him on to the vengeance which she demanded of +him, her great eyes glowing like fire, her beautiful face torn with the +agony which he had last seen in it in life. + +To Jan Thoreau there seemed almost to come from that face a living +voice, crying to him its prayer for retribution, pleading with him to +fasten his lithe, brown hands about the throat of the monster upon the +sledge ahead, and choke from it all life. It drove reason from him, +leaving him with the one thought that the monster was almost within +reach; and he replied to the prayer with the breath that came in +moaning exhaustion from between his lips. + +He did not feel the soft, sun-packed snow under the beat of his feet. +He received the lash of low-hanging bushes without experiencing the +sensation of their sting. Only he knew that he wanted air--more and +more air; and to get it he ran with open mouth, struggling and gasping +for it, and yet not knowing that Jean de Gravois would have called him +a fool for the manner in which he sought it. + +He heard more and more faintly the run of the sledge. Then he heard it +no longer, and even the cracking of the whip died away. His heart +swelled in a final bursting effort, and he plunged on, until at last +his legs crumpled under him and he pitched face downward in the snow, +like a thing stung by sudden death. + +It was then, with his scratched and bleeding face lying in the snow, +that reason began to return to him. After a little while he dragged +himself weakly to his knees, still panting from the mad effort he had +made to overtake the sledge. From a great distance he heard faintly the +noise of shouting, the whispering echo of half a hundred voices, and he +knew that the sound came from the revelers at the post. It was proof to +him that there had been no interruption to the carnival, and that the +scene at the edge of the forest had been witnessed by none. Quickly his +mental faculties readjusted themselves. He rose to his feet, and for a +few moments stood hesitatingly. He had no weapon; but as his hand +rested upon the empty knife-sheath at his belt, there came to him a +thought of the way in which Mukee had avenged Cummins' wife, and he +turned again upon the trail. He no longer touched the low-hanging +bushes. He was no more than a shadow, appearing and disappearing +without warning, trailing as the white ermine follows its prey, +noiseless, alert, his body responding sinuously and without apparent +effort to the working commands of his brain. + +Where the forest broke into an open, lighted by the stars, he found +blood in the footprints of the leading dog. Half-way across the open, +he saw where the leader had swung out from the trail and the others of +the pack had crowded about him, to be urged on by the lashings of the +man's whip. Other signs of the pack's growing exhaustion followed close. + +The man now traveled beside the sledge where the trail was rough, and +rode where it was smooth and hard. The deep imprints of his heeled +boots in the soft snow showed that he ran for only a short distance at +a time--a hundred yards or less--and that after each running spell he +brought the pack to a walk. He was heavy and lacked endurance, and this +discovery brought a low cry of exultation to Jan's lips. + +He fell into a dog-trot. Mile after mile dropped behind him; other +miles were ahead of him, an endless wilderness of miles, and through +them the tired pack persisted, keeping always beyond sound and vision. + +The stars began fading out of the skies. The shadows of the forest grew +deeper and blacker, and where the aurora had lightened the heavens +there crept the somber gray film that preceded dawn by three hours. + +Jan followed more and more slowly. There was hard-breathing effort now +in his running--effort that caused him physical pain and discomfort. +His feet stumbled occasionally in the snow; his legs, from thigh to +knee, began to ache with the gnawing torment that centers in the +marrowbone; and with this beginning of the "runner's cramp" he was +filled with a new and poignant terror. + +Would the dogs beat him out? Sloughing in the trail, bleeding at every +foot, would they still drag their burden beyond the reach of his +vengeance? The fear fastened itself upon him, urging him to greater +effort, and he called upon the last of his strength in a spurt that +carried him to where the thick spruce gave place to thin bush, and the +bush to the barren and rocky side of a huge ridge, up which the trail +climbed strong and well defined. For a few paces he followed it, then +slipped and rolled back as the fatal paralysis deadened all power of +movement in his limbs. He lay where he fell, moaning out his grief with +his wide-staring eyes turned straight up into the cold gray of the +starless sky. + +For a long time he was motionless. From the top of the ridge, where the +trail cut over the mountain, he looked like a bit of fire-blackened +wood half buried in the snow. Half-way up the ridge a wolf, slinking +hungrily, sniffed first up the trail and then down, and broke the +stillness of the gray night-end with a mournful howl. It did not stir +Jan Thoreau. + +Long after the wolf had passed on, he moved a little, twisting himself +so that his eyes could follow the tracks made by the sledge and dogs. +When he came to where the snow-covered backbone of the ridge cut itself +in faint outline against the desolate coldness of the sky, there fell +from him the first sound of returning life. Up there he was sure that +he had seen something move--an object which at first he had taken for a +bush, and which he knew was not the wolf. + +He watched for its reappearance, until all sorts of gray dawn shadows +danced before his eyes. Then he began slowly to crawl up the trail. +Some of the dull, paralytic ache was gone from his limbs, and as he +worked his blood began to warm them into new strength, until he stood +up and sniffed like an animal in the wind that was coming over the +ridge from the south. + +There was something in that wind that thrilled him. It stung his +nostrils to a quick sensing of the nearness of something that was +human. He smelled smoke. In it there was the pungent odor of green +balsam, mixed with a faint perfume of pitch pine; and because the odor +of pitch grew stronger as he ascended, he knew that it was a small fire +that was making the smoke, with none of the fierce, dry woods to burn +up the smell. It was a fire hidden among the rocks, a tiny fire, over +which the fleeing missioner was cooking his breakfast. + +Jan almost moaned aloud in his gladness, and the old mad strength +returned to his body. Near the summit of the ridge he picked up a club. +It was a short, thick club, with the heavy end knotted and twisted. + +Cautiously he lifted his face over the rocks, and looked out upon a +plateau, still deep in snow, swept bare by the winter's winds, and +covered with rocks and bushes. His face was so white that at a little +distance it might have been taken for a snow hare. It went whiter when, +a few yards away, he saw the fire, the man, and the dogs. + +The man was close to the little blaze, his broad shoulders hunched +over, steadying a small pot over the flame. Beyond him were the dogs +huddled about the sledge, inanimate as death. + +Jan drew himself over the rocks. Once he had seen a big-footed lynx +creep upon a wide-awake fox, and like that lynx he crept upon the man +beside the fire. One of the tired dogs moved, and his pointed nostrils +quivered in the air. Jan lay flat in the snow. Then the dog's muzzle +dropped between his paws, and the boy moved on. + +Inch by inch he advanced. The inches multiplied themselves into a foot, +the foot lengthened into yards, and still the man remained hunched over +his simmering pot. + +Jan rose gently from his hands and knees to his feet, a furnace of +madness blazing in his eyes. The restless dog raised his head again. He +sniffed danger--near, menacing danger--and sprang up with a snarling +cry that brought the man over the fire to quick attention. In a flash +Jan took the last leap, and his club crashed down upon the missioner's +head. The man pitched over like a log, and with a shrill cry the boy +was at his throat. + +"I am Jan Thoreau!" he shrieked. "I am Jan Thoreau--Jan Thoreau--come +to keel you!" He dropped his club, and was upon the man's chest, his +slender fingers tightening like steel wire about the thick throat of +his enemy. "I keel you slow--slow!" he cried, as the missioner +struggled weakly. + +The great thick body heaved under him, and he put all his strength into +his hands. Something struck him in the face. Something struck him again +and again, but he felt neither the pain nor the force of it, and his +voice sobbed out his triumph as he choked. The man's hands reached up +and tore at his hair; but Jan saw only the missioner's mottled face +growing more mottled, and his eyes staring in greater agony up into his +own. + +"I am Jan Thoreau," he panted again and again. "I am Jan Thoreau, an' I +keel you--keel you!" + +The blood poured from his face. It blinded him until he could no longer +see the one from which he was choking life. He bent down his head to +escape the blows. The man's body heaved more and more; it turned until +he was half under it; but still he hung to the thick throat, as the +weasel hangs in tenacious death to the jugular of its prey. + +The missioner's weight was upon him in crushing force now. His huge +hands struck and tore at the boy's head and face, and then they had +fastened themselves at his neck. Jan was conscious of a terrible effort +to take in breath, but he was not conscious of pain. The clutch did not +frighten him. It did not make him loosen his grip. His fingers dug +deeper. He strove to cry out still his words of triumph; but he could +make no sound, except a gasping like that which came from between the +gaping jaws of the man whose life his body and soul were fighting to +smother. + +There was death in each of the two grips; but the man's was the +stronger, and his neck was larger and tougher, so that after a time he +staggered to his knees and then to his feet, while Jan lay upon his +back, his face and hair red with blood, his eyes wide open and with a +lifeless glare in them. The missioner looked down upon his victim in +horror. As the life that had nearly ebbed out of him poured back into +his body, he staggered among the dogs, fastened them to the sledge, and +urged them down the mountain into the plain. There was soon no sound of +the sledge. + +From a bush a dozen yards away a wondering moose-bird had watched the +terrible struggle. Now he hopped boldly upon Jan's motionless body, and +perked his head inquisitively as he examined the strange face, covered +with blood and twisted in torture. + +The gray film of dawn dissolved itself into the white beginning of day. +Far to the south, a bit of the red sunrise was creeping into the +northern world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JEAN AND JAN + + +Half a mile down the ridge, where it sloped up gradually from the +forests and swamps of the plain, a team of powerful Malemutes were +running at the head of a toboggan. On the sledge was a young half-Cree +woman. Now beside the sledge, now at the lead of the dogs, cracking his +whip and shouting joyously, ran Jean de Gravois. + +"Is it not beautiful, my Iowaka?" he cried for the hundredth time, in +Cree, leaping over a three-foot boulder in his boundless enthusiasm. +"Is this not the glorious world, with the sun just rising off there, +and spring only a few days away? It is not like the cold chills at +Churchill, which come up with the icebergs and stay there all summer! +What do you think of your Jean de Gravois and his country now?" + +Jean was bringing back with him a splendid young woman, with big, +lustrous eyes, and hair that shone with the gloss of a raven's wing in +the sun. She laughed at him proudly as he danced and leaped beside her, +replying softly in Cree, which is the most beautiful language in the +world, to everything that he said. + +Jean leaped and ran, cracked his caribou whip, and shouted and sang +until he was panting and red in the face. Just as Iowaka had called +upon him to stop and get a second wind, the Malemutes dropped back upon +their haunches where Jan Thoreau lay, twisted and bleeding, in the snow. + +"What is this?" cried Jean. + +He caught Jan's limp head and shoulders up in his arms, and called +shrilly to Iowaka, who was disentangling herself from the thick furs in +which he had wrapped her. + +"It is the fiddler I told you about, who lives with Williams at Post +Lac Bain!" he shouted excitedly in Cree. "He has been murdered! He has +been choked to death, and torn to pieces in the face, as if by an +animal!" Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a +fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints--a big man and a small boy, and +the murderer has gone on a sledge!" + +"He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." + +Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing with +a dangerous fire. In a single leap he was at the side of the sledge, +throwing off the furs and bundles and all other objects except his +rifle. + +"He is dead, Iowaka. Look at the purple and black in his face. It is +Jean de Gravois who will catch the murderer, and you will stay here and +make yourself a camp. Hi-o-o-o-o!" he shouted to the Malemutes. + +The team twisted sinuously and swiftly in the trail as he sped over the +edge of the mountain. Upon the plain below he knelt upon the toboggan, +with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing commands, which +reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team stretched their long +bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his huskies. + +Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he +laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent +Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a +short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of +swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering +until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile +farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the +smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the +fleeing missioner. + +The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and +with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw +the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his +dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter of +something that flashed for a moment in the sun. + +"Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at +Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of +happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the +backs of his Malemutes. "He fires at Jean de Gravois, and it is Jean +who can hamstring a caribou at three hundred yards on the run!" + +For an instant, at the crack of his rifle, there was no movement ahead; +then something rolled from the sledge and lay doubled up in the snow. A +hundred yards beyond it, the huskies stopped in a rabble and turned to +look at the approaching strangers. + +Beside it Jean stopped; and when he saw the face that stared up at him, +he clutched his thin hands in his long black hair and cried out, in +shrill amazement and horror: + +"The saints in Heaven, it is the missioner from Churchill!" + +He turned the man over, and found where his bullet had entered under +one arm and come out from under the other. There was no spark of life +left. The missioner was already dead. + +"The missioner from Churchill!" he gasped again. + +He looked up at the warm sun, and kicked the melting snow under his +moccasined feet. + +"It will thaw very soon," he said to himself, looking again at the dead +man, "and then he will go into the lake." + +He headed his Malemutes back to the forest. Then he ran out and cut the +traces of the exhausted huskies, and with his whip scattered them in +freedom over the ice. + +"Go to the wolves!" he shouted in Cree. "Hide yourselves from the post, +or Jean de Gravois will cut out your tongues and take your skins off +alive!" + +When he came back to the top of the mountain, Jean found Iowaka making +hot coffee, while Jan was bundled up in furs near the fire. + +"It is as I said," she called. "He is alive!" + +Thus it happened that the return of Jean de Gravois to the post was +even more dramatic than he had schemed it to be, for he brought back +with him not only a beautiful wife from Churchill, but also the half +dead Jan Thoreau from the scene of battle on the mountain. And in the +mystery of it all he reveled for two days; for Jean de Gravois said not +a word about the dead man on the lake beyond the forest, nor did the +huskies come back into their bondage to give a hint of the missing +missionary. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RED SNOW-FLOWERS + + +From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers began +scattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second day +Mukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens. +Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to the +south and east. + +Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late spring +trapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jean +waited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy was +bolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Mélisse on +the edge of the bed when he came in. + +For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign to +Cummins, who joined him at the door. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk with +the boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears should +hear but his own. Will it be right?" + +"Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry him +about the missionary. You'll not get a word from him." + +Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravois +came and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had brought +him alive into the post, and now there was something in the suggestive +grimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness with which he +looked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure but that the +walls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a little faster as +he speculated upon what Jean was going to say. + +For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin, +black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. He +twisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble as +that of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinned +at Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces. + +"Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a brave +boy, Jan Thoreau!" + +"You did not see it?" asked Jan. + +Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of his +thin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French to +the bottom of his soul. + +"I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, as +plain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail that +staggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? And +when I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon it, +like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead body of +the missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?" + +Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry. + +"Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is no +need of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virgin +made me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyes +that the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a few +days. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked about +him cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about the +dead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE GRAVOIS!" + +He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, Jan +Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de +Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will +find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it +in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the +barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." He +turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and +shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau +understands?" he said, and passed out. + +When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a +fever. + +"Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. + +"He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him." + +On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of the +fever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon he +harnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from the +post that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in the +deepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made by +the company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill. + +This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he had +fought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles beyond. +Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he followed +the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his Malemutes until +he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de Gravois had spoken +the truth, for he found the missionary with his face half buried in the +slush, stark dead. + +He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. The +bullet-hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes like +Jan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heart +there came another face, to remain always with him--the face of the +courageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride back +into the country of the Athabasca. + +Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it was +dusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins was +waiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile on +Jan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had never +seen there before. From that night they were no longer filled with the +nervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an appearance +almost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, there was a +warmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the effect of the +change as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more entirely of +Mélisse. + +A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought it +to Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play, +and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and both +the man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There was +the fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully unfastened +the strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil lamp, so +that he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the box. + +He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to the +wall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Jan +fished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or four +efforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him. +Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightly +rolled cylinder of faded red cloth. + +For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins, +unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon the +table before him a number of closely written pages of paper. He +weighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at the +other with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pages +were in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another so +closely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jan +took his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the others +he bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing breath. + +On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paper +there still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hour +Jan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to the +last page. + +When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for an +instant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep. +Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, without +disturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the south +and east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring moon +was coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, a new +and strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his arms, +with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from out of +that growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him. + +For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of the +great world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman's +letter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering, +thrilling eagerness: + +"I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Mélisse come too!" + +He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded red +cloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before he +reentered the cabin. + +The next morning Cummins stood in the door, and said: + +"How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring. +We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish." + +Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and the +air was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents of +the budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of the +forest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose-birds +chirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night in +bough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; and +snowbirds--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whisk +about like so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to day +until they became new creatures in a new world. + +The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fat +peas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied by +little ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down the +slender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from the +blizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they had +passed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak and +sick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the crackle +of crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and tree; and +each night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept farther and +farther toward the pole in its fading glory. + +The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came in +from out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, taking +back into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life. +Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company's +chief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had a +good deal of extra time on his hands. + +Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in logs +for an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking out in +the sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Mélisse looked upon the new +home-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. Cummins' face +glowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the bearskin and +gave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts. + +Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the little +Mélisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed from +Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened +frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and +even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow +near Mélisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw +fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter +of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought +of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies +and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic +indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Mélisse. + +"I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time," +confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his +violin. "She is nearly six months old." + +"Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly +stopping the tightening of his strings. + +Cummins stared. + +"Why?" + +Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. + +"Because I have heard her many times say, +'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'--which means candee; and always I have given +her candee, an' now ze leetle Mélisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time." + +"Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?" + +Like a shot Jan replied: + +"I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!" + +He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He went +to the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruce +over the grave. Later he said to Jan: + +"It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when she +says 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!" + +The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman's +grave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of a +great ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him a +basket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to their +roots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, and +around its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea and +backneesh. + +As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he took +Mélisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and together +they picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave was +never without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new addition +complete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring up +out of the earth. + +Jan and Mélisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there was +pleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in the +presence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deep +grief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all that +this desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with the +excruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died but +yesterday. + +When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried his +head in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved them. She +had always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out of the wet +earth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for them, and had +fastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her hair. Those were +the days when, like happy children, they had romped and laughed +together out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had caught her up +in his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but gloriously +happy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she would sit +and laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper. + +Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off alone +into the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him his +moccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in their +wanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him, +and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of the +woman and die. + +Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Mélisse were to +cherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were to +spring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even as +his own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in the +future. He gave up Mélisse to Jan. + +At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of mental +torture, he said that the company's business was calling him to +Churchill, and early in August he left for the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +FOR HER + + +Upon Jan now fell a great responsibility. Mélisse was his own. Days +passed before he could realize the fullness of his possession. He had +meant to go by the Athabasca water route to see Jean de Gravois, +leaving Mélisse to Cummins for a fortnight or so. Now he gave this up. +Day and night he guarded the child; and to Jan's great joy it soon came +to pass that whenever he was compelled to leave her for a short time, +Mélisse would cry for him. At least Maballa assured him that this was +so, and Mélisse gave evidence of it by her ecstatic joy when he +returned. + +When Cummins came back from Fort Churchill in the autumn, he brought +with him a pack full of things for Mélisse, including new books and +papers, for which he had spent a share of his season's earnings. As he +was freeing these treasures from their wrapping of soft caribou skin, +with Jan and Mélisse both looking on, he stopped suddenly and glanced +from his knees up at the boy. + +"They're wondering over at Churchill what became of the missionary who +left with the mail, Jan. They say he was last seen at the Etawney." + +"And not here?" replied Jan quickly. + +"Not that they know of," said Cummins, still keeping his eyes on the +boy. "The man who drove him never got back to Churchill. They're +wondering where the driver went, too. A company officer has gone up to +the Etawney, and it is possible he may come over to Lac Bain. I don't +believe he'll find the missionary." + +"Neither do I," said Jan quite coolly. "He is probably dead, and the +wolves and foxes have eaten him before this--or mebby ze feesh!" + +Cummins resumed his task of unpacking, and among the books which he +brought forth there were two which he gave to Jan. + +"The supply ship from London came in while I was at Churchill, and +those came with it," he explained. "They're school-books. There's going +to be a school at Churchill next winter, and the winter after that it +will be at York Factory, down on the Hayes." He settled back on his +heels and looked at Jan. "It's the first school that has ever come +nearer than four hundred miles of us. That's at Prince Albert." + +For many succeeding days Jan took long walks alone in the forest +trails, and silently thrashed out the two problems which Cummins had +brought back from Churchill for him. Should he warn Jean de Gravois +that a company officer was investigating the disappearance of the +missionary? + +At first his impulse was to go at once into Jean's haunts beyond the +Fond du Lac, and give him the news. But even if the officer did come to +Post Lac Bain, how would he know that the missionary was at the bottom +of the lake, and that Jean de Gravois was accountable for it? So in the +end Jan decided that it would be folly to stir up the little hunter's +fears, and he thought no more of the company's investigator who had +gone up to the Etawney. + +But the second problem was one whose perplexities troubled him. +Cummins' word of the school at Churchill had put a new and thrilling +thought into his head, and always with that thought he coupled visions +of the growing Mélisse. This year the school would be at Churchill, and +the next at York Factory, and after that it might be gone for ever, so +that when Mélisse grew up there would be none nearer than what Jan +looked upon as the other end of the world. Why could not he go to +school for Mélisse, and store up treasures which in time he might turn +over to her? + +The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever +entered into his dreams of what life held for him--that he, Jan +Thoreau, should learn to read and write, and do other things like the +people of the far South, so that he might help to make the little +creature in the cabin like her who slept under the watchful spruce. He +was stirred to the depths of his soul, now with fear, again with hope +and desire and ambition; and it was not until the first cold chills of +approaching winter crept down from the north and east that the ultimate +test came, and he told Cummins of his intention. + +Once his mind was settled, Jan lost no time in putting his plans into +action. Mukee knew the trail to Churchill, and agreed to leave with him +on the third day--which gave Williams' wife time to make him a new coat +of caribou skin. + +On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin; +and after Mélisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms +and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in silence. +When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall, Cummins put +one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him to the door, +where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of the forest +that rose black and silent against the starlit background of the sky. +High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree over the +grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and Cummins' eyes +rested there. + +"She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that +you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in +the skies. I believe--she knows--now--" + +The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped until +his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something of the +gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan caught the +hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own. + +"Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?" + +"I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. +"I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night +because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up +into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Mélisse was here," he +finished. + +For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back +into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner +he took a buckskin bag. + +"You are going to Churchill for Mélisse and for HER" he said in a voice +pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this." + +Jan drew a step back. + +"No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for +Mélisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?" + +His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant. +Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by +the arm. + +"Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Mélisse," he exclaimed with +finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work +with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!" +There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you +take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?" + +Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush burned +in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look that came +into his eyes. + +"I pay back this gold to you and Mélisse a hundred times!" he cried +tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!" + +Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had +stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall. +Cummins turned to look. When he faced him again the boy's arm had +fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. + +The next day he left. No one heard his last words to Mélisse, or +witnessed his final leave-taking of her, for Cummins sympathized with +the boy's grief and went out of the cabin an hour before Mukee was +ready with his pack. The last that he heard was Jan's violin playing +low, sweet music to the child. Three weeks later, when Mukee returned +to Lac Bain, he said that Jan had traveled to Churchill like one who +had lost his tongue, and that far into the nights he had played lonely +dirges upon his violin. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A RUMOR FROM THE SOUTH + + +It was a long winter for Cummins and Mélisse. It was a longer one for +Jan. He had taken with him a letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the +factor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerk's +assistant at the post--a young, red-faced man who had come over on the +ship from England. He was a cheerful, good-natured young fellow, and +when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from the +Barren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested +himself with the responsibilities of a private tutor. + +He taught Jan, first of all, to say "is" in place of "ees." It was a +tremendous lesson for Jan, but he struggled with it manfully, and a +week after his arrival, when one evening he was tuning his violin to +play for young MacDonald, he said with eager gravity: + +"Ah, I have it now, Mr. MacDonald. It ees not 'EES,' it ees 'EES!'" + +MacDonald roared, but persisted, and in time Jan began to get the twist +out of his tongue. + +The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or +so, gathered there from forty thousand square miles of wilderness. Two +white youths and a half-breed had come from the Etawney; the factor at +Nelson House sent up his son, and from the upper waters of the Little +Churchill there came three others. + +From the first, Jan's music found him a premier place in the interest +of the tutor sent over by the company. He studied by night as well as +by day, and by the end of the second month his only competitor was the +youth from Nelson House. His greatest source of knowledge was not the +teacher, but MacDonald. There was in him no inherent desire for the +learning of the people to the south. That he was storing away, like a +faithful machine, for the use of Mélisse. But MacDonald gave him that +for which his soul longed--a picture of life as it existed in the +wonderful world beyond the wilderness, to which some strange spirit +within him, growing stronger as the weeks and months passed, seemed +projecting his hopes and his ambitions. + +Between his thoughts of Mélisse and Lac Bain, he dreamed of that other +world; and several times during the winter he took the little roll from +the box of his violin, and read again and again the written pages that +it contained. + +"Some time I will go," he assured himself always. "Some time, when +Mélisse is a little older, and can go too." + +To young MacDonald, the boy from Lac Bain was a "find." The Scottish +youth was filled with an immense longing for home; and as his +homesickness grew, he poured more and more into Jan's attentive ears +his knowledge of the world from which he had come. He told him the +history of the old brass cannon that lay abandoned among the vines and +bushes, where a fort had stood at Churchill many years before. He +described the coming of the first ship into the great bay; told of +Hudson and his men, of great wars that his listener had never dreamed +of, of kings and queens and strange nations. At night he read a great +deal to Jan out of books that he had brought over with him. + +As the weeks and months passed, the strange spirit that was calling to +the forest boy out of that other world stirred more restlessly within +him. At times it urged him to confide in MacDonald what was hidden away +in the box of his violin. + +The secret nearly burst from him one Sunday, when MacDonald said: + +"I'm going home on the ship that comes over next summer. What do you +say to going back with me, Jan?" + +The spirit surged through Jan in a hot flood, and it was only an +accident that kept him from saying what was in his heart. + +They were standing with the icy bay stretching off in interminable +miles toward the pole. A little way from them, the restless tide was +beating up through the broken ice, and eating deeper into the frozen +shore. From out of the bank there projected, here and there, the ends +of dark, box-like objects, which, in the earlier days of the company, +had been gun-cases. In them were the bones of men who had lived and +died an age ago; and as Jan looked at the silent coffins, now falling +into the sea, another spirit--the spirit that bound him to +Mélisse--entered into him, and he shuddered as he thought of what might +happen in the passing of a year. + +It was this spirit that won. In the spring, Jan went back to Lac Bain +with the company's supplies. The next autumn he followed the school to +York Factory, and the third year he joined it at Nelson House. Then the +company's teacher died, and no one came to fill his place. + +In midwinter of this third year, Jan returned to Lac Bain, and, hugging +the delighted Mélisse close in his arms, he told her that never again +would he go away without her. Mélisse, tightening her arms around his +neck, made his promise sacred by offering her little rosebud of a mouth +for him to kiss. Later, the restless spirit slumbering within his +breast urged him to speak to Cummins. + +"When Mélisse is a little older, should we not go with her into the +South?" he said. "She must not live for ever in a place like this." + +Cummins looked at him for an instant as if he did not understand. When +Jan's meaning struck home, his eyes hardened, and there was the vibrant +ring of steel in his quiet voice. + +"Her mother will be out there under the old spruce until the end of +time," he said slowly; "and we will never leave her--unless, some day, +Mélisse goes alone." + +From that hour Jan no longer looked into the box of his violin. He +struggled against the desire that had grown with his years until he +believed that he had crushed it and stamped it out of his existence. In +his life there came to be but one rising and one setting of the sun. +Mélisse was his universe. She crowded his heart until beyond her he +began to lose visions of any other world. + +Each day added to his joy. He called her "my little sister," and with +sweet gravity Mélisse called him "brother Jan," and returned in full +measure his boundless love. He marked the slow turning of her flaxen +hair into sunny gold, and month by month watched joyfully the deepening +of that gold into warm shades of brown. She was to be like her mother! +Jan's soul rejoiced, and in his silent way Cummins offered up wordless +prayers of thankfulness. + +So matters stood at Post Lac Bain in the beginning of Mélisse's ninth +year, when up from the south there came a rumor. As civil war spreads +its deepest gloom, as the struggle of father against son and brother +against brother stifles the breathing of nations, so this rumor set +creeping a deep pall over the forest people. + +Rumor grew into rumor. From the east, the south and the west they +multiplied, until on all sides the Paul Reveres of the wilderness +carried news that the Red Terror was at their heels, and the chill of a +great fear swept like a shivering wind from the edge of civilization to +the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED TERROR + + +Nineteen years before these same rumors had come up from the south, and +the Red Terror had followed. The horror of it still remained with the +forest people; for a thousand unmarked graves, shunned like a +pestilence, and scattered from the lower waters of James Bay to the +lake country of the Athabasca, gave evidence of the toll it demanded. + +From DuBrochet, on Reindeer Lake, authentic word first came to Lac Bain +early in the winter. Henderson was factor there, and he passed up the +warning that had come to him from Nelson House and the country to the +southeast. + +"There's smallpox on the Nelson," his messenger informed Williams, "and +it has struck the Crees on Wollaston Lake. God only knows what it is +doing to the bay Indians, but we hear that it is wiping out the +Chippewayans between the Albany and the Churchill." He left the same +day with his winded dogs. "I'm off for the Révillon people to the west, +with the compliments of our company," he explained. + +Three days later, word came from Churchill that all of the company's +servants and her majesty's subjects west of the bay should prepare +themselves for the coming of the Red Terror. Williams' thick face went +as white as the paper he held, as he read the words of the Churchill +factor. + +"It means dig graves," he said. "That's the only preparation we can +make!" + +He read the paper aloud to the men at Lac Bain, and every available man +was detailed to spread the warning throughout the post's territory. +There was a quick harnessing of dogs, and on each sledge that went out +was a roll of red cotton cloth. Williams' face was still white as he +passed these rolls out from the company's store. They were ominous of +death, lurid signals of pestilence and horror, and the touch of them +sent shuddering chills through the men who were about to scatter them +among the forest people. + +Jan went over the Churchill trail, and then swung southward along the +Hasabala, where the country was crisscrossed with trap-lines of the +half-breeds and the French. First, he struck the cabin of Croisset and +his wife, and left part of his cloth. Then he turned westward, while +Croisset harnessed his dogs and hurried with a quarter of the roll to +the south. Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other +cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to the +south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry Langlois, +the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third day, Jan +set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of the same +day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail. On this he camped until +morning. When dawn came he began following it. + +He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was +there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found the +remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little but the +bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, with its +head eaten off. With growing perplexity, Jan examined the snow-shoe +trails in the snow. The most recent of them were days old. He urged on +his dogs, stopping no more at the trap-houses, until, with a shrieking +command, he brought them to a halt at the edge of a clearing cut in the +forest. A dozen rods ahead of him was the trapper's cabin. Over it, +hanging limply to a sapling pole, was the red signal of horror. + +With a terrified cry to the dogs, Jan ran back, and the team turned +about and followed him in a tangled mass. Then he stopped. There was no +smoke rising from the clay chimney on the little cabin. Its one window +was white with frost. Again and again he shouted, but no sign of life +responded to his cries. He fired his rifle twice, and waited with his +mittened hand over his mouth and nostrils. There was no reply. Then, +abandoning hope, he turned back into the north, and gave his dogs no +rest until he had reached Lac Bain. + +His team came in half dead. Both Cummins and Williams rushed out to +meet him as he drove up before the company's store. + +"The red flag is over Langlois' cabin!" he cried. "I fired my rifle and +shouted. There is no life! Langlois is dead!" + +"Great God!" groaned Williams. + +His red face changed to a sickly pallor, and he stood with his thick +hands clenched, while Cummins took charge of the dogs and Jan went into +the store for something to eat. + +Mukee and Per-ee returned to the post the next day. Young Williams +followed close after them, filled with terror. He had found the plague +among the Crees of the Waterfound. + +Each day added to the gloom at Lac Bain. For a time Jan could not fully +understand, and he still played his violin and romped joyfully with +Mélisse in the little cabin. He had not lived through the plague of +nineteen years before. Most of the others had, even to Mukee, the +youngest of them all. + +Jan did not know that it was this Red Terror that came like a Nemesis +of the gods to cut down the people of the great Northland, until they +were fewer in number than those of the Sahara desert. But he learned +quickly. In February, the Crees along Wollaston Lake were practically +wiped out. Red flags marked the trail of the Nelson. Death leaped from +cabin to cabin in the wilderness to the west. By the middle of the +month, Lac Bain was hemmed in by the plague on all sides but the north. + +The post's trap-lines had been shortened; now they were abandoned +entirely, and the great fight began. Williams assembled his men, and +told them how that same battle had been fought nearly two decades +before. For sixty miles about the post every cabin and wigwam that +floated a red flag must be visited--and burned if the occupants were +dead. In learning whether life or death existed in these places lay the +peril for those who undertook the task. It was a dangerous mission. It +meant facing a death from which those who listened to the old factor +shrank with dread; yet, when the call came, they responded to a man. + +Cummins and Jan ate their last supper together, with Mélisse sitting +between them and wondering at their silence. When it was over, the two +went outside. + +"Mukee wasn't at the store," said Cummins in a thick, strained voice, +halting Jan in the gloom behind the cabin. "Williams thought he was off +to the south with his dogs. But he isn't. I saw him drag himself into +his shack, like a sick dog, an hour before dusk. There'll be a red flag +over Lac Bain in the morning." + +Jan stifled the sharp cry on his lips. + +"Ah, there's a light!" cried Cummins. "It's a pitch torch burning in +front of his door!" + +A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and +the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father--a +wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing +of a dog. Sudden lights flashed into the night, as they had flashed +years ago when Cummins staggered forth from his home with word of the +woman's death. He gripped Jan's arm in a sudden spasm of horror. + +"The flag is up NOW!" he whispered huskily. "Go back to Mélisse. There +is food in the house for a month, and you can bring the wood in +to-night. Bar the door. Open only the back window for air. Stay +inside--with her--until it is all over. Go!" + +"To the red flags, that is where I will go!" cried Jan fiercely, +wrenching his arm free. "It is your place to stay with Mélisse!" + +"My place is with the men." + +"And mine?" Jan drew himself up rigid. + +"One of us must shut himself up with her," pleaded Cummins. "It must be +you." His face gleamed white in the darkness. "You came--that +night--because Mélisse was here. SOMETHING sent you--SOMETHING--don't +you understand? And since then she has never been near to death until +now. You must stay with Mélisse--WITH YOUR VIOLIN!" + +"Mélisse herself shall choose," replied Jan. "We will go into the +cabin, and the one to whom she comes first goes among the red flags. +The other shuts himself in the cabin until the plague is gone." + +He turned swiftly back to the door. As he opened it, he stepped aside +to let Cummins enter first, and behind the other's broad back he leaped +quickly to one side, his eyes glowing, his white teeth gleaming in a +smile. Unseen by Cummins, he stretched out his arms to Mélisse, who was +playing with the strings of his violin on the table. + +He had done this a thousand times, and Mélisse knew what it meant--a +kiss and a joyous toss halfway to the ceiling. She jumped from her +stool and ran to him; but this time, instead of hoisting her above his +head, he hugged her up close to his breast, and buried his face in her +soft hair. His eyes looked over her in triumph to Cummins. + +"Up, Jan, up--'way up!" cried Mélisse. + +He tossed her until she half turned in midair, kissed her again as he +caught her in his arms, and set her, laughing and happy, on the edge of +the table. + +"I am going down among the sick Crees in Cummins' place," said Jan to +Williams, half an hour later. "Now that the plague has come to Lac +Bain, he must stay with Mélisse." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A LONG WAITING + + +The next morning Jan struck out over his old trail to the Hasabala. The +Crees were gone. He spent a day swinging east and west, and found old +trails leading into the north. + +"They have gone up among the Eskimos," he said to himself. "Ah, Kazan, +what in the name of the saints is that?" + +The leading dog dropped upon his haunches with a menacing growl as a +lone figure staggered across the snow toward them. It was Croisset. +With a groan, he dropped upon the sledge. + +"I am sick and starving!" he wailed. "The fiend himself has got into my +cabin, and for three days I've had nothing but snow and a raw +whisky-jack!" + +"Sick!" cried Jan, drawing a step away from him. + +"Yes, sick from an empty belly, and this, and this!" He showed a +forearm done up in a bloody rag, and pointed to his neck, from which +the skin was peeling. "I was gone ten days with that red cloth you gave +me; and when I came back, if there wasn't the horror itself grinning at +me from the top of my own shanty! I tried to get in, but my wife barred +the door, and said that she would shoot me if I didn't get back into +the woods. I tried to steal in at night through a window, and she +drenched me in hot water. I built a wigwam at the edge of the forest, +and stayed there for five days. Hon-gree! Blessed saints, I had no +matches, no grub; and when I got close enough to yell these things to +her, she kept her word and plunked me through a crack in the door, so +that I lost a pint of blood from this arm." + +"I'll give you something to eat," laughed Jan, undoing his pack. "How +long has the red flag been up?" + +"I've lost all count of time, but it's twelve days, if an hour, and I +swear it's going to take all winter to get it down!" + +"It's not the plague. Go back and tell your wife so." + +"And get shot for my pains!" groaned Croisset, digging into meat and +biscuit. "I'm bound for Lac Bain, if you'll give me a dozen matches. +That whisky-jack will remain with me until I die, for when I ate him I +forgot to take out his insides!" + +"You're a lucky man, Croisset. It's good proof that she loves you." + +"If bullets and hot water and an empty belly are proofs, she loves me a +great deal, Jan Thoreau! Though I don't believe she meant to hit me. It +was a woman's bad aim." + +Jan left him beside a good fire, and turned into the southwest to burn +Langlois and his cabin. The red flag still floated where he had seen it +weeks before. The windows were thicker with frost. He shouted, beat +upon the door with the butt of his rifle and broke in the windows. The +silence of death quickened the beating of his heart when he stopped to +listen. There was no doubt that Langlois lay dead in his little home. + +Jan brought dry brushwood from the forest, and piled it high against +the logs. Upon his sledge he sat and watched the fire until the cabin +was a furnace of leaping flame. + +He continued westward. At the head of the Porcupine he found the +remains of three burned wigwams, and from one of them he dug out +charred bones. Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east +and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, +who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned +village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as he +went that the angels were guarding Mélisse at Post Lac Bain. + +Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered +Jan. + +"The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal +over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as +thick as jays in springtime!" + +The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. + +"Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to +Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, +left the Gray Otter to burn them." + +Williams took down his birch-bark moose-horn and bellowed a weird +signal to Cummins, who opened a crack of his door to listen, with +Mélisse close beside him. + +"Thoreau is in the thick of it to the south," he called. "There's too +much of it for him, and I'm going down with the dogs. Croisset will +stay in the store for a few days." + +Mélisse heard the words, and her eyes were big with fear when her +father turned from closing and bolting the door. In more than a +childish way, she knew that Jan had gone forth to face a great danger. +The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun +to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, +just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the +responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. + +She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant. She knew that the +air of this world of hers had become filled with peril to those who +breathed it, and that people were dying out in the forests; that all +about them there was a terrible, unseen thing which her father called +the plague, and that Jan had gone forth to fight it, to breathe it, +and, perhaps, to die in it. Their own door was locked and bolted +against it. She dared not even thrust her head from the window which +was opened for a short time each day; and until Cummins assured her +that there was no danger in the sunshine, she shunned the few pale rays +that shot through the cabin-window at midday. + +Unconsciously, Cummins added to her fears in more ways than one, and as +he answered her questions truthfully, her knowledge increased day by +day. She thought more and more of Jan. She watched for him through the +two windows of her home. Every sound from outside brought her to them +with eager hope; and always, her heart sank with disappointment, and +the tears would come very near to her eyes, when she saw nothing but +the terrible red flag clinging to the pole over Mukee's cabin. + +In the little Bible which her mother had left there was written, on the +ragged fly-leaf, a simple prayer. Each night, as she knelt beside her +cot and repeated this prayer, she paused at the end, and added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, please take care of Jan!" + +The days brought quick changes now. One morning the moose-horn called +Cummins to the door. It was the fifth day after Williams had gone south. + +"There was no smoke this morning, and I looked through the window," +shouted Croisset. "Mukee and the old man are both dead. I'm going to +burn the cabin." + +A stifled groan of anguish fell from Cummins' lips as he went like a +dazed man to his cot and flung himself face downward upon it. Mélisse +could see his strong frame shaking, as if he were crying like a child; +and twining her arms tightly about his neck, she sobbed out her +passionate grief against his rough cheek. She did not know the part +that Mukee had played in the life of the sweet woman who had once lived +in this same little cabin; she knew only that he was dead; that the +terrible thing had killed him and that, next to her father and Jan, she +had loved him more than any one else in the world. + +Soon she heard a strange sound, and ran to the window. Mukee's cabin +was in flames. Wild-eyed and tearless with horror, she watched the fire +as it burst through the broken windows and leaped high up among the +black spruce. In those flames was Mukee! She screamed, and her father +sprang to her with a strange cry, running with her from the window into +the little room where she slept. + +The next morning, when Cummins went to awaken her, his face went as +white as death. Mélisse was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and +staring at him, and her soft cheeks burned with the hot glow of fire. + +"You are sick, Mélisse," he whispered hoarsely. "You are sick!" + +He fell upon his knees beside her, and lifted her face in his hands. +The touch of it sent a chill to his heart--such as he had not felt +since many years ago, in that other room a few steps away. + +"I want Jan," she pleaded. "I want Jan to come back to me!" + +"I will send for him, dear. He will come back soon. I will go out and +send Croisset." + +He hid his face from her as he dragged himself away. Croisset saw him +coming, and came out of the store to meet him. A hundred yards away +Cummins stopped. + +"Croisset, for the love of God, take a team and go after Jan Thoreau," +he called "Tell him that Mélisse is dying of the plague. Hurry, hurry!" + +"Night and day!" shouted Croisset. + +Twenty minutes later, from the cabin window, Cummins saw him start. + +"Jan will be here very soon, Mélisse," he said, running his fingers +gently through her hair. + +It fell out upon the pillow in thick brown waves, and the sight of it +choked him with the memory of another vision which would remain with +him until the end of time. It was her mother's hair, shining softly in +the dim light; her mother's eyes looked up at him as he sat beside her +through all this long day. + +Toward evening there came a change. The fever left the child's cheeks. +Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep. Through the night Cummins sat +near the door, but in the gray dawn, overcome by his long vigil, his +head dropped upon his breast, and he slumbered. + +When he awoke the cabin was filled with light He heard a sound, and, +startled, sprang to his feet. Mélisse was at the stove building a fire! + +"I'm better this morning, father. Why didn't you sleep until breakfast +was ready?" + +Cummins stared. Then he gave a shout, made a rush for her, and catching +her up in his arms, danced about the cabin like a great bear, +overturning the chairs, and allowing the room to fill with smoke in his +wild joy. + +"It's what you saw through the window that made you sick, Mélisse," he +cried, putting her down at last. "I thought--" He paused, and added, +his voice trembling: "I thought you were going to be sick for more than +one day, my sweet little woman!" + +He opened one of the windows to let in the fresh air of the morning. + +When Croisset returned, he did not find a red flag over Cummins' cabin; +nor did he bring word of Jan. For three days he had followed the trails +to the south without finding the boy. But he brought back other news. +Williams was sick with the plague in a Cree wigwam on the lower +Porcupine. It was the last they ever heard of the factor, except that +he died some time in March, and was burned by the Crees. + +Croisset went back over the Churchill trail, and found his wife ready +to greet him with open arms. After that he joined Per-ee, who came in +from the north, in another search for Jan. They found neither trace nor +word of him after passing the Gray Otter, and Cummins gave up hope. + +It was not for long that their fears could be kept from Mélisse. This +first bitter grief that had come into her life fell upon her with a +force which alarmed Cummins, and cast him into deep gloom. She no +longer loved to play with her things in the cabin. For days at a time +she would not touch the books which Jan had brought from Churchill, and +which he had taught her to read. She found little to interest her in +the things which had been her life a few weeks before. + +With growing despair, Cummins saw his own efforts fail. As the days +passed Mélisse mingled more and more with the Indian and half-breed +children, and spent much of her time at the company's store, listening +to the talk of the men, silent, attentive, unresponsive to any efforts +they might make to engage her smiles. From her own heart she looked out +upon a world that had become a void for her. Jan had been mother, +brother, and everything that was tender and sweet to her--and he was +gone. Mukee, whom she had loved, was gone. Williams was gone. The world +was changed, terribly and suddenly, and it added years to her +perspective of things. + +Each day, as the weeks went on, and the spring sun began to soften the +snow, she became a little more like the wild children at Lac Bain and +in the forest. For Jan, she had kept her hair soft and bright, because +he praised her for it and told her it was pretty. Now it hung in +tangles down her back. + +There came a night when she forgot her prayer, and Cummins did not +notice it. He failed to notice it the next night, and the next. Plunged +deep in his own gloom, he was unobservant of many other things, so +that, in place of laughter and joy and merry rompings, only gloomy and +oppressive shadows of things that had come and gone filled the life of +the little cabin. + +They were eating dinner, one day in the early spring, with the sunshine +flooding in upon them, when a quick, low footfall caused Mélisse to +lift her eyes in the direction of the open door. A strange figure stood +there, with bloodless face, staring eyes, and garments hanging in +tatters--but its arms were stretched out, as those same arms had been +held out to her a thousand times before, and, with the old glad cry, +Mélisse darted with the swiftness of a sun-shadow beyond Cummins, +crying: + +"Jan, Jan--my Jan!" + +Words choked in Cummins' throat when he saw the white-faced figure +clutching Mélisse to its breast. + +At last he gasped "Jan!" and threw out his arms, so that both were +caught in their embrace. + +For an instant Jan turned his face up to the light The other stared and +understood. + +"You have been sick," he said, "but it has left no marks." + +"Thank God!" breathed Jan. + +Mélisse raised her head, and stroked his cheeks with her two hands. +That night she remembered her prayer, and at its end she added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for sending back Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ALMOST A WOMAN + + +Peace followed in the blighted trails of the Red Terror. Again the +forest world breathed without fear; but from Hudson's Bay to Athabasca, +and as far south as the thousand waters of the Reindeer country, the +winds whispered of a terrible grief that would remain until babes were +men and men went to their graves. + +Life had been torn and broken in a cataclysm more fearful than that +which levels cities and disrupts the earth. Slowly it began its +readjustment. There was no other life to give aid or sympathy; and just +as they had suffered alone, so now the forest people struggled back +into life alone, building up from the wreck of what had been, the +things that were to be. + +For months the Crees wailed their death dirges as they sought out the +bones of their dead. Men dragged themselves into the posts, wifeless +and childless, leaving deep in the wilderness all that they had known +to love and give them comfort. Now and then came a woman, and around +the black scars of burned cabins and teepees dogs howled mournfully for +masters that were gone. + +The plague had taken a thousand souls, and yet the laughing, dancing +millions in that other big world beyond the edge of the wilderness +caught only a passing rumor of what had happened. + +Lac Bain suffered least of the far northern posts, with the exception +of Churchill, where the icy winds down-pouring from the Arctic had sent +the Red Terror shivering to the westward. In the late snows, word came +that Cummins was to take Williams' place as factor, and Per-ee at once +set off for the Fond du Lac to bring back Jean de Gravois as "chief +man." Croisset gave up his fox-hunting to fill Mukee's place. + +The changes brought new happiness to Mélisse. Croisset's wife was a +good woman who had spent her girlhood in Montreal, and Iowaka, now the +mother of a fire-eating little Jean and a handsome daughter, was a +soft-voiced young Venus who had grown sweeter and prettier with her +years--which is not usually the case with half-breed women. + +"But it's good blood in her, beautiful blood," vaunted Jean proudly, +whenever the opportunity came. "Her mother was a princess, and her +father a pure Frenchman, whose father's father was a chef de bataillon. +What better than that, eh? I say, what better could there be than that?" + +So, for the first time in her life, Mélisse discovered the joys of +companionship with those of her own kind. + +This new companionship, pleasant as it was, did not come between her +and Jan. If anything, they were more to each other than ever. The +terrible months through which they had passed had changed them both, +and had given them, according to their years, the fruits which are +often ripened in the black gloom of disaster rather than in the +sunshine of prosperity. + +To Mélisse they had opened up a new world of thought, a new vision of +the things that existed about her. The sternest teacher of all had +brought to her the knowledge that comes of grief, of terror, and of +death, and she had passed beyond her years, just as the cumulative +processes of generations made the Indian children pass beyond theirs. + +She no longer looked upon Jan as a mere playmate, a being whose +diversion was to amuse and to love her. He had become a man. In her +eyes he was a hero, who had gone forth to fight the death of which she +still heard word and whisper all about her. Croisset's wife and Iowaka +told her that he had done the bravest thing that a man might do on +earth. She spoke proudly of him to the Indian children, who called him +the "torch-bearer." She noticed that he was as tall as Croisset, and +taller by half a head than Jean, and that he lifted her now with one +arm as easily as if she were no heavier than a stick of wood. + +Together they resumed their studies, devoting hours to them each day, +and through all that summer he taught her to play upon his violin. The +warm months were a time of idleness at Lac Bain, and Jan made the most +of them in his teaching of Mélisse. She learned to read the books which +he had used at Fort Churchill, and by midsummer she could read those +which he had used at York Factory. At night they wrote letters to each +other and delivered them across the table in the cabin, while Cummins +looked on and smoked, laughing happily at what they read aloud to him. + +One night, late enough in the season for a fire to be crackling merrily +in the stove, Jan was reading one of these letters, when Mélisse cried: + +"Stop, Jan--stop THERE!" + +Jan caught himself, and he blushed mightily when he read the next lines: + +"'I think you have beautiful eyes. I love them.'" + +"What is it?" cried Cummins interestedly. "Read on, Jan." + +"Don't!" commanded Mélisse, springing to her feet and running around +the table. "I didn't mean you to read that!" + +She snatched the paper from Jan's hand and threw it into the fire. + +Jan's blood filled with pleasure, and at the bottom of his next letter +he wrote back: + +"I think you have beautiful hair. I love it." + +That winter Jan was appointed post hunter, and this gave him much time +at home, for meat was plentiful along the edge of the barrens. The two +continued at their books until they came to the end of what Jan knew in +them. After that, like searchers in strange places, they felt their way +onward, slowly and with caution. During the next summer they labored +through all the books which were in the little box in the corner of the +cabin. + +It was Mélisse who now played most on the violin, and Jan listened, his +eyes glowing proudly as he saw how cleverly her little fingers danced +over the strings, his face flushed with a joy that was growing stronger +in him every day. One day she looked curiously into the F-hole of the +instrument, and her pretty mouth puckered itself into a round, red "O" +of astonishment when Jan quickly snatched the violin from her hands. + +"Excuses-moi, ma belle Mélisse," he laughed at her in French. "I am +going to play you something new!" + +That same day he took the little cloth-covered roll from the violin and +gave it another hiding-place. It recalled to him the strange spirit +which had once moved him at Fort Churchill, and which had remained with +him for a time at Lac Bain. That spirit was now gone, luring him no +longer. Time had drawn a softening veil over things that had passed. He +was happy. + +The wilderness became more beautiful to him as Mélisse grew older. Each +summer increased his happiness; each succeeding winter made it larger +and more complete. Every fiber of his being sang in joyful response as +he watched Mélisse pass from childhood into young girlhood. He marked +every turn in her development, the slightest change in her +transformation, as if she had been a beautiful flower. + +He possessed none of the quick impetuosity of Jean de Gravois. Years +gave the silence of the North to his tongue, and his exultation was +quiet and deep in his own heart. With an eagerness which no one guessed +he watched the growing beauty of her hair, marked its brightening +luster when he saw it falling in thick waves over her shoulders, and he +knew that at last it had come to be like the woman's. The changing +lights in her eyes fascinated him, and he rejoiced again when he saw +that they were deepening into the violet blue of the bakneesh flowers +that bloomed on the tops of the ridges. + +To him, Mélisse was growing into everything that was beautiful. She was +his world, his life, and at Post Lac Bain there was nothing to come +between the two. Jan noticed that in her thirteenth year she could +barely stand under his outstretched arm. The next year she had grown so +tall that she could not stand there at all. Very soon she would be a +woman! + +The thought leaped from his heart, and he spoke it aloud. It was on the +girl's fifteenth birthday. They had come up to the top of the ridge on +which he had fought the missionary, to gather red sprigs of the +bakneesh for the festival that they were to have in the cabin that +night. High up on the face of a jagged rock, Jan saw a bit of the +crimson vine thrusting itself out into the sun, and, with Mélisse +laughing and encouraging him from below, he climbed up until he had +secured it. He tossed it down to her. + +"It's the last one," she cried, seeing his disadvantage, "and I'm going +home. You can't catch me!" + +She darted away swiftly along the snow-covered ridge, taunting him with +merry laughter as she left him clambering in cautious descent down the +rock. Jan followed in pursuit, shouting to her in French, in Cree, and +in English, and their two voices echoed happily in their wild frolic. + +Jan slackened his steps. It was a joy to see Mélisse springing from +rock to rock and darting across the thin openings close ahead of him, +her hair loosening and sweeping out in the sun, her slender figure +fleeing with the lightness of the pale sun-shadows that ran up and down +the mountain. + +He would not have overtaken her of his own choosing, but at the foot of +the ridge Mélisse gave up. She returned toward him, panting and +laughing, shimmering like a sea-naiad under the glistening veil of her +disheveled hair. Her face glowed with excitement; her eyes, filled with +the light of the sun, dazzled Jan in their laughing defiance. Before +her he stopped, and made no effort to catch her. Never had he seen her +so beautiful, still daring him with her laugh, quivering and panting, +flinging back her hair. Half reaching out his arms, he cried: + +"Mélisse, you are beautiful--you are almost a woman!" + +The flush deepened in her cheeks, and there was no longer the sweet, +taunting mischief in her eyes. She made no effort to run from him when +he came to her. + +"Do you think so, Brother Jan?" + +"If you did your hair up like the pictures we have in the books, you +would be a woman," he answered softly. "You are more beautiful than the +pictures!" + +He drew a step back, and her eyes flashed at him again with the sparkle +of the old fun in them. + +"You say that I am pretty, and that I am almost a woman," she pouted. +"And yet--" She shrugged her shoulders at him in mock disdain. "Jan +Thoreau, this is the third time in the last week that you have not +played the game right! I won't play with you any more!" + +In a flash he was at her side, her face between his two hands and, +bending down, he kissed her upon the mouth. + +"There," she said, as he released her. "Isn't that the way we have +played it ever since I can remember? Whenever you catch me, you may +have that!" + +"I am afraid, Mélisse," he said seriously. "You are growing so tall and +so pretty that I am afraid." + +"Afraid! My brother afraid to kiss me! And what will you do when I get +to be a woman, Jan--which will be very soon, you say?" + +"I don't know, Mélisse." + +She turned her back to him and flung out her hair; and Jan, who had +done this same thing for her a hundred times before, divided the silken +mass into three strands and plaited them into a braid. + +"I don't believe that you care for me as much as you used to, Jan. I +wish I were a woman, so that I might know if you are going to forget me +entirely!" + +Her shoulders trembled; and when he had finished his task, he found +that she was laughing, and that her eyes were swimming with a new +mischief which she was trying to hide from him. In that laugh there was +something which was not like Mélisse. Slight as the change was, he +noticed it; but instead of displeasing him, it set a vague sensation of +pleasure trilling like a new song within him. + +When they reached the post, Mélisse went to the cabin with her +bakneesh, and Jan to the company's store. Tossing the vines upon the +table, Mélisse ran back to the door and watched him until he +disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips half parted in +excitement; and no sooner had he gone from view than she hurried to +Iowaka's home across the clearing. + +It was fully three quarters of an hour later when Jan saw Mélisse, with +Iowaka's red shawl over her head, walking slowly and with extreme +precision of step back to the cabin. + +"I wonder if she has the earache," he said to himself, watching her +curiously. "That is Iowaka's shawl, and she has it all about her head." + +"A clear half-inch of the rarest wool from London," added the cheery +voice of Jean de Gravois, whose moccasins had made no sound behind him. +He always spoke in French to Jan. "There is but one person in the world +who looks better in it than your Mélisse, Jan Thoreau, and that is +Iowaka, my wife. Blessed saints, man, but is she not growing more +beautiful every day?" + +"Yes," said Jan. "She will soon be a woman." + +"A woman!" shouted Jean, who, not having his caribou whip, jumped up +and down to emphasize his words. "She will soon be a woman, did you +say, Jan Thoreau? And if she is not a woman at thirty, with two +children--God send others like them!--when will she be, I ask you?" + +"I meant Mélisse," laughed Jan. + +"And I meant Iowaka," said Jean. "Ah, there she is now, come out to see +if her Jean de Gravois is on his way home with the sugar for which she +sent him something like an hour ago; for you know she is chef de +cuisine of this affair to-night. Ah, she sees me not, and she turns +back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the +calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did you +ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven who's +nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find? Deliver +us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!" + +The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life, +calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him. + +A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was +passing. + +"I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting that +sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms. +"Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough for +the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common flour +and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at Post Lac +Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and sweeter than +sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her earthly +tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough, mon ami. +Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about Mélisse and--" + +"Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out +for himself." + +"So--so it is," exclaimed the irrepressible Jean, plunging himself to +the elbows in his pan of dough. "Then hurry to the cabin, Jan, and see +what sort of a birthday gift Mélisse has got for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BIRTHDAYS + + +The big room was empty when Jan came quietly through the open door. He +stopped to listen, and caught a faint laugh from the other room, and +then another; and to give warning of his presence, he coughed loudly +and scraped a chair along the floor. A moment's silence followed. The +farther door opened a little, and then it opened wide, and Mélisse came +out. + +"Now what do you think of me, brother Jan?" She stood in the light of +the window through which came the afternoon sun, her hair piled in +glistening coils upon the crown of her head, as they had seen them in +the pictures, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing questioningly at Jan. + +"Do I look--as you thought--I would, Jan?" she persisted, a little +doubtful at his silence. She turned, so that he saw the cluster of soft +curls that fell upon her shoulder, with sprigs of bakneesh half +smothered in them. "Do I?" + +"You are prettier than I have ever seen you, Mélisse," he replied +softly. + +There was a seriousness in his voice that made her come to him in her +old impulsive, half-childish way. She lifted her hands and rested them +on his shoulders, as she had always done when inviting him to toss her +above his head. + +"If I am prettier--and you like me this way--why don't you--" + +She finished with a sweet, upturned pouting of her mouth, and, with a +sudden, laughing cry, Jan caught her in his arms and kissed the lips +she held up to him. It was but an instant, and he freed her, a hot +blush burning in his brown cheeks. + +"My dear brother!" she laughed at him, gathering up the bakneesh on the +table. "I love to have you kiss me, and now I have to make you do it. +Father kisses me every morning when he goes to the store. I remember +when you used to kiss me every time you came home, but now you forget +to do it at all. Do brothers love their sisters less as they grow +older?" + +"Sometimes they love the SISTER less and the OTHER GIRL more, ma belle +Mélisse," came a quick voice from the door, and Jean de Gravois bounded +in like a playful cat, scraping and bowing before Mélisse until his +head nearly touched the floor. "Lovely saints, Jan Thoreau, but she IS +a woman, just as my Iowaka told me! And the cakes--the bread--the pies! +You must delay the supper my lady, for the good Lord deliver me if I +haven't spilled all the dough on the floor! Swas-s-s-s-h--such a mess! +And my Iowaka did nothing but laugh and call me a clumsy dear!" + +"You're terribly in love, Jean," cried Mélisse, laughing until her eyes +were wet; "just like some of the people in the books which Jan and I +read." + +"And I always shall be, my dear, so long as the daughter of a princess +and the great-granddaughter of a chef de bataillon allows me to mix her +dough!" + +Mélisse flung the red shawl over her head, still laughing. + +"I will go and help her, Jean." + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Gravois, looking searchingly at Jan, when she had +left. "Shall I give you my best wishes, Jan Thoreau? Does it signify?" + +"Signify--what?" + +The little Frenchman's eyes snapped. + +"Why, when our pretty Cree maiden becomes engaged, she puts up her hair +for the first time, that is all, my dear Jan. When I asked my blessed +Iowaka to be my wife, she answered by running away from me, taunting me +until I thought my heart had shriveled into a bit of salt blubber; but +she came back to me before I had completely died, with her braids done +up on the top of her head!" + +He stopped suddenly, startled into silence by the strange look that had +come into the other's face. For a full minute Jan stood as if the power +of movement had gone from him. He was staring over the Frenchman's +head, a ghastly pallor growing in his cheeks. + +"No--it--means--nothing," he said finally, speaking as if the words +were forced from him one by one. + +He dropped into a chair beside the table like one whose senses had been +dulled by an unexpected blow. With a great sighing breath that was +almost a sob, he bowed his head upon his arms. + +"Jan Thoreau," whispered Jean softly, "have you forgotten that it was I +who killed the missioner for you, and that through all of these years +Jean de Gravois has never questioned you about the fight on the +mountain top?" There was in his voice, as gentle as a woman's, the +vibrant note of a comradeship which is next to love--the comradeship of +man for man in a world where friendship is neither bought nor sold. +"Have you forgotten, Jan Thoreau? If there is anything Jean de Gravois +can do?" + +He sat down opposite Jan, his thin, eager face propped in his hands, +and watched silently until the other lifted his head. Their eyes met, +steady, unflinching, and in that look there were the oath and the seal +of all that the honor of the big snows held for those two. + +Still without words, Jan reached within his breast and drew forth the +little roll which he had taken from his violin. One by one he handed +the pages over to Jean de Gravois. + +"Mon Dieu!" said Jean, when he had finished reading. He spoke no other +words. White-faced, the two men stared, Jan's throat twitching, +Gravois' brown fingers crushing the rolls he held. + +"That was why I tried to kill the missioner," said Jan at last. He +pointed to the more coarsely written pages under Jean's hand. "And +that--that--is why it could not signify that Mélisse has done up her +hair." He rose to his feet, straining to keep his voice even, and +gathered up the papers so that they shot back into the little +cylinder-shaped roll again. "Now do you understand?" + +"I understand," replied Jean in a low voice, but his eyes glittered +like dancing dragon-flies as he raised his elbows slowly from the table +and stretched his arms above his head. "I understand, Jan Thoreau, and +I praise the blessed Virgin that it was Jean de Gravois who killed the +missioner out upon the ice of Lac Bain!" + +"But the other," persisted Jan, "the other, which says that I--" + +"Stop!" cried Jean sharply. He came around the table and seized Jan's +hands in the iron grip of his lithe, brown fingers. "That is something +for you to forget. It means nothing--nothing at all, Jan Thoreau! Does +any one know but you and me?" + +"No one. I intended that some day Mélisse and her father should know; +but I waited too long. I waited until I was afraid, until the horror of +telling her frightened me. I made myself forget, burying it deeper each +year, until to-day--on the mountain--" + +"And to-day, in this cabin, you will forget again, and you will bury it +so deep that it will never come back. I am proud of you, Jan Thoreau. I +love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has ever said +this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!" + +With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they +now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door. +Half-way across the open were Mélisse and Iowaka, carrying a large +Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they +saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an invitation +for the two men to come to their assistance. + +"You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau," +exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!" + +He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two +who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder +by the time Jan arrived. + +"Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Mélisse, as she dropped a few +steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!" + +"I think I'm twenty-nine." + +"You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the +mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--" + +He had never spoken to Mélisse as he did now. + +"I was born some time in the winter, Mélisse--like you. Perhaps it was +yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow. That is all I know." + +He looked at her steadily, the grief which he was fighting to keep back +tightening the muscles about his mouth. + +Like the quick passing of sunshine, the fun swept from her face, +leaving her blue eyes staring up at him, filled with a pain which he +had never seen in them before. In a moment he knew that she had +understood him, and he could have cut out his tongue. Her hand reached +his arm, and she stopped him, her face lifted pleadingly, the tears +slowly gathering in her eyes. + +"Forgive me!" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "Dear, dear +Jan, forgive me!" She caught one of his hands in both her own, and for +an instant held it so that he could feel the throbbing of her heart. +"To-day is your birthday, Jan--yours and mine, mine and yours--and we +will always have it that way--always--won't we, Jan?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE RENUNCIATION + + +Jan was glad when the evening came, and was gone. Not until Jean and +Iowaka had said good night with Croisset and his wife, and both Cummins +and Mélisse had gone to their rooms, did he find himself relieved of +the tension under which he had struggled during all of that night's +merry-making in the cabin. + +From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and +indefinable sensation that was growing within him--something which he +could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and +meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely +he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never +had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice +rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he +sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers touched +the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of +excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon +Mélisse. + +She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, +straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in +response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who had +pursued her that day on the mountain-top. + +Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave him +these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty of her +flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming depths of +her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she wondered still +remained. + +After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had +finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the +company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his cap +and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse +Mélisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before. + +As he was about to go out, there came a sound--a low, gentle, whispered +word. + +"Jan!" + +He turned. Mélisse stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her +hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson bakneesh +shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her +two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same +question in her eyes. + +"Jan, you were not pleased with me to-night," she whispered. "Tell me, +why?" + +"I was pleased with you, Mélisse," he replied. + +He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm, and turned his +face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky, as they had +shone on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood they +saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows out +over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had +played when the woman died. Gaunt and solitary, the tall spruce loomed +up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the night +wind, as if in wailing answer to that far-away music in the skies. + +Suddenly there leaped up from Jan Thoreau's breast a breath that burst +from his lips in a low cry. + +"Mélisse, Mélisse, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in through +that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin when +your mother died. You were a little baby then, and since that night you +have never pleased me more than now!" + +He dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door, to hide what he +knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heart-broken little sob +behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. + +"Jan, dear Jan!" + +Mélisse crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling +about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old +love, the love and pride of what seemed to Jan to be, years ago, the +old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong +arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in +the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes +glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full, into his face. + +She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. + +"I didn't please you to-day," she whispered. "I will never do up my +hair again!" + +He kissed her, and his arms dropped from her shoulders. + +"Never, never again--until you have forgotten to love me," she +repeated. "Good night, Brother Jan!" + +Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper +and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Jan +went from the door that closed between him and Mélisse, her last words +still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his +cheeks--and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him swiftly +surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which racked him to the +soul. + +Fifteen years ago! He stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening +his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of ages +and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale fire, +robbed of softness by the polar cold; there were the same cloudless +blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping through its +infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning prayers on +that night when he had staggered into Lac Bain. + +He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away +from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday, he +remembered how he had dragged himself through this swamp, bleeding and +starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of +dogs, which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into +it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge, from +which he looked out through the white night into the limitless barrens +to the north. + +Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths +between hunter's cabin and Indian wigwam, starving at times, almost +dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back, and +playing--always playing to keep up his courage, until he found Mélisse. +Fifteen years had passed since then, and the cumulative force of the +things that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. +He had felt it first when Mélisse turned upon him at the foot of the +mountain; and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in +every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She +was no longer the little Mélisse, his sister. And yet-- + +He was almost saying her last words aloud: + +"Good night, Brother Jan!" + +She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to +him a thousand times before; but he had not kissed her in the old way. +It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot +blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. His +was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the ways of +passion. + +In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as +he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin--sacrilege +against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Mélisse came +to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, +unaware of his temptation; while he, Jan Thoreau-- + +He thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean +de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth, slowly, and held them +crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out +into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. + +His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags +behind him. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in +the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and +from tree to tree until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which +hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top +beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow +five hundred feet below. + +It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bough for a +hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their +solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. +Mukee had told Jan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life +at Lac Bain, he and Per-ee had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its +branches until only the black cap remained; and after that it was known +far and wide as the "lobstick" of Cummins' wife. It was a voiceless +cenotaph which signified that all the honor and love known to the +wilderness people had been given to her. + +To it went Jan, the papers still held in his hand. He had seen a pair +of whisky-jacks storing food in the butt of the tree, two or three +summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found +it, he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole +with chunks of bark. + +"Always my sister--and never anything more to Jan Thoreau," he said +gently in French, as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. +"That is the honor of these snows; it is what the great God means us to +be." The strife had gone from his voice; it rose strong and clear as he +stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, his eyes +upon the silent plume that heard his oath. "I swear that Jan Thoreau +will never do wrong to the little Mélisse!" + +With a face white and set in its determination, he turned slowly away +from the tree. Far away, from the lonely depths of the swamp, there +came the wailing howl of a wolf--a cry of hungerful savageness that +died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a +dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound +of it swept a flood of loneliness into Jan's heart. It was the +death-wail of his own last hope, which had gone out of him for ever +that night. + +He listened, and it came again; but in the middle of it, when the long, +moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair, there broke +in a sharp interruption--a shrieking, yelping cry, such as a dog makes +when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest thrilled with +the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who has started a fresh kill. +Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the swamp, there +came another cry, and still another from the mountain; and up and out +of the desolation rose the calls of others of the scattered pack, in +quick response to the comrade who had first found meat. + +All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except +that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. A +few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the fierce +hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound of the +chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the mountain and +down into the barrens. + +"A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the +barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!" + +He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain +stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry +growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again +in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching +nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the +white gloom. + +The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half +rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray +bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders +almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. + +There was no sound now. Below him, Jan could see the pale glimmer of +ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the +caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The +moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. From +the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the +caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. +Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. + +After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the +crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, the +caribou was given up to the feast. + +Jan turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart, he +went back to Lac Bain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BROTHER JAN + + +When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face +showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had +already finished, and he found Mélisse alone. Her hair was brushed back +in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her long +braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He saw +the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. + +"You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and your +eyes are bloodshot." + +"I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but +this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the +world, Mélisse?" + +"How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than +mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" + +"Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of +the coffee at the bay." + +"It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him +across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I +don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been +too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how lonely +I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we stood +together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away +the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and +thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose +we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a wonderful ship +like that?" + +"It may be, Mélisse." + +"And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one +else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to +the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to give +him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by running +away from me like that?" + +"To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he +replied quickly. + +She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes +full of mock astonishment. + +"And were you sorry I ran away from you?" + +Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. + +"Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. + +"I--don't--know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you +going to do to-day, Jan?" + +"Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too +busy with his trap-lines to come in." + +"Will you take me?" + +"I'm afraid not, Mélisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." + +"Very well. I'll get ready immediately." + +She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and ran +to her room. + +"It's too far, Mélisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've a +heavy load--" + +"Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to--Oh, dear! Jan, +have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" + +"It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her +humor despite himself. "But I say, Mélisse--" + +"Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed +before you can harness them, Jan." + +"They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to +her. + +Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, +destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with +something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune +as he hurried toward the store. + +When he returned with the team, Mélisse was waiting for him, a gray +thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her +trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, and +with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her cap. + +"I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. + +"Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared +Mélisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run from +here to Ledoq's!" + +With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the +open, with Mélisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean +and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. + +"The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my Iowaka," +said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be before her +next birthday!" + +And Mélisse was saying: + +"I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" + +She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that left +her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he +stopped the team, and waited. + +"That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." + +He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their traces, +with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until they were +leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the smooth +trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the leader, his +moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of the trained +forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes upon the +twisting trail ahead. + +It was a glorious ride, and Mélisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood +thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of +magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of their +backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, and their +half-gaping jaws--and from them she looked to Jan. There was no effort +in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair swept back +from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the dogs, there was +music in his movement, there was the beauty of strength, of endurance, +of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone proudly; the color +deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, wondering if there was +another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. + +Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the mountain +on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs to a walk. +Mélisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. + +"I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me--" There +was the old witching challenge in her eyes. + +She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued +with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this +time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of the +ridge. + +"You're as pretty as a fairy, Mélisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining +with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" + +"Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" + +"Yes, all of them." + +"I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, Jan?" +Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any +fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" + +"None that could compare with you, Mélisse." + +"Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a +little." + +"More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to +hold his tongue. + +As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the morning +was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother Jan, +Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves incessantly in +his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps beside the +sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the preceding night, +and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the trapper's. + +Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled +up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at Lac +Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap through the +door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her with all his +might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that many years +before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had disappeared +one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that Ledoq was +that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in the ready use +of their tongues, and were of the same build and the same briskness. + +Mélisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling +away in a delighted torrent of French. + +"Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Mélisse," he finished +at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a +spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" + +"We met no team." + +Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered ridge +was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. + +"An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain--three men and +six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" + +"No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from Churchill. +We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, Mélisse, and see +if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" + +"You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. + +Jan caught a quick signal from Mélisse. + +"Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. What +do you say, Mélisse?" + +"If you're not tired, Jan." + +"Tired!" + +He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip +over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the +little Frenchman. + +"Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung +lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How +could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Mélisse?" + +"I wouldn't mind if you did--just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for +two?" + +She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped +upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. + +"Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too +near, you know, if you don't want to!" + +The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a +moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his +chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single +breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he +gave a sudden shout to the dogs--so loud that it startled her--and his +whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like a thing +filled with life. + +He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on +faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came +to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the +strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. + +"Stop!" cried Mélisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from +the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws--see +them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the +night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" + +"And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping +exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." + +He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume +of air into his lungs. + +"Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Mélisse +asked. + +"No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my +little Mélisse was dying of the plague." + +Mélisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and +nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown +palms. + +"Tell me about it, Jan." + +"That was all--I ran." + +"You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" + +He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the +brilliant flush in her cheeks. + +"I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied. + +"I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened +round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you went +out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you do +that much again?" + +"I would do more, Mélisse." + +She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of +something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly he +rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this he +took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes. + +"Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Mélisse, and +then--" + +"What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. + +"Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and +years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. + +There was something in his voice that held Mélisse silent as he turned +to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her +comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: + +"I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON + + +They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for +dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet +them. + +"You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Mélisse. "Two gentlemen +fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and +handsomer than your own Jan Thoreau. They are waiting for you in the +cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how +beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there." + +"Two!" said Jan, as Mélisse left them. "Who are they?" + +"The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter than +a spawning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he says; and +I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here very long, Jan +Thoreau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka when she came +into the store just now!" + +"Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the +earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you +that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!" + +"Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to every +look that you can get, Jan Thoreau. But the foreigner--I will skin him +alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at her out +of the wrong way of his eye!" + +Croisset spoke. + +"There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?" + +"I remember," said Jan. + +He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of +the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the +end of summer evenings. + +"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God +forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea." + +Croisset shrugged his shoulders. + +"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La +charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and +one--" + +A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he +stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if +just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. + +As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. + +"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried +shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, +when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he whispered, +as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, do you want +to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see what had +happened. + +"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling +sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her +liniment." + +As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under +their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Thoreau. There's a crowd +at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me." + +"La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les bętes de charogne!" + +Jean gripped him by the arm. + +"I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his +words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight +it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me." + +"You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly. +"You swear it?" + +"By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!" + +"Then," said Jan softly, "Mélisse will never know!" + +"Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet +voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some +day Mélisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be +for you, Jan Thoreau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!" + +An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he +paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to +him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. +Mélisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his +eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was +sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when she +said: + +"Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan." + +The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. + +"I'm glad to know you, Cummins." + +"Thoreau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan +Thoreau." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Mélisse. +The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. + +"We are of no relation," continued Jan, something impelling him to +speak the words with cool precision. "Only we have lived under the same +roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother and +sister." + +"Miss Mélisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this +morning," exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly +as he detected the girl's embarrassment. "I wish I had seen it!" + +"There will be plenty of it very soon," replied Jan, caught by the +frankness of the other's manner. "Our runners will be going out among +the trappers within a fortnight." + +"And will they take me?" + +"You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Dixon, moving toward the door. + +Mélisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly she said: + +"I've kept your dinner for you, Jan. Why didn't you come sooner?" + +"I had dinner with Gravois," he replied. "Jean said that you would +hardly be prepared for five, Mélisse, so I accepted his invitation." + +He took down from the wall a fur sledge-coat, in which Mélisse had +mended a rent a day or two before, and, throwing it over his arm, +turned to leave. + +"Jan!" + +He faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a +strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. + +"Why are you going away the day after to-morrow--two weeks before the +others? You didn't tell me." + +"I'm going a hundred miles into the South," he answered. + +"Over the Nelson House trail?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, +and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. "I understand, brother," +she said softly. "Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten +that the MacVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she +is as sweet as a wild flower. I wish you would have her come up and +visit us some time, Jan." + +Jan's face went red, then white, but Mélisse saw only the first effect +of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. + +"I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach MacVeighs'." he +was on the point of saying; but the words hung upon his lips, and he +remained silent. + +A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little +Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his +pipe when Jan told him why he was leaving at once for the South. + +"Running away!" he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin lips +curling in a sneer. "I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Jan Thoreau, +else I would go myself and tell Mélisse what I read in the papers. +Pish! Why can't you forget?" + +"I may--some day," said Jan. "That is why I am going into the South two +weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I remain +here another week, I shall tell Mélisse, and then--" + +He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. + +"And then--what?" + +"I should go away for ever." + +Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. + +"Then remain another week, Jan Thoreau, and if it turns out as you say, +I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the wolves!" + +"I am going the day after to-morrow." + +The next morning Iowaka complained to Mélisse that Gravois was as surly +as a bear. + +"A wonderful change has come over him," she said. "He does nothing but +shrug his shoulders and say 'Le diable!' and 'The fool!' Last night I +could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit +has come into my Jean?" + +Mélisse was wondering the same of Jan. She saw little of him during the +day. At noon, Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to +accompany Thoreau on the trip south. + +The following morning, before she was up, Jan had gone. She was deeply +hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without +spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father +to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening, so that +Jan might have an opportunity of bidding her good-by alone. + +Outside of her thoughts of Jan, the days and evenings that followed +were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat, +and took an immense liking to Mélisse. Young Dixon was good-looking and +brimming with life, and spent a great deal of his time in her company. +For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the wonderful world +across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life to Jan at Fort +Churchill, so he told of it to Mélisse, filling her with visions of +great cities, painting picture after picture, until her imagination was +riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and she listened, with +flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. + +One day, a week after Jan had gone, he told her about the women in the +world which had come to be a fairy-land to Mélisse. + +"They are all beautiful over there?" she asked wonderingly, when he had +finished. + +"Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Mélisse," he +replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. "Do you know that you +are beautiful?" + +His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the +signs of it in her face. Jan had often spoken those same words--a +thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful--but there bad +never been this fluttering of her heart before. + +There were few things which Iowaka and she did not hold in secret +between them, and a day or two later Mélisse told her friend what Dixon +had said. For the first time Iowaka abused the confidence placed in +her, and told Jean. + +"Le diable!" gritted Jean, his face blackening. + +He said no more until night, when the children were asleep. Then he +drew Iowaka close beside him on a bench near the stove, and asked +carelessly: + +"Mon ange, if one makes an oath to the blessed Virgin, and breaks it, +what happens?" + +He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. + +"It means that one will be for ever damned unless he confesses to a +priest soon after, doesn't it ma chérie? And if there is no priest +nearer than four hundred miles, it is a dangerous thing to do, is it +not? But--" He did not wait for an answer. "If one might have the oath +broken, and not do it himself, what then?" + +"I don't know," said Iowaka simply, staring at him in amazed +questioning. + +"Nor do I," said Jean, lighting his pipe. "But there is enough of the +devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was +for you, my Iowaka!" + +Her eyes glowed upon him softly. + +"A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man +she loves," she whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on +Jean's shoulder. "That is what my people believe, Jean; and if I have +given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you?" + +"For me alone, Iowaka?" + +"For you alone." + +"And not for a friend?" + +"For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the +god of my people bids me make all sacrifice." + +"But you do not believe in that god, Iowaka!" + +"Sometimes it is better to believe in the god of my people than in +yours," she replied gently. "I believed in him fifteen years ago at +Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then?" + +With a low cry of happiness Jean crushed his face against her soft +cheek. + +"Believe in him always, my Iowaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the +throat of any missioner who says you will not go to Paradise! But--this +other. You are sure that you would break oath for none but me?" + +"And the children. They are a part of you, Jean." + +A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. They +could hear Croisset's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his big +whip. + +"I'll be back soon," said Jean, closing the door after him; but instead +of approaching Croisset and the fighting dogs he went in the direction +of Cummins' cabin. "Devil take an oath!" he growled under his breath. +"Neither one God nor the other will let me break it, and Iowaka least +of all!" He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh sounded loudly in +the cabin. "Two fools!" he went on communing with himself. +"Cummins--Jan Thoreau--both fools!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES + + +During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far +distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched Mélisse +and Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his growing +suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There were a +fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his broad +shoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won all but +Jean. + +The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the second +week, and after this Mélisse and the young Englishman were more +together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the +sledges, and when they were gone he and Mélisse began taking walks in +the forest, when the sun was high and warm. + +It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the +caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As he +stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path beaten +down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of him; and +a moment later he recognized them as those of Mélisse and Dixon. His +face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. + +"Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean de +Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to himself, +leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. + +He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful +tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Mélisses arm. They +were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the girl's +bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly he +stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had bent +down and kissed her. + +With a low cry, Mélisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced +Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and +ran swiftly down the trail. + +A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face to +face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyes +glittered like black diamonds. + +"Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. + +"He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. +"Run along to the post, ma belle Mélisse." + +He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she +disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he faced +Dixon. + +"It is the first time that our Mélisse has ever suffered insult," he +said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here, +he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!" + +He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until +he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman +convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to +one side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of +the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. + +Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry +of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see +Mélisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed +tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him +again, more cautiously than before. + +It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with +science. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received a +blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. + +"Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are you +fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?" + +"I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before. + +There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not +excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long knife +in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense lines +gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. + +"Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--if +Mélisse didn't like it." + +"I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean. + +There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon +found himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him, +never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. +Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed +softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at +him--and missed. + +It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another +world. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was the +quickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; the +quickness of the great loon that had often played this same game with +his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so +quickly that eyes could not follow. + +A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and +escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back +until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed the +blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a +serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn +as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance +came. + +There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a +dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his +side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman +straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to +the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. +Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had +come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with +the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. + +Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science +now--that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have +crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the Englishman's +man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly throttled cry as they +tightened in their neck-breaking grip. + +"I will kill you!" said Jean again. + +Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their +sockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was buried +on the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He would +not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not come a +sudden interruption--the terrified voice of Mélisse, the frantic +tearing of her hands at his hands. + +"He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!" + +He loosed his fingers and sat up. Mélisse staggered back, clutching +with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. + +"You have killed him!" + +Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. + +"He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, ma +chčre, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form shook +with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run home to +Iowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Mélisse." + +He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. + +"Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came a +flicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have been +with the missioner!" + +He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back to +a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more +strongly, he followed slowly after Mélisse. + +Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, +chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the +little glass which hung over the wash-basin. + +"Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had +received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into +the blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the gold +in this world!" + +A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were at +Croisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun +sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Mélisse came +in. + +"Hello, ma chčre," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his +pipe. + +In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her +knees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her +breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. + +"Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. +"Please tell me that you will never tell Jan--please tell me that you +never will, Jean--never, never, never!" + +"I will say nothing, Mélisse." + +"Never, Jean?" + +"Never." + +For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then, +suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him. + +"Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!" + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had been +here then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A BROKEN HEART + + +The day following the fight in the forest, Dixon found Jean de Gravois +alone, and came up to him. + +"Gravois, will you shake hands with me?" he said. "I want to thank you +for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss +Mélisse to forgive me--and I want to shake hands with you." + +Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. + +"Que diantre!" he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "Yes, I +will shake hands!" + +For several days after this Jean could see that Mélisse made an effort +to evade him. She did not visit Iowaka when he was in the cabin. +Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young +Englishman spent more of his time at the store; and just before the +trappers began coming in, he went on a three-days' sledge-trip with +Croisset. + +The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Mélisse after the +fight, his eyes flashed pleasure. + +"Jan will surely be coming home soon," he greeted her. "What if the +birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?" + +She flushed scarlet. + +"Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down on the +Nelson House trail, Jean," she retorted. + +"Pouf! Jan Thoreau doesn't give the snap of his small finger for the +MacVeigh girl!" Jean replied, warm in defense of his friend. + +"She is pretty," laughed Mélisse, "and I have just learned that is why +men like to--like them, I mean." + +Jean strutted before her like a peacock. + +"Am I pretty, Mélisse?" + +"No-o-o-o." + +"Then why"--he shrugged his shoulders suggestively--"in the cabin--" + +"Because you were brave, Jean. I love brave men!" + +"You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?" + +Mélisse did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner +of her eye as she left him. + +"Come home, Jan Thoreau," he hummed softly, as he went to the store. +"Come home, come home, come home, for the little Mélisse has grown into +a woman, and is learning to use her eyes!" + +Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was MacVeigh. +He brought word that Jan had gone south, to spend the annual holiday at +Nelson House, and Cummings told Mélisse whence the message came. He did +not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went on: + +"I don't understand this in Jan. He is needed here for the carnival. +Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?" + +Mélisse shook her head. + +"MacVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief +man," continued the factor. "It is strange that he has sent no +explanation to me!" + +It was a week after the big caribou roast before Jan returned to Lac +Bain. Mélisse saw him drive in from the Churchill trail; but while her +heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at +least an equal show of the calm indifference with which he had left her +six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still rankled +bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her; he had not even passed +his last evening with her. + +But she was not prepared for the changed Jan Thoreau who came slowly +through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the +smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed +with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of +the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, +an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the +half-defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had +spoken. She had never known this Jan before, and her fortitude left her +as she approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to +him. + +"Jan!" she said. + +Her voice trembled; her lips quivered. There was the old glorious +pleading in her eyes, and before it Jan bowed his unkempt head, and +crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was +silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At +last Jan spoke. + +"I'm glad to see you again, Mélisse. It has seemed like a very long +time!" + +He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, and +Jan freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, nothing +of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible emotion, +they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. + +"I have not played in so long," he said, turning from her, "that I +believe I have forgotten." + +He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over the +strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of +beard, as he said: + +"Ah, you must play for me now, Mélisse! It has surely gone from Jan +Thoreau." + +He held out the violin to her. + +"Not now, Jan," she said tremulously. "I will play for you to-night." +She went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her +back to him. "You will come to supper, Jan?" + +"Surely, Mélisse, if you are prepared." + +He hung up the violin as she closed the door, and went from the cabin. +Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried +across the open to meet him. + +"I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor," he cried gaily. +"Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see you." + +"A beard is good to keep off the black flies," replied Jan. "It is +approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. Let us +go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you." + +Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce they sat down, +facing each other. Jan spoke in French. + +"I have traveled far since leaving Lac Bain," he said. "I went first to +Nelson House, and from here to the Wholdaia. I found them at Nelson +House, but not on the Wholdaia." + +"What?" asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. + +"My brothers, Jean de Gravois," answered Jan, drawing his lips until +his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "My brothers, les bętes de +charogne!" + +"Devil take Croisset for telling you where they were!" muttered Jean +under his breath. + +"I saw the two at Nelson House," continued Jan. "One of them is a +half-wit, and the other"--he hunched his shoulders--"is worse. Petraud, +one of the two who were at Wholdaia, was killed by a Cree father last +winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other disappeared." + +Jean was silent, his head leaning forward, his face resting in his +hands. + +"So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend Jan +Thoreau!" + +Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his +companion. + +"I see that you are a bigger fool than ever," he said quietly. "Jan +Thoreau, what if I should break my oath--and tell Mélisse?" + +Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Jan's. Slowly he +unsheathed his long knife, and placed it upon the snow between his +feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With +a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. + +"Do you mean that, Jan Thoreau? Do you mean to give the knife-challenge +to one who has staked his life for you and who loves you as a brother?" + +"Yes," said Jan deliberately. "I love you, Jean more than any other man +in the world; and yet I will kill you if you betray me to Mélisse!" He +rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the little Frenchman. +"Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you have done as much +for Iowaka?" + +For a moment Gravois was silent. + +"I would not have taken her love without telling her," he said then. +"That is not what you and I know as honor, Jan Thoreau. But I would +have gone to her, as you should now go to Mélisse, and she would have +opened her arms to me, as Mélisse would opens hers to you. That is what +I would have done." + +"And that is what I shall never do," said Jan decisively, turning +toward the post. "I could kill myself more easily. That is what I +wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know!" + +"I would like to choke that fool of a Croisset for sending you to hunt +up those people at Nelson House and Wholdaia!" grumbled Jean. + +"It was best for me." + +They saw Mélisse leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. +Both waved their hands to her, and Jan cut across the open to the store. + +Jean went to the Cummins cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not +observed. There was little of the old vivacity in his manner as he +greeted Mélisse. He noted, too, that the girl was not her natural self. +There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had been +crying. + +"Mélisse," he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the +cap he was twisting in his fingers, "there has come a great change over +Jan." + +"A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his +heart has been broken down on the Nelson trail." + +Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little +as she spoke. He was before her in an instant, his cap fallen to the +floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. + +"Yes, the heart of Jan Thoreau is broken!" he cried. "But it has been +broken by nothing that lives on the Nelson House trail. It is broken +because of--YOU!" + +"I!" Mélisse drew back from him with a breathless cry. "I--I have +broken--" + +"I did not say that," interrupted Jean. "I say that it is broken +because of you. Mon Dieu, if only I might tell you!" + +"Do-DO, Jean! Please tell me!" She put her hands on his shoulders. Her +eyes implored him. "Tell me what I have done--what I can do, Jean!" + +"I can say that much to you, and no more," he said quietly. "Only know +this, ma chčre--that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Jan +Thoreau, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what this +grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to find +out, and to do this, above all else--let him know that you love him!" + +The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again +in a swift flood. + +"That I love him?" + +"Yes. Not as a sister any longer, Mélisse, but as a WOMAN!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HER PROMISE + + +Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he knew, +as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, and that +if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the door +quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. + +Cummins and Jan came in together at suppertime. The factor was in high +humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox that +morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a combination of +incidents which put him in the best of moods. + +Mélisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red +bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her +throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, +which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a +clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the +old familiarity on her part. + +"Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after asking +Jan many questions about his trip. + +"I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'." + +Purposely he held his eyes from Mélisse. She understood his effort, and +a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. + +"It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor, +oblivious of the effect of his questions. + +"I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his +trap-lines." + +He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from the +cabin. Mélisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his arm. + +"You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help +with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin." + +She pulled him into a chair as Cummins left, and tied an apron about +his shoulders. + +"Close your eyes--and don't move!" she commanded, laughing into his +surprised face as she ran into her room. + +A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The hot +blood surged through Jan's veins when he felt her fingers running +gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a little +nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, snip of +the scissors. + +"It's terribly long, Jan!" Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. +"Ugh!" she shuddered. "You must take that off your face. If you don't--" + +"Why?" he asked, through lack of anything else to say. + +She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. + +"Because it feels like bristles," she whispered. + +She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors snipped +more rapidly between her fingers. + +"I'm going to prospect the big swamp along the edge of the Barrens this +summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. "A beard +will protect me from the black flies." + +"You can grow another." + +She took the apron from about his shoulders, and held it so that he +could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. + +"Thank you, Mélisse. Do you remember when you last cut my hair?" + +"Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for +cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you +sit on a rock and let me trim it." + +"And you cut my ear," he reminded. + +"For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her +breath. + +She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her father's +shaving-mug and razor. + +"I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a +lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!" + +"Afraid of me?" + +He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face +from side to side. Mélisse handed him the razor and cup. + +"You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time. +There has been a great change in you since--since--" + +She hesitated. + +"Since when, Mélisse?" + +"Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair." With +timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan." + +She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her +with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that +she was looking, and Mélisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed +them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin from +the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the +instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's +absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia. + +Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips +the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its +infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the +Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, sobbing +its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with +immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Mélisse. + +He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed +head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes were +wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. + +"It is wonderful, Mélisse! You have made beautiful music for it." + +"Thank you, Jan." + +She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the +wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the violin. + +"Now you must play for me." + +"I have forgotten a great deal, Mélisse." + +She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over +the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was +not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes +shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old spirit +of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to another, and +after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. + +Without speaking, she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the +wall. + +"You must practise a great deal," she said quietly. + +At her movement he, too, rose from his seat; and when she turned to him +again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into her +eyes. + +"Are you going so soon, Jan?" + +"I am tired," he said in excuse. "It has been two days since I have +slept, Mélisse. Good night!" + +He smiled at her from the door, but the "Good night" which fell from +her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Jan shivered when he went out. +Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come +from the cabin none too soon. + +Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Mélisse, he crossed to +the company store. + +It was late when Cummins returned home. Mélisse was still up. He looked +at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and hat. + +"Has anything come between you and Jan?" he asked suddenly. "Why have +you been crying?" + +"Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know +of nothing that has come between Jan and me, only I--I don't +understand--" + +She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling +in her throat. + +"Neither do I understand," exclaimed the factor, going to the stove to +light his pipe. "He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the +company tonight!" + +"He is not going--to leave--the post?" breathed Mélisse. + +"He is leaving the service," reiterated her father. "That means he can +not long live at Lac Bain. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps +into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more?" + +"Nothing," said Mélisse. + +She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding film +burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to master +herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the factor went +into his room, and she took this opportunity of slipping into her own, +calling "Good night" to him from the partly closed door. + +The next day it was Croisset who went along the edge of the Barrens for +meat. Gravois found Jan filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. It +was their first encounter since he had learned that Jan had given up +the service. + +"Diable!" he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour +and salt in a rubber bag. "Diable, I say, M. Jan Thoreau!" + +Jan looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering +with rage. + +"Bon jour, M. Jean de Gravois!" he laughed back. "You see I am going +out among the foxes." + +"The devils!" snapped Jean. + +"No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make better +wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean! It has +been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes must be +eating up the country!" + +Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. "Blessed saints, and it was I +who--" + +He spun upon his heels without another word, and went straight to +Mélisse. + +"Jan Thoreau is going to leave the post," he announced fiercely, +throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. + +"So father has told me," said Mélisse. + +Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her +eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. + +"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean, whirling again, "you take it coolly!" + +A little later Mélisse saw Jan coming from the store. When he entered +the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was +laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. + +"I have come to say good-by, Mélisse," he said. "I am going to prospect +for a good trap-line among the Barrens." + +"I hope you will have good luck, Jan." + +In her voice, too, was a firmness almost metallic. + +For the first time in his life Jan held out his hand to her. She +started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her +face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and +unflinchingly in the eyes. + +"Will you wait a moment?" she asked. + +She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she +reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her +eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled +upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of bakneesh. +She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her hand. + +"I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in +his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?" + +He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he +fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. + +"You promised--" He could not go further. + +"I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had +forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now." + +He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their +thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as +if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came +evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of +what he spoke. + +"I have not forgotten to love you, Mélisse. I shall never cease to love +my little sister. But you are older now, and it is time for you to do +up your hair." + +He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her +arms still half stretched out to him, and went from the cabin. + +"Good-by, Jan!" + +The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far +to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in +front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin +of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and, with bowed +head, disappear slowly into the depths of the black spruce forest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +JAN RETURNS + + +All that spring and summer Jan spent in the thick caribou swamps and +low ridge-mountains along the Barrens. It was two months before he +appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to +patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. + +Mélisse had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and +loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from +Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret; and yet when the gloom had +settled heaviest upon her, she was still buoyed up by a persistent +hope. Until Jan's last visit to Lac Bain this hope never quite went out. + +The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west, he +came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and +shaggy, and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The +sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing +humor in Mélisse, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in their +devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence of the +forest man. Firmly and yet gently, it repelled whatever of the old +things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as if by +power of a strong hand. + +This time Mélisse knew that there was left not even the last comforting +spark of hope within her bosom. Jan had gone out of her life for ever, +leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they two had once been to +each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. + +After he went away again, the violin became more and more to her what +it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing her +loneliness and her heart-break through its strings, in lone hours +clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Jan had talked to it in +years gone by. + +"If you could only tell me--if you only could!" she whispered to it one +day, when the autumn was drawing near. "If you could tell me about him, +and what I might do--dear old violin!" + +Once during the autumn Jan came in for supplies and traps, and his dogs +and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles to +the west, in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac Bain for a +week, and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. + +The runner brought a new experience into the life of Mélisse--her first +letter. It was from young Dixon--twenty or more closely written pages +of it, in which he informed her that he was going to spend a part of +the approaching winter at Lac Bain. + +She was reading the last page when Jan came into the cabin. Her cheeks +were slightly flushed by this new excitement, which was reflected in +her eyes as she looked at Jan. + +"A letter!" she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the pages. +"A letter--to me, Jan, all the way from Fort Churchill!" + +"Who in the world--" he began, smiling at her; and stopped. + +"It's from Mr. Dixon," she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. +"He's going to spend part of the winter with us." + +"I'm glad of that, Mélisse," said Jan quietly. "I like him, and would +like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books--and +strings." He glanced at the old violin. "Do you play much?" + +"A great deal," she replied. "Won't you play for me, Jan?" + +"My hands are too rough; and besides, I've forgotten all that I ever +knew." + +"Even the things you played when I was a baby?" + +"I think I have, Mélisse. But you must never forget them." + +"I shall remember them--always," she answered softly. "Some day it may +be that I will teach them to you again." + +He did not see her again until six months later, when he came in to the +caribou roast, with his furs. Then he learned that another letter had +come to Mélisse, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of coming to +Lac Bain. + +The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the +Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Bain. Early summer brought no +news of him. In the floods, Jean went by the water-way to the +Athabasca, and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been life +in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting snows +they had not seen Jan. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac said +that he had found the bones of a white man on the Beaver, with a +Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. + +Jean came back to Lac Bain heavy at heart. + +"There is no doubt but that he is dead," he told Iowaka. "I do not +believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Mélisse." + +One day early in September a lone figure came in to the post at noon, +when the company people were at dinner. He carried a pack, and six dogs +trailed at his heels. It was Jan Thoreau. + +"I have been down to civilization," was his explanation. "I have +returned to spend this winter at Lac Bain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE RESCUE + + +On the first snow came young Dixon from Fort Churchill. Jean de Gravois +met him on the trail near Ledoq's. When the Englishman recognized the +little Frenchman he leaped from his sledge and advanced with +outstretched hand, his face lighting up with pleasure. + +"Bless me, if it isn't my old friend, Jean!" he cried. "I was just +thinking of you, Gravois, and how you trimmed me to a finish two +winters ago. I've learned a lot about you people up here in the snows +since then, and I'll never do anything like that again." He laughed +into Jean's face as they shook hands, and his voice was filled with +unbounded sincerity. "How is Mrs. Gravois, and the little Gravois--and +Mélisse?" he added, before Jean had spoken. + +"All well, M'seur Dixon," replied Jean. "Only the little Gravois have +almost grown into a man and woman." + +An hour or so later he said to Iowaka: + +"I can't help liking this man Dixon, and yet I don't want to. Why is +it, do you suppose?" + +"Is it because you are afraid that Mélisse will like him?" asked his +wife, smiling over her shoulder. + +"Blessed saints, I believe that it is!" said Jean frankly. "I hate +foreigners--and Mélisse belongs to Jan." + +"She did, once, but that was a long time ago, Jean." + +"It may be, and yet I doubt it, ma bien aimée. If Jan would tell her--" + +"A woman will not wait always," interrupted Iowaka softly. "Jan Thoreau +has waited too long!" + +A week later, as they stood together in front of their door, they saw +Dixon and Mélisse walking slowly in the edge of the forest. The woman +laughed into Jean's face. + +"Did I not say that Jan had waited too long?" + +Jean's face was black with disapprobation. + +"Then you would have taken up with some foreigner if I had remained in +the Athabasca country another year or two?" he demanded questioningly. + +"Very likely," retorted Iowaka mischievously, running into the cabin. + +"The devil!" said Jean sourly, stalking in the direction of the store. + +He was angered at the coolness with which Jan accepted the situation. + +"This Dixon is with Mélisse afternoon and evening, and they walk +together every day in the bush," he said to him. "Soon there will be a +wedding at Lac Bain!" + +"Mélisse deserves a good man," replied Jan, unmoved. "I like Dixon." + +Deep down in his soul he knew that each day was bringing the end of it +all much nearer for him. He did not tell Mélisse that he had returned +to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He +had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a +certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon. Day +after day he saw Mélisse and the Englishman together, and while they +awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have rankled in +the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl was at last +passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that which was +already eating at his heart. + +Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Mélisse. Frankly +he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill trail. In +his honest way he said things which broke down the last of Jean's +hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was a +different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before. + +"Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see +him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Mélisse from Jan!" + +The big snow decided. + +It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early in +the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later one +could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The Englishman +did not return that day. The next day he was still gone, and Gravois +drove along the top of the mountain ridge until he came to the +Frenchman's, where he found that Dixon had started for Lac Bain the +preceding afternoon. He brought word back to the post. Then he went to +Mélisse. + +"It is as good as death to go out in search of him," he said. "We can +no longer use the dogs. Snowshoes will sink like leaden bullets by +morning, and to go ten miles from the post means that there will be +bones to be picked by the foxes when the crust comes!" + +It was dark when Jan came into the cabin. Mélisse started to her feet +with a little cry when he entered, covered white with the snow. A light +pack was strapped to his back, and he carried his rifle in his hand. + +"I am going to hunt for him," he said softly. "If he is alive, I will +bring him back to you." + +She came to him slowly, and the beating of Jan's heart sounded to him +like the distant thrumming of partridge-wings. Ah, would he ever forget +that look? The old glory was in her eyes, her arms were reaching out, +her lips parted. Jan knew how the Great Spirit had once appeared to +Mukee, and how a white mist, like a snow-veil, had come between the +half-breed's eyes and the wondrous Thing he beheld. That same veil +drifted between Jan and the girl. As in a vision, he saw her face so +near to him that he felt the touch of her sweet breath, and he knew +that one of his rough hands was clasped in both of her own, and that +after a moment it was crushed tightly against her bosom. + +"Jan, my hero--" + +He struggled back, almost sobbing, as he plunged out into the night +again. He heard her voice crying after him, but the wild wailing of the +spruce, and the storm in his brain, drowned its words. He had seen the +glorious light of love in her eyes--her love for Dixon! And he would +find him! At last he, Jan Thoreau, would prove that the old love was +not dead within him; he would do for Mélisse this night--to-morrow--the +next day, and until he fell down to die--what he had promised to do on +their sledge-ride to Ledoq's. And then-- + +He went to Ledoq's now, following the top of the mountain, and reached +his cabin in the late dawn. The Frenchman stared at him in amazement +when he learned that he was about to set out on a search for Dixon. + +"You will not find him," he said slowly in French; "but if you are +determined to go, I will hunt with you. It is a big chance that we will +not come back." + +"I don't want you to go," objected Jan. "One will do as much as two, +unless we search alone. I came your way to find if it had begun to snow +before Dixon left." + +"An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your +face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that +he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then +search alone." + +They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them +that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they +separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, +Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south. + +It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows for +the happiness of Mélisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed or +knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the +people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of him, +far to the south. + +Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was +neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy +ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it, the +spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was twisted +in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through the still +terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts. Now and then +he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and intently. The +echoes came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then each time fell +the mirthless silence of the storm. + +Day came, only a little lighter than the night. He crossed the lake, +his snow-shoes sinking ankle-deep at every step, and once each +half-hour he fired a single shot from his rifle. He heard shots to the +south, and knew that it was Ledoq; each report coming to him more +faintly than the last, until they had died away entirely. + +Across the lake he struck the forest again, and his shouts echoed in +futile inquiry in its weird depths. About him there was no sign of +life, no sound except the faint fluttering of falling snow. Under five +feet of this snow the four-footed creatures of the wilderness were +snugly buried; close against the trunks of the spruces, sheltered +within their tent-like coverings, the birds waited like lifeless things +for the breaking of the storm. + +At noon Jan stopped and ate his lunch. Then he went on, carrying his +rifle always upon his right shoulder, so that the steps of his right +leg would be shortened, and he would travel in a circle, as he believed +Dixon had done. + +The storm thickened with the falling of night, and he burrowed himself +a great hole in the soft snow and filled it with balsam boughs for a +bed. When he awakened, hours later, he stood up, and thrust out his +head, and found himself buried to the arm-pits. With the aid of his +broad snow-shoes he drew himself out, until he stood knee-deep in the +surface. + +He lifted his pack. As he swung it before him, one arm thrust through a +strap, he gave a startled cry. Half of one side of the pack was eaten +away! He thrust his hands through the breach, and a moan of despair +sobbed on his lips when he found that his food was gone. A thin trickle +of flour ran through his fingers upon the snow. He pulled out a gnawed +pound of bacon, a little tea--and that was all. + +Frantically he ripped the rent wider in his search, and when he stood +up, his wild face staring into the chaos about him, he held only the +bit of bacon in his hand. In it were the imprints of tiny teeth--sharp +little razor-edged teeth that told him what had happened. While he had +slept a mink had robbed him of his food! + +With one of his shoes he began digging furiously in the snow. He tore +his balsam bed to pieces. Somewhere--somewhere not very far away--the +little animal must have cached its theft. He dug down until he came to +the frozen earth. For an hour he worked and found nothing. + +Then he stopped. Over a small fire he melted snow for tea and broiled a +slice of the bacon, which he ate with the few biscuit crumbs he found +in the pack. Every particle of flour that he could find he scraped up +with his knife and put into one of the deep pockets of his caribou +coat. After that he set cut in the direction in which he thought he +would find Lac Bain. + +Still he shouted for Dixon, and fired an occasional shot from his +rifle. By noon he should have struck the lake. Noon came and passed; +the gloom of a second night fell upon him. He built himself a fire, and +ate two-thirds of what remained of the bacon. The handful of flour in +his pocket he did not disturb. + +It was still night when he broke his rest and struggled on. His first +fears were gone. In place of them, there filled him now a grim sort of +pleasure. A second time he was battling with death for Mélisse. And +this, after all, was not a very hard fight for him. He had feared death +in the red plague, but he did not fear the thought of this death that +threatened him in the big snows. It thrilled him, instead, with a +strange sort of exhilaration. If he died, it would be for Mélisse, and +for all time she would remember him for what he had done. + +When he ate the last bit of his bacon, he made up his mind what he +would do when the end came. In the stock of his rifle he would scratch +a few last words to Mélisse. He even arranged the words in his +brain--four of them--"Mélisse, I love you." He repeated them to himself +as he staggered on, and that night, beside the fire he built, he began +by carving her name. + +"To-morrow," he said softly, "I will do the rest." + +He was growing very hungry, but he did not touch the flour. For six +hours he slept, and then drank his fill of hot tea. + +"We will travel until day, Jan Thoreau," he informed himself, "and +then, if nothing turns up, we will build our last camp, and eat the +flour. It will be the last of us, for there will be no meat above this +snow for days." + +His snow-shoes were an impediment now, and he left them behind, along +with one of his two blankets, which had grown to be like lead upon his +shoulders. He counted his cartridges--ten of them. One of these he +fired into the air. + +Was that an echo he heard? + +A sudden thrill shot through him. He strained his ears to catch a +repetition of the sound. In a moment it came again--clearly no echo +this time. + +"Ledoq!" he cried aloud. + +He fired again. + +Back to him came the distant, splitting crack of a rifle. He forced his +way toward it. After a little he heard the signal again, much nearer +than before, and he fired in response. A few hundred yards farther on +he came to a low mountain ridge, and lifted his voice in a loud shout. +A shot came from just over the mountain. + +Waist deep in the light snow he began the ascent, dragging himself up +by the tops of the slender saplings, stopping every few yards to +half-stretch himself out in the soft mass through which he was +struggling, panting with exhaustion. He shouted when he gained the top +of the ridge. Up through the white blur of snow on the other side there +came to him faintly a shout; yet, in spite of its faintness, Jan knew +that it was very near. + +"Something has happened to Ledoq," he told himself, "but he surely has +food, and we can live it out until the storm is over." + +It was easier going down the ridge, and he went quickly in the +direction from which the voice had come, until a mass of huge boulders +loomed up before him. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air, and +he followed it in among the rocks, where it grew stronger. + +"Ho, Ledoq!" he shouted. + +A voice replied a dozen yards away. Slowly, as he advanced, he made out +the dim shadow of life in the white gloom--a bit of smoke climbing +weakly in the storm, the black opening of a brush shelter--and then, +between the opening and the spiral of smoke, a living thing that came +creeping toward him on all fours, like an animal. + +He plunged toward it, and the shadow staggered upward, and would have +fallen had it not been for the support of the deep snow. Another step, +and a sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. It was not Ledoq, but Dixon, who +stood there with white, starved face and staring eyes in the snow gloom! + +"My God, I am starving--and dying for a drink of water!" gasped the +Englishman chokingly, thrusting out his arms. "Thoreau, God be +praised--" + +He staggered, and fell in the snow. Jan dragged him back to the shelter. + +"I will have water for you--and something to eat--very soon," he said. + +His voice sounded unreal. There was a mistiness before his eyes which +was not caused by the storm, a twisting of strange shadows that +bothered his vision, and made him sway dizzily when he threw off his +pack to stir the fire. He suspended his two small pails over the +embers, which he coaxed into a blaze. Both he filled with snow; into +one he emptied the handful of flour that he had carried in his +pocket--into the other he put tea. Fifteen minutes later he carried +them to the Englishman. + +Dixon sat up, a glazed passion filling his eyes. He drank the hot tea +greedily, and as greedily ate the boiled flour-pudding. Jan watched him +hungrily until the last crumb of it was gone. He refilled the pails +with snow, added more tea, and then rejoined the Englishman. New life +was already shining in Dixon's eyes. + +"Not a moment too soon, Thoreau," he said thankfully, reaching over to +grip the other's hand. + +"Another night and--" Suddenly he stopped. "Great Heaven, what is the +matter?" + +He noticed for the first time the pinched torture in his companion's +face. Jan's head dropped weakly upon his breast. His hands were icy +cold. + +"Nothing," he murmured drowsily, "only--I'm starving, too, Dixon!" He +recovered himself with an effort, and smiled into Dixon's startled +face. "There is nothing to eat," he continued, as he saw the other +direct his gaze toward the pack. "I gave you the last of the flour. +There is nothing--but salt and tea." He rolled over upon the balsam +boughs with a restful sigh. "Let me sleep!" + +Dixon went to the pack. One by one, in his search for food, he took out +the few articles that it contained. After that he drank more tea, +crawled back into the balsam shelter, and lay down beside Jan. It was +broad day when he awoke, and he called hoarsely to his companion when +he saw that the snow had ceased falling. + +Jan did not stir. For a moment Dixon leaned over to listen to his +breathing, and then dragged himself slowly and painfully out into the +day. The fire was out. A leaden blackness still filled the sky; deep, +silent gloom hung in the wake of the storm. + +Suddenly there came to Dixon's ears a sound. It was a sound that would +have been unheard in the gentle whispering of a wind, in the swaying of +the spruce-tops; but in this silence it fell upon the starving man's +hearing with a distinctness that drew his muscles rigid and set his +eyes staring about him in wild search. Just beyond the hanging pails a +moose-bird hopped out upon the snow. It chirped hungrily, its big, +owl-like eyes scrutinizing Dixon. The man stared back, fearing to move. +Slowly he forced his right foot through the snow to the rear of his +left, and as cautiously brought his left behind his right, working +himself backward step by step until he reached the shelter. Just inside +was his rifle. He drew it out and sank upon his knees in the snow to +aim. At the report of the rifle, Jan stirred but did not open his eyes; +he made no movement when Dixon called out in shrill joy that he had +killed meat. He heard, he strove to arouse himself, but something more +powerful than his own will seemed pulling him down into oblivion. It +seemed an eternity before he was conscious of a voice again. He felt +himself lifted, and opened his eyes with his head resting against the +Englishman's shoulder. + +"Drink this, Thoreau," he heard. + +He drank, and knew that it was not tea that ran down his throat. + +"Whisky-jack soup," he heard again. "How is it?" + +He became wide-awake. Dixon was offering him a dozen small bits of meat +on a tin plate, and he ate without questioning. Suddenly, when there +were only two or three of the smallest scraps left, he stopped. + +"Mon Dieu, it was whisky-jack!" he cried. "I have eaten it all!" + +The young Englishman's white face grinned at him. + +"I've got the flour inside of me, Thoreau--you've got the moose-bird. +Isn't that fair?" + +The plate dropped between them. Over it their hands met in a great, +clutching grip, and up from Jan's heart there welled words which almost +burst from his lips in voice, words which rang in his brain, and which +were an unspoken prayer--"Mélisse, I thank the great God that it is +this man whom you love!" But it was in silence that he staggered to his +feet and went out into the gloom. + +"This may be only a lull in the storm," he said. "We must lose no time. +How long did you travel before you made this camp?" + +"About ten hours," said Dixon. "I made due west by compass until I knew +that I had passed Lac Bain, and then struck north." + +"Ah, you have the compass," cried Jan, his eyes lighting up. "M'seur +Dixon, we are very near to the post if you camped so soon! Tell me +which is north." + +"That is north." + +"Then we go south--south and east. If you traveled ten hours, first +west and then north, we are northwest of Lac Bain." + +Jan spoke no more, but got his rifle from the shelter and put only the +tea and two pails in his pack; leaving the remaining blanket upon the +snow. The Englishman followed close behind him, bending weakly under +the weight of his gun. Tediously they struggled to the top of the +ridge, and as Jan stopped to look through the gray day about him, Dixon +sank down into the snow. When the other turned toward him he grinned up +feebly into his face. + +"Bushed," he gasped. "Don't believe I can make it through this snow, +Thoreau." + +There was no fear in his eyes; there was even a cheerful ring in his +voice. + +A sudden glow leaped into Jan's face. + +"I know this ridge," he exclaimed. "It runs within a mile of Lac Bain. +You'd better leave your rifle behind." + +Dixon made an effort to rise and Jan helped him. They went on slowly, +resting every few hundred yards, and each time that he rose from these +periods of rest, Dixon's face was twisted with pain. + +"It's the flour and water anchored amidships," he smiled grimly. +"Cramps--Ugh!" + +"We'll make it by supper-time," assured Jan cheerfully. + +Dixon leaned heavily on his arm. + +"I wish you'd go on alone," he urged. "You could send help--" + +"I promised Mélisse that I would bring you back if I found you," +replied Jan, his face turned away. "If the storm broke again, you would +be lost." + +"Tell me--tell me--" he heard Dixon pant eagerly, "did she send you to +hunt for me, Thoreau?" + +Something in the Englishman's voice drew his eyes to him. There was an +excited flush in his starved cheeks; his eyes shone. + +"Did she send you?" + +Jan struggled hard to speak calmly. + +"Not in words, M'seur Dixon. But I know that if I get you safely back +to Lac Bain she will be very happy." + +Something came in Dixon's sobbing breath which Jan did not hear. A +little later he stopped and built a fire over which he melted more snow +and boiled tea. The drink stimulated them, and they went on. A little +later still and Jan hung his rifle in the crotch of a sapling. + +"We will return for the guns in a day or so," he said. + +Dixon leaned upon him more heavily now, and the distances they traveled +between resting periods became shorter and shorter. Three times they +stopped to build fires and cook tea. It was night when they descended +from the ridge to the snow-covered ice of Lac Bain. It was past +midnight when Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce forest into the opening +at the post. There were no lights burning, and he went with his +half-conscious burden to the company's store. He awakened Croisset, who +let them in. + +"Take care of Dixon," said Jan, "and don't arouse any of the people +to-night. It will be time enough to tell what has happened in the +morning." + +Over the stove in his own room he cooked meat and coffee, and for a +long time sat silent before the fire. He had brought back Dixon. In the +morning Mélisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, +then--then--she would come to him! + +He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. + +"No, Mélisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to +himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." + +He took pencil and paper and wrote. Page after page he crumpled in his +hand and flung into the fire. At last, swiftly and despairingly, he +ended with half a dozen lines. What he said came from his heart, in +French: + +"I have brought him back to you, my Mélisse, and pray that the good God +may give you happiness. I leave you the old violin, and always when you +play, it will tell you of the love of Jan Thoreau." + +He folded the page and sealed it in one of the company's envelopes. +Very quietly he went from his room down into the deserted store. +Without striking a light he found a new pack, a few articles of food, +and ammunition. The envelope, addressed to Mélisse, he left where +Croisset or the factor would find it in the morning. His dogs were +housed in a shack behind the store, and he called out their names +softly and warningly as he went among them. As stealthily as their +master they trailed behind him to the edge of the forest, and close +under the old spruce that guarded the grave Jan stopped, and silently +he stretched out his arms to the little cabin. + +The dogs watched him. Kazan, the one-eyed leader, glared from him into +the dimness of the night, whining softly. A low, mourning wind swept +through the spruce tops, and from Jan's throat there burst sobbingly +words which he had heard beside this same grave more than seventeen +years before, when Williams' choking voice had risen in a last prayer +for the woman. + +"May the great God care for Mélisse!" + +He turned into the trail upon which Jean de Gravois had fought the +Englishman, led his dogs and sledge in a twisting path through the +caribou swamp, and stood at last beside the lob-stick tree that leaned +out over the edge of the white barrens. With his knife he dug out the +papers which he had concealed in that whisky-jack hole. + +It was near dawn when he recovered the rifle which he had abandoned on +the mountain top. A little later it began to snow. He was glad, for it +would conceal his trail. + +For thirteen days he forced his dogs through the deep snows into the +south. On the fourteenth they came to Le Pas, which is the edge of +civilization. It was night when he came out of the forest, so that he +could see the faint glow of lights beyond the Saskatchewan. + +For a few moments, before crossing, he stopped his tired dogs and +turned his face back into the grim desolation of the North, where the +aurora was playing feebly in the skies, and beckoning to him, and +telling him that the old life of centuries and centuries ago would wait +for him always at the dome of the earth. + +"The good God bless you, and keep you, and care for you ever more, my +Mélisse," he whispered; and he walked slowly ahead of his dogs, across +the river, and into the Other World. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +JACK THORNTON + + +There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came to +the first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears. +Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan's +heart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in the +starlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. It +was strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle up +to his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, close +to a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it a +tumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse singing +and loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. The man +was cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as Jan had +never heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he listened +to the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man and the +first woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between two men, +screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy figure an +object which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a bottle. +Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's heels. With a +low word Jan led them on. + +Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon to +the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light hung +over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a printed +legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub bush of +the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush Jan tied +his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that now, when he +had entered civilization, he had come also into the land of lock and +bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not suspicion, +that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him. + +They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened +into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty +except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window +which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not disturb +this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the window. Kazan +laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one eye upon him +steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of life had Jan felt +the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as he looked into the +North. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and silent; beyond it he +could see the dark edge of the forest, and far, far, beyond that, +hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned faintly now, almost +like a thousand other stars that he saw, and the aurora was only a +fading glow. + +Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed his +eyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battle +that he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endless +silent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless, +until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head, +and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering to +hunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fight +in the forests. He was with Mélisse again, with the old violin, with +the things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that there +was another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted his +position so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low, +heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened him +again to a consciousness of the present. + +He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. The +stranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, staring +at him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he knew +that in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was written a +grief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a full breath +or two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along Kazan's spine +stood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his tired blood +tingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He was not of his +people. His face bore the stamp of the people to the south, of +civilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped all +barriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The stranger +reached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the loneliness, +the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for companionship, +passed in the long grip of their hands. + +"You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That was +your sledge--out there?" + +"Yes," said Jan. + +The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan. + +"From the camps?" he questioned eagerly. + +"What camps, m'sieur?" + +"The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through, +beyond Wekusko." + +"I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, except +this that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of the +barren lands." + +"You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Jan +wondered at the light in his eyes. + +"A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of my +life--up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turned +to where the polar star was fading low in the sky. + +"And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding his +head to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health and +happiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leaving +them. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, holding +out his hand again. "I come from Chicago." + +"My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago in +a book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city that +is called Winnipeg?" + +He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so that +the light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightened +about Jan's hand. + +"Yes, it is larger." + +"The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and Le +Commissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?" + +"Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes." + +"And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would it +not be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan. + +Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face. + +"There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said. + +"That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do business +there--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, and +half turned toward the door. + +"Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It might +depend--on what your business is." + +To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low +wailing of a dog out in the night. + +"They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not +read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" + +The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan +went back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruce +shut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hung +his coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossed +frozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs and +spread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffee +and meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, and +they lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at the +scraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was left +in them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not snap or +snarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to them, and +he found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with the sickness +which was eating at his own heart. + +With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache, +there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almost +excitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurry +on, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had told +him of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of the +thing which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when he +had staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died. +He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had +taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty +years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great +company at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this thing, +what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Perhaps the company +might take him, and he would remain in civilization. That would be +best--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests as years +and years ago he had fought against that call of the Other World that +had filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. If he DID +return to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far to the east. +No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan Thoreau. + +Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch by +inch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten years +ago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he and +Mélisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers and +sisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the other +dogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about the +dog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy, +and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the tree. + +Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and found +that the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, beyond +the dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were dying, +and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He sat +upright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of smoke +from his pipe. + +"You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a dead +man. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--I +thought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Then +he looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you're +hard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you let +me help you out?" + +"Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleep +outside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff with +the frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?" + +Thornton nodded. + +"And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the spruce +tops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for you." + +"You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?" + +"To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within an +hour." + +"Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked. + +"With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. I +must hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs." + +Thornton rose and stretched out a hand. + +"It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--" + +He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight into +his eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and again +Jan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which he +had first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressed +note in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest, +and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned to +his pack upon the sledge. + +"I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you have +breakfast with me?" + +That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the level +surface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. The +second day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and struck +south and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It was +early afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town. + +"We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We will +lose no time." + +It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at the +west edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an office +filled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking machines; +and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card to a +gray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his chair, +bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door opened, +and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart quivering, his +breath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in his breast +pocket. + +Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did not +reopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls at +typewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be this +wild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of the +sub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared. +Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes first +encountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan came +out. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop to +his shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thin +face seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere but +ahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let them +out into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing of his +breath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing. + +"If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he cried +fiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out of +you--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'll +buck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money to +show 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!" + +"Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of his +throat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a million +would just about buy--what I've given away up there." + +He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where the +papers had been. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +TEMPTATION + + +That night, leaving Thornton still at supper in the little old Windsor +Hotel, Jan slipped away, and with Kazan at his heels, crossed the +frozen Saskatchewan to the spruce forest on the north shore. He wanted +to be alone, to think, to fight with himself against a desire which was +almost overpowering him. Once, long ago, he had laid his soul bare to +Jean de Gravois, and Jean had given him comfort. To-night he longed to +go to Thornton, as he had gone to Jean, and to tell him the same story, +and what had passed that day in the office of the sub-commissioner. In +his heart there had grown something for Thornton that was stronger than +friendship--something that would have made him fight for him, and die +for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de Gravois. It was a +feeling cemented by a belief that something was troubling +Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a grief which +he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain himself from +confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he knew, except by +relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He walked along the shore +of the river and recrossed it again near the company's offices. All +were dark with the exception of the sub-commissioner's room. In that +there glowed a light. The sub-commissioner was keeping his promise. He +was working. He worked until late, for Jan came back two hours after +and saw the light still there. + +A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and it +would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and he +looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that week +was over. + +Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to +the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as Jan +had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him. There was an +uneasy tremor in Thornton's voice when he said: + +"Jan, did you ever love a woman--love her until you were ready and +willing to die for her?" + +The suddenness of the question wrung the truth from Jan's lips in a +low, choking voice. For an instant he thought that Thornton must have +guessed his secret. + +"Yes, m'sieur." + +Thornton leaned toward him, gripping his knees, and the misery in his +face was deeper than Jan had ever seen it before. + +"I love a woman--like that," he went on tensely. "A girl--not a woman, +and she is one of your people, Jan--of the north, as innocent as a +flower, more beautiful to ME than--than all the women I have ever seen +before. She is at Oxford House. I am going home to--to save myself." +"Save yourself!" cried Jan. "Mon Dieu, m'sieur--does she not love you?" + +"She would follow me to the end of the earth!" + +"Then--" + +Thornton straightened himself and wiped his pale face. Suddenly he rose +to his feet and motioned for Jan to follow him. He walked swiftly out +into the night, and still faster after that, until they passed beyond +the town. From where he stopped they could look over the forests far +into the pale light of the south. + +"THAT'S hell for me!" said Thornton, pointing. "It's what we call +civilization--but it's mostly hell, and it's all hell for me. It's a +hell of big cities, of strife, of blood-letting, of wickedness. I never +knew how great a hell it was until I came up here--among YOU. I wish to +God I could stay--always!" + +"You love her," breathed Jan. "You can stay." + +"I can't," groaned Thornton. "I can't--unless--" + +"What, m'sieur?" + +"Unless I lose everything--but her." + +Jan's fingers trembled as they sought Thornton's hand. + +"And everything is--is--nothing when you give it for love and +happiness," he urged. "The great God, I know--" + +"Everything," cried Thornton. "Don't you understand? I said +EVERYTHING!" He turned almost fiercely upon his companion. "I'd give up +my name--for HER. I'd bury myself back there in the forests and never +go out of them--for HER. I'd give up fortune, friends, lose myself for +ever--for HER. But I can't. Good God, don't you understand?" + +Jan stared. His eyes grew large and dark. + +"I've spent ten years of WORSE than hell down there--with a woman," +went on Thornton. "It happens among us--frequently, this sort of hell. +I came up here to get out of it for a time. You know--now. There is a +woman down there who--who is my wife. She would be glad if I never +returned. She is happy now, when I am away, and I have been happy--for +a time. I know what love is. I have felt it. I have lived it. God +forgive me, but I am almost tempted to go back--to HER!" + +He stopped at the change which had come in Jan, who stood as straight +and as still as the blank spruce behind them, with only his eyes +showing that there was life in him. Those eyes held Thornton's. They +burned upon him through the gray gloom as he had never seen human eyes +burn before. He waited, half startled, and Jan spoke. In his voice +there was nothing of that which Thornton saw in his eyes. It was low, +and soft, and though it had that which rung like steel, Thornton could +not have understood or feared it more. + +"M'sieur, how far have you gone--WITH HER?" Thornton understood and +advanced with his hands reaching out to Jan. + +"Only as far as one might go with the purest thing on earth," he said. +"I have sinned--in loving her, and in letting her love me, but that is +all, Jan Thoreau. I swear that is all!" + +"And you are going back into the south?" + +"Yes, I am going back into the south." + +The next day Thornton did not go. He made no sign of going on the +second day. So it was with the third, the fourth, and the fifth. On +each of these days Jan went once, in the afternoon, to the office of +the sub-commissioner, and Thornton always accompanied him. At times, +when Jan was not looking, there was a hungry light in his eyes as he +followed the other's movements, and once or twice Jan caught what was +left of this look when he turned unexpectedly. He knew what was in +Thornton's mind, and he pitied him, grieved with him in his own heart +until his own secret almost wrung itself from his lips. Somehow, in a +way that he could not understand, Thornton's sacrifice to honor, and +his despair, gave Jan strength, and a hundred times he asked himself if +a confession of his own misery would do as much for the other. He +repeated this thought to himself again and again on the afternoon of +the ninth day, when he went to the sub-commissioner's office alone. +This time Thornton had remained behind. He had left him in a gloomy +corner of the hotel room from which he had not looked up when Jan went +out with Kazan. + +This ninth day was the last day for Jan Thoreau. In a dazed sort of way +he listened as the sub-commissioner told him that the work was ended. +They shook hands. It was dark when Jan came out from the company's +offices, dark with a pale gloom through which the stars were beginning +to glow--with a ghostly gloom, lightened still more in the north with +the rising fires of the northern lights. Alone Jan stood for a few +moments close down to the river. Across from him was the forest, +silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it, like a +signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent out its +shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him faintly a +distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that world, and +at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he whined deep down +in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood warmer. Over +there--across the river--his world was calling to him, and he, Jan +Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury himself in +the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be with his +beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy and +brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would say +good-by to Thornton--and GO. + +He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless +when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the +hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him. + +"It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am +going. I am going to-night." + +Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated. + +"Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?" + +He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had slept +while at the hotel. He did not notice the change in Thornton until he +had lighted a lamp. Thornton was looking at him doggedly. There was an +unpleasant look in his face, a flush about his eyes, a rigid tenseness +in the muscles of his jaws. + +"And I--I, too, am going to-night," he said. "Into the South, m'sieur?" + +"No, into the NORTH." There was a fierceness in Thornton's emphasis. He +stood opposite Jan, leaning over the table on which the light was +placed. "I've broken loose," he went on. "I'm not going south--back to +that hell of mine. I'm never going south again. I'm dead down +there--dead for all time. They'll never hear of me again. They can have +my fortune--everything. I'm going North. I'm going to live with YOU +people--and God--AND HER!" + +Jan sank into a chair, Thornton sat down in one across from him. + +"I am going back to her," he repeated. "No one will ever know." + +He could not account for the look in Jan's eyes nor for the nervous +twitching of the lithe brown hands that reached half across the table. +But Kazan's one eye told him more than Thornton could guess, and in +response to it that ominous shivering wave rose along his spine. +Thornton would never know that Jan's fingers twitched for an instant in +their old mad desire to leap at a human throat. + +"You will not do that," he said quietly. + +"Yes, I will," replied Thornton. "I have made up my mind. Nothing can +stop me but--death." + +"There is one other thing that can stop you, and will, m'sieur," said +Jan as quietly as before. "I, Jan Thoreau, will stop you." + +Thornton rose slowly, staring down into Jan's face. The flush about his +eyes grew deeper. + +"I will stop you," repeated Jan, rising also. "And I am not death." + +He went to Thornton and placed his two hands upon his shoulders, and in +his eyes there glowed now that gentle light which had made Thornton +love him as he had loved no other man on earth. + +"M'sieur, I will stop you," he said again, speaking as though to a +brother. "Sit down. I am going to tell you something. And when I have +told you this you will take my hand, and you will say, 'Jan Thoreau, I +thank the Great God that something like this has happened before, and +that it has come to my ears in time to save the one I love.' Sit down, +m'sieur." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JAN'S STORY + + +Jan had aged five years during those two hours in the office of the +sub-commissioner; he aged now as Thornton looked at him. There came the +same tired, hopeless glow into his eyes, the same tense lines in his +face. And yet, quickly, he changed as he had not changed on that +afternoon. Two livid spots began to burn in his cheeks as he sat down +opposite Thornton. He turned the light low, and his eyes glowed more +darkly and with an animal-like luster in the half gloom. Something in +him now, a quivering, struggling passion that lay behind those eyes, +held Thornton white and silent. + +"M'sieur," he began in the low voice which Thornton was beginning to +understand, "I am going to tell you something which I have told to but +two other human beings. It is the story of another man--a man from +civilization, like you, who came up into this country of ours years and +years ago, and who met a woman, as you have met this girl at Oxford +House, and who loved her as you love this one, and perhaps more. It is +singular that the case should be so similar, m'sieur, and it is because +of this that I believe Our Blessed Lady gives me courage to tell it to +you. For this man, like you, left a wife--and two children--when he +came into the North. M'sieur, I pray the Great God to forgive him, for +he left a third child--unborn." + +Jan leaned upon his hand so that it shaded his face. + +"It is not so much of THAT as of what followed that I am going to tell +you, m'sieur," he went on. "It was a beautiful love--on the woman's +part, and it would have been a beautiful love on the man's part if it +had been pure. For her he gave up everything, even his God--as you +would give up everything--and your God--for this girl at Oxford House. +M'sieur, I will speak mostly of the woman now. She was beautiful. She +was one of the three most beautiful things that God ever placed in our +world, and she loved this man. She married him, believed in him, was +ready to die for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, as our +women will do for the men they love. God in Heaven, can you not guess +what happened, m'sieur? A CHILD WAS BORN!" + +So fiercely did Jan cry out the words that Thornton jerked back as +though a blow had been struck at him from out of the gloom. + +"A child was born!" repeated Jan, and Thornton heard his nails digging +in the table. "That was the first curse of God--a child! La +Charogne--les bętes de charogne--that is what we call them--beasts of +carrion and carrion eaters, breeders of devils and sin! Mon Dieu, that +is what happened! A child was born, with the curse of God upon him!" + +Jan stopped, his nails digging deeper, his breath escaping from him as +though he had been running. + +"Down in YOUR world he would have grown up a MAN," he continued, +speaking more calmly. "I have heard that--since. It is common down +there to be a two-legged carrion--a man or a woman born out of wedlock. +I have been told so, and that it is a curse not without hope. But here +it is different. The curse never dies. It follows, day after day, year +after year. And this child--more unfortunate than the wild things, was +born one of them. Do you understand, m'sieur? If the winds had +whispered the secret nothing would have come near him--the Indian women +would sooner have touched the plague--he would have been an outcast, +despised as he grew older, pointed at and taunted, called names which +are worse than those called to the lowest and meanest dogs. THAT is +what it means to be born under that curse--up here." + +He waited for Thornton to speak, but the other sat silent and moveless +across the table. + +"The curse worked swiftly, m'sieur. It came first--in remorse--to the +man. It gnawed at his soul, ate him alive, and drove him from place to +place with the woman and the child. The purity and love of the woman +added to his suffering, and at last he came to know that the hand of +God had fallen upon his head. The woman saw his grief but did not know +the reason for it. And so the curse first came to her. They went +north--far north, above the Barren Lands, and the curse followed there. +It gnawed at his life until--he died. That was seven years after the +child was born." + +The oil lamp sputtered and began to smoke, and with a quick movement +Jan turned the wick down until they were left in darkness. + +"M'sieur, it was then that the curse began to fall upon the woman and +the child. Do you not believe that about the sins of the fathers +falling upon others? Mon Dieu, it is so--it is so. It came in many +small ways--and then--the curse--it came suddenly--LIKE THIS." Jan's +voice came in a hissing whisper now. Thornton could feel his hot breath +as he leaned over the table, and in the darkness Jan's eyes shone like +two coals of fire. "It came like THIS!" panted Jan. "There was a new +missioner at the post--a--a Christian from the South, and he was a +great friend to the woman, and preached God, and she BELIEVED him. The +boy was very young, and saw things, but did not understand at first. He +knew, afterward, that the missioner loved his mother's beauty, and that +he tried hard to win it--and failed, for the woman, until death, would +love only the one to whom she had given herself first. Great God, it +happened THEN--one night when every soul was about the big fires at the +caribou roast, and there was no one near the lonely little cabin where +the boy and his mother lived. The boy was at the feast, but he ran +home--with a bit of dripping meat as a gift for his mother--and he +heard her cries, and ran in to be struck down by the missioner. It +happened THEN, and even the boy knew, and followed the man, shrieking +that he had killed his mother." There was a terrible calmness now in +Jan's voice. "M'sieur, it was true. She wasted away like a flower after +that night. She died, and left the boy alone with the curse. And that +boy, m'sieur, was Jan Thoreau. The woman was his mother." + +There was silence now, a dead, pulseless quiet, broken after a moment +by a movement. It was Thornton, groping across the table. Jan felt his +hands touch his arm. They groped farther in the darkness, until Jan +Thoreau's hands were clasped tightly in Thornton's. + +"And that--is all?" he questioned hoarsely. + +"No, it is but the beginning," said Jan softly. "The curse has followed +me, m'sieur, until I am the unhappiest man in the world. To-day I have +done all that is to be done. When my father died he left papers which +my mother was to give to me when I had attained manhood. When she died +they came to me. She knew nothing of that which was in them, and I am +glad. For they told the story that I have told to you, m'sieur, and +from his grave my father prayed to me to make what restitution I could. +When he came into the North for good he brought with him most of his +fortune--which was large, m'sieur--and placed it where no one would +ever find it--in the stock of the Great Company. A half of it, he said, +should be mine. The other half he asked me to return to his children, +and to his real wife, if she were living. I have done more than that, +m'sieur. I have given up all--for none of it is mine. A half will go to +the two children whom he deserted. The other half will go to the child +that was unborn. The mother--is--dead." + +After a time Thornton said, + +"There is more, Jan." + +"Yes, there is more, m'sieur," said Jan. "So much more that if I were +to tell it to you it would not be hard for you to understand why Jan +Thoreau is the unhappiest man in the world. I have told you that this +is but the beginning. I have not told you of how the curse has followed +me and robbed me of all that is greatest in life--how it has haunted me +day and night, m'sieur, like a black spirit, destroying my hopes, +turning me at last into an outcast, without people, without friends, +without--that--which you, too, will give up in this girl at Oxford +House. M'sieur, am I right? You will not go back to her. You will go +south, and some day the Great God will reward you." + +He heard Thornton rising in the dark. + +"Shall I strike a light, m'sieur?" + +"No," said Thornton close to him. In the gloom their hands met. There +was a change in the other's voice now, something of pride, of triumph, +of a glory just achieved. "Jan," he said softly, "I thank you for +bringing me face to face with a God like yours. I have never met Him +before. We send missionaries up to save you, we look upon you as wild +and savage and with only half a soul--and we are blind. You have taught +me more than has ever been preached into me, and this great, glorious +world of yours is sending me back a better man for having come into it. +I am going--south. Some day I will return, and I will be one of this +world, and one of your people. I will come, and I will bring no curse. +If I could send this word to HER, ask her forgiveness, tell her what I +have almost been and that I still have hope--faith--I could go easier +down into that other world." + +"You can," said Jan. "I will take this word for you, m'sieur, and I +will take more, for I will tell her what it has been the kind fate for +Jan Thoreau to find in the heart of M'sieur Thornton. She is one of my +people, and she will forgive, and love you more for what you have done. +For this, m'sieur, is what the Cree god has given to his people as the +honor of the great snows. She will still love you, and if there is to +be hope it will burn in HER breast, too. M'sieur--" + +Something like a sob broke through Thornton's lips as he moved back +through the darkness. + +"And you--I will find you again?" + +"They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with +HER," said Jan. + +"Good-by," said Thornton huskily. + +Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time +after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little +table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened +room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's +overburdened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE MUSIC AGAIN + + +That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter +of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile that +he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast until +he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in the old +way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the wilderness. +Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been home, filled +with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to-night it was +more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with no other desire +than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he felt the life, and +sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart, grieving with him in +his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging him again the eternal +friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all of the wild that it +held therein. + +And from above him the stars looked down like a billion tiny fires +kindled by loving hands to light his way--the stars that had given him +music, peace, since he could remember, and that had taught him more of +the silent power of God than the lips of man could ever tell. From this +time forth Jan Thoreau knew that these things would be his life, his +god. A thousand times in fanciful play he had given life and form to +the star-shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the +twisted shrub, the rocks and even the mountains. And now it was no +longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day +and night that followed, they became more real to him, and his fires in +the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them +before, and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted him +more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of life +in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow-forms. +Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. +The spruce-shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was +the same that had nodded to him last night--a hundred nights ago; the +stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were +the same, everything was as it was yesterday--years ago--unchanged, +never leaving him, never growing cold in their devotion. He had loved +the forest--NOW he worshipped it. In its vast silence he still +possessed Mélisse. It whispered to him still of her old love, of their +days and years of happiness, and with his forest he lived these days +over and over again, and when he slept with his forest he dreamed of +them. + +Nearly a month passed before he reached Oxford House and found the +sweet-faced girl whom Thornton loved. He did as Thornton had asked, and +went on--into the north and east. He had no mission now, except to roam +in his forests. He went down the Hayes, getting his few supplies at +Indian camps, and stopped at last, with the beginning of spring, far up +on the Cutaway. Here he built himself a camp and lived for a time, +setting dead-falls for bear. Then he struck north again, and still +east--keeping always away from Lac Bain. When the first chill winds of +the bay brought warning of winter down to him he was filled for a time +with a longing to strike north--and WEST, to go once more back to his +Barren Lands. But, instead, he went south, and so it came to pass that +a year after he had left Lac Bain he built himself a cabin deep in the +forest of God's River, fifty miles from Oxford House, and trapped once +more for the company. He had not forgotten his promise to Thornton, and +at Oxford House left word where he could be found if the man from +civilization should return. + +In late mid-winter Jan returned to Oxford House with his furs. It was +on the night of the day that he came into the post that he heard a +Frenchman who had come down from the north speak of Lac Bain. None +noticed the change in Jan's face as he hung back in the shadows of the +company's store. A little later he followed the Frenchman outside, and +stopped him where there were no others near to overhear. + +"M'sieur, you spoke of Lac Bain," he said in French. "You have been +there?" + +"Yes," replied the other, "I was there for a week waiting for the first +sledge snow." + +"It is my old home," said Jan, trying to keep his voice natural. "I +have wondered--if there are changes. You saw--Cummins--the factor?" + +"Yes, he was there." + +"And--and Jean de Gravois, the chief man?" + +"He was away. Mon Dieu, listen to that! The dogs are fighting out +there!" + +"A moment, m'sieur," begged Jan, as the Frenchman made a movement as if +to run in the direction of the tumult. "The factor had a +daughter--Mélisse--" + +"She left Lac Bain a long time ago, m'sieur," interrupted the trapper, +making a tremendous effort to be polite as he edged toward the sound of +battle. "M'sieur Cummins told me that he had not seen her in a long +time--I believe it was almost a year. Sacre, listen to that! They are +tearing one another to bits, and they are MY dogs, m'sieur, for I can +tell their voices among a thousand!" + +He sprang through the darkness and Jan made a movement to follow. Then +he stopped, and turned instead to the company's store. He took his pack +to the sledge and dogs in the edge of the spruce, and Kazan leaped to +greet him at the end of his babiche. This night as Jan traveled through +the forest he did not notice the stars or the friendly shadows. + +"A year," he repeated to himself, again and again, and once, when Kazan +rubbed against his leg and looked up into his face, he said, "Ah, +Kazan, our Mélisse went away with the Englishman. May the Great God +give them happiness!" + +The forest claimed him more than ever after this. He did not go back to +Oxford House in the spring but sold his furs to a passing half-breed, +and wandered through all of that spring and summer in the country to +the west. It was January when he returned to his cabin, when the snows +were deepest, and three days later he set out to outfit at the Hudson's +Bay post on God's Lake instead of at Oxford House. It was while they +were crossing a part of the lake that Kazan leaped aside for an instant +in his traces and snapped at something in the snow. + +Jan saw the movement but gave no attention to it until a little later, +when Kazan stopped and fell upon his belly, biting at the harness and +whining in pain. The thought of Kazan's sudden snap at the snow came to +him then like a knife-thrust, and with a low cry of horror and fear he +fell upon his knees beside the dog. Kazan whimpered and his bushy tail +swept the snow as Jan lifted his great wolfish head between his two +hands. No other sound came from Jan's lips now, and slowly he drew the +dog up to him until he held him in his arms as he might have held a +child, Kazan stilled the whimpering sounds in his throat. His one eye +rested on his master's face, faithful, watching for some sign--for some +language there, even as the burning fires of a strange torture gnawed +at his life, and in that eye Jan saw the deepening reddish film which +he had seen a hundred times before in the eyes of foxes and wolves +killed by poison bait. + +A moan of anguish burst from Jan's lips and he held his face close down +against Kazan's head, and sobbed now like a child, while Kazan rubbed +his hot muzzle against his cheek and his muscles hardened in a last +desire to give battle to whatever was giving his master grief. It was a +long time before Jan lifted his face from the shaggy head, and when he +did he knew that the last of all love, of all companionship, of all +that bound him to flesh and blood in his lonely world, was gone. Kazan +was dead. + +From the sledge he took a blanket and wrapped Kazan in it, and carried +him a hundred yards back from the trail. With bowed head he came behind +his four dogs into God's House. Half an hour later he turned back into +the wilderness with his supplies. It was dark when he returned to where +he had left Kazan. He placed him upon the sledge and the four huskies +whined as they dragged on their burden, from which the smell of death +came to them. They stopped in the deep forests beyond the lake and Jan +built a fire. + +This night, as on all nights in his lonely life, Jan drew Kazan close +to him, and he shivered as the other dogs slunk back from him +suspiciously and the fire and the spruce tops broke the stillness of +the forest. He looked at the crackling flames, at the fitful shadows +which they set dancing and grimacing about him, and it seemed to him +now that they were no longer friends, but were taunting him--gloating +in Kazan's death, and telling him that he was alone, alone, alone. He +let the fire die down, stirring it into life only when the cold +stiffened him, and when at last he fell into an unquiet slumber it was +still to hear the spruce tops whispering to him that Kazan was dead, +and that in dying he had broken the last fragile link between Jan +Thoreau and Mélisse. + +He went on at dawn, with Kazan wrapped in his blanket on the sledge. He +planned to reach the cabin that night, and the next day he would bury +his old comrade. It was dark when he came to the narrow plain that lay +between him and the river. The sky was brilliant with stars when he +slowly climbed the big, barren ridge at the foot of which was his home. +At the summit he stopped and seated himself on the edge of a rock, with +nothing but a thousand miles of space between him and the pale glow of +the northern lights. At his feet lay the forest, black and silent, and +he looked down to where he knew his cabin was waiting for him, black +and silent, too. + +For the first time it came upon him that THIS was home--that the +forest, and the silence, and the little cabin hidden under the spruce +tops below held a deeper meaning for him than a few hours before, when +Kazan was a leaping, living comrade at his side. Kazan was dead. Down +there he would bury him. And he had loved Kazan;--he knew, now, as he +clutched his hands to his aching breast, that he would have fought for +Kazan--given up his life for him--as he would have done for a brother. +Down there, under the silent spruce, he would bury the last that had +remained to him of the old life, and there swelled up in his heart a +longing, almost a prayer, that Mélisse might know that he, Jan Thoreau, +would have nothing left to him to-morrow but a grave, and that in that +grave was their old chum, their old playmate--Kazan. Hot tears blinded +Jan's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed as he had +sobbed years before, when in the southern wilderness word came to him +that Mélisse was dying. + +"Mélisse--Mélisse--" He moaned her name aloud, and stared through the +hot film in his eyes away into the north, sobbing to her, calling to +her in his grief, and looking through that thousand miles of starlit +space as though from out of it her sweet face would come to him once +more. And as he called there seemed to come to him from out of that +space a sound, so sweet, and low, and tender that his heart stood still +and he stood up straight and stretched his arms up to Heaven, for Jan +Thoreau knew that it was the sound of a violin that came to him from +out of the north--that Mélisse, an infinity away, had heard his call, +his prayer, and was playing for him and Kazan! + +And suddenly, as he listened, his arms fell to his sides, and there +shot into his eyes all of the concentrated light of the stars, for the +music came nearer and nearer, and still nearer to him, until he caught +Kazan in his arms and ran with him down the side of the mountain. It +died now in the forest--then rose again, softer and more distant it +seemed to him, luring him on into the forest gloom. For a few moments +consciousness of all else but that sound remained with him only in a +dazed, half real way, and as John Cummins had called upon the angels at +Lac Bain many years ago when he, too, had gone out into the night to +meet this wonderful music, so Jan Thoreau's soul cried to them now as +he clutched Kazan to him, and stumbled on. Then, suddenly, he came upon +the cabin, and in the cabin there was a light! + +Gently he laid Kazan down upon the snow, and for a full minute he stood +and listened, and heard, lower and sweeter still, the gentle music, of +the violin. Some one was in his cabin--living hands were playing! After +all it was not the spirit of Mélisse that had come to him in the hour +of his deepest grief, and a sob rose in his throat. He went on, step by +step, and at the door he stopped again, wondering if he was mad, if the +spirits of the forest were taunting him still, if--if-- + +One step more-- + +The Great God, he heard it now--the low, sweet music of the old Cree +love song, played in the old, old way, with all of its old sadness, its +whispering joy, its weeping song of life, of death, of love! With a +great cry he flung open the door and leaped in, with his arms reaching +out, his eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light--and with a cry +as piercing as his own, something ran through that light to meet +him--Mélisse, the old, glorious Mélisse, crushing her arms about his +neck, sobbing his name, pleading with him in her old, sweet voice to +kiss her, kiss her, kiss her--while Jan Thoreau for the first time in +his life felt sweeping over him a resistless weakness, and in this +vision he knew that Jean de Gravois came to him, too, and held him in +his arms, and that as the light faded away from about him he still +heard Mélisse calling to him, felt her arms about him, her face crushed +to his own. And as the deep gloom enveloped him more densely, and he +felt himself slipping down through it, he whispered to the faces which +he could no longer see, + +"Kazan--died--to-night--" + +For a long time Jan fought to throw off the darkness, and when he +succeeded, and opened his eyes again, he knew that it was Mélisse who +was sitting beside him, and that it was Mélisse who flung her arms +about him when he awoke from his strange sleep, and held his wild head +pressed against her bosom--Mélisse, with her glorious hair flowing +about her as he had loved it in their old days, and with the old love +shining in her eyes, only more glorious now, as he heard her voice. + +"Jan--Jan--we have been hunting for you--so long," she cried softly. +"We have been searching--ever since you left Lac Bain. Jan, dear Jan, I +loved you so--and you almost broke my heart. Dear, dear Jan," she +sobbed, stroking his face now, "I know why you ran away--I know, and I +love you so that--that I will die if--you go away again." + +"You know!" breathed Jan. He was in his cot, and raised himself, +clasping her beautiful face between his two hands, staring at her with +the old horror in his eyes. "You know--and you come--to me!" + +"I love you," said Mélisse. She slipped up to him and laid her face +upon his breast, and with her fingers clutched in his long hair she +leaned over to him and kissed him. "I love you!" + +Jan's arms closed about her, and he bowed his face so that it was +smothered in her hair and he felt against it the joyous tremble of her +bosom. + +"I love you," she whispered again, and under her cloud of hair their +lips met, and she whispered again, with her sweet breath still upon his +lips, "I love you." + +Outside Jean de Gravois was dancing up and down in the starlit edge of +the forest, and Iowaka was looking at him. + +"And NOW what do you think of your Jean de Gravois?" cried Jean for the +hundredth time at least. "NOW what do you think of him, my beautiful +one?" and he caught Iowaka's head in his arms, for the hundredth time, +too, and kissed her until she pushed him away. "Was it not right for me +to break my oath to the Blessed Virgin and tell Mélisse why Jan Thoreau +had gone mad? Was it not right, I say? And did not Mélisse do as I told +that fool of a Jan that she WOULD do? And didn't she HATE the +Englishman all of the time? Eh? Can you not speak, my raven-haired +angel?" + +He hugged Iowaka again in his arms, and this time he did not let her +go, but turned her face so that the starlight fell upon it. + +"And NOW what if Jan Thoreau still feels that the curse is upon him?" +he asked softly. "Ho, ho, we have fixed that--you, my sweet Iowaka, and +your husband, Jean de Gravois. I have it--here--in my pocket--the +letter signed by the sub-commissioner at Prince Albert, to whom I told +Jan's story when I followed his trail down there--the letter which says +that the other woman died BEFORE the man who was to be Jan Thoreau's +father married the woman who was to be his mother. And NOW do you +understand why I did not tell Mélisse of this letter, ma chérie? It was +to prove to that fool of a Jan Thoreau that she loved him--WHATEVER HE +WAS. NOW what do you think of Jean de Gravois, you daughter of a +princess, you--you--" + +"Wife of the greatest man in the world," laughed Iowaka softly. "Come, +my foolish Jean, we can not stand out for ever. I am growing cold. And +besides, do you not suppose that Jan would like to see ME?" + +"Foolish--foolish--foolish--" murmured Jean as they walked hand in hand +through the starlight. "She, my Iowaka, my beloved, says that I am +foolish--AND AFTER THIS! Mon Dieu, what can a man do to make himself +great in the eyes of his wife?" + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 5895-8.txt or 5895-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/9/5895/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/5895-8.zip b/5895-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..69449e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/5895-8.zip diff --git a/5895.txt b/5895.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cd54af --- /dev/null +++ b/5895.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7123 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Honor of the Big Snows + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Posting Date: May 12, 2013 [EBook #5895] +Release Date: June, 2004 +First Posted: September 18, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + +THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS + +By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +Author of "The Danger Trail," "The Courage of Captain Plum," etc. + +NEW YORK + +1911 + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MUSIC + +"Listen, John--I hear music--" + +The words came in a gentle whisper from the woman's lips. One white, +thin hand lifted itself weakly to the rough face of the man who was +kneeling beside her bed, and the great dark eyes from which he had +hidden his own grew luminously bright for a moment, as she whispered +again: + +"John--I hear--music--" + +A sigh fluttered from her lips. The man's head drooped until it rested +very near to her bosom. He felt the quiver of her hand against his +cheek, and in its touch there was something which told John Cummins +that the end of all life had come for him and for her. His heart beat +fiercely, and his great shoulders shook with the agony that was eating +at his soul. + +"Yes, it is the pretty music, my Melisse," he murmured softly, choking +back his sobs. "It is the pretty music in the skies." + +The hand pressed more tightly against his face. + +"It's not the music in the skies, John. It is real--REAL music that I +hear--" + +"It's the sky music, my sweet Melisse! Shall I open the door so that we +can hear it better?" + +The hand slipped from his cheek. Cummins lifted his head, slowly +straightening his great shoulders as he looked down upon the white +face, from which even the flush of fever was disappearing, as he had +seen the pale glow of the northern sun fade before a thickening snow. +He stretched his long, gaunt arms straight up to the low roof of the +cabin, and for the first time in his life he prayed--prayed to the God +who had made for him this world of snow and ice and endless forest very +near to the dome of the earth, who had given him this woman, and who +was now taking her from him. + +When he looked again at the woman, her eyes were open, and there glowed +in them still the feeble fire of a great love. Her lips, too, pleaded +with him in their old, sweet way, which always meant that he was to +kiss them, and stroke her hair, and tell her again that she was the +most beautiful thing in the whole world. + +"My Melisse!" + +He crushed his face to her, his sobbing breath smothering itself in the +soft masses of her hair, while her arms rose weakly and fell around his +neck. He heard the quick, gasping struggle for breath within her bosom, +and, faintly again, the words: + +"It--is--the--music--of--my--people!" + +"It is the music of the angels in the skies, my sweet Melisse! It is +OUR music. I will open the door." + +The arms had slipped from his shoulders. Gently he ran his rough +fingers through the loose glory of the woman's hair, and stroked her +face as softly as he might have caressed the cheek of a sleeping child. + +"I will open the door, Melisse." + +His moccasined feet made no sound as he moved across the little room +which was their home. At the door he paused and listened; then he +opened it, and the floods of the white night poured in upon him as he +stood with his eyes turned to where the cold, pale flashes of the +aurora were playing over the pole. There came to him the hissing, +saddening song of the northern lights--a song of vast, unending +loneliness, which they two had come to know as the music of the skies. + +Beyond that mystery-music there was no sound. To the eyes of John +Cummins there was no visible movement of life. And yet he saw signs of +it--signs which drew his breath from him in choking gulps, and which +sent him out into the night, so that the woman might not hear. + +It was an hour past midnight at the post, which had the Barren Lands at +its back door. It was the hour of deep slumber for its people; but +to-night there was no sleep for any of them. Lights burned dimly in the +few rough log homes. The company's store was aglow, and the factor's +office, a haven for the men of the wilderness, shot one gleaming yellow +eye out into the white gloom. The post was awake. It was waiting. It +was listening. It was watching. + +As the woman's door opened, wide and brimful of light, a door of one of +the log houses opened, and then another, and out into the night, like +dim shadows, trod the moccasined men from the factor's office, and +stood there waiting for the word of life or death from John Cummins. In +their own fashion these men, who, without knowing it, lived very near +to the ways of God, sent mute prayers into the starry heavens that the +most beautiful thing in the world might yet be spared to them. + +It was just two summers before that this beautiful thing had come into +Cummins' life, and into the life of the post. Cummins, red-headed, +lithe as a cat, big-souled as the eternal mountain of the Crees, and +the best of the company's hunters, had brought Melisse thither as his +bride. Seventeen rough hearts had welcomed her. They had assembled +about that little cabin in which the light was shining now, speechless +in their adoration of this woman who had come among them, their caps in +their hands, their faces shining, their eyes shifting before the +glorious ones that looked at them and smiled at them as the woman shook +their hands, one by one. + +Perhaps she was not strictly beautiful, as most people judge; but she +was beautiful here, four hundred miles beyond civilization. Mukee, the +half-Cree, had never seen a white woman, for even the factor's wife was +part Chippewayan; and no one of the others went down to the edge of the +southern wilderness more than once each twelvemonth or so. + +Melisse's hair was brown and soft, and it shone with a sunny glory that +reached far back into their conception of things dreamed of but never +seen. Her eyes were as blue as the early wild flowers that came after +the spring floods, and her voice was the sweetest sound that had ever +fallen upon their ears. So these men thought when Cummins first brought +home his wife, and the masterpiece which each had painted in his soul +and brain was never changed. Each week and month added to the +deep-toned value of that picture, as the passing of a century might add +to a Raphael or a Vandyke. + +The woman became more human, and less an angel, of course, but that +only made her more real, and allowed them to become acquainted with +her, to talk with her, and to love her more. There was no thought of +wrong, for the devotion of these men was a great, passionless love +unhinting of sin. Cummins and his wife accepted it, and added to it +when they could, and were the happiest pair in all that vast Northland. + +The girl--she was scarce more than budding into womanhood--fell happily +into the ways of her new life. She did nothing that was elementally +unusual, nothing more than any pure woman reared in the love of God and +of a home would have done. In her spare hours she began to teach the +half-dozen wild little children about the post, and every Sunday she +told them wonderful stories out of the Bible. She ministered to the +sick, for that was a part of her code of life. Everywhere she carried +her glad smile, her cheery greeting, her wistful earnestness, to +brighten what seemed to her the sad and lonely lives of these silent +men of the North. + +And she succeeded, not because she was unlike other millions of her +kind, but because of the difference between the fortieth degree and the +sixtieth--the difference in the viewpoint of men who fought themselves +into moral shreds in the big game of life and those who lived a +thousand miles nearer to the dome of the earth. + +A few days before there had come a wonderful event in the history of +the company's post. A new life was born into the little cabin of +Cummins and his wife. After this the silent, wordless worship of their +people was filled with something very near to pathos. Cummins' wife was +a mother! She was one of them now, an indissoluble part of their +existence--a part of it as truly as the strange lights for ever +hovering over the pole, as surely as the countless stars that never +left the night skies, as surely as the endless forests and the deep +snows! + +Then had come the sudden change, and the gloom, that brought with it +the shadow of death, fell like a pall upon the post, stifling its life, +and bringing with it a grief that those who lived there had never known +before. + +There came to them no word from Cummins now. + +He stood for a moment before his lighted door, and then went back, and +the word passed softly from one to another that the most beautiful +thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little cabin +at the end of the clearing. + +"You hear the music in the skies--now, my Melisse?" whispered the man, +kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!" + +"It was not that," repeated the woman. + +She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the +effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the +fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes +were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film, +so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and +Cummins heard a thrilling sound. + +"It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the +music--of--my--people!" + +The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He +heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Melisse? He +rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out, +to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his +life in this endless wilderness. + +He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through +the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell +chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet +this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the +wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to +make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the +black forest. + +"My Melisse! My Melisse!" he sobbed. + +A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music, +sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face +straight up to the sky. His heart died within him. + +The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to him, +staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved came +with it. It was a boy's face. + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the +thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak +again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--" + +The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted them +as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and +lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more: + +"It is the--music--of my people--the violin!" + +John Cummins turned his head. + +"Play!" he breathed. + +"Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew his +bow gently across the strings of his violin. + +From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John +Cummins closed his eyes as he held the woman against his breast and +listened. Not until he opened them again, and felt a strange chill +against his cheek, did he know that his beloved's soul had gone from +him on the gentle music of Jan Thoreau's violin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MUKEE'S STORY + + +For many minutes after the last gentle breath had passed from the +woman's lips, Jan Thoreau played softly upon his violin. It was the +great, heart-broken sob of John Cummins that stopped him. As tenderly +as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep from which he feared to awaken +her, the man unclasped his arms and lowered his wife's head to the +pillow; and with staring black eyes Jan crushed his violin against his +ragged breast and watched him as he smoothed back the shimmering hair +and looked long and hungrily into the still, white face. + +Cummins turned to him, and, in the dim light of the cabin, their eyes +met. It was then that Jan Thoreau knew what had happened. He forgot his +starvation. He crushed his violin closer, and whispered to himself: + +"The white angel ees--gone!" + +Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly, like a man who had suddenly +grown old. His moccasined feet dragged as he went to the door. They +stumbled when he went out into the pale star-glow of the night. + +Jan followed, swaying weakly, for the last of his strength had gone in +the playing of the violin. Midway in the cabin he paused, and his eyes +glowed with a wild, strange grief as he gazed down upon the still face +of Cummins' wife, beautiful in death as it had been in life, and with +the sweet softness of life still lingering there. Some time, ages and +ages ago, he had known such a face, and had felt the great clutching +love of it. + +Something drew him to where John Cummins had knelt, and he fell upon +his knees and gazed hungrily and longingly where John Cummins had +gazed. His pulse was beating feebly, the weakness of seven days' +starvation blurred his eyes, and unconsciously he sank over the bed and +one of his thin hands touched the soft sweep of the woman's hair. A +stifled cry fell from him as he jerked himself rigidly erect; and as if +for the desecration of that touch there was but one way of forgiveness, +he drew his violin half to his shoulder, and for a few moments played +so softly that none but the spirit of the woman and himself could hear. + +Cummins had partly closed the door after him; but watchers had seen the +opening of it. A door opened here, and another there, and paths of +yellow light flashed over the hard-trodden snow as shadowy life came +forth to greet what message he brought from the little cabin. + +Beyond those flashes of light there was no other movement, and no +sound. Dark figures stood motionless. The lonely howl of a sledge-dog +ended in a wail of pain as some one kicked it into terrified silence. +The hollow cough of Mukee's father was smothered in the thick fur of +his cap as he thrust his head from his little shack in the edge of the +forest. A score of eyes watched Cummins as he came out into the snow, +and the rough, loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed in fearful +anticipation of the word he might be bringing to them. + +Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe in the last moments of its dying +chief, and the black wings of calamity gather over its people, +enshrouding them in a strange gloom and a stranger fear; and so, +because the greatest of all tragedies had come into their little world, +Cummins' people were speechless in their grief and their waiting for +the final word. And when the word came to them at last, and passed from +lip to lip, and from one grim, tense face to another, the doors closed +again, and the lights went out one by one, until there remained only +the yellow eye of the factor's office and the faint glow from the +little cabin in which John Cummins knelt with his sobbing face crushed +close to that of his dead. + +There was no one who noticed Jan Thoreau when he came through the door +of the factor's office. His coat of caribou-skin was in tatters. His +feet thrust themselves from the toes of his moccasins. His face was so +thin and white that it shone with the pallor of death from its frame of +straight dark hair. His eyes gleamed like black diamonds. The madness +of hunger was in him. + +An hour before, death had been gripping at his throat, when he stumbled +upon the lights of the post, That night he would have died in the deep +snows. Wrapped in its thick coat of bearskin he clutched his violin to +his breast, and sank down in a ragged heap beside the hot stove. His +eyes traveled about him in fierce demand. There is no beggary among +these strong-souled men of the far North, and Jan's lips did not beg. +He unwrapped the bearskin, and whispered: + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" + +He played, even as the words fell from him, but only for a moment--for +the bow slipped from his nerveless grip and his head sank forward upon +his breast. + +In the half-Cree's eyes there was something of the wild beauty that +gleamed in Jan's. For an instant those eyes had met in the savage +recognition of blood; and when Jan's head fell weakly, and his violin +slipped to the floor, Mukee lifted him in his strong arms and carried +him to the shack in the edge of the spruce and balsam. + +And there was no one who noticed Jan the next day--except Mukee. He was +fed. His frozen blood grew warm. As life returned, he felt more and +more the pall of gloom that had settled over this spark of life in the +heart of the wilderness. He had seen the woman, in life and in death, +and he, too, loved her and grieved that she was no more. He said +nothing; he asked nothing; but he saw the spirit of adoration in the +sad, tense faces of the men. He saw it in the terror-stricken eyes of +the wild little children who had grown to worship Cummins' wife. He +read it in the slinking stillness of the dogs, in the terrible, +pulseless quiet that had settled about him. + +It was not hard for Jan to understand, for he, too, worshiped the +memory of a white, sweet face like the one that he had seen in the +cabin. He knew that this worship at Lac Bain was a pure worship, for +the honor of the big snows was a part of his soul. It was his religion, +and the religion of these others who lived four hundred miles or more +from a southern settlement. + +It meant what civilization could not understand--freezing and slow +starvation rather than theft, and respect for the tenth commandment +above all other things. It meant that up here, under the cold chill of +the northern skies, things were as God meant them to be, and that a few +of His creatures could live in a love that was neither possession nor +sin. + +A year after Cummins brought his wife into the North, a man came to the +post from Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay. He was an Englishman, +belonging to the home office of the Hudson's Bay Company in London. He +brought with him something new, as the woman had brought something new; +only in this instance it was an element of life which Cummins' people +could not understand. + +It breathed of tragedy from the first, to the men of the post. To the +Englishman, on the other hand, it promised to be but an incident--a +passing adventure in pleasure. Here again was that difference of +viewpoint--the eternity of difference between the middle and the end of +the earth. + +Cummins was away for a month on a trap-line that went into the Barren +Lands. At these times the woman fell as a heritage to those who +remained, and they watched over her as a parent might guard its child. +Yet the keenest eyes would not have perceived that this was so. + +With Cummins gone, the tragedy progressed swiftly toward finality. The +Englishman came from among women. For months he had been in a torment +of desolation. Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to +relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert; and with the wiles and +ways of civilization he sought to breathe its fragrance. + +In the days and weeks that followed, he talked a great deal, when +heated by the warmth of the box stove and by his own thoughts; and this +was because he had not yet measured the hearts of Cummins' people. And +because the woman knew nothing of what was said about the box stove, +she continued in the even course of her pure life, neither resisting +nor encouraging the new-comer, yet ever tempting him with that +sweetness which she gave to all alike. + +As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the +Englishman's friendship, for he was a stranger among her people. She +did not hear the false note, she saw no step that promised evil. Only +the men at the post heard, and saw, and understood. + +Like so many faithful beasts, they were ready to spring, to rend flesh, +to tear life out of him who threatened the desecration of all that was +good and pure and beautiful to them; and yet, dumb in their devotion +and faith, they waited and watched for a sign from the woman. The blue +eyes of Cummins' wife, the words of her gentle lips, the touch of her +hands, had made law at the post. If she smiled upon the stranger and +talked with him, and was pleased with him, that was only one other law +that she had made for them to respect. So they were quiet, evaded the +Englishman as much as possible, and watched--always watched. + +One day something happened. Cummins' wife came into the company's +store; and a quick flush shot into her cheeks, and the glitter of blue +diamonds into her eyes, when she saw the stranger standing there. The +man's red face grew redder, and he shifted his gaze. When Cummins' wife +passed him, she drew her skirt close to her; and there was the poise of +a queen in her head, the glory of wife and womanhood, the living, +breathing essence of all that was beautiful in her people's honor of +the big snows. + +That night Mukee, the half-Cree, slunk around in the edge of the forest +to see that all was well in Cummins' little home. Once Mukee had +suffered a lynx-bite that went clear to the bone, and the woman had +saved his hand. After that, the savage in him was enslaved to her like +an invisible spirit. + +He crouched for a few minutes in the snow, looking at the pale filter +of light that came through a hole in the curtain of the woman's window; +and as he looked something came between him and the light. Against the +cabin he saw the shadow of a sneaking human form; and as silently as +the steely flash of the aurora over his head, as swiftly as a lean +deer, he sped through the gloom of the forest's edge and came up behind +the woman's home. + +With the caution of a lynx, his head close to the snow, he peered +around the logs. It was the Englishman who stood looking through the +tear in that curtained window. + +Mukee's moccasined feet made no sound. His hand fell as gently as a +child's upon the stranger's arm. + +"Thees is not the honor of the beeg snows," he whispered. "Come!" + +A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was soft +and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went with +the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a +companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman chuckled. + +Then Mukee's hands changed. They flew to the thick, reddening throat of +the man from civilization, and without a sound the two sank together +upon the snow. + +The next day a messenger behind six dogs set out for Fort Churchill, +with word for the company's home office that the Englishman had died in +the big snow--which was true. + +Mukee told this to Jan, for there was the bond of blood between them. +It was a painting of life, and love, and purity. Deep down in the +loneliness of his heart, Jan Thoreau, in his own simple way, thanked +the great God that it had been given to him to play his violin as the +woman died. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE MELISSE + + +The passing of Cummins' wife was as quiet as had been her coming. With +bare heads, their shaggy hair falling wildly about their faces, their +lips set tight to choke back their grief, the few at the post went, one +by one, into the little cabin, and gazed for the last time upon her +face. There was but one sound other than the gentle tread of their +moccasined feet, and that was a catching, sobbing moan that fell from +the thick gray beard of Williams, the old factor. + +After that they carried her to where a clearing had been cut in the +edge of the forest; and at the foot of a giant spruce, towering +sentinel-like to the sky, they lowered her into the frozen earth. +Gaspingly, Williams stumbled over the words on a ragged page that had +been torn from a Bible. The rough men who stood about him bowed their +wild heads upon their breasts, and sobs broke from them. + +At last Williams stopped his reading, stretched his long arms above his +head, and cried chokingly: + +"The great God keep Mees Cummins!" + +As the earth fell, there came from the edge of the forest the low, +sweet music of Jan Thoreau's violin. No man in all the world could have +told what he played, for it was the music of Jan's soul, wild and +whispering of the winds, sweetened by some strange inheritance that had +come to him with the picture which he carried in his throbbing heart. + +He played until only the tall spruce and John Cummins stood over the +lone grave. When he stopped, the man turned to him, and they went +together to the little cabin where the woman had lived. + +There was something new in the cabin now--a tiny, white, breathing +thing over which an Indian woman watched. The boy stood beside John +Cummins, looking down upon it, and trembling. + +"Ah," he whispered, his great eyes glowing. "It ees the LEETLE white +angel!" + +"It is the little Melisse," replied the man. + +He dropped upon his knees, with his sad face close to the new life that +was to take the place of the one that had just gone out. Jan felt +something tugging in a strange way at his heart, and he, too, fell upon +his knees beside John Cummins in this first worship of the child. + +From this hour of their first kneeling before the little life in the +cabin, something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which +it would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many +moments' contemplation of the little Melisse, Jan gazed straight into +Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means +"father." This was Jan's first word for Melisse. + +When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had seen +tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open. His +beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot +iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly +fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly as +if he had been burned. + +That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin, +Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said: + +"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?" + +Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north. + +"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone +through the beeg snow." + +Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He +dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone +outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of +silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern +skies. + +"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!" + +Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north. + +"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at +night." + +"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?" + +Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then +to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than +curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan +Thoreau. + +The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed. + +"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg +snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!" + +There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan could +not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the cabin. +There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he placed his +hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not understand that. + +"There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you +stay with the little Melisse and me?" + +"With the leetle Melisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny +cot and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long +black hair shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in +quick, sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for +ever and ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing +ears of the child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I give +it to you--and ze museek!" + +He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE PROBLEM + + +In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not +understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked +little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he +would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which +ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought +with him more than his starved body from out of the unknown wilderness. +This was the chief cause of those things which he could not understand. + +No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his history +was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from out of +the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands meant +death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and at another +time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his people would have +believed him mad. + +But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them +from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, like +Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little of +God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in other +ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from the +angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that she +had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the boy, +with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, became a +part of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a part of +her they accepted him, without further questioning as to who he was or +whence he came. + +In a way, he made up for her loss. The woman had brought something new +and sweet into their barren lives, and he brought something new and +sweet--the music of his violin. He played for them in the evening, in +the factor's office; and at these times they knew that Cummins' wife +was very near to them and that she was speaking to them through the +things which Jan Thoreau played. + +Music had long passed out of their lives. Into some, indeed, it had +never come. Years ago, Williams had been at a post where there was an +accordion. Cummins had heard music when he went down to civilization +for his wife, more than two years ago. To the others it was mystery +which stirred them to the depths of their souls, and which revealed to +them many things that had long been hidden in the dust of the past. + +These were hours of triumph for Jan in the factor's office. Perched on +a box, with his back to the wall, his head thrown back, his black eyes +shining, his long hair giving to his face a half savage beauty, he was +more than king to the grim-visaged men about him. They listened, +movelessly, soundlessly; and when he stopped there was still neither +move nor sound until he had wrapped his violin in its bear-skin and had +returned to John Cummins and the little Melisse. Jan understood the +silence, and took it for what it meant. + +But it was the audience in the little cabin that Jan liked best, and, +most of all, he loved to have the little Melisse alone. As the days of +early spring trapping approached, and the wilderness for a hundred +miles around the post was crisscrossed with the trails of the Cree and +Chippewayan fur-seekers, Cummins was absent for days at a time, +strengthening the company's friendships, and bargaining for the catch +that would be coming to market about eight weeks later. + +This was a year of intense rivalry, for the Revillons, French +competitors of the company, had established a post two hundred miles to +the west, and rumor spread that they were to give sixty pounds of flour +to the company's forty, and four feet of cloth to the yard. This meant +action among Williams and his people, and the factor himself plunged +into the wilderness. Mukee, the half-Cree, went among his scattered +tribesmen along the edge of the barrens, stirring them by the eloquence +of new promises and by fierce condemnation of the interlopers to the +west. Old Per-ee, with a strain of Eskimo in him, went boldly behind +his dogs to meet the little black people from farther north, who came +down after foxes and half-starved polar bears that had been carried +beyond their own world on the ice-floes of the preceding spring. Young +Williams, the factor's son, followed after Cummins, and the rest of the +company's men went into the south and east. + +The exodus left desolate lifelessness at the post. The windows of the +fireless cabins were thick with clinging frost. There was no movement +in the factor's office. The dogs were gone, and wolves and lynx sniffed +closer each night. In the oppression of this desertion, the few Indian +and half-breed children kept indoors, and Williams' Chippewayan wife, +fat and lazy, left the company's store securely locked. + +In this silence and lifelessness Jan Thoreau felt a new and +ever-increasing happiness. To him the sound of life was a thing vibrant +with harshness; quiet--the dead, pulseless quiet of lifelessness--was +beautiful. He dreamed in it, and it was then that his fingers +discovered new things in his violin. + +He often sent Maballa, the Indian woman who cared for Melisse, to +gossip with Williams' wife, so that he was alone a great deal with the +baby. At these times, when the door was safely barred against the +outside world, it was a different Jan Thoreau who crouched upon his +knees beside the cot. His face was aflame with a great, absorbing +passion which at other times he concealed. His beautiful eyes glowed +with hidden fires, and he whispered soothing, singsong things to the +child, and played softly upon his violin, leaning his black head far +down so that the baby Melisse could clutch her appreciative fingers in +his hair. + +"Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and +kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze +violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel +lak--HER!" + +He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan +Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin. + +Sometimes Melisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things he +was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed upon +him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust into +her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him blankly, the +more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him; and his voice +grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist as he told her +those things which John Cummins would have given much to know. + +"Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Melisse," he +whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring +finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!" + +There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby Melisse +talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy. With the +baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her tiny cot, he +would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the pride and +happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of her kittens. + +Once, when Melisse straightened herself for an instant, and half +reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he +gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had not +dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that +frightened the little Melisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan, +in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he +ventured to kiss her again. + +It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan +discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last +days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge of +the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in plenty +when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon, he +returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with the +meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his slender +body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying sight +greeted him in the little clearing at the post. + +Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously +rolling the half-naked little Melisse about in a soft pile of snow, and +doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and thorough +manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted toward her +like a wild thing. + +"Sacre bleu--you keel--keel ze leetle Melisse!" he cried shrilly, +snatching up the half-frozen child, "Mon Dieu, she ees not papoose! She +ees ceevilize--ceevilize!" and he ran swiftly with her into the cabin, +flinging back a torrent of Cree anathema at the dumbly bewildered +Maballa. + +Jan left the rest of his musk-ox to the wolves and foxes. He went out +into the snow, and found half a dozen other snow-wallows in which the +helpless Melisse had taken her chilling baths. He watched Maballa with +a new growing terror, and fifty times a day he said to her: + +"Melisse ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--lak HER!" And he would +point to the lonely grave under the guardian spruce. + +At last Maballa went into an ecstasy of understanding. Melisse was not +to be taken out and rolled in the snow; so she brought in the snow and +rolled it over Melisse! + +When Jan discovered this, his tongue twisted itself into sounds so +terrible, and his face writhed so fiercely, that Maballa began to +comprehend that thereafter no snow at all, either out doors or in, was +to be used in the physical development of the little Melisse. + +This was the beginning of the problem, and it grew and burst forth in +all its significance on the day before Cummins came in from the +wilderness. + +For a week Maballa had been dropping sly hints of a wonderful thing +which she and the factor's half-breed wife were making for the baby. +Jan had visions of a gorgeous garment covered with beads and gaudy +braid, which would give the little Melisse unending delight. On the day +before Cummins' arrival, Jan came in from chopping wood, and went to +the cot. It was empty. Maballa was gone. A sudden fear thrilled him to +the marrow, and he sprang back to the cabin door, ready to shriek out +the Indian woman's name. + +A sound stopped him--the softest, sweetest sound in all the world to +Jan Thoreau--and he whirled around like a cat. Melisse was smiling and +making queer, friendly little signals to him from the table. She was +standing upright, wedged in a coffin-shaped thing from which only her +tiny white face peered out at him; and Jan knew that this was Maballa's +surprise, Melisse was in a papoose-sling! + +"Melisse, I say you shall be no papoose!" he cried, running to the +table. "You ees ceevilize! You shall be no papoose--not if twen' +t'ous'nd devil come tak Jan Thoreau!" + +And he snatched her from her prison, flung Maballa's handiwork out into +the snow, and waited impatiently for the return of John Cummins. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LOVE PATCHES + + +Cummins returned the next day--not that his work among the wild +trappers to the south was finished, but because he had suffered a hurt +in falling from a slippery ledge. When Jan, from his wood-chopping in +the edge of the forest, saw the team race up to the little cabin and a +strange Cree half carry the wounded man through the door, he sped +swiftly across the open with visions of new misfortune before him. + +What he saw when he reached the door was reassuring. Cummins was upon +his knees beside the cot, his big shoulders hunched over, and Melisse +was welcoming him with her whole vocabulary of sound. The injury to +Cummins' leg was not serious; and not being serious, it was accepted as +a special incident of Providence by Jan, for the new thoughts that had +come into his head were causing him great uneasiness. + +He lost no time in revealing his fears, after Maballa had been sent to +the factor's wife. With graphic gesture he told of what had happened. +Cummins hobbled to the door to look upon the wallows in the snow, and +hobbled back to the table when Jan ran there in excited imitation of +the way in which he had found the little Melisse in Maballa's sling. + +"She ees ceevilize!" finished Jan hotly. "She ees not papoose! She mus' +be lak--HER!" His great eyes shone, and Cummins felt a thickening in +his throat as he looked into them and saw what the boy meant. "Maballa +mak papoose out of Melisse. She grow--know not'ing, lak papoose, talk +lak papoose--" + +Jan's feelings overwhelmed his tongue. His shining hair rumpled thickly +about his face as he leaned anxiously toward Cummins; and Cummins, in +turn, stared down in dumb perplexity upon the joyful kickings and +wrigglings of the growing problem. + +"Ees she not ceevilize?" demanded Jan ecstatically, bending his black +head over her. "Ah, ze sweet Melisse!" + +"Yes, she must be like HER, Jan--just as good and just as sweet and +just as beautiful," interrupted Cummins gently. + +There was a quick intaking of his breath as he hobbled back to his own +cot, leaving Jan at play with the baby. + +That night, in the dim, sputtering glow of an oil-lamp, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau solemnly set to work to thrash out the great problem +that had suddenly entered into their existence. To these two there was +no element of humor in what they were doing, for into their keeping had +been given a thing for which God had not schemed them. The woman, had +she been there, would have laughed at them, and in a dozen gentle +breaths might have told them all that the world held in secret between +mother and child; but, leaving them, she had passed on to them +something that was life, like herself, and yet mystery. + +Had fate given Maballa to Melisse for a mother there would have been no +mystery. She would have developed as naturally as a wolf-whelp or a +lynx-kitten, a savage breath of life in a savage world, waxing fat in +snow-baths, arrow-straight in papoose-slings, a moving, natural thing +in a desolation to which generations and centuries of forebears had +given it birthright. But Melisse was like her mother. In the dreams of +the two who were planning out her fate, she was to be a reincarnation +of her mother. That dream left a ray of comfort in Cummins' breast when +his wife died. It stirred happy visions within Jan. And it ended with a +serious shock when Maballa brought into their mental perspective of +things the possibilities of environment. + +So far as Cummins knew, there was not a white woman nearer than Fort +Churchill, two hundred miles away. In all that region he knew of only +two full-white men, and they were Williams and himself. The baby +Melisse was hopelessly lost in a world of savagery; honest, loyal, +big-souled savagery--but savagery for all that, and the thought of it +brought the shadows of fear and foreboding to the two into whose lives +the problem had just come. + +Long into the night they talked seriously of the matter, while Melisse +slept; and the longer they talked, the greater loomed the problem +before them. Cummins fancied that he already began to see signs of the +transformation in Melisse. She was passionately fond of the gaudy +things Maballa gave her, which was a sign of savagery. She was charmed +by confinement in the papoose-sling, which was another sign of it; and +she had not died in the snow-wallows--which was still another. + +So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into +finger-touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they +determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be +ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children +would not be allowed to come near Melisse. They two--John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the sentinel +spruce. + +"She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her +ceevilize!" + +Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Melisse was +four months and eighteen days old! + +"To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the +baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the +papoose-slings!" + +"An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing. +"That ees ceevilize!" + +Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a +calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room. + +"There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling +thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped +upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt +beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing +catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast. +"Now--we will give them--to Melisse." + +He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his breath +coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things, holding +within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the woman he had +lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into the +wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the +pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred +places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man +gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he +might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief. + +Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something +else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In +these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in +civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful +for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held up +a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins. + +"Theese are picture for Melisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach +her--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!" + +Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly +for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it. At the +last one of all, which was more ragged and worn than the others, he +gazed for a long time. It was a little Bible, his wife's Bible, +finger-worn, patched, pathetic in its poverty. The man gulped hard. + +"She loved this, Jan," he said huskily. "She loved this worn, old book +more than anything else, and little Melisse must love it also. Melisse +must be a Christian." + +"Ah, yes, ze leetle Melisse mus' love ze great God!" said Jan softly. + +Cummins rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the sleeping +baby. + +"A missionary is coming over from Fort Churchill to talk to our +trappers when they come in. She shall be baptized!" + +Like a cat Jan was on his feet, his eyes flashing, his long, thin +fingers clenched, his body quivering with a terrible excitement. + +"No--no--not baptize by missioner!" he cried. "She shall be good, an' +love ze great God, but not baptize by missioner! No--no--no!" + +Cummins turned upon him in astonishment. Before him Jan Thoreau stood +for a minute like one gone mad, his whole being consumed in a passion +terrible to look upon. Lithe giant of muscle and, fearlessness that he +was, Cummins involuntarily drew back a step, and the mainspring of +instinct within him prompted him to lift a hand, as if to ward off a +leaping thing from his breast. + +Jan noted the backward step, the guarded uplift of hand, and with an +agonized cry he buried his face in his hands. In another instant he had +turned, and, before Cummins' startled voice found words, had opened the +door and run out into the night. The man saw him darting swiftly toward +the forest, and called to him, but there was no response. + +There was a hot fire burning in Jan's brain, a blazing, writhing +contortion of things that brought a low moaning from his lips. He ran +tirelessly and swiftly until he sank down upon the snow in a silent +place far from where he had left John Cummins. His eyes still blazed +with their strange fire upon the desolation about him, his fingers +clenched and unclenched themselves, digging their nails into his flesh, +and he spoke softly to himself, over and over again, the name of the +little Melisse. + +Painting itself each instant more plainly through the tumult of his +emotions was what Jan had come to know as the picture in his brain. +Shadowy and indistinct at first, in pale, elusive lines of mental +fabric, he saw the picture growing; and in its growth he saw first the +soft, sweet outlines of a woman's face, and then great luring eyes, +dark like his own--and before these eyes, which gazed upon him with +overwhelming love, all else faded away from before Jan Thoreau. The +fire went out of his eyes, his fingers relaxed, and after a little +while he got up out of the snow, shivering, and went back to the cabin. + +Cummins asked no questions. He looked at Jan from his cot, and watched +the boy silently as he undressed and went to bed; and in the morning +the whole incident passed from his mind. The intangible holds but +little fascination for the simple folk who live under the Arctic +Circle. Their struggle is with life, their joys are in its achievement, +in their constant struggle to keep life running strong and red within +them. Such an existence of solitude and of strife with nature leaves +small room for curiosity. So the nature of John Cummins led him to +forget what had happened, as he would have forgotten the senseless +running away of a sledge-dog, and its subsequent return. He saw no +tragedy, and no promise of tragedy, in the thing that had occurred. + +There was no recurrence of the strange excitement in Jan. He gave no +hint of it in word or action, and the thing seemed to be forgotten +between the two. + +The education of the little Melisse began at once, while the post was +still deserted. It began, first of all, with Maballa. She stared dumbly +and with shattered faith at these two creatures who told her of +wonderful things in the upbringing of a child--things of which she had +never so much as heard rumor before. Her mother instincts were aroused, +but with Cree stoicism she made no betrayal of them. + +The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change +when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Melisse was about to +begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when between +them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried vainly to +persuade Melisse to use her feet. + +It was great fun for Melisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as +the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their eyes, +the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an unceasing +physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming mental +development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin, which +was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into +ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered them +in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more suggestive +grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the greatest +token of all. + +Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee +followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the +Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs stolen. +From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers trailed +back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a growing +warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were near. And +when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the factor's +people, wore patches at their knee. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DAYS OF TRIUMPH + + +One afternoon, in the beginning of the mush-snow, a long team of rakish +Malemutes, driven by an Athabasca French-Canadian, raced wildly into +the clearing about the post. A series of yells, and the wild cracking +of a thirty-foot caribou-gut whip, announced that the big change was at +hand--that the wilderness was awakening, and life was drawing near. + +The entire post rushed out to meet the new-comer--men and dogs, the +little black-and-tan children, and even Williams' fat and lethargic +wife. For a few moments there was a scene of wild disorder, of fighting +Malemutes buried under a rush of angry huskies, while men shouted, and +the yelling Frenchman leaped about and cut his caribou-gut in vicious +slashes over the wolfish horde around his heavily laden sledge. + +Partial order being restored, Mukee and Per-ee took charge of the +snarling Malemutes, and, surrounded by Williams' men, the trapper +stalked to the company's office. He was Jean de Gravois, the most +important man in the Fond du Lac country, for whose good-will the +company paid a small bonus. That he had made a record catch even the +children knew by the size of the packs on his sledge and by the swagger +in his walk. + +Gravois was usually one of the last to appear at the annual gathering +of the wilderness fur-gatherers. He was a big man in reputation, as he +was small in stature. He was known as far west as the Peace River, and +eastward to Fort Churchill. He loved to make his appearance at the post +in a wild and picturesque rush when the rest of the forest rovers were +there to look on, and to envy or admire. He was one of the few of his +kind who had developed personal vanity along with unerring cunning in +the ways of the wild. Everybody liked Gravois, for he had a big soul in +him and was as fearless as a lynx; and he liked everybody, including +himself. + +He explained his early arrival by announcing in a nonchalant manner +that after he had given his Malemutes a day's rest he was going on to +Fort Churchill, to bring back a wife. He hinted, with a punctuating +crack of his whip, that he would make a second visit, and a more +interesting one, at just about the time when the trappers were there in +force. + +Jan Thoreau listened to him, hunching his shoulders a little at the +other's manifest air of importance. In turn, the French-Canadian +scrutinized Jan good-naturedly. Neither of them knew the part which +Jean de Gravois was to play in Jan's life. + +Every hour after the half-breed's arrival quickened the pulse of +expectancy at the post. For six months it had been a small and solitary +unit of life in the heart of a big desolation. The first snow had +smothered it in a loneliness that was almost the loneliness of +desertion. With that first snow began the harvest days of the people of +the wilderness. Far and wide they were busy along their trap-lines, +their lonely shacks hidden in the shelter of thick swamps, in deep +chasms and dense forests. For six months the short days and the long +nights had been days and nights of fur-gathering. + +During those months the post was silent. It lived and breathed, but +that was all. Its life, for Williams and the few people whom the +company kept with him, was a life of waiting. Now the change was at +hand. It was like the breath of spring to the awakening wilderness. The +forest people were moving. Trap-lines were being broken, shacks +abandoned, sledge-dogs put to harness. On the day that Jean de Gravois +left for Hudson's Bay, the company's supplies came in from Fort +Churchill--seven toboggans drawn by Eskimo dogs, laden with flour and +cloth; fifty pounds of beads, ammunition, and a hundred other things to +be exchanged for the furs that would soon be in London and Paris. + +Fearfully Jan Thoreau ran out to meet the sledges. There were seven +Indians and one white man. Jan thrust himself close to look at the +white man. He wore two revolver-holsters and carried an automatic. +Unquestionably he was not a missionary, but an agent of the company +well prepared to care for the company's treasure. + +Jan hurried back to the cabin, his heart bubbling with a strange joy. + +"There ees no missioner, Melisse!" he cried triumphantly, dropping +beside her, his face glowing with the gladness of his tidings. "You +shall be good and beautiful, lak HER, but you shall not be baptize by +missioner! He has not come!" + +A few minutes later Cummins came in. One of his hands was torn and +bleeding. + +"Those Eskimo dogs are demons!" he growled. "If they knew how to stand +on their legs, they'd eat our huskies alive! Will you help me with +this?" + +Jan was at work in an instant, bandaging the wounded hand. + +"It ees not deep," he said; and then, without looking up, he added: +"The missioner did not come." + +"No," said Cummins shortly. "Neither has the mail. He is with that." + +He did not notice the sudden tremble of Jan's fingers, nor did he see +the startled look that shot into the boy's down-turned eyes. Jan +finished his bandaging without betraying his emotion, and went back +with Cummins to the company's store. + +The next morning, two Chippewayans trailed in with a team of mongrel +curs from the south. Thereafter Cummins found but little time to devote +to Melisse. The snow was softening rapidly, and the daily increasing +warmth of the sun hastened the movement of the trappers. Mukee's people +from the western Barren Lands arrived first, bringing with them great +loads of musk-ox and caribou skins, and an army of big-footed, +long-legged Mackenzie hounds that pulled like horses and wailed like +whipped puppies when the huskies and Eskimo dogs set upon them. + +From east and west and south all trails now led to the post. By the end +of the third day after the arrival of the company's supplies, a babel +of fighting, yelling, ceaselessly moving discord had driven forth the +peace and quiet in which Cummins' wife had died. The fighting and +discord were among the dogs, and the yelling was a necessary human +accompaniment. Half a hundred packs, almost as wild and as savage as +the wolves from whom half of them possessed a strong inheritance of +blood, were thrown suddenly into warring confusion. + +All the dogs were fighters except the big, soft-throated Mackenzie +hounds, with the slow strength of oxen in their movements, and the +quarter-strained and half-strained mongrels from the south; and upon +these unfortunates the others preyed. Packs of fierce Labrador dogs, +never vanquished except by death, came from close to Hudson's Bay. Team +after team of the little yellow and gray Eskimo dogs, as quick with +their fangs as were their black and swift-running masters with their +hands and feet, met the much larger and darker-colored Malemutes from +the Athabasca. Enemies of all these, fighting, snapping, and snarling, +with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wolf progenitors, +packs of fierce huskies trailed in from all sides. + +There was no cessation in the battle of the fangs. It began with the +first brute arrivals. It continued from dawn through the day, and +around the campfires at night. There was never an end to the strife +between the dogs, and between the men and the dogs. The snow was +stained and trailed with blood, and the scent of it added greater +fierceness to the wolf-breeds. Half a dozen battles were fought to the +death each day and night. Those that died were chiefly the south-bred +curs--mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane, and sheep-dogs--and the fatally +slow Mackenzie hounds. + +From its towering height the sentinel spruce frowned down upon the +savage life that had come to outrage the grave it guarded. Yet beyond +all this discord and bloody strife there was a great, throbbing human +happiness--a beating of honest hearts filled to overflowing with the +joys of the moment, a welding of new friendships, a renewal of old +ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things +under the cold gray of the northern skies. + +There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against man +in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the +caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the +life-blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter +of the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel. + +One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big +spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in the +afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about the +grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around it a +barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to the +cabin and Melisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near the +spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin the +paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild forest +men who came to look upon the little Melisse. + +These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby, +as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange +things, for all who came gave something to Melisse. There were polar +bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got +them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of fur, +bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at fabulous +prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk--from +Mukee's people of the west barrens. + +To Jan this homage to Melisse was more than gratifying. It formed a +bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and +he went more freely among them, and made friends. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL + + +Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de Gravois; +but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Melisse: + +"They have been good to you, my Melisse. I will give them ze museek of +ze violon." + +It was the big night at the post--the night that is known from +Athabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week had +passed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the company's +ledger each man had received his credit, and in the company's store the +furs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had been killed by Per-ee +and his hunters; and on this night, when Jan took down his violin from +its peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in the open, and on spits six +inches in diameter the caribou were roasting. + +The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above the +fighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices in +wild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, the +silence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them. +Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was +the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in +meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped +fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red +glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the +company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these +same men back again at the end of another trapping season. + +Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real +butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the +occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it in +yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, bubbled +and steamed half a barrel of coffee. + +The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs +gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters, +their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not +for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion +stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the +pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated into +the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was luring +from out of the South. + +Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of +men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and +black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes, +he began to play. + +It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Melisse that +he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the autumn +winds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man and dog +in a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life about him +became like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed Jan saw +nothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half-cringing +little black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet away, +nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking upon +this miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there was a +deep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and sweeter; +and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was playing that +which he loved most of all--the music that had filled the little cabin +when Cummins' wife died. + +As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--a +low refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grew +beyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rose +from the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's violin. +To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness and grief +of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and unconsciously his voice +rose and fell softly with the wailing of the brute chorus. But to the +others it was a thing that rose portentous above their understanding, a +miracle of mystery that smote them with awe even as they surrendered +themselves to the wonderful sweetness of the music. + +Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He +saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to man, +and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the dogs sat +full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed straight to +the stars in the sky. + +Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through +the crouching Eskimos to Jan. + +"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's +ear. "Play something fast!" + +Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the +strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of +his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and +clear in words familiar to them all: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the +firelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of the +company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in crescendos of +stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent circle of +awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices. + +The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the odors +in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the fire, +long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses were +turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell sizzling into +the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's violin rose +higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper in the tumult. + +The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and +his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the +long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts +driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a +final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence +fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms +frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze +cariboo-oo-oo--'" + +With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his +violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of untamed +voices. + +"Now!" yelled Cummins again. + +The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay, +burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air. + +"Now!" he shrieked. + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! + Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + He ready now to come 'n' eat!" + +With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and his +Crees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon the +snow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watched +the wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, they +crowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from his +vocal exertions, joined him. + +"Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribou +roast." + +"So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostling +crowd. + +"It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond the +Great Slave country." + +"Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near to +ze Great Bear." + +The factor stared at him in amazement. + +"You saw it?" he exclaimed. + +But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond the +packs of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on the +cabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him, +and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no word +to Melisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot. + +Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement about +the great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his head, he +plunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and jostling with +the others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he forced himself +through to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, kneeling with +turned-up sleeves and greasy hands beside the huge roast, and when he +saw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was neither laughter nor song +in Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with a strange savageness which +was more savage than the wildest yells of the half-breed Crees, and his +great eyes burned fiercely as they rested for an instant upon Cummins' +face. + +Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife dropped +to his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew back a +step, Jan sprang to him. + +"Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who you +fight at ze Great Bear?" + +The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel as +he saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and gripped +the boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch. + +"For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze Great +Bear?" + +"We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking so +low that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped. + +"Ze missioner!" panted Jan. + +The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, and +the softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's grip +on the boy's wrists. + +"Yes, the missioner!" + +Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his way +among the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his Crees +pulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to the +fresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ran +swiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the scraps +that had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the savage +banquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to Melisse. + +Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caught +the baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to and +fro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand. + +"An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angel +Melisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for letting +out the blood of a missioner!" + +He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down his +violin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE FIGHT AT DAWN + + +For a few moments Jan stood with his back to Melisse and his eyes upon +the carnival about the great fire. As he looked, the third caribou was +pulled down from its spit, and the multitude of dogs rushed in upon the +abandoned carcasses of the other two. + +He caught his breath quickly as a loud shout and the wailing yelp of a +hurt dog rose for an instant above all other sounds. Only one thing was +wanting to complete another picture in his brain--a scene which had +burned itself into his life for ever, and which he strove to fight back +as he stood staring from the doorway. He half expected it to come--the +shrill scream of a boyish voice, an instant's sullen quiet, then the +low-throated thunder of impending vengeance--and the fight! + +With marvelous quickness his excited mind reconstructed the scene +before him into the scene that had been. He heard the scream again, +which had been HIS voice; saw, as if in a dream, the frenzied rush of +men and the flash of knives; and then, from where he lay trampled and +bleeding in the snow, the long, lean team of swift huskies that had +carried in mad flight the one whose life those knives sought. + +Williams had been there; he had seen the fight--his knife had flashed +with the others in its demand for life. And yet he--Jan Thoreau--had +not been recognized by the factor out there beside the caribou roast! + +He hurried toward the fire. Half-way across the open he stopped. From +out of the forest opposite Cummins' cabin there trailed slowly a team +of dogs. In the shadows of the spruce, hidden from the revelers, the +team halted. Jan heard the low voices of men, and a figure detached +itself from the gloom, walking slowly and in the manner of one near to +exhaustion in the direction of the carnival. + +It was a new team. It had come from the trails to the east, and Jan's +heart gave a sudden jump as he thought of the missionary who was +expected with the overdue mail. At first he had a mind to intercept the +figure laboring across the open, but without apparent reason he changed +his course and approached the sledge. + +As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind +the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it +stopped and waited. + +"Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any +nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" + +The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that +he could see the stranger. + +"You come from Churchill?" he asked. + +His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him +to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the +glowing fire flashed in his eyes. + +"Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day." + +Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into +the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within +reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's +violin dropped to the snow. + +For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself +back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the +boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a +name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast. + +The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared +himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the +knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent the +boy reeling to the ground. + +Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the dogs +turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the sledge +disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his feet, and +stood swaying in his weakness. Then he followed. + +He forgot that he was leaving his knife in the snow, forgot that back +there about the fire there were other dogs and other men. He only knew +that once before he had seen a sledge slip off into the wilderness; +that its going had left him a life of hatred and bitterness and desire +for vengeance; and that this was the same man who was slipping away +from him in the same way again. + +He followed, sickened by the blow, but gaining strength as he pursued. +Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the toboggan and the cautious +lashing of a whip over the backs of the tired huskies. The sounds +filled him with fierce strength. He wiped away the warm trickle of +blood that ran over his cheek, and began to run, slowly at first, +swinging in the easy wolf-lope of the forest runner, with his elbows +close to his sides. + +At that pace he could have followed for hours, losing when the pack +took a spurt, gaining when they lagged, an insistent Nemesis just +behind when the weighted dogs lay down in their traces. But there was +neither the coolness of Mukee nor the cleverness of Jean de Gravois in +the manner of Jan's running. When he heard the cracking of the whip +growing fainter, he dropped his arms straight to his sides and ran more +swiftly, his brain reeling with the madness of his desire to reach the +sledge--to drag from it the man who had struck him, to choke life from +the face that haunted that mental picture of his, grinning at him and +gloating always from the shadow world, just beyond the pale, sweet +loveliness of the woman who lived in it. + +That picture came to him now as he ran, more and more vividly, and from +out of it the woman urged him on to the vengeance which she demanded of +him, her great eyes glowing like fire, her beautiful face torn with the +agony which he had last seen in it in life. + +To Jan Thoreau there seemed almost to come from that face a living +voice, crying to him its prayer for retribution, pleading with him to +fasten his lithe, brown hands about the throat of the monster upon the +sledge ahead, and choke from it all life. It drove reason from him, +leaving him with the one thought that the monster was almost within +reach; and he replied to the prayer with the breath that came in +moaning exhaustion from between his lips. + +He did not feel the soft, sun-packed snow under the beat of his feet. +He received the lash of low-hanging bushes without experiencing the +sensation of their sting. Only he knew that he wanted air--more and +more air; and to get it he ran with open mouth, struggling and gasping +for it, and yet not knowing that Jean de Gravois would have called him +a fool for the manner in which he sought it. + +He heard more and more faintly the run of the sledge. Then he heard it +no longer, and even the cracking of the whip died away. His heart +swelled in a final bursting effort, and he plunged on, until at last +his legs crumpled under him and he pitched face downward in the snow, +like a thing stung by sudden death. + +It was then, with his scratched and bleeding face lying in the snow, +that reason began to return to him. After a little while he dragged +himself weakly to his knees, still panting from the mad effort he had +made to overtake the sledge. From a great distance he heard faintly the +noise of shouting, the whispering echo of half a hundred voices, and he +knew that the sound came from the revelers at the post. It was proof to +him that there had been no interruption to the carnival, and that the +scene at the edge of the forest had been witnessed by none. Quickly his +mental faculties readjusted themselves. He rose to his feet, and for a +few moments stood hesitatingly. He had no weapon; but as his hand +rested upon the empty knife-sheath at his belt, there came to him a +thought of the way in which Mukee had avenged Cummins' wife, and he +turned again upon the trail. He no longer touched the low-hanging +bushes. He was no more than a shadow, appearing and disappearing +without warning, trailing as the white ermine follows its prey, +noiseless, alert, his body responding sinuously and without apparent +effort to the working commands of his brain. + +Where the forest broke into an open, lighted by the stars, he found +blood in the footprints of the leading dog. Half-way across the open, +he saw where the leader had swung out from the trail and the others of +the pack had crowded about him, to be urged on by the lashings of the +man's whip. Other signs of the pack's growing exhaustion followed close. + +The man now traveled beside the sledge where the trail was rough, and +rode where it was smooth and hard. The deep imprints of his heeled +boots in the soft snow showed that he ran for only a short distance at +a time--a hundred yards or less--and that after each running spell he +brought the pack to a walk. He was heavy and lacked endurance, and this +discovery brought a low cry of exultation to Jan's lips. + +He fell into a dog-trot. Mile after mile dropped behind him; other +miles were ahead of him, an endless wilderness of miles, and through +them the tired pack persisted, keeping always beyond sound and vision. + +The stars began fading out of the skies. The shadows of the forest grew +deeper and blacker, and where the aurora had lightened the heavens +there crept the somber gray film that preceded dawn by three hours. + +Jan followed more and more slowly. There was hard-breathing effort now +in his running--effort that caused him physical pain and discomfort. +His feet stumbled occasionally in the snow; his legs, from thigh to +knee, began to ache with the gnawing torment that centers in the +marrowbone; and with this beginning of the "runner's cramp" he was +filled with a new and poignant terror. + +Would the dogs beat him out? Sloughing in the trail, bleeding at every +foot, would they still drag their burden beyond the reach of his +vengeance? The fear fastened itself upon him, urging him to greater +effort, and he called upon the last of his strength in a spurt that +carried him to where the thick spruce gave place to thin bush, and the +bush to the barren and rocky side of a huge ridge, up which the trail +climbed strong and well defined. For a few paces he followed it, then +slipped and rolled back as the fatal paralysis deadened all power of +movement in his limbs. He lay where he fell, moaning out his grief with +his wide-staring eyes turned straight up into the cold gray of the +starless sky. + +For a long time he was motionless. From the top of the ridge, where the +trail cut over the mountain, he looked like a bit of fire-blackened +wood half buried in the snow. Half-way up the ridge a wolf, slinking +hungrily, sniffed first up the trail and then down, and broke the +stillness of the gray night-end with a mournful howl. It did not stir +Jan Thoreau. + +Long after the wolf had passed on, he moved a little, twisting himself +so that his eyes could follow the tracks made by the sledge and dogs. +When he came to where the snow-covered backbone of the ridge cut itself +in faint outline against the desolate coldness of the sky, there fell +from him the first sound of returning life. Up there he was sure that +he had seen something move--an object which at first he had taken for a +bush, and which he knew was not the wolf. + +He watched for its reappearance, until all sorts of gray dawn shadows +danced before his eyes. Then he began slowly to crawl up the trail. +Some of the dull, paralytic ache was gone from his limbs, and as he +worked his blood began to warm them into new strength, until he stood +up and sniffed like an animal in the wind that was coming over the +ridge from the south. + +There was something in that wind that thrilled him. It stung his +nostrils to a quick sensing of the nearness of something that was +human. He smelled smoke. In it there was the pungent odor of green +balsam, mixed with a faint perfume of pitch pine; and because the odor +of pitch grew stronger as he ascended, he knew that it was a small fire +that was making the smoke, with none of the fierce, dry woods to burn +up the smell. It was a fire hidden among the rocks, a tiny fire, over +which the fleeing missioner was cooking his breakfast. + +Jan almost moaned aloud in his gladness, and the old mad strength +returned to his body. Near the summit of the ridge he picked up a club. +It was a short, thick club, with the heavy end knotted and twisted. + +Cautiously he lifted his face over the rocks, and looked out upon a +plateau, still deep in snow, swept bare by the winter's winds, and +covered with rocks and bushes. His face was so white that at a little +distance it might have been taken for a snow hare. It went whiter when, +a few yards away, he saw the fire, the man, and the dogs. + +The man was close to the little blaze, his broad shoulders hunched +over, steadying a small pot over the flame. Beyond him were the dogs +huddled about the sledge, inanimate as death. + +Jan drew himself over the rocks. Once he had seen a big-footed lynx +creep upon a wide-awake fox, and like that lynx he crept upon the man +beside the fire. One of the tired dogs moved, and his pointed nostrils +quivered in the air. Jan lay flat in the snow. Then the dog's muzzle +dropped between his paws, and the boy moved on. + +Inch by inch he advanced. The inches multiplied themselves into a foot, +the foot lengthened into yards, and still the man remained hunched over +his simmering pot. + +Jan rose gently from his hands and knees to his feet, a furnace of +madness blazing in his eyes. The restless dog raised his head again. He +sniffed danger--near, menacing danger--and sprang up with a snarling +cry that brought the man over the fire to quick attention. In a flash +Jan took the last leap, and his club crashed down upon the missioner's +head. The man pitched over like a log, and with a shrill cry the boy +was at his throat. + +"I am Jan Thoreau!" he shrieked. "I am Jan Thoreau--Jan Thoreau--come +to keel you!" He dropped his club, and was upon the man's chest, his +slender fingers tightening like steel wire about the thick throat of +his enemy. "I keel you slow--slow!" he cried, as the missioner +struggled weakly. + +The great thick body heaved under him, and he put all his strength into +his hands. Something struck him in the face. Something struck him again +and again, but he felt neither the pain nor the force of it, and his +voice sobbed out his triumph as he choked. The man's hands reached up +and tore at his hair; but Jan saw only the missioner's mottled face +growing more mottled, and his eyes staring in greater agony up into his +own. + +"I am Jan Thoreau," he panted again and again. "I am Jan Thoreau, an' I +keel you--keel you!" + +The blood poured from his face. It blinded him until he could no longer +see the one from which he was choking life. He bent down his head to +escape the blows. The man's body heaved more and more; it turned until +he was half under it; but still he hung to the thick throat, as the +weasel hangs in tenacious death to the jugular of its prey. + +The missioner's weight was upon him in crushing force now. His huge +hands struck and tore at the boy's head and face, and then they had +fastened themselves at his neck. Jan was conscious of a terrible effort +to take in breath, but he was not conscious of pain. The clutch did not +frighten him. It did not make him loosen his grip. His fingers dug +deeper. He strove to cry out still his words of triumph; but he could +make no sound, except a gasping like that which came from between the +gaping jaws of the man whose life his body and soul were fighting to +smother. + +There was death in each of the two grips; but the man's was the +stronger, and his neck was larger and tougher, so that after a time he +staggered to his knees and then to his feet, while Jan lay upon his +back, his face and hair red with blood, his eyes wide open and with a +lifeless glare in them. The missioner looked down upon his victim in +horror. As the life that had nearly ebbed out of him poured back into +his body, he staggered among the dogs, fastened them to the sledge, and +urged them down the mountain into the plain. There was soon no sound of +the sledge. + +From a bush a dozen yards away a wondering moose-bird had watched the +terrible struggle. Now he hopped boldly upon Jan's motionless body, and +perked his head inquisitively as he examined the strange face, covered +with blood and twisted in torture. + +The gray film of dawn dissolved itself into the white beginning of day. +Far to the south, a bit of the red sunrise was creeping into the +northern world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JEAN AND JAN + + +Half a mile down the ridge, where it sloped up gradually from the +forests and swamps of the plain, a team of powerful Malemutes were +running at the head of a toboggan. On the sledge was a young half-Cree +woman. Now beside the sledge, now at the lead of the dogs, cracking his +whip and shouting joyously, ran Jean de Gravois. + +"Is it not beautiful, my Iowaka?" he cried for the hundredth time, in +Cree, leaping over a three-foot boulder in his boundless enthusiasm. +"Is this not the glorious world, with the sun just rising off there, +and spring only a few days away? It is not like the cold chills at +Churchill, which come up with the icebergs and stay there all summer! +What do you think of your Jean de Gravois and his country now?" + +Jean was bringing back with him a splendid young woman, with big, +lustrous eyes, and hair that shone with the gloss of a raven's wing in +the sun. She laughed at him proudly as he danced and leaped beside her, +replying softly in Cree, which is the most beautiful language in the +world, to everything that he said. + +Jean leaped and ran, cracked his caribou whip, and shouted and sang +until he was panting and red in the face. Just as Iowaka had called +upon him to stop and get a second wind, the Malemutes dropped back upon +their haunches where Jan Thoreau lay, twisted and bleeding, in the snow. + +"What is this?" cried Jean. + +He caught Jan's limp head and shoulders up in his arms, and called +shrilly to Iowaka, who was disentangling herself from the thick furs in +which he had wrapped her. + +"It is the fiddler I told you about, who lives with Williams at Post +Lac Bain!" he shouted excitedly in Cree. "He has been murdered! He has +been choked to death, and torn to pieces in the face, as if by an +animal!" Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a +fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints--a big man and a small boy, and +the murderer has gone on a sledge!" + +"He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." + +Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing with +a dangerous fire. In a single leap he was at the side of the sledge, +throwing off the furs and bundles and all other objects except his +rifle. + +"He is dead, Iowaka. Look at the purple and black in his face. It is +Jean de Gravois who will catch the murderer, and you will stay here and +make yourself a camp. Hi-o-o-o-o!" he shouted to the Malemutes. + +The team twisted sinuously and swiftly in the trail as he sped over the +edge of the mountain. Upon the plain below he knelt upon the toboggan, +with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing commands, which +reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team stretched their long +bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his huskies. + +Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he +laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent +Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a +short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of +swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering +until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile +farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the +smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the +fleeing missioner. + +The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and +with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw +the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his +dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter of +something that flashed for a moment in the sun. + +"Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at +Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of +happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the +backs of his Malemutes. "He fires at Jean de Gravois, and it is Jean +who can hamstring a caribou at three hundred yards on the run!" + +For an instant, at the crack of his rifle, there was no movement ahead; +then something rolled from the sledge and lay doubled up in the snow. A +hundred yards beyond it, the huskies stopped in a rabble and turned to +look at the approaching strangers. + +Beside it Jean stopped; and when he saw the face that stared up at him, +he clutched his thin hands in his long black hair and cried out, in +shrill amazement and horror: + +"The saints in Heaven, it is the missioner from Churchill!" + +He turned the man over, and found where his bullet had entered under +one arm and come out from under the other. There was no spark of life +left. The missioner was already dead. + +"The missioner from Churchill!" he gasped again. + +He looked up at the warm sun, and kicked the melting snow under his +moccasined feet. + +"It will thaw very soon," he said to himself, looking again at the dead +man, "and then he will go into the lake." + +He headed his Malemutes back to the forest. Then he ran out and cut the +traces of the exhausted huskies, and with his whip scattered them in +freedom over the ice. + +"Go to the wolves!" he shouted in Cree. "Hide yourselves from the post, +or Jean de Gravois will cut out your tongues and take your skins off +alive!" + +When he came back to the top of the mountain, Jean found Iowaka making +hot coffee, while Jan was bundled up in furs near the fire. + +"It is as I said," she called. "He is alive!" + +Thus it happened that the return of Jean de Gravois to the post was +even more dramatic than he had schemed it to be, for he brought back +with him not only a beautiful wife from Churchill, but also the half +dead Jan Thoreau from the scene of battle on the mountain. And in the +mystery of it all he reveled for two days; for Jean de Gravois said not +a word about the dead man on the lake beyond the forest, nor did the +huskies come back into their bondage to give a hint of the missing +missionary. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RED SNOW-FLOWERS + + +From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers began +scattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second day +Mukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens. +Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to the +south and east. + +Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late spring +trapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jean +waited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy was +bolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Melisse on +the edge of the bed when he came in. + +For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign to +Cummins, who joined him at the door. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk with +the boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears should +hear but his own. Will it be right?" + +"Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry him +about the missionary. You'll not get a word from him." + +Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravois +came and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had brought +him alive into the post, and now there was something in the suggestive +grimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness with which he +looked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure but that the +walls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a little faster as +he speculated upon what Jean was going to say. + +For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin, +black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. He +twisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble as +that of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinned +at Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces. + +"Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a brave +boy, Jan Thoreau!" + +"You did not see it?" asked Jan. + +Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of his +thin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French to +the bottom of his soul. + +"I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, as +plain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail that +staggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? And +when I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon it, +like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead body of +the missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?" + +Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry. + +"Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is no +need of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virgin +made me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyes +that the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a few +days. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked about +him cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about the +dead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE GRAVOIS!" + +He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, Jan +Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de +Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will +find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it +in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the +barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." He +turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and +shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau +understands?" he said, and passed out. + +When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a +fever. + +"Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. + +"He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him." + +On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of the +fever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon he +harnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from the +post that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in the +deepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made by +the company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill. + +This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he had +fought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles beyond. +Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he followed +the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his Malemutes until +he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de Gravois had spoken +the truth, for he found the missionary with his face half buried in the +slush, stark dead. + +He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. The +bullet-hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes like +Jan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heart +there came another face, to remain always with him--the face of the +courageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride back +into the country of the Athabasca. + +Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it was +dusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins was +waiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile on +Jan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had never +seen there before. From that night they were no longer filled with the +nervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an appearance +almost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, there was a +warmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the effect of the +change as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more entirely of +Melisse. + +A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought it +to Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play, +and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and both +the man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There was +the fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully unfastened +the strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil lamp, so +that he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the box. + +He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to the +wall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Jan +fished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or four +efforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him. +Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightly +rolled cylinder of faded red cloth. + +For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins, +unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon the +table before him a number of closely written pages of paper. He +weighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at the +other with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pages +were in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another so +closely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jan +took his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the others +he bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing breath. + +On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paper +there still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hour +Jan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to the +last page. + +When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for an +instant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep. +Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, without +disturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the south +and east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring moon +was coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, a new +and strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his arms, +with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from out of +that growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him. + +For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of the +great world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman's +letter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering, +thrilling eagerness: + +"I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Melisse come too!" + +He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded red +cloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before he +reentered the cabin. + +The next morning Cummins stood in the door, and said: + +"How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring. +We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish." + +Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and the +air was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents of +the budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of the +forest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose-birds +chirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night in +bough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; and +snowbirds--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whisk +about like so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to day +until they became new creatures in a new world. + +The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fat +peas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied by +little ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down the +slender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from the +blizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they had +passed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak and +sick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the crackle +of crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and tree; and +each night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept farther and +farther toward the pole in its fading glory. + +The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came in +from out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, taking +back into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life. +Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company's +chief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had a +good deal of extra time on his hands. + +Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in logs +for an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking out in +the sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Melisse looked upon the new +home-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. Cummins' face +glowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the bearskin and +gave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts. + +Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the little +Melisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed from +Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened +frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and +even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow +near Melisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw +fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter +of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought +of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies +and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic +indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Melisse. + +"I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time," +confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his +violin. "She is nearly six months old." + +"Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly +stopping the tightening of his strings. + +Cummins stared. + +"Why?" + +Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. + +"Because I have heard her many times say, +'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'--which means candee; and always I have given +her candee, an' now ze leetle Melisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time." + +"Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?" + +Like a shot Jan replied: + +"I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!" + +He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He went +to the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruce +over the grave. Later he said to Jan: + +"It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when she +says 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!" + +The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman's +grave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of a +great ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him a +basket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to their +roots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, and +around its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea and +backneesh. + +As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he took +Melisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and together +they picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave was +never without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new addition +complete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring up +out of the earth. + +Jan and Melisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there was +pleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in the +presence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deep +grief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all that +this desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with the +excruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died but +yesterday. + +When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried his +head in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved them. She +had always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out of the wet +earth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for them, and had +fastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her hair. Those were +the days when, like happy children, they had romped and laughed +together out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had caught her up +in his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but gloriously +happy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she would sit +and laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper. + +Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off alone +into the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him his +moccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in their +wanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him, +and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of the +woman and die. + +Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Melisse were to +cherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were to +spring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even as +his own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in the +future. He gave up Melisse to Jan. + +At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of mental +torture, he said that the company's business was calling him to +Churchill, and early in August he left for the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +FOR HER + + +Upon Jan now fell a great responsibility. Melisse was his own. Days +passed before he could realize the fullness of his possession. He had +meant to go by the Athabasca water route to see Jean de Gravois, +leaving Melisse to Cummins for a fortnight or so. Now he gave this up. +Day and night he guarded the child; and to Jan's great joy it soon came +to pass that whenever he was compelled to leave her for a short time, +Melisse would cry for him. At least Maballa assured him that this was +so, and Melisse gave evidence of it by her ecstatic joy when he +returned. + +When Cummins came back from Fort Churchill in the autumn, he brought +with him a pack full of things for Melisse, including new books and +papers, for which he had spent a share of his season's earnings. As he +was freeing these treasures from their wrapping of soft caribou skin, +with Jan and Melisse both looking on, he stopped suddenly and glanced +from his knees up at the boy. + +"They're wondering over at Churchill what became of the missionary who +left with the mail, Jan. They say he was last seen at the Etawney." + +"And not here?" replied Jan quickly. + +"Not that they know of," said Cummins, still keeping his eyes on the +boy. "The man who drove him never got back to Churchill. They're +wondering where the driver went, too. A company officer has gone up to +the Etawney, and it is possible he may come over to Lac Bain. I don't +believe he'll find the missionary." + +"Neither do I," said Jan quite coolly. "He is probably dead, and the +wolves and foxes have eaten him before this--or mebby ze feesh!" + +Cummins resumed his task of unpacking, and among the books which he +brought forth there were two which he gave to Jan. + +"The supply ship from London came in while I was at Churchill, and +those came with it," he explained. "They're school-books. There's going +to be a school at Churchill next winter, and the winter after that it +will be at York Factory, down on the Hayes." He settled back on his +heels and looked at Jan. "It's the first school that has ever come +nearer than four hundred miles of us. That's at Prince Albert." + +For many succeeding days Jan took long walks alone in the forest +trails, and silently thrashed out the two problems which Cummins had +brought back from Churchill for him. Should he warn Jean de Gravois +that a company officer was investigating the disappearance of the +missionary? + +At first his impulse was to go at once into Jean's haunts beyond the +Fond du Lac, and give him the news. But even if the officer did come to +Post Lac Bain, how would he know that the missionary was at the bottom +of the lake, and that Jean de Gravois was accountable for it? So in the +end Jan decided that it would be folly to stir up the little hunter's +fears, and he thought no more of the company's investigator who had +gone up to the Etawney. + +But the second problem was one whose perplexities troubled him. +Cummins' word of the school at Churchill had put a new and thrilling +thought into his head, and always with that thought he coupled visions +of the growing Melisse. This year the school would be at Churchill, and +the next at York Factory, and after that it might be gone for ever, so +that when Melisse grew up there would be none nearer than what Jan +looked upon as the other end of the world. Why could not he go to +school for Melisse, and store up treasures which in time he might turn +over to her? + +The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever +entered into his dreams of what life held for him--that he, Jan +Thoreau, should learn to read and write, and do other things like the +people of the far South, so that he might help to make the little +creature in the cabin like her who slept under the watchful spruce. He +was stirred to the depths of his soul, now with fear, again with hope +and desire and ambition; and it was not until the first cold chills of +approaching winter crept down from the north and east that the ultimate +test came, and he told Cummins of his intention. + +Once his mind was settled, Jan lost no time in putting his plans into +action. Mukee knew the trail to Churchill, and agreed to leave with him +on the third day--which gave Williams' wife time to make him a new coat +of caribou skin. + +On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin; +and after Melisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms +and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in silence. +When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall, Cummins put +one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him to the door, +where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of the forest +that rose black and silent against the starlit background of the sky. +High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree over the +grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and Cummins' eyes +rested there. + +"She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that +you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in +the skies. I believe--she knows--now--" + +The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped until +his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something of the +gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan caught the +hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own. + +"Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?" + +"I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. +"I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night +because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up +into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Melisse was here," he +finished. + +For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back +into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner +he took a buckskin bag. + +"You are going to Churchill for Melisse and for HER" he said in a voice +pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this." + +Jan drew a step back. + +"No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for +Melisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?" + +His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant. +Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by +the arm. + +"Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Melisse," he exclaimed with +finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work +with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!" +There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you +take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?" + +Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush burned +in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look that came +into his eyes. + +"I pay back this gold to you and Melisse a hundred times!" he cried +tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!" + +Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had +stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall. +Cummins turned to look. When he faced him again the boy's arm had +fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. + +The next day he left. No one heard his last words to Melisse, or +witnessed his final leave-taking of her, for Cummins sympathized with +the boy's grief and went out of the cabin an hour before Mukee was +ready with his pack. The last that he heard was Jan's violin playing +low, sweet music to the child. Three weeks later, when Mukee returned +to Lac Bain, he said that Jan had traveled to Churchill like one who +had lost his tongue, and that far into the nights he had played lonely +dirges upon his violin. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A RUMOR FROM THE SOUTH + + +It was a long winter for Cummins and Melisse. It was a longer one for +Jan. He had taken with him a letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the +factor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerk's +assistant at the post--a young, red-faced man who had come over on the +ship from England. He was a cheerful, good-natured young fellow, and +when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from the +Barren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested +himself with the responsibilities of a private tutor. + +He taught Jan, first of all, to say "is" in place of "ees." It was a +tremendous lesson for Jan, but he struggled with it manfully, and a +week after his arrival, when one evening he was tuning his violin to +play for young MacDonald, he said with eager gravity: + +"Ah, I have it now, Mr. MacDonald. It ees not 'EES,' it ees 'EES!'" + +MacDonald roared, but persisted, and in time Jan began to get the twist +out of his tongue. + +The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or +so, gathered there from forty thousand square miles of wilderness. Two +white youths and a half-breed had come from the Etawney; the factor at +Nelson House sent up his son, and from the upper waters of the Little +Churchill there came three others. + +From the first, Jan's music found him a premier place in the interest +of the tutor sent over by the company. He studied by night as well as +by day, and by the end of the second month his only competitor was the +youth from Nelson House. His greatest source of knowledge was not the +teacher, but MacDonald. There was in him no inherent desire for the +learning of the people to the south. That he was storing away, like a +faithful machine, for the use of Melisse. But MacDonald gave him that +for which his soul longed--a picture of life as it existed in the +wonderful world beyond the wilderness, to which some strange spirit +within him, growing stronger as the weeks and months passed, seemed +projecting his hopes and his ambitions. + +Between his thoughts of Melisse and Lac Bain, he dreamed of that other +world; and several times during the winter he took the little roll from +the box of his violin, and read again and again the written pages that +it contained. + +"Some time I will go," he assured himself always. "Some time, when +Melisse is a little older, and can go too." + +To young MacDonald, the boy from Lac Bain was a "find." The Scottish +youth was filled with an immense longing for home; and as his +homesickness grew, he poured more and more into Jan's attentive ears +his knowledge of the world from which he had come. He told him the +history of the old brass cannon that lay abandoned among the vines and +bushes, where a fort had stood at Churchill many years before. He +described the coming of the first ship into the great bay; told of +Hudson and his men, of great wars that his listener had never dreamed +of, of kings and queens and strange nations. At night he read a great +deal to Jan out of books that he had brought over with him. + +As the weeks and months passed, the strange spirit that was calling to +the forest boy out of that other world stirred more restlessly within +him. At times it urged him to confide in MacDonald what was hidden away +in the box of his violin. + +The secret nearly burst from him one Sunday, when MacDonald said: + +"I'm going home on the ship that comes over next summer. What do you +say to going back with me, Jan?" + +The spirit surged through Jan in a hot flood, and it was only an +accident that kept him from saying what was in his heart. + +They were standing with the icy bay stretching off in interminable +miles toward the pole. A little way from them, the restless tide was +beating up through the broken ice, and eating deeper into the frozen +shore. From out of the bank there projected, here and there, the ends +of dark, box-like objects, which, in the earlier days of the company, +had been gun-cases. In them were the bones of men who had lived and +died an age ago; and as Jan looked at the silent coffins, now falling +into the sea, another spirit--the spirit that bound him to +Melisse--entered into him, and he shuddered as he thought of what might +happen in the passing of a year. + +It was this spirit that won. In the spring, Jan went back to Lac Bain +with the company's supplies. The next autumn he followed the school to +York Factory, and the third year he joined it at Nelson House. Then the +company's teacher died, and no one came to fill his place. + +In midwinter of this third year, Jan returned to Lac Bain, and, hugging +the delighted Melisse close in his arms, he told her that never again +would he go away without her. Melisse, tightening her arms around his +neck, made his promise sacred by offering her little rosebud of a mouth +for him to kiss. Later, the restless spirit slumbering within his +breast urged him to speak to Cummins. + +"When Melisse is a little older, should we not go with her into the +South?" he said. "She must not live for ever in a place like this." + +Cummins looked at him for an instant as if he did not understand. When +Jan's meaning struck home, his eyes hardened, and there was the vibrant +ring of steel in his quiet voice. + +"Her mother will be out there under the old spruce until the end of +time," he said slowly; "and we will never leave her--unless, some day, +Melisse goes alone." + +From that hour Jan no longer looked into the box of his violin. He +struggled against the desire that had grown with his years until he +believed that he had crushed it and stamped it out of his existence. In +his life there came to be but one rising and one setting of the sun. +Melisse was his universe. She crowded his heart until beyond her he +began to lose visions of any other world. + +Each day added to his joy. He called her "my little sister," and with +sweet gravity Melisse called him "brother Jan," and returned in full +measure his boundless love. He marked the slow turning of her flaxen +hair into sunny gold, and month by month watched joyfully the deepening +of that gold into warm shades of brown. She was to be like her mother! +Jan's soul rejoiced, and in his silent way Cummins offered up wordless +prayers of thankfulness. + +So matters stood at Post Lac Bain in the beginning of Melisse's ninth +year, when up from the south there came a rumor. As civil war spreads +its deepest gloom, as the struggle of father against son and brother +against brother stifles the breathing of nations, so this rumor set +creeping a deep pall over the forest people. + +Rumor grew into rumor. From the east, the south and the west they +multiplied, until on all sides the Paul Reveres of the wilderness +carried news that the Red Terror was at their heels, and the chill of a +great fear swept like a shivering wind from the edge of civilization to +the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED TERROR + + +Nineteen years before these same rumors had come up from the south, and +the Red Terror had followed. The horror of it still remained with the +forest people; for a thousand unmarked graves, shunned like a +pestilence, and scattered from the lower waters of James Bay to the +lake country of the Athabasca, gave evidence of the toll it demanded. + +From DuBrochet, on Reindeer Lake, authentic word first came to Lac Bain +early in the winter. Henderson was factor there, and he passed up the +warning that had come to him from Nelson House and the country to the +southeast. + +"There's smallpox on the Nelson," his messenger informed Williams, "and +it has struck the Crees on Wollaston Lake. God only knows what it is +doing to the bay Indians, but we hear that it is wiping out the +Chippewayans between the Albany and the Churchill." He left the same +day with his winded dogs. "I'm off for the Revillon people to the west, +with the compliments of our company," he explained. + +Three days later, word came from Churchill that all of the company's +servants and her majesty's subjects west of the bay should prepare +themselves for the coming of the Red Terror. Williams' thick face went +as white as the paper he held, as he read the words of the Churchill +factor. + +"It means dig graves," he said. "That's the only preparation we can +make!" + +He read the paper aloud to the men at Lac Bain, and every available man +was detailed to spread the warning throughout the post's territory. +There was a quick harnessing of dogs, and on each sledge that went out +was a roll of red cotton cloth. Williams' face was still white as he +passed these rolls out from the company's store. They were ominous of +death, lurid signals of pestilence and horror, and the touch of them +sent shuddering chills through the men who were about to scatter them +among the forest people. + +Jan went over the Churchill trail, and then swung southward along the +Hasabala, where the country was crisscrossed with trap-lines of the +half-breeds and the French. First, he struck the cabin of Croisset and +his wife, and left part of his cloth. Then he turned westward, while +Croisset harnessed his dogs and hurried with a quarter of the roll to +the south. Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other +cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to the +south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry Langlois, +the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third day, Jan +set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of the same +day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail. On this he camped until +morning. When dawn came he began following it. + +He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was +there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found the +remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little but the +bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, with its +head eaten off. With growing perplexity, Jan examined the snow-shoe +trails in the snow. The most recent of them were days old. He urged on +his dogs, stopping no more at the trap-houses, until, with a shrieking +command, he brought them to a halt at the edge of a clearing cut in the +forest. A dozen rods ahead of him was the trapper's cabin. Over it, +hanging limply to a sapling pole, was the red signal of horror. + +With a terrified cry to the dogs, Jan ran back, and the team turned +about and followed him in a tangled mass. Then he stopped. There was no +smoke rising from the clay chimney on the little cabin. Its one window +was white with frost. Again and again he shouted, but no sign of life +responded to his cries. He fired his rifle twice, and waited with his +mittened hand over his mouth and nostrils. There was no reply. Then, +abandoning hope, he turned back into the north, and gave his dogs no +rest until he had reached Lac Bain. + +His team came in half dead. Both Cummins and Williams rushed out to +meet him as he drove up before the company's store. + +"The red flag is over Langlois' cabin!" he cried. "I fired my rifle and +shouted. There is no life! Langlois is dead!" + +"Great God!" groaned Williams. + +His red face changed to a sickly pallor, and he stood with his thick +hands clenched, while Cummins took charge of the dogs and Jan went into +the store for something to eat. + +Mukee and Per-ee returned to the post the next day. Young Williams +followed close after them, filled with terror. He had found the plague +among the Crees of the Waterfound. + +Each day added to the gloom at Lac Bain. For a time Jan could not fully +understand, and he still played his violin and romped joyfully with +Melisse in the little cabin. He had not lived through the plague of +nineteen years before. Most of the others had, even to Mukee, the +youngest of them all. + +Jan did not know that it was this Red Terror that came like a Nemesis +of the gods to cut down the people of the great Northland, until they +were fewer in number than those of the Sahara desert. But he learned +quickly. In February, the Crees along Wollaston Lake were practically +wiped out. Red flags marked the trail of the Nelson. Death leaped from +cabin to cabin in the wilderness to the west. By the middle of the +month, Lac Bain was hemmed in by the plague on all sides but the north. + +The post's trap-lines had been shortened; now they were abandoned +entirely, and the great fight began. Williams assembled his men, and +told them how that same battle had been fought nearly two decades +before. For sixty miles about the post every cabin and wigwam that +floated a red flag must be visited--and burned if the occupants were +dead. In learning whether life or death existed in these places lay the +peril for those who undertook the task. It was a dangerous mission. It +meant facing a death from which those who listened to the old factor +shrank with dread; yet, when the call came, they responded to a man. + +Cummins and Jan ate their last supper together, with Melisse sitting +between them and wondering at their silence. When it was over, the two +went outside. + +"Mukee wasn't at the store," said Cummins in a thick, strained voice, +halting Jan in the gloom behind the cabin. "Williams thought he was off +to the south with his dogs. But he isn't. I saw him drag himself into +his shack, like a sick dog, an hour before dusk. There'll be a red flag +over Lac Bain in the morning." + +Jan stifled the sharp cry on his lips. + +"Ah, there's a light!" cried Cummins. "It's a pitch torch burning in +front of his door!" + +A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and +the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father--a +wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing +of a dog. Sudden lights flashed into the night, as they had flashed +years ago when Cummins staggered forth from his home with word of the +woman's death. He gripped Jan's arm in a sudden spasm of horror. + +"The flag is up NOW!" he whispered huskily. "Go back to Melisse. There +is food in the house for a month, and you can bring the wood in +to-night. Bar the door. Open only the back window for air. Stay +inside--with her--until it is all over. Go!" + +"To the red flags, that is where I will go!" cried Jan fiercely, +wrenching his arm free. "It is your place to stay with Melisse!" + +"My place is with the men." + +"And mine?" Jan drew himself up rigid. + +"One of us must shut himself up with her," pleaded Cummins. "It must be +you." His face gleamed white in the darkness. "You came--that +night--because Melisse was here. SOMETHING sent you--SOMETHING--don't +you understand? And since then she has never been near to death until +now. You must stay with Melisse--WITH YOUR VIOLIN!" + +"Melisse herself shall choose," replied Jan. "We will go into the +cabin, and the one to whom she comes first goes among the red flags. +The other shuts himself in the cabin until the plague is gone." + +He turned swiftly back to the door. As he opened it, he stepped aside +to let Cummins enter first, and behind the other's broad back he leaped +quickly to one side, his eyes glowing, his white teeth gleaming in a +smile. Unseen by Cummins, he stretched out his arms to Melisse, who was +playing with the strings of his violin on the table. + +He had done this a thousand times, and Melisse knew what it meant--a +kiss and a joyous toss halfway to the ceiling. She jumped from her +stool and ran to him; but this time, instead of hoisting her above his +head, he hugged her up close to his breast, and buried his face in her +soft hair. His eyes looked over her in triumph to Cummins. + +"Up, Jan, up--'way up!" cried Melisse. + +He tossed her until she half turned in midair, kissed her again as he +caught her in his arms, and set her, laughing and happy, on the edge of +the table. + +"I am going down among the sick Crees in Cummins' place," said Jan to +Williams, half an hour later. "Now that the plague has come to Lac +Bain, he must stay with Melisse." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A LONG WAITING + + +The next morning Jan struck out over his old trail to the Hasabala. The +Crees were gone. He spent a day swinging east and west, and found old +trails leading into the north. + +"They have gone up among the Eskimos," he said to himself. "Ah, Kazan, +what in the name of the saints is that?" + +The leading dog dropped upon his haunches with a menacing growl as a +lone figure staggered across the snow toward them. It was Croisset. +With a groan, he dropped upon the sledge. + +"I am sick and starving!" he wailed. "The fiend himself has got into my +cabin, and for three days I've had nothing but snow and a raw +whisky-jack!" + +"Sick!" cried Jan, drawing a step away from him. + +"Yes, sick from an empty belly, and this, and this!" He showed a +forearm done up in a bloody rag, and pointed to his neck, from which +the skin was peeling. "I was gone ten days with that red cloth you gave +me; and when I came back, if there wasn't the horror itself grinning at +me from the top of my own shanty! I tried to get in, but my wife barred +the door, and said that she would shoot me if I didn't get back into +the woods. I tried to steal in at night through a window, and she +drenched me in hot water. I built a wigwam at the edge of the forest, +and stayed there for five days. Hon-gree! Blessed saints, I had no +matches, no grub; and when I got close enough to yell these things to +her, she kept her word and plunked me through a crack in the door, so +that I lost a pint of blood from this arm." + +"I'll give you something to eat," laughed Jan, undoing his pack. "How +long has the red flag been up?" + +"I've lost all count of time, but it's twelve days, if an hour, and I +swear it's going to take all winter to get it down!" + +"It's not the plague. Go back and tell your wife so." + +"And get shot for my pains!" groaned Croisset, digging into meat and +biscuit. "I'm bound for Lac Bain, if you'll give me a dozen matches. +That whisky-jack will remain with me until I die, for when I ate him I +forgot to take out his insides!" + +"You're a lucky man, Croisset. It's good proof that she loves you." + +"If bullets and hot water and an empty belly are proofs, she loves me a +great deal, Jan Thoreau! Though I don't believe she meant to hit me. It +was a woman's bad aim." + +Jan left him beside a good fire, and turned into the southwest to burn +Langlois and his cabin. The red flag still floated where he had seen it +weeks before. The windows were thicker with frost. He shouted, beat +upon the door with the butt of his rifle and broke in the windows. The +silence of death quickened the beating of his heart when he stopped to +listen. There was no doubt that Langlois lay dead in his little home. + +Jan brought dry brushwood from the forest, and piled it high against +the logs. Upon his sledge he sat and watched the fire until the cabin +was a furnace of leaping flame. + +He continued westward. At the head of the Porcupine he found the +remains of three burned wigwams, and from one of them he dug out +charred bones. Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east +and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, +who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned +village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as he +went that the angels were guarding Melisse at Post Lac Bain. + +Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered +Jan. + +"The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal +over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as +thick as jays in springtime!" + +The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. + +"Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to +Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, +left the Gray Otter to burn them." + +Williams took down his birch-bark moose-horn and bellowed a weird +signal to Cummins, who opened a crack of his door to listen, with +Melisse close beside him. + +"Thoreau is in the thick of it to the south," he called. "There's too +much of it for him, and I'm going down with the dogs. Croisset will +stay in the store for a few days." + +Melisse heard the words, and her eyes were big with fear when her +father turned from closing and bolting the door. In more than a +childish way, she knew that Jan had gone forth to face a great danger. +The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun +to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, +just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the +responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. + +She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant. She knew that the +air of this world of hers had become filled with peril to those who +breathed it, and that people were dying out in the forests; that all +about them there was a terrible, unseen thing which her father called +the plague, and that Jan had gone forth to fight it, to breathe it, +and, perhaps, to die in it. Their own door was locked and bolted +against it. She dared not even thrust her head from the window which +was opened for a short time each day; and until Cummins assured her +that there was no danger in the sunshine, she shunned the few pale rays +that shot through the cabin-window at midday. + +Unconsciously, Cummins added to her fears in more ways than one, and as +he answered her questions truthfully, her knowledge increased day by +day. She thought more and more of Jan. She watched for him through the +two windows of her home. Every sound from outside brought her to them +with eager hope; and always, her heart sank with disappointment, and +the tears would come very near to her eyes, when she saw nothing but +the terrible red flag clinging to the pole over Mukee's cabin. + +In the little Bible which her mother had left there was written, on the +ragged fly-leaf, a simple prayer. Each night, as she knelt beside her +cot and repeated this prayer, she paused at the end, and added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, please take care of Jan!" + +The days brought quick changes now. One morning the moose-horn called +Cummins to the door. It was the fifth day after Williams had gone south. + +"There was no smoke this morning, and I looked through the window," +shouted Croisset. "Mukee and the old man are both dead. I'm going to +burn the cabin." + +A stifled groan of anguish fell from Cummins' lips as he went like a +dazed man to his cot and flung himself face downward upon it. Melisse +could see his strong frame shaking, as if he were crying like a child; +and twining her arms tightly about his neck, she sobbed out her +passionate grief against his rough cheek. She did not know the part +that Mukee had played in the life of the sweet woman who had once lived +in this same little cabin; she knew only that he was dead; that the +terrible thing had killed him and that, next to her father and Jan, she +had loved him more than any one else in the world. + +Soon she heard a strange sound, and ran to the window. Mukee's cabin +was in flames. Wild-eyed and tearless with horror, she watched the fire +as it burst through the broken windows and leaped high up among the +black spruce. In those flames was Mukee! She screamed, and her father +sprang to her with a strange cry, running with her from the window into +the little room where she slept. + +The next morning, when Cummins went to awaken her, his face went as +white as death. Melisse was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and +staring at him, and her soft cheeks burned with the hot glow of fire. + +"You are sick, Melisse," he whispered hoarsely. "You are sick!" + +He fell upon his knees beside her, and lifted her face in his hands. +The touch of it sent a chill to his heart--such as he had not felt +since many years ago, in that other room a few steps away. + +"I want Jan," she pleaded. "I want Jan to come back to me!" + +"I will send for him, dear. He will come back soon. I will go out and +send Croisset." + +He hid his face from her as he dragged himself away. Croisset saw him +coming, and came out of the store to meet him. A hundred yards away +Cummins stopped. + +"Croisset, for the love of God, take a team and go after Jan Thoreau," +he called "Tell him that Melisse is dying of the plague. Hurry, hurry!" + +"Night and day!" shouted Croisset. + +Twenty minutes later, from the cabin window, Cummins saw him start. + +"Jan will be here very soon, Melisse," he said, running his fingers +gently through her hair. + +It fell out upon the pillow in thick brown waves, and the sight of it +choked him with the memory of another vision which would remain with +him until the end of time. It was her mother's hair, shining softly in +the dim light; her mother's eyes looked up at him as he sat beside her +through all this long day. + +Toward evening there came a change. The fever left the child's cheeks. +Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep. Through the night Cummins sat +near the door, but in the gray dawn, overcome by his long vigil, his +head dropped upon his breast, and he slumbered. + +When he awoke the cabin was filled with light He heard a sound, and, +startled, sprang to his feet. Melisse was at the stove building a fire! + +"I'm better this morning, father. Why didn't you sleep until breakfast +was ready?" + +Cummins stared. Then he gave a shout, made a rush for her, and catching +her up in his arms, danced about the cabin like a great bear, +overturning the chairs, and allowing the room to fill with smoke in his +wild joy. + +"It's what you saw through the window that made you sick, Melisse," he +cried, putting her down at last. "I thought--" He paused, and added, +his voice trembling: "I thought you were going to be sick for more than +one day, my sweet little woman!" + +He opened one of the windows to let in the fresh air of the morning. + +When Croisset returned, he did not find a red flag over Cummins' cabin; +nor did he bring word of Jan. For three days he had followed the trails +to the south without finding the boy. But he brought back other news. +Williams was sick with the plague in a Cree wigwam on the lower +Porcupine. It was the last they ever heard of the factor, except that +he died some time in March, and was burned by the Crees. + +Croisset went back over the Churchill trail, and found his wife ready +to greet him with open arms. After that he joined Per-ee, who came in +from the north, in another search for Jan. They found neither trace nor +word of him after passing the Gray Otter, and Cummins gave up hope. + +It was not for long that their fears could be kept from Melisse. This +first bitter grief that had come into her life fell upon her with a +force which alarmed Cummins, and cast him into deep gloom. She no +longer loved to play with her things in the cabin. For days at a time +she would not touch the books which Jan had brought from Churchill, and +which he had taught her to read. She found little to interest her in +the things which had been her life a few weeks before. + +With growing despair, Cummins saw his own efforts fail. As the days +passed Melisse mingled more and more with the Indian and half-breed +children, and spent much of her time at the company's store, listening +to the talk of the men, silent, attentive, unresponsive to any efforts +they might make to engage her smiles. From her own heart she looked out +upon a world that had become a void for her. Jan had been mother, +brother, and everything that was tender and sweet to her--and he was +gone. Mukee, whom she had loved, was gone. Williams was gone. The world +was changed, terribly and suddenly, and it added years to her +perspective of things. + +Each day, as the weeks went on, and the spring sun began to soften the +snow, she became a little more like the wild children at Lac Bain and +in the forest. For Jan, she had kept her hair soft and bright, because +he praised her for it and told her it was pretty. Now it hung in +tangles down her back. + +There came a night when she forgot her prayer, and Cummins did not +notice it. He failed to notice it the next night, and the next. Plunged +deep in his own gloom, he was unobservant of many other things, so +that, in place of laughter and joy and merry rompings, only gloomy and +oppressive shadows of things that had come and gone filled the life of +the little cabin. + +They were eating dinner, one day in the early spring, with the sunshine +flooding in upon them, when a quick, low footfall caused Melisse to +lift her eyes in the direction of the open door. A strange figure stood +there, with bloodless face, staring eyes, and garments hanging in +tatters--but its arms were stretched out, as those same arms had been +held out to her a thousand times before, and, with the old glad cry, +Melisse darted with the swiftness of a sun-shadow beyond Cummins, +crying: + +"Jan, Jan--my Jan!" + +Words choked in Cummins' throat when he saw the white-faced figure +clutching Melisse to its breast. + +At last he gasped "Jan!" and threw out his arms, so that both were +caught in their embrace. + +For an instant Jan turned his face up to the light The other stared and +understood. + +"You have been sick," he said, "but it has left no marks." + +"Thank God!" breathed Jan. + +Melisse raised her head, and stroked his cheeks with her two hands. +That night she remembered her prayer, and at its end she added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for sending back Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ALMOST A WOMAN + + +Peace followed in the blighted trails of the Red Terror. Again the +forest world breathed without fear; but from Hudson's Bay to Athabasca, +and as far south as the thousand waters of the Reindeer country, the +winds whispered of a terrible grief that would remain until babes were +men and men went to their graves. + +Life had been torn and broken in a cataclysm more fearful than that +which levels cities and disrupts the earth. Slowly it began its +readjustment. There was no other life to give aid or sympathy; and just +as they had suffered alone, so now the forest people struggled back +into life alone, building up from the wreck of what had been, the +things that were to be. + +For months the Crees wailed their death dirges as they sought out the +bones of their dead. Men dragged themselves into the posts, wifeless +and childless, leaving deep in the wilderness all that they had known +to love and give them comfort. Now and then came a woman, and around +the black scars of burned cabins and teepees dogs howled mournfully for +masters that were gone. + +The plague had taken a thousand souls, and yet the laughing, dancing +millions in that other big world beyond the edge of the wilderness +caught only a passing rumor of what had happened. + +Lac Bain suffered least of the far northern posts, with the exception +of Churchill, where the icy winds down-pouring from the Arctic had sent +the Red Terror shivering to the westward. In the late snows, word came +that Cummins was to take Williams' place as factor, and Per-ee at once +set off for the Fond du Lac to bring back Jean de Gravois as "chief +man." Croisset gave up his fox-hunting to fill Mukee's place. + +The changes brought new happiness to Melisse. Croisset's wife was a +good woman who had spent her girlhood in Montreal, and Iowaka, now the +mother of a fire-eating little Jean and a handsome daughter, was a +soft-voiced young Venus who had grown sweeter and prettier with her +years--which is not usually the case with half-breed women. + +"But it's good blood in her, beautiful blood," vaunted Jean proudly, +whenever the opportunity came. "Her mother was a princess, and her +father a pure Frenchman, whose father's father was a chef de bataillon. +What better than that, eh? I say, what better could there be than that?" + +So, for the first time in her life, Melisse discovered the joys of +companionship with those of her own kind. + +This new companionship, pleasant as it was, did not come between her +and Jan. If anything, they were more to each other than ever. The +terrible months through which they had passed had changed them both, +and had given them, according to their years, the fruits which are +often ripened in the black gloom of disaster rather than in the +sunshine of prosperity. + +To Melisse they had opened up a new world of thought, a new vision of +the things that existed about her. The sternest teacher of all had +brought to her the knowledge that comes of grief, of terror, and of +death, and she had passed beyond her years, just as the cumulative +processes of generations made the Indian children pass beyond theirs. + +She no longer looked upon Jan as a mere playmate, a being whose +diversion was to amuse and to love her. He had become a man. In her +eyes he was a hero, who had gone forth to fight the death of which she +still heard word and whisper all about her. Croisset's wife and Iowaka +told her that he had done the bravest thing that a man might do on +earth. She spoke proudly of him to the Indian children, who called him +the "torch-bearer." She noticed that he was as tall as Croisset, and +taller by half a head than Jean, and that he lifted her now with one +arm as easily as if she were no heavier than a stick of wood. + +Together they resumed their studies, devoting hours to them each day, +and through all that summer he taught her to play upon his violin. The +warm months were a time of idleness at Lac Bain, and Jan made the most +of them in his teaching of Melisse. She learned to read the books which +he had used at Fort Churchill, and by midsummer she could read those +which he had used at York Factory. At night they wrote letters to each +other and delivered them across the table in the cabin, while Cummins +looked on and smoked, laughing happily at what they read aloud to him. + +One night, late enough in the season for a fire to be crackling merrily +in the stove, Jan was reading one of these letters, when Melisse cried: + +"Stop, Jan--stop THERE!" + +Jan caught himself, and he blushed mightily when he read the next lines: + +"'I think you have beautiful eyes. I love them.'" + +"What is it?" cried Cummins interestedly. "Read on, Jan." + +"Don't!" commanded Melisse, springing to her feet and running around +the table. "I didn't mean you to read that!" + +She snatched the paper from Jan's hand and threw it into the fire. + +Jan's blood filled with pleasure, and at the bottom of his next letter +he wrote back: + +"I think you have beautiful hair. I love it." + +That winter Jan was appointed post hunter, and this gave him much time +at home, for meat was plentiful along the edge of the barrens. The two +continued at their books until they came to the end of what Jan knew in +them. After that, like searchers in strange places, they felt their way +onward, slowly and with caution. During the next summer they labored +through all the books which were in the little box in the corner of the +cabin. + +It was Melisse who now played most on the violin, and Jan listened, his +eyes glowing proudly as he saw how cleverly her little fingers danced +over the strings, his face flushed with a joy that was growing stronger +in him every day. One day she looked curiously into the F-hole of the +instrument, and her pretty mouth puckered itself into a round, red "O" +of astonishment when Jan quickly snatched the violin from her hands. + +"Excuses-moi, ma belle Melisse," he laughed at her in French. "I am +going to play you something new!" + +That same day he took the little cloth-covered roll from the violin and +gave it another hiding-place. It recalled to him the strange spirit +which had once moved him at Fort Churchill, and which had remained with +him for a time at Lac Bain. That spirit was now gone, luring him no +longer. Time had drawn a softening veil over things that had passed. He +was happy. + +The wilderness became more beautiful to him as Melisse grew older. Each +summer increased his happiness; each succeeding winter made it larger +and more complete. Every fiber of his being sang in joyful response as +he watched Melisse pass from childhood into young girlhood. He marked +every turn in her development, the slightest change in her +transformation, as if she had been a beautiful flower. + +He possessed none of the quick impetuosity of Jean de Gravois. Years +gave the silence of the North to his tongue, and his exultation was +quiet and deep in his own heart. With an eagerness which no one guessed +he watched the growing beauty of her hair, marked its brightening +luster when he saw it falling in thick waves over her shoulders, and he +knew that at last it had come to be like the woman's. The changing +lights in her eyes fascinated him, and he rejoiced again when he saw +that they were deepening into the violet blue of the bakneesh flowers +that bloomed on the tops of the ridges. + +To him, Melisse was growing into everything that was beautiful. She was +his world, his life, and at Post Lac Bain there was nothing to come +between the two. Jan noticed that in her thirteenth year she could +barely stand under his outstretched arm. The next year she had grown so +tall that she could not stand there at all. Very soon she would be a +woman! + +The thought leaped from his heart, and he spoke it aloud. It was on the +girl's fifteenth birthday. They had come up to the top of the ridge on +which he had fought the missionary, to gather red sprigs of the +bakneesh for the festival that they were to have in the cabin that +night. High up on the face of a jagged rock, Jan saw a bit of the +crimson vine thrusting itself out into the sun, and, with Melisse +laughing and encouraging him from below, he climbed up until he had +secured it. He tossed it down to her. + +"It's the last one," she cried, seeing his disadvantage, "and I'm going +home. You can't catch me!" + +She darted away swiftly along the snow-covered ridge, taunting him with +merry laughter as she left him clambering in cautious descent down the +rock. Jan followed in pursuit, shouting to her in French, in Cree, and +in English, and their two voices echoed happily in their wild frolic. + +Jan slackened his steps. It was a joy to see Melisse springing from +rock to rock and darting across the thin openings close ahead of him, +her hair loosening and sweeping out in the sun, her slender figure +fleeing with the lightness of the pale sun-shadows that ran up and down +the mountain. + +He would not have overtaken her of his own choosing, but at the foot of +the ridge Melisse gave up. She returned toward him, panting and +laughing, shimmering like a sea-naiad under the glistening veil of her +disheveled hair. Her face glowed with excitement; her eyes, filled with +the light of the sun, dazzled Jan in their laughing defiance. Before +her he stopped, and made no effort to catch her. Never had he seen her +so beautiful, still daring him with her laugh, quivering and panting, +flinging back her hair. Half reaching out his arms, he cried: + +"Melisse, you are beautiful--you are almost a woman!" + +The flush deepened in her cheeks, and there was no longer the sweet, +taunting mischief in her eyes. She made no effort to run from him when +he came to her. + +"Do you think so, Brother Jan?" + +"If you did your hair up like the pictures we have in the books, you +would be a woman," he answered softly. "You are more beautiful than the +pictures!" + +He drew a step back, and her eyes flashed at him again with the sparkle +of the old fun in them. + +"You say that I am pretty, and that I am almost a woman," she pouted. +"And yet--" She shrugged her shoulders at him in mock disdain. "Jan +Thoreau, this is the third time in the last week that you have not +played the game right! I won't play with you any more!" + +In a flash he was at her side, her face between his two hands and, +bending down, he kissed her upon the mouth. + +"There," she said, as he released her. "Isn't that the way we have +played it ever since I can remember? Whenever you catch me, you may +have that!" + +"I am afraid, Melisse," he said seriously. "You are growing so tall and +so pretty that I am afraid." + +"Afraid! My brother afraid to kiss me! And what will you do when I get +to be a woman, Jan--which will be very soon, you say?" + +"I don't know, Melisse." + +She turned her back to him and flung out her hair; and Jan, who had +done this same thing for her a hundred times before, divided the silken +mass into three strands and plaited them into a braid. + +"I don't believe that you care for me as much as you used to, Jan. I +wish I were a woman, so that I might know if you are going to forget me +entirely!" + +Her shoulders trembled; and when he had finished his task, he found +that she was laughing, and that her eyes were swimming with a new +mischief which she was trying to hide from him. In that laugh there was +something which was not like Melisse. Slight as the change was, he +noticed it; but instead of displeasing him, it set a vague sensation of +pleasure trilling like a new song within him. + +When they reached the post, Melisse went to the cabin with her +bakneesh, and Jan to the company's store. Tossing the vines upon the +table, Melisse ran back to the door and watched him until he +disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips half parted in +excitement; and no sooner had he gone from view than she hurried to +Iowaka's home across the clearing. + +It was fully three quarters of an hour later when Jan saw Melisse, with +Iowaka's red shawl over her head, walking slowly and with extreme +precision of step back to the cabin. + +"I wonder if she has the earache," he said to himself, watching her +curiously. "That is Iowaka's shawl, and she has it all about her head." + +"A clear half-inch of the rarest wool from London," added the cheery +voice of Jean de Gravois, whose moccasins had made no sound behind him. +He always spoke in French to Jan. "There is but one person in the world +who looks better in it than your Melisse, Jan Thoreau, and that is +Iowaka, my wife. Blessed saints, man, but is she not growing more +beautiful every day?" + +"Yes," said Jan. "She will soon be a woman." + +"A woman!" shouted Jean, who, not having his caribou whip, jumped up +and down to emphasize his words. "She will soon be a woman, did you +say, Jan Thoreau? And if she is not a woman at thirty, with two +children--God send others like them!--when will she be, I ask you?" + +"I meant Melisse," laughed Jan. + +"And I meant Iowaka," said Jean. "Ah, there she is now, come out to see +if her Jean de Gravois is on his way home with the sugar for which she +sent him something like an hour ago; for you know she is chef de +cuisine of this affair to-night. Ah, she sees me not, and she turns +back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the +calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did you +ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven who's +nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find? Deliver +us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!" + +The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life, +calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him. + +A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was +passing. + +"I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting that +sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms. +"Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough for +the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common flour +and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at Post Lac +Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and sweeter than +sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her earthly +tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough, mon ami. +Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about Melisse and--" + +"Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out +for himself." + +"So--so it is," exclaimed the irrepressible Jean, plunging himself to +the elbows in his pan of dough. "Then hurry to the cabin, Jan, and see +what sort of a birthday gift Melisse has got for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BIRTHDAYS + + +The big room was empty when Jan came quietly through the open door. He +stopped to listen, and caught a faint laugh from the other room, and +then another; and to give warning of his presence, he coughed loudly +and scraped a chair along the floor. A moment's silence followed. The +farther door opened a little, and then it opened wide, and Melisse came +out. + +"Now what do you think of me, brother Jan?" She stood in the light of +the window through which came the afternoon sun, her hair piled in +glistening coils upon the crown of her head, as they had seen them in +the pictures, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing questioningly at Jan. + +"Do I look--as you thought--I would, Jan?" she persisted, a little +doubtful at his silence. She turned, so that he saw the cluster of soft +curls that fell upon her shoulder, with sprigs of bakneesh half +smothered in them. "Do I?" + +"You are prettier than I have ever seen you, Melisse," he replied +softly. + +There was a seriousness in his voice that made her come to him in her +old impulsive, half-childish way. She lifted her hands and rested them +on his shoulders, as she had always done when inviting him to toss her +above his head. + +"If I am prettier--and you like me this way--why don't you--" + +She finished with a sweet, upturned pouting of her mouth, and, with a +sudden, laughing cry, Jan caught her in his arms and kissed the lips +she held up to him. It was but an instant, and he freed her, a hot +blush burning in his brown cheeks. + +"My dear brother!" she laughed at him, gathering up the bakneesh on the +table. "I love to have you kiss me, and now I have to make you do it. +Father kisses me every morning when he goes to the store. I remember +when you used to kiss me every time you came home, but now you forget +to do it at all. Do brothers love their sisters less as they grow +older?" + +"Sometimes they love the SISTER less and the OTHER GIRL more, ma belle +Melisse," came a quick voice from the door, and Jean de Gravois bounded +in like a playful cat, scraping and bowing before Melisse until his +head nearly touched the floor. "Lovely saints, Jan Thoreau, but she IS +a woman, just as my Iowaka told me! And the cakes--the bread--the pies! +You must delay the supper my lady, for the good Lord deliver me if I +haven't spilled all the dough on the floor! Swas-s-s-s-h--such a mess! +And my Iowaka did nothing but laugh and call me a clumsy dear!" + +"You're terribly in love, Jean," cried Melisse, laughing until her eyes +were wet; "just like some of the people in the books which Jan and I +read." + +"And I always shall be, my dear, so long as the daughter of a princess +and the great-granddaughter of a chef de bataillon allows me to mix her +dough!" + +Melisse flung the red shawl over her head, still laughing. + +"I will go and help her, Jean." + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Gravois, looking searchingly at Jan, when she had +left. "Shall I give you my best wishes, Jan Thoreau? Does it signify?" + +"Signify--what?" + +The little Frenchman's eyes snapped. + +"Why, when our pretty Cree maiden becomes engaged, she puts up her hair +for the first time, that is all, my dear Jan. When I asked my blessed +Iowaka to be my wife, she answered by running away from me, taunting me +until I thought my heart had shriveled into a bit of salt blubber; but +she came back to me before I had completely died, with her braids done +up on the top of her head!" + +He stopped suddenly, startled into silence by the strange look that had +come into the other's face. For a full minute Jan stood as if the power +of movement had gone from him. He was staring over the Frenchman's +head, a ghastly pallor growing in his cheeks. + +"No--it--means--nothing," he said finally, speaking as if the words +were forced from him one by one. + +He dropped into a chair beside the table like one whose senses had been +dulled by an unexpected blow. With a great sighing breath that was +almost a sob, he bowed his head upon his arms. + +"Jan Thoreau," whispered Jean softly, "have you forgotten that it was I +who killed the missioner for you, and that through all of these years +Jean de Gravois has never questioned you about the fight on the +mountain top?" There was in his voice, as gentle as a woman's, the +vibrant note of a comradeship which is next to love--the comradeship of +man for man in a world where friendship is neither bought nor sold. +"Have you forgotten, Jan Thoreau? If there is anything Jean de Gravois +can do?" + +He sat down opposite Jan, his thin, eager face propped in his hands, +and watched silently until the other lifted his head. Their eyes met, +steady, unflinching, and in that look there were the oath and the seal +of all that the honor of the big snows held for those two. + +Still without words, Jan reached within his breast and drew forth the +little roll which he had taken from his violin. One by one he handed +the pages over to Jean de Gravois. + +"Mon Dieu!" said Jean, when he had finished reading. He spoke no other +words. White-faced, the two men stared, Jan's throat twitching, +Gravois' brown fingers crushing the rolls he held. + +"That was why I tried to kill the missioner," said Jan at last. He +pointed to the more coarsely written pages under Jean's hand. "And +that--that--is why it could not signify that Melisse has done up her +hair." He rose to his feet, straining to keep his voice even, and +gathered up the papers so that they shot back into the little +cylinder-shaped roll again. "Now do you understand?" + +"I understand," replied Jean in a low voice, but his eyes glittered +like dancing dragon-flies as he raised his elbows slowly from the table +and stretched his arms above his head. "I understand, Jan Thoreau, and +I praise the blessed Virgin that it was Jean de Gravois who killed the +missioner out upon the ice of Lac Bain!" + +"But the other," persisted Jan, "the other, which says that I--" + +"Stop!" cried Jean sharply. He came around the table and seized Jan's +hands in the iron grip of his lithe, brown fingers. "That is something +for you to forget. It means nothing--nothing at all, Jan Thoreau! Does +any one know but you and me?" + +"No one. I intended that some day Melisse and her father should know; +but I waited too long. I waited until I was afraid, until the horror of +telling her frightened me. I made myself forget, burying it deeper each +year, until to-day--on the mountain--" + +"And to-day, in this cabin, you will forget again, and you will bury it +so deep that it will never come back. I am proud of you, Jan Thoreau. I +love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has ever said +this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!" + +With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they +now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door. +Half-way across the open were Melisse and Iowaka, carrying a large +Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they +saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an invitation +for the two men to come to their assistance. + +"You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau," +exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!" + +He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two +who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder +by the time Jan arrived. + +"Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Melisse, as she dropped a few +steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!" + +"I think I'm twenty-nine." + +"You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the +mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--" + +He had never spoken to Melisse as he did now. + +"I was born some time in the winter, Melisse--like you. Perhaps it was +yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow. That is all I know." + +He looked at her steadily, the grief which he was fighting to keep back +tightening the muscles about his mouth. + +Like the quick passing of sunshine, the fun swept from her face, +leaving her blue eyes staring up at him, filled with a pain which he +had never seen in them before. In a moment he knew that she had +understood him, and he could have cut out his tongue. Her hand reached +his arm, and she stopped him, her face lifted pleadingly, the tears +slowly gathering in her eyes. + +"Forgive me!" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "Dear, dear +Jan, forgive me!" She caught one of his hands in both her own, and for +an instant held it so that he could feel the throbbing of her heart. +"To-day is your birthday, Jan--yours and mine, mine and yours--and we +will always have it that way--always--won't we, Jan?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE RENUNCIATION + + +Jan was glad when the evening came, and was gone. Not until Jean and +Iowaka had said good night with Croisset and his wife, and both Cummins +and Melisse had gone to their rooms, did he find himself relieved of +the tension under which he had struggled during all of that night's +merry-making in the cabin. + +From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and +indefinable sensation that was growing within him--something which he +could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and +meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely +he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never +had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice +rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he +sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers touched +the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of +excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon +Melisse. + +She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, +straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in +response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who had +pursued her that day on the mountain-top. + +Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave him +these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty of her +flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming depths of +her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she wondered still +remained. + +After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had +finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the +company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his cap +and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse +Melisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before. + +As he was about to go out, there came a sound--a low, gentle, whispered +word. + +"Jan!" + +He turned. Melisse stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her +hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson bakneesh +shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her +two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same +question in her eyes. + +"Jan, you were not pleased with me to-night," she whispered. "Tell me, +why?" + +"I was pleased with you, Melisse," he replied. + +He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm, and turned his +face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky, as they had +shone on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood they +saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows out +over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had +played when the woman died. Gaunt and solitary, the tall spruce loomed +up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the night +wind, as if in wailing answer to that far-away music in the skies. + +Suddenly there leaped up from Jan Thoreau's breast a breath that burst +from his lips in a low cry. + +"Melisse, Melisse, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in through +that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin when +your mother died. You were a little baby then, and since that night you +have never pleased me more than now!" + +He dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door, to hide what he +knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heart-broken little sob +behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. + +"Jan, dear Jan!" + +Melisse crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling +about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old +love, the love and pride of what seemed to Jan to be, years ago, the +old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong +arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in +the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes +glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full, into his face. + +She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. + +"I didn't please you to-day," she whispered. "I will never do up my +hair again!" + +He kissed her, and his arms dropped from her shoulders. + +"Never, never again--until you have forgotten to love me," she +repeated. "Good night, Brother Jan!" + +Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper +and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Jan +went from the door that closed between him and Melisse, her last words +still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his +cheeks--and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him swiftly +surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which racked him to the +soul. + +Fifteen years ago! He stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening +his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of ages +and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale fire, +robbed of softness by the polar cold; there were the same cloudless +blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping through its +infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning prayers on +that night when he had staggered into Lac Bain. + +He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away +from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday, he +remembered how he had dragged himself through this swamp, bleeding and +starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of +dogs, which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into +it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge, from +which he looked out through the white night into the limitless barrens +to the north. + +Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths +between hunter's cabin and Indian wigwam, starving at times, almost +dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back, and +playing--always playing to keep up his courage, until he found Melisse. +Fifteen years had passed since then, and the cumulative force of the +things that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. +He had felt it first when Melisse turned upon him at the foot of the +mountain; and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in +every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She +was no longer the little Melisse, his sister. And yet-- + +He was almost saying her last words aloud: + +"Good night, Brother Jan!" + +She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to +him a thousand times before; but he had not kissed her in the old way. +It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot +blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. His +was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the ways of +passion. + +In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as +he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin--sacrilege +against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Melisse came +to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, +unaware of his temptation; while he, Jan Thoreau-- + +He thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean +de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth, slowly, and held them +crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out +into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. + +His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags +behind him. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in +the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and +from tree to tree until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which +hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top +beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow +five hundred feet below. + +It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bough for a +hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their +solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. +Mukee had told Jan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life +at Lac Bain, he and Per-ee had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its +branches until only the black cap remained; and after that it was known +far and wide as the "lobstick" of Cummins' wife. It was a voiceless +cenotaph which signified that all the honor and love known to the +wilderness people had been given to her. + +To it went Jan, the papers still held in his hand. He had seen a pair +of whisky-jacks storing food in the butt of the tree, two or three +summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found +it, he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole +with chunks of bark. + +"Always my sister--and never anything more to Jan Thoreau," he said +gently in French, as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. +"That is the honor of these snows; it is what the great God means us to +be." The strife had gone from his voice; it rose strong and clear as he +stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, his eyes +upon the silent plume that heard his oath. "I swear that Jan Thoreau +will never do wrong to the little Melisse!" + +With a face white and set in its determination, he turned slowly away +from the tree. Far away, from the lonely depths of the swamp, there +came the wailing howl of a wolf--a cry of hungerful savageness that +died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a +dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound +of it swept a flood of loneliness into Jan's heart. It was the +death-wail of his own last hope, which had gone out of him for ever +that night. + +He listened, and it came again; but in the middle of it, when the long, +moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair, there broke +in a sharp interruption--a shrieking, yelping cry, such as a dog makes +when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest thrilled with +the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who has started a fresh kill. +Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the swamp, there +came another cry, and still another from the mountain; and up and out +of the desolation rose the calls of others of the scattered pack, in +quick response to the comrade who had first found meat. + +All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except +that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. A +few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the fierce +hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound of the +chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the mountain and +down into the barrens. + +"A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the +barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!" + +He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain +stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry +growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again +in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching +nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the +white gloom. + +The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half +rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray +bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders +almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. + +There was no sound now. Below him, Jan could see the pale glimmer of +ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the +caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The +moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. From +the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the +caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. +Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. + +After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the +crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, the +caribou was given up to the feast. + +Jan turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart, he +went back to Lac Bain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BROTHER JAN + + +When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face +showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had +already finished, and he found Melisse alone. Her hair was brushed back +in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her long +braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He saw +the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. + +"You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and your +eyes are bloodshot." + +"I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but +this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the +world, Melisse?" + +"How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than +mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" + +"Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of +the coffee at the bay." + +"It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him +across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I +don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been +too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how lonely +I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we stood +together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away +the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and +thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose +we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a wonderful ship +like that?" + +"It may be, Melisse." + +"And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one +else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to +the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to give +him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by running +away from me like that?" + +"To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he +replied quickly. + +She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes +full of mock astonishment. + +"And were you sorry I ran away from you?" + +Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. + +"Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. + +"I--don't--know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you +going to do to-day, Jan?" + +"Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too +busy with his trap-lines to come in." + +"Will you take me?" + +"I'm afraid not, Melisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." + +"Very well. I'll get ready immediately." + +She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and ran +to her room. + +"It's too far, Melisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've a +heavy load--" + +"Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to--Oh, dear! Jan, +have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" + +"It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her +humor despite himself. "But I say, Melisse--" + +"Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed +before you can harness them, Jan." + +"They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to +her. + +Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, +destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with +something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune +as he hurried toward the store. + +When he returned with the team, Melisse was waiting for him, a gray +thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her +trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, and +with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her cap. + +"I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. + +"Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared +Melisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run from +here to Ledoq's!" + +With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the +open, with Melisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean +and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. + +"The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my Iowaka," +said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be before her +next birthday!" + +And Melisse was saying: + +"I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" + +She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that left +her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he +stopped the team, and waited. + +"That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." + +He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their traces, +with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until they were +leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the smooth +trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the leader, his +moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of the trained +forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes upon the +twisting trail ahead. + +It was a glorious ride, and Melisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood +thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of +magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of their +backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, and their +half-gaping jaws--and from them she looked to Jan. There was no effort +in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair swept back +from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the dogs, there was +music in his movement, there was the beauty of strength, of endurance, +of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone proudly; the color +deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, wondering if there was +another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. + +Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the mountain +on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs to a walk. +Melisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. + +"I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me--" There +was the old witching challenge in her eyes. + +She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued +with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this +time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of the +ridge. + +"You're as pretty as a fairy, Melisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining +with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" + +"Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" + +"Yes, all of them." + +"I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, Jan?" +Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any +fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" + +"None that could compare with you, Melisse." + +"Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a +little." + +"More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to +hold his tongue. + +As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the morning +was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother Jan, +Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves incessantly in +his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps beside the +sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the preceding night, +and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the trapper's. + +Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled +up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at Lac +Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap through the +door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her with all his +might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that many years +before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had disappeared +one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that Ledoq was +that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in the ready use +of their tongues, and were of the same build and the same briskness. + +Melisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling +away in a delighted torrent of French. + +"Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Melisse," he finished +at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a +spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" + +"We met no team." + +Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered ridge +was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. + +"An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain--three men and +six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" + +"No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from Churchill. +We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, Melisse, and see +if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" + +"You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. + +Jan caught a quick signal from Melisse. + +"Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. What +do you say, Melisse?" + +"If you're not tired, Jan." + +"Tired!" + +He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip +over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the +little Frenchman. + +"Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung +lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How +could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Melisse?" + +"I wouldn't mind if you did--just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for +two?" + +She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped +upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. + +"Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too +near, you know, if you don't want to!" + +The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a +moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his +chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single +breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he +gave a sudden shout to the dogs--so loud that it startled her--and his +whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like a thing +filled with life. + +He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on +faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came +to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the +strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. + +"Stop!" cried Melisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from +the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws--see +them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the +night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" + +"And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping +exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." + +He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume +of air into his lungs. + +"Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Melisse +asked. + +"No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my +little Melisse was dying of the plague." + +Melisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and +nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown +palms. + +"Tell me about it, Jan." + +"That was all--I ran." + +"You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" + +He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the +brilliant flush in her cheeks. + +"I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied. + +"I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened +round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you went +out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you do +that much again?" + +"I would do more, Melisse." + +She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of +something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly he +rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this he +took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes. + +"Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Melisse, and +then--" + +"What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. + +"Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and +years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. + +There was something in his voice that held Melisse silent as he turned +to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her +comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: + +"I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON + + +They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for +dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet +them. + +"You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Melisse. "Two gentlemen +fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and +handsomer than your own Jan Thoreau. They are waiting for you in the +cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how +beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there." + +"Two!" said Jan, as Melisse left them. "Who are they?" + +"The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter than +a spawning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he says; and +I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here very long, Jan +Thoreau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka when she came +into the store just now!" + +"Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the +earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you +that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!" + +"Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to every +look that you can get, Jan Thoreau. But the foreigner--I will skin him +alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at her out +of the wrong way of his eye!" + +Croisset spoke. + +"There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?" + +"I remember," said Jan. + +He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of +the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the +end of summer evenings. + +"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God +forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea." + +Croisset shrugged his shoulders. + +"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La +charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and +one--" + +A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he +stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if +just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. + +As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. + +"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried +shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, +when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he whispered, +as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, do you want +to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see what had +happened. + +"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling +sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her +liniment." + +As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under +their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Thoreau. There's a crowd +at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me." + +"La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les betes de charogne!" + +Jean gripped him by the arm. + +"I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his +words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight +it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me." + +"You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly. +"You swear it?" + +"By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!" + +"Then," said Jan softly, "Melisse will never know!" + +"Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet +voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some +day Melisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be +for you, Jan Thoreau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!" + +An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he +paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to +him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. +Melisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his +eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was +sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when she +said: + +"Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan." + +The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. + +"I'm glad to know you, Cummins." + +"Thoreau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan +Thoreau." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Melisse. +The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. + +"We are of no relation," continued Jan, something impelling him to +speak the words with cool precision. "Only we have lived under the same +roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother and +sister." + +"Miss Melisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this +morning," exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly +as he detected the girl's embarrassment. "I wish I had seen it!" + +"There will be plenty of it very soon," replied Jan, caught by the +frankness of the other's manner. "Our runners will be going out among +the trappers within a fortnight." + +"And will they take me?" + +"You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Dixon, moving toward the door. + +Melisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly she said: + +"I've kept your dinner for you, Jan. Why didn't you come sooner?" + +"I had dinner with Gravois," he replied. "Jean said that you would +hardly be prepared for five, Melisse, so I accepted his invitation." + +He took down from the wall a fur sledge-coat, in which Melisse had +mended a rent a day or two before, and, throwing it over his arm, +turned to leave. + +"Jan!" + +He faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a +strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. + +"Why are you going away the day after to-morrow--two weeks before the +others? You didn't tell me." + +"I'm going a hundred miles into the South," he answered. + +"Over the Nelson House trail?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, +and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. "I understand, brother," +she said softly. "Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten +that the MacVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she +is as sweet as a wild flower. I wish you would have her come up and +visit us some time, Jan." + +Jan's face went red, then white, but Melisse saw only the first effect +of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. + +"I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach MacVeighs'." he +was on the point of saying; but the words hung upon his lips, and he +remained silent. + +A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little +Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his +pipe when Jan told him why he was leaving at once for the South. + +"Running away!" he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin lips +curling in a sneer. "I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Jan Thoreau, +else I would go myself and tell Melisse what I read in the papers. +Pish! Why can't you forget?" + +"I may--some day," said Jan. "That is why I am going into the South two +weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I remain +here another week, I shall tell Melisse, and then--" + +He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. + +"And then--what?" + +"I should go away for ever." + +Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. + +"Then remain another week, Jan Thoreau, and if it turns out as you say, +I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the wolves!" + +"I am going the day after to-morrow." + +The next morning Iowaka complained to Melisse that Gravois was as surly +as a bear. + +"A wonderful change has come over him," she said. "He does nothing but +shrug his shoulders and say 'Le diable!' and 'The fool!' Last night I +could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit +has come into my Jean?" + +Melisse was wondering the same of Jan. She saw little of him during the +day. At noon, Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to +accompany Thoreau on the trip south. + +The following morning, before she was up, Jan had gone. She was deeply +hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without +spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father +to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening, so that +Jan might have an opportunity of bidding her good-by alone. + +Outside of her thoughts of Jan, the days and evenings that followed +were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat, +and took an immense liking to Melisse. Young Dixon was good-looking and +brimming with life, and spent a great deal of his time in her company. +For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the wonderful world +across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life to Jan at Fort +Churchill, so he told of it to Melisse, filling her with visions of +great cities, painting picture after picture, until her imagination was +riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and she listened, with +flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. + +One day, a week after Jan had gone, he told her about the women in the +world which had come to be a fairy-land to Melisse. + +"They are all beautiful over there?" she asked wonderingly, when he had +finished. + +"Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Melisse," he +replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. "Do you know that you +are beautiful?" + +His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the +signs of it in her face. Jan had often spoken those same words--a +thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful--but there bad +never been this fluttering of her heart before. + +There were few things which Iowaka and she did not hold in secret +between them, and a day or two later Melisse told her friend what Dixon +had said. For the first time Iowaka abused the confidence placed in +her, and told Jean. + +"Le diable!" gritted Jean, his face blackening. + +He said no more until night, when the children were asleep. Then he +drew Iowaka close beside him on a bench near the stove, and asked +carelessly: + +"Mon ange, if one makes an oath to the blessed Virgin, and breaks it, +what happens?" + +He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. + +"It means that one will be for ever damned unless he confesses to a +priest soon after, doesn't it ma cherie? And if there is no priest +nearer than four hundred miles, it is a dangerous thing to do, is it +not? But--" He did not wait for an answer. "If one might have the oath +broken, and not do it himself, what then?" + +"I don't know," said Iowaka simply, staring at him in amazed +questioning. + +"Nor do I," said Jean, lighting his pipe. "But there is enough of the +devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was +for you, my Iowaka!" + +Her eyes glowed upon him softly. + +"A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man +she loves," she whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on +Jean's shoulder. "That is what my people believe, Jean; and if I have +given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you?" + +"For me alone, Iowaka?" + +"For you alone." + +"And not for a friend?" + +"For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the +god of my people bids me make all sacrifice." + +"But you do not believe in that god, Iowaka!" + +"Sometimes it is better to believe in the god of my people than in +yours," she replied gently. "I believed in him fifteen years ago at +Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then?" + +With a low cry of happiness Jean crushed his face against her soft +cheek. + +"Believe in him always, my Iowaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the +throat of any missioner who says you will not go to Paradise! But--this +other. You are sure that you would break oath for none but me?" + +"And the children. They are a part of you, Jean." + +A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. They +could hear Croisset's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his big +whip. + +"I'll be back soon," said Jean, closing the door after him; but instead +of approaching Croisset and the fighting dogs he went in the direction +of Cummins' cabin. "Devil take an oath!" he growled under his breath. +"Neither one God nor the other will let me break it, and Iowaka least +of all!" He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh sounded loudly in +the cabin. "Two fools!" he went on communing with himself. +"Cummins--Jan Thoreau--both fools!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES + + +During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far +distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched Melisse +and Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his growing +suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There were a +fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his broad +shoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won all but +Jean. + +The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the second +week, and after this Melisse and the young Englishman were more +together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the +sledges, and when they were gone he and Melisse began taking walks in +the forest, when the sun was high and warm. + +It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the +caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As he +stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path beaten +down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of him; and +a moment later he recognized them as those of Melisse and Dixon. His +face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. + +"Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean de +Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to himself, +leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. + +He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful +tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Melisse's arm. They +were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the girl's +bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly he +stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had bent +down and kissed her. + +With a low cry, Melisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced +Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and +ran swiftly down the trail. + +A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face to +face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyes +glittered like black diamonds. + +"Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. + +"He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. +"Run along to the post, ma belle Melisse." + +He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she +disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he faced +Dixon. + +"It is the first time that our Melisse has ever suffered insult," he +said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here, +he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!" + +He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until +he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman +convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to +one side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of +the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. + +Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry +of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see +Melisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed +tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him +again, more cautiously than before. + +It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with +science. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received a +blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. + +"Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are you +fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?" + +"I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before. + +There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not +excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long knife +in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense lines +gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. + +"Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--if +Melisse didn't like it." + +"I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean. + +There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon +found himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him, +never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. +Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed +softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at +him--and missed. + +It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another +world. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was the +quickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; the +quickness of the great loon that had often played this same game with +his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so +quickly that eyes could not follow. + +A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and +escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back +until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed the +blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a +serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn +as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance +came. + +There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a +dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his +side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman +straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to +the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. +Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had +come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with +the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. + +Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science +now--that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have +crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the Englishman's +man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly throttled cry as they +tightened in their neck-breaking grip. + +"I will kill you!" said Jean again. + +Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their +sockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was buried +on the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He would +not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not come a +sudden interruption--the terrified voice of Melisse, the frantic +tearing of her hands at his hands. + +"He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!" + +He loosed his fingers and sat up. Melisse staggered back, clutching +with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. + +"You have killed him!" + +Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. + +"He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, ma +chere, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form shook +with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run home to +Iowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Melisse." + +He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. + +"Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came a +flicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have been +with the missioner!" + +He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back to +a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more +strongly, he followed slowly after Melisse. + +Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, +chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the +little glass which hung over the wash-basin. + +"Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had +received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into +the blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the gold +in this world!" + +A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were at +Croisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun +sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Melisse came +in. + +"Hello, ma chere," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his +pipe. + +In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her +knees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her +breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. + +"Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. +"Please tell me that you will never tell Jan--please tell me that you +never will, Jean--never, never, never!" + +"I will say nothing, Melisse." + +"Never, Jean?" + +"Never." + +For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then, +suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him. + +"Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!" + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had been +here then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A BROKEN HEART + + +The day following the fight in the forest, Dixon found Jean de Gravois +alone, and came up to him. + +"Gravois, will you shake hands with me?" he said. "I want to thank you +for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss +Melisse to forgive me--and I want to shake hands with you." + +Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. + +"Que diantre!" he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "Yes, I +will shake hands!" + +For several days after this Jean could see that Melisse made an effort +to evade him. She did not visit Iowaka when he was in the cabin. +Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young +Englishman spent more of his time at the store; and just before the +trappers began coming in, he went on a three-days' sledge-trip with +Croisset. + +The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Melisse after the +fight, his eyes flashed pleasure. + +"Jan will surely be coming home soon," he greeted her. "What if the +birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?" + +She flushed scarlet. + +"Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down on the +Nelson House trail, Jean," she retorted. + +"Pouf! Jan Thoreau doesn't give the snap of his small finger for the +MacVeigh girl!" Jean replied, warm in defense of his friend. + +"She is pretty," laughed Melisse, "and I have just learned that is why +men like to--like them, I mean." + +Jean strutted before her like a peacock. + +"Am I pretty, Melisse?" + +"No-o-o-o." + +"Then why"--he shrugged his shoulders suggestively--"in the cabin--" + +"Because you were brave, Jean. I love brave men!" + +"You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?" + +Melisse did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner +of her eye as she left him. + +"Come home, Jan Thoreau," he hummed softly, as he went to the store. +"Come home, come home, come home, for the little Melisse has grown into +a woman, and is learning to use her eyes!" + +Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was MacVeigh. +He brought word that Jan had gone south, to spend the annual holiday at +Nelson House, and Cummings told Melisse whence the message came. He did +not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went on: + +"I don't understand this in Jan. He is needed here for the carnival. +Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?" + +Melisse shook her head. + +"MacVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief +man," continued the factor. "It is strange that he has sent no +explanation to me!" + +It was a week after the big caribou roast before Jan returned to Lac +Bain. Melisse saw him drive in from the Churchill trail; but while her +heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at +least an equal show of the calm indifference with which he had left her +six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still rankled +bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her; he had not even passed +his last evening with her. + +But she was not prepared for the changed Jan Thoreau who came slowly +through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the +smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed +with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of +the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, +an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the +half-defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had +spoken. She had never known this Jan before, and her fortitude left her +as she approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to +him. + +"Jan!" she said. + +Her voice trembled; her lips quivered. There was the old glorious +pleading in her eyes, and before it Jan bowed his unkempt head, and +crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was +silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At +last Jan spoke. + +"I'm glad to see you again, Melisse. It has seemed like a very long +time!" + +He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, and +Jan freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, nothing +of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible emotion, +they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. + +"I have not played in so long," he said, turning from her, "that I +believe I have forgotten." + +He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over the +strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of +beard, as he said: + +"Ah, you must play for me now, Melisse! It has surely gone from Jan +Thoreau." + +He held out the violin to her. + +"Not now, Jan," she said tremulously. "I will play for you to-night." +She went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her +back to him. "You will come to supper, Jan?" + +"Surely, Melisse, if you are prepared." + +He hung up the violin as she closed the door, and went from the cabin. +Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried +across the open to meet him. + +"I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor," he cried gaily. +"Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see you." + +"A beard is good to keep off the black flies," replied Jan. "It is +approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. Let us +go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you." + +Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce they sat down, +facing each other. Jan spoke in French. + +"I have traveled far since leaving Lac Bain," he said. "I went first to +Nelson House, and from here to the Wholdaia. I found them at Nelson +House, but not on the Wholdaia." + +"What?" asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. + +"My brothers, Jean de Gravois," answered Jan, drawing his lips until +his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "My brothers, les betes de +charogne!" + +"Devil take Croisset for telling you where they were!" muttered Jean +under his breath. + +"I saw the two at Nelson House," continued Jan. "One of them is a +half-wit, and the other"--he hunched his shoulders--"is worse. Petraud, +one of the two who were at Wholdaia, was killed by a Cree father last +winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other disappeared." + +Jean was silent, his head leaning forward, his face resting in his +hands. + +"So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend Jan +Thoreau!" + +Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his +companion. + +"I see that you are a bigger fool than ever," he said quietly. "Jan +Thoreau, what if I should break my oath--and tell Melisse?" + +Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Jan's. Slowly he +unsheathed his long knife, and placed it upon the snow between his +feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With +a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. + +"Do you mean that, Jan Thoreau? Do you mean to give the knife-challenge +to one who has staked his life for you and who loves you as a brother?" + +"Yes," said Jan deliberately. "I love you, Jean more than any other man +in the world; and yet I will kill you if you betray me to Melisse!" He +rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the little Frenchman. +"Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you have done as much +for Iowaka?" + +For a moment Gravois was silent. + +"I would not have taken her love without telling her," he said then. +"That is not what you and I know as honor, Jan Thoreau. But I would +have gone to her, as you should now go to Melisse, and she would have +opened her arms to me, as Melisse would opens hers to you. That is what +I would have done." + +"And that is what I shall never do," said Jan decisively, turning +toward the post. "I could kill myself more easily. That is what I +wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know!" + +"I would like to choke that fool of a Croisset for sending you to hunt +up those people at Nelson House and Wholdaia!" grumbled Jean. + +"It was best for me." + +They saw Melisse leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. +Both waved their hands to her, and Jan cut across the open to the store. + +Jean went to the Cummins cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not +observed. There was little of the old vivacity in his manner as he +greeted Melisse. He noted, too, that the girl was not her natural self. +There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had been +crying. + +"Melisse," he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the +cap he was twisting in his fingers, "there has come a great change over +Jan." + +"A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his +heart has been broken down on the Nelson trail." + +Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little +as she spoke. He was before her in an instant, his cap fallen to the +floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. + +"Yes, the heart of Jan Thoreau is broken!" he cried. "But it has been +broken by nothing that lives on the Nelson House trail. It is broken +because of--YOU!" + +"I!" Melisse drew back from him with a breathless cry. "I--I have +broken--" + +"I did not say that," interrupted Jean. "I say that it is broken +because of you. Mon Dieu, if only I might tell you!" + +"Do-DO, Jean! Please tell me!" She put her hands on his shoulders. Her +eyes implored him. "Tell me what I have done--what I can do, Jean!" + +"I can say that much to you, and no more," he said quietly. "Only know +this, ma chere--that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Jan +Thoreau, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what this +grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to find +out, and to do this, above all else--let him know that you love him!" + +The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again +in a swift flood. + +"That I love him?" + +"Yes. Not as a sister any longer, Melisse, but as a WOMAN!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HER PROMISE + + +Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he knew, +as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, and that +if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the door +quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. + +Cummins and Jan came in together at suppertime. The factor was in high +humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox that +morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a combination of +incidents which put him in the best of moods. + +Melisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red +bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her +throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, +which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a +clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the +old familiarity on her part. + +"Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after asking +Jan many questions about his trip. + +"I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'." + +Purposely he held his eyes from Melisse. She understood his effort, and +a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. + +"It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor, +oblivious of the effect of his questions. + +"I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his +trap-lines." + +He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from the +cabin. Melisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his arm. + +"You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help +with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin." + +She pulled him into a chair as Cummins left, and tied an apron about +his shoulders. + +"Close your eyes--and don't move!" she commanded, laughing into his +surprised face as she ran into her room. + +A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The hot +blood surged through Jan's veins when he felt her fingers running +gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a little +nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, snip of +the scissors. + +"It's terribly long, Jan!" Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. +"Ugh!" she shuddered. "You must take that off your face. If you don't--" + +"Why?" he asked, through lack of anything else to say. + +She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. + +"Because it feels like bristles," she whispered. + +She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors snipped +more rapidly between her fingers. + +"I'm going to prospect the big swamp along the edge of the Barrens this +summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. "A beard +will protect me from the black flies." + +"You can grow another." + +She took the apron from about his shoulders, and held it so that he +could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. + +"Thank you, Melisse. Do you remember when you last cut my hair?" + +"Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for +cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you +sit on a rock and let me trim it." + +"And you cut my ear," he reminded. + +"For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her +breath. + +She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her father's +shaving-mug and razor. + +"I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a +lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!" + +"Afraid of me?" + +He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face +from side to side. Melisse handed him the razor and cup. + +"You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time. +There has been a great change in you since--since--" + +She hesitated. + +"Since when, Melisse?" + +"Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair." With +timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan." + +She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her +with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that +she was looking, and Melisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed +them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin from +the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the +instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's +absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia. + +Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips +the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its +infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the +Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, sobbing +its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with +immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Melisse. + +He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed +head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes were +wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. + +"It is wonderful, Melisse! You have made beautiful music for it." + +"Thank you, Jan." + +She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the +wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the violin. + +"Now you must play for me." + +"I have forgotten a great deal, Melisse." + +She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over +the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was +not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes +shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old spirit +of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to another, and +after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. + +Without speaking, she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the +wall. + +"You must practise a great deal," she said quietly. + +At her movement he, too, rose from his seat; and when she turned to him +again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into her +eyes. + +"Are you going so soon, Jan?" + +"I am tired," he said in excuse. "It has been two days since I have +slept, Melisse. Good night!" + +He smiled at her from the door, but the "Good night" which fell from +her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Jan shivered when he went out. +Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come +from the cabin none too soon. + +Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Melisse, he crossed to +the company store. + +It was late when Cummins returned home. Melisse was still up. He looked +at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and hat. + +"Has anything come between you and Jan?" he asked suddenly. "Why have +you been crying?" + +"Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know +of nothing that has come between Jan and me, only I--I don't +understand--" + +She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling +in her throat. + +"Neither do I understand," exclaimed the factor, going to the stove to +light his pipe. "He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the +company tonight!" + +"He is not going--to leave--the post?" breathed Melisse. + +"He is leaving the service," reiterated her father. "That means he can +not long live at Lac Bain. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps +into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more?" + +"Nothing," said Melisse. + +She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding film +burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to master +herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the factor went +into his room, and she took this opportunity of slipping into her own, +calling "Good night" to him from the partly closed door. + +The next day it was Croisset who went along the edge of the Barrens for +meat. Gravois found Jan filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. It +was their first encounter since he had learned that Jan had given up +the service. + +"Diable!" he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour +and salt in a rubber bag. "Diable, I say, M. Jan Thoreau!" + +Jan looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering +with rage. + +"Bon jour, M. Jean de Gravois!" he laughed back. "You see I am going +out among the foxes." + +"The devils!" snapped Jean. + +"No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make better +wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean! It has +been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes must be +eating up the country!" + +Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. "Blessed saints, and it was I +who--" + +He spun upon his heels without another word, and went straight to +Melisse. + +"Jan Thoreau is going to leave the post," he announced fiercely, +throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. + +"So father has told me," said Melisse. + +Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her +eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. + +"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean, whirling again, "you take it coolly!" + +A little later Melisse saw Jan coming from the store. When he entered +the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was +laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. + +"I have come to say good-by, Melisse," he said. "I am going to prospect +for a good trap-line among the Barrens." + +"I hope you will have good luck, Jan." + +In her voice, too, was a firmness almost metallic. + +For the first time in his life Jan held out his hand to her. She +started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her +face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and +unflinchingly in the eyes. + +"Will you wait a moment?" she asked. + +She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she +reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her +eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled +upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of bakneesh. +She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her hand. + +"I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in +his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?" + +He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he +fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. + +"You promised--" He could not go further. + +"I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had +forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now." + +He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their +thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as +if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came +evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of +what he spoke. + +"I have not forgotten to love you, Melisse. I shall never cease to love +my little sister. But you are older now, and it is time for you to do +up your hair." + +He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her +arms still half stretched out to him, and went from the cabin. + +"Good-by, Jan!" + +The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far +to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in +front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin +of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and, with bowed +head, disappear slowly into the depths of the black spruce forest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +JAN RETURNS + + +All that spring and summer Jan spent in the thick caribou swamps and +low ridge-mountains along the Barrens. It was two months before he +appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to +patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. + +Melisse had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and +loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from +Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret; and yet when the gloom had +settled heaviest upon her, she was still buoyed up by a persistent +hope. Until Jan's last visit to Lac Bain this hope never quite went out. + +The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west, he +came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and +shaggy, and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The +sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing +humor in Melisse, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in their +devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence of the +forest man. Firmly and yet gently, it repelled whatever of the old +things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as if by +power of a strong hand. + +This time Melisse knew that there was left not even the last comforting +spark of hope within her bosom. Jan had gone out of her life for ever, +leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they two had once been to +each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. + +After he went away again, the violin became more and more to her what +it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing her +loneliness and her heart-break through its strings, in lone hours +clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Jan had talked to it in +years gone by. + +"If you could only tell me--if you only could!" she whispered to it one +day, when the autumn was drawing near. "If you could tell me about him, +and what I might do--dear old violin!" + +Once during the autumn Jan came in for supplies and traps, and his dogs +and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles to +the west, in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac Bain for a +week, and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. + +The runner brought a new experience into the life of Melisse--her first +letter. It was from young Dixon--twenty or more closely written pages +of it, in which he informed her that he was going to spend a part of +the approaching winter at Lac Bain. + +She was reading the last page when Jan came into the cabin. Her cheeks +were slightly flushed by this new excitement, which was reflected in +her eyes as she looked at Jan. + +"A letter!" she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the pages. +"A letter--to me, Jan, all the way from Fort Churchill!" + +"Who in the world--" he began, smiling at her; and stopped. + +"It's from Mr. Dixon," she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. +"He's going to spend part of the winter with us." + +"I'm glad of that, Melisse," said Jan quietly. "I like him, and would +like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books--and +strings." He glanced at the old violin. "Do you play much?" + +"A great deal," she replied. "Won't you play for me, Jan?" + +"My hands are too rough; and besides, I've forgotten all that I ever +knew." + +"Even the things you played when I was a baby?" + +"I think I have, Melisse. But you must never forget them." + +"I shall remember them--always," she answered softly. "Some day it may +be that I will teach them to you again." + +He did not see her again until six months later, when he came in to the +caribou roast, with his furs. Then he learned that another letter had +come to Melisse, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of coming to +Lac Bain. + +The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the +Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Bain. Early summer brought no +news of him. In the floods, Jean went by the water-way to the +Athabasca, and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been life +in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting snows +they had not seen Jan. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac said +that he had found the bones of a white man on the Beaver, with a +Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. + +Jean came back to Lac Bain heavy at heart. + +"There is no doubt but that he is dead," he told Iowaka. "I do not +believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Melisse." + +One day early in September a lone figure came in to the post at noon, +when the company people were at dinner. He carried a pack, and six dogs +trailed at his heels. It was Jan Thoreau. + +"I have been down to civilization," was his explanation. "I have +returned to spend this winter at Lac Bain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE RESCUE + + +On the first snow came young Dixon from Fort Churchill. Jean de Gravois +met him on the trail near Ledoq's. When the Englishman recognized the +little Frenchman he leaped from his sledge and advanced with +outstretched hand, his face lighting up with pleasure. + +"Bless me, if it isn't my old friend, Jean!" he cried. "I was just +thinking of you, Gravois, and how you trimmed me to a finish two +winters ago. I've learned a lot about you people up here in the snows +since then, and I'll never do anything like that again." He laughed +into Jean's face as they shook hands, and his voice was filled with +unbounded sincerity. "How is Mrs. Gravois, and the little Gravois--and +Melisse?" he added, before Jean had spoken. + +"All well, M'seur Dixon," replied Jean. "Only the little Gravois have +almost grown into a man and woman." + +An hour or so later he said to Iowaka: + +"I can't help liking this man Dixon, and yet I don't want to. Why is +it, do you suppose?" + +"Is it because you are afraid that Melisse will like him?" asked his +wife, smiling over her shoulder. + +"Blessed saints, I believe that it is!" said Jean frankly. "I hate +foreigners--and Melisse belongs to Jan." + +"She did, once, but that was a long time ago, Jean." + +"It may be, and yet I doubt it, ma bien aimee. If Jan would tell her--" + +"A woman will not wait always," interrupted Iowaka softly. "Jan Thoreau +has waited too long!" + +A week later, as they stood together in front of their door, they saw +Dixon and Melisse walking slowly in the edge of the forest. The woman +laughed into Jean's face. + +"Did I not say that Jan had waited too long?" + +Jean's face was black with disapprobation. + +"Then you would have taken up with some foreigner if I had remained in +the Athabasca country another year or two?" he demanded questioningly. + +"Very likely," retorted Iowaka mischievously, running into the cabin. + +"The devil!" said Jean sourly, stalking in the direction of the store. + +He was angered at the coolness with which Jan accepted the situation. + +"This Dixon is with Melisse afternoon and evening, and they walk +together every day in the bush," he said to him. "Soon there will be a +wedding at Lac Bain!" + +"Melisse deserves a good man," replied Jan, unmoved. "I like Dixon." + +Deep down in his soul he knew that each day was bringing the end of it +all much nearer for him. He did not tell Melisse that he had returned +to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He +had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a +certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon. Day +after day he saw Melisse and the Englishman together, and while they +awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have rankled in +the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl was at last +passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that which was +already eating at his heart. + +Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Melisse. Frankly +he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill trail. In +his honest way he said things which broke down the last of Jean's +hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was a +different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before. + +"Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see +him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Melisse from Jan!" + +The big snow decided. + +It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early in +the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later one +could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The Englishman +did not return that day. The next day he was still gone, and Gravois +drove along the top of the mountain ridge until he came to the +Frenchman's, where he found that Dixon had started for Lac Bain the +preceding afternoon. He brought word back to the post. Then he went to +Melisse. + +"It is as good as death to go out in search of him," he said. "We can +no longer use the dogs. Snowshoes will sink like leaden bullets by +morning, and to go ten miles from the post means that there will be +bones to be picked by the foxes when the crust comes!" + +It was dark when Jan came into the cabin. Melisse started to her feet +with a little cry when he entered, covered white with the snow. A light +pack was strapped to his back, and he carried his rifle in his hand. + +"I am going to hunt for him," he said softly. "If he is alive, I will +bring him back to you." + +She came to him slowly, and the beating of Jan's heart sounded to him +like the distant thrumming of partridge-wings. Ah, would he ever forget +that look? The old glory was in her eyes, her arms were reaching out, +her lips parted. Jan knew how the Great Spirit had once appeared to +Mukee, and how a white mist, like a snow-veil, had come between the +half-breed's eyes and the wondrous Thing he beheld. That same veil +drifted between Jan and the girl. As in a vision, he saw her face so +near to him that he felt the touch of her sweet breath, and he knew +that one of his rough hands was clasped in both of her own, and that +after a moment it was crushed tightly against her bosom. + +"Jan, my hero--" + +He struggled back, almost sobbing, as he plunged out into the night +again. He heard her voice crying after him, but the wild wailing of the +spruce, and the storm in his brain, drowned its words. He had seen the +glorious light of love in her eyes--her love for Dixon! And he would +find him! At last he, Jan Thoreau, would prove that the old love was +not dead within him; he would do for Melisse this night--to-morrow--the +next day, and until he fell down to die--what he had promised to do on +their sledge-ride to Ledoq's. And then-- + +He went to Ledoq's now, following the top of the mountain, and reached +his cabin in the late dawn. The Frenchman stared at him in amazement +when he learned that he was about to set out on a search for Dixon. + +"You will not find him," he said slowly in French; "but if you are +determined to go, I will hunt with you. It is a big chance that we will +not come back." + +"I don't want you to go," objected Jan. "One will do as much as two, +unless we search alone. I came your way to find if it had begun to snow +before Dixon left." + +"An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your +face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that +he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then +search alone." + +They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them +that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they +separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, +Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south. + +It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows for +the happiness of Melisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed or +knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the +people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of him, +far to the south. + +Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was +neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy +ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it, the +spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was twisted +in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through the still +terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts. Now and then +he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and intently. The +echoes came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then each time fell +the mirthless silence of the storm. + +Day came, only a little lighter than the night. He crossed the lake, +his snow-shoes sinking ankle-deep at every step, and once each +half-hour he fired a single shot from his rifle. He heard shots to the +south, and knew that it was Ledoq; each report coming to him more +faintly than the last, until they had died away entirely. + +Across the lake he struck the forest again, and his shouts echoed in +futile inquiry in its weird depths. About him there was no sign of +life, no sound except the faint fluttering of falling snow. Under five +feet of this snow the four-footed creatures of the wilderness were +snugly buried; close against the trunks of the spruces, sheltered +within their tent-like coverings, the birds waited like lifeless things +for the breaking of the storm. + +At noon Jan stopped and ate his lunch. Then he went on, carrying his +rifle always upon his right shoulder, so that the steps of his right +leg would be shortened, and he would travel in a circle, as he believed +Dixon had done. + +The storm thickened with the falling of night, and he burrowed himself +a great hole in the soft snow and filled it with balsam boughs for a +bed. When he awakened, hours later, he stood up, and thrust out his +head, and found himself buried to the arm-pits. With the aid of his +broad snow-shoes he drew himself out, until he stood knee-deep in the +surface. + +He lifted his pack. As he swung it before him, one arm thrust through a +strap, he gave a startled cry. Half of one side of the pack was eaten +away! He thrust his hands through the breach, and a moan of despair +sobbed on his lips when he found that his food was gone. A thin trickle +of flour ran through his fingers upon the snow. He pulled out a gnawed +pound of bacon, a little tea--and that was all. + +Frantically he ripped the rent wider in his search, and when he stood +up, his wild face staring into the chaos about him, he held only the +bit of bacon in his hand. In it were the imprints of tiny teeth--sharp +little razor-edged teeth that told him what had happened. While he had +slept a mink had robbed him of his food! + +With one of his shoes he began digging furiously in the snow. He tore +his balsam bed to pieces. Somewhere--somewhere not very far away--the +little animal must have cached its theft. He dug down until he came to +the frozen earth. For an hour he worked and found nothing. + +Then he stopped. Over a small fire he melted snow for tea and broiled a +slice of the bacon, which he ate with the few biscuit crumbs he found +in the pack. Every particle of flour that he could find he scraped up +with his knife and put into one of the deep pockets of his caribou +coat. After that he set cut in the direction in which he thought he +would find Lac Bain. + +Still he shouted for Dixon, and fired an occasional shot from his +rifle. By noon he should have struck the lake. Noon came and passed; +the gloom of a second night fell upon him. He built himself a fire, and +ate two-thirds of what remained of the bacon. The handful of flour in +his pocket he did not disturb. + +It was still night when he broke his rest and struggled on. His first +fears were gone. In place of them, there filled him now a grim sort of +pleasure. A second time he was battling with death for Melisse. And +this, after all, was not a very hard fight for him. He had feared death +in the red plague, but he did not fear the thought of this death that +threatened him in the big snows. It thrilled him, instead, with a +strange sort of exhilaration. If he died, it would be for Melisse, and +for all time she would remember him for what he had done. + +When he ate the last bit of his bacon, he made up his mind what he +would do when the end came. In the stock of his rifle he would scratch +a few last words to Melisse. He even arranged the words in his +brain--four of them--"Melisse, I love you." He repeated them to himself +as he staggered on, and that night, beside the fire he built, he began +by carving her name. + +"To-morrow," he said softly, "I will do the rest." + +He was growing very hungry, but he did not touch the flour. For six +hours he slept, and then drank his fill of hot tea. + +"We will travel until day, Jan Thoreau," he informed himself, "and +then, if nothing turns up, we will build our last camp, and eat the +flour. It will be the last of us, for there will be no meat above this +snow for days." + +His snow-shoes were an impediment now, and he left them behind, along +with one of his two blankets, which had grown to be like lead upon his +shoulders. He counted his cartridges--ten of them. One of these he +fired into the air. + +Was that an echo he heard? + +A sudden thrill shot through him. He strained his ears to catch a +repetition of the sound. In a moment it came again--clearly no echo +this time. + +"Ledoq!" he cried aloud. + +He fired again. + +Back to him came the distant, splitting crack of a rifle. He forced his +way toward it. After a little he heard the signal again, much nearer +than before, and he fired in response. A few hundred yards farther on +he came to a low mountain ridge, and lifted his voice in a loud shout. +A shot came from just over the mountain. + +Waist deep in the light snow he began the ascent, dragging himself up +by the tops of the slender saplings, stopping every few yards to +half-stretch himself out in the soft mass through which he was +struggling, panting with exhaustion. He shouted when he gained the top +of the ridge. Up through the white blur of snow on the other side there +came to him faintly a shout; yet, in spite of its faintness, Jan knew +that it was very near. + +"Something has happened to Ledoq," he told himself, "but he surely has +food, and we can live it out until the storm is over." + +It was easier going down the ridge, and he went quickly in the +direction from which the voice had come, until a mass of huge boulders +loomed up before him. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air, and +he followed it in among the rocks, where it grew stronger. + +"Ho, Ledoq!" he shouted. + +A voice replied a dozen yards away. Slowly, as he advanced, he made out +the dim shadow of life in the white gloom--a bit of smoke climbing +weakly in the storm, the black opening of a brush shelter--and then, +between the opening and the spiral of smoke, a living thing that came +creeping toward him on all fours, like an animal. + +He plunged toward it, and the shadow staggered upward, and would have +fallen had it not been for the support of the deep snow. Another step, +and a sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. It was not Ledoq, but Dixon, who +stood there with white, starved face and staring eyes in the snow gloom! + +"My God, I am starving--and dying for a drink of water!" gasped the +Englishman chokingly, thrusting out his arms. "Thoreau, God be +praised--" + +He staggered, and fell in the snow. Jan dragged him back to the shelter. + +"I will have water for you--and something to eat--very soon," he said. + +His voice sounded unreal. There was a mistiness before his eyes which +was not caused by the storm, a twisting of strange shadows that +bothered his vision, and made him sway dizzily when he threw off his +pack to stir the fire. He suspended his two small pails over the +embers, which he coaxed into a blaze. Both he filled with snow; into +one he emptied the handful of flour that he had carried in his +pocket--into the other he put tea. Fifteen minutes later he carried +them to the Englishman. + +Dixon sat up, a glazed passion filling his eyes. He drank the hot tea +greedily, and as greedily ate the boiled flour-pudding. Jan watched him +hungrily until the last crumb of it was gone. He refilled the pails +with snow, added more tea, and then rejoined the Englishman. New life +was already shining in Dixon's eyes. + +"Not a moment too soon, Thoreau," he said thankfully, reaching over to +grip the other's hand. + +"Another night and--" Suddenly he stopped. "Great Heaven, what is the +matter?" + +He noticed for the first time the pinched torture in his companion's +face. Jan's head dropped weakly upon his breast. His hands were icy +cold. + +"Nothing," he murmured drowsily, "only--I'm starving, too, Dixon!" He +recovered himself with an effort, and smiled into Dixon's startled +face. "There is nothing to eat," he continued, as he saw the other +direct his gaze toward the pack. "I gave you the last of the flour. +There is nothing--but salt and tea." He rolled over upon the balsam +boughs with a restful sigh. "Let me sleep!" + +Dixon went to the pack. One by one, in his search for food, he took out +the few articles that it contained. After that he drank more tea, +crawled back into the balsam shelter, and lay down beside Jan. It was +broad day when he awoke, and he called hoarsely to his companion when +he saw that the snow had ceased falling. + +Jan did not stir. For a moment Dixon leaned over to listen to his +breathing, and then dragged himself slowly and painfully out into the +day. The fire was out. A leaden blackness still filled the sky; deep, +silent gloom hung in the wake of the storm. + +Suddenly there came to Dixon's ears a sound. It was a sound that would +have been unheard in the gentle whispering of a wind, in the swaying of +the spruce-tops; but in this silence it fell upon the starving man's +hearing with a distinctness that drew his muscles rigid and set his +eyes staring about him in wild search. Just beyond the hanging pails a +moose-bird hopped out upon the snow. It chirped hungrily, its big, +owl-like eyes scrutinizing Dixon. The man stared back, fearing to move. +Slowly he forced his right foot through the snow to the rear of his +left, and as cautiously brought his left behind his right, working +himself backward step by step until he reached the shelter. Just inside +was his rifle. He drew it out and sank upon his knees in the snow to +aim. At the report of the rifle, Jan stirred but did not open his eyes; +he made no movement when Dixon called out in shrill joy that he had +killed meat. He heard, he strove to arouse himself, but something more +powerful than his own will seemed pulling him down into oblivion. It +seemed an eternity before he was conscious of a voice again. He felt +himself lifted, and opened his eyes with his head resting against the +Englishman's shoulder. + +"Drink this, Thoreau," he heard. + +He drank, and knew that it was not tea that ran down his throat. + +"Whisky-jack soup," he heard again. "How is it?" + +He became wide-awake. Dixon was offering him a dozen small bits of meat +on a tin plate, and he ate without questioning. Suddenly, when there +were only two or three of the smallest scraps left, he stopped. + +"Mon Dieu, it was whisky-jack!" he cried. "I have eaten it all!" + +The young Englishman's white face grinned at him. + +"I've got the flour inside of me, Thoreau--you've got the moose-bird. +Isn't that fair?" + +The plate dropped between them. Over it their hands met in a great, +clutching grip, and up from Jan's heart there welled words which almost +burst from his lips in voice, words which rang in his brain, and which +were an unspoken prayer--"Melisse, I thank the great God that it is +this man whom you love!" But it was in silence that he staggered to his +feet and went out into the gloom. + +"This may be only a lull in the storm," he said. "We must lose no time. +How long did you travel before you made this camp?" + +"About ten hours," said Dixon. "I made due west by compass until I knew +that I had passed Lac Bain, and then struck north." + +"Ah, you have the compass," cried Jan, his eyes lighting up. "M'seur +Dixon, we are very near to the post if you camped so soon! Tell me +which is north." + +"That is north." + +"Then we go south--south and east. If you traveled ten hours, first +west and then north, we are northwest of Lac Bain." + +Jan spoke no more, but got his rifle from the shelter and put only the +tea and two pails in his pack; leaving the remaining blanket upon the +snow. The Englishman followed close behind him, bending weakly under +the weight of his gun. Tediously they struggled to the top of the +ridge, and as Jan stopped to look through the gray day about him, Dixon +sank down into the snow. When the other turned toward him he grinned up +feebly into his face. + +"Bushed," he gasped. "Don't believe I can make it through this snow, +Thoreau." + +There was no fear in his eyes; there was even a cheerful ring in his +voice. + +A sudden glow leaped into Jan's face. + +"I know this ridge," he exclaimed. "It runs within a mile of Lac Bain. +You'd better leave your rifle behind." + +Dixon made an effort to rise and Jan helped him. They went on slowly, +resting every few hundred yards, and each time that he rose from these +periods of rest, Dixon's face was twisted with pain. + +"It's the flour and water anchored amidships," he smiled grimly. +"Cramps--Ugh!" + +"We'll make it by supper-time," assured Jan cheerfully. + +Dixon leaned heavily on his arm. + +"I wish you'd go on alone," he urged. "You could send help--" + +"I promised Melisse that I would bring you back if I found you," +replied Jan, his face turned away. "If the storm broke again, you would +be lost." + +"Tell me--tell me--" he heard Dixon pant eagerly, "did she send you to +hunt for me, Thoreau?" + +Something in the Englishman's voice drew his eyes to him. There was an +excited flush in his starved cheeks; his eyes shone. + +"Did she send you?" + +Jan struggled hard to speak calmly. + +"Not in words, M'seur Dixon. But I know that if I get you safely back +to Lac Bain she will be very happy." + +Something came in Dixon's sobbing breath which Jan did not hear. A +little later he stopped and built a fire over which he melted more snow +and boiled tea. The drink stimulated them, and they went on. A little +later still and Jan hung his rifle in the crotch of a sapling. + +"We will return for the guns in a day or so," he said. + +Dixon leaned upon him more heavily now, and the distances they traveled +between resting periods became shorter and shorter. Three times they +stopped to build fires and cook tea. It was night when they descended +from the ridge to the snow-covered ice of Lac Bain. It was past +midnight when Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce forest into the opening +at the post. There were no lights burning, and he went with his +half-conscious burden to the company's store. He awakened Croisset, who +let them in. + +"Take care of Dixon," said Jan, "and don't arouse any of the people +to-night. It will be time enough to tell what has happened in the +morning." + +Over the stove in his own room he cooked meat and coffee, and for a +long time sat silent before the fire. He had brought back Dixon. In the +morning Melisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, +then--then--she would come to him! + +He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. + +"No, Melisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to +himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." + +He took pencil and paper and wrote. Page after page he crumpled in his +hand and flung into the fire. At last, swiftly and despairingly, he +ended with half a dozen lines. What he said came from his heart, in +French: + +"I have brought him back to you, my Melisse, and pray that the good God +may give you happiness. I leave you the old violin, and always when you +play, it will tell you of the love of Jan Thoreau." + +He folded the page and sealed it in one of the company's envelopes. +Very quietly he went from his room down into the deserted store. +Without striking a light he found a new pack, a few articles of food, +and ammunition. The envelope, addressed to Melisse, he left where +Croisset or the factor would find it in the morning. His dogs were +housed in a shack behind the store, and he called out their names +softly and warningly as he went among them. As stealthily as their +master they trailed behind him to the edge of the forest, and close +under the old spruce that guarded the grave Jan stopped, and silently +he stretched out his arms to the little cabin. + +The dogs watched him. Kazan, the one-eyed leader, glared from him into +the dimness of the night, whining softly. A low, mourning wind swept +through the spruce tops, and from Jan's throat there burst sobbingly +words which he had heard beside this same grave more than seventeen +years before, when Williams' choking voice had risen in a last prayer +for the woman. + +"May the great God care for Melisse!" + +He turned into the trail upon which Jean de Gravois had fought the +Englishman, led his dogs and sledge in a twisting path through the +caribou swamp, and stood at last beside the lob-stick tree that leaned +out over the edge of the white barrens. With his knife he dug out the +papers which he had concealed in that whisky-jack hole. + +It was near dawn when he recovered the rifle which he had abandoned on +the mountain top. A little later it began to snow. He was glad, for it +would conceal his trail. + +For thirteen days he forced his dogs through the deep snows into the +south. On the fourteenth they came to Le Pas, which is the edge of +civilization. It was night when he came out of the forest, so that he +could see the faint glow of lights beyond the Saskatchewan. + +For a few moments, before crossing, he stopped his tired dogs and +turned his face back into the grim desolation of the North, where the +aurora was playing feebly in the skies, and beckoning to him, and +telling him that the old life of centuries and centuries ago would wait +for him always at the dome of the earth. + +"The good God bless you, and keep you, and care for you ever more, my +Melisse," he whispered; and he walked slowly ahead of his dogs, across +the river, and into the Other World. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +JACK THORNTON + + +There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came to +the first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears. +Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan's +heart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in the +starlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. It +was strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle up +to his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, close +to a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it a +tumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse singing +and loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. The man +was cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as Jan had +never heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he listened +to the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man and the +first woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between two men, +screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy figure an +object which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a bottle. +Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's heels. With a +low word Jan led them on. + +Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon to +the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light hung +over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a printed +legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub bush of +the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush Jan tied +his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that now, when he +had entered civilization, he had come also into the land of lock and +bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not suspicion, +that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him. + +They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened +into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty +except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window +which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not disturb +this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the window. Kazan +laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one eye upon him +steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of life had Jan felt +the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as he looked into the +North. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and silent; beyond it he +could see the dark edge of the forest, and far, far, beyond that, +hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned faintly now, almost +like a thousand other stars that he saw, and the aurora was only a +fading glow. + +Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed his +eyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battle +that he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endless +silent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless, +until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head, +and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering to +hunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fight +in the forests. He was with Melisse again, with the old violin, with +the things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that there +was another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted his +position so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low, +heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened him +again to a consciousness of the present. + +He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. The +stranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, staring +at him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he knew +that in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was written a +grief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a full breath +or two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along Kazan's spine +stood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his tired blood +tingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He was not of his +people. His face bore the stamp of the people to the south, of +civilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped all +barriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The stranger +reached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the loneliness, +the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for companionship, +passed in the long grip of their hands. + +"You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That was +your sledge--out there?" + +"Yes," said Jan. + +The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan. + +"From the camps?" he questioned eagerly. + +"What camps, m'sieur?" + +"The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through, +beyond Wekusko." + +"I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, except +this that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of the +barren lands." + +"You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Jan +wondered at the light in his eyes. + +"A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of my +life--up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turned +to where the polar star was fading low in the sky. + +"And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding his +head to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health and +happiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leaving +them. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, holding +out his hand again. "I come from Chicago." + +"My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago in +a book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city that +is called Winnipeg?" + +He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so that +the light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightened +about Jan's hand. + +"Yes, it is larger." + +"The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and Le +Commissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?" + +"Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes." + +"And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would it +not be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan. + +Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face. + +"There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said. + +"That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do business +there--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, and +half turned toward the door. + +"Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It might +depend--on what your business is." + +To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low +wailing of a dog out in the night. + +"They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not +read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" + +The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan +went back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruce +shut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hung +his coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossed +frozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs and +spread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffee +and meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, and +they lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at the +scraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was left +in them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not snap or +snarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to them, and +he found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with the sickness +which was eating at his own heart. + +With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache, +there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almost +excitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurry +on, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had told +him of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of the +thing which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when he +had staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died. +He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had +taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty +years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great +company at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this thing, +what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Perhaps the company +might take him, and he would remain in civilization. That would be +best--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests as years +and years ago he had fought against that call of the Other World that +had filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. If he DID +return to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far to the east. +No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan Thoreau. + +Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch by +inch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten years +ago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he and +Melisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers and +sisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the other +dogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about the +dog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy, +and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the tree. + +Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and found +that the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, beyond +the dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were dying, +and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He sat +upright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of smoke +from his pipe. + +"You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a dead +man. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--I +thought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Then +he looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you're +hard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you let +me help you out?" + +"Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleep +outside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff with +the frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?" + +Thornton nodded. + +"And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the spruce +tops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for you." + +"You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?" + +"To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within an +hour." + +"Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked. + +"With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. I +must hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs." + +Thornton rose and stretched out a hand. + +"It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--" + +He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight into +his eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and again +Jan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which he +had first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressed +note in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest, +and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned to +his pack upon the sledge. + +"I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you have +breakfast with me?" + +That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the level +surface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. The +second day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and struck +south and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It was +early afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town. + +"We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We will +lose no time." + +It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at the +west edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an office +filled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking machines; +and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card to a +gray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his chair, +bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door opened, +and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart quivering, his +breath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in his breast +pocket. + +Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did not +reopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls at +typewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be this +wild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of the +sub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared. +Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes first +encountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan came +out. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop to +his shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thin +face seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere but +ahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let them +out into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing of his +breath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing. + +"If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he cried +fiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out of +you--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'll +buck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money to +show 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!" + +"Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of his +throat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a million +would just about buy--what I've given away up there." + +He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where the +papers had been. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +TEMPTATION + + +That night, leaving Thornton still at supper in the little old Windsor +Hotel, Jan slipped away, and with Kazan at his heels, crossed the +frozen Saskatchewan to the spruce forest on the north shore. He wanted +to be alone, to think, to fight with himself against a desire which was +almost overpowering him. Once, long ago, he had laid his soul bare to +Jean de Gravois, and Jean had given him comfort. To-night he longed to +go to Thornton, as he had gone to Jean, and to tell him the same story, +and what had passed that day in the office of the sub-commissioner. In +his heart there had grown something for Thornton that was stronger than +friendship--something that would have made him fight for him, and die +for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de Gravois. It was a +feeling cemented by a belief that something was troubling +Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a grief which +he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain himself from +confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he knew, except by +relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He walked along the shore +of the river and recrossed it again near the company's offices. All +were dark with the exception of the sub-commissioner's room. In that +there glowed a light. The sub-commissioner was keeping his promise. He +was working. He worked until late, for Jan came back two hours after +and saw the light still there. + +A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and it +would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and he +looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that week +was over. + +Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to +the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as Jan +had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him. There was an +uneasy tremor in Thornton's voice when he said: + +"Jan, did you ever love a woman--love her until you were ready and +willing to die for her?" + +The suddenness of the question wrung the truth from Jan's lips in a +low, choking voice. For an instant he thought that Thornton must have +guessed his secret. + +"Yes, m'sieur." + +Thornton leaned toward him, gripping his knees, and the misery in his +face was deeper than Jan had ever seen it before. + +"I love a woman--like that," he went on tensely. "A girl--not a woman, +and she is one of your people, Jan--of the north, as innocent as a +flower, more beautiful to ME than--than all the women I have ever seen +before. She is at Oxford House. I am going home to--to save myself." +"Save yourself!" cried Jan. "Mon Dieu, m'sieur--does she not love you?" + +"She would follow me to the end of the earth!" + +"Then--" + +Thornton straightened himself and wiped his pale face. Suddenly he rose +to his feet and motioned for Jan to follow him. He walked swiftly out +into the night, and still faster after that, until they passed beyond +the town. From where he stopped they could look over the forests far +into the pale light of the south. + +"THAT'S hell for me!" said Thornton, pointing. "It's what we call +civilization--but it's mostly hell, and it's all hell for me. It's a +hell of big cities, of strife, of blood-letting, of wickedness. I never +knew how great a hell it was until I came up here--among YOU. I wish to +God I could stay--always!" + +"You love her," breathed Jan. "You can stay." + +"I can't," groaned Thornton. "I can't--unless--" + +"What, m'sieur?" + +"Unless I lose everything--but her." + +Jan's fingers trembled as they sought Thornton's hand. + +"And everything is--is--nothing when you give it for love and +happiness," he urged. "The great God, I know--" + +"Everything," cried Thornton. "Don't you understand? I said +EVERYTHING!" He turned almost fiercely upon his companion. "I'd give up +my name--for HER. I'd bury myself back there in the forests and never +go out of them--for HER. I'd give up fortune, friends, lose myself for +ever--for HER. But I can't. Good God, don't you understand?" + +Jan stared. His eyes grew large and dark. + +"I've spent ten years of WORSE than hell down there--with a woman," +went on Thornton. "It happens among us--frequently, this sort of hell. +I came up here to get out of it for a time. You know--now. There is a +woman down there who--who is my wife. She would be glad if I never +returned. She is happy now, when I am away, and I have been happy--for +a time. I know what love is. I have felt it. I have lived it. God +forgive me, but I am almost tempted to go back--to HER!" + +He stopped at the change which had come in Jan, who stood as straight +and as still as the blank spruce behind them, with only his eyes +showing that there was life in him. Those eyes held Thornton's. They +burned upon him through the gray gloom as he had never seen human eyes +burn before. He waited, half startled, and Jan spoke. In his voice +there was nothing of that which Thornton saw in his eyes. It was low, +and soft, and though it had that which rung like steel, Thornton could +not have understood or feared it more. + +"M'sieur, how far have you gone--WITH HER?" Thornton understood and +advanced with his hands reaching out to Jan. + +"Only as far as one might go with the purest thing on earth," he said. +"I have sinned--in loving her, and in letting her love me, but that is +all, Jan Thoreau. I swear that is all!" + +"And you are going back into the south?" + +"Yes, I am going back into the south." + +The next day Thornton did not go. He made no sign of going on the +second day. So it was with the third, the fourth, and the fifth. On +each of these days Jan went once, in the afternoon, to the office of +the sub-commissioner, and Thornton always accompanied him. At times, +when Jan was not looking, there was a hungry light in his eyes as he +followed the other's movements, and once or twice Jan caught what was +left of this look when he turned unexpectedly. He knew what was in +Thornton's mind, and he pitied him, grieved with him in his own heart +until his own secret almost wrung itself from his lips. Somehow, in a +way that he could not understand, Thornton's sacrifice to honor, and +his despair, gave Jan strength, and a hundred times he asked himself if +a confession of his own misery would do as much for the other. He +repeated this thought to himself again and again on the afternoon of +the ninth day, when he went to the sub-commissioner's office alone. +This time Thornton had remained behind. He had left him in a gloomy +corner of the hotel room from which he had not looked up when Jan went +out with Kazan. + +This ninth day was the last day for Jan Thoreau. In a dazed sort of way +he listened as the sub-commissioner told him that the work was ended. +They shook hands. It was dark when Jan came out from the company's +offices, dark with a pale gloom through which the stars were beginning +to glow--with a ghostly gloom, lightened still more in the north with +the rising fires of the northern lights. Alone Jan stood for a few +moments close down to the river. Across from him was the forest, +silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it, like a +signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent out its +shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him faintly a +distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that world, and +at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he whined deep down +in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood warmer. Over +there--across the river--his world was calling to him, and he, Jan +Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury himself in +the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be with his +beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy and +brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would say +good-by to Thornton--and GO. + +He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless +when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the +hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him. + +"It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am +going. I am going to-night." + +Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated. + +"Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?" + +He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had slept +while at the hotel. He did not notice the change in Thornton until he +had lighted a lamp. Thornton was looking at him doggedly. There was an +unpleasant look in his face, a flush about his eyes, a rigid tenseness +in the muscles of his jaws. + +"And I--I, too, am going to-night," he said. "Into the South, m'sieur?" + +"No, into the NORTH." There was a fierceness in Thornton's emphasis. He +stood opposite Jan, leaning over the table on which the light was +placed. "I've broken loose," he went on. "I'm not going south--back to +that hell of mine. I'm never going south again. I'm dead down +there--dead for all time. They'll never hear of me again. They can have +my fortune--everything. I'm going North. I'm going to live with YOU +people--and God--AND HER!" + +Jan sank into a chair, Thornton sat down in one across from him. + +"I am going back to her," he repeated. "No one will ever know." + +He could not account for the look in Jan's eyes nor for the nervous +twitching of the lithe brown hands that reached half across the table. +But Kazan's one eye told him more than Thornton could guess, and in +response to it that ominous shivering wave rose along his spine. +Thornton would never know that Jan's fingers twitched for an instant in +their old mad desire to leap at a human throat. + +"You will not do that," he said quietly. + +"Yes, I will," replied Thornton. "I have made up my mind. Nothing can +stop me but--death." + +"There is one other thing that can stop you, and will, m'sieur," said +Jan as quietly as before. "I, Jan Thoreau, will stop you." + +Thornton rose slowly, staring down into Jan's face. The flush about his +eyes grew deeper. + +"I will stop you," repeated Jan, rising also. "And I am not death." + +He went to Thornton and placed his two hands upon his shoulders, and in +his eyes there glowed now that gentle light which had made Thornton +love him as he had loved no other man on earth. + +"M'sieur, I will stop you," he said again, speaking as though to a +brother. "Sit down. I am going to tell you something. And when I have +told you this you will take my hand, and you will say, 'Jan Thoreau, I +thank the Great God that something like this has happened before, and +that it has come to my ears in time to save the one I love.' Sit down, +m'sieur." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JAN'S STORY + + +Jan had aged five years during those two hours in the office of the +sub-commissioner; he aged now as Thornton looked at him. There came the +same tired, hopeless glow into his eyes, the same tense lines in his +face. And yet, quickly, he changed as he had not changed on that +afternoon. Two livid spots began to burn in his cheeks as he sat down +opposite Thornton. He turned the light low, and his eyes glowed more +darkly and with an animal-like luster in the half gloom. Something in +him now, a quivering, struggling passion that lay behind those eyes, +held Thornton white and silent. + +"M'sieur," he began in the low voice which Thornton was beginning to +understand, "I am going to tell you something which I have told to but +two other human beings. It is the story of another man--a man from +civilization, like you, who came up into this country of ours years and +years ago, and who met a woman, as you have met this girl at Oxford +House, and who loved her as you love this one, and perhaps more. It is +singular that the case should be so similar, m'sieur, and it is because +of this that I believe Our Blessed Lady gives me courage to tell it to +you. For this man, like you, left a wife--and two children--when he +came into the North. M'sieur, I pray the Great God to forgive him, for +he left a third child--unborn." + +Jan leaned upon his hand so that it shaded his face. + +"It is not so much of THAT as of what followed that I am going to tell +you, m'sieur," he went on. "It was a beautiful love--on the woman's +part, and it would have been a beautiful love on the man's part if it +had been pure. For her he gave up everything, even his God--as you +would give up everything--and your God--for this girl at Oxford House. +M'sieur, I will speak mostly of the woman now. She was beautiful. She +was one of the three most beautiful things that God ever placed in our +world, and she loved this man. She married him, believed in him, was +ready to die for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, as our +women will do for the men they love. God in Heaven, can you not guess +what happened, m'sieur? A CHILD WAS BORN!" + +So fiercely did Jan cry out the words that Thornton jerked back as +though a blow had been struck at him from out of the gloom. + +"A child was born!" repeated Jan, and Thornton heard his nails digging +in the table. "That was the first curse of God--a child! La +Charogne--les betes de charogne--that is what we call them--beasts of +carrion and carrion eaters, breeders of devils and sin! Mon Dieu, that +is what happened! A child was born, with the curse of God upon him!" + +Jan stopped, his nails digging deeper, his breath escaping from him as +though he had been running. + +"Down in YOUR world he would have grown up a MAN," he continued, +speaking more calmly. "I have heard that--since. It is common down +there to be a two-legged carrion--a man or a woman born out of wedlock. +I have been told so, and that it is a curse not without hope. But here +it is different. The curse never dies. It follows, day after day, year +after year. And this child--more unfortunate than the wild things, was +born one of them. Do you understand, m'sieur? If the winds had +whispered the secret nothing would have come near him--the Indian women +would sooner have touched the plague--he would have been an outcast, +despised as he grew older, pointed at and taunted, called names which +are worse than those called to the lowest and meanest dogs. THAT is +what it means to be born under that curse--up here." + +He waited for Thornton to speak, but the other sat silent and moveless +across the table. + +"The curse worked swiftly, m'sieur. It came first--in remorse--to the +man. It gnawed at his soul, ate him alive, and drove him from place to +place with the woman and the child. The purity and love of the woman +added to his suffering, and at last he came to know that the hand of +God had fallen upon his head. The woman saw his grief but did not know +the reason for it. And so the curse first came to her. They went +north--far north, above the Barren Lands, and the curse followed there. +It gnawed at his life until--he died. That was seven years after the +child was born." + +The oil lamp sputtered and began to smoke, and with a quick movement +Jan turned the wick down until they were left in darkness. + +"M'sieur, it was then that the curse began to fall upon the woman and +the child. Do you not believe that about the sins of the fathers +falling upon others? Mon Dieu, it is so--it is so. It came in many +small ways--and then--the curse--it came suddenly--LIKE THIS." Jan's +voice came in a hissing whisper now. Thornton could feel his hot breath +as he leaned over the table, and in the darkness Jan's eyes shone like +two coals of fire. "It came like THIS!" panted Jan. "There was a new +missioner at the post--a--a Christian from the South, and he was a +great friend to the woman, and preached God, and she BELIEVED him. The +boy was very young, and saw things, but did not understand at first. He +knew, afterward, that the missioner loved his mother's beauty, and that +he tried hard to win it--and failed, for the woman, until death, would +love only the one to whom she had given herself first. Great God, it +happened THEN--one night when every soul was about the big fires at the +caribou roast, and there was no one near the lonely little cabin where +the boy and his mother lived. The boy was at the feast, but he ran +home--with a bit of dripping meat as a gift for his mother--and he +heard her cries, and ran in to be struck down by the missioner. It +happened THEN, and even the boy knew, and followed the man, shrieking +that he had killed his mother." There was a terrible calmness now in +Jan's voice. "M'sieur, it was true. She wasted away like a flower after +that night. She died, and left the boy alone with the curse. And that +boy, m'sieur, was Jan Thoreau. The woman was his mother." + +There was silence now, a dead, pulseless quiet, broken after a moment +by a movement. It was Thornton, groping across the table. Jan felt his +hands touch his arm. They groped farther in the darkness, until Jan +Thoreau's hands were clasped tightly in Thornton's. + +"And that--is all?" he questioned hoarsely. + +"No, it is but the beginning," said Jan softly. "The curse has followed +me, m'sieur, until I am the unhappiest man in the world. To-day I have +done all that is to be done. When my father died he left papers which +my mother was to give to me when I had attained manhood. When she died +they came to me. She knew nothing of that which was in them, and I am +glad. For they told the story that I have told to you, m'sieur, and +from his grave my father prayed to me to make what restitution I could. +When he came into the North for good he brought with him most of his +fortune--which was large, m'sieur--and placed it where no one would +ever find it--in the stock of the Great Company. A half of it, he said, +should be mine. The other half he asked me to return to his children, +and to his real wife, if she were living. I have done more than that, +m'sieur. I have given up all--for none of it is mine. A half will go to +the two children whom he deserted. The other half will go to the child +that was unborn. The mother--is--dead." + +After a time Thornton said, + +"There is more, Jan." + +"Yes, there is more, m'sieur," said Jan. "So much more that if I were +to tell it to you it would not be hard for you to understand why Jan +Thoreau is the unhappiest man in the world. I have told you that this +is but the beginning. I have not told you of how the curse has followed +me and robbed me of all that is greatest in life--how it has haunted me +day and night, m'sieur, like a black spirit, destroying my hopes, +turning me at last into an outcast, without people, without friends, +without--that--which you, too, will give up in this girl at Oxford +House. M'sieur, am I right? You will not go back to her. You will go +south, and some day the Great God will reward you." + +He heard Thornton rising in the dark. + +"Shall I strike a light, m'sieur?" + +"No," said Thornton close to him. In the gloom their hands met. There +was a change in the other's voice now, something of pride, of triumph, +of a glory just achieved. "Jan," he said softly, "I thank you for +bringing me face to face with a God like yours. I have never met Him +before. We send missionaries up to save you, we look upon you as wild +and savage and with only half a soul--and we are blind. You have taught +me more than has ever been preached into me, and this great, glorious +world of yours is sending me back a better man for having come into it. +I am going--south. Some day I will return, and I will be one of this +world, and one of your people. I will come, and I will bring no curse. +If I could send this word to HER, ask her forgiveness, tell her what I +have almost been and that I still have hope--faith--I could go easier +down into that other world." + +"You can," said Jan. "I will take this word for you, m'sieur, and I +will take more, for I will tell her what it has been the kind fate for +Jan Thoreau to find in the heart of M'sieur Thornton. She is one of my +people, and she will forgive, and love you more for what you have done. +For this, m'sieur, is what the Cree god has given to his people as the +honor of the great snows. She will still love you, and if there is to +be hope it will burn in HER breast, too. M'sieur--" + +Something like a sob broke through Thornton's lips as he moved back +through the darkness. + +"And you--I will find you again?" + +"They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with +HER," said Jan. + +"Good-by," said Thornton huskily. + +Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time +after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little +table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened +room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's +overburdened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE MUSIC AGAIN + + +That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter +of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile that +he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast until +he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in the old +way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the wilderness. +Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been home, filled +with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to-night it was +more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with no other desire +than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he felt the life, and +sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart, grieving with him in +his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging him again the eternal +friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all of the wild that it +held therein. + +And from above him the stars looked down like a billion tiny fires +kindled by loving hands to light his way--the stars that had given him +music, peace, since he could remember, and that had taught him more of +the silent power of God than the lips of man could ever tell. From this +time forth Jan Thoreau knew that these things would be his life, his +god. A thousand times in fanciful play he had given life and form to +the star-shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the +twisted shrub, the rocks and even the mountains. And now it was no +longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day +and night that followed, they became more real to him, and his fires in +the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them +before, and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted him +more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of life +in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow-forms. +Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. +The spruce-shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was +the same that had nodded to him last night--a hundred nights ago; the +stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were +the same, everything was as it was yesterday--years ago--unchanged, +never leaving him, never growing cold in their devotion. He had loved +the forest--NOW he worshipped it. In its vast silence he still +possessed Melisse. It whispered to him still of her old love, of their +days and years of happiness, and with his forest he lived these days +over and over again, and when he slept with his forest he dreamed of +them. + +Nearly a month passed before he reached Oxford House and found the +sweet-faced girl whom Thornton loved. He did as Thornton had asked, and +went on--into the north and east. He had no mission now, except to roam +in his forests. He went down the Hayes, getting his few supplies at +Indian camps, and stopped at last, with the beginning of spring, far up +on the Cutaway. Here he built himself a camp and lived for a time, +setting dead-falls for bear. Then he struck north again, and still +east--keeping always away from Lac Bain. When the first chill winds of +the bay brought warning of winter down to him he was filled for a time +with a longing to strike north--and WEST, to go once more back to his +Barren Lands. But, instead, he went south, and so it came to pass that +a year after he had left Lac Bain he built himself a cabin deep in the +forest of God's River, fifty miles from Oxford House, and trapped once +more for the company. He had not forgotten his promise to Thornton, and +at Oxford House left word where he could be found if the man from +civilization should return. + +In late mid-winter Jan returned to Oxford House with his furs. It was +on the night of the day that he came into the post that he heard a +Frenchman who had come down from the north speak of Lac Bain. None +noticed the change in Jan's face as he hung back in the shadows of the +company's store. A little later he followed the Frenchman outside, and +stopped him where there were no others near to overhear. + +"M'sieur, you spoke of Lac Bain," he said in French. "You have been +there?" + +"Yes," replied the other, "I was there for a week waiting for the first +sledge snow." + +"It is my old home," said Jan, trying to keep his voice natural. "I +have wondered--if there are changes. You saw--Cummins--the factor?" + +"Yes, he was there." + +"And--and Jean de Gravois, the chief man?" + +"He was away. Mon Dieu, listen to that! The dogs are fighting out +there!" + +"A moment, m'sieur," begged Jan, as the Frenchman made a movement as if +to run in the direction of the tumult. "The factor had a +daughter--Melisse--" + +"She left Lac Bain a long time ago, m'sieur," interrupted the trapper, +making a tremendous effort to be polite as he edged toward the sound of +battle. "M'sieur Cummins told me that he had not seen her in a long +time--I believe it was almost a year. Sacre, listen to that! They are +tearing one another to bits, and they are MY dogs, m'sieur, for I can +tell their voices among a thousand!" + +He sprang through the darkness and Jan made a movement to follow. Then +he stopped, and turned instead to the company's store. He took his pack +to the sledge and dogs in the edge of the spruce, and Kazan leaped to +greet him at the end of his babiche. This night as Jan traveled through +the forest he did not notice the stars or the friendly shadows. + +"A year," he repeated to himself, again and again, and once, when Kazan +rubbed against his leg and looked up into his face, he said, "Ah, +Kazan, our Melisse went away with the Englishman. May the Great God +give them happiness!" + +The forest claimed him more than ever after this. He did not go back to +Oxford House in the spring but sold his furs to a passing half-breed, +and wandered through all of that spring and summer in the country to +the west. It was January when he returned to his cabin, when the snows +were deepest, and three days later he set out to outfit at the Hudson's +Bay post on God's Lake instead of at Oxford House. It was while they +were crossing a part of the lake that Kazan leaped aside for an instant +in his traces and snapped at something in the snow. + +Jan saw the movement but gave no attention to it until a little later, +when Kazan stopped and fell upon his belly, biting at the harness and +whining in pain. The thought of Kazan's sudden snap at the snow came to +him then like a knife-thrust, and with a low cry of horror and fear he +fell upon his knees beside the dog. Kazan whimpered and his bushy tail +swept the snow as Jan lifted his great wolfish head between his two +hands. No other sound came from Jan's lips now, and slowly he drew the +dog up to him until he held him in his arms as he might have held a +child, Kazan stilled the whimpering sounds in his throat. His one eye +rested on his master's face, faithful, watching for some sign--for some +language there, even as the burning fires of a strange torture gnawed +at his life, and in that eye Jan saw the deepening reddish film which +he had seen a hundred times before in the eyes of foxes and wolves +killed by poison bait. + +A moan of anguish burst from Jan's lips and he held his face close down +against Kazan's head, and sobbed now like a child, while Kazan rubbed +his hot muzzle against his cheek and his muscles hardened in a last +desire to give battle to whatever was giving his master grief. It was a +long time before Jan lifted his face from the shaggy head, and when he +did he knew that the last of all love, of all companionship, of all +that bound him to flesh and blood in his lonely world, was gone. Kazan +was dead. + +From the sledge he took a blanket and wrapped Kazan in it, and carried +him a hundred yards back from the trail. With bowed head he came behind +his four dogs into God's House. Half an hour later he turned back into +the wilderness with his supplies. It was dark when he returned to where +he had left Kazan. He placed him upon the sledge and the four huskies +whined as they dragged on their burden, from which the smell of death +came to them. They stopped in the deep forests beyond the lake and Jan +built a fire. + +This night, as on all nights in his lonely life, Jan drew Kazan close +to him, and he shivered as the other dogs slunk back from him +suspiciously and the fire and the spruce tops broke the stillness of +the forest. He looked at the crackling flames, at the fitful shadows +which they set dancing and grimacing about him, and it seemed to him +now that they were no longer friends, but were taunting him--gloating +in Kazan's death, and telling him that he was alone, alone, alone. He +let the fire die down, stirring it into life only when the cold +stiffened him, and when at last he fell into an unquiet slumber it was +still to hear the spruce tops whispering to him that Kazan was dead, +and that in dying he had broken the last fragile link between Jan +Thoreau and Melisse. + +He went on at dawn, with Kazan wrapped in his blanket on the sledge. He +planned to reach the cabin that night, and the next day he would bury +his old comrade. It was dark when he came to the narrow plain that lay +between him and the river. The sky was brilliant with stars when he +slowly climbed the big, barren ridge at the foot of which was his home. +At the summit he stopped and seated himself on the edge of a rock, with +nothing but a thousand miles of space between him and the pale glow of +the northern lights. At his feet lay the forest, black and silent, and +he looked down to where he knew his cabin was waiting for him, black +and silent, too. + +For the first time it came upon him that THIS was home--that the +forest, and the silence, and the little cabin hidden under the spruce +tops below held a deeper meaning for him than a few hours before, when +Kazan was a leaping, living comrade at his side. Kazan was dead. Down +there he would bury him. And he had loved Kazan;--he knew, now, as he +clutched his hands to his aching breast, that he would have fought for +Kazan--given up his life for him--as he would have done for a brother. +Down there, under the silent spruce, he would bury the last that had +remained to him of the old life, and there swelled up in his heart a +longing, almost a prayer, that Melisse might know that he, Jan Thoreau, +would have nothing left to him to-morrow but a grave, and that in that +grave was their old chum, their old playmate--Kazan. Hot tears blinded +Jan's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed as he had +sobbed years before, when in the southern wilderness word came to him +that Melisse was dying. + +"Melisse--Melisse--" He moaned her name aloud, and stared through the +hot film in his eyes away into the north, sobbing to her, calling to +her in his grief, and looking through that thousand miles of starlit +space as though from out of it her sweet face would come to him once +more. And as he called there seemed to come to him from out of that +space a sound, so sweet, and low, and tender that his heart stood still +and he stood up straight and stretched his arms up to Heaven, for Jan +Thoreau knew that it was the sound of a violin that came to him from +out of the north--that Melisse, an infinity away, had heard his call, +his prayer, and was playing for him and Kazan! + +And suddenly, as he listened, his arms fell to his sides, and there +shot into his eyes all of the concentrated light of the stars, for the +music came nearer and nearer, and still nearer to him, until he caught +Kazan in his arms and ran with him down the side of the mountain. It +died now in the forest--then rose again, softer and more distant it +seemed to him, luring him on into the forest gloom. For a few moments +consciousness of all else but that sound remained with him only in a +dazed, half real way, and as John Cummins had called upon the angels at +Lac Bain many years ago when he, too, had gone out into the night to +meet this wonderful music, so Jan Thoreau's soul cried to them now as +he clutched Kazan to him, and stumbled on. Then, suddenly, he came upon +the cabin, and in the cabin there was a light! + +Gently he laid Kazan down upon the snow, and for a full minute he stood +and listened, and heard, lower and sweeter still, the gentle music, of +the violin. Some one was in his cabin--living hands were playing! After +all it was not the spirit of Melisse that had come to him in the hour +of his deepest grief, and a sob rose in his throat. He went on, step by +step, and at the door he stopped again, wondering if he was mad, if the +spirits of the forest were taunting him still, if--if-- + +One step more-- + +The Great God, he heard it now--the low, sweet music of the old Cree +love song, played in the old, old way, with all of its old sadness, its +whispering joy, its weeping song of life, of death, of love! With a +great cry he flung open the door and leaped in, with his arms reaching +out, his eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light--and with a cry +as piercing as his own, something ran through that light to meet +him--Melisse, the old, glorious Melisse, crushing her arms about his +neck, sobbing his name, pleading with him in her old, sweet voice to +kiss her, kiss her, kiss her--while Jan Thoreau for the first time in +his life felt sweeping over him a resistless weakness, and in this +vision he knew that Jean de Gravois came to him, too, and held him in +his arms, and that as the light faded away from about him he still +heard Melisse calling to him, felt her arms about him, her face crushed +to his own. And as the deep gloom enveloped him more densely, and he +felt himself slipping down through it, he whispered to the faces which +he could no longer see, + +"Kazan--died--to-night--" + +For a long time Jan fought to throw off the darkness, and when he +succeeded, and opened his eyes again, he knew that it was Melisse who +was sitting beside him, and that it was Melisse who flung her arms +about him when he awoke from his strange sleep, and held his wild head +pressed against her bosom--Melisse, with her glorious hair flowing +about her as he had loved it in their old days, and with the old love +shining in her eyes, only more glorious now, as he heard her voice. + +"Jan--Jan--we have been hunting for you--so long," she cried softly. +"We have been searching--ever since you left Lac Bain. Jan, dear Jan, I +loved you so--and you almost broke my heart. Dear, dear Jan," she +sobbed, stroking his face now, "I know why you ran away--I know, and I +love you so that--that I will die if--you go away again." + +"You know!" breathed Jan. He was in his cot, and raised himself, +clasping her beautiful face between his two hands, staring at her with +the old horror in his eyes. "You know--and you come--to me!" + +"I love you," said Melisse. She slipped up to him and laid her face +upon his breast, and with her fingers clutched in his long hair she +leaned over to him and kissed him. "I love you!" + +Jan's arms closed about her, and he bowed his face so that it was +smothered in her hair and he felt against it the joyous tremble of her +bosom. + +"I love you," she whispered again, and under her cloud of hair their +lips met, and she whispered again, with her sweet breath still upon his +lips, "I love you." + +Outside Jean de Gravois was dancing up and down in the starlit edge of +the forest, and Iowaka was looking at him. + +"And NOW what do you think of your Jean de Gravois?" cried Jean for the +hundredth time at least. "NOW what do you think of him, my beautiful +one?" and he caught Iowaka's head in his arms, for the hundredth time, +too, and kissed her until she pushed him away. "Was it not right for me +to break my oath to the Blessed Virgin and tell Melisse why Jan Thoreau +had gone mad? Was it not right, I say? And did not Melisse do as I told +that fool of a Jan that she WOULD do? And didn't she HATE the +Englishman all of the time? Eh? Can you not speak, my raven-haired +angel?" + +He hugged Iowaka again in his arms, and this time he did not let her +go, but turned her face so that the starlight fell upon it. + +"And NOW what if Jan Thoreau still feels that the curse is upon him?" +he asked softly. "Ho, ho, we have fixed that--you, my sweet Iowaka, and +your husband, Jean de Gravois. I have it--here--in my pocket--the +letter signed by the sub-commissioner at Prince Albert, to whom I told +Jan's story when I followed his trail down there--the letter which says +that the other woman died BEFORE the man who was to be Jan Thoreau's +father married the woman who was to be his mother. And NOW do you +understand why I did not tell Melisse of this letter, ma cherie? It was +to prove to that fool of a Jan Thoreau that she loved him--WHATEVER HE +WAS. NOW what do you think of Jean de Gravois, you daughter of a +princess, you--you--" + +"Wife of the greatest man in the world," laughed Iowaka softly. "Come, +my foolish Jean, we can not stand out for ever. I am growing cold. And +besides, do you not suppose that Jan would like to see ME?" + +"Foolish--foolish--foolish--" murmured Jean as they walked hand in hand +through the starlight. "She, my Iowaka, my beloved, says that I am +foolish--AND AFTER THIS! Mon Dieu, what can a man do to make himself +great in the eyes of his wife?" + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + +***** This file should be named 5895.txt or 5895.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/9/5895/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Honor of the Big Snows + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5895] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 18, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + +THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS + +By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +Author of "The Danger Trail," "The Courage of Captain Plum," etc. + +NEW YORK + +1911 + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MUSIC + +"Listen, John--I hear music--" + +The words came in a gentle whisper from the woman's lips. One white, +thin hand lifted itself weakly to the rough face of the man who was +kneeling beside her bed, and the great dark eyes from which he had +hidden his own grew luminously bright for a moment, as she whispered +again: + +"John--I hear--music--" + +A sigh fluttered from her lips. The man's head drooped until it rested +very near to her bosom. He felt the quiver of her hand against his +cheek, and in its touch there was something which told John Cummins +that the end of all life had come for him and for her. His heart beat +fiercely, and his great shoulders shook with the agony that was eating +at his soul. + +"Yes, it is the pretty music, my Melisse," he murmured softly, choking +back his sobs. "It is the pretty music in the skies." + +The hand pressed more tightly against his face. + +"It's not the music in the skies, John. It is real--REAL music that I +hear--" + +"It's the sky music, my sweet Melisse! Shall I open the door so that +we can hear it better?" + +The hand slipped from his cheek. Cummins lifted his head, slowly +straightening his great shoulders as he looked down upon the white +face, from which even the flush of fever was disappearing, as he had +seen the pale glow of the northern sun fade before a thickening snow. +He stretched his long, gaunt arms straight up to the low roof of the +cabin, and for the first time in his life he prayed--prayed to the God +who had made for him this world of snow and ice and endless forest +very near to the dome of the earth, who had given him this woman, and +who was now taking her from him. + +When he looked again at the woman, her eyes were open, and there +glowed in them still the feeble fire of a great love. Her lips, too, +pleaded with him in their old, sweet way, which always meant that he +was to kiss them, and stroke her hair, and tell her again that she was +the most beautiful thing in the whole world. + +"My Melisse!" + +He crushed his face to her, his sobbing breath smothering itself in +the soft masses of her hair, while her arms rose weakly and fell +around his neck. He heard the quick, gasping struggle for breath +within her bosom, and, faintly again, the words: + +"It--is--the--music--of--my--people!" + +"It is the music of the angels in the skies, my sweet Melisse! It is +OUR music. I will open the door." + +The arms had slipped from his shoulders. Gently he ran his rough +fingers through the loose glory of the woman's hair, and stroked her +face as softly as he might have caressed the cheek of a sleeping +child. + +"I will open the door, Melisse." + +His moccasined feet made no sound as he moved across the little room +which was their home. At the door he paused and listened; then he +opened it, and the floods of the white night poured in upon him as he +stood with his eyes turned to where the cold, pale flashes of the +aurora were playing over the pole. There came to him the hissing, +saddening song of the northern lights--a song of vast, unending +loneliness, which they two had come to know as the music of the skies. + +Beyond that mystery-music there was no sound. To the eyes of John +Cummins there was no visible movement of life. And yet he saw signs of +it--signs which drew his breath from him in choking gulps, and which +sent him out into the night, so that the woman might not hear. + +It was an hour past midnight at the post, which had the Barren Lands +at its back door. It was the hour of deep slumber for its people; but +to-night there was no sleep for any of them. Lights burned dimly in +the few rough log homes. The company's store was aglow, and the +factor's office, a haven for the men of the wilderness, shot one +gleaming yellow eye out into the white gloom. The post was awake. It +was waiting. It was listening. It was watching. + +As the woman's door opened, wide and brimful of light, a door of one +of the log houses opened, and then another, and out into the night, +like dim shadows, trod the moccasined men from the factor's office, +and stood there waiting for the word of life or death from John +Cummins. In their own fashion these men, who, without knowing it, +lived very near to the ways of God, sent mute prayers into the starry +heavens that the most beautiful thing in the world might yet be spared +to them. + +It was just two summers before that this beautiful thing had come into +Cummins' life, and into the life of the post. Cummins, red-headed, +lithe as a cat, big-souled as the eternal mountain of the Crees, and +the best of the company's hunters, had brought Melisse thither as his +bride. Seventeen rough hearts had welcomed her. They had assembled +about that little cabin in which the light was shining now, speechless +in their adoration of this woman who had come among them, their caps +in their hands, their faces shining, their eyes shifting before the +glorious ones that looked at them and smiled at them as the woman +shook their hands, one by one. + +Perhaps she was not strictly beautiful, as most people judge; but she +was beautiful here, four hundred miles beyond civilization. Mukee, the +half-Cree, had never seen a white woman, for even the factor's wife +was part Chippewayan; and no one of the others went down to the edge +of the southern wilderness more than once each twelvemonth or so. + +Melisse's hair was brown and soft, and it shone with a sunny glory +that reached far back into their conception of things dreamed of but +never seen. Her eyes were as blue as the early wild flowers that came +after the spring floods, and her voice was the sweetest sound that had +ever fallen upon their ears. So these men thought when Cummins first +brought home his wife, and the masterpiece which each had painted in +his soul and brain was never changed. Each week and month added to the +deep-toned value of that picture, as the passing of a century might +add to a Raphael or a Vandyke. + +The woman became more human, and less an angel, of course, but that +only made her more real, and allowed them to become acquainted with +her, to talk with her, and to love her more. There was no thought of +wrong, for the devotion of these men was a great, passionless love +unhinting of sin. Cummins and his wife accepted it, and added to it +when they could, and were the happiest pair in all that vast +Northland. + +The girl--she was scarce more than budding into womanhood--fell +happily into the ways of her new life. She did nothing that was +elementally unusual, nothing more than any pure woman reared in the +love of God and of a home would have done. In her spare hours she +began to teach the half-dozen wild little children about the post, and +every Sunday she told them wonderful stories out of the Bible. She +ministered to the sick, for that was a part of her code of life. +Everywhere she carried her glad smile, her cheery greeting, her +wistful earnestness, to brighten what seemed to her the sad and lonely +lives of these silent men of the North. + +And she succeeded, not because she was unlike other millions of her +kind, but because of the difference between the fortieth degree and +the sixtieth--the difference in the viewpoint of men who fought +themselves into moral shreds in the big game of life and those who +lived a thousand miles nearer to the dome of the earth. + +A few days before there had come a wonderful event in the history of +the company's post. A new life was born into the little cabin of +Cummins and his wife. After this the silent, wordless worship of their +people was filled with something very near to pathos. Cummins' wife +was a mother! She was one of them now, an indissoluble part of their +existence--a part of it as truly as the strange lights for ever +hovering over the pole, as surely as the countless stars that never +left the night skies, as surely as the endless forests and the deep +snows! + +Then had come the sudden change, and the gloom, that brought with it +the shadow of death, fell like a pall upon the post, stifling its +life, and bringing with it a grief that those who lived there had +never known before. + +There came to them no word from Cummins now. + +He stood for a moment before his lighted door, and then went back, and +the word passed softly from one to another that the most beautiful +thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little +cabin at the end of the clearing. + +"You hear the music in the skies--now, my Melisse?" whispered the man, +kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!" + +"It was not that," repeated the woman. + +She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the +effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the +fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes +were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film, +so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and +Cummins heard a thrilling sound. + +"It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the music--of--my-- +people!" + +The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He +heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Melisse? He +rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out, +to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his +life in this endless wilderness. + +He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through +the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell +chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet +this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the +wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to +make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the +black forest. + +"My Melisse! My Melisse!" he sobbed. + +A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music, +sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face +straight up to the sky. His heart died within him. + +The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to +him, staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved +came with it. It was a boy's face. + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the +thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak +again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--" + +The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted +them as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and +lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more: + +"It is the--music--of my people--the violin!" + +John Cummins turned his head. + +"Play!" he breathed. + +"Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew +his bow gently across the strings of his violin. + +From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John +Cummins closed his eyes as he held the woman against his breast and +listened. Not until he opened them again, and felt a strange chill +against his cheek, did he know that his beloved's soul had gone from +him on the gentle music of Jan Thoreau's violin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MUKEE'S STORY + + +For many minutes after the last gentle breath had passed from the +woman's lips, Jan Thoreau played softly upon his violin. It was the +great, heart-broken sob of John Cummins that stopped him. As tenderly +as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep from which he feared to awaken +her, the man unclasped his arms and lowered his wife's head to the +pillow; and with staring black eyes Jan crushed his violin against his +ragged breast and watched him as he smoothed back the shimmering hair +and looked long and hungrily into the still, white face. + +Cummins turned to him, and, in the dim light of the cabin, their eyes +met. It was then that Jan Thoreau knew what had happened. He forgot +his starvation. He crushed his violin closer, and whispered to +himself: + +"The white angel ees--gone!" + +Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly, like a man who had suddenly +grown old. His moccasined feet dragged as he went to the door. They +stumbled when he went out into the pale star-glow of the night. + +Jan followed, swaying weakly, for the last of his strength had gone in +the playing of the violin. Midway in the cabin he paused, and his eyes +glowed with a wild, strange grief as he gazed down upon the still face +of Cummins' wife, beautiful in death as it had been in life, and with +the sweet softness of life still lingering there. Some time, ages and +ages ago, he had known such a face, and had felt the great clutching +love of it. + +Something drew him to where John Cummins had knelt, and he fell upon +his knees and gazed hungrily and longingly where John Cummins had +gazed. His pulse was beating feebly, the weakness of seven days' +starvation blurred his eyes, and unconsciously he sank over the bed +and one of his thin hands touched the soft sweep of the woman's hair. +A stifled cry fell from him as he jerked himself rigidly erect; and as +if for the desecration of that touch there was but one way of +forgiveness, he drew his violin half to his shoulder, and for a few +moments played so softly that none but the spirit of the woman and +himself could hear. + +Cummins had partly closed the door after him; but watchers had seen +the opening of it. A door opened here, and another there, and paths of +yellow light flashed over the hard-trodden snow as shadowy life came +forth to greet what message he brought from the little cabin. + +Beyond those flashes of light there was no other movement, and no +sound. Dark figures stood motionless. The lonely howl of a sledge-dog +ended in a wail of pain as some one kicked it into terrified silence. +The hollow cough of Mukee's father was smothered in the thick fur of +his cap as he thrust his head from his little shack in the edge of the +forest. A score of eyes watched Cummins as he came out into the snow, +and the rough, loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed in fearful +anticipation of the word he might be bringing to them. + +Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe in the last moments of its dying +chief, and the black wings of calamity gather over its people, +enshrouding them in a strange gloom and a stranger fear; and so, +because the greatest of all tragedies had come into their little +world, Cummins' people were speechless in their grief and their +waiting for the final word. And when the word came to them at last, +and passed from lip to lip, and from one grim, tense face to another, +the doors closed again, and the lights went out one by one, until +there remained only the yellow eye of the factor's office and the +faint glow from the little cabin in which John Cummins knelt with his +sobbing face crushed close to that of his dead. + +There was no one who noticed Jan Thoreau when he came through the door +of the factor's office. His coat of caribou-skin was in tatters. His +feet thrust themselves from the toes of his moccasins. His face was so +thin and white that it shone with the pallor of death from its frame +of straight dark hair. His eyes gleamed like black diamonds. The +madness of hunger was in him. + +An hour before, death had been gripping at his throat, when he +stumbled upon the lights of the post, That night he would have died in +the deep snows. Wrapped in its thick coat of bearskin he clutched his +violin to his breast, and sank down in a ragged heap beside the hot +stove. His eyes traveled about him in fierce demand. There is no +beggary among these strong-souled men of the far North, and Jan's lips +did not beg. He unwrapped the bearskin, and whispered: + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" + +He played, even as the words fell from him, but only for a moment--for +the bow slipped from his nerveless grip and his head sank forward upon +his breast. + +In the half-Cree's eyes there was something of the wild beauty that +gleamed in Jan's. For an instant those eyes had met in the savage +recognition of blood; and when Jan's head fell weakly, and his violin +slipped to the floor, Mukee lifted him in his strong arms and carried +him to the shack in the edge of the spruce and balsam. + +And there was no one who noticed Jan the next day--except Mukee. He +was fed. His frozen blood grew warm. As life returned, he felt more +and more the pall of gloom that had settled over this spark of life in +the heart of the wilderness. He had seen the woman, in life and in +death, and he, too, loved her and grieved that she was no more. He +said nothing; he asked nothing; but he saw the spirit of adoration in +the sad, tense faces of the men. He saw it in the terror-stricken eyes +of the wild little children who had grown to worship Cummins' wife. He +read it in the slinking stillness of the dogs, in the terrible, +pulseless quiet that had settled about him. + +It was not hard for Jan to understand, for he, too, worshiped the +memory of a white, sweet face like the one that he had seen in the +cabin. He knew that this worship at Lac Bain was a pure worship, for +the honor of the big snows was a part of his soul. It was his +religion, and the religion of these others who lived four hundred +miles or more from a southern settlement. + +It meant what civilization could not understand--freezing and slow +starvation rather than theft, and respect for the tenth commandment +above all other things. It meant that up here, under the cold chill of +the northern skies, things were as God meant them to be, and that a +few of His creatures could live in a love that was neither possession +nor sin. + +A year after Cummins brought his wife into the North, a man came to +the post from Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay. He was an Englishman, +belonging to the home office of the Hudson's Bay Company in London. He +brought with him something new, as the woman had brought something +new; only in this instance it was an element of life which Cummins' +people could not understand. + +It breathed of tragedy from the first, to the men of the post. To the +Englishman, on the other hand, it promised to be but an incident--a +passing adventure in pleasure. Here again was that difference of +viewpoint--the eternity of difference between the middle and the end +of the earth. + +Cummins was away for a month on a trap-line that went into the Barren +Lands. At these times the woman fell as a heritage to those who +remained, and they watched over her as a parent might guard its child. +Yet the keenest eyes would not have perceived that this was so. + +With Cummins gone, the tragedy progressed swiftly toward finality. The +Englishman came from among women. For months he had been in a torment +of desolation. Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to +relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert; and with the wiles and +ways of civilization he sought to breathe its fragrance. + +In the days and weeks that followed, he talked a great deal, when +heated by the warmth of the box stove and by his own thoughts; and +this was because he had not yet measured the hearts of Cummins' +people. And because the woman knew nothing of what was said about the +box stove, she continued in the even course of her pure life, neither +resisting nor encouraging the new-comer, yet ever tempting him with +that sweetness which she gave to all alike. + +As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the +Englishman's friendship, for he was a stranger among her people. She +did not hear the false note, she saw no step that promised evil. Only +the men at the post heard, and saw, and understood. + +Like so many faithful beasts, they were ready to spring, to rend +flesh, to tear life out of him who threatened the desecration of all +that was good and pure and beautiful to them; and yet, dumb in their +devotion and faith, they waited and watched for a sign from the woman. +The blue eyes of Cummins' wife, the words of her gentle lips, the +touch of her hands, had made law at the post. If she smiled upon the +stranger and talked with him, and was pleased with him, that was only +one other law that she had made for them to respect. So they were +quiet, evaded the Englishman as much as possible, and watched--always +watched. + +One day something happened. Cummins' wife came into the company's +store; and a quick flush shot into her cheeks, and the glitter of blue +diamonds into her eyes, when she saw the stranger standing there. The +man's red face grew redder, and he shifted his gaze. When Cummins' +wife passed him, she drew her skirt close to her; and there was the +poise of a queen in her head, the glory of wife and womanhood, the +living, breathing essence of all that was beautiful in her people's +honor of the big snows. + +That night Mukee, the half-Cree, slunk around in the edge of the +forest to see that all was well in Cummins' little home. Once Mukee +had suffered a lynx-bite that went clear to the bone, and the woman +had saved his hand. After that, the savage in him was enslaved to her +like an invisible spirit. + +He crouched for a few minutes in the snow, looking at the pale filter +of light that came through a hole in the curtain of the woman's +window; and as he looked something came between him and the light. +Against the cabin he saw the shadow of a sneaking human form; and as +silently as the steely flash of the aurora over his head, as swiftly +as a lean deer, he sped through the gloom of the forest's edge and +came up behind the woman's home. + +With the caution of a lynx, his head close to the snow, he peered +around the logs. It was the Englishman who stood looking through the +tear in that curtained window. + +Mukee's moccasined feet made no sound. His hand fell as gently as a +child's upon the stranger's arm. + +"Thees is not the honor of the beeg snows," he whispered. "Come!" + +A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was +soft and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went +with the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a +companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman +chuckled. + +Then Mukee's hands changed. They flew to the thick, reddening throat +of the man from civilization, and without a sound the two sank +together upon the snow. + +The next day a messenger behind six dogs set out for Fort Churchill, +with word for the company's home office that the Englishman had died +in the big snow--which was true. + +Mukee told this to Jan, for there was the bond of blood between them. +It was a painting of life, and love, and purity. Deep down in the +loneliness of his heart, Jan Thoreau, in his own simple way, thanked +the great God that it had been given to him to play his violin as the +woman died. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE MELISSE + + +The passing of Cummins' wife was as quiet as had been her coming. With +bare heads, their shaggy hair falling wildly about their faces, their +lips set tight to choke back their grief, the few at the post went, +one by one, into the little cabin, and gazed for the last time upon +her face. There was but one sound other than the gentle tread of their +moccasined feet, and that was a catching, sobbing moan that fell from +the thick gray beard of Williams, the old factor. + +After that they carried her to where a clearing had been cut in the +edge of the forest; and at the foot of a giant spruce, towering +sentinel-like to the sky, they lowered her into the frozen earth. +Gaspingly, Williams stumbled over the words on a ragged page that had +been torn from a Bible. The rough men who stood about him bowed their +wild heads upon their breasts, and sobs broke from them. + +At last Williams stopped his reading, stretched his long arms above +his head, and cried chokingly: + +"The great God keep Mees Cummins!" + +As the earth fell, there came from the edge of the forest the low, +sweet music of Jan Thoreau's violin. No man in all the world could +have told what he played, for it was the music of Jan's soul, wild and +whispering of the winds, sweetened by some strange inheritance that +had come to him with the picture which he carried in his throbbing +heart. + +He played until only the tall spruce and John Cummins stood over the +lone grave. When he stopped, the man turned to him, and they went +together to the little cabin where the woman had lived. + +There was something new in the cabin now--a tiny, white, breathing +thing over which an Indian woman watched. The boy stood beside John +Cummins, looking down upon it, and trembling. + +"Ah," he whispered, his great eyes glowing. "It ees the LEETLE white +angel!" + +"It is the little Melisse," replied the man. + +He dropped upon his knees, with his sad face close to the new life +that was to take the place of the one that had just gone out. Jan felt +something tugging in a strange way at his heart, and he, too, fell +upon his knees beside John Cummins in this first worship of the child. + +From this hour of their first kneeling before the little life in the +cabin, something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which +it would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many +moments' contemplation of the little Melisse, Jan gazed straight into +Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means +"father." This was Jan's first word for Melisse. + +When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had seen +tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open. His +beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot +iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly +fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly +as if he had been burned. + +That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin, +Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said: + +"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?" + +Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north. + +"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone +through the beeg snow." + +Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He +dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone +outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of +silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern +skies. + +"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!" + +Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north. + +"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at +night." + +"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?" + +Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then +to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than +curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan +Thoreau. + +The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed. + +"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg +snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!" + +There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan could +not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the cabin. +There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he placed his +hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not understand +that. + +"There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you +stay with the little Melisse and me?" + +"With the leetle Melisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny +cot and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long +black hair shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in +quick, sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for +ever and ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing +ears of the child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I +give it to you--and ze museek!" + +He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE PROBLEM + + +In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not +understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked +little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he +would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which +ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought +with him more than his starved body from out of the unknown +wilderness. This was the chief cause of those things which he could +not understand. + +No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his +history was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from +out of the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands +meant death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and at +another time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his people +would have believed him mad. + +But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them +from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, +like Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little +of God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in +other ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from +the angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that +she had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the +boy, with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, +became a part of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a +part of her they accepted him, without further questioning as to who +he was or whence he came. + +In a way, he made up for her loss. The woman had brought something new +and sweet into their barren lives, and he brought something new and +sweet--the music of his violin. He played for them in the evening, in +the factor's office; and at these times they knew that Cummins' wife +was very near to them and that she was speaking to them through the +things which Jan Thoreau played. + +Music had long passed out of their lives. Into some, indeed, it had +never come. Years ago, Williams had been at a post where there was an +accordion. Cummins had heard music when he went down to civilization +for his wife, more than two years ago. To the others it was mystery +which stirred them to the depths of their souls, and which revealed to +them many things that had long been hidden in the dust of the past. + +These were hours of triumph for Jan in the factor's office. Perched on +a box, with his back to the wall, his head thrown back, his black eyes +shining, his long hair giving to his face a half savage beauty, he was +more than king to the grim-visaged men about him. They listened, +movelessly, soundlessly; and when he stopped there was still neither +move nor sound until he had wrapped his violin in its bear-skin and +had returned to John Cummins and the little Melisse. Jan understood +the silence, and took it for what it meant. + +But it was the audience in the little cabin that Jan liked best, and, +most of all, he loved to have the little Melisse alone. As the days of +early spring trapping approached, and the wilderness for a hundred +miles around the post was crisscrossed with the trails of the Cree and +Chippewayan fur-seekers, Cummins was absent for days at a time, +strengthening the company's friendships, and bargaining for the catch +that would be coming to market about eight weeks later. + +This was a year of intense rivalry, for the Revillons, French +competitors of the company, had established a post two hundred miles +to the west, and rumor spread that they were to give sixty pounds of +flour to the company's forty, and four feet of cloth to the yard. This +meant action among Williams and his people, and the factor himself +plunged into the wilderness. Mukee, the half-Cree, went among his +scattered tribesmen along the edge of the barrens, stirring them by +the eloquence of new promises and by fierce condemnation of the +interlopers to the west. Old Per-ee, with a strain of Eskimo in him, +went boldly behind his dogs to meet the little black people from +farther north, who came down after foxes and half-starved polar bears +that had been carried beyond their own world on the ice-floes of the +preceding spring. Young Williams, the factor's son, followed after +Cummins, and the rest of the company's men went into the south and +east. + +The exodus left desolate lifelessness at the post. The windows of the +fireless cabins were thick with clinging frost. There was no movement +in the factor's office. The dogs were gone, and wolves and lynx +sniffed closer each night. In the oppression of this desertion, the +few Indian and half-breed children kept indoors, and Williams' +Chippewayan wife, fat and lazy, left the company's store securely +locked. + +In this silence and lifelessness Jan Thoreau felt a new and ever- +increasing happiness. To him the sound of life was a thing vibrant +with harshness; quiet--the dead, pulseless quiet of lifelessness--was +beautiful. He dreamed in it, and it was then that his fingers +discovered new things in his violin. + +He often sent Maballa, the Indian woman who cared for Melisse, to +gossip with Williams' wife, so that he was alone a great deal with the +baby. At these times, when the door was safely barred against the +outside world, it was a different Jan Thoreau who crouched upon his +knees beside the cot. His face was aflame with a great, absorbing +passion which at other times he concealed. His beautiful eyes glowed +with hidden fires, and he whispered soothing, singsong things to the +child, and played softly upon his violin, leaning his black head far +down so that the baby Melisse could clutch her appreciative fingers in +his hair. + +"Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and +kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze +violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel +lak--HER!" + +He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan +Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin. + +Sometimes Melisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things +he was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed +upon him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust +into her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him +blankly, the more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him; +and his voice grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist +as he told her those things which John Cummins would have given much +to know. + +"Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Melisse," he +whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring +finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!" + +There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby +Melisse talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy. +With the baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her +tiny cot, he would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the +pride and happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of +her kittens. + +Once, when Melisse straightened herself for an instant, and half +reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he +gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had +not dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that +frightened the little Melisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan, +in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he +ventured to kiss her again. + +It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan +discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last +days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge +of the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in +plenty when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon, +he returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with +the meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his +slender body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying +sight greeted him in the little clearing at the post. + +Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously +rolling the half-naked little Melisse about in a soft pile of snow, +and doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and +thorough manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted +toward her like a wild thing. + +"Sacre bleu--you keel--keel ze leetle Melisse!" he cried shrilly, +snatching up the half-frozen child, "Mon Dieu, she ees not papoose! +She ees ceevilize--ceevilize!" and he ran swiftly with her into the +cabin, flinging back a torrent of Cree anathema at the dumbly +bewildered Maballa. + +Jan left the rest of his musk-ox to the wolves and foxes. He went out +into the snow, and found half a dozen other snow-wallows in which the +helpless Melisse had taken her chilling baths. He watched Maballa with +a new growing terror, and fifty times a day he said to her: + +"Melisse ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--lak HER!" And he would +point to the lonely grave under the guardian spruce. + +At last Maballa went into an ecstasy of understanding. Melisse was not +to be taken out and rolled in the snow; so she brought in the snow and +rolled it over Melisse! + +When Jan discovered this, his tongue twisted itself into sounds so +terrible, and his face writhed so fiercely, that Maballa began to +comprehend that thereafter no snow at all, either out doors or in, was +to be used in the physical development of the little Melisse. + +This was the beginning of the problem, and it grew and burst forth in +all its significance on the day before Cummins came in from the +wilderness. + +For a week Maballa had been dropping sly hints of a wonderful thing +which she and the factor's half-breed wife were making for the baby. +Jan had visions of a gorgeous garment covered with beads and gaudy +braid, which would give the little Melisse unending delight. On the +day before Cummins' arrival, Jan came in from chopping wood, and went +to the cot. It was empty. Maballa was gone. A sudden fear thrilled him +to the marrow, and he sprang back to the cabin door, ready to shriek +out the Indian woman's name. + +A sound stopped him--the softest, sweetest sound in all the world to +Jan Thoreau--and he whirled around like a cat. Melisse was smiling and +making queer, friendly little signals to him from the table. She was +standing upright, wedged in a coffin-shaped thing from which only her +tiny white face peered out at him; and Jan knew that this was +Maballa's surprise, Melisse was in a papoose-sling! + +"Melisse, I say you shall be no papoose!" he cried, running to the +table. "You ees ceevilize! You shall be no papoose--not if twen' +t'ous'nd devil come tak Jan Thoreau!" + +And he snatched her from her prison, flung Maballa's handiwork out +into the snow, and waited impatiently for the return of John Cummins. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LOVE PATCHES + + +Cummins returned the next day--not that his work among the wild +trappers to the south was finished, but because he had suffered a hurt +in falling from a slippery ledge. When Jan, from his wood-chopping in +the edge of the forest, saw the team race up to the little cabin and a +strange Cree half carry the wounded man through the door, he sped +swiftly across the open with visions of new misfortune before him. + +What he saw when he reached the door was reassuring. Cummins was upon +his knees beside the cot, his big shoulders hunched over, and Melisse +was welcoming him with her whole vocabulary of sound. The injury to +Cummins' leg was not serious; and not being serious, it was accepted +as a special incident of Providence by Jan, for the new thoughts that +had come into his head were causing him great uneasiness. + +He lost no time in revealing his fears, after Maballa had been sent to +the factor's wife. With graphic gesture he told of what had happened. +Cummins hobbled to the door to look upon the wallows in the snow, and +hobbled back to the table when Jan ran there in excited imitation of +the way in which he had found the little Melisse in Maballa's sling. + +"She ees ceevilize!" finished Jan hotly. "She ees not papoose! She +mus' be lak--HER!" His great eyes shone, and Cummins felt a thickening +in his throat as he looked into them and saw what the boy meant. +"Maballa mak papoose out of Melisse. She grow--know not'ing, lak +papoose, talk lak papoose--" + +Jan's feelings overwhelmed his tongue. His shining hair rumpled +thickly about his face as he leaned anxiously toward Cummins; and +Cummins, in turn, stared down in dumb perplexity upon the joyful +kickings and wrigglings of the growing problem. + +"Ees she not ceevilize?" demanded Jan ecstatically, bending his black +head over her. "Ah, ze sweet Melisse!" + +"Yes, she must be like HER, Jan--just as good and just as sweet and +just as beautiful," interrupted Cummins gently. + +There was a quick intaking of his breath as he hobbled back to his own +cot, leaving Jan at play with the baby. + +That night, in the dim, sputtering glow of an oil-lamp, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau solemnly set to work to thrash out the great problem +that had suddenly entered into their existence. To these two there was +no element of humor in what they were doing, for into their keeping +had been given a thing for which God had not schemed them. The woman, +had she been there, would have laughed at them, and in a dozen gentle +breaths might have told them all that the world held in secret between +mother and child; but, leaving them, she had passed on to them +something that was life, like herself, and yet mystery. + +Had fate given Maballa to Melisse for a mother there would have been +no mystery. She would have developed as naturally as a wolf-whelp or a +lynx-kitten, a savage breath of life in a savage world, waxing fat in +snow-baths, arrow-straight in papoose-slings, a moving, natural thing +in a desolation to which generations and centuries of forebears had +given it birthright. But Melisse was like her mother. In the dreams of +the two who were planning out her fate, she was to be a reincarnation +of her mother. That dream left a ray of comfort in Cummins' breast +when his wife died. It stirred happy visions within Jan. And it ended +with a serious shock when Maballa brought into their mental +perspective of things the possibilities of environment. + +So far as Cummins knew, there was not a white woman nearer than Fort +Churchill, two hundred miles away. In all that region he knew of only +two full-white men, and they were Williams and himself. The baby +Melisse was hopelessly lost in a world of savagery; honest, loyal, +big-souled savagery--but savagery for all that, and the thought of it +brought the shadows of fear and foreboding to the two into whose lives +the problem had just come. + +Long into the night they talked seriously of the matter, while Melisse +slept; and the longer they talked, the greater loomed the problem +before them. Cummins fancied that he already began to see signs of the +transformation in Melisse. She was passionately fond of the gaudy +things Maballa gave her, which was a sign of savagery. She was charmed +by confinement in the papoose-sling, which was another sign of it; and +she had not died in the snow-wallows--which was still another. + +So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into finger- +touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they +determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be +ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children +would not be allowed to come near Melisse. They two--John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the +sentinel spruce. + +"She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her +ceevilize!" + +Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Melisse was +four months and eighteen days old! + +"To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the +baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the +papoose-slings!" + +"An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing. +"That ees ceevilize!" + +Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a +calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room. + +"There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling +thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped +upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt +beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing +catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast. "Now +--we will give them--to Melisse." + +He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his +breath coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things, +holding within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the +woman he had lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into +the wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the +pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred +places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man +gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he +might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief. + +Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something +else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In +these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in +civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful +for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held +up a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins. + +"Theese are picture for Melisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach her +--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!" + +Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly +for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it. At +the last one of all, which was more ragged and worn than the others, +he gazed for a long time. It was a little Bible, his wife's Bible, +finger-worn, patched, pathetic in its poverty. The man gulped hard. + +"She loved this, Jan," he said huskily. "She loved this worn, old book +more than anything else, and little Melisse must love it also. Melisse +must be a Christian." + +"Ah, yes, ze leetle Melisse mus' love ze great God!" said Jan softly. + +Cummins rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the +sleeping baby. + +"A missionary is coming over from Fort Churchill to talk to our +trappers when they come in. She shall be baptized!" + +Like a cat Jan was on his feet, his eyes flashing, his long, thin +fingers clenched, his body quivering with a terrible excitement. + +"No--no--not baptize by missioner!" he cried. "She shall be good, an' +love ze great God, but not baptize by missioner! No--no--no!" + +Cummins turned upon him in astonishment. Before him Jan Thoreau stood +for a minute like one gone mad, his whole being consumed in a passion +terrible to look upon. Lithe giant of muscle and, fearlessness that he +was, Cummins involuntarily drew back a step, and the mainspring of +instinct within him prompted him to lift a hand, as if to ward off a +leaping thing from his breast. + +Jan noted the backward step, the guarded uplift of hand, and with an +agonized cry he buried his face in his hands. In another instant he +had turned, and, before Cummins' startled voice found words, had +opened the door and run out into the night. The man saw him darting +swiftly toward the forest, and called to him, but there was no +response. + +There was a hot fire burning in Jan's brain, a blazing, writhing +contortion of things that brought a low moaning from his lips. He ran +tirelessly and swiftly until he sank down upon the snow in a silent +place far from where he had left John Cummins. His eyes still blazed +with their strange fire upon the desolation about him, his fingers +clenched and unclenched themselves, digging their nails into his +flesh, and he spoke softly to himself, over and over again, the name +of the little Melisse. + +Painting itself each instant more plainly through the tumult of his +emotions was what Jan had come to know as the picture in his brain. +Shadowy and indistinct at first, in pale, elusive lines of mental +fabric, he saw the picture growing; and in its growth he saw first the +soft, sweet outlines of a woman's face, and then great luring eyes, +dark like his own--and before these eyes, which gazed upon him with +overwhelming love, all else faded away from before Jan Thoreau. The +fire went out of his eyes, his fingers relaxed, and after a little +while he got up out of the snow, shivering, and went back to the +cabin. + +Cummins asked no questions. He looked at Jan from his cot, and watched +the boy silently as he undressed and went to bed; and in the morning +the whole incident passed from his mind. The intangible holds but +little fascination for the simple folk who live under the Arctic +Circle. Their struggle is with life, their joys are in its +achievement, in their constant struggle to keep life running strong +and red within them. Such an existence of solitude and of strife with +nature leaves small room for curiosity. So the nature of John Cummins +led him to forget what had happened, as he would have forgotten the +senseless running away of a sledge-dog, and its subsequent return. He +saw no tragedy, and no promise of tragedy, in the thing that had +occurred. + +There was no recurrence of the strange excitement in Jan. He gave no +hint of it in word or action, and the thing seemed to be forgotten +between the two. + +The education of the little Melisse began at once, while the post was +still deserted. It began, first of all, with Maballa. She stared +dumbly and with shattered faith at these two creatures who told her of +wonderful things in the upbringing of a child--things of which she had +never so much as heard rumor before. Her mother instincts were +aroused, but with Cree stoicism she made no betrayal of them. + +The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change +when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Melisse was about to +begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when +between them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried +vainly to persuade Melisse to use her feet. + +It was great fun for Melisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as +the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their +eyes, the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an +unceasing physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming +mental development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin, +which was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into +ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered +them in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more +suggestive grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the +greatest token of all. + +Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee +followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the +Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs +stolen. From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers +trailed back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a +growing warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were +near. And when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the +factor's people, wore patches at their knee. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DAYS OF TRIUMPH + + +One afternoon, in the beginning of the mush-snow, a long team of +rakish Malemutes, driven by an Athabasca French-Canadian, raced wildly +into the clearing about the post. A series of yells, and the wild +cracking of a thirty-foot caribou-gut whip, announced that the big +change was at hand--that the wilderness was awakening, and life was +drawing near. + +The entire post rushed out to meet the new-comer--men and dogs, the +little black-and-tan children, and even Williams' fat and lethargic +wife. For a few moments there was a scene of wild disorder, of +fighting Malemutes buried under a rush of angry huskies, while men +shouted, and the yelling Frenchman leaped about and cut his caribou- +gut in vicious slashes over the wolfish horde around his heavily laden +sledge. + +Partial order being restored, Mukee and Per-ee took charge of the +snarling Malemutes, and, surrounded by Williams' men, the trapper +stalked to the company's office. He was Jean de Gravois, the most +important man in the Fond du Lac country, for whose good-will the +company paid a small bonus. That he had made a record catch even the +children knew by the size of the packs on his sledge and by the +swagger in his walk. + +Gravois was usually one of the last to appear at the annual gathering +of the wilderness fur-gatherers. He was a big man in reputation, as he +was small in stature. He was known as far west as the Peace River, and +eastward to Fort Churchill. He loved to make his appearance at the +post in a wild and picturesque rush when the rest of the forest rovers +were there to look on, and to envy or admire. He was one of the few of +his kind who had developed personal vanity along with unerring cunning +in the ways of the wild. Everybody liked Gravois, for he had a big +soul in him and was as fearless as a lynx; and he liked everybody, +including himself. + +He explained his early arrival by announcing in a nonchalant manner +that after he had given his Malemutes a day's rest he was going on to +Fort Churchill, to bring back a wife. He hinted, with a punctuating +crack of his whip, that he would make a second visit, and a more +interesting one, at just about the time when the trappers were there +in force. + +Jan Thoreau listened to him, hunching his shoulders a little at the +other's manifest air of importance. In turn, the French-Canadian +scrutinized Jan good-naturedly. Neither of them knew the part which +Jean de Gravois was to play in Jan's life. + +Every hour after the half-breed's arrival quickened the pulse of +expectancy at the post. For six months it had been a small and +solitary unit of life in the heart of a big desolation. The first snow +had smothered it in a loneliness that was almost the loneliness of +desertion. With that first snow began the harvest days of the people +of the wilderness. Far and wide they were busy along their trap-lines, +their lonely shacks hidden in the shelter of thick swamps, in deep +chasms and dense forests. For six months the short days and the long +nights had been days and nights of fur-gathering. + +During those months the post was silent. It lived and breathed, but +that was all. Its life, for Williams and the few people whom the +company kept with him, was a life of waiting. Now the change was at +hand. It was like the breath of spring to the awakening wilderness. +The forest people were moving. Trap-lines were being broken, shacks +abandoned, sledge-dogs put to harness. On the day that Jean de Gravois +left for Hudson's Bay, the company's supplies came in from Fort +Churchill--seven toboggans drawn by Eskimo dogs, laden with flour and +cloth; fifty pounds of beads, ammunition, and a hundred other things +to be exchanged for the furs that would soon be in London and Paris. + +Fearfully Jan Thoreau ran out to meet the sledges. There were seven +Indians and one white man. Jan thrust himself close to look at the +white man. He wore two revolver-holsters and carried an automatic. +Unquestionably he was not a missionary, but an agent of the company +well prepared to care for the company's treasure. + +Jan hurried back to the cabin, his heart bubbling with a strange joy. + +"There ees no missioner, Melisse!" he cried triumphantly, dropping +beside her, his face glowing with the gladness of his tidings. "You +shall be good and beautiful, lak HER, but you shall not be baptize by +missioner! He has not come!" + +A few minutes later Cummins came in. One of his hands was torn and +bleeding. + +"Those Eskimo dogs are demons!" he growled. "If they knew how to stand +on their legs, they'd eat our huskies alive! Will you help me with +this?" + +Jan was at work in an instant, bandaging the wounded hand. + +"It ees not deep," he said; and then, without looking up, he added: +"The missioner did not come." + +"No," said Cummins shortly. "Neither has the mail. He is with that." + +He did not notice the sudden tremble of Jan's fingers, nor did he see +the startled look that shot into the boy's down-turned eyes. Jan +finished his bandaging without betraying his emotion, and went back +with Cummins to the company's store. + +The next morning, two Chippewayans trailed in with a team of mongrel +curs from the south. Thereafter Cummins found but little time to +devote to Melisse. The snow was softening rapidly, and the daily +increasing warmth of the sun hastened the movement of the trappers. +Mukee's people from the western Barren Lands arrived first, bringing +with them great loads of musk-ox and caribou skins, and an army of +big-footed, long-legged Mackenzie hounds that pulled like horses and +wailed like whipped puppies when the huskies and Eskimo dogs set upon +them. + +From east and west and south all trails now led to the post. By the +end of the third day after the arrival of the company's supplies, a +babel of fighting, yelling, ceaselessly moving discord had driven +forth the peace and quiet in which Cummins' wife had died. The +fighting and discord were among the dogs, and the yelling was a +necessary human accompaniment. Half a hundred packs, almost as wild +and as savage as the wolves from whom half of them possessed a strong +inheritance of blood, were thrown suddenly into warring confusion. + +All the dogs were fighters except the big, soft-throated Mackenzie +hounds, with the slow strength of oxen in their movements, and the +quarter-strained and half-strained mongrels from the south; and upon +these unfortunates the others preyed. Packs of fierce Labrador dogs, +never vanquished except by death, came from close to Hudson's Bay. +Team after team of the little yellow and gray Eskimo dogs, as quick +with their fangs as were their black and swift-running masters with +their hands and feet, met the much larger and darker-colored Malemutes +from the Athabasca. Enemies of all these, fighting, snapping, and +snarling, with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wolf +progenitors, packs of fierce huskies trailed in from all sides. + +There was no cessation in the battle of the fangs. It began with the +first brute arrivals. It continued from dawn through the day, and +around the campfires at night. There was never an end to the strife +between the dogs, and between the men and the dogs. The snow was +stained and trailed with blood, and the scent of it added greater +fierceness to the wolf-breeds. Half a dozen battles were fought to the +death each day and night. Those that died were chiefly the south-bred +curs--mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane, and sheep-dogs--and the fatally +slow Mackenzie hounds. + +From its towering height the sentinel spruce frowned down upon the +savage life that had come to outrage the grave it guarded. Yet beyond +all this discord and bloody strife there was a great, throbbing human +happiness--a beating of honest hearts filled to overflowing with the +joys of the moment, a welding of new friendships, a renewal of old +ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things +under the cold gray of the northern skies. + +There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against +man in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the +caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the life- +blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter of +the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel. + +One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big +spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in +the afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about +the grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around +it a barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to +the cabin and Melisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near +the spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin +the paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild +forest men who came to look upon the little Melisse. + +These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby, +as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange +things, for all who came gave something to Melisse. There were polar +bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got +them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of +fur, bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at +fabulous prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk-- +from Mukee's people of the west barrens. + +To Jan this homage to Melisse was more than gratifying. It formed a +bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and +he went more freely among them, and made friends. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL + + +Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de +Gravois; but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Melisse: + +"They have been good to you, my Melisse. I will give them ze museek of +ze violon." + +It was the big night at the post--the night that is known from +Athabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week +had passed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the +company's ledger each man had received his credit, and in the +company's store the furs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had +been killed by Per-ee and his hunters; and on this night, when Jan +took down his violin from its peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in +the open, and on spits six inches in diameter the caribou were +roasting. + +The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above the +fighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices +in wild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, the +silence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them. +Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was +the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in +meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped +fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red +glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the +company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these +same men back again at the end of another trapping season. + +Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real +butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the +occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it +in yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, +bubbled and steamed half a barrel of coffee. + +The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs +gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters, +their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not +for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion +stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the +pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated +into the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was +luring from out of the South. + +Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of +men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and +black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes, +he began to play. + +It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Melisse that +he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the +autumn winds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man +and dog in a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life +about him became like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed +Jan saw nothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half- +cringing little black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet +away, nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking +upon this miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there +was a deep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and +sweeter; and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was +playing that which he loved most of all--the music that had filled the +little cabin when Cummins' wife died. + +As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--a +low refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grew +beyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rose +from the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's +violin. To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness +and grief of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and +unconsciously his voice rose and fell softly with the wailing of the +brute chorus. But to the others it was a thing that rose portentous +above their understanding, a miracle of mystery that smote them with +awe even as they surrendered themselves to the wonderful sweetness of +the music. + +Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He +saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to +man, and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the +dogs sat full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed +straight to the stars in the sky. + +Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through +the crouching Eskimos to Jan. + +"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's +ear. "Play something fast!" + +Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the +strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of +his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and +clear in words familiar to them all: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the +firelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of +the company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in +crescendos of stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent +circle of awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices. + +The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the +odors in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the +fire, long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses +were turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell +sizzling into the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's +violin rose higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper +in the tumult. + +The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and +his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the +long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts +driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a +final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence +fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms +frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze cariboo-oo- +oo--'" + +With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his +violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of +untamed voices. + +"Now!" yelled Cummins again. + +The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay, +burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air. + +"Now!" he shrieked. + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! + Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + He ready now to come 'n' eat!" + +With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and his +Crees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon the +snow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watched +the wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, +they crowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from +his vocal exertions, joined him. + +"Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribou +roast." + +"So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostling +crowd. + +"It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond the +Great Slave country." + +"Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near to +ze Great Bear." + +The factor stared at him in amazement. + +"You saw it?" he exclaimed. + +But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond the +packs of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on the +cabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him, +and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no word +to Melisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot. + +Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement +about the great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his +head, he plunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and +jostling with the others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he +forced himself through to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, +kneeling with turned-up sleeves and greasy hands beside the huge +roast, and when he saw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was +neither laughter nor song in Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with +a strange savageness which was more savage than the wildest yells of +the half-breed Crees, and his great eyes burned fiercely as they +rested for an instant upon Cummins' face. + +Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife +dropped to his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew +back a step, Jan sprang to him. + +"Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who you +fight at ze Great Bear?" + +The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel as +he saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and gripped +the boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch. + +"For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze Great +Bear?" + +"We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking so +low that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped. + +"Ze missioner!" panted Jan. + +The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, and +the softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's +grip on the boy's wrists. + +"Yes, the missioner!" + +Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his +way among the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his +Crees pulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to +the fresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ran +swiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the +scraps that had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the +savage banquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to +Melisse. + +Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caught +the baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to and +fro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand. + +"An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angel +Melisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for letting +out the blood of a missioner!" + +He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down his +violin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE FIGHT AT DAWN + + +For a few moments Jan stood with his back to Melisse and his eyes upon +the carnival about the great fire. As he looked, the third caribou was +pulled down from its spit, and the multitude of dogs rushed in upon +the abandoned carcasses of the other two. + +He caught his breath quickly as a loud shout and the wailing yelp of a +hurt dog rose for an instant above all other sounds. Only one thing +was wanting to complete another picture in his brain--a scene which +had burned itself into his life for ever, and which he strove to fight +back as he stood staring from the doorway. He half expected it to +come--the shrill scream of a boyish voice, an instant's sullen quiet, +then the low-throated thunder of impending vengeance--and the fight! + +With marvelous quickness his excited mind reconstructed the scene +before him into the scene that had been. He heard the scream again, +which had been HIS voice; saw, as if in a dream, the frenzied rush of +men and the flash of knives; and then, from where he lay trampled and +bleeding in the snow, the long, lean team of swift huskies that had +carried in mad flight the one whose life those knives sought. + +Williams had been there; he had seen the fight--his knife had flashed +with the others in its demand for life. And yet he--Jan Thoreau--had +not been recognized by the factor out there beside the caribou roast! + +He hurried toward the fire. Half-way across the open he stopped. From +out of the forest opposite Cummins' cabin there trailed slowly a team +of dogs. In the shadows of the spruce, hidden from the revelers, the +team halted. Jan heard the low voices of men, and a figure detached +itself from the gloom, walking slowly and in the manner of one near to +exhaustion in the direction of the carnival. + +It was a new team. It had come from the trails to the east, and Jan's +heart gave a sudden jump as he thought of the missionary who was +expected with the overdue mail. At first he had a mind to intercept +the figure laboring across the open, but without apparent reason he +changed his course and approached the sledge. + +As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind +the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it +stopped and waited. + +"Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any +nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" + +The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that +he could see the stranger. + +"You come from Churchill?" he asked. + +His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him +to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the +glowing fire flashed in his eyes. + +"Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day." + +Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into +the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within +reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's +violin dropped to the snow. + +For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself +back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the +boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a +name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast. + +The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared +himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the +knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent +the boy reeling to the ground. + +Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the +dogs turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the +sledge disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his +feet, and stood swaying in his weakness. Then he followed. + +He forgot that he was leaving his knife in the snow, forgot that back +there about the fire there were other dogs and other men. He only knew +that once before he had seen a sledge slip off into the wilderness; +that its going had left him a life of hatred and bitterness and desire +for vengeance; and that this was the same man who was slipping away +from him in the same way again. + +He followed, sickened by the blow, but gaining strength as he pursued. +Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the toboggan and the cautious +lashing of a whip over the backs of the tired huskies. The sounds +filled him with fierce strength. He wiped away the warm trickle of +blood that ran over his cheek, and began to run, slowly at first, +swinging in the easy wolf-lope of the forest runner, with his elbows +close to his sides. + +At that pace he could have followed for hours, losing when the pack +took a spurt, gaining when they lagged, an insistent Nemesis just +behind when the weighted dogs lay down in their traces. But there was +neither the coolness of Mukee nor the cleverness of Jean de Gravois in +the manner of Jan's running. When he heard the cracking of the whip +growing fainter, he dropped his arms straight to his sides and ran +more swiftly, his brain reeling with the madness of his desire to +reach the sledge--to drag from it the man who had struck him, to choke +life from the face that haunted that mental picture of his, grinning +at him and gloating always from the shadow world, just beyond the +pale, sweet loveliness of the woman who lived in it. + +That picture came to him now as he ran, more and more vividly, and +from out of it the woman urged him on to the vengeance which she +demanded of him, her great eyes glowing like fire, her beautiful face +torn with the agony which he had last seen in it in life. + +To Jan Thoreau there seemed almost to come from that face a living +voice, crying to him its prayer for retribution, pleading with him to +fasten his lithe, brown hands about the throat of the monster upon the +sledge ahead, and choke from it all life. It drove reason from him, +leaving him with the one thought that the monster was almost within +reach; and he replied to the prayer with the breath that came in +moaning exhaustion from between his lips. + +He did not feel the soft, sun-packed snow under the beat of his feet. +He received the lash of low-hanging bushes without experiencing the +sensation of their sting. Only he knew that he wanted air--more and +more air; and to get it he ran with open mouth, struggling and gasping +for it, and yet not knowing that Jean de Gravois would have called him +a fool for the manner in which he sought it. + +He heard more and more faintly the run of the sledge. Then he heard it +no longer, and even the cracking of the whip died away. His heart +swelled in a final bursting effort, and he plunged on, until at last +his legs crumpled under him and he pitched face downward in the snow, +like a thing stung by sudden death. + +It was then, with his scratched and bleeding face lying in the snow, +that reason began to return to him. After a little while he dragged +himself weakly to his knees, still panting from the mad effort he had +made to overtake the sledge. From a great distance he heard faintly +the noise of shouting, the whispering echo of half a hundred voices, +and he knew that the sound came from the revelers at the post. It was +proof to him that there had been no interruption to the carnival, and +that the scene at the edge of the forest had been witnessed by none. +Quickly his mental faculties readjusted themselves. He rose to his +feet, and for a few moments stood hesitatingly. He had no weapon; but +as his hand rested upon the empty knife-sheath at his belt, there came +to him a thought of the way in which Mukee had avenged Cummins' wife, +and he turned again upon the trail. He no longer touched the low- +hanging bushes. He was no more than a shadow, appearing and +disappearing without warning, trailing as the white ermine follows its +prey, noiseless, alert, his body responding sinuously and without +apparent effort to the working commands of his brain. + +Where the forest broke into an open, lighted by the stars, he found +blood in the footprints of the leading dog. Half-way across the open, +he saw where the leader had swung out from the trail and the others of +the pack had crowded about him, to be urged on by the lashings of the +man's whip. Other signs of the pack's growing exhaustion followed +close. + +The man now traveled beside the sledge where the trail was rough, and +rode where it was smooth and hard. The deep imprints of his heeled +boots in the soft snow showed that he ran for only a short distance at +a time--a hundred yards or less--and that after each running spell he +brought the pack to a walk. He was heavy and lacked endurance, and +this discovery brought a low cry of exultation to Jan's lips. + +He fell into a dog-trot. Mile after mile dropped behind him; other +miles were ahead of him, an endless wilderness of miles, and through +them the tired pack persisted, keeping always beyond sound and vision. + +The stars began fading out of the skies. The shadows of the forest +grew deeper and blacker, and where the aurora had lightened the +heavens there crept the somber gray film that preceded dawn by three +hours. + +Jan followed more and more slowly. There was hard-breathing effort now +in his running--effort that caused him physical pain and discomfort. +His feet stumbled occasionally in the snow; his legs, from thigh to +knee, began to ache with the gnawing torment that centers in the +marrowbone; and with this beginning of the "runner's cramp" he was +filled with a new and poignant terror. + +Would the dogs beat him out? Sloughing in the trail, bleeding at every +foot, would they still drag their burden beyond the reach of his +vengeance? The fear fastened itself upon him, urging him to greater +effort, and he called upon the last of his strength in a spurt that +carried him to where the thick spruce gave place to thin bush, and the +bush to the barren and rocky side of a huge ridge, up which the trail +climbed strong and well defined. For a few paces he followed it, then +slipped and rolled back as the fatal paralysis deadened all power of +movement in his limbs. He lay where he fell, moaning out his grief +with his wide-staring eyes turned straight up into the cold gray of +the starless sky. + +For a long time he was motionless. From the top of the ridge, where +the trail cut over the mountain, he looked like a bit of fire- +blackened wood half buried in the snow. Half-way up the ridge a wolf, +slinking hungrily, sniffed first up the trail and then down, and broke +the stillness of the gray night-end with a mournful howl. It did not +stir Jan Thoreau. + +Long after the wolf had passed on, he moved a little, twisting himself +so that his eyes could follow the tracks made by the sledge and dogs. +When he came to where the snow-covered backbone of the ridge cut +itself in faint outline against the desolate coldness of the sky, +there fell from him the first sound of returning life. Up there he was +sure that he had seen something move--an object which at first he had +taken for a bush, and which he knew was not the wolf. + +He watched for its reappearance, until all sorts of gray dawn shadows +danced before his eyes. Then he began slowly to crawl up the trail. +Some of the dull, paralytic ache was gone from his limbs, and as he +worked his blood began to warm them into new strength, until he stood +up and sniffed like an animal in the wind that was coming over the +ridge from the south. + +There was something in that wind that thrilled him. It stung his +nostrils to a quick sensing of the nearness of something that was +human. He smelled smoke. In it there was the pungent odor of green +balsam, mixed with a faint perfume of pitch pine; and because the odor +of pitch grew stronger as he ascended, he knew that it was a small +fire that was making the smoke, with none of the fierce, dry woods to +burn up the smell. It was a fire hidden among the rocks, a tiny fire, +over which the fleeing missioner was cooking his breakfast. + +Jan almost moaned aloud in his gladness, and the old mad strength +returned to his body. Near the summit of the ridge he picked up a +club. It was a short, thick club, with the heavy end knotted and +twisted. + +Cautiously he lifted his face over the rocks, and looked out upon a +plateau, still deep in snow, swept bare by the winter's winds, and +covered with rocks and bushes. His face was so white that at a little +distance it might have been taken for a snow hare. It went whiter +when, a few yards away, he saw the fire, the man, and the dogs. + +The man was close to the little blaze, his broad shoulders hunched +over, steadying a small pot over the flame. Beyond him were the dogs +huddled about the sledge, inanimate as death. + +Jan drew himself over the rocks. Once he had seen a big-footed lynx +creep upon a wide-awake fox, and like that lynx he crept upon the man +beside the fire. One of the tired dogs moved, and his pointed nostrils +quivered in the air. Jan lay flat in the snow. Then the dog's muzzle +dropped between his paws, and the boy moved on. + +Inch by inch he advanced. The inches multiplied themselves into a +foot, the foot lengthened into yards, and still the man remained +hunched over his simmering pot. + +Jan rose gently from his hands and knees to his feet, a furnace of +madness blazing in his eyes. The restless dog raised his head again. +He sniffed danger--near, menacing danger--and sprang up with a +snarling cry that brought the man over the fire to quick attention. In +a flash Jan took the last leap, and his club crashed down upon the +missioner's head. The man pitched over like a log, and with a shrill +cry the boy was at his throat. + +"I am Jan Thoreau!" he shrieked. "I am Jan Thoreau--Jan Thoreau--come +to keel you!" He dropped his club, and was upon the man's chest, his +slender fingers tightening like steel wire about the thick throat of +his enemy. "I keel you slow--slow!" he cried, as the missioner +struggled weakly. + +The great thick body heaved under him, and he put all his strength +into his hands. Something struck him in the face. Something struck him +again and again, but he felt neither the pain nor the force of it, and +his voice sobbed out his triumph as he choked. The man's hands reached +up and tore at his hair; but Jan saw only the missioner's mottled face +growing more mottled, and his eyes staring in greater agony up into +his own. + +"I am Jan Thoreau," he panted again and again. "I am Jan Thoreau, an' +I keel you--keel you!" + +The blood poured from his face. It blinded him until he could no +longer see the one from which he was choking life. He bent down his +head to escape the blows. The man's body heaved more and more; it +turned until he was half under it; but still he hung to the thick +throat, as the weasel hangs in tenacious death to the jugular of its +prey. + +The missioner's weight was upon him in crushing force now. His huge +hands struck and tore at the boy's head and face, and then they had +fastened themselves at his neck. Jan was conscious of a terrible +effort to take in breath, but he was not conscious of pain. The clutch +did not frighten him. It did not make him loosen his grip. His fingers +dug deeper. He strove to cry out still his words of triumph; but he +could make no sound, except a gasping like that which came from +between the gaping jaws of the man whose life his body and soul were +fighting to smother. + +There was death in each of the two grips; but the man's was the +stronger, and his neck was larger and tougher, so that after a time he +staggered to his knees and then to his feet, while Jan lay upon his +back, his face and hair red with blood, his eyes wide open and with a +lifeless glare in them. The missioner looked down upon his victim in +horror. As the life that had nearly ebbed out of him poured back into +his body, he staggered among the dogs, fastened them to the sledge, +and urged them down the mountain into the plain. There was soon no +sound of the sledge. + +From a bush a dozen yards away a wondering moose-bird had watched the +terrible struggle. Now he hopped boldly upon Jan's motionless body, +and perked his head inquisitively as he examined the strange face, +covered with blood and twisted in torture. + +The gray film of dawn dissolved itself into the white beginning of +day. Far to the south, a bit of the red sunrise was creeping into the +northern world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JEAN AND JAN + + +Half a mile down the ridge, where it sloped up gradually from the +forests and swamps of the plain, a team of powerful Malemutes were +running at the head of a toboggan. On the sledge was a young half-Cree +woman. Now beside the sledge, now at the lead of the dogs, cracking +his whip and shouting joyously, ran Jean de Gravois. + +"Is it not beautiful, my Iowaka?" he cried for the hundredth time, in +Cree, leaping over a three-foot boulder in his boundless enthusiasm. +"Is this not the glorious world, with the sun just rising off there, +and spring only a few days away? It is not like the cold chills at +Churchill, which come up with the icebergs and stay there all summer! +What do you think of your Jean de Gravois and his country now?" + +Jean was bringing back with him a splendid young woman, with big, +lustrous eyes, and hair that shone with the gloss of a raven's wing in +the sun. She laughed at him proudly as he danced and leaped beside +her, replying softly in Cree, which is the most beautiful language in +the world, to everything that he said. + +Jean leaped and ran, cracked his caribou whip, and shouted and sang +until he was panting and red in the face. Just as Iowaka had called +upon him to stop and get a second wind, the Malemutes dropped back +upon their haunches where Jan Thoreau lay, twisted and bleeding, in +the snow. + +"What is this?" cried Jean. + +He caught Jan's limp head and shoulders up in his arms, and called +shrilly to Iowaka, who was disentangling herself from the thick furs +in which he had wrapped her. + +"It is the fiddler I told you about, who lives with Williams at Post +Lac Bain!" he shouted excitedly in Cree. "He has been murdered! He has +been choked to death, and torn to pieces in the face, as if by an +animal!" Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a +fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints--a big man and a small boy, and +the murderer has gone on a sledge!" + +"He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." + +Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing +with a dangerous fire. In a single leap he was at the side of the +sledge, throwing off the furs and bundles and all other objects except +his rifle. + +"He is dead, Iowaka. Look at the purple and black in his face. It is +Jean de Gravois who will catch the murderer, and you will stay here +and make yourself a camp. Hi-o-o-o-o!" he shouted to the Malemutes. + +The team twisted sinuously and swiftly in the trail as he sped over +the edge of the mountain. Upon the plain below he knelt upon the +toboggan, with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing +commands, which reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team +stretched their long bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his +huskies. + +Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he +laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent +Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a +short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of +swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering +until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile +farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the +smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the +fleeing missioner. + +The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and +with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw +the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his +dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter +of something that flashed for a moment in the sun. + +"Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at +Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of +happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the +backs of his Malemutes. "He fires at Jean de Gravois, and it is Jean +who can hamstring a caribou at three hundred yards on the run!" + +For an instant, at the crack of his rifle, there was no movement +ahead; then something rolled from the sledge and lay doubled up in the +snow. A hundred yards beyond it, the huskies stopped in a rabble and +turned to look at the approaching strangers. + +Beside it Jean stopped; and when he saw the face that stared up at +him, he clutched his thin hands in his long black hair and cried out, +in shrill amazement and horror: + +"The saints in Heaven, it is the missioner from Churchill!" + +He turned the man over, and found where his bullet had entered under +one arm and come out from under the other. There was no spark of life +left. The missioner was already dead. + +"The missioner from Churchill!" he gasped again. + +He looked up at the warm sun, and kicked the melting snow under his +moccasined feet. + +"It will thaw very soon," he said to himself, looking again at the +dead man, "and then he will go into the lake." + +He headed his Malemutes back to the forest. Then he ran out and cut +the traces of the exhausted huskies, and with his whip scattered them +in freedom over the ice. + +"Go to the wolves!" he shouted in Cree. "Hide yourselves from the +post, or Jean de Gravois will cut out your tongues and take your skins +off alive!" + +When he came back to the top of the mountain, Jean found Iowaka making +hot coffee, while Jan was bundled up in furs near the fire. + +"It is as I said," she called. "He is alive!" + +Thus it happened that the return of Jean de Gravois to the post was +even more dramatic than he had schemed it to be, for he brought back +with him not only a beautiful wife from Churchill, but also the half +dead Jan Thoreau from the scene of battle on the mountain. And in the +mystery of it all he reveled for two days; for Jean de Gravois said +not a word about the dead man on the lake beyond the forest, nor did +the huskies come back into their bondage to give a hint of the missing +missionary. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RED SNOW-FLOWERS + + +From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers began +scattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second day +Mukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens. +Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to the +south and east. + +Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late spring +trapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jean +waited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy was +bolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Melisse on +the edge of the bed when he came in. + +For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign +to Cummins, who joined him at the door. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk with +the boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears should +hear but his own. Will it be right?" + +"Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry him +about the missionary. You'll not get a word from him." + +Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravois +came and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had +brought him alive into the post, and now there was something in the +suggestive grimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness +with which he looked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure +but that the walls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a +little faster as he speculated upon what Jean was going to say. + +For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin, +black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. He +twisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble as +that of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinned +at Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces. + +"Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a +brave boy, Jan Thoreau!" + +"You did not see it?" asked Jan. + +Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of +his thin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French +to the bottom of his soul. + +"I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, as +plain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail that +staggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? +And when I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon +it, like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead +body of the missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?" + +Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry. + +"Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is no +need of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virgin +made me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyes +that the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a few +days. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked about +him cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about +the dead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE +GRAVOIS!" + +He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, Jan +Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de +Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will +find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it +in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the +barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." +He turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and +shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau +understands?" he said, and passed out. + +When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a +fever. + +"Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. + +"He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him." + +On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of +the fever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon he +harnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from the +post that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in the +deepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made +by the company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill. + +This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he +had fought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles +beyond. Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he +followed the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his +Malemutes until he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de +Gravois had spoken the truth, for he found the missionary with his +face half buried in the slush, stark dead. + +He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. The bullet- +hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes like +Jan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heart +there came another face, to remain always with him--the face of the +courageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride back +into the country of the Athabasca. + +Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it was +dusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins was +waiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile on +Jan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had +never seen there before. From that night they were no longer filled +with the nervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an +appearance almost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, +there was a warmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the +effect of the change as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more +entirely of Melisse. + +A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought it +to Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play, +and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and +both the man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There +was the fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully +unfastened the strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil +lamp, so that he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the +box. + +He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to the +wall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Jan +fished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or four +efforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him. +Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightly +rolled cylinder of faded red cloth. + +For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins, +unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon the +table before him a number of closely written pages of paper. He +weighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at the +other with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pages +were in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another so +closely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jan +took his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the +others he bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing +breath. + +On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paper +there still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hour +Jan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to the +last page. + +When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for +an instant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep. +Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, without +disturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the +south and east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring +moon was coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, +a new and strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his +arms, with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from +out of that growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him. + +For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of the +great world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman's +letter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering, +thrilling eagerness: + +"I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Melisse come too!" + +He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded red +cloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before he +reentered the cabin. + +The next morning Cummins stood in the door, and said: + +"How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring. +We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish." + +Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and the +air was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents of +the budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of +the forest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose- +birds chirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night +in bough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; and snowbirds +--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whisk about like +so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to day until they +became new creatures in a new world. + +The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fat +peas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied by +little ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down the +slender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from the +blizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they had +passed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak and +sick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the +crackle of crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and +tree; and each night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept +farther and farther toward the pole in its fading glory. + +The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came in +from out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, taking +back into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life. +Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company's +chief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had +a good deal of extra time on his hands. + +Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in +logs for an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking +out in the sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Melisse looked upon +the new home-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. +Cummins' face glowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the +bearskin and gave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts. + +Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the +little Melisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed +from Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened +frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and +even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow +near Melisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw +fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter +of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought +of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies +and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic +indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Melisse. + +"I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time," +confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his +violin. "She is nearly six months old." + +"Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly +stopping the tightening of his strings. + +Cummins stared. + +"Why?" + +Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. + +"Because I have heard her many times say, 'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'-- +which means candee; and always I have given her candee, an' now ze +leetle Melisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time." + +"Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?" + +Like a shot Jan replied: + +"I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!" + +He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He went +to the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruce +over the grave. Later he said to Jan: + +"It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when +she says 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!" + +The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman's +grave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of +a great ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him a +basket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to their +roots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, and +around its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea and +backneesh. + +As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he took +Melisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and together +they picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave was +never without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new addition +complete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring up +out of the earth. + +Jan and Melisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there was +pleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in +the presence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deep +grief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all that +this desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with the +excruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died but +yesterday. + +When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried +his head in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved +them. She had always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out +of the wet earth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for +them, and had fastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her +hair. Those were the days when, like happy children, they had romped +and laughed together out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had +caught her up in his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but +gloriously happy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she +would sit and laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper. + +Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off alone +into the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him his +moccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in their +wanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him, +and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of the +woman and die. + +Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Melisse were to +cherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were to +spring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even as +his own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in the +future. He gave up Melisse to Jan. + +At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of +mental torture, he said that the company's business was calling him to +Churchill, and early in August he left for the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +FOR HER + + +Upon Jan now fell a great responsibility. Melisse was his own. Days +passed before he could realize the fullness of his possession. He had +meant to go by the Athabasca water route to see Jean de Gravois, +leaving Melisse to Cummins for a fortnight or so. Now he gave this up. +Day and night he guarded the child; and to Jan's great joy it soon +came to pass that whenever he was compelled to leave her for a short +time, Melisse would cry for him. At least Maballa assured him that +this was so, and Melisse gave evidence of it by her ecstatic joy when +he returned. + +When Cummins came back from Fort Churchill in the autumn, he brought +with him a pack full of things for Melisse, including new books and +papers, for which he had spent a share of his season's earnings. As he +was freeing these treasures from their wrapping of soft caribou skin, +with Jan and Melisse both looking on, he stopped suddenly and glanced +from his knees up at the boy. + +"They're wondering over at Churchill what became of the missionary who +left with the mail, Jan. They say he was last seen at the Etawney." + +"And not here?" replied Jan quickly. + +"Not that they know of," said Cummins, still keeping his eyes on the +boy. "The man who drove him never got back to Churchill. They're +wondering where the driver went, too. A company officer has gone up to +the Etawney, and it is possible he may come over to Lac Bain. I don't +believe he'll find the missionary." + +"Neither do I," said Jan quite coolly. "He is probably dead, and the +wolves and foxes have eaten him before this--or mebby ze feesh!" + +Cummins resumed his task of unpacking, and among the books which he +brought forth there were two which he gave to Jan. + +"The supply ship from London came in while I was at Churchill, and +those came with it," he explained. "They're school-books. There's +going to be a school at Churchill next winter, and the winter after +that it will be at York Factory, down on the Hayes." He settled back +on his heels and looked at Jan. "It's the first school that has ever +come nearer than four hundred miles of us. That's at Prince Albert." + +For many succeeding days Jan took long walks alone in the forest +trails, and silently thrashed out the two problems which Cummins had +brought back from Churchill for him. Should he warn Jean de Gravois +that a company officer was investigating the disappearance of the +missionary? + +At first his impulse was to go at once into Jean's haunts beyond the +Fond du Lac, and give him the news. But even if the officer did come +to Post Lac Bain, how would he know that the missionary was at the +bottom of the lake, and that Jean de Gravois was accountable for it? +So in the end Jan decided that it would be folly to stir up the little +hunter's fears, and he thought no more of the company's investigator +who had gone up to the Etawney. + +But the second problem was one whose perplexities troubled him. +Cummins' word of the school at Churchill had put a new and thrilling +thought into his head, and always with that thought he coupled visions +of the growing Melisse. This year the school would be at Churchill, +and the next at York Factory, and after that it might be gone for +ever, so that when Melisse grew up there would be none nearer than +what Jan looked upon as the other end of the world. Why could not he +go to school for Melisse, and store up treasures which in time he +might turn over to her? + +The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever +entered into his dreams of what life held for him--that he, Jan +Thoreau, should learn to read and write, and do other things like the +people of the far South, so that he might help to make the little +creature in the cabin like her who slept under the watchful spruce. He +was stirred to the depths of his soul, now with fear, again with hope +and desire and ambition; and it was not until the first cold chills of +approaching winter crept down from the north and east that the +ultimate test came, and he told Cummins of his intention. + +Once his mind was settled, Jan lost no time in putting his plans into +action. Mukee knew the trail to Churchill, and agreed to leave with +him on the third day--which gave Williams' wife time to make him a new +coat of caribou skin. + +On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin; +and after Melisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms +and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in +silence. When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall, +Cummins put one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him +to the door, where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of +the forest that rose black and silent against the starlit background +of the sky. High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree +over the grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and +Cummins' eyes rested there. + +"She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that +you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in +the skies. I believe--she knows--now--" + +The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped +until his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something +of the gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan +caught the hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own. + +"Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?" + +"I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. +"I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night +because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up +into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Melisse was here," he +finished. + +For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back +into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner +he took a buckskin bag. + +"You are going to Churchill for Melisse and for HER" he said in a +voice pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this." + +Jan drew a step back. + +"No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for +Melisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?" + +His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant. +Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by +the arm. + +"Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Melisse," he exclaimed with +finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work +with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!" +There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you +take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?" + +Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush +burned in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look +that came into his eyes. + +"I pay back this gold to you and Melisse a hundred times!" he cried +tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!" + +Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had +stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall. +Cummins turned to look. When he faced him again the boy's arm had +fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. + +The next day he left. No one heard his last words to Melisse, or +witnessed his final leave-taking of her, for Cummins sympathized with +the boy's grief and went out of the cabin an hour before Mukee was +ready with his pack. The last that he heard was Jan's violin playing +low, sweet music to the child. Three weeks later, when Mukee returned +to Lac Bain, he said that Jan had traveled to Churchill like one who +had lost his tongue, and that far into the nights he had played lonely +dirges upon his violin. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A RUMOR FROM THE SOUTH + + +It was a long winter for Cummins and Melisse. It was a longer one for +Jan. He had taken with him a letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the +factor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerk's +assistant at the post--a young, red-faced man who had come over on the +ship from England. He was a cheerful, good-natured young fellow, and +when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from +the Barren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested +himself with the responsibilities of a private tutor. + +He taught Jan, first of all, to say "is" in place of "ees." It was a +tremendous lesson for Jan, but he struggled with it manfully, and a +week after his arrival, when one evening he was tuning his violin to +play for young MacDonald, he said with eager gravity: + +"Ah, I have it now, Mr. MacDonald. It ees not 'EES,' it ees 'EES!'" + +MacDonald roared, but persisted, and in time Jan began to get the +twist out of his tongue. + +The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or +so, gathered there from forty thousand square miles of wilderness. Two +white youths and a half-breed had come from the Etawney; the factor at +Nelson House sent up his son, and from the upper waters of the Little +Churchill there came three others. + +From the first, Jan's music found him a premier place in the interest +of the tutor sent over by the company. He studied by night as well as +by day, and by the end of the second month his only competitor was the +youth from Nelson House. His greatest source of knowledge was not the +teacher, but MacDonald. There was in him no inherent desire for the +learning of the people to the south. That he was storing away, like a +faithful machine, for the use of Melisse. But MacDonald gave him that +for which his soul longed--a picture of life as it existed in the +wonderful world beyond the wilderness, to which some strange spirit +within him, growing stronger as the weeks and months passed, seemed +projecting his hopes and his ambitions. + +Between his thoughts of Melisse and Lac Bain, he dreamed of that other +world; and several times during the winter he took the little roll +from the box of his violin, and read again and again the written pages +that it contained. + +"Some time I will go," he assured himself always. "Some time, when +Melisse is a little older, and can go too." + +To young MacDonald, the boy from Lac Bain was a "find." The Scottish +youth was filled with an immense longing for home; and as his +homesickness grew, he poured more and more into Jan's attentive ears +his knowledge of the world from which he had come. He told him the +history of the old brass cannon that lay abandoned among the vines and +bushes, where a fort had stood at Churchill many years before. He +described the coming of the first ship into the great bay; told of +Hudson and his men, of great wars that his listener had never dreamed +of, of kings and queens and strange nations. At night he read a great +deal to Jan out of books that he had brought over with him. + +As the weeks and months passed, the strange spirit that was calling to +the forest boy out of that other world stirred more restlessly within +him. At times it urged him to confide in MacDonald what was hidden +away in the box of his violin. + +The secret nearly burst from him one Sunday, when MacDonald said: + +"I'm going home on the ship that comes over next summer. What do you +say to going back with me, Jan?" + +The spirit surged through Jan in a hot flood, and it was only an +accident that kept him from saying what was in his heart. + +They were standing with the icy bay stretching off in interminable +miles toward the pole. A little way from them, the restless tide was +beating up through the broken ice, and eating deeper into the frozen +shore. From out of the bank there projected, here and there, the ends +of dark, box-like objects, which, in the earlier days of the company, +had been gun-cases. In them were the bones of men who had lived and +died an age ago; and as Jan looked at the silent coffins, now falling +into the sea, another spirit--the spirit that bound him to Melisse-- +entered into him, and he shuddered as he thought of what might happen +in the passing of a year. + +It was this spirit that won. In the spring, Jan went back to Lac Bain +with the company's supplies. The next autumn he followed the school to +York Factory, and the third year he joined it at Nelson House. Then +the company's teacher died, and no one came to fill his place. + +In midwinter of this third year, Jan returned to Lac Bain, and, +hugging the delighted Melisse close in his arms, he told her that +never again would he go away without her. Melisse, tightening her arms +around his neck, made his promise sacred by offering her little +rosebud of a mouth for him to kiss. Later, the restless spirit +slumbering within his breast urged him to speak to Cummins. + +"When Melisse is a little older, should we not go with her into the +South?" he said. "She must not live for ever in a place like this." + +Cummins looked at him for an instant as if he did not understand. When +Jan's meaning struck home, his eyes hardened, and there was the +vibrant ring of steel in his quiet voice. + +"Her mother will be out there under the old spruce until the end of +time," he said slowly; "and we will never leave her--unless, some day, +Melisse goes alone." + +From that hour Jan no longer looked into the box of his violin. He +struggled against the desire that had grown with his years until he +believed that he had crushed it and stamped it out of his existence. +In his life there came to be but one rising and one setting of the +sun. Melisse was his universe. She crowded his heart until beyond her +he began to lose visions of any other world. + +Each day added to his joy. He called her "my little sister," and with +sweet gravity Melisse called him "brother Jan," and returned in full +measure his boundless love. He marked the slow turning of her flaxen +hair into sunny gold, and month by month watched joyfully the +deepening of that gold into warm shades of brown. She was to be like +her mother! Jan's soul rejoiced, and in his silent way Cummins offered +up wordless prayers of thankfulness. + +So matters stood at Post Lac Bain in the beginning of Melisse's ninth +year, when up from the south there came a rumor. As civil war spreads +its deepest gloom, as the struggle of father against son and brother +against brother stifles the breathing of nations, so this rumor set +creeping a deep pall over the forest people. + +Rumor grew into rumor. From the east, the south and the west they +multiplied, until on all sides the Paul Reveres of the wilderness +carried news that the Red Terror was at their heels, and the chill of +a great fear swept like a shivering wind from the edge of civilization +to the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED TERROR + + +Nineteen years before these same rumors had come up from the south, +and the Red Terror had followed. The horror of it still remained with +the forest people; for a thousand unmarked graves, shunned like a +pestilence, and scattered from the lower waters of James Bay to the +lake country of the Athabasca, gave evidence of the toll it demanded. + +From DuBrochet, on Reindeer Lake, authentic word first came to Lac +Bain early in the winter. Henderson was factor there, and he passed up +the warning that had come to him from Nelson House and the country to +the southeast. + +"There's smallpox on the Nelson," his messenger informed Williams, +"and it has struck the Crees on Wollaston Lake. God only knows what it +is doing to the bay Indians, but we hear that it is wiping out the +Chippewayans between the Albany and the Churchill." He left the same +day with his winded dogs. "I'm off for the Revillon people to the +west, with the compliments of our company," he explained. + +Three days later, word came from Churchill that all of the company's +servants and her majesty's subjects west of the bay should prepare +themselves for the coming of the Red Terror. Williams' thick face went +as white as the paper he held, as he read the words of the Churchill +factor. + +"It means dig graves," he said. "That's the only preparation we can +make!" + +He read the paper aloud to the men at Lac Bain, and every available +man was detailed to spread the warning throughout the post's +territory. There was a quick harnessing of dogs, and on each sledge +that went out was a roll of red cotton cloth. Williams' face was still +white as he passed these rolls out from the company's store. They were +ominous of death, lurid signals of pestilence and horror, and the +touch of them sent shuddering chills through the men who were about to +scatter them among the forest people. + +Jan went over the Churchill trail, and then swung southward along the +Hasabala, where the country was crisscrossed with trap-lines of the +half-breeds and the French. First, he struck the cabin of Croisset and +his wife, and left part of his cloth. Then he turned westward, while +Croisset harnessed his dogs and hurried with a quarter of the roll to +the south. Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other +cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to +the south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry +Langlois, the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third +day, Jan set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of +the same day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail. On this he +camped until morning. When dawn came he began following it. + +He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was +there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found +the remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little +but the bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, +with its head eaten off. With growing perplexity, Jan examined the +snow-shoe trails in the snow. The most recent of them were days old. +He urged on his dogs, stopping no more at the trap-houses, until, with +a shrieking command, he brought them to a halt at the edge of a +clearing cut in the forest. A dozen rods ahead of him was the +trapper's cabin. Over it, hanging limply to a sapling pole, was the +red signal of horror. + +With a terrified cry to the dogs, Jan ran back, and the team turned +about and followed him in a tangled mass. Then he stopped. There was +no smoke rising from the clay chimney on the little cabin. Its one +window was white with frost. Again and again he shouted, but no sign +of life responded to his cries. He fired his rifle twice, and waited +with his mittened hand over his mouth and nostrils. There was no +reply. Then, abandoning hope, he turned back into the north, and gave +his dogs no rest until he had reached Lac Bain. + +His team came in half dead. Both Cummins and Williams rushed out to +meet him as he drove up before the company's store. + +"The red flag is over Langlois' cabin!" he cried. "I fired my rifle +and shouted. There is no life! Langlois is dead!" + +"Great God!" groaned Williams. + +His red face changed to a sickly pallor, and he stood with his thick +hands clenched, while Cummins took charge of the dogs and Jan went +into the store for something to eat. + +Mukee and Per-ee returned to the post the next day. Young Williams +followed close after them, filled with terror. He had found the plague +among the Crees of the Waterfound. + +Each day added to the gloom at Lac Bain. For a time Jan could not +fully understand, and he still played his violin and romped joyfully +with Melisse in the little cabin. He had not lived through the plague +of nineteen years before. Most of the others had, even to Mukee, the +youngest of them all. + +Jan did not know that it was this Red Terror that came like a Nemesis +of the gods to cut down the people of the great Northland, until they +were fewer in number than those of the Sahara desert. But he learned +quickly. In February, the Crees along Wollaston Lake were practically +wiped out. Red flags marked the trail of the Nelson. Death leaped from +cabin to cabin in the wilderness to the west. By the middle of the +month, Lac Bain was hemmed in by the plague on all sides but the +north. + +The post's trap-lines had been shortened; now they were abandoned +entirely, and the great fight began. Williams assembled his men, and +told them how that same battle had been fought nearly two decades +before. For sixty miles about the post every cabin and wigwam that +floated a red flag must be visited--and burned if the occupants were +dead. In learning whether life or death existed in these places lay +the peril for those who undertook the task. It was a dangerous +mission. It meant facing a death from which those who listened to the +old factor shrank with dread; yet, when the call came, they responded +to a man. + +Cummins and Jan ate their last supper together, with Melisse sitting +between them and wondering at their silence. When it was over, the two +went outside. + +"Mukee wasn't at the store," said Cummins in a thick, strained voice, +halting Jan in the gloom behind the cabin. "Williams thought he was +off to the south with his dogs. But he isn't. I saw him drag himself +into his shack, like a sick dog, an hour before dusk. There'll be a +red flag over Lac Bain in the morning." + +Jan stifled the sharp cry on his lips. + +"Ah, there's a light!" cried Cummins. "It's a pitch torch burning in +front of his door!" + +A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and +the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father--a +wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing +of a dog. Sudden lights flashed into the night, as they had flashed +years ago when Cummins staggered forth from his home with word of the +woman's death. He gripped Jan's arm in a sudden spasm of horror. + +"The flag is up NOW!" he whispered huskily. "Go back to Melisse. There +is food in the house for a month, and you can bring the wood in to- +night. Bar the door. Open only the back window for air. Stay inside-- +with her--until it is all over. Go!" + +"To the red flags, that is where I will go!" cried Jan fiercely, +wrenching his arm free. "It is your place to stay with Melisse!" + +"My place is with the men." + +"And mine?" Jan drew himself up rigid. + +"One of us must shut himself up with her," pleaded Cummins. "It must +be you." His face gleamed white in the darkness. "You came--that +night--because Melisse was here. SOMETHING sent you--SOMETHING--don't +you understand? And since then she has never been near to death until +now. You must stay with Melisse--WITH YOUR VIOLIN!" + +"Melisse herself shall choose," replied Jan. "We will go into the +cabin, and the one to whom she comes first goes among the red flags. +The other shuts himself in the cabin until the plague is gone." + +He turned swiftly back to the door. As he opened it, he stepped aside +to let Cummins enter first, and behind the other's broad back he +leaped quickly to one side, his eyes glowing, his white teeth gleaming +in a smile. Unseen by Cummins, he stretched out his arms to Melisse, +who was playing with the strings of his violin on the table. + +He had done this a thousand times, and Melisse knew what it meant--a +kiss and a joyous toss halfway to the ceiling. She jumped from her +stool and ran to him; but this time, instead of hoisting her above his +head, he hugged her up close to his breast, and buried his face in her +soft hair. His eyes looked over her in triumph to Cummins. + +"Up, Jan, up--'way up!" cried Melisse. + +He tossed her until she half turned in midair, kissed her again as he +caught her in his arms, and set her, laughing and happy, on the edge +of the table. + +"I am going down among the sick Crees in Cummins' place," said Jan to +Williams, half an hour later. "Now that the plague has come to Lac +Bain, he must stay with Melisse." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A LONG WAITING + + +The next morning Jan struck out over his old trail to the Hasabala. +The Crees were gone. He spent a day swinging east and west, and found +old trails leading into the north. + +"They have gone up among the Eskimos," he said to himself. "Ah, Kazan, +what in the name of the saints is that?" + +The leading dog dropped upon his haunches with a menacing growl as a +lone figure staggered across the snow toward them. It was Croisset. +With a groan, he dropped upon the sledge. + +"I am sick and starving!" he wailed. "The fiend himself has got into +my cabin, and for three days I've had nothing but snow and a raw +whisky-jack!" + +"Sick!" cried Jan, drawing a step away from him. + +"Yes, sick from an empty belly, and this, and this!" He showed a +forearm done up in a bloody rag, and pointed to his neck, from which +the skin was peeling. "I was gone ten days with that red cloth you +gave me; and when I came back, if there wasn't the horror itself +grinning at me from the top of my own shanty! I tried to get in, but +my wife barred the door, and said that she would shoot me if I didn't +get back into the woods. I tried to steal in at night through a +window, and she drenched me in hot water. I built a wigwam at the edge +of the forest, and stayed there for five days. Hon-gree! Blessed +saints, I had no matches, no grub; and when I got close enough to yell +these things to her, she kept her word and plunked me through a crack +in the door, so that I lost a pint of blood from this arm." + +"I'll give you something to eat," laughed Jan, undoing his pack. "How +long has the red flag been up?" + +"I've lost all count of time, but it's twelve days, if an hour, and I +swear it's going to take all winter to get it down!" + +"It's not the plague. Go back and tell your wife so." + +"And get shot for my pains!" groaned Croisset, digging into meat and +biscuit. "I'm bound for Lac Bain, if you'll give me a dozen matches. +That whisky-jack will remain with me until I die, for when I ate him I +forgot to take out his insides!" + +"You're a lucky man, Croisset. It's good proof that she loves you." + +"If bullets and hot water and an empty belly are proofs, she loves me +a great deal, Jan Thoreau! Though I don't believe she meant to hit me. +It was a woman's bad aim." + +Jan left him beside a good fire, and turned into the southwest to burn +Langlois and his cabin. The red flag still floated where he had seen +it weeks before. The windows were thicker with frost. He shouted, beat +upon the door with the butt of his rifle and broke in the windows. The +silence of death quickened the beating of his heart when he stopped to +listen. There was no doubt that Langlois lay dead in his little home. + +Jan brought dry brushwood from the forest, and piled it high against +the logs. Upon his sledge he sat and watched the fire until the cabin +was a furnace of leaping flame. + +He continued westward. At the head of the Porcupine he found the +remains of three burned wigwams, and from one of them he dug out +charred bones. Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east +and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, +who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned +village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as +he went that the angels were guarding Melisse at Post Lac Bain. + +Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered +Jan. + +"The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal +over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as +thick as jays in springtime!" + +The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. + +"Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to +Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, +left the Gray Otter to burn them." + +Williams took down his birch-bark moose-horn and bellowed a weird +signal to Cummins, who opened a crack of his door to listen, with +Melisse close beside him. + +"Thoreau is in the thick of it to the south," he called. "There's too +much of it for him, and I'm going down with the dogs. Croisset will +stay in the store for a few days." + +Melisse heard the words, and her eyes were big with fear when her +father turned from closing and bolting the door. In more than a +childish way, she knew that Jan had gone forth to face a great danger. +The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun +to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, +just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the +responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. + +She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant. She knew that the +air of this world of hers had become filled with peril to those who +breathed it, and that people were dying out in the forests; that all +about them there was a terrible, unseen thing which her father called +the plague, and that Jan had gone forth to fight it, to breathe it, +and, perhaps, to die in it. Their own door was locked and bolted +against it. She dared not even thrust her head from the window which +was opened for a short time each day; and until Cummins assured her +that there was no danger in the sunshine, she shunned the few pale +rays that shot through the cabin-window at midday. + +Unconsciously, Cummins added to her fears in more ways than one, and +as he answered her questions truthfully, her knowledge increased day +by day. She thought more and more of Jan. She watched for him through +the two windows of her home. Every sound from outside brought her to +them with eager hope; and always, her heart sank with disappointment, +and the tears would come very near to her eyes, when she saw nothing +but the terrible red flag clinging to the pole over Mukee's cabin. + +In the little Bible which her mother had left there was written, on +the ragged fly-leaf, a simple prayer. Each night, as she knelt beside +her cot and repeated this prayer, she paused at the end, and added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, please take care of Jan!" + +The days brought quick changes now. One morning the moose-horn called +Cummins to the door. It was the fifth day after Williams had gone +south. + +"There was no smoke this morning, and I looked through the window," +shouted Croisset. "Mukee and the old man are both dead. I'm going to +burn the cabin." + +A stifled groan of anguish fell from Cummins' lips as he went like a +dazed man to his cot and flung himself face downward upon it. Melisse +could see his strong frame shaking, as if he were crying like a child; +and twining her arms tightly about his neck, she sobbed out her +passionate grief against his rough cheek. She did not know the part +that Mukee had played in the life of the sweet woman who had once +lived in this same little cabin; she knew only that he was dead; that +the terrible thing had killed him and that, next to her father and +Jan, she had loved him more than any one else in the world. + +Soon she heard a strange sound, and ran to the window. Mukee's cabin +was in flames. Wild-eyed and tearless with horror, she watched the +fire as it burst through the broken windows and leaped high up among +the black spruce. In those flames was Mukee! She screamed, and her +father sprang to her with a strange cry, running with her from the +window into the little room where she slept. + +The next morning, when Cummins went to awaken her, his face went as +white as death. Melisse was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and +staring at him, and her soft cheeks burned with the hot glow of fire. + +"You are sick, Melisse," he whispered hoarsely. "You are sick!" + +He fell upon his knees beside her, and lifted her face in his hands. +The touch of it sent a chill to his heart--such as he had not felt +since many years ago, in that other room a few steps away. + +"I want Jan," she pleaded. "I want Jan to come back to me!" + +"I will send for him, dear. He will come back soon. I will go out and +send Croisset." + +He hid his face from her as he dragged himself away. Croisset saw him +coming, and came out of the store to meet him. A hundred yards away +Cummins stopped. + +"Croisset, for the love of God, take a team and go after Jan Thoreau," +he called "Tell him that Melisse is dying of the plague. Hurry, +hurry!" + +"Night and day!" shouted Croisset. + +Twenty minutes later, from the cabin window, Cummins saw him start. + +"Jan will be here very soon, Melisse," he said, running his fingers +gently through her hair. + +It fell out upon the pillow in thick brown waves, and the sight of it +choked him with the memory of another vision which would remain with +him until the end of time. It was her mother's hair, shining softly in +the dim light; her mother's eyes looked up at him as he sat beside her +through all this long day. + +Toward evening there came a change. The fever left the child's cheeks. +Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep. Through the night Cummins sat +near the door, but in the gray dawn, overcome by his long vigil, his +head dropped upon his breast, and he slumbered. + +When he awoke the cabin was filled with light He heard a sound, and, +startled, sprang to his feet. Melisse was at the stove building a +fire! + +"I'm better this morning, father. Why didn't you sleep until breakfast +was ready?" + +Cummins stared. Then he gave a shout, made a rush for her, and +catching her up in his arms, danced about the cabin like a great bear, +overturning the chairs, and allowing the room to fill with smoke in +his wild joy. + +"It's what you saw through the window that made you sick, Melisse," he +cried, putting her down at last. "I thought--" He paused, and added, +his voice trembling: "I thought you were going to be sick for more +than one day, my sweet little woman!" + +He opened one of the windows to let in the fresh air of the morning. + +When Croisset returned, he did not find a red flag over Cummins' +cabin; nor did he bring word of Jan. For three days he had followed +the trails to the south without finding the boy. But he brought back +other news. Williams was sick with the plague in a Cree wigwam on the +lower Porcupine. It was the last they ever heard of the factor, except +that he died some time in March, and was burned by the Crees. + +Croisset went back over the Churchill trail, and found his wife ready +to greet him with open arms. After that he joined Per-ee, who came in +from the north, in another search for Jan. They found neither trace +nor word of him after passing the Gray Otter, and Cummins gave up +hope. + +It was not for long that their fears could be kept from Melisse. This +first bitter grief that had come into her life fell upon her with a +force which alarmed Cummins, and cast him into deep gloom. She no +longer loved to play with her things in the cabin. For days at a time +she would not touch the books which Jan had brought from Churchill, +and which he had taught her to read. She found little to interest her +in the things which had been her life a few weeks before. + +With growing despair, Cummins saw his own efforts fail. As the days +passed Melisse mingled more and more with the Indian and half-breed +children, and spent much of her time at the company's store, listening +to the talk of the men, silent, attentive, unresponsive to any efforts +they might make to engage her smiles. From her own heart she looked +out upon a world that had become a void for her. Jan had been mother, +brother, and everything that was tender and sweet to her--and he was +gone. Mukee, whom she had loved, was gone. Williams was gone. The +world was changed, terribly and suddenly, and it added years to her +perspective of things. + +Each day, as the weeks went on, and the spring sun began to soften the +snow, she became a little more like the wild children at Lac Bain and +in the forest. For Jan, she had kept her hair soft and bright, because +he praised her for it and told her it was pretty. Now it hung in +tangles down her back. + +There came a night when she forgot her prayer, and Cummins did not +notice it. He failed to notice it the next night, and the next. +Plunged deep in his own gloom, he was unobservant of many other +things, so that, in place of laughter and joy and merry rompings, only +gloomy and oppressive shadows of things that had come and gone filled +the life of the little cabin. + +They were eating dinner, one day in the early spring, with the +sunshine flooding in upon them, when a quick, low footfall caused +Melisse to lift her eyes in the direction of the open door. A strange +figure stood there, with bloodless face, staring eyes, and garments +hanging in tatters--but its arms were stretched out, as those same +arms had been held out to her a thousand times before, and, with the +old glad cry, Melisse darted with the swiftness of a sun-shadow beyond +Cummins, crying: + +"Jan, Jan--my Jan!" + +Words choked in Cummins' throat when he saw the white-faced figure +clutching Melisse to its breast. + +At last he gasped "Jan!" and threw out his arms, so that both were +caught in their embrace. + +For an instant Jan turned his face up to the light The other stared +and understood. + +"You have been sick," he said, "but it has left no marks." + +"Thank God!" breathed Jan. + +Melisse raised her head, and stroked his cheeks with her two hands. +That night she remembered her prayer, and at its end she added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for sending back Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ALMOST A WOMAN + + +Peace followed in the blighted trails of the Red Terror. Again the +forest world breathed without fear; but from Hudson's Bay to +Athabasca, and as far south as the thousand waters of the Reindeer +country, the winds whispered of a terrible grief that would remain +until babes were men and men went to their graves. + +Life had been torn and broken in a cataclysm more fearful than that +which levels cities and disrupts the earth. Slowly it began its +readjustment. There was no other life to give aid or sympathy; and +just as they had suffered alone, so now the forest people struggled +back into life alone, building up from the wreck of what had been, the +things that were to be. + +For months the Crees wailed their death dirges as they sought out the +bones of their dead. Men dragged themselves into the posts, wifeless +and childless, leaving deep in the wilderness all that they had known +to love and give them comfort. Now and then came a woman, and around +the black scars of burned cabins and teepees dogs howled mournfully +for masters that were gone. + +The plague had taken a thousand souls, and yet the laughing, dancing +millions in that other big world beyond the edge of the wilderness +caught only a passing rumor of what had happened. + +Lac Bain suffered least of the far northern posts, with the exception +of Churchill, where the icy winds down-pouring from the Arctic had +sent the Red Terror shivering to the westward. In the late snows, word +came that Cummins was to take Williams' place as factor, and Per-ee at +once set off for the Fond du Lac to bring back Jean de Gravois as +"chief man." Croisset gave up his fox-hunting to fill Mukee's place. + +The changes brought new happiness to Melisse. Croisset's wife was a +good woman who had spent her girlhood in Montreal, and Iowaka, now the +mother of a fire-eating little Jean and a handsome daughter, was a +soft-voiced young Venus who had grown sweeter and prettier with her +years--which is not usually the case with half-breed women. + +"But it's good blood in her, beautiful blood," vaunted Jean proudly, +whenever the opportunity came. "Her mother was a princess, and her +father a pure Frenchman, whose father's father was a chef de +bataillon. What better than that, eh? I say, what better could there +be than that?" + +So, for the first time in her life, Melisse discovered the joys of +companionship with those of her own kind. + +This new companionship, pleasant as it was, did not come between her +and Jan. If anything, they were more to each other than ever. The +terrible months through which they had passed had changed them both, +and had given them, according to their years, the fruits which are +often ripened in the black gloom of disaster rather than in the +sunshine of prosperity. + +To Melisse they had opened up a new world of thought, a new vision of +the things that existed about her. The sternest teacher of all had +brought to her the knowledge that comes of grief, of terror, and of +death, and she had passed beyond her years, just as the cumulative +processes of generations made the Indian children pass beyond theirs. + +She no longer looked upon Jan as a mere playmate, a being whose +diversion was to amuse and to love her. He had become a man. In her +eyes he was a hero, who had gone forth to fight the death of which she +still heard word and whisper all about her. Croisset's wife and Iowaka +told her that he had done the bravest thing that a man might do on +earth. She spoke proudly of him to the Indian children, who called him +the "torch-bearer." She noticed that he was as tall as Croisset, and +taller by half a head than Jean, and that he lifted her now with one +arm as easily as if she were no heavier than a stick of wood. + +Together they resumed their studies, devoting hours to them each day, +and through all that summer he taught her to play upon his violin. The +warm months were a time of idleness at Lac Bain, and Jan made the most +of them in his teaching of Melisse. She learned to read the books +which he had used at Fort Churchill, and by midsummer she could read +those which he had used at York Factory. At night they wrote letters +to each other and delivered them across the table in the cabin, while +Cummins looked on and smoked, laughing happily at what they read aloud +to him. + +One night, late enough in the season for a fire to be crackling +merrily in the stove, Jan was reading one of these letters, when +Melisse cried: + +"Stop, Jan--stop THERE!" + +Jan caught himself, and he blushed mightily when he read the next +lines: + +"'I think you have beautiful eyes. I love them.'" + +"What is it?" cried Cummins interestedly. "Read on, Jan." + +"Don't!" commanded Melisse, springing to her feet and running around +the table. "I didn't mean you to read that!" + +She snatched the paper from Jan's hand and threw it into the fire. + +Jan's blood filled with pleasure, and at the bottom of his next letter +he wrote back: + +"I think you have beautiful hair. I love it." + +That winter Jan was appointed post hunter, and this gave him much time +at home, for meat was plentiful along the edge of the barrens. The two +continued at their books until they came to the end of what Jan knew +in them. After that, like searchers in strange places, they felt their +way onward, slowly and with caution. During the next summer they +labored through all the books which were in the little box in the +corner of the cabin. + +It was Melisse who now played most on the violin, and Jan listened, +his eyes glowing proudly as he saw how cleverly her little fingers +danced over the strings, his face flushed with a joy that was growing +stronger in him every day. One day she looked curiously into the F- +hole of the instrument, and her pretty mouth puckered itself into a +round, red "O" of astonishment when Jan quickly snatched the violin +from her hands. + +"Excuses-moi, ma belle Melisse," he laughed at her in French. "I am +going to play you something new!" + +That same day he took the little cloth-covered roll from the violin +and gave it another hiding-place. It recalled to him the strange +spirit which had once moved him at Fort Churchill, and which had +remained with him for a time at Lac Bain. That spirit was now gone, +luring him no longer. Time had drawn a softening veil over things that +had passed. He was happy. + +The wilderness became more beautiful to him as Melisse grew older. +Each summer increased his happiness; each succeeding winter made it +larger and more complete. Every fiber of his being sang in joyful +response as he watched Melisse pass from childhood into young +girlhood. He marked every turn in her development, the slightest +change in her transformation, as if she had been a beautiful flower. + +He possessed none of the quick impetuosity of Jean de Gravois. Years +gave the silence of the North to his tongue, and his exultation was +quiet and deep in his own heart. With an eagerness which no one +guessed he watched the growing beauty of her hair, marked its +brightening luster when he saw it falling in thick waves over her +shoulders, and he knew that at last it had come to be like the +woman's. The changing lights in her eyes fascinated him, and he +rejoiced again when he saw that they were deepening into the violet +blue of the bakneesh flowers that bloomed on the tops of the ridges. + +To him, Melisse was growing into everything that was beautiful. She +was his world, his life, and at Post Lac Bain there was nothing to +come between the two. Jan noticed that in her thirteenth year she +could barely stand under his outstretched arm. The next year she had +grown so tall that she could not stand there at all. Very soon she +would be a woman! + +The thought leaped from his heart, and he spoke it aloud. It was on +the girl's fifteenth birthday. They had come up to the top of the +ridge on which he had fought the missionary, to gather red sprigs of +the bakneesh for the festival that they were to have in the cabin that +night. High up on the face of a jagged rock, Jan saw a bit of the +crimson vine thrusting itself out into the sun, and, with Melisse +laughing and encouraging him from below, he climbed up until he had +secured it. He tossed it down to her. + +"It's the last one," she cried, seeing his disadvantage, "and I'm +going home. You can't catch me!" + +She darted away swiftly along the snow-covered ridge, taunting him +with merry laughter as she left him clambering in cautious descent +down the rock. Jan followed in pursuit, shouting to her in French, in +Cree, and in English, and their two voices echoed happily in their +wild frolic. + +Jan slackened his steps. It was a joy to see Melisse springing from +rock to rock and darting across the thin openings close ahead of him, +her hair loosening and sweeping out in the sun, her slender figure +fleeing with the lightness of the pale sun-shadows that ran up and +down the mountain. + +He would not have overtaken her of his own choosing, but at the foot +of the ridge Melisse gave up. She returned toward him, panting and +laughing, shimmering like a sea-naiad under the glistening veil of her +disheveled hair. Her face glowed with excitement; her eyes, filled +with the light of the sun, dazzled Jan in their laughing defiance. +Before her he stopped, and made no effort to catch her. Never had he +seen her so beautiful, still daring him with her laugh, quivering and +panting, flinging back her hair. Half reaching out his arms, he cried: + +"Melisse, you are beautiful--you are almost a woman!" + +The flush deepened in her cheeks, and there was no longer the sweet, +taunting mischief in her eyes. She made no effort to run from him when +he came to her. + +"Do you think so, Brother Jan?" + +"If you did your hair up like the pictures we have in the books, you +would be a woman," he answered softly. "You are more beautiful than +the pictures!" + +He drew a step back, and her eyes flashed at him again with the +sparkle of the old fun in them. + +"You say that I am pretty, and that I am almost a woman," she pouted. +"And yet--" She shrugged her shoulders at him in mock disdain. "Jan +Thoreau, this is the third time in the last week that you have not +played the game right! I won't play with you any more!" + +In a flash he was at her side, her face between his two hands and, +bending down, he kissed her upon the mouth. + +"There," she said, as he released her. "Isn't that the way we have +played it ever since I can remember? Whenever you catch me, you may +have that!" + +"I am afraid, Melisse," he said seriously. "You are growing so tall +and so pretty that I am afraid." + +"Afraid! My brother afraid to kiss me! And what will you do when I get +to be a woman, Jan--which will be very soon, you say?" + +"I don't know, Melisse." + +She turned her back to him and flung out her hair; and Jan, who had +done this same thing for her a hundred times before, divided the +silken mass into three strands and plaited them into a braid. + +"I don't believe that you care for me as much as you used to, Jan. I +wish I were a woman, so that I might know if you are going to forget +me entirely!" + +Her shoulders trembled; and when he had finished his task, he found +that she was laughing, and that her eyes were swimming with a new +mischief which she was trying to hide from him. In that laugh there +was something which was not like Melisse. Slight as the change was, he +noticed it; but instead of displeasing him, it set a vague sensation +of pleasure trilling like a new song within him. + +When they reached the post, Melisse went to the cabin with her +bakneesh, and Jan to the company's store. Tossing the vines upon the +table, Melisse ran back to the door and watched him until he +disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips half parted in +excitement; and no sooner had he gone from view than she hurried to +Iowaka's home across the clearing. + +It was fully three quarters of an hour later when Jan saw Melisse, +with Iowaka's red shawl over her head, walking slowly and with extreme +precision of step back to the cabin. + +"I wonder if she has the earache," he said to himself, watching her +curiously. "That is Iowaka's shawl, and she has it all about her +head." + +"A clear half-inch of the rarest wool from London," added the cheery +voice of Jean de Gravois, whose moccasins had made no sound behind +him. He always spoke in French to Jan. "There is but one person in the +world who looks better in it than your Melisse, Jan Thoreau, and that +is Iowaka, my wife. Blessed saints, man, but is she not growing more +beautiful every day?" + +"Yes," said Jan. "She will soon be a woman." + +"A woman!" shouted Jean, who, not having his caribou whip, jumped up +and down to emphasize his words. "She will soon be a woman, did you +say, Jan Thoreau? And if she is not a woman at thirty, with two +children--God send others like them!--when will she be, I ask you?" + +"I meant Melisse," laughed Jan. + +"And I meant Iowaka," said Jean. "Ah, there she is now, come out to +see if her Jean de Gravois is on his way home with the sugar for which +she sent him something like an hour ago; for you know she is chef de +cuisine of this affair to-night. Ah, she sees me not, and she turns +back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the +calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did +you ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven +who's nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find? +Deliver us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!" + +The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life, +calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him. + +A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was +passing. + +"I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting +that sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms. +"Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough +for the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common +flour and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at +Post Lac Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and +sweeter than sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her +earthly tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough, +mon ami. Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about +Melisse and--" + +"Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out +for himself." + +"So--so it is," exclaimed the irrepressible Jean, plunging himself to +the elbows in his pan of dough. "Then hurry to the cabin, Jan, and see +what sort of a birthday gift Melisse has got for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BIRTHDAYS + + +The big room was empty when Jan came quietly through the open door. He +stopped to listen, and caught a faint laugh from the other room, and +then another; and to give warning of his presence, he coughed loudly +and scraped a chair along the floor. A moment's silence followed. The +farther door opened a little, and then it opened wide, and Melisse +came out. + +"Now what do you think of me, brother Jan?" She stood in the light of +the window through which came the afternoon sun, her hair piled in +glistening coils upon the crown of her head, as they had seen them in +the pictures, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing questioningly at +Jan. + +"Do I look--as you thought--I would, Jan?" she persisted, a little +doubtful at his silence. She turned, so that he saw the cluster of +soft curls that fell upon her shoulder, with sprigs of bakneesh half +smothered in them. "Do I?" + +"You are prettier than I have ever seen you, Melisse," he replied +softly. + +There was a seriousness in his voice that made her come to him in her +old impulsive, half-childish way. She lifted her hands and rested them +on his shoulders, as she had always done when inviting him to toss her +above his head. + +"If I am prettier--and you like me this way--why don't you--" + +She finished with a sweet, upturned pouting of her mouth, and, with a +sudden, laughing cry, Jan caught her in his arms and kissed the lips +she held up to him. It was but an instant, and he freed her, a hot +blush burning in his brown cheeks. + +"My dear brother!" she laughed at him, gathering up the bakneesh on +the table. "I love to have you kiss me, and now I have to make you do +it. Father kisses me every morning when he goes to the store. I +remember when you used to kiss me every time you came home, but now +you forget to do it at all. Do brothers love their sisters less as +they grow older?" + +"Sometimes they love the SISTER less and the OTHER GIRL more, ma belle +Melisse," came a quick voice from the door, and Jean de Gravois +bounded in like a playful cat, scraping and bowing before Melisse +until his head nearly touched the floor. "Lovely saints, Jan Thoreau, +but she IS a woman, just as my Iowaka told me! And the cakes--the +bread--the pies! You must delay the supper my lady, for the good Lord +deliver me if I haven't spilled all the dough on the floor! Swas-s-s- +s-h--such a mess! And my Iowaka did nothing but laugh and call me a +clumsy dear!" + +"You're terribly in love, Jean," cried Melisse, laughing until her +eyes were wet; "just like some of the people in the books which Jan +and I read." + +"And I always shall be, my dear, so long as the daughter of a princess +and the great-granddaughter of a chef de bataillon allows me to mix +her dough!" + +Melisse flung the red shawl over her head, still laughing. + +"I will go and help her, Jean." + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Gravois, looking searchingly at Jan, when she had +left. "Shall I give you my best wishes, Jan Thoreau? Does it signify?" + +"Signify--what?" + +The little Frenchman's eyes snapped. + +"Why, when our pretty Cree maiden becomes engaged, she puts up her +hair for the first time, that is all, my dear Jan. When I asked my +blessed Iowaka to be my wife, she answered by running away from me, +taunting me until I thought my heart had shriveled into a bit of salt +blubber; but she came back to me before I had completely died, with +her braids done up on the top of her head!" + +He stopped suddenly, startled into silence by the strange look that +had come into the other's face. For a full minute Jan stood as if the +power of movement had gone from him. He was staring over the +Frenchman's head, a ghastly pallor growing in his cheeks. + +"No--it--means--nothing," he said finally, speaking as if the words +were forced from him one by one. + +He dropped into a chair beside the table like one whose senses had +been dulled by an unexpected blow. With a great sighing breath that +was almost a sob, he bowed his head upon his arms. + +"Jan Thoreau," whispered Jean softly, "have you forgotten that it was +I who killed the missioner for you, and that through all of these +years Jean de Gravois has never questioned you about the fight on the +mountain top?" There was in his voice, as gentle as a woman's, the +vibrant note of a comradeship which is next to love--the comradeship +of man for man in a world where friendship is neither bought nor sold. +"Have you forgotten, Jan Thoreau? If there is anything Jean de Gravois +can do?" + +He sat down opposite Jan, his thin, eager face propped in his hands, +and watched silently until the other lifted his head. Their eyes met, +steady, unflinching, and in that look there were the oath and the seal +of all that the honor of the big snows held for those two. + +Still without words, Jan reached within his breast and drew forth the +little roll which he had taken from his violin. One by one he handed +the pages over to Jean de Gravois. + +"Mon Dieu!" said Jean, when he had finished reading. He spoke no other +words. White-faced, the two men stared, Jan's throat twitching, +Gravois' brown fingers crushing the rolls he held. + +"That was why I tried to kill the missioner," said Jan at last. He +pointed to the more coarsely written pages under Jean's hand. "And +that--that--is why it could not signify that Melisse has done up her +hair." He rose to his feet, straining to keep his voice even, and +gathered up the papers so that they shot back into the little +cylinder-shaped roll again. "Now do you understand?" + +"I understand," replied Jean in a low voice, but his eyes glittered +like dancing dragon-flies as he raised his elbows slowly from the +table and stretched his arms above his head. "I understand, Jan +Thoreau, and I praise the blessed Virgin that it was Jean de Gravois +who killed the missioner out upon the ice of Lac Bain!" + +"But the other," persisted Jan, "the other, which says that I--" + +"Stop!" cried Jean sharply. He came around the table and seized Jan's +hands in the iron grip of his lithe, brown fingers. "That is something +for you to forget. It means nothing--nothing at all, Jan Thoreau! Does +any one know but you and me?" + +"No one. I intended that some day Melisse and her father should know; +but I waited too long. I waited until I was afraid, until the horror +of telling her frightened me. I made myself forget, burying it deeper +each year, until to-day--on the mountain--" + +"And to-day, in this cabin, you will forget again, and you will bury +it so deep that it will never come back. I am proud of you, Jan +Thoreau. I love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has +ever said this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!" + +With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they +now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door. +Half-way across the open were Melisse and Iowaka, carrying a large +Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they +saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an +invitation for the two men to come to their assistance. + +"You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau," +exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!" + +He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two +who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder +by the time Jan arrived. + +"Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Melisse, as she dropped a +few steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!" + +"I think I'm twenty-nine." + +"You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the +mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--" + +He had never spoken to Melisse as he did now. + +"I was born some time in the winter, Melisse--like you. Perhaps it was +yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow. That is all I know." + +He looked at her steadily, the grief which he was fighting to keep +back tightening the muscles about his mouth. + +Like the quick passing of sunshine, the fun swept from her face, +leaving her blue eyes staring up at him, filled with a pain which he +had never seen in them before. In a moment he knew that she had +understood him, and he could have cut out his tongue. Her hand reached +his arm, and she stopped him, her face lifted pleadingly, the tears +slowly gathering in her eyes. + +"Forgive me!" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "Dear, +dear Jan, forgive me!" She caught one of his hands in both her own, +and for an instant held it so that he could feel the throbbing of her +heart. "To-day is your birthday, Jan--yours and mine, mine and yours-- +and we will always have it that way--always--won't we, Jan?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE RENUNCIATION + + +Jan was glad when the evening came, and was gone. Not until Jean and +Iowaka had said good night with Croisset and his wife, and both +Cummins and Melisse had gone to their rooms, did he find himself +relieved of the tension under which he had struggled during all of +that night's merry-making in the cabin. + +From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and +indefinable sensation that was growing within him--something which he +could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and +meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely +he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never +had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice +rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he +sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers +touched the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of +excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon +Melisse. + +She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, +straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in +response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who +had pursued her that day on the mountain-top. + +Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave +him these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty +of her flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming +depths of her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she +wondered still remained. + +After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had +finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the +company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his +cap and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse +Melisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before. + +As he was about to go out, there came a sound--a low, gentle, +whispered word. + +"Jan!" + +He turned. Melisse stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her +hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson bakneesh +shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her +two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same +question in her eyes. + +"Jan, you were not pleased with me to-night," she whispered. "Tell me, +why?" + +"I was pleased with you, Melisse," he replied. + +He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm, and turned his +face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky, as they +had shone on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood +they saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows +out over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had +played when the woman died. Gaunt and solitary, the tall spruce loomed +up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the +night wind, as if in wailing answer to that far-away music in the +skies. + +Suddenly there leaped up from Jan Thoreau's breast a breath that burst +from his lips in a low cry. + +"Melisse, Melisse, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in +through that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin +when your mother died. You were a little baby then, and since that +night you have never pleased me more than now!" + +He dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door, to hide what he +knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heart-broken little sob +behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. + +"Jan, dear Jan!" + +Melisse crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling +about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old +love, the love and pride of what seemed to Jan to be, years ago, the +old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong +arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in +the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes +glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full, into his face. + +She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. + +"I didn't please you to-day," she whispered. "I will never do up my +hair again!" + +He kissed her, and his arms dropped from her shoulders. + +"Never, never again--until you have forgotten to love me," she +repeated. "Good night, Brother Jan!" + +Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper +and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Jan +went from the door that closed between him and Melisse, her last words +still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his +cheeks--and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him swiftly +surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which racked him to the +soul. + +Fifteen years ago! He stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening +his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of +ages and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale +fire, robbed of softness by the polar cold; there were the same +cloudless blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping +through its infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning +prayers on that night when he had staggered into Lac Bain. + +He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away +from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday, he +remembered how he had dragged himself through this swamp, bleeding and +starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of +dogs, which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into +it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge, +from which he looked out through the white night into the limitless +barrens to the north. + +Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths +between hunter's cabin and Indian wigwam, starving at times, almost +dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back, and playing-- +always playing to keep up his courage, until he found Melisse. Fifteen +years had passed since then, and the cumulative force of the things +that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. He had +felt it first when Melisse turned upon him at the foot of the +mountain; and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in +every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She +was no longer the little Melisse, his sister. And yet-- + +He was almost saying her last words aloud: + +"Good night, Brother Jan!" + +She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to +him a thousand times before; but he had not kissed her in the old way. +It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot +blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. +His was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the +ways of passion. + +In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as +he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin--sacrilege +against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Melisse came +to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, +unaware of his temptation; while he, Jan Thoreau-- + +He thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean +de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth, slowly, and held them +crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out +into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. + +His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags +behind him. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in +the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and +from tree to tree until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which +hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top +beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow +five hundred feet below. + +It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bough for a +hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their +solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. +Mukee had told Jan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life +at Lac Bain, he and Per-ee had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its +branches until only the black cap remained; and after that it was +known far and wide as the "lobstick" of Cummins' wife. It was a +voiceless cenotaph which signified that all the honor and love known +to the wilderness people had been given to her. + +To it went Jan, the papers still held in his hand. He had seen a pair +of whisky-jacks storing food in the butt of the tree, two or three +summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found +it, he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole +with chunks of bark. + +"Always my sister--and never anything more to Jan Thoreau," he said +gently in French, as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. +"That is the honor of these snows; it is what the great God means us +to be." The strife had gone from his voice; it rose strong and clear +as he stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, +his eyes upon the silent plume that heard his oath. "I swear that Jan +Thoreau will never do wrong to the little Melisse!" + +With a face white and set in its determination, he turned slowly away +from the tree. Far away, from the lonely depths of the swamp, there +came the wailing howl of a wolf--a cry of hungerful savageness that +died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a +dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound +of it swept a flood of loneliness into Jan's heart. It was the death- +wail of his own last hope, which had gone out of him for ever that +night. + +He listened, and it came again; but in the middle of it, when the +long, moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair, there +broke in a sharp interruption--a shrieking, yelping cry, such as a dog +makes when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest +thrilled with the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who has started +a fresh kill. Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the +swamp, there came another cry, and still another from the mountain; +and up and out of the desolation rose the calls of others of the +scattered pack, in quick response to the comrade who had first found +meat. + +All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except +that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. +A few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the +fierce hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound +of the chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the +mountain and down into the barrens. + +"A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the +barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!" + +He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain +stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry +growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again +in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching +nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the +white gloom. + +The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half +rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray +bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders +almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. + +There was no sound now. Below him, Jan could see the pale glimmer of +ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the +caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The +moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. From +the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the +caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. +Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. + +After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the +crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, +the caribou was given up to the feast. + +Jan turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart, he +went back to Lac Bain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BROTHER JAN + + +When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face +showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had +already finished, and he found Melisse alone. Her hair was brushed +back in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her +long braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He +saw the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. + +"You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and +your eyes are bloodshot." + +"I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but +this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the +world, Melisse?" + +"How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than +mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" + +"Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of +the coffee at the bay." + +"It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him +across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I +don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have +been too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how +lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we +stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing +away the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, +too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you +suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a +wonderful ship like that?" + +"It may be, Melisse." + +"And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one +else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to +the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to +give him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by +running away from me like that?" + +"To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he +replied quickly. + +She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes +full of mock astonishment. + +"And were you sorry I ran away from you?" + +Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. + +"Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. + +"I--don't--know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you +going to do to-day, Jan?" + +"Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too +busy with his trap-lines to come in." + +"Will you take me?" + +"I'm afraid not, Melisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." + +"Very well. I'll get ready immediately." + +She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and +ran to her room. + +"It's too far, Melisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've +a heavy load--" + +"Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to--Oh, dear! Jan, +have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" + +"It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her +humor despite himself. "But I say, Melisse--" + +"Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed +before you can harness them, Jan." + +"They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to +her. + +Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, +destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with +something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune +as he hurried toward the store. + +When he returned with the team, Melisse was waiting for him, a gray +thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her +trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, +and with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her +cap. + +"I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. + +"Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared +Melisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run +from here to Ledoq's!" + +With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the +open, with Melisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean +and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. + +"The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my +Iowaka," said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be +before her next birthday!" + +And Melisse was saying: + +"I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" + +She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that +left her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he +stopped the team, and waited. + +"That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." + +He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their +traces, with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until +they were leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the +smooth trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the +leader, his moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of +the trained forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes +upon the twisting trail ahead. + +It was a glorious ride, and Melisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood +thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of +magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of +their backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, +and their half-gaping jaws--and from them she looked to Jan. There was +no effort in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair +swept back from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the +dogs, there was music in his movement, there was the beauty of +strength, of endurance, of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone +proudly; the color deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, +wondering if there was another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. + +Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the +mountain on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs +to a walk. Melisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. + +"I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me--" There +was the old witching challenge in her eyes. + +She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued +with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this +time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of +the ridge. + +"You're as pretty as a fairy, Melisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining +with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" + +"Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" + +"Yes, all of them." + +"I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, +Jan?" Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any +fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" + +"None that could compare with you, Melisse." + +"Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a +little." + +"More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to +hold his tongue. + +As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the +morning was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother +Jan, Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves +incessantly in his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps +beside the sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the +preceding night, and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the +trapper's. + +Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled +up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at +Lac Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap +through the door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her +with all his might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that +many years before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had +disappeared one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that +Ledoq was that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in +the ready use of their tongues, and were of the same build and the +same briskness. + +Melisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling +away in a delighted torrent of French. + +"Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Melisse," he finished +at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a +spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" + +"We met no team." + +Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered +ridge was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. + +"An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain--three men and +six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" + +"No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from +Churchill. We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, +Melisse, and see if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" + +"You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. + +Jan caught a quick signal from Melisse. + +"Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. +What do you say, Melisse?" + +"If you're not tired, Jan." + +"Tired!" + +He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip +over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the +little Frenchman. + +"Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung +lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How +could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Melisse?" + +"I wouldn't mind if you did--just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for +two?" + +She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped +upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. + +"Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too +near, you know, if you don't want to!" + +The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a +moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until +his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a +single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. +Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs--so loud that it startled her +--and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like +a thing filled with life. + +He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on +faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they +came to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the +strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. + +"Stop!" cried Melisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from +the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws--see +them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the +night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" + +"And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping +exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." + +He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume +of air into his lungs. + +"Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Melisse +asked. + +"No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my +little Melisse was dying of the plague." + +Melisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and +nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown +palms. + +"Tell me about it, Jan." + +"That was all--I ran." + +"You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" + +He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the +brilliant flush in her cheeks. + +"I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied. + +"I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened +round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you +went out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you +do that much again?" + +"I would do more, Melisse." + +She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of +something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly +he rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this +he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her +eyes. + +"Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Melisse, and +then--" + +"What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. + +"Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and +years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. + +There was something in his voice that held Melisse silent as he turned +to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her +comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: + +"I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON + + +They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for +dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet +them. + +"You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Melisse. "Two gentlemen +fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and +handsomer than your own Jan Thoreau. They are waiting for you in the +cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how +beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there." + +"Two!" said Jan, as Melisse left them. "Who are they?" + +"The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter +than a spawning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he +says; and I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here +very long, Jan Thoreau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka +when she came into the store just now!" + +"Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the +earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you +that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!" + +"Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to +every look that you can get, Jan Thoreau. But the foreigner--I will +skin him alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at +her out of the wrong way of his eye!" + +Croisset spoke. + +"There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?" + +"I remember," said Jan. + +He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of +the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the +end of summer evenings. + +"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God +forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea." + +Croisset shrugged his shoulders. + +"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La +charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and +one--" + +A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he +stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if +just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. + +As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. + +"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried +shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, +when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he +whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, +do you want to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see +what had happened. + +"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling +sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her +liniment." + +As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under +their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Thoreau. There's a +crowd at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me." + +"La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les betes de charogne!" + +Jean gripped him by the arm. + +"I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his +words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight +it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me." + +"You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly. +"You swear it?" + +"By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!" + +"Then," said Jan softly, "Melisse will never know!" + +"Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet +voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some +day Melisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be +for you, Jan Thoreau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!" + +An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he +paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to +him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. +Melisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his +eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was +sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when +she said: + +"Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan." + +The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. + +"I'm glad to know you, Cummins." + +"Thoreau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan +Thoreau." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Melisse. +The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. + +"We are of no relation," continued Jan, something impelling him to +speak the words with cool precision. "Only we have lived under the +same roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother +and sister." + +"Miss Melisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this +morning," exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly +as he detected the girl's embarrassment. "I wish I had seen it!" + +"There will be plenty of it very soon," replied Jan, caught by the +frankness of the other's manner. "Our runners will be going out among +the trappers within a fortnight." + +"And will they take me?" + +"You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Dixon, moving toward the door. + +Melisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly she said: + +"I've kept your dinner for you, Jan. Why didn't you come sooner?" + +"I had dinner with Gravois," he replied. "Jean said that you would +hardly be prepared for five, Melisse, so I accepted his invitation." + +He took down from the wall a fur sledge-coat, in which Melisse had +mended a rent a day or two before, and, throwing it over his arm, +turned to leave. + +"Jan!" + +He faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a +strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. + +"Why are you going away the day after to-morrow--two weeks before the +others? You didn't tell me." + +"I'm going a hundred miles into the South," he answered. + +"Over the Nelson House trail?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, +and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. "I understand, brother," +she said softly. "Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten +that the MacVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she +is as sweet as a wild flower. I wish you would have her come up and +visit us some time, Jan." + +Jan's face went red, then white, but Melisse saw only the first effect +of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. + +"I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach MacVeighs'." he +was on the point of saying; but the words hung upon his lips, and he +remained silent. + +A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little +Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his +pipe when Jan told him why he was leaving at once for the South. + +"Running away!" he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin +lips curling in a sneer. "I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Jan +Thoreau, else I would go myself and tell Melisse what I read in the +papers. Pish! Why can't you forget?" + +"I may--some day," said Jan. "That is why I am going into the South +two weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I +remain here another week, I shall tell Melisse, and then--" + +He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. + +"And then--what?" + +"I should go away for ever." + +Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. + +"Then remain another week, Jan Thoreau, and if it turns out as you +say, I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the +wolves!" + +"I am going the day after to-morrow." + +The next morning Iowaka complained to Melisse that Gravois was as +surly as a bear. + +"A wonderful change has come over him," she said. "He does nothing but +shrug his shoulders and say 'Le diable!' and 'The fool!' Last night I +could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit +has come into my Jean?" + +Melisse was wondering the same of Jan. She saw little of him during +the day. At noon, Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to +accompany Thoreau on the trip south. + +The following morning, before she was up, Jan had gone. She was deeply +hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without +spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father +to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening, so that +Jan might have an opportunity of bidding her good-by alone. + +Outside of her thoughts of Jan, the days and evenings that followed +were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat, +and took an immense liking to Melisse. Young Dixon was good-looking +and brimming with life, and spent a great deal of his time in her +company. For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the +wonderful world across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life +to Jan at Fort Churchill, so he told of it to Melisse, filling her +with visions of great cities, painting picture after picture, until +her imagination was riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and +she listened, with flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. + +One day, a week after Jan had gone, he told her about the women in the +world which had come to be a fairy-land to Melisse. + +"They are all beautiful over there?" she asked wonderingly, when he +had finished. + +"Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Melisse," +he replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. "Do you know that +you are beautiful?" + +His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the +signs of it in her face. Jan had often spoken those same words--a +thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful--but there bad +never been this fluttering of her heart before. + +There were few things which Iowaka and she did not hold in secret +between them, and a day or two later Melisse told her friend what +Dixon had said. For the first time Iowaka abused the confidence placed +in her, and told Jean. + +"Le diable!" gritted Jean, his face blackening. + +He said no more until night, when the children were asleep. Then he +drew Iowaka close beside him on a bench near the stove, and asked +carelessly: + +"Mon ange, if one makes an oath to the blessed Virgin, and breaks it, +what happens?" + +He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. + +"It means that one will be for ever damned unless he confesses to a +priest soon after, doesn't it ma cherie? And if there is no priest +nearer than four hundred miles, it is a dangerous thing to do, is it +not? But--" He did not wait for an answer. "If one might have the oath +broken, and not do it himself, what then?" + +"I don't know," said Iowaka simply, staring at him in amazed +questioning. + +"Nor do I," said Jean, lighting his pipe. "But there is enough of the +devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was +for you, my Iowaka!" + +Her eyes glowed upon him softly. + +"A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man +she loves," she whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on +Jean's shoulder. "That is what my people believe, Jean; and if I have +given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you?" + +"For me alone, Iowaka?" + +"For you alone." + +"And not for a friend?" + +"For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the +god of my people bids me make all sacrifice." + +"But you do not believe in that god, Iowaka!" + +"Sometimes it is better to believe in the god of my people than in +yours," she replied gently. "I believed in him fifteen years ago at +Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then?" + +With a low cry of happiness Jean crushed his face against her soft +cheek. + +"Believe in him always, my Iowaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the +throat of any missioner who says you will not go to Paradise! But-- +this other. You are sure that you would break oath for none but me?" + +"And the children. They are a part of you, Jean." + +A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. +They could hear Croisset's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his +big whip. + +"I'll be back soon," said Jean, closing the door after him; but +instead of approaching Croisset and the fighting dogs he went in the +direction of Cummins' cabin. "Devil take an oath!" he growled under +his breath. "Neither one God nor the other will let me break it, and +Iowaka least of all!" He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh +sounded loudly in the cabin. "Two fools!" he went on communing with +himself. "Cummins--Jan Thoreau--both fools!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES + + +During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far +distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched +Melisse and Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his +growing suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There +were a fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his +broad shoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won +all but Jean. + +The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the second +week, and after this Melisse and the young Englishman were more +together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the +sledges, and when they were gone he and Melisse began taking walks in +the forest, when the sun was high and warm. + +It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the +caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As +he stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path +beaten down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of +him; and a moment later he recognized them as those of Melisse and +Dixon. His face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. + +"Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean +de Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to +himself, leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. + +He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful +tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Melisse's arm. +They were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the +girl's bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly +he stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had +bent down and kissed her. + +With a low cry, Melisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced +Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and +ran swiftly down the trail. + +A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face +to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His +eyes glittered like black diamonds. + +"Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. + +"He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. +"Run along to the post, ma belle Melisse." + +He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she +disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he +faced Dixon. + +"It is the first time that our Melisse has ever suffered insult," he +said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here, +he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!" + +He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until +he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman +convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to +one side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of +the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. + +Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry +of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see +Melisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed +tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him +again, more cautiously than before. + +It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with +science. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received +a blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. + +"Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are you +fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?" + +"I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before. + +There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was +not excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long +knife in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense +lines gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. + +"Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--if +Melisse didn't like it." + +"I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean. + +There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon +found himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him, +never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. +Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed +softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at +him--and missed. + +It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another +world. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was the +quickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; the +quickness of the great loon that had often played this same game with +his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so +quickly that eyes could not follow. + +A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and +escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back +until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed +the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a +serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn +as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance +came. + +There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a +dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his +side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman +straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to +the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. +Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had +come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with +the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. + +Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science now-- +that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have +crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the +Englishman's man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly +throttled cry as they tightened in their neck-breaking grip. + +"I will kill you!" said Jean again. + +Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their +sockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was +buried on the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He +would not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not +come a sudden interruption--the terrified voice of Melisse, the +frantic tearing of her hands at his hands. + +"He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!" + +He loosed his fingers and sat up. Melisse staggered back, clutching +with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. + +"You have killed him!" + +Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. + +"He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, ma +chere, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form +shook with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run +home to Iowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Melisse." + +He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. + +"Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came a +flicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have been +with the missioner!" + +He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back +to a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more +strongly, he followed slowly after Melisse. + +Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, +chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the +little glass which hung over the wash-basin. + +"Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had +received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into +the blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the +gold in this world!" + +A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were at +Croisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun +sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Melisse came +in. + +"Hello, ma chere," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his +pipe. + +In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her +knees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her +breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. + +"Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. +"Please tell me that you will never tell Jan--please tell me that you +never will, Jean--never, never, never!" + +"I will say nothing, Melisse." + +"Never, Jean?" + +"Never." + +For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then, +suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him. + +"Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!" + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had been +here then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A BROKEN HEART + + +The day following the fight in the forest, Dixon found Jean de Gravois +alone, and came up to him. + +"Gravois, will you shake hands with me?" he said. "I want to thank you +for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss +Melisse to forgive me--and I want to shake hands with you." + +Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. + +"Que diantre!" he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "Yes, I +will shake hands!" + +For several days after this Jean could see that Melisse made an effort +to evade him. She did not visit Iowaka when he was in the cabin. +Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young +Englishman spent more of his time at the store; and just before the +trappers began coming in, he went on a three-days' sledge-trip with +Croisset. + +The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Melisse after the +fight, his eyes flashed pleasure. + +"Jan will surely be coming home soon," he greeted her. "What if the +birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?" + +She flushed scarlet. + +"Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down on the +Nelson House trail, Jean," she retorted. + +"Pouf! Jan Thoreau doesn't give the snap of his small finger for the +MacVeigh girl!" Jean replied, warm in defense of his friend. + +"She is pretty," laughed Melisse, "and I have just learned that is why +men like to--like them, I mean." + +Jean strutted before her like a peacock. + +"Am I pretty, Melisse?" + +"No-o-o-o." + +"Then why"--he shrugged his shoulders suggestively--"in the cabin--" + +"Because you were brave, Jean. I love brave men!" + +"You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?" + +Melisse did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner +of her eye as she left him. + +"Come home, Jan Thoreau," he hummed softly, as he went to the store. +"Come home, come home, come home, for the little Melisse has grown +into a woman, and is learning to use her eyes!" + +Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was MacVeigh. +He brought word that Jan had gone south, to spend the annual holiday +at Nelson House, and Cummings told Melisse whence the message came. He +did not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went +on: + +"I don't understand this in Jan. He is needed here for the carnival. +Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?" + +Melisse shook her head. + +"MacVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief +man," continued the factor. "It is strange that he has sent no +explanation to me!" + +It was a week after the big caribou roast before Jan returned to Lac +Bain. Melisse saw him drive in from the Churchill trail; but while her +heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at +least an equal show of the calm indifference with which he had left +her six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still rankled +bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her; he had not even passed +his last evening with her. + +But she was not prepared for the changed Jan Thoreau who came slowly +through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the +smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed +with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of +the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, +an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the half- +defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had spoken. +She had never known this Jan before, and her fortitude left her as she +approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to him. + +"Jan!" she said. + +Her voice trembled; her lips quivered. There was the old glorious +pleading in her eyes, and before it Jan bowed his unkempt head, and +crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was +silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At +last Jan spoke. + +"I'm glad to see you again, Melisse. It has seemed like a very long +time!" + +He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, +and Jan freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, +nothing of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible +emotion, they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. + +"I have not played in so long," he said, turning from her, "that I +believe I have forgotten." + +He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over +the strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of +beard, as he said: + +"Ah, you must play for me now, Melisse! It has surely gone from Jan +Thoreau." + +He held out the violin to her. + +"Not now, Jan," she said tremulously. "I will play for you to-night." +She went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her +back to him. "You will come to supper, Jan?" + +"Surely, Melisse, if you are prepared." + +He hung up the violin as she closed the door, and went from the cabin. +Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried +across the open to meet him. + +"I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor," he cried gaily. +"Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see +you." + +"A beard is good to keep off the black flies," replied Jan. "It is +approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. Let us +go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you." + +Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce they sat down, +facing each other. Jan spoke in French. + +"I have traveled far since leaving Lac Bain," he said. "I went first +to Nelson House, and from here to the Wholdaia. I found them at Nelson +House, but not on the Wholdaia." + +"What?" asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. + +"My brothers, Jean de Gravois," answered Jan, drawing his lips until +his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "My brothers, les betes de +charogne!" + +"Devil take Croisset for telling you where they were!" muttered Jean +under his breath. + +"I saw the two at Nelson House," continued Jan. "One of them is a +half-wit, and the other"--he hunched his shoulders--"is worse. +Petraud, one of the two who were at Wholdaia, was killed by a Cree +father last winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other +disappeared." + +Jean was silent, his head leaning forward, his face resting in his +hands. + +"So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend Jan +Thoreau!" + +Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his +companion. + +"I see that you are a bigger fool than ever," he said quietly. "Jan +Thoreau, what if I should break my oath--and tell Melisse?" + +Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Jan's. Slowly +he unsheathed his long knife, and placed it upon the snow between his +feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With +a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. + +"Do you mean that, Jan Thoreau? Do you mean to give the knife- +challenge to one who has staked his life for you and who loves you as +a brother?" + +"Yes," said Jan deliberately. "I love you, Jean more than any other +man in the world; and yet I will kill you if you betray me to +Melisse!" He rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the +little Frenchman. "Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you +have done as much for Iowaka?" + +For a moment Gravois was silent. + +"I would not have taken her love without telling her," he said then. +"That is not what you and I know as honor, Jan Thoreau. But I would +have gone to her, as you should now go to Melisse, and she would have +opened her arms to me, as Melisse would opens hers to you. That is +what I would have done." + +"And that is what I shall never do," said Jan decisively, turning +toward the post. "I could kill myself more easily. That is what I +wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know!" + +"I would like to choke that fool of a Croisset for sending you to hunt +up those people at Nelson House and Wholdaia!" grumbled Jean. + +"It was best for me." + +They saw Melisse leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. +Both waved their hands to her, and Jan cut across the open to the +store. + +Jean went to the Cummins cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not +observed. There was little of the old vivacity in his manner as he +greeted Melisse. He noted, too, that the girl was not her natural +self. There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had +been crying. + +"Melisse," he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the +cap he was twisting in his fingers, "there has come a great change +over Jan." + +"A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his +heart has been broken down on the Nelson trail." + +Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little +as she spoke. He was before her in an instant, his cap fallen to the +floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. + +"Yes, the heart of Jan Thoreau is broken!" he cried. "But it has been +broken by nothing that lives on the Nelson House trail. It is broken +because of--YOU!" + +"I!" Melisse drew back from him with a breathless cry. "I--I have +broken--" + +"I did not say that," interrupted Jean. "I say that it is broken +because of you. Mon Dieu, if only I might tell you!" + +"Do-DO, Jean! Please tell me!" She put her hands on his shoulders. Her +eyes implored him. "Tell me what I have done--what I can do, Jean!" + +"I can say that much to you, and no more," he said quietly. "Only know +this, ma chere--that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Jan +Thoreau, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what +this grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to +find out, and to do this, above all else--let him know that you love +him!" + +The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again +in a swift flood. + +"That I love him?" + +"Yes. Not as a sister any longer, Melisse, but as a WOMAN!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HER PROMISE + + +Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he +knew, as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, +and that if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the +door quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. + +Cummins and Jan came in together at suppertime. The factor was in +high humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox +that morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a +combination of incidents which put him in the best of moods. + +Melisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red +bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her +throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, +which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a +clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the +old familiarity on her part. + +"Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after +asking Jan many questions about his trip. + +"I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'." + +Purposely he held his eyes from Melisse. She understood his effort, +and a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. + +"It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor, +oblivious of the effect of his questions. + +"I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his trap- +lines." + +He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from +the cabin. Melisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his +arm. + +"You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help +with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin." + +She pulled him into a chair as Cummins left, and tied an apron about +his shoulders. + +"Close your eyes--and don't move!" she commanded, laughing into his +surprised face as she ran into her room. + +A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The +hot blood surged through Jan's veins when he felt her fingers running +gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a +little nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, +snip of the scissors. + +"It's terribly long, Jan!" Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. +"Ugh!" she shuddered. "You must take that off your face. If you don't--" + +"Why?" he asked, through lack of anything else to say. + +She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. + +"Because it feels like bristles," she whispered. + +She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors +snipped more rapidly between her fingers. + +"I'm going to prospect the big swamp along the edge of the Barrens +this summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. "A +beard will protect me from the black flies." + +"You can grow another." + +She took the apron from about his shoulders, and held it so that he +could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. + +"Thank you, Melisse. Do you remember when you last cut my hair?" + +"Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for +cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you +sit on a rock and let me trim it." + +"And you cut my ear," he reminded. + +"For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her +breath. + +She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her +father's shaving-mug and razor. + +"I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a +lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!" + +"Afraid of me?" + +He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face +from side to side. Melisse handed him the razor and cup. + +"You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time. +There has been a great change in you since--since--" + +She hesitated. + +"Since when, Melisse?" + +"Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair." +With timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan." + +She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her +with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that +she was looking, and Melisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed +them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin +from the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the +instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's +absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia. + +Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips +the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its +infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the +Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, +sobbing its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with +immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Melisse. + +He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed +head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes +were wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. + +"It is wonderful, Melisse! You have made beautiful music for it." + +"Thank you, Jan." + +She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the +wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the +violin. + +"Now you must play for me." + +"I have forgotten a great deal, Melisse." + +She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over +the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was +not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes +shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old +spirit of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to +another, and after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. + +Without speaking, she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the +wall. + +"You must practise a great deal," she said quietly. + +At her movement he, too, rose from his seat; and when she turned to +him again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into +her eyes. + +"Are you going so soon, Jan?" + +"I am tired," he said in excuse. "It has been two days since I have +slept, Melisse. Good night!" + +He smiled at her from the door, but the "Good night" which fell from +her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Jan shivered when he went out. +Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come +from the cabin none too soon. + +Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Melisse, he crossed +to the company store. + +It was late when Cummins returned home. Melisse was still up. He +looked at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and +hat. + +"Has anything come between you and Jan?" he asked suddenly. "Why have +you been crying?" + +"Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know +of nothing that has come between Jan and me, only I--I don't +understand--" + +She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling +in her throat. + +"Neither do I understand," exclaimed the factor, going to the stove to +light his pipe. "He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the +company tonight!" + +"He is not going--to leave--the post?" breathed Melisse. + +"He is leaving the service," reiterated her father. "That means he can +not long live at Lac Bain. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps +into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more?" + +"Nothing," said Melisse. + +She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding +film burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to +master herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the +factor went into his room, and she took this opportunity of slipping +into her own, calling "Good night" to him from the partly closed door. + +The next day it was Croisset who went along the edge of the Barrens +for meat. Gravois found Jan filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. +It was their first encounter since he had learned that Jan had given +up the service. + +"Diable!" he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour +and salt in a rubber bag. "Diable, I say, M. Jan Thoreau!" + +Jan looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering +with rage. + +"Bon jour, M. Jean de Gravois!" he laughed back. "You see I am going +out among the foxes." + +"The devils!" snapped Jean. + +"No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make +better wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean! +It has been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes +must be eating up the country!" + +Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. "Blessed saints, and it was I +who--" + +He spun upon his heels without another word, and went straight to +Melisse. + +"Jan Thoreau is going to leave the post," he announced fiercely, +throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. + +"So father has told me," said Melisse. + +Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her +eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. + +"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean, whirling again, "you take it coolly!" + +A little later Melisse saw Jan coming from the store. When he entered +the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was +laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. + +"I have come to say good-by, Melisse," he said. "I am going to +prospect for a good trap-line among the Barrens." + +"I hope you will have good luck, Jan." + +In her voice, too, was a firmness almost metallic. + +For the first time in his life Jan held out his hand to her. She +started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her +face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and +unflinchingly in the eyes. + +"Will you wait a moment?" she asked. + +She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she +reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her +eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled +upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of +bakneesh. She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her +hand. + +"I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in +his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?" + +He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he +fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. + +"You promised--" He could not go further. + +"I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had +forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now." + +He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their +thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as +if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came +evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of +what he spoke. + +"I have not forgotten to love you, Melisse. I shall never cease to +love my little sister. But you are older now, and it is time for you +to do up your hair." + +He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her +arms still half stretched out to him, and went from the cabin. + +"Good-by, Jan!" + +The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far +to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in +front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin +of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and, with +bowed head, disappear slowly into the depths of the black spruce +forest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +JAN RETURNS + + +All that spring and summer Jan spent in the thick caribou swamps and +low ridge-mountains along the Barrens. It was two months before he +appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to +patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. + +Melisse had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and +loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from +Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret; and yet when the gloom had +settled heaviest upon her, she was still buoyed up by a persistent +hope. Until Jan's last visit to Lac Bain this hope never quite went +out. + +The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west, he +came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and +shaggy, and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The +sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing +humor in Melisse, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in +their devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence +of the forest man. Firmly and yet gently, it repelled whatever of the +old things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as +if by power of a strong hand. + +This time Melisse knew that there was left not even the last +comforting spark of hope within her bosom. Jan had gone out of her +life for ever, leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they two +had once been to each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. + +After he went away again, the violin became more and more to her what +it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing +her loneliness and her heart-break through its strings, in lone hours +clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Jan had talked to it +in years gone by. + +"If you could only tell me--if you only could!" she whispered to it +one day, when the autumn was drawing near. "If you could tell me about +him, and what I might do--dear old violin!" + +Once during the autumn Jan came in for supplies and traps, and his +dogs and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles +to the west, in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac Bain for a +week, and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. + +The runner brought a new experience into the life of Melisse--her +first letter. It was from young Dixon--twenty or more closely written +pages of it, in which he informed her that he was going to spend a +part of the approaching winter at Lac Bain. + +She was reading the last page when Jan came into the cabin. Her cheeks +were slightly flushed by this new excitement, which was reflected in +her eyes as she looked at Jan. + +"A letter!" she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the +pages. "A letter--to me, Jan, all the way from Fort Churchill!" + +"Who in the world--" he began, smiling at her; and stopped. + +"It's from Mr. Dixon," she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. +"He's going to spend part of the winter with us." + +"I'm glad of that, Melisse," said Jan quietly. "I like him, and would +like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books--and +strings." He glanced at the old violin. "Do you play much?" + +"A great deal," she replied. "Won't you play for me, Jan?" + +"My hands are too rough; and besides, I've forgotten all that I ever +knew." + +"Even the things you played when I was a baby?" + +"I think I have, Melisse. But you must never forget them." + +"I shall remember them--always," she answered softly. "Some day it may +be that I will teach them to you again." + +He did not see her again until six months later, when he came in to +the caribou roast, with his furs. Then he learned that another letter +had come to Melisse, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of +coming to Lac Bain. + +The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the +Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Bain. Early summer brought no +news of him. In the floods, Jean went by the water-way to the +Athabasca, and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been +life in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting +snows they had not seen Jan. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac +said that he had found the bones of a white man on the Beaver, with a +Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. + +Jean came back to Lac Bain heavy at heart. + +"There is no doubt but that he is dead," he told Iowaka. "I do not +believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Melisse." + +One day early in September a lone figure came in to the post at noon, +when the company people were at dinner. He carried a pack, and six +dogs trailed at his heels. It was Jan Thoreau. + +"I have been down to civilization," was his explanation. "I have +returned to spend this winter at Lac Bain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE RESCUE + + +On the first snow came young Dixon from Fort Churchill. Jean de +Gravois met him on the trail near Ledoq's. When the Englishman +recognized the little Frenchman he leaped from his sledge and advanced +with outstretched hand, his face lighting up with pleasure. + +"Bless me, if it isn't my old friend, Jean!" he cried. "I was just +thinking of you, Gravois, and how you trimmed me to a finish two +winters ago. I've learned a lot about you people up here in the snows +since then, and I'll never do anything like that again." He laughed +into Jean's face as they shook hands, and his voice was filled with +unbounded sincerity. "How is Mrs. Gravois, and the little Gravois--and +Melisse?" he added, before Jean had spoken. + +"All well, M'seur Dixon," replied Jean. "Only the little Gravois have +almost grown into a man and woman." + +An hour or so later he said to Iowaka: + +"I can't help liking this man Dixon, and yet I don't want to. Why is +it, do you suppose?" + +"Is it because you are afraid that Melisse will like him?" asked his +wife, smiling over her shoulder. + +"Blessed saints, I believe that it is!" said Jean frankly. "I hate +foreigners--and Melisse belongs to Jan." + +"She did, once, but that was a long time ago, Jean." + +"It may be, and yet I doubt it, ma bien aimee. If Jan would tell her--" + +"A woman will not wait always," interrupted Iowaka softly. "Jan +Thoreau has waited too long!" + +A week later, as they stood together in front of their door, they saw +Dixon and Melisse walking slowly in the edge of the forest. The woman +laughed into Jean's face. + +"Did I not say that Jan had waited too long?" + +Jean's face was black with disapprobation. + +"Then you would have taken up with some foreigner if I had remained in +the Athabasca country another year or two?" he demanded questioningly. + +"Very likely," retorted Iowaka mischievously, running into the cabin. + +"The devil!" said Jean sourly, stalking in the direction of the store. + +He was angered at the coolness with which Jan accepted the situation. + +"This Dixon is with Melisse afternoon and evening, and they walk +together every day in the bush," he said to him. "Soon there will be a +wedding at Lac Bain!" + +"Melisse deserves a good man," replied Jan, unmoved. "I like Dixon." + +Deep down in his soul he knew that each day was bringing the end of it +all much nearer for him. He did not tell Melisse that he had returned +to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He +had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a +certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon. +Day after day he saw Melisse and the Englishman together, and while +they awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have +rankled in the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl +was at last passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that +which was already eating at his heart. + +Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Melisse. +Frankly he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill +trail. In his honest way he said things which broke down the last of +Jean's hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was +a different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before. + +"Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see +him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Melisse from Jan!" + +The big snow decided. + +It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early +in the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later +one could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The +Englishman did not return that day. The next day he was still gone, +and Gravois drove along the top of the mountain ridge until he came to +the Frenchman's, where he found that Dixon had started for Lac Bain +the preceding afternoon. He brought word back to the post. Then he +went to Melisse. + +"It is as good as death to go out in search of him," he said. "We can +no longer use the dogs. Snowshoes will sink like leaden bullets by +morning, and to go ten miles from the post means that there will be +bones to be picked by the foxes when the crust comes!" + +It was dark when Jan came into the cabin. Melisse started to her feet +with a little cry when he entered, covered white with the snow. A +light pack was strapped to his back, and he carried his rifle in his +hand. + +"I am going to hunt for him," he said softly. "If he is alive, I will +bring him back to you." + +She came to him slowly, and the beating of Jan's heart sounded to him +like the distant thrumming of partridge-wings. Ah, would he ever +forget that look? The old glory was in her eyes, her arms were +reaching out, her lips parted. Jan knew how the Great Spirit had once +appeared to Mukee, and how a white mist, like a snow-veil, had come +between the half-breed's eyes and the wondrous Thing he beheld. That +same veil drifted between Jan and the girl. As in a vision, he saw her +face so near to him that he felt the touch of her sweet breath, and he +knew that one of his rough hands was clasped in both of her own, and +that after a moment it was crushed tightly against her bosom. + +"Jan, my hero--" + +He struggled back, almost sobbing, as he plunged out into the night +again. He heard her voice crying after him, but the wild wailing of +the spruce, and the storm in his brain, drowned its words. He had seen +the glorious light of love in her eyes--her love for Dixon! And he +would find him! At last he, Jan Thoreau, would prove that the old love +was not dead within him; he would do for Melisse this night--to- +morrow--the next day, and until he fell down to die--what he had +promised to do on their sledge-ride to Ledoq's. And then-- + +He went to Ledoq's now, following the top of the mountain, and reached +his cabin in the late dawn. The Frenchman stared at him in amazement +when he learned that he was about to set out on a search for Dixon. + +"You will not find him," he said slowly in French; "but if you are +determined to go, I will hunt with you. It is a big chance that we +will not come back." + +"I don't want you to go," objected Jan. "One will do as much as two, +unless we search alone. I came your way to find if it had begun to +snow before Dixon left." + +"An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your +face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that +he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then +search alone." + +They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them +that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they +separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, +Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south. + +It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows +for the happiness of Melisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed +or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the +people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of +him, far to the south. + +Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was +neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy +ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it, +the spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was +twisted in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through +the still terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts. +Now and then he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and +intently. The echoes came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then +each time fell the mirthless silence of the storm. + +Day came, only a little lighter than the night. He crossed the lake, +his snow-shoes sinking ankle-deep at every step, and once each half- +hour he fired a single shot from his rifle. He heard shots to the +south, and knew that it was Ledoq; each report coming to him more +faintly than the last, until they had died away entirely. + +Across the lake he struck the forest again, and his shouts echoed in +futile inquiry in its weird depths. About him there was no sign of +life, no sound except the faint fluttering of falling snow. Under five +feet of this snow the four-footed creatures of the wilderness were +snugly buried; close against the trunks of the spruces, sheltered +within their tent-like coverings, the birds waited like lifeless +things for the breaking of the storm. + +At noon Jan stopped and ate his lunch. Then he went on, carrying his +rifle always upon his right shoulder, so that the steps of his right +leg would be shortened, and he would travel in a circle, as he +believed Dixon had done. + +The storm thickened with the falling of night, and he burrowed himself +a great hole in the soft snow and filled it with balsam boughs for a +bed. When he awakened, hours later, he stood up, and thrust out his +head, and found himself buried to the arm-pits. With the aid of his +broad snow-shoes he drew himself out, until he stood knee-deep in the +surface. + +He lifted his pack. As he swung it before him, one arm thrust through +a strap, he gave a startled cry. Half of one side of the pack was +eaten away! He thrust his hands through the breach, and a moan of +despair sobbed on his lips when he found that his food was gone. A +thin trickle of flour ran through his fingers upon the snow. He pulled +out a gnawed pound of bacon, a little tea--and that was all. + +Frantically he ripped the rent wider in his search, and when he stood +up, his wild face staring into the chaos about him, he held only the +bit of bacon in his hand. In it were the imprints of tiny teeth--sharp +little razor-edged teeth that told him what had happened. While he had +slept a mink had robbed him of his food! + +With one of his shoes he began digging furiously in the snow. He tore +his balsam bed to pieces. Somewhere--somewhere not very far away--the +little animal must have cached its theft. He dug down until he came to +the frozen earth. For an hour he worked and found nothing. + +Then he stopped. Over a small fire he melted snow for tea and broiled +a slice of the bacon, which he ate with the few biscuit crumbs he +found in the pack. Every particle of flour that he could find he +scraped up with his knife and put into one of the deep pockets of his +caribou coat. After that he set cut in the direction in which he +thought he would find Lac Bain. + +Still he shouted for Dixon, and fired an occasional shot from his +rifle. By noon he should have struck the lake. Noon came and passed; +the gloom of a second night fell upon him. He built himself a fire, +and ate two-thirds of what remained of the bacon. The handful of flour +in his pocket he did not disturb. + +It was still night when he broke his rest and struggled on. His first +fears were gone. In place of them, there filled him now a grim sort of +pleasure. A second time he was battling with death for Melisse. And +this, after all, was not a very hard fight for him. He had feared +death in the red plague, but he did not fear the thought of this death +that threatened him in the big snows. It thrilled him, instead, with a +strange sort of exhilaration. If he died, it would be for Melisse, and +for all time she would remember him for what he had done. + +When he ate the last bit of his bacon, he made up his mind what he +would do when the end came. In the stock of his rifle he would scratch +a few last words to Melisse. He even arranged the words in his brain-- +four of them--"Melisse, I love you." He repeated them to himself as he +staggered on, and that night, beside the fire he built, he began by +carving her name. + +"To-morrow," he said softly, "I will do the rest." + +He was growing very hungry, but he did not touch the flour. For six +hours he slept, and then drank his fill of hot tea. + +"We will travel until day, Jan Thoreau," he informed himself, "and +then, if nothing turns up, we will build our last camp, and eat the +flour. It will be the last of us, for there will be no meat above this +snow for days." + +His snow-shoes were an impediment now, and he left them behind, along +with one of his two blankets, which had grown to be like lead upon his +shoulders. He counted his cartridges--ten of them. One of these he +fired into the air. + +Was that an echo he heard? + +A sudden thrill shot through him. He strained his ears to catch a +repetition of the sound. In a moment it came again--clearly no echo +this time. + +"Ledoq!" he cried aloud. + +He fired again. + +Back to him came the distant, splitting crack of a rifle. He forced +his way toward it. After a little he heard the signal again, much +nearer than before, and he fired in response. A few hundred yards +farther on he came to a low mountain ridge, and lifted his voice in a +loud shout. A shot came from just over the mountain. + +Waist deep in the light snow he began the ascent, dragging himself up +by the tops of the slender saplings, stopping every few yards to half- +stretch himself out in the soft mass through which he was struggling, +panting with exhaustion. He shouted when he gained the top of the +ridge. Up through the white blur of snow on the other side there came +to him faintly a shout; yet, in spite of its faintness, Jan knew that +it was very near. + +"Something has happened to Ledoq," he told himself, "but he surely has +food, and we can live it out until the storm is over." + +It was easier going down the ridge, and he went quickly in the +direction from which the voice had come, until a mass of huge boulders +loomed up before him. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air, and +he followed it in among the rocks, where it grew stronger. + +"Ho, Ledoq!" he shouted. + +A voice replied a dozen yards away. Slowly, as he advanced, he made +out the dim shadow of life in the white gloom--a bit of smoke climbing +weakly in the storm, the black opening of a brush shelter--and then, +between the opening and the spiral of smoke, a living thing that came +creeping toward him on all fours, like an animal. + +He plunged toward it, and the shadow staggered upward, and would have +fallen had it not been for the support of the deep snow. Another step, +and a sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. It was not Ledoq, but Dixon, who +stood there with white, starved face and staring eyes in the snow +gloom! + +"My God, I am starving--and dying for a drink of water!" gasped the +Englishman chokingly, thrusting out his arms. "Thoreau, God be +praised--" + +He staggered, and fell in the snow. Jan dragged him back to the +shelter. + +"I will have water for you--and something to eat--very soon," he said. + +His voice sounded unreal. There was a mistiness before his eyes which +was not caused by the storm, a twisting of strange shadows that +bothered his vision, and made him sway dizzily when he threw off his +pack to stir the fire. He suspended his two small pails over the +embers, which he coaxed into a blaze. Both he filled with snow; into +one he emptied the handful of flour that he had carried in his pocket +--into the other he put tea. Fifteen minutes later he carried them to +the Englishman. + +Dixon sat up, a glazed passion filling his eyes. He drank the hot tea +greedily, and as greedily ate the boiled flour-pudding. Jan watched +him hungrily until the last crumb of it was gone. He refilled the +pails with snow, added more tea, and then rejoined the Englishman. New +life was already shining in Dixon's eyes. + +"Not a moment too soon, Thoreau," he said thankfully, reaching over to +grip the other's hand. + +"Another night and--" Suddenly he stopped. "Great Heaven, what is the +matter?" + +He noticed for the first time the pinched torture in his companion's +face. Jan's head dropped weakly upon his breast. His hands were icy +cold. + +"Nothing," he murmured drowsily, "only--I'm starving, too, Dixon!" He +recovered himself with an effort, and smiled into Dixon's startled +face. "There is nothing to eat," he continued, as he saw the other +direct his gaze toward the pack. "I gave you the last of the flour. +There is nothing--but salt and tea." He rolled over upon the balsam +boughs with a restful sigh. "Let me sleep!" + +Dixon went to the pack. One by one, in his search for food, he took +out the few articles that it contained. After that he drank more tea, +crawled back into the balsam shelter, and lay down beside Jan. It was +broad day when he awoke, and he called hoarsely to his companion when +he saw that the snow had ceased falling. + +Jan did not stir. For a moment Dixon leaned over to listen to his +breathing, and then dragged himself slowly and painfully out into the +day. The fire was out. A leaden blackness still filled the sky; deep, +silent gloom hung in the wake of the storm. + +Suddenly there came to Dixon's ears a sound. It was a sound that would +have been unheard in the gentle whispering of a wind, in the swaying +of the spruce-tops; but in this silence it fell upon the starving +man's hearing with a distinctness that drew his muscles rigid and set +his eyes staring about him in wild search. Just beyond the hanging +pails a moose-bird hopped out upon the snow. It chirped hungrily, its +big, owl-like eyes scrutinizing Dixon. The man stared back, fearing to +move. Slowly he forced his right foot through the snow to the rear of +his left, and as cautiously brought his left behind his right, working +himself backward step by step until he reached the shelter. Just +inside was his rifle. He drew it out and sank upon his knees in the +snow to aim. At the report of the rifle, Jan stirred but did not open +his eyes; he made no movement when Dixon called out in shrill joy that +he had killed meat. He heard, he strove to arouse himself, but +something more powerful than his own will seemed pulling him down into +oblivion. It seemed an eternity before he was conscious of a voice +again. He felt himself lifted, and opened his eyes with his head +resting against the Englishman's shoulder. + +"Drink this, Thoreau," he heard. + +He drank, and knew that it was not tea that ran down his throat. + +"Whisky-jack soup," he heard again. "How is it?" + +He became wide-awake. Dixon was offering him a dozen small bits of +meat on a tin plate, and he ate without questioning. Suddenly, when +there were only two or three of the smallest scraps left, he stopped. + +"Mon Dieu, it was whisky-jack!" he cried. "I have eaten it all!" + +The young Englishman's white face grinned at him. + +"I've got the flour inside of me, Thoreau--you've got the moose-bird. +Isn't that fair?" + +The plate dropped between them. Over it their hands met in a great, +clutching grip, and up from Jan's heart there welled words which +almost burst from his lips in voice, words which rang in his brain, +and which were an unspoken prayer--"Melisse, I thank the great God +that it is this man whom you love!" But it was in silence that he +staggered to his feet and went out into the gloom. + +"This may be only a lull in the storm," he said. "We must lose no +time. How long did you travel before you made this camp?" + +"About ten hours," said Dixon. "I made due west by compass until I +knew that I had passed Lac Bain, and then struck north." + +"Ah, you have the compass," cried Jan, his eyes lighting up. "M'seur +Dixon, we are very near to the post if you camped so soon! Tell me +which is north." + +"That is north." + +"Then we go south--south and east. If you traveled ten hours, first +west and then north, we are northwest of Lac Bain." + +Jan spoke no more, but got his rifle from the shelter and put only the +tea and two pails in his pack; leaving the remaining blanket upon the +snow. The Englishman followed close behind him, bending weakly under +the weight of his gun. Tediously they struggled to the top of the +ridge, and as Jan stopped to look through the gray day about him, +Dixon sank down into the snow. When the other turned toward him he +grinned up feebly into his face. + +"Bushed," he gasped. "Don't believe I can make it through this snow, +Thoreau." + +There was no fear in his eyes; there was even a cheerful ring in his +voice. + +A sudden glow leaped into Jan's face. + +"I know this ridge," he exclaimed. "It runs within a mile of Lac Bain. +You'd better leave your rifle behind." + +Dixon made an effort to rise and Jan helped him. They went on slowly, +resting every few hundred yards, and each time that he rose from these +periods of rest, Dixon's face was twisted with pain. + +"It's the flour and water anchored amidships," he smiled grimly. +"Cramps--Ugh!" + +"We'll make it by supper-time," assured Jan cheerfully. + +Dixon leaned heavily on his arm. + +"I wish you'd go on alone," he urged. "You could send help--" + +"I promised Melisse that I would bring you back if I found you," +replied Jan, his face turned away. "If the storm broke again, you +would be lost." + +"Tell me--tell me--" he heard Dixon pant eagerly, "did she send you to +hunt for me, Thoreau?" + +Something in the Englishman's voice drew his eyes to him. There was an +excited flush in his starved cheeks; his eyes shone. + +"Did she send you?" + +Jan struggled hard to speak calmly. + +"Not in words, M'seur Dixon. But I know that if I get you safely back +to Lac Bain she will be very happy." + +Something came in Dixon's sobbing breath which Jan did not hear. A +little later he stopped and built a fire over which he melted more +snow and boiled tea. The drink stimulated them, and they went on. A +little later still and Jan hung his rifle in the crotch of a sapling. + +"We will return for the guns in a day or so," he said. + +Dixon leaned upon him more heavily now, and the distances they +traveled between resting periods became shorter and shorter. Three +times they stopped to build fires and cook tea. It was night when they +descended from the ridge to the snow-covered ice of Lac Bain. It was +past midnight when Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce forest into the +opening at the post. There were no lights burning, and he went with +his half-conscious burden to the company's store. He awakened +Croisset, who let them in. + +"Take care of Dixon," said Jan, "and don't arouse any of the people +to-night. It will be time enough to tell what has happened in the +morning." + +Over the stove in his own room he cooked meat and coffee, and for a +long time sat silent before the fire. He had brought back Dixon. In +the morning Melisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, +then--then--she would come to him! + +He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. + +"No, Melisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to +himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." + +He took pencil and paper and wrote. Page after page he crumpled in his +hand and flung into the fire. At last, swiftly and despairingly, he +ended with half a dozen lines. What he said came from his heart, in +French: + +"I have brought him back to you, my Melisse, and pray that the good +God may give you happiness. I leave you the old violin, and always +when you play, it will tell you of the love of Jan Thoreau." + +He folded the page and sealed it in one of the company's envelopes. +Very quietly he went from his room down into the deserted store. +Without striking a light he found a new pack, a few articles of food, +and ammunition. The envelope, addressed to Melisse, he left where +Croisset or the factor would find it in the morning. His dogs were +housed in a shack behind the store, and he called out their names +softly and warningly as he went among them. As stealthily as their +master they trailed behind him to the edge of the forest, and close +under the old spruce that guarded the grave Jan stopped, and silently +he stretched out his arms to the little cabin. + +The dogs watched him. Kazan, the one-eyed leader, glared from him into +the dimness of the night, whining softly. A low, mourning wind swept +through the spruce tops, and from Jan's throat there burst sobbingly +words which he had heard beside this same grave more than seventeen +years before, when Williams' choking voice had risen in a last prayer +for the woman. + +"May the great God care for Melisse!" + +He turned into the trail upon which Jean de Gravois had fought the +Englishman, led his dogs and sledge in a twisting path through the +caribou swamp, and stood at last beside the lob-stick tree that leaned +out over the edge of the white barrens. With his knife he dug out the +papers which he had concealed in that whisky-jack hole. + +It was near dawn when he recovered the rifle which he had abandoned on +the mountain top. A little later it began to snow. He was glad, for it +would conceal his trail. + +For thirteen days he forced his dogs through the deep snows into the +south. On the fourteenth they came to Le Pas, which is the edge of +civilization. It was night when he came out of the forest, so that he +could see the faint glow of lights beyond the Saskatchewan. + +For a few moments, before crossing, he stopped his tired dogs and +turned his face back into the grim desolation of the North, where the +aurora was playing feebly in the skies, and beckoning to him, and +telling him that the old life of centuries and centuries ago would +wait for him always at the dome of the earth. + +"The good God bless you, and keep you, and care for you ever more, my +Melisse," he whispered; and he walked slowly ahead of his dogs, across +the river, and into the Other World. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +JACK THORNTON + + +There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came to +the first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears. +Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan's +heart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in the +starlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. It +was strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle up +to his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, close +to a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it +a tumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse +singing and loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. +The man was cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as +Jan had never heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he +listened to the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man +and the first woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between +two men, screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy +figure an object which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a +bottle. Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's +heels. With a low word Jan led them on. + +Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon +to the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light +hung over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a +printed legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub +bush of the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush +Jan tied his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that +now, when he had entered civilization, he had come also into the land +of lock and bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not +suspicion, that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him. + +They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened +into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty +except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window +which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not +disturb this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the +window. Kazan laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one +eye upon him steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of +life had Jan felt the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as +he looked into the North. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and +silent; beyond it he could see the dark edge of the forest, and far, +far, beyond that, hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned +faintly now, almost like a thousand other stars that he saw, and the +aurora was only a fading glow. + +Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed his +eyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battle +that he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endless +silent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless, +until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head, +and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering to +hunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fight +in the forests. He was with Melisse again, with the old violin, with +the things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that there +was another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted his +position so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low, +heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened +him again to a consciousness of the present. + +He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. The +stranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, +staring at him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he +knew that in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was +written a grief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a +full breath or two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along +Kazan's spine stood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his +tired blood tingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He +was not of his people. His face bore the stamp of the people to the +south, of civilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped +all barriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The +stranger reached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the +loneliness, the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for +companionship, passed in the long grip of their hands. + +"You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That was +your sledge--out there?" + +"Yes," said Jan. + +The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan. + +"From the camps?" he questioned eagerly. + +"What camps, m'sieur?" + +"The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through, +beyond Wekusko." + +"I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, except +this that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of the +barren lands." + +"You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Jan +wondered at the light in his eyes. + +"A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of my life-- +up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turned to +where the polar star was fading low in the sky. + +"And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding his +head to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health and +happiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leaving +them. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, +holding out his hand again. "I come from Chicago." + +"My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago +in a book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city +that is called Winnipeg?" + +He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so that +the light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightened +about Jan's hand. + +"Yes, it is larger." + +"The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and Le +Commissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?" + +"Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes." + +"And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would +it not be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan. + +Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face. + +"There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said. + +"That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do business +there--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, and +half turned toward the door. + +"Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It might +depend--on what your business is." + +To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low +wailing of a dog out in the night. + +"They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not +read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" + +The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan +went back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruce +shut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hung +his coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossed +frozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs and +spread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffee +and meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, and +they lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at the +scraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was +left in them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not +snap or snarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to +them, and he found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with +the sickness which was eating at his own heart. + +With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache, +there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almost +excitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurry +on, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had told +him of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of the +thing which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when he +had staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died. +He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had +taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty +years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great +company at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this +thing, what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Perhaps the +company might take him, and he would remain in civilization. That +would be best--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests +as years and years ago he had fought against that call of the Other +World that had filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. +If he DID return to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far +to the east. No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan +Thoreau. + +Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch by +inch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten years +ago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he and +Melisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers and +sisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the other +dogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about the +dog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy, +and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the +tree. + +Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and found +that the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, +beyond the dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were +dying, and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He +sat upright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of +smoke from his pipe. + +"You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a dead +man. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--I +thought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Then +he looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you're +hard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you +let me help you out?" + +"Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleep +outside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff with +the frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?" + +Thornton nodded. + +"And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the +spruce tops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for +you." + +"You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?" + +"To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within an +hour." + +"Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked. + +"With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. I +must hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs." + +Thornton rose and stretched out a hand. + +"It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--" + +He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight into +his eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and again +Jan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which he +had first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressed +note in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest, +and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned to +his pack upon the sledge. + +"I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you have +breakfast with me?" + +That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the level +surface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. The +second day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and struck +south and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It was +early afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town. + +"We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We will +lose no time." + +It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at the +west edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an office +filled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking +machines; and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card +to a gray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his +chair, bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door +opened, and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart +quivering, his breath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in +his breast pocket. + +Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did not +reopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls +at typewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be this +wild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of the +sub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared. +Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes first +encountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan came +out. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop to +his shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thin +face seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere +but ahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let +them out into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing +of his breath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing. + +"If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he cried +fiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out of +you--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'll +buck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money to +show 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!" + +"Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of his +throat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a million +would just about buy--what I've given away up there." + +He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where the +papers had been. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +TEMPTATION + + +That night, leaving Thornton still at supper in the little old Windsor +Hotel, Jan slipped away, and with Kazan at his heels, crossed the +frozen Saskatchewan to the spruce forest on the north shore. He wanted +to be alone, to think, to fight with himself against a desire which +was almost overpowering him. Once, long ago, he had laid his soul bare +to Jean de Gravois, and Jean had given him comfort. To-night he longed +to go to Thornton, as he had gone to Jean, and to tell him the same +story, and what had passed that day in the office of the sub- +commissioner. In his heart there had grown something for Thornton that +was stronger than friendship--something that would have made him fight +for him, and die for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de +Gravois. It was a feeling cemented by a belief that something was +troubling Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a +grief which he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain +himself from confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he +knew, except by relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He +walked along the shore of the river and recrossed it again near the +company's offices. All were dark with the exception of the sub- +commissioner's room. In that there glowed a light. The sub- +commissioner was keeping his promise. He was working. He worked until +late, for Jan came back two hours after and saw the light still there. + +A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and +it would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and +he looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that +week was over. + +Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to +the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as +Jan had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him. There was +an uneasy tremor in Thornton's voice when he said: + +"Jan, did you ever love a woman--love her until you were ready and +willing to die for her?" + +The suddenness of the question wrung the truth from Jan's lips in a +low, choking voice. For an instant he thought that Thornton must have +guessed his secret. + +"Yes, m'sieur." + +Thornton leaned toward him, gripping his knees, and the misery in his +face was deeper than Jan had ever seen it before. + +"I love a woman--like that," he went on tensely. "A girl--not a woman, +and she is one of your people, Jan--of the north, as innocent as a +flower, more beautiful to ME than--than all the women I have ever seen +before. She is at Oxford House. I am going home to--to save myself." +"Save yourself!" cried Jan. "Mon Dieu, m'sieur--does she not love +you?" + +"She would follow me to the end of the earth!" + +"Then--" + +Thornton straightened himself and wiped his pale face. Suddenly he +rose to his feet and motioned for Jan to follow him. He walked swiftly +out into the night, and still faster after that, until they passed +beyond the town. From where he stopped they could look over the +forests far into the pale light of the south. + +"THAT'S hell for me!" said Thornton, pointing. "It's what we call +civilization--but it's mostly hell, and it's all hell for me. It's a +hell of big cities, of strife, of blood-letting, of wickedness. I +never knew how great a hell it was until I came up here--among YOU. I +wish to God I could stay--always!" + +"You love her," breathed Jan. "You can stay." + +"I can't," groaned Thornton. "I can't--unless--" + +"What, m'sieur?" + +"Unless I lose everything--but her." + +Jan's fingers trembled as they sought Thornton's hand. + +"And everything is--is--nothing when you give it for love and +happiness," he urged. "The great God, I know--" + +"Everything," cried Thornton. "Don't you understand? I said +EVERYTHING!" He turned almost fiercely upon his companion. "I'd give +up my name--for HER. I'd bury myself back there in the forests and +never go out of them--for HER. I'd give up fortune, friends, lose +myself for ever--for HER. But I can't. Good God, don't you +understand?" + +Jan stared. His eyes grew large and dark. + +"I've spent ten years of WORSE than hell down there--with a woman," +went on Thornton. "It happens among us--frequently, this sort of hell. +I came up here to get out of it for a time. You know--now. There is a +woman down there who--who is my wife. She would be glad if I never +returned. She is happy now, when I am away, and I have been happy--for +a time. I know what love is. I have felt it. I have lived it. God +forgive me, but I am almost tempted to go back--to HER!" + +He stopped at the change which had come in Jan, who stood as straight +and as still as the blank spruce behind them, with only his eyes +showing that there was life in him. Those eyes held Thornton's. They +burned upon him through the gray gloom as he had never seen human eyes +burn before. He waited, half startled, and Jan spoke. In his voice +there was nothing of that which Thornton saw in his eyes. It was low, +and soft, and though it had that which rung like steel, Thornton could +not have understood or feared it more. + +"M'sieur, how far have you gone--WITH HER?" Thornton understood and +advanced with his hands reaching out to Jan. + +"Only as far as one might go with the purest thing on earth," he said. +"I have sinned--in loving her, and in letting her love me, but that is +all, Jan Thoreau. I swear that is all!" + +"And you are going back into the south?" + +"Yes, I am going back into the south." + +The next day Thornton did not go. He made no sign of going on the +second day. So it was with the third, the fourth, and the fifth. On +each of these days Jan went once, in the afternoon, to the office of +the sub-commissioner, and Thornton always accompanied him. At times, +when Jan was not looking, there was a hungry light in his eyes as he +followed the other's movements, and once or twice Jan caught what was +left of this look when he turned unexpectedly. He knew what was in +Thornton's mind, and he pitied him, grieved with him in his own heart +until his own secret almost wrung itself from his lips. Somehow, in a +way that he could not understand, Thornton's sacrifice to honor, and +his despair, gave Jan strength, and a hundred times he asked himself +if a confession of his own misery would do as much for the other. He +repeated this thought to himself again and again on the afternoon of +the ninth day, when he went to the sub-commissioner's office alone. +This time Thornton had remained behind. He had left him in a gloomy +corner of the hotel room from which he had not looked up when Jan went +out with Kazan. + +This ninth day was the last day for Jan Thoreau. In a dazed sort of +way he listened as the sub-commissioner told him that the work was +ended. They shook hands. It was dark when Jan came out from the +company's offices, dark with a pale gloom through which the stars were +beginning to glow--with a ghostly gloom, lightened still more in the +north with the rising fires of the northern lights. Alone Jan stood +for a few moments close down to the river. Across from him was the +forest, silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it, +like a signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent +out its shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him +faintly a distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that +world, and at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he +whined deep down in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood +warmer. Over there--across the river--his world was calling to him, +and he, Jan Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury +himself in the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be +with his beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy +and brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would +say good-by to Thornton--and GO. + +He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless +when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the +hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him. + +"It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am +going. I am going to-night." + +Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated. + +"Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?" + +He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had +slept while at the hotel. He did not notice the change in Thornton +until he had lighted a lamp. Thornton was looking at him doggedly. +There was an unpleasant look in his face, a flush about his eyes, a +rigid tenseness in the muscles of his jaws. + +"And I--I, too, am going to-night," he said. "Into the South, +m'sieur?" + +"No, into the NORTH." There was a fierceness in Thornton's emphasis. +He stood opposite Jan, leaning over the table on which the light was +placed. "I've broken loose," he went on. "I'm not going south--back to +that hell of mine. I'm never going south again. I'm dead down there-- +dead for all time. They'll never hear of me again. They can have my +fortune--everything. I'm going North. I'm going to live with YOU +people--and God--AND HER!" + +Jan sank into a chair, Thornton sat down in one across from him. + +"I am going back to her," he repeated. "No one will ever know." + +He could not account for the look in Jan's eyes nor for the nervous +twitching of the lithe brown hands that reached half across the table. +But Kazan's one eye told him more than Thornton could guess, and in +response to it that ominous shivering wave rose along his spine. +Thornton would never know that Jan's fingers twitched for an instant +in their old mad desire to leap at a human throat. + +"You will not do that," he said quietly. + +"Yes, I will," replied Thornton. "I have made up my mind. Nothing can +stop me but--death." + +"There is one other thing that can stop you, and will, m'sieur," said +Jan as quietly as before. "I, Jan Thoreau, will stop you." + +Thornton rose slowly, staring down into Jan's face. The flush about +his eyes grew deeper. + +"I will stop you," repeated Jan, rising also. "And I am not death." + +He went to Thornton and placed his two hands upon his shoulders, and +in his eyes there glowed now that gentle light which had made Thornton +love him as he had loved no other man on earth. + +"M'sieur, I will stop you," he said again, speaking as though to a +brother. "Sit down. I am going to tell you something. And when I have +told you this you will take my hand, and you will say, 'Jan Thoreau, I +thank the Great God that something like this has happened before, and +that it has come to my ears in time to save the one I love.' Sit down, +m'sieur." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JAN'S STORY + + +Jan had aged five years during those two hours in the office of the +sub-commissioner; he aged now as Thornton looked at him. There came +the same tired, hopeless glow into his eyes, the same tense lines in +his face. And yet, quickly, he changed as he had not changed on that +afternoon. Two livid spots began to burn in his cheeks as he sat down +opposite Thornton. He turned the light low, and his eyes glowed more +darkly and with an animal-like luster in the half gloom. Something in +him now, a quivering, struggling passion that lay behind those eyes, +held Thornton white and silent. + +"M'sieur," he began in the low voice which Thornton was beginning to +understand, "I am going to tell you something which I have told to but +two other human beings. It is the story of another man--a man from +civilization, like you, who came up into this country of ours years +and years ago, and who met a woman, as you have met this girl at +Oxford House, and who loved her as you love this one, and perhaps +more. It is singular that the case should be so similar, m'sieur, and +it is because of this that I believe Our Blessed Lady gives me courage +to tell it to you. For this man, like you, left a wife--and two +children--when he came into the North. M'sieur, I pray the Great God +to forgive him, for he left a third child--unborn." + +Jan leaned upon his hand so that it shaded his face. + +"It is not so much of THAT as of what followed that I am going to tell +you, m'sieur," he went on. "It was a beautiful love--on the woman's +part, and it would have been a beautiful love on the man's part if it +had been pure. For her he gave up everything, even his God--as you +would give up everything--and your God--for this girl at Oxford House. +M'sieur, I will speak mostly of the woman now. She was beautiful. She +was one of the three most beautiful things that God ever placed in our +world, and she loved this man. She married him, believed in him, was +ready to die for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, as our +women will do for the men they love. God in Heaven, can you not guess +what happened, m'sieur? A CHILD WAS BORN!" + +So fiercely did Jan cry out the words that Thornton jerked back as +though a blow had been struck at him from out of the gloom. + +"A child was born!" repeated Jan, and Thornton heard his nails digging +in the table. "That was the first curse of God--a child! La Charogne-- +les betes de charogne--that is what we call them--beasts of carrion +and carrion eaters, breeders of devils and sin! Mon Dieu, that is what +happened! A child was born, with the curse of God upon him!" + +Jan stopped, his nails digging deeper, his breath escaping from him as +though he had been running. + +"Down in YOUR world he would have grown up a MAN," he continued, +speaking more calmly. "I have heard that--since. It is common down +there to be a two-legged carrion--a man or a woman born out of +wedlock. I have been told so, and that it is a curse not without hope. +But here it is different. The curse never dies. It follows, day after +day, year after year. And this child--more unfortunate than the wild +things, was born one of them. Do you understand, m'sieur? If the winds +had whispered the secret nothing would have come near him--the Indian +women would sooner have touched the plague--he would have been an +outcast, despised as he grew older, pointed at and taunted, called +names which are worse than those called to the lowest and meanest +dogs. THAT is what it means to be born under that curse--up here." + +He waited for Thornton to speak, but the other sat silent and moveless +across the table. + +"The curse worked swiftly, m'sieur. It came first--in remorse--to the +man. It gnawed at his soul, ate him alive, and drove him from place to +place with the woman and the child. The purity and love of the woman +added to his suffering, and at last he came to know that the hand of +God had fallen upon his head. The woman saw his grief but did not know +the reason for it. And so the curse first came to her. They went +north--far north, above the Barren Lands, and the curse followed +there. It gnawed at his life until--he died. That was seven years +after the child was born." + +The oil lamp sputtered and began to smoke, and with a quick movement +Jan turned the wick down until they were left in darkness. + +"M'sieur, it was then that the curse began to fall upon the woman and +the child. Do you not believe that about the sins of the fathers +falling upon others? Mon Dieu, it is so--it is so. It came in many +small ways--and then--the curse--it came suddenly--LIKE THIS." Jan's +voice came in a hissing whisper now. Thornton could feel his hot +breath as he leaned over the table, and in the darkness Jan's eyes +shone like two coals of fire. "It came like THIS!" panted Jan. "There +was a new missioner at the post--a--a Christian from the South, and he +was a great friend to the woman, and preached God, and she BELIEVED +him. The boy was very young, and saw things, but did not understand at +first. He knew, afterward, that the missioner loved his mother's +beauty, and that he tried hard to win it--and failed, for the woman, +until death, would love only the one to whom she had given herself +first. Great God, it happened THEN--one night when every soul was +about the big fires at the caribou roast, and there was no one near +the lonely little cabin where the boy and his mother lived. The boy +was at the feast, but he ran home--with a bit of dripping meat as a +gift for his mother--and he heard her cries, and ran in to be struck +down by the missioner. It happened THEN, and even the boy knew, and +followed the man, shrieking that he had killed his mother." There was +a terrible calmness now in Jan's voice. "M'sieur, it was true. She +wasted away like a flower after that night. She died, and left the boy +alone with the curse. And that boy, m'sieur, was Jan Thoreau. The +woman was his mother." + +There was silence now, a dead, pulseless quiet, broken after a moment +by a movement. It was Thornton, groping across the table. Jan felt his +hands touch his arm. They groped farther in the darkness, until Jan +Thoreau's hands were clasped tightly in Thornton's. + +"And that--is all?" he questioned hoarsely. + +"No, it is but the beginning," said Jan softly. "The curse has +followed me, m'sieur, until I am the unhappiest man in the world. To- +day I have done all that is to be done. When my father died he left +papers which my mother was to give to me when I had attained manhood. +When she died they came to me. She knew nothing of that which was in +them, and I am glad. For they told the story that I have told to you, +m'sieur, and from his grave my father prayed to me to make what +restitution I could. When he came into the North for good he brought +with him most of his fortune--which was large, m'sieur--and placed it +where no one would ever find it--in the stock of the Great Company. A +half of it, he said, should be mine. The other half he asked me to +return to his children, and to his real wife, if she were living. I +have done more than that, m'sieur. I have given up all--for none of it +is mine. A half will go to the two children whom he deserted. The +other half will go to the child that was unborn. The mother--is-- +dead." + +After a time Thornton said, + +"There is more, Jan." + +"Yes, there is more, m'sieur," said Jan. "So much more that if I were +to tell it to you it would not be hard for you to understand why Jan +Thoreau is the unhappiest man in the world. I have told you that this +is but the beginning. I have not told you of how the curse has +followed me and robbed me of all that is greatest in life--how it has +haunted me day and night, m'sieur, like a black spirit, destroying my +hopes, turning me at last into an outcast, without people, without +friends, without--that--which you, too, will give up in this girl at +Oxford House. M'sieur, am I right? You will not go back to her. You +will go south, and some day the Great God will reward you." + +He heard Thornton rising in the dark. + +"Shall I strike a light, m'sieur?" + +"No," said Thornton close to him. In the gloom their hands met. There +was a change in the other's voice now, something of pride, of triumph, +of a glory just achieved. "Jan," he said softly, "I thank you for +bringing me face to face with a God like yours. I have never met Him +before. We send missionaries up to save you, we look upon you as wild +and savage and with only half a soul--and we are blind. You have +taught me more than has ever been preached into me, and this great, +glorious world of yours is sending me back a better man for having +come into it. I am going--south. Some day I will return, and I will be +one of this world, and one of your people. I will come, and I will +bring no curse. If I could send this word to HER, ask her forgiveness, +tell her what I have almost been and that I still have hope--faith--I +could go easier down into that other world." + +"You can," said Jan. "I will take this word for you, m'sieur, and I +will take more, for I will tell her what it has been the kind fate for +Jan Thoreau to find in the heart of M'sieur Thornton. She is one of my +people, and she will forgive, and love you more for what you have +done. For this, m'sieur, is what the Cree god has given to his people +as the honor of the great snows. She will still love you, and if there +is to be hope it will burn in HER breast, too. M'sieur--" + +Something like a sob broke through Thornton's lips as he moved back +through the darkness. + +"And you--I will find you again?" + +"They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with +HER," said Jan. + +"Good-by," said Thornton huskily. + +Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time +after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little +table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened +room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's +overburdened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE MUSIC AGAIN + + +That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter +of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile +that he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast +until he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in +the old way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the +wilderness. Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been +home, filled with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to- +night it was more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with +no other desire than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he +felt the life, and sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart, +grieving with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging +him again the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all +of the wild that it held therein. + +And from above him the stars looked down like a billion tiny fires +kindled by loving hands to light his way--the stars that had given him +music, peace, since he could remember, and that had taught him more of +the silent power of God than the lips of man could ever tell. From +this time forth Jan Thoreau knew that these things would be his life, +his god. A thousand times in fanciful play he had given life and form +to the star-shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the +twisted shrub, the rocks and even the mountains. And now it was no +longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day +and night that followed, they became more real to him, and his fires +in the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them +before, and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted +him more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of +life in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow-forms. +Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. +The spruce-shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was +the same that had nodded to him last night--a hundred nights ago; the +stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were +the same, everything was as it was yesterday--years ago--unchanged, +never leaving him, never growing cold in their devotion. He had loved +the forest--NOW he worshipped it. In its vast silence he still +possessed Melisse. It whispered to him still of her old love, of their +days and years of happiness, and with his forest he lived these days +over and over again, and when he slept with his forest he dreamed of +them. + +Nearly a month passed before he reached Oxford House and found the +sweet-faced girl whom Thornton loved. He did as Thornton had asked, +and went on--into the north and east. He had no mission now, except to +roam in his forests. He went down the Hayes, getting his few supplies +at Indian camps, and stopped at last, with the beginning of spring, +far up on the Cutaway. Here he built himself a camp and lived for a +time, setting dead-falls for bear. Then he struck north again, and +still east--keeping always away from Lac Bain. When the first chill +winds of the bay brought warning of winter down to him he was filled +for a time with a longing to strike north--and WEST, to go once more +back to his Barren Lands. But, instead, he went south, and so it came +to pass that a year after he had left Lac Bain he built himself a +cabin deep in the forest of God's River, fifty miles from Oxford +House, and trapped once more for the company. He had not forgotten his +promise to Thornton, and at Oxford House left word where he could be +found if the man from civilization should return. + +In late mid-winter Jan returned to Oxford House with his furs. It was +on the night of the day that he came into the post that he heard a +Frenchman who had come down from the north speak of Lac Bain. None +noticed the change in Jan's face as he hung back in the shadows of the +company's store. A little later he followed the Frenchman outside, and +stopped him where there were no others near to overhear. + +"M'sieur, you spoke of Lac Bain," he said in French. "You have been +there?" + +"Yes," replied the other, "I was there for a week waiting for the +first sledge snow." + +"It is my old home," said Jan, trying to keep his voice natural. "I +have wondered--if there are changes. You saw--Cummins--the factor?" + +"Yes, he was there." + +"And--and Jean de Gravois, the chief man?" + +"He was away. Mon Dieu, listen to that! The dogs are fighting out +there!" + +"A moment, m'sieur," begged Jan, as the Frenchman made a movement as +if to run in the direction of the tumult. "The factor had a daughter-- +Melisse--" + +"She left Lac Bain a long time ago, m'sieur," interrupted the trapper, +making a tremendous effort to be polite as he edged toward the sound +of battle. "M'sieur Cummins told me that he had not seen her in a long +time--I believe it was almost a year. Sacre, listen to that! They are +tearing one another to bits, and they are MY dogs, m'sieur, for I can +tell their voices among a thousand!" + +He sprang through the darkness and Jan made a movement to follow. Then +he stopped, and turned instead to the company's store. He took his +pack to the sledge and dogs in the edge of the spruce, and Kazan +leaped to greet him at the end of his babiche. This night as Jan +traveled through the forest he did not notice the stars or the +friendly shadows. + +"A year," he repeated to himself, again and again, and once, when +Kazan rubbed against his leg and looked up into his face, he said, +"Ah, Kazan, our Melisse went away with the Englishman. May the Great +God give them happiness!" + +The forest claimed him more than ever after this. He did not go back +to Oxford House in the spring but sold his furs to a passing half- +breed, and wandered through all of that spring and summer in the +country to the west. It was January when he returned to his cabin, +when the snows were deepest, and three days later he set out to outfit +at the Hudson's Bay post on God's Lake instead of at Oxford House. It +was while they were crossing a part of the lake that Kazan leaped +aside for an instant in his traces and snapped at something in the +snow. + +Jan saw the movement but gave no attention to it until a little later, +when Kazan stopped and fell upon his belly, biting at the harness and +whining in pain. The thought of Kazan's sudden snap at the snow came +to him then like a knife-thrust, and with a low cry of horror and fear +he fell upon his knees beside the dog. Kazan whimpered and his bushy +tail swept the snow as Jan lifted his great wolfish head between his +two hands. No other sound came from Jan's lips now, and slowly he drew +the dog up to him until he held him in his arms as he might have held +a child, Kazan stilled the whimpering sounds in his throat. His one +eye rested on his master's face, faithful, watching for some sign--for +some language there, even as the burning fires of a strange torture +gnawed at his life, and in that eye Jan saw the deepening reddish film +which he had seen a hundred times before in the eyes of foxes and +wolves killed by poison bait. + +A moan of anguish burst from Jan's lips and he held his face close +down against Kazan's head, and sobbed now like a child, while Kazan +rubbed his hot muzzle against his cheek and his muscles hardened in a +last desire to give battle to whatever was giving his master grief. It +was a long time before Jan lifted his face from the shaggy head, and +when he did he knew that the last of all love, of all companionship, +of all that bound him to flesh and blood in his lonely world, was +gone. Kazan was dead. + +From the sledge he took a blanket and wrapped Kazan in it, and carried +him a hundred yards back from the trail. With bowed head he came +behind his four dogs into God's House. Half an hour later he turned +back into the wilderness with his supplies. It was dark when he +returned to where he had left Kazan. He placed him upon the sledge and +the four huskies whined as they dragged on their burden, from which +the smell of death came to them. They stopped in the deep forests +beyond the lake and Jan built a fire. + +This night, as on all nights in his lonely life, Jan drew Kazan close +to him, and he shivered as the other dogs slunk back from him +suspiciously and the fire and the spruce tops broke the stillness of +the forest. He looked at the crackling flames, at the fitful shadows +which they set dancing and grimacing about him, and it seemed to him +now that they were no longer friends, but were taunting him--gloating +in Kazan's death, and telling him that he was alone, alone, alone. He +let the fire die down, stirring it into life only when the cold +stiffened him, and when at last he fell into an unquiet slumber it was +still to hear the spruce tops whispering to him that Kazan was dead, +and that in dying he had broken the last fragile link between Jan +Thoreau and Melisse. + +He went on at dawn, with Kazan wrapped in his blanket on the sledge. +He planned to reach the cabin that night, and the next day he would +bury his old comrade. It was dark when he came to the narrow plain +that lay between him and the river. The sky was brilliant with stars +when he slowly climbed the big, barren ridge at the foot of which was +his home. At the summit he stopped and seated himself on the edge of a +rock, with nothing but a thousand miles of space between him and the +pale glow of the northern lights. At his feet lay the forest, black +and silent, and he looked down to where he knew his cabin was waiting +for him, black and silent, too. + +For the first time it came upon him that THIS was home--that the +forest, and the silence, and the little cabin hidden under the spruce +tops below held a deeper meaning for him than a few hours before, when +Kazan was a leaping, living comrade at his side. Kazan was dead. Down +there he would bury him. And he had loved Kazan;--he knew, now, as he +clutched his hands to his aching breast, that he would have fought for +Kazan--given up his life for him--as he would have done for a brother. +Down there, under the silent spruce, he would bury the last that had +remained to him of the old life, and there swelled up in his heart a +longing, almost a prayer, that Melisse might know that he, Jan +Thoreau, would have nothing left to him to-morrow but a grave, and +that in that grave was their old chum, their old playmate--Kazan. Hot +tears blinded Jan's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, and +sobbed as he had sobbed years before, when in the southern wilderness +word came to him that Melisse was dying. + +"Melisse--Melisse--" He moaned her name aloud, and stared through the +hot film in his eyes away into the north, sobbing to her, calling to +her in his grief, and looking through that thousand miles of starlit +space as though from out of it her sweet face would come to him once +more. And as he called there seemed to come to him from out of that +space a sound, so sweet, and low, and tender that his heart stood +still and he stood up straight and stretched his arms up to Heaven, +for Jan Thoreau knew that it was the sound of a violin that came to +him from out of the north--that Melisse, an infinity away, had heard +his call, his prayer, and was playing for him and Kazan! + +And suddenly, as he listened, his arms fell to his sides, and there +shot into his eyes all of the concentrated light of the stars, for the +music came nearer and nearer, and still nearer to him, until he caught +Kazan in his arms and ran with him down the side of the mountain. It +died now in the forest--then rose again, softer and more distant it +seemed to him, luring him on into the forest gloom. For a few moments +consciousness of all else but that sound remained with him only in a +dazed, half real way, and as John Cummins had called upon the angels +at Lac Bain many years ago when he, too, had gone out into the night +to meet this wonderful music, so Jan Thoreau's soul cried to them now +as he clutched Kazan to him, and stumbled on. Then, suddenly, he came +upon the cabin, and in the cabin there was a light! + +Gently he laid Kazan down upon the snow, and for a full minute he +stood and listened, and heard, lower and sweeter still, the gentle +music, of the violin. Some one was in his cabin--living hands were +playing! After all it was not the spirit of Melisse that had come to +him in the hour of his deepest grief, and a sob rose in his throat. He +went on, step by step, and at the door he stopped again, wondering if +he was mad, if the spirits of the forest were taunting him still, if-- +if-- + +One step more-- + +The Great God, he heard it now--the low, sweet music of the old Cree +love song, played in the old, old way, with all of its old sadness, +its whispering joy, its weeping song of life, of death, of love! With +a great cry he flung open the door and leaped in, with his arms +reaching out, his eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light--and +with a cry as piercing as his own, something ran through that light to +meet him--Melisse, the old, glorious Melisse, crushing her arms about +his neck, sobbing his name, pleading with him in her old, sweet voice +to kiss her, kiss her, kiss her--while Jan Thoreau for the first time +in his life felt sweeping over him a resistless weakness, and in this +vision he knew that Jean de Gravois came to him, too, and held him in +his arms, and that as the light faded away from about him he still +heard Melisse calling to him, felt her arms about him, her face +crushed to his own. And as the deep gloom enveloped him more densely, +and he felt himself slipping down through it, he whispered to the +faces which he could no longer see, + +"Kazan--died--to-night--" + +For a long time Jan fought to throw off the darkness, and when he +succeeded, and opened his eyes again, he knew that it was Melisse who +was sitting beside him, and that it was Melisse who flung her arms +about him when he awoke from his strange sleep, and held his wild head +pressed against her bosom--Melisse, with her glorious hair flowing +about her as he had loved it in their old days, and with the old love +shining in her eyes, only more glorious now, as he heard her voice. + +"Jan--Jan--we have been hunting for you--so long," she cried softly. +"We have been searching--ever since you left Lac Bain. Jan, dear Jan, +I loved you so--and you almost broke my heart. Dear, dear Jan," she +sobbed, stroking his face now, "I know why you ran away--I know, and I +love you so that--that I will die if--you go away again." + +"You know!" breathed Jan. He was in his cot, and raised himself, +clasping her beautiful face between his two hands, staring at her with +the old horror in his eyes. "You know--and you come--to me!" + +"I love you," said Melisse. She slipped up to him and laid her face +upon his breast, and with her fingers clutched in his long hair she +leaned over to him and kissed him. "I love you!" + +Jan's arms closed about her, and he bowed his face so that it was +smothered in her hair and he felt against it the joyous tremble of her +bosom. + +"I love you," she whispered again, and under her cloud of hair their +lips met, and she whispered again, with her sweet breath still upon +his lips, "I love you." + +Outside Jean de Gravois was dancing up and down in the starlit edge of +the forest, and Iowaka was looking at him. + +"And NOW what do you think of your Jean de Gravois?" cried Jean for +the hundredth time at least. "NOW what do you think of him, my +beautiful one?" and he caught Iowaka's head in his arms, for the +hundredth time, too, and kissed her until she pushed him away. "Was it +not right for me to break my oath to the Blessed Virgin and tell +Melisse why Jan Thoreau had gone mad? Was it not right, I say? And did +not Melisse do as I told that fool of a Jan that she WOULD do? And +didn't she HATE the Englishman all of the time? Eh? Can you not speak, +my raven-haired angel?" + +He hugged Iowaka again in his arms, and this time he did not let her +go, but turned her face so that the starlight fell upon it. + +"And NOW what if Jan Thoreau still feels that the curse is upon him?" +he asked softly. "Ho, ho, we have fixed that--you, my sweet Iowaka, +and your husband, Jean de Gravois. I have it--here--in my pocket--the +letter signed by the sub-commissioner at Prince Albert, to whom I told +Jan's story when I followed his trail down there--the letter which +says that the other woman died BEFORE the man who was to be Jan +Thoreau's father married the woman who was to be his mother. And NOW +do you understand why I did not tell Melisse of this letter, ma +cherie? It was to prove to that fool of a Jan Thoreau that she loved +him--WHATEVER HE WAS. NOW what do you think of Jean de Gravois, you +daughter of a princess, you--you--" + +"Wife of the greatest man in the world," laughed Iowaka softly. "Come, +my foolish Jean, we can not stand out for ever. I am growing cold. And +besides, do you not suppose that Jan would like to see ME?" + +"Foolish--foolish--foolish--" murmured Jean as they walked hand in +hand through the starlight. "She, my Iowaka, my beloved, says that I +am foolish--AND AFTER THIS! Mon Dieu, what can a man do to make +himself great in the eyes of his wife?" + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + +This file should be named 7hnbs10.txt or 7hnbs10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7hnbs11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7hnbs10a.txt + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Honor of the Big Snows + +Author: James Oliver Curwood + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5895] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 18, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + +THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS + +By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD + +Author of "The Danger Trail," "The Courage of Captain Plum," etc. + +NEW YORK + +1911 + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MUSIC + +"Listen, John--I hear music--" + +The words came in a gentle whisper from the woman's lips. One white, +thin hand lifted itself weakly to the rough face of the man who was +kneeling beside her bed, and the great dark eyes from which he had +hidden his own grew luminously bright for a moment, as she whispered +again: + +"John--I hear--music--" + +A sigh fluttered from her lips. The man's head drooped until it rested +very near to her bosom. He felt the quiver of her hand against his +cheek, and in its touch there was something which told John Cummins +that the end of all life had come for him and for her. His heart beat +fiercely, and his great shoulders shook with the agony that was eating +at his soul. + +"Yes, it is the pretty music, my Mélisse," he murmured softly, choking +back his sobs. "It is the pretty music in the skies." + +The hand pressed more tightly against his face. + +"It's not the music in the skies, John. It is real--REAL music that I +hear--" + +"It's the sky music, my sweet Mélisse! Shall I open the door so that +we can hear it better?" + +The hand slipped from his cheek. Cummins lifted his head, slowly +straightening his great shoulders as he looked down upon the white +face, from which even the flush of fever was disappearing, as he had +seen the pale glow of the northern sun fade before a thickening snow. +He stretched his long, gaunt arms straight up to the low roof of the +cabin, and for the first time in his life he prayed--prayed to the God +who had made for him this world of snow and ice and endless forest +very near to the dome of the earth, who had given him this woman, and +who was now taking her from him. + +When he looked again at the woman, her eyes were open, and there +glowed in them still the feeble fire of a great love. Her lips, too, +pleaded with him in their old, sweet way, which always meant that he +was to kiss them, and stroke her hair, and tell her again that she was +the most beautiful thing in the whole world. + +"My Mélisse!" + +He crushed his face to her, his sobbing breath smothering itself in +the soft masses of her hair, while her arms rose weakly and fell +around his neck. He heard the quick, gasping struggle for breath +within her bosom, and, faintly again, the words: + +"It--is--the--music--of--my--people!" + +"It is the music of the angels in the skies, my sweet Mélisse! It is +OUR music. I will open the door." + +The arms had slipped from his shoulders. Gently he ran his rough +fingers through the loose glory of the woman's hair, and stroked her +face as softly as he might have caressed the cheek of a sleeping +child. + +"I will open the door, Mélisse." + +His moccasined feet made no sound as he moved across the little room +which was their home. At the door he paused and listened; then he +opened it, and the floods of the white night poured in upon him as he +stood with his eyes turned to where the cold, pale flashes of the +aurora were playing over the pole. There came to him the hissing, +saddening song of the northern lights--a song of vast, unending +loneliness, which they two had come to know as the music of the skies. + +Beyond that mystery-music there was no sound. To the eyes of John +Cummins there was no visible movement of life. And yet he saw signs of +it--signs which drew his breath from him in choking gulps, and which +sent him out into the night, so that the woman might not hear. + +It was an hour past midnight at the post, which had the Barren Lands +at its back door. It was the hour of deep slumber for its people; but +to-night there was no sleep for any of them. Lights burned dimly in +the few rough log homes. The company's store was aglow, and the +factor's office, a haven for the men of the wilderness, shot one +gleaming yellow eye out into the white gloom. The post was awake. It +was waiting. It was listening. It was watching. + +As the woman's door opened, wide and brimful of light, a door of one +of the log houses opened, and then another, and out into the night, +like dim shadows, trod the moccasined men from the factor's office, +and stood there waiting for the word of life or death from John +Cummins. In their own fashion these men, who, without knowing it, +lived very near to the ways of God, sent mute prayers into the starry +heavens that the most beautiful thing in the world might yet be spared +to them. + +It was just two summers before that this beautiful thing had come into +Cummins' life, and into the life of the post. Cummins, red-headed, +lithe as a cat, big-souled as the eternal mountain of the Crees, and +the best of the company's hunters, had brought Mélisse thither as his +bride. Seventeen rough hearts had welcomed her. They had assembled +about that little cabin in which the light was shining now, speechless +in their adoration of this woman who had come among them, their caps +in their hands, their faces shining, their eyes shifting before the +glorious ones that looked at them and smiled at them as the woman +shook their hands, one by one. + +Perhaps she was not strictly beautiful, as most people judge; but she +was beautiful here, four hundred miles beyond civilization. Mukee, the +half-Cree, had never seen a white woman, for even the factor's wife +was part Chippewayan; and no one of the others went down to the edge +of the southern wilderness more than once each twelvemonth or so. + +Melisse's hair was brown and soft, and it shone with a sunny glory +that reached far back into their conception of things dreamed of but +never seen. Her eyes were as blue as the early wild flowers that came +after the spring floods, and her voice was the sweetest sound that had +ever fallen upon their ears. So these men thought when Cummins first +brought home his wife, and the masterpiece which each had painted in +his soul and brain was never changed. Each week and month added to the +deep-toned value of that picture, as the passing of a century might +add to a Raphael or a Vandyke. + +The woman became more human, and less an angel, of course, but that +only made her more real, and allowed them to become acquainted with +her, to talk with her, and to love her more. There was no thought of +wrong, for the devotion of these men was a great, passionless love +unhinting of sin. Cummins and his wife accepted it, and added to it +when they could, and were the happiest pair in all that vast +Northland. + +The girl--she was scarce more than budding into womanhood--fell +happily into the ways of her new life. She did nothing that was +elementally unusual, nothing more than any pure woman reared in the +love of God and of a home would have done. In her spare hours she +began to teach the half-dozen wild little children about the post, and +every Sunday she told them wonderful stories out of the Bible. She +ministered to the sick, for that was a part of her code of life. +Everywhere she carried her glad smile, her cheery greeting, her +wistful earnestness, to brighten what seemed to her the sad and lonely +lives of these silent men of the North. + +And she succeeded, not because she was unlike other millions of her +kind, but because of the difference between the fortieth degree and +the sixtieth--the difference in the viewpoint of men who fought +themselves into moral shreds in the big game of life and those who +lived a thousand miles nearer to the dome of the earth. + +A few days before there had come a wonderful event in the history of +the company's post. A new life was born into the little cabin of +Cummins and his wife. After this the silent, wordless worship of their +people was filled with something very near to pathos. Cummins' wife +was a mother! She was one of them now, an indissoluble part of their +existence--a part of it as truly as the strange lights for ever +hovering over the pole, as surely as the countless stars that never +left the night skies, as surely as the endless forests and the deep +snows! + +Then had come the sudden change, and the gloom, that brought with it +the shadow of death, fell like a pall upon the post, stifling its +life, and bringing with it a grief that those who lived there had +never known before. + +There came to them no word from Cummins now. + +He stood for a moment before his lighted door, and then went back, and +the word passed softly from one to another that the most beautiful +thing in the world was still living her sweet life in that little +cabin at the end of the clearing. + +"You hear the music in the skies--now, my Mélisse?" whispered the man, +kneeling beside her again. "It is very pretty to-night!" + +"It was not that," repeated the woman. + +She attempted to stroke his face, but Cummins saw nothing of the +effort, for the hand lay all but motionless. He saw nothing of the +fading softness that glowed in the big, loving eyes, for his own eyes +were blinded by a hot film. And the woman saw nothing of the hot film, +so torture was saved them both. But suddenly the woman quivered, and +Cummins heard a thrilling sound. + +"It is the music!" she panted. "John, John, it is--the music--of--my-- +people!" + +The man straightened himself, his face turned to the open door. He +heard it now! Was it the blessed angels coming for his Mélisse? He +rose, a sobbing note in his throat, and went, his arms stretched out, +to meet them. He had never heard a sound like that--never in all his +life in this endless wilderness. + +He went from the door out into the night, and, step by step, through +the snow toward the black edge of the spruce forest. The sobs fell +chokingly from his lips, and his arms were still reaching out to greet +this messenger of the God of his beloved; for Cummins was a man of the +wild and mannerless ways of a savage world, and he knew not what to +make of this sweetness that came to them from out of the depths of the +black forest. + +"My Mélisse! My Mélisse!" he sobbed. + +A figure came from the shadows, and with the figure came the music, +sweet and soft and low. John Cummins stopped and turned his face +straight up to the sky. His heart died within him. + +The music ceased, and when he looked again the figure was close to +him, staggering as it walked, and a face white and thin and starved +came with it. It was a boy's face. + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" he heard, and the +thin figure swayed and fell almost into his arms. The voice came weak +again. "Thees is Jan--Jan Thoreau--and his violon--" + +The woman's bloodless face and her great staring dark eyes greeted +them as they entered the cabin. As the man knelt beside her again, and +lifted her head against his breast, she whispered once more: + +"It is the--music--of my people--the violin!" + +John Cummins turned his head. + +"Play!" he breathed. + +"Ah, the white angel is seek--ver' seek," murmured Jan, and he drew +his bow gently across the strings of his violin. + +From the instrument there came something so soft and sweet that John +Cummins closed his eyes as he held the woman against his breast and +listened. Not until he opened them again, and felt a strange chill +against his cheek, did he know that his beloved's soul had gone from +him on the gentle music of Jan Thoreau's violin. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MUKEE'S STORY + + +For many minutes after the last gentle breath had passed from the +woman's lips, Jan Thoreau played softly upon his violin. It was the +great, heart-broken sob of John Cummins that stopped him. As tenderly +as if she had fallen into a sweet sleep from which he feared to awaken +her, the man unclasped his arms and lowered his wife's head to the +pillow; and with staring black eyes Jan crushed his violin against his +ragged breast and watched him as he smoothed back the shimmering hair +and looked long and hungrily into the still, white face. + +Cummins turned to him, and, in the dim light of the cabin, their eyes +met. It was then that Jan Thoreau knew what had happened. He forgot +his starvation. He crushed his violin closer, and whispered to +himself: + +"The white angel ees--gone!" + +Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly, like a man who had suddenly +grown old. His moccasined feet dragged as he went to the door. They +stumbled when he went out into the pale star-glow of the night. + +Jan followed, swaying weakly, for the last of his strength had gone in +the playing of the violin. Midway in the cabin he paused, and his eyes +glowed with a wild, strange grief as he gazed down upon the still face +of Cummins' wife, beautiful in death as it had been in life, and with +the sweet softness of life still lingering there. Some time, ages and +ages ago, he had known such a face, and had felt the great clutching +love of it. + +Something drew him to where John Cummins had knelt, and he fell upon +his knees and gazed hungrily and longingly where John Cummins had +gazed. His pulse was beating feebly, the weakness of seven days' +starvation blurred his eyes, and unconsciously he sank over the bed +and one of his thin hands touched the soft sweep of the woman's hair. +A stifled cry fell from him as he jerked himself rigidly erect; and as +if for the desecration of that touch there was but one way of +forgiveness, he drew his violin half to his shoulder, and for a few +moments played so softly that none but the spirit of the woman and +himself could hear. + +Cummins had partly closed the door after him; but watchers had seen +the opening of it. A door opened here, and another there, and paths of +yellow light flashed over the hard-trodden snow as shadowy life came +forth to greet what message he brought from the little cabin. + +Beyond those flashes of light there was no other movement, and no +sound. Dark figures stood motionless. The lonely howl of a sledge-dog +ended in a wail of pain as some one kicked it into terrified silence. +The hollow cough of Mukee's father was smothered in the thick fur of +his cap as he thrust his head from his little shack in the edge of the +forest. A score of eyes watched Cummins as he came out into the snow, +and the rough, loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed in fearful +anticipation of the word he might be bringing to them. + +Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe in the last moments of its dying +chief, and the black wings of calamity gather over its people, +enshrouding them in a strange gloom and a stranger fear; and so, +because the greatest of all tragedies had come into their little +world, Cummins' people were speechless in their grief and their +waiting for the final word. And when the word came to them at last, +and passed from lip to lip, and from one grim, tense face to another, +the doors closed again, and the lights went out one by one, until +there remained only the yellow eye of the factor's office and the +faint glow from the little cabin in which John Cummins knelt with his +sobbing face crushed close to that of his dead. + +There was no one who noticed Jan Thoreau when he came through the door +of the factor's office. His coat of caribou-skin was in tatters. His +feet thrust themselves from the toes of his moccasins. His face was so +thin and white that it shone with the pallor of death from its frame +of straight dark hair. His eyes gleamed like black diamonds. The +madness of hunger was in him. + +An hour before, death had been gripping at his throat, when he +stumbled upon the lights of the post, That night he would have died in +the deep snows. Wrapped in its thick coat of bearskin he clutched his +violin to his breast, and sank down in a ragged heap beside the hot +stove. His eyes traveled about him in fierce demand. There is no +beggary among these strong-souled men of the far North, and Jan's lips +did not beg. He unwrapped the bearskin, and whispered: + +"For the museek of the violon--somet'ing to eat!" + +He played, even as the words fell from him, but only for a moment--for +the bow slipped from his nerveless grip and his head sank forward upon +his breast. + +In the half-Cree's eyes there was something of the wild beauty that +gleamed in Jan's. For an instant those eyes had met in the savage +recognition of blood; and when Jan's head fell weakly, and his violin +slipped to the floor, Mukee lifted him in his strong arms and carried +him to the shack in the edge of the spruce and balsam. + +And there was no one who noticed Jan the next day--except Mukee. He +was fed. His frozen blood grew warm. As life returned, he felt more +and more the pall of gloom that had settled over this spark of life in +the heart of the wilderness. He had seen the woman, in life and in +death, and he, too, loved her and grieved that she was no more. He +said nothing; he asked nothing; but he saw the spirit of adoration in +the sad, tense faces of the men. He saw it in the terror-stricken eyes +of the wild little children who had grown to worship Cummins' wife. He +read it in the slinking stillness of the dogs, in the terrible, +pulseless quiet that had settled about him. + +It was not hard for Jan to understand, for he, too, worshiped the +memory of a white, sweet face like the one that he had seen in the +cabin. He knew that this worship at Lac Bain was a pure worship, for +the honor of the big snows was a part of his soul. It was his +religion, and the religion of these others who lived four hundred +miles or more from a southern settlement. + +It meant what civilization could not understand--freezing and slow +starvation rather than theft, and respect for the tenth commandment +above all other things. It meant that up here, under the cold chill of +the northern skies, things were as God meant them to be, and that a +few of His creatures could live in a love that was neither possession +nor sin. + +A year after Cummins brought his wife into the North, a man came to +the post from Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay. He was an Englishman, +belonging to the home office of the Hudson's Bay Company in London. He +brought with him something new, as the woman had brought something +new; only in this instance it was an element of life which Cummins' +people could not understand. + +It breathed of tragedy from the first, to the men of the post. To the +Englishman, on the other hand, it promised to be but an incident--a +passing adventure in pleasure. Here again was that difference of +viewpoint--the eternity of difference between the middle and the end +of the earth. + +Cummins was away for a month on a trap-line that went into the Barren +Lands. At these times the woman fell as a heritage to those who +remained, and they watched over her as a parent might guard its child. +Yet the keenest eyes would not have perceived that this was so. + +With Cummins gone, the tragedy progressed swiftly toward finality. The +Englishman came from among women. For months he had been in a torment +of desolation. Cummins' wife was to him like a flower suddenly come to +relieve the tantalizing barrenness of a desert; and with the wiles and +ways of civilization he sought to breathe its fragrance. + +In the days and weeks that followed, he talked a great deal, when +heated by the warmth of the box stove and by his own thoughts; and +this was because he had not yet measured the hearts of Cummins' +people. And because the woman knew nothing of what was said about the +box stove, she continued in the even course of her pure life, neither +resisting nor encouraging the new-comer, yet ever tempting him with +that sweetness which she gave to all alike. + +As yet there was no suspicion in her soul. She accepted the +Englishman's friendship, for he was a stranger among her people. She +did not hear the false note, she saw no step that promised evil. Only +the men at the post heard, and saw, and understood. + +Like so many faithful beasts, they were ready to spring, to rend +flesh, to tear life out of him who threatened the desecration of all +that was good and pure and beautiful to them; and yet, dumb in their +devotion and faith, they waited and watched for a sign from the woman. +The blue eyes of Cummins' wife, the words of her gentle lips, the +touch of her hands, had made law at the post. If she smiled upon the +stranger and talked with him, and was pleased with him, that was only +one other law that she had made for them to respect. So they were +quiet, evaded the Englishman as much as possible, and watched--always +watched. + +One day something happened. Cummins' wife came into the company's +store; and a quick flush shot into her cheeks, and the glitter of blue +diamonds into her eyes, when she saw the stranger standing there. The +man's red face grew redder, and he shifted his gaze. When Cummins' +wife passed him, she drew her skirt close to her; and there was the +poise of a queen in her head, the glory of wife and womanhood, the +living, breathing essence of all that was beautiful in her people's +honor of the big snows. + +That night Mukee, the half-Cree, slunk around in the edge of the +forest to see that all was well in Cummins' little home. Once Mukee +had suffered a lynx-bite that went clear to the bone, and the woman +had saved his hand. After that, the savage in him was enslaved to her +like an invisible spirit. + +He crouched for a few minutes in the snow, looking at the pale filter +of light that came through a hole in the curtain of the woman's +window; and as he looked something came between him and the light. +Against the cabin he saw the shadow of a sneaking human form; and as +silently as the steely flash of the aurora over his head, as swiftly +as a lean deer, he sped through the gloom of the forest's edge and +came up behind the woman's home. + +With the caution of a lynx, his head close to the snow, he peered +around the logs. It was the Englishman who stood looking through the +tear in that curtained window. + +Mukee's moccasined feet made no sound. His hand fell as gently as a +child's upon the stranger's arm. + +"Thees is not the honor of the beeg snows," he whispered. "Come!" + +A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was +soft and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went +with the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a +companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman +chuckled. + +Then Mukee's hands changed. They flew to the thick, reddening throat +of the man from civilization, and without a sound the two sank +together upon the snow. + +The next day a messenger behind six dogs set out for Fort Churchill, +with word for the company's home office that the Englishman had died +in the big snow--which was true. + +Mukee told this to Jan, for there was the bond of blood between them. +It was a painting of life, and love, and purity. Deep down in the +loneliness of his heart, Jan Thoreau, in his own simple way, thanked +the great God that it had been given to him to play his violin as the +woman died. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +LITTLE MELISSE + + +The passing of Cummins' wife was as quiet as had been her coming. With +bare heads, their shaggy hair falling wildly about their faces, their +lips set tight to choke back their grief, the few at the post went, +one by one, into the little cabin, and gazed for the last time upon +her face. There was but one sound other than the gentle tread of their +moccasined feet, and that was a catching, sobbing moan that fell from +the thick gray beard of Williams, the old factor. + +After that they carried her to where a clearing had been cut in the +edge of the forest; and at the foot of a giant spruce, towering +sentinel-like to the sky, they lowered her into the frozen earth. +Gaspingly, Williams stumbled over the words on a ragged page that had +been torn from a Bible. The rough men who stood about him bowed their +wild heads upon their breasts, and sobs broke from them. + +At last Williams stopped his reading, stretched his long arms above +his head, and cried chokingly: + +"The great God keep Mees Cummins!" + +As the earth fell, there came from the edge of the forest the low, +sweet music of Jan Thoreau's violin. No man in all the world could +have told what he played, for it was the music of Jan's soul, wild and +whispering of the winds, sweetened by some strange inheritance that +had come to him with the picture which he carried in his throbbing +heart. + +He played until only the tall spruce and John Cummins stood over the +lone grave. When he stopped, the man turned to him, and they went +together to the little cabin where the woman had lived. + +There was something new in the cabin now--a tiny, white, breathing +thing over which an Indian woman watched. The boy stood beside John +Cummins, looking down upon it, and trembling. + +"Ah," he whispered, his great eyes glowing. "It ees the LEETLE white +angel!" + +"It is the little Mélisse," replied the man. + +He dropped upon his knees, with his sad face close to the new life +that was to take the place of the one that had just gone out. Jan felt +something tugging in a strange way at his heart, and he, too, fell +upon his knees beside John Cummins in this first worship of the child. + +From this hour of their first kneeling before the little life in the +cabin, something sprang up between Jan Thoreau and John Cummins which +it would have been hard for man to break. Looking up after many +moments' contemplation of the little Mélisse, Jan gazed straight into +Cummins' face, and whispered softly the word which in Cree means +"father." This was Jan's first word for Mélisse. + +When he looked back, the baby was wriggling and kicking as he had seen +tiny wolf-whelps wriggle and kick before their eyes were open. His +beautiful eyes laughed. As cautiously as if he were playing with hot +iron, he reached out a thin hand, and when one of his fingers suddenly +fell upon something very soft and warm, he jerked it back as quickly +as if he had been burned. + +That night, when Jan picked up his violin to go back to Mukee's cabin, +Cummins put his two big hands on the boy's shoulders and said: + +"Jan, who are you, and where did you come from?" + +Jan stretched his arm vaguely to the north. + +"Jan Thoreau," he replied simply. "Thees is my violon. We come alone +through the beeg snow." + +Cummins stared as if he saw a wonderful picture in the boy's eyes. He +dropped his hands, and walked to the door. When they stood alone +outside, he pointed up to the stars, and to the mist-like veil of +silver light that the awakening aurora was spreading over the northern +skies. + +"Get your bearings, and tell me again where you came from, Jan!" + +Unhesitatingly the boy pointed into the north. + +"We starve seven day in the beeg snow. My violon keep the wolf off at +night." + +"Look again, Jan! Didn't you come from there, or there, or there?" + +Cummins turned slowly, facing first to the east and Hudson's Bay, then +to the south, and lastly to the west. There was something more than +curiosity in the tense face that came back in staring inquiry to Jan +Thoreau. + +The boy hunched his shoulders, and his eyes flashed. + +"It ees not lie that Jan Thoreau and hees violon come through the beeg +snow," he replied softly. "It ees not lie!" + +There was more than gentleness in John Cummins' touch now. Jan could +not understand it, but he yielded to it, and went back into the cabin. +There was more than friendship in Cummins' eyes when he placed his +hands again upon the boy's shoulders, and Jan could not understand +that. + +"There is plenty of room here--now," said Cummins huskily. "Will you +stay with the little Mélisse and me?" + +"With the leetle Mélisse!" gasped the boy. Softly he sped to the tiny +cot and knelt beside it, his thin shoulders hunched over, his long +black hair shining lustrously in the lamp-glow, his breath coming in +quick, sobbing happiness. "I--I--stay with the leetle white angel for +ever and ever!" he whispered, his words meant only for the unhearing +ears of the child. "Jan Thoreau will stay, yes--and hees violon! I +give it to you--and ze museek!" + +He laid his precious violin across the foot of the cot. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE PROBLEM + + +In the days that followed, there came other things which Jan could not +understand, and which he made no great effort to understand. He talked +little, even to Cummins. He listened, and his eyes would answer, or he +would reply with strange, eery little hunches of his shoulders, which +ruffled up his hair. To the few simple souls at the post, he brought +with him more than his starved body from out of the unknown +wilderness. This was the chief cause of those things which he could +not understand. + +No man learned more of him than had Cummins. Even to Mukee, his +history was equally simple and short. Always he said that he came from +out of the north--which meant the Barren Lands; and the Barren Lands +meant death. No man had ever come across them as Jan had come; and at +another time, and under other circumstances, Cummins and his people +would have believed him mad. + +But others had listened to that strange, sweet music that came to them +from out of the forest on the night when the woman died, and they, +like Cummins, had been stirred by thrilling thoughts. They knew little +of God, as God is preached; but they knew a great deal about Him in +other ways. They knew that Jan Thoreau had come like a messenger from +the angels, that the woman's soul had gone out to meet him, and that +she had died sweetly on John Cummins' breast while he played. So the +boy, with his thin, sensitive face and his great, beautiful eyes, +became a part of what the woman had left behind for them to love. As a +part of her they accepted him, without further questioning as to who +he was or whence he came. + +In a way, he made up for her loss. The woman had brought something new +and sweet into their barren lives, and he brought something new and +sweet--the music of his violin. He played for them in the evening, in +the factor's office; and at these times they knew that Cummins' wife +was very near to them and that she was speaking to them through the +things which Jan Thoreau played. + +Music had long passed out of their lives. Into some, indeed, it had +never come. Years ago, Williams had been at a post where there was an +accordion. Cummins had heard music when he went down to civilization +for his wife, more than two years ago. To the others it was mystery +which stirred them to the depths of their souls, and which revealed to +them many things that had long been hidden in the dust of the past. + +These were hours of triumph for Jan in the factor's office. Perched on +a box, with his back to the wall, his head thrown back, his black eyes +shining, his long hair giving to his face a half savage beauty, he was +more than king to the grim-visaged men about him. They listened, +movelessly, soundlessly; and when he stopped there was still neither +move nor sound until he had wrapped his violin in its bear-skin and +had returned to John Cummins and the little Mélisse. Jan understood +the silence, and took it for what it meant. + +But it was the audience in the little cabin that Jan liked best, and, +most of all, he loved to have the little Mélisse alone. As the days of +early spring trapping approached, and the wilderness for a hundred +miles around the post was crisscrossed with the trails of the Cree and +Chippewayan fur-seekers, Cummins was absent for days at a time, +strengthening the company's friendships, and bargaining for the catch +that would be coming to market about eight weeks later. + +This was a year of intense rivalry, for the Révillons, French +competitors of the company, had established a post two hundred miles +to the west, and rumor spread that they were to give sixty pounds of +flour to the company's forty, and four feet of cloth to the yard. This +meant action among Williams and his people, and the factor himself +plunged into the wilderness. Mukee, the half-Cree, went among his +scattered tribesmen along the edge of the barrens, stirring them by +the eloquence of new promises and by fierce condemnation of the +interlopers to the west. Old Per-ee, with a strain of Eskimo in him, +went boldly behind his dogs to meet the little black people from +farther north, who came down after foxes and half-starved polar bears +that had been carried beyond their own world on the ice-floes of the +preceding spring. Young Williams, the factor's son, followed after +Cummins, and the rest of the company's men went into the south and +east. + +The exodus left desolate lifelessness at the post. The windows of the +fireless cabins were thick with clinging frost. There was no movement +in the factor's office. The dogs were gone, and wolves and lynx +sniffed closer each night. In the oppression of this desertion, the +few Indian and half-breed children kept indoors, and Williams' +Chippewayan wife, fat and lazy, left the company's store securely +locked. + +In this silence and lifelessness Jan Thoreau felt a new and ever- +increasing happiness. To him the sound of life was a thing vibrant +with harshness; quiet--the dead, pulseless quiet of lifelessness--was +beautiful. He dreamed in it, and it was then that his fingers +discovered new things in his violin. + +He often sent Maballa, the Indian woman who cared for Mélisse, to +gossip with Williams' wife, so that he was alone a great deal with the +baby. At these times, when the door was safely barred against the +outside world, it was a different Jan Thoreau who crouched upon his +knees beside the cot. His face was aflame with a great, absorbing +passion which at other times he concealed. His beautiful eyes glowed +with hidden fires, and he whispered soothing, singsong things to the +child, and played softly upon his violin, leaning his black head far +down so that the baby Mélisse could clutch her appreciative fingers in +his hair. + +"Ah, ze sweet leetle white angel!" he would cry, as she tugged and +kicked. "I luf you so--I luf you, an' will stay always, ah' play ze +violon! Ah, mon Dieu, you will be ze gr-r-r-eat bea-utiful white angel +lak--HER!" + +He would laugh and coo like a mother, and talk, for at these times Jan +Thoreau's tongue was as voluble as his violin. + +Sometimes Mélisse listened as if she understood the wonderful things +he was telling her. She would lie upon her back with her eyes fixed +upon him, her little red fists doubled over his bow, or a thumb thrust +into her mouth. And the longer she lay like this, gazing at him +blankly, the more convinced Jan became that she was understanding him; +and his voice grew soft and low, and his eyes shone with a soft mist +as he told her those things which John Cummins would have given much +to know. + +"Some day you shall understand why it happened, sweet Mélisse," he +whispered, bringing his eyes so near that she reached up an inquiring +finger to them. "Then you will luf Jan Thoreau!" + +There were other times when Jan did not talk, but when the baby +Mélisse talked to him; and these were moments of even greater joy. +With the baby wriggling and kicking, and making queer noises in her +tiny cot, he would sit silently upon his heels, watching her with the +pride and happiness of a mother lynx in the first tumbling frolics of +her kittens. + +Once, when Mélisse straightened herself for an instant, and half +reached up her tiny arms to him, laughing and cooing into his face, he +gave a glad cry, crushed his face down to hers, and did what he had +not dared to do before--kissed her. There was something about it that +frightened the little Mélisse, and she set up a wailing that sent Jan, +in a panic of dismay, for Maballa. It was a long time before he +ventured to kiss her again. + +It was during this fortnight of desolation at the post that Jan +discovered the big problem for himself and John Cummins. In the last +days of the second week, he spent much of his time skirting the edge +of the barrens in search of caribou, that there might be meat in +plenty when the dogs and men returned a little later. One afternoon, +he returned early, while the pale sun was still in the sky, laden with +the meat of a musk-ox. As he came from the edge of the forest, his +slender body doubled over under the weight of his pack, a terrifying +sight greeted him in the little clearing at the post. + +Upon her knees in front of their cabin was Maballa, industriously +rolling the half-naked little Mélisse about in a soft pile of snow, +and doing her work, as she firmly believed, in a most faithful and +thorough manner. With a shriek, Jan threw off his pack and darted +toward her like a wild thing. + +"Sacre bleu--you keel--keel ze leetle Mélisse!" he cried shrilly, +snatching up the half-frozen child, "Mon Dieu, she ees not papoose! +She ees ceevilize--ceevilize!" and he ran swiftly with her into the +cabin, flinging back a torrent of Cree anathema at the dumbly +bewildered Maballa. + +Jan left the rest of his musk-ox to the wolves and foxes. He went out +into the snow, and found half a dozen other snow-wallows in which the +helpless Mélisse had taken her chilling baths. He watched Maballa with +a new growing terror, and fifty times a day he said to her: + +"Mélisse ees not papoose! She ees ceevilize--lak HER!" And he would +point to the lonely grave under the guardian spruce. + +At last Maballa went into an ecstasy of understanding. Mélisse was not +to be taken out and rolled in the snow; so she brought in the snow and +rolled it over Mélisse! + +When Jan discovered this, his tongue twisted itself into sounds so +terrible, and his face writhed so fiercely, that Maballa began to +comprehend that thereafter no snow at all, either out doors or in, was +to be used in the physical development of the little Mélisse. + +This was the beginning of the problem, and it grew and burst forth in +all its significance on the day before Cummins came in from the +wilderness. + +For a week Maballa had been dropping sly hints of a wonderful thing +which she and the factor's half-breed wife were making for the baby. +Jan had visions of a gorgeous garment covered with beads and gaudy +braid, which would give the little Mélisse unending delight. On the +day before Cummins' arrival, Jan came in from chopping wood, and went +to the cot. It was empty. Maballa was gone. A sudden fear thrilled him +to the marrow, and he sprang back to the cabin door, ready to shriek +out the Indian woman's name. + +A sound stopped him--the softest, sweetest sound in all the world to +Jan Thoreau--and he whirled around like a cat. Mélisse was smiling and +making queer, friendly little signals to him from the table. She was +standing upright, wedged in a coffin-shaped thing from which only her +tiny white face peered out at him; and Jan knew that this was +Maballa's surprise, Mélisse was in a papoose-sling! + +"Mélisse, I say you shall be no papoose!" he cried, running to the +table. "You ees ceevilize! You shall be no papoose--not if twen' +t'ous'nd devil come tak Jan Thoreau!" + +And he snatched her from her prison, flung Maballa's handiwork out +into the snow, and waited impatiently for the return of John Cummins. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LOVE PATCHES + + +Cummins returned the next day--not that his work among the wild +trappers to the south was finished, but because he had suffered a hurt +in falling from a slippery ledge. When Jan, from his wood-chopping in +the edge of the forest, saw the team race up to the little cabin and a +strange Cree half carry the wounded man through the door, he sped +swiftly across the open with visions of new misfortune before him. + +What he saw when he reached the door was reassuring. Cummins was upon +his knees beside the cot, his big shoulders hunched over, and Mélisse +was welcoming him with her whole vocabulary of sound. The injury to +Cummins' leg was not serious; and not being serious, it was accepted +as a special incident of Providence by Jan, for the new thoughts that +had come into his head were causing him great uneasiness. + +He lost no time in revealing his fears, after Maballa had been sent to +the factor's wife. With graphic gesture he told of what had happened. +Cummins hobbled to the door to look upon the wallows in the snow, and +hobbled back to the table when Jan ran there in excited imitation of +the way in which he had found the little Mélisse in Maballa's sling. + +"She ees ceevilize!" finished Jan hotly. "She ees not papoose! She +mus' be lak--HER!" His great eyes shone, and Cummins felt a thickening +in his throat as he looked into them and saw what the boy meant. +"Maballa mak papoose out of Mélisse. She grow--know not'ing, lak +papoose, talk lak papoose--" + +Jan's feelings overwhelmed his tongue. His shining hair rumpled +thickly about his face as he leaned anxiously toward Cummins; and +Cummins, in turn, stared down in dumb perplexity upon the joyful +kickings and wrigglings of the growing problem. + +"Ees she not ceevilize?" demanded Jan ecstatically, bending his black +head over her. "Ah, ze sweet Mélisse!" + +"Yes, she must be like HER, Jan--just as good and just as sweet and +just as beautiful," interrupted Cummins gently. + +There was a quick intaking of his breath as he hobbled back to his own +cot, leaving Jan at play with the baby. + +That night, in the dim, sputtering glow of an oil-lamp, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau solemnly set to work to thrash out the great problem +that had suddenly entered into their existence. To these two there was +no element of humor in what they were doing, for into their keeping +had been given a thing for which God had not schemed them. The woman, +had she been there, would have laughed at them, and in a dozen gentle +breaths might have told them all that the world held in secret between +mother and child; but, leaving them, she had passed on to them +something that was life, like herself, and yet mystery. + +Had fate given Maballa to Mélisse for a mother there would have been +no mystery. She would have developed as naturally as a wolf-whelp or a +lynx-kitten, a savage breath of life in a savage world, waxing fat in +snow-baths, arrow-straight in papoose-slings, a moving, natural thing +in a desolation to which generations and centuries of forebears had +given it birthright. But Mélisse was like her mother. In the dreams of +the two who were planning out her fate, she was to be a reincarnation +of her mother. That dream left a ray of comfort in Cummins' breast +when his wife died. It stirred happy visions within Jan. And it ended +with a serious shock when Maballa brought into their mental +perspective of things the possibilities of environment. + +So far as Cummins knew, there was not a white woman nearer than Fort +Churchill, two hundred miles away. In all that region he knew of only +two full-white men, and they were Williams and himself. The baby +Mélisse was hopelessly lost in a world of savagery; honest, loyal, +big-souled savagery--but savagery for all that, and the thought of it +brought the shadows of fear and foreboding to the two into whose lives +the problem had just come. + +Long into the night they talked seriously of the matter, while Mélisse +slept; and the longer they talked, the greater loomed the problem +before them. Cummins fancied that he already began to see signs of the +transformation in Mélisse. She was passionately fond of the gaudy +things Maballa gave her, which was a sign of savagery. She was charmed +by confinement in the papoose-sling, which was another sign of it; and +she had not died in the snow-wallows--which was still another. + +So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into finger- +touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they +determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be +ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children +would not be allowed to come near Mélisse. They two--John Cummins and +Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the +sentinel spruce. + +"She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her +ceevilize!" + +Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Mélisse was +four months and eighteen days old! + +"To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the +baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the +papoose-slings!" + +"An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing. +"That ees ceevilize!" + +Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a +calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room. + +"There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling +thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped +upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt +beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing +catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast. "Now +--we will give them--to Mélisse." + +He drew the books out, one by one, his fingers trembling and his +breath coming quickly as he touched them--a dozen worn, dusty things, +holding within them more than John Cummins would ever know of the +woman he had lost. These volumes of dead voices had come with her into +the wilderness from that other world she had known. They breathed the +pathos of her love from out of their ragged pages, mended in a hundred +places to keep them from falling into utter ruin. Slowly the man +gathered them against his breast, and held them there silently, as he +might have held the woman, fighting hard to keep back his grief. + +Jan thrust a hand deeper into the box, and brought forth something +else--a few magazines and papers, as ragged and worn as the books. In +these other treasures there were pictures--pictures of the things in +civilization, which Jan had never seen, and which were too wonderful +for him to comprehend at first. His eyes burned excitedly as he held +up a gaudily covered fashion paper to John Cummins. + +"Theese are picture for Mélisse!" he whispered tensely. "We teach her +--we show her--we mak her know about ceevilize people!" + +Cummins replaced the books, one at a time, and each he held tenderly +for a moment, wiping and blowing away the dust gathered upon it. At +the last one of all, which was more ragged and worn than the others, +he gazed for a long time. It was a little Bible, his wife's Bible, +finger-worn, patched, pathetic in its poverty. The man gulped hard. + +"She loved this, Jan," he said huskily. "She loved this worn, old book +more than anything else, and little Mélisse must love it also. Mélisse +must be a Christian." + +"Ah, yes, ze leetle Mélisse mus' love ze great God!" said Jan softly. + +Cummins rose to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the +sleeping baby. + +"A missionary is coming over from Fort Churchill to talk to our +trappers when they come in. She shall be baptized!" + +Like a cat Jan was on his feet, his eyes flashing, his long, thin +fingers clenched, his body quivering with a terrible excitement. + +"No--no--not baptize by missioner!" he cried. "She shall be good, an' +love ze great God, but not baptize by missioner! No--no--no!" + +Cummins turned upon him in astonishment. Before him Jan Thoreau stood +for a minute like one gone mad, his whole being consumed in a passion +terrible to look upon. Lithe giant of muscle and, fearlessness that he +was, Cummins involuntarily drew back a step, and the mainspring of +instinct within him prompted him to lift a hand, as if to ward off a +leaping thing from his breast. + +Jan noted the backward step, the guarded uplift of hand, and with an +agonized cry he buried his face in his hands. In another instant he +had turned, and, before Cummins' startled voice found words, had +opened the door and run out into the night. The man saw him darting +swiftly toward the forest, and called to him, but there was no +response. + +There was a hot fire burning in Jan's brain, a blazing, writhing +contortion of things that brought a low moaning from his lips. He ran +tirelessly and swiftly until he sank down upon the snow in a silent +place far from where he had left John Cummins. His eyes still blazed +with their strange fire upon the desolation about him, his fingers +clenched and unclenched themselves, digging their nails into his +flesh, and he spoke softly to himself, over and over again, the name +of the little Mélisse. + +Painting itself each instant more plainly through the tumult of his +emotions was what Jan had come to know as the picture in his brain. +Shadowy and indistinct at first, in pale, elusive lines of mental +fabric, he saw the picture growing; and in its growth he saw first the +soft, sweet outlines of a woman's face, and then great luring eyes, +dark like his own--and before these eyes, which gazed upon him with +overwhelming love, all else faded away from before Jan Thoreau. The +fire went out of his eyes, his fingers relaxed, and after a little +while he got up out of the snow, shivering, and went back to the +cabin. + +Cummins asked no questions. He looked at Jan from his cot, and watched +the boy silently as he undressed and went to bed; and in the morning +the whole incident passed from his mind. The intangible holds but +little fascination for the simple folk who live under the Arctic +Circle. Their struggle is with life, their joys are in its +achievement, in their constant struggle to keep life running strong +and red within them. Such an existence of solitude and of strife with +nature leaves small room for curiosity. So the nature of John Cummins +led him to forget what had happened, as he would have forgotten the +senseless running away of a sledge-dog, and its subsequent return. He +saw no tragedy, and no promise of tragedy, in the thing that had +occurred. + +There was no recurrence of the strange excitement in Jan. He gave no +hint of it in word or action, and the thing seemed to be forgotten +between the two. + +The education of the little Mélisse began at once, while the post was +still deserted. It began, first of all, with Maballa. She stared +dumbly and with shattered faith at these two creatures who told her of +wonderful things in the upbringing of a child--things of which she had +never so much as heard rumor before. Her mother instincts were +aroused, but with Cree stoicism she made no betrayal of them. + +The leather-tanned immobility of her face underwent no whit of change +when Cummins solemnly declared that the little Mélisse was about to +begin teething. She sat grimly and watched them in silence when +between them, upon a bearskin stretched on the floor, they tried +vainly to persuade Mélisse to use her feet. + +It was great fun for Mélisse, and she enjoyed it immensely; so that as +the days passed, and the post still remained deserted, John Cummins +and Jan Thoreau spent much of their time upon their knees. In their +eyes, the child's progress was remarkable. They saw in her an +unceasing physical growth, and countless symptoms of forthcoming +mental development. She delighted to pull the strings of Jan's violin, +which was an unmistakable token of her musical genius. She went into +ecstasies over the gaudy plates in the fashion paper. She fingered +them in suggestive and inquiring silence, or with still more +suggestive grunts, and made futile efforts to eat them, which was the +greatest token of all. + +Weeks passed, and Williams came in from the southern forests. Mukee +followed him from the edge of the barrens. Per-ee returned from the +Eskimo people, three-quarters starved and with half of his dogs +stolen. From the north, east, west, and south the post's fur-rangers +trailed back. Life was resumed. There was a softness in the air, a +growing warmth in the midday sun. The days of the big change were +near. And when they came, John Cummins and Jan Thoreau, of all the +factor's people, wore patches at their knee. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DAYS OF TRIUMPH + + +One afternoon, in the beginning of the mush-snow, a long team of +rakish Malemutes, driven by an Athabasca French-Canadian, raced wildly +into the clearing about the post. A series of yells, and the wild +cracking of a thirty-foot caribou-gut whip, announced that the big +change was at hand--that the wilderness was awakening, and life was +drawing near. + +The entire post rushed out to meet the new-comer--men and dogs, the +little black-and-tan children, and even Williams' fat and lethargic +wife. For a few moments there was a scene of wild disorder, of +fighting Malemutes buried under a rush of angry huskies, while men +shouted, and the yelling Frenchman leaped about and cut his caribou- +gut in vicious slashes over the wolfish horde around his heavily laden +sledge. + +Partial order being restored, Mukee and Per-ee took charge of the +snarling Malemutes, and, surrounded by Williams' men, the trapper +stalked to the company's office. He was Jean de Gravois, the most +important man in the Fond du Lac country, for whose good-will the +company paid a small bonus. That he had made a record catch even the +children knew by the size of the packs on his sledge and by the +swagger in his walk. + +Gravois was usually one of the last to appear at the annual gathering +of the wilderness fur-gatherers. He was a big man in reputation, as he +was small in stature. He was known as far west as the Peace River, and +eastward to Fort Churchill. He loved to make his appearance at the +post in a wild and picturesque rush when the rest of the forest rovers +were there to look on, and to envy or admire. He was one of the few of +his kind who had developed personal vanity along with unerring cunning +in the ways of the wild. Everybody liked Gravois, for he had a big +soul in him and was as fearless as a lynx; and he liked everybody, +including himself. + +He explained his early arrival by announcing in a nonchalant manner +that after he had given his Malemutes a day's rest he was going on to +Fort Churchill, to bring back a wife. He hinted, with a punctuating +crack of his whip, that he would make a second visit, and a more +interesting one, at just about the time when the trappers were there +in force. + +Jan Thoreau listened to him, hunching his shoulders a little at the +other's manifest air of importance. In turn, the French-Canadian +scrutinized Jan good-naturedly. Neither of them knew the part which +Jean de Gravois was to play in Jan's life. + +Every hour after the half-breed's arrival quickened the pulse of +expectancy at the post. For six months it had been a small and +solitary unit of life in the heart of a big desolation. The first snow +had smothered it in a loneliness that was almost the loneliness of +desertion. With that first snow began the harvest days of the people +of the wilderness. Far and wide they were busy along their trap-lines, +their lonely shacks hidden in the shelter of thick swamps, in deep +chasms and dense forests. For six months the short days and the long +nights had been days and nights of fur-gathering. + +During those months the post was silent. It lived and breathed, but +that was all. Its life, for Williams and the few people whom the +company kept with him, was a life of waiting. Now the change was at +hand. It was like the breath of spring to the awakening wilderness. +The forest people were moving. Trap-lines were being broken, shacks +abandoned, sledge-dogs put to harness. On the day that Jean de Gravois +left for Hudson's Bay, the company's supplies came in from Fort +Churchill--seven toboggans drawn by Eskimo dogs, laden with flour and +cloth; fifty pounds of beads, ammunition, and a hundred other things +to be exchanged for the furs that would soon be in London and Paris. + +Fearfully Jan Thoreau ran out to meet the sledges. There were seven +Indians and one white man. Jan thrust himself close to look at the +white man. He wore two revolver-holsters and carried an automatic. +Unquestionably he was not a missionary, but an agent of the company +well prepared to care for the company's treasure. + +Jan hurried back to the cabin, his heart bubbling with a strange joy. + +"There ees no missioner, Mélisse!" he cried triumphantly, dropping +beside her, his face glowing with the gladness of his tidings. "You +shall be good and beautiful, lak HER, but you shall not be baptize by +missioner! He has not come!" + +A few minutes later Cummins came in. One of his hands was torn and +bleeding. + +"Those Eskimo dogs are demons!" he growled. "If they knew how to stand +on their legs, they'd eat our huskies alive! Will you help me with +this?" + +Jan was at work in an instant, bandaging the wounded hand. + +"It ees not deep," he said; and then, without looking up, he added: +"The missioner did not come." + +"No," said Cummins shortly. "Neither has the mail. He is with that." + +He did not notice the sudden tremble of Jan's fingers, nor did he see +the startled look that shot into the boy's down-turned eyes. Jan +finished his bandaging without betraying his emotion, and went back +with Cummins to the company's store. + +The next morning, two Chippewayans trailed in with a team of mongrel +curs from the south. Thereafter Cummins found but little time to +devote to Mélisse. The snow was softening rapidly, and the daily +increasing warmth of the sun hastened the movement of the trappers. +Mukee's people from the western Barren Lands arrived first, bringing +with them great loads of musk-ox and caribou skins, and an army of +big-footed, long-legged Mackenzie hounds that pulled like horses and +wailed like whipped puppies when the huskies and Eskimo dogs set upon +them. + +From east and west and south all trails now led to the post. By the +end of the third day after the arrival of the company's supplies, a +babel of fighting, yelling, ceaselessly moving discord had driven +forth the peace and quiet in which Cummins' wife had died. The +fighting and discord were among the dogs, and the yelling was a +necessary human accompaniment. Half a hundred packs, almost as wild +and as savage as the wolves from whom half of them possessed a strong +inheritance of blood, were thrown suddenly into warring confusion. + +All the dogs were fighters except the big, soft-throated Mackenzie +hounds, with the slow strength of oxen in their movements, and the +quarter-strained and half-strained mongrels from the south; and upon +these unfortunates the others preyed. Packs of fierce Labrador dogs, +never vanquished except by death, came from close to Hudson's Bay. +Team after team of the little yellow and gray Eskimo dogs, as quick +with their fangs as were their black and swift-running masters with +their hands and feet, met the much larger and darker-colored Malemutes +from the Athabasca. Enemies of all these, fighting, snapping, and +snarling, with the lust of killing deep born in them from their wolf +progenitors, packs of fierce huskies trailed in from all sides. + +There was no cessation in the battle of the fangs. It began with the +first brute arrivals. It continued from dawn through the day, and +around the campfires at night. There was never an end to the strife +between the dogs, and between the men and the dogs. The snow was +stained and trailed with blood, and the scent of it added greater +fierceness to the wolf-breeds. Half a dozen battles were fought to the +death each day and night. Those that died were chiefly the south-bred +curs--mixtures of mastiff, Great Dane, and sheep-dogs--and the fatally +slow Mackenzie hounds. + +From its towering height the sentinel spruce frowned down upon the +savage life that had come to outrage the grave it guarded. Yet beyond +all this discord and bloody strife there was a great, throbbing human +happiness--a beating of honest hearts filled to overflowing with the +joys of the moment, a welding of new friendships, a renewal of old +ones, a closer union of the brotherhood that holds together all things +under the cold gray of the northern skies. + +There were no bickerings among the hunters, no anger of man against +man in the fierce voices that emphasized the slashing cuts of the +caribou-whips. If the fangs of a Hudson's Bay husky let out the life- +blood from the soft throat of a Mackenzie hound, it was a matter of +the dogs, and not of their owners. They did not quarrel. + +One day a fierce Eskimo pack cornered a giant husky under the big +spruce, and slew him. When Cummins came from the company's store in +the afternoon, he saw a number of men, with bared heads, working about +the grave. He drew near enough to see that they were building around +it a barricade of saplings; and his breath choked him as he turned to +the cabin and Mélisse. He noticed, too, that no fires were built near +the spot consecrated to the memory of the dead woman; and to his cabin +the paths in the snow became deeper and wider where trod the wild +forest men who came to look upon the little Mélisse. + +These were days of unprecedented prosperity and triumph for the baby, +as they were for the company. The cabin was half filled with strange +things, for all who came gave something to Mélisse. There were polar +bears' teeth, brought down by the little black men who in turn had got +them from the coast people; strange gods carved from wood; bits of +fur, bushy fox tails, lynx paws, dried fruits, candy bought at +fabulous prices in the store, and musk--always and incessantly musk-- +from Mukee's people of the west barrens. + +To Jan this homage to Mélisse was more than gratifying. It formed a +bond between him and Cummins' people. His heart went out to them, and +he went more freely among them, and made friends. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL + + +Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de +Gravois; but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Mélisse: + +"They have been good to you, my Mélisse. I will give them ze museek of +ze violon." + +It was the big night at the post--the night that is known from +Athabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week +had passed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the +company's ledger each man had received his credit, and in the +company's store the furs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had +been killed by Per-ee and his hunters; and on this night, when Jan +took down his violin from its peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in +the open, and on spits six inches in diameter the caribou were +roasting. + +The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above the +fighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices +in wild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, the +silence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them. +Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there was +the savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose in +meaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snapped +fiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the red +glare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was the +company's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of these +same men back again at the end of another trapping season. + +Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of real +butter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for the +occasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it +in yellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, +bubbled and steamed half a barrel of coffee. + +The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogs +gathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters, +their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was not +for the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billion +stars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through the +pale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated +into the North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was +luring from out of the South. + +Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle of +men until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair and +black eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes, +he began to play. + +It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Mélisse that +he played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the +autumn winds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man +and dog in a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life +about him became like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed +Jan saw nothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half- +cringing little black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet +away, nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking +upon this miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there +was a deep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and +sweeter; and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was +playing that which he loved most of all--the music that had filled the +little cabin when Cummins' wife died. + +As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--a +low refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grew +beyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rose +from the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's +violin. To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness +and grief of it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and +unconsciously his voice rose and fell softly with the wailing of the +brute chorus. But to the others it was a thing that rose portentous +above their understanding, a miracle of mystery that smote them with +awe even as they surrendered themselves to the wonderful sweetness of +the music. + +Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. He +saw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to +man, and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the +dogs sat full-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed +straight to the stars in the sky. + +Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way through +the crouching Eskimos to Jan. + +"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy's +ear. "Play something fast!" + +Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived the +strange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings of +his violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill and +clear in words familiar to them all: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in the +firelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of +the company's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in +crescendos of stirring sound; and where before there had been a silent +circle of awestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices. + +The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the +odors in the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the +fire, long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses +were turned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell +sizzling into the flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's +violin rose higher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper +in the tumult. + +The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee and +his Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping the +long bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout posts +driven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was a +final outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silence +fell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his arms +frantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Ze cariboo-oo- +oo--'" + +With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and his +violin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of +untamed voices. + +"Now!" yelled Cummins again. + +The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay, +burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies: + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!" + +Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air. + +"Now!" he shrieked. + +"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, + He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! + Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- + He roas' on high, + Jes' under ze sky, + He ready now to come 'n' eat!" + +With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and his +Crees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon the +snow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watched +the wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, +they crowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from +his vocal exertions, joined him. + +"Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribou +roast." + +"So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostling +crowd. + +"It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond the +Great Slave country." + +"Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near to +ze Great Bear." + +The factor stared at him in amazement. + +"You saw it?" he exclaimed. + +But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond the +packs of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on the +cabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him, +and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no word +to Mélisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot. + +Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement +about the great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his +head, he plunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and +jostling with the others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he +forced himself through to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, +kneeling with turned-up sleeves and greasy hands beside the huge +roast, and when he saw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was +neither laughter nor song in Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with +a strange savageness which was more savage than the wildest yells of +the half-breed Crees, and his great eyes burned fiercely as they +rested for an instant upon Cummins' face. + +Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife +dropped to his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew +back a step, Jan sprang to him. + +"Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who you +fight at ze Great Bear?" + +The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel as +he saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and gripped +the boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch. + +"For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze Great +Bear?" + +"We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking so +low that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped. + +"Ze missioner!" panted Jan. + +The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, and +the softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's +grip on the boy's wrists. + +"Yes, the missioner!" + +Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his +way among the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his +Crees pulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to +the fresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ran +swiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the +scraps that had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the +savage banquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to +Mélisse. + +Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caught +the baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to and +fro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand. + +"An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angel +Mélisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for letting +out the blood of a missioner!" + +He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down his +violin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE FIGHT AT DAWN + + +For a few moments Jan stood with his back to Mélisse and his eyes upon +the carnival about the great fire. As he looked, the third caribou was +pulled down from its spit, and the multitude of dogs rushed in upon +the abandoned carcasses of the other two. + +He caught his breath quickly as a loud shout and the wailing yelp of a +hurt dog rose for an instant above all other sounds. Only one thing +was wanting to complete another picture in his brain--a scene which +had burned itself into his life for ever, and which he strove to fight +back as he stood staring from the doorway. He half expected it to +come--the shrill scream of a boyish voice, an instant's sullen quiet, +then the low-throated thunder of impending vengeance--and the fight! + +With marvelous quickness his excited mind reconstructed the scene +before him into the scene that had been. He heard the scream again, +which had been HIS voice; saw, as if in a dream, the frenzied rush of +men and the flash of knives; and then, from where he lay trampled and +bleeding in the snow, the long, lean team of swift huskies that had +carried in mad flight the one whose life those knives sought. + +Williams had been there; he had seen the fight--his knife had flashed +with the others in its demand for life. And yet he--Jan Thoreau--had +not been recognized by the factor out there beside the caribou roast! + +He hurried toward the fire. Half-way across the open he stopped. From +out of the forest opposite Cummins' cabin there trailed slowly a team +of dogs. In the shadows of the spruce, hidden from the revelers, the +team halted. Jan heard the low voices of men, and a figure detached +itself from the gloom, walking slowly and in the manner of one near to +exhaustion in the direction of the carnival. + +It was a new team. It had come from the trails to the east, and Jan's +heart gave a sudden jump as he thought of the missionary who was +expected with the overdue mail. At first he had a mind to intercept +the figure laboring across the open, but without apparent reason he +changed his course and approached the sledge. + +As he came nearer, he observed a second figure, which rose from behind +the dogs and advanced to meet him. A dozen paces ahead of the team it +stopped and waited. + +"Our dogs are so near exhaustion that we're afraid to take them any +nearer," said a voice. "They'd die like puppies under those packs!" + +The voice thrilled Jan. He advanced with his back to the fire, so that +he could see the stranger. + +"You come from Churchill?" he asked. + +His words were hardly a question. They were more of an excuse for him +to draw nearer, and he turned a little, so that for an instant the +glowing fire flashed in his eyes. + +"Yes, we started from the Etawney just a week ago to-day." + +Jan had come very near. The stranger interrupted himself to stare into +the thin, fierce face that had grown like a white cameo almost within +reach of him. With a startled cry, he drew a step back, and Jan's +violin dropped to the snow. + +For no longer than a breath there was silence. The man wormed himself +back into the shadows inch by inch, followed by the white face of the +boy. Then there came shrilly from Jan's lips the mad shrieking of a +name, and his knife flashed as he leaped at the other's breast. + +The stranger was quicker than he. With a sudden movement he cleared +himself of the blow; and as Jan's arm went past him, the point of the +knife ripping his coat-sleeve, he shot out a powerful fist and sent +the boy reeling to the ground. + +Stunned and bleeding, Jan dragged himself to his knees. He saw the +dogs turning, heard a low voice urging them to the trail, and saw the +sledge disappear into the forest. He staggered from his knees to his +feet, and stood swaying in his weakness. Then he followed. + +He forgot that he was leaving his knife in the snow, forgot that back +there about the fire there were other dogs and other men. He only knew +that once before he had seen a sledge slip off into the wilderness; +that its going had left him a life of hatred and bitterness and desire +for vengeance; and that this was the same man who was slipping away +from him in the same way again. + +He followed, sickened by the blow, but gaining strength as he pursued. +Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the toboggan and the cautious +lashing of a whip over the backs of the tired huskies. The sounds +filled him with fierce strength. He wiped away the warm trickle of +blood that ran over his cheek, and began to run, slowly at first, +swinging in the easy wolf-lope of the forest runner, with his elbows +close to his sides. + +At that pace he could have followed for hours, losing when the pack +took a spurt, gaining when they lagged, an insistent Nemesis just +behind when the weighted dogs lay down in their traces. But there was +neither the coolness of Mukee nor the cleverness of Jean de Gravois in +the manner of Jan's running. When he heard the cracking of the whip +growing fainter, he dropped his arms straight to his sides and ran +more swiftly, his brain reeling with the madness of his desire to +reach the sledge--to drag from it the man who had struck him, to choke +life from the face that haunted that mental picture of his, grinning +at him and gloating always from the shadow world, just beyond the +pale, sweet loveliness of the woman who lived in it. + +That picture came to him now as he ran, more and more vividly, and +from out of it the woman urged him on to the vengeance which she +demanded of him, her great eyes glowing like fire, her beautiful face +torn with the agony which he had last seen in it in life. + +To Jan Thoreau there seemed almost to come from that face a living +voice, crying to him its prayer for retribution, pleading with him to +fasten his lithe, brown hands about the throat of the monster upon the +sledge ahead, and choke from it all life. It drove reason from him, +leaving him with the one thought that the monster was almost within +reach; and he replied to the prayer with the breath that came in +moaning exhaustion from between his lips. + +He did not feel the soft, sun-packed snow under the beat of his feet. +He received the lash of low-hanging bushes without experiencing the +sensation of their sting. Only he knew that he wanted air--more and +more air; and to get it he ran with open mouth, struggling and gasping +for it, and yet not knowing that Jean de Gravois would have called him +a fool for the manner in which he sought it. + +He heard more and more faintly the run of the sledge. Then he heard it +no longer, and even the cracking of the whip died away. His heart +swelled in a final bursting effort, and he plunged on, until at last +his legs crumpled under him and he pitched face downward in the snow, +like a thing stung by sudden death. + +It was then, with his scratched and bleeding face lying in the snow, +that reason began to return to him. After a little while he dragged +himself weakly to his knees, still panting from the mad effort he had +made to overtake the sledge. From a great distance he heard faintly +the noise of shouting, the whispering echo of half a hundred voices, +and he knew that the sound came from the revelers at the post. It was +proof to him that there had been no interruption to the carnival, and +that the scene at the edge of the forest had been witnessed by none. +Quickly his mental faculties readjusted themselves. He rose to his +feet, and for a few moments stood hesitatingly. He had no weapon; but +as his hand rested upon the empty knife-sheath at his belt, there came +to him a thought of the way in which Mukee had avenged Cummins' wife, +and he turned again upon the trail. He no longer touched the low- +hanging bushes. He was no more than a shadow, appearing and +disappearing without warning, trailing as the white ermine follows its +prey, noiseless, alert, his body responding sinuously and without +apparent effort to the working commands of his brain. + +Where the forest broke into an open, lighted by the stars, he found +blood in the footprints of the leading dog. Half-way across the open, +he saw where the leader had swung out from the trail and the others of +the pack had crowded about him, to be urged on by the lashings of the +man's whip. Other signs of the pack's growing exhaustion followed +close. + +The man now traveled beside the sledge where the trail was rough, and +rode where it was smooth and hard. The deep imprints of his heeled +boots in the soft snow showed that he ran for only a short distance at +a time--a hundred yards or less--and that after each running spell he +brought the pack to a walk. He was heavy and lacked endurance, and +this discovery brought a low cry of exultation to Jan's lips. + +He fell into a dog-trot. Mile after mile dropped behind him; other +miles were ahead of him, an endless wilderness of miles, and through +them the tired pack persisted, keeping always beyond sound and vision. + +The stars began fading out of the skies. The shadows of the forest +grew deeper and blacker, and where the aurora had lightened the +heavens there crept the somber gray film that preceded dawn by three +hours. + +Jan followed more and more slowly. There was hard-breathing effort now +in his running--effort that caused him physical pain and discomfort. +His feet stumbled occasionally in the snow; his legs, from thigh to +knee, began to ache with the gnawing torment that centers in the +marrowbone; and with this beginning of the "runner's cramp" he was +filled with a new and poignant terror. + +Would the dogs beat him out? Sloughing in the trail, bleeding at every +foot, would they still drag their burden beyond the reach of his +vengeance? The fear fastened itself upon him, urging him to greater +effort, and he called upon the last of his strength in a spurt that +carried him to where the thick spruce gave place to thin bush, and the +bush to the barren and rocky side of a huge ridge, up which the trail +climbed strong and well defined. For a few paces he followed it, then +slipped and rolled back as the fatal paralysis deadened all power of +movement in his limbs. He lay where he fell, moaning out his grief +with his wide-staring eyes turned straight up into the cold gray of +the starless sky. + +For a long time he was motionless. From the top of the ridge, where +the trail cut over the mountain, he looked like a bit of fire- +blackened wood half buried in the snow. Half-way up the ridge a wolf, +slinking hungrily, sniffed first up the trail and then down, and broke +the stillness of the gray night-end with a mournful howl. It did not +stir Jan Thoreau. + +Long after the wolf had passed on, he moved a little, twisting himself +so that his eyes could follow the tracks made by the sledge and dogs. +When he came to where the snow-covered backbone of the ridge cut +itself in faint outline against the desolate coldness of the sky, +there fell from him the first sound of returning life. Up there he was +sure that he had seen something move--an object which at first he had +taken for a bush, and which he knew was not the wolf. + +He watched for its reappearance, until all sorts of gray dawn shadows +danced before his eyes. Then he began slowly to crawl up the trail. +Some of the dull, paralytic ache was gone from his limbs, and as he +worked his blood began to warm them into new strength, until he stood +up and sniffed like an animal in the wind that was coming over the +ridge from the south. + +There was something in that wind that thrilled him. It stung his +nostrils to a quick sensing of the nearness of something that was +human. He smelled smoke. In it there was the pungent odor of green +balsam, mixed with a faint perfume of pitch pine; and because the odor +of pitch grew stronger as he ascended, he knew that it was a small +fire that was making the smoke, with none of the fierce, dry woods to +burn up the smell. It was a fire hidden among the rocks, a tiny fire, +over which the fleeing missioner was cooking his breakfast. + +Jan almost moaned aloud in his gladness, and the old mad strength +returned to his body. Near the summit of the ridge he picked up a +club. It was a short, thick club, with the heavy end knotted and +twisted. + +Cautiously he lifted his face over the rocks, and looked out upon a +plateau, still deep in snow, swept bare by the winter's winds, and +covered with rocks and bushes. His face was so white that at a little +distance it might have been taken for a snow hare. It went whiter +when, a few yards away, he saw the fire, the man, and the dogs. + +The man was close to the little blaze, his broad shoulders hunched +over, steadying a small pot over the flame. Beyond him were the dogs +huddled about the sledge, inanimate as death. + +Jan drew himself over the rocks. Once he had seen a big-footed lynx +creep upon a wide-awake fox, and like that lynx he crept upon the man +beside the fire. One of the tired dogs moved, and his pointed nostrils +quivered in the air. Jan lay flat in the snow. Then the dog's muzzle +dropped between his paws, and the boy moved on. + +Inch by inch he advanced. The inches multiplied themselves into a +foot, the foot lengthened into yards, and still the man remained +hunched over his simmering pot. + +Jan rose gently from his hands and knees to his feet, a furnace of +madness blazing in his eyes. The restless dog raised his head again. +He sniffed danger--near, menacing danger--and sprang up with a +snarling cry that brought the man over the fire to quick attention. In +a flash Jan took the last leap, and his club crashed down upon the +missioner's head. The man pitched over like a log, and with a shrill +cry the boy was at his throat. + +"I am Jan Thoreau!" he shrieked. "I am Jan Thoreau--Jan Thoreau--come +to keel you!" He dropped his club, and was upon the man's chest, his +slender fingers tightening like steel wire about the thick throat of +his enemy. "I keel you slow--slow!" he cried, as the missioner +struggled weakly. + +The great thick body heaved under him, and he put all his strength +into his hands. Something struck him in the face. Something struck him +again and again, but he felt neither the pain nor the force of it, and +his voice sobbed out his triumph as he choked. The man's hands reached +up and tore at his hair; but Jan saw only the missioner's mottled face +growing more mottled, and his eyes staring in greater agony up into +his own. + +"I am Jan Thoreau," he panted again and again. "I am Jan Thoreau, an' +I keel you--keel you!" + +The blood poured from his face. It blinded him until he could no +longer see the one from which he was choking life. He bent down his +head to escape the blows. The man's body heaved more and more; it +turned until he was half under it; but still he hung to the thick +throat, as the weasel hangs in tenacious death to the jugular of its +prey. + +The missioner's weight was upon him in crushing force now. His huge +hands struck and tore at the boy's head and face, and then they had +fastened themselves at his neck. Jan was conscious of a terrible +effort to take in breath, but he was not conscious of pain. The clutch +did not frighten him. It did not make him loosen his grip. His fingers +dug deeper. He strove to cry out still his words of triumph; but he +could make no sound, except a gasping like that which came from +between the gaping jaws of the man whose life his body and soul were +fighting to smother. + +There was death in each of the two grips; but the man's was the +stronger, and his neck was larger and tougher, so that after a time he +staggered to his knees and then to his feet, while Jan lay upon his +back, his face and hair red with blood, his eyes wide open and with a +lifeless glare in them. The missioner looked down upon his victim in +horror. As the life that had nearly ebbed out of him poured back into +his body, he staggered among the dogs, fastened them to the sledge, +and urged them down the mountain into the plain. There was soon no +sound of the sledge. + +From a bush a dozen yards away a wondering moose-bird had watched the +terrible struggle. Now he hopped boldly upon Jan's motionless body, +and perked his head inquisitively as he examined the strange face, +covered with blood and twisted in torture. + +The gray film of dawn dissolved itself into the white beginning of +day. Far to the south, a bit of the red sunrise was creeping into the +northern world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +JEAN AND JAN + + +Half a mile down the ridge, where it sloped up gradually from the +forests and swamps of the plain, a team of powerful Malemutes were +running at the head of a toboggan. On the sledge was a young half-Cree +woman. Now beside the sledge, now at the lead of the dogs, cracking +his whip and shouting joyously, ran Jean de Gravois. + +"Is it not beautiful, my Iowaka?" he cried for the hundredth time, in +Cree, leaping over a three-foot boulder in his boundless enthusiasm. +"Is this not the glorious world, with the sun just rising off there, +and spring only a few days away? It is not like the cold chills at +Churchill, which come up with the icebergs and stay there all summer! +What do you think of your Jean de Gravois and his country now?" + +Jean was bringing back with him a splendid young woman, with big, +lustrous eyes, and hair that shone with the gloss of a raven's wing in +the sun. She laughed at him proudly as he danced and leaped beside +her, replying softly in Cree, which is the most beautiful language in +the world, to everything that he said. + +Jean leaped and ran, cracked his caribou whip, and shouted and sang +until he was panting and red in the face. Just as Iowaka had called +upon him to stop and get a second wind, the Malemutes dropped back +upon their haunches where Jan Thoreau lay, twisted and bleeding, in +the snow. + +"What is this?" cried Jean. + +He caught Jan's limp head and shoulders up in his arms, and called +shrilly to Iowaka, who was disentangling herself from the thick furs +in which he had wrapped her. + +"It is the fiddler I told you about, who lives with Williams at Post +Lac Bain!" he shouted excitedly in Cree. "He has been murdered! He has +been choked to death, and torn to pieces in the face, as if by an +animal!" Jean's eyes roved about as Iowaka kneeled beside him. "What a +fight!" he gasped. "See the footprints--a big man and a small boy, and +the murderer has gone on a sledge!" + +"He is warm," said Iowaka. "It may be that he is not dead." + +Jean de Gravois sprang to his feet, his little black eyes flashing +with a dangerous fire. In a single leap he was at the side of the +sledge, throwing off the furs and bundles and all other objects except +his rifle. + +"He is dead, Iowaka. Look at the purple and black in his face. It is +Jean de Gravois who will catch the murderer, and you will stay here +and make yourself a camp. Hi-o-o-o-o!" he shouted to the Malemutes. + +The team twisted sinuously and swiftly in the trail as he sped over +the edge of the mountain. Upon the plain below he knelt upon the +toboggan, with his rifle in front of him; and at his low, hissing +commands, which reached no farther than the dogs' ears, the team +stretched their long bodies in pursuit of the missioner and his +huskies. + +Jean knew that whoever was ahead of him was not far away, and he +laughed and hunched his shoulders when he saw that his magnificent +Malemutes were making three times the speed of the huskies. It was a +short chase. It led across the narrow plain and into a dense tangle of +swamp, where the huskies had picked their way in aimless wandering +until they came out in thick balsam and Banksian pine. Half a mile +farther on, and the trail broke into an open which led down to the +smooth surface of a lake, and two-thirds across the lake was the +fleeing missioner. + +The Malemute leader flung open his jaws in a deep baying triumph, and +with a savage yell Jean cracked his caribou whip over his back. He saw +the man ahead of him lean over the end of his sledge as he urged his +dogs, but the huskies went no faster; and then he caught the glitter +of something that flashed for a moment in the sun. + +"Ah!" said Jean softly, as a bullet sang over his head. "He fires at +Jean de Gravois!" He dropped his whip, and there was the warm glow of +happiness in his little dark face as he leveled his rifle over the +backs of his Malemutes. "He fires at Jean de Gravois, and it is Jean +who can hamstring a caribou at three hundred yards on the run!" + +For an instant, at the crack of his rifle, there was no movement +ahead; then something rolled from the sledge and lay doubled up in the +snow. A hundred yards beyond it, the huskies stopped in a rabble and +turned to look at the approaching strangers. + +Beside it Jean stopped; and when he saw the face that stared up at +him, he clutched his thin hands in his long black hair and cried out, +in shrill amazement and horror: + +"The saints in Heaven, it is the missioner from Churchill!" + +He turned the man over, and found where his bullet had entered under +one arm and come out from under the other. There was no spark of life +left. The missioner was already dead. + +"The missioner from Churchill!" he gasped again. + +He looked up at the warm sun, and kicked the melting snow under his +moccasined feet. + +"It will thaw very soon," he said to himself, looking again at the +dead man, "and then he will go into the lake." + +He headed his Malemutes back to the forest. Then he ran out and cut +the traces of the exhausted huskies, and with his whip scattered them +in freedom over the ice. + +"Go to the wolves!" he shouted in Cree. "Hide yourselves from the +post, or Jean de Gravois will cut out your tongues and take your skins +off alive!" + +When he came back to the top of the mountain, Jean found Iowaka making +hot coffee, while Jan was bundled up in furs near the fire. + +"It is as I said," she called. "He is alive!" + +Thus it happened that the return of Jean de Gravois to the post was +even more dramatic than he had schemed it to be, for he brought back +with him not only a beautiful wife from Churchill, but also the half +dead Jan Thoreau from the scene of battle on the mountain. And in the +mystery of it all he reveled for two days; for Jean de Gravois said +not a word about the dead man on the lake beyond the forest, nor did +the huskies come back into their bondage to give a hint of the missing +missionary. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +RED SNOW-FLOWERS + + +From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers began +scattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second day +Mukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens. +Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to the +south and east. + +Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late spring +trapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jean +waited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy was +bolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Mélisse on +the edge of the bed when he came in. + +For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign +to Cummins, who joined him at the door. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk with +the boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears should +hear but his own. Will it be right?" + +"Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry him +about the missionary. You'll not get a word from him." + +Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravois +came and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had +brought him alive into the post, and now there was something in the +suggestive grimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness +with which he looked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure +but that the walls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a +little faster as he speculated upon what Jean was going to say. + +For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin, +black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. He +twisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble as +that of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinned +at Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces. + +"Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a +brave boy, Jan Thoreau!" + +"You did not see it?" asked Jan. + +Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of +his thin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French +to the bottom of his soul. + +"I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, as +plain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail that +staggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? +And when I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon +it, like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead +body of the missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?" + +Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry. + +"Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is no +need of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virgin +made me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyes +that the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a few +days. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked about +him cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about +the dead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE +GRAVOIS!" + +He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face. + +"I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, Jan +Thoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean de +Gravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you will +find him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make it +in four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of the +barrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." +He turned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling and +shrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreau +understands?" he said, and passed out. + +When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in a +fever. + +"Devil take that Gravois!" he growled. + +"He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him." + +On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of +the fever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon he +harnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from the +post that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in the +deepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made +by the company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill. + +This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he +had fought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles +beyond. Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he +followed the almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his +Malemutes until he came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de +Gravois had spoken the truth, for he found the missionary with his +face half buried in the slush, stark dead. + +He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. The bullet- +hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes like +Jan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heart +there came another face, to remain always with him--the face of the +courageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride back +into the country of the Athabasca. + +Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it was +dusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins was +waiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile on +Jan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had +never seen there before. From that night they were no longer filled +with the nervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an +appearance almost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, +there was a warmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the +effect of the change as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more +entirely of Mélisse. + +A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought it +to Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play, +and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and +both the man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There +was the fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully +unfastened the strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil +lamp, so that he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the +box. + +He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to the +wall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Jan +fished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or four +efforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him. +Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightly +rolled cylinder of faded red cloth. + +For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins, +unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon the +table before him a number of closely written pages of paper. He +weighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at the +other with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pages +were in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another so +closely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jan +took his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the +others he bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing +breath. + +On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paper +there still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hour +Jan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to the +last page. + +When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for +an instant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep. +Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, without +disturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the +south and east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring +moon was coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, +a new and strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his +arms, with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from +out of that growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him. + +For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of the +great world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman's +letter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering, +thrilling eagerness: + +"I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Mélisse come too!" + +He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded red +cloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before he +reentered the cabin. + +The next morning Cummins stood in the door, and said: + +"How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring. +We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish." + +Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and the +air was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents of +the budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of +the forest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose- +birds chirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night +in bough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; and snowbirds +--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whisk about like +so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to day until they +became new creatures in a new world. + +The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fat +peas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied by +little ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down the +slender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from the +blizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they had +passed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak and +sick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the +crackle of crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and +tree; and each night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept +farther and farther toward the pole in its fading glory. + +The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came in +from out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, taking +back into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life. +Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company's +chief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had +a good deal of extra time on his hands. + +Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in +logs for an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking +out in the sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Mélisse looked upon +the new home-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. +Cummins' face glowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the +bearskin and gave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts. + +Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the +little Mélisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed +from Cummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happened +frequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, and +even Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snow +near Mélisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God saw +fit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matter +of deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thought +of men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babies +and set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoic +indifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Mélisse. + +"I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time," +confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning his +violin. "She is nearly six months old." + +"Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenly +stopping the tightening of his strings. + +Cummins stared. + +"Why?" + +Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. + +"Because I have heard her many times say, 'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'-- +which means candee; and always I have given her candee, an' now ze +leetle Mélisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time." + +"Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?" + +Like a shot Jan replied: + +"I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!" + +He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He went +to the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruce +over the grave. Later he said to Jan: + +"It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when +she says 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!" + +The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman's +grave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of +a great ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him a +basket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to their +roots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, and +around its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea and +backneesh. + +As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he took +Mélisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and together +they picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave was +never without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new addition +complete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring up +out of the earth. + +Jan and Mélisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there was +pleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in +the presence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deep +grief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all that +this desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with the +excruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died but +yesterday. + +When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried +his head in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved +them. She had always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out +of the wet earth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for +them, and had fastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her +hair. Those were the days when, like happy children, they had romped +and laughed together out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had +caught her up in his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but +gloriously happy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she +would sit and laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper. + +Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off alone +into the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him his +moccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in their +wanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him, +and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of the +woman and die. + +Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Mélisse were to +cherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were to +spring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even as +his own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in the +future. He gave up Mélisse to Jan. + +At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of +mental torture, he said that the company's business was calling him to +Churchill, and early in August he left for the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +FOR HER + + +Upon Jan now fell a great responsibility. Mélisse was his own. Days +passed before he could realize the fullness of his possession. He had +meant to go by the Athabasca water route to see Jean de Gravois, +leaving Mélisse to Cummins for a fortnight or so. Now he gave this up. +Day and night he guarded the child; and to Jan's great joy it soon +came to pass that whenever he was compelled to leave her for a short +time, Mélisse would cry for him. At least Maballa assured him that +this was so, and Mélisse gave evidence of it by her ecstatic joy when +he returned. + +When Cummins came back from Fort Churchill in the autumn, he brought +with him a pack full of things for Mélisse, including new books and +papers, for which he had spent a share of his season's earnings. As he +was freeing these treasures from their wrapping of soft caribou skin, +with Jan and Mélisse both looking on, he stopped suddenly and glanced +from his knees up at the boy. + +"They're wondering over at Churchill what became of the missionary who +left with the mail, Jan. They say he was last seen at the Etawney." + +"And not here?" replied Jan quickly. + +"Not that they know of," said Cummins, still keeping his eyes on the +boy. "The man who drove him never got back to Churchill. They're +wondering where the driver went, too. A company officer has gone up to +the Etawney, and it is possible he may come over to Lac Bain. I don't +believe he'll find the missionary." + +"Neither do I," said Jan quite coolly. "He is probably dead, and the +wolves and foxes have eaten him before this--or mebby ze feesh!" + +Cummins resumed his task of unpacking, and among the books which he +brought forth there were two which he gave to Jan. + +"The supply ship from London came in while I was at Churchill, and +those came with it," he explained. "They're school-books. There's +going to be a school at Churchill next winter, and the winter after +that it will be at York Factory, down on the Hayes." He settled back +on his heels and looked at Jan. "It's the first school that has ever +come nearer than four hundred miles of us. That's at Prince Albert." + +For many succeeding days Jan took long walks alone in the forest +trails, and silently thrashed out the two problems which Cummins had +brought back from Churchill for him. Should he warn Jean de Gravois +that a company officer was investigating the disappearance of the +missionary? + +At first his impulse was to go at once into Jean's haunts beyond the +Fond du Lac, and give him the news. But even if the officer did come +to Post Lac Bain, how would he know that the missionary was at the +bottom of the lake, and that Jean de Gravois was accountable for it? +So in the end Jan decided that it would be folly to stir up the little +hunter's fears, and he thought no more of the company's investigator +who had gone up to the Etawney. + +But the second problem was one whose perplexities troubled him. +Cummins' word of the school at Churchill had put a new and thrilling +thought into his head, and always with that thought he coupled visions +of the growing Mélisse. This year the school would be at Churchill, +and the next at York Factory, and after that it might be gone for +ever, so that when Mélisse grew up there would be none nearer than +what Jan looked upon as the other end of the world. Why could not he +go to school for Mélisse, and store up treasures which in time he +might turn over to her? + +The scheme was a colossal one, by all odds the largest that had ever +entered into his dreams of what life held for him--that he, Jan +Thoreau, should learn to read and write, and do other things like the +people of the far South, so that he might help to make the little +creature in the cabin like her who slept under the watchful spruce. He +was stirred to the depths of his soul, now with fear, again with hope +and desire and ambition; and it was not until the first cold chills of +approaching winter crept down from the north and east that the +ultimate test came, and he told Cummins of his intention. + +Once his mind was settled, Jan lost no time in putting his plans into +action. Mukee knew the trail to Churchill, and agreed to leave with +him on the third day--which gave Williams' wife time to make him a new +coat of caribou skin. + +On the second evening he played for the last time in the little cabin; +and after Mélisse had fallen asleep he took her up gently in his arms +and held her there for a long time, while Cummins looked on in +silence. When he replaced her in the little bed against the wall, +Cummins put one of his long arms about the boy's shoulders and led him +to the door, where they stood looking out upon the grim desolation of +the forest that rose black and silent against the starlit background +of the sky. High above the thick tops of the spruce rose the lone tree +over the grave, like a dark finger pointing up into the night, and +Cummins' eyes rested there. + +"She heard you first that night, Jan," he spoke softly. "She knew that +you were coming long before I could hear anything but the crackling in +the skies. I believe--she knows--now--" + +The arm about Jan's shoulder tightened, and Cummins' head dropped +until his rough cheek rested upon the boy's hair. There was something +of the gentleness of love in what he did, and in response to it Jan +caught the hand that was hanging over his shoulder in both his own. + +"Boy, won't you tell me who you are, and why you came that night?" + +"I will tell you, now, that I come from ze Great Bear," whispered Jan. +"I am only Jan Thoreau, an' ze great God made me come that night +because"--his heart throbbed with sudden inspiration as he looked up +into his companion's face--"because ze leetle Mélisse was here," he +finished. + +For a time Cummins made no move or sound; then he drew the boy back +into the cabin, and from the little gingham-covered box in the corner +he took a buckskin bag. + +"You are going to Churchill for Mélisse and for HER" he said in a +voice pitched low that it might not awaken the baby. "Take this." + +Jan drew a step back. + +"No, I fin' work with ze compan-ee at Churchill. That is ze gold for +Mélisse when she grow up. Jan Thoreau is no--what you call heem?" + +His teeth gleamed in a smile, but it lasted only for an instant. +Cummins' face darkened, and he caught him firmly, almost roughly, by +the arm. + +"Then Jan Thoreau will never come back to Mélisse," he exclaimed with +finality. "You are going to Churchill to be at school, and not to work +with your hands. THEY are sending you. Do you understand, boy? THEY!" +There was a fierce tremor in his voice. "Which will it be? Will you +take the bag, or will you never again come back to Lac Bain?" + +Dumbly Jan reached out and took the buckskin pouch. A dull flush +burned in his cheeks. Cummins looked in wonder upon the strange look +that came into his eyes. + +"I pay back this gold to you and Mélisse a hundred times!" he cried +tensely. "I swear it, an' I swear that Jan Thoreau mak' no lie!" + +Unconsciously, with the buckskin bag clutched in one hand, he had +stretched out his other arm to the violin hanging against the wall. +Cummins turned to look. When he faced him again the boy's arm had +fallen to his side and his cheeks were white. + +The next day he left. No one heard his last words to Mélisse, or +witnessed his final leave-taking of her, for Cummins sympathized with +the boy's grief and went out of the cabin an hour before Mukee was +ready with his pack. The last that he heard was Jan's violin playing +low, sweet music to the child. Three weeks later, when Mukee returned +to Lac Bain, he said that Jan had traveled to Churchill like one who +had lost his tongue, and that far into the nights he had played lonely +dirges upon his violin. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +A RUMOR FROM THE SOUTH + + +It was a long winter for Cummins and Mélisse. It was a longer one for +Jan. He had taken with him a letter from the factor at Lac Bain to the +factor at Churchill, and he found quarters with the chief clerk's +assistant at the post--a young, red-faced man who had come over on the +ship from England. He was a cheerful, good-natured young fellow, and +when he learned that his new associate had tramped all the way from +the Barren Lands to attend the new public school, he at once invested +himself with the responsibilities of a private tutor. + +He taught Jan, first of all, to say "is" in place of "ees." It was a +tremendous lesson for Jan, but he struggled with it manfully, and a +week after his arrival, when one evening he was tuning his violin to +play for young MacDonald, he said with eager gravity: + +"Ah, I have it now, Mr. MacDonald. It ees not 'EES,' it ees 'EES!'" + +MacDonald roared, but persisted, and in time Jan began to get the +twist out of his tongue. + +The school opened in November, and Jan found himself one of twenty or +so, gathered there from forty thousand square miles of wilderness. Two +white youths and a half-breed had come from the Etawney; the factor at +Nelson House sent up his son, and from the upper waters of the Little +Churchill there came three others. + +From the first, Jan's music found him a premier place in the interest +of the tutor sent over by the company. He studied by night as well as +by day, and by the end of the second month his only competitor was the +youth from Nelson House. His greatest source of knowledge was not the +teacher, but MacDonald. There was in him no inherent desire for the +learning of the people to the south. That he was storing away, like a +faithful machine, for the use of Mélisse. But MacDonald gave him that +for which his soul longed--a picture of life as it existed in the +wonderful world beyond the wilderness, to which some strange spirit +within him, growing stronger as the weeks and months passed, seemed +projecting his hopes and his ambitions. + +Between his thoughts of Mélisse and Lac Bain, he dreamed of that other +world; and several times during the winter he took the little roll +from the box of his violin, and read again and again the written pages +that it contained. + +"Some time I will go," he assured himself always. "Some time, when +Mélisse is a little older, and can go too." + +To young MacDonald, the boy from Lac Bain was a "find." The Scottish +youth was filled with an immense longing for home; and as his +homesickness grew, he poured more and more into Jan's attentive ears +his knowledge of the world from which he had come. He told him the +history of the old brass cannon that lay abandoned among the vines and +bushes, where a fort had stood at Churchill many years before. He +described the coming of the first ship into the great bay; told of +Hudson and his men, of great wars that his listener had never dreamed +of, of kings and queens and strange nations. At night he read a great +deal to Jan out of books that he had brought over with him. + +As the weeks and months passed, the strange spirit that was calling to +the forest boy out of that other world stirred more restlessly within +him. At times it urged him to confide in MacDonald what was hidden +away in the box of his violin. + +The secret nearly burst from him one Sunday, when MacDonald said: + +"I'm going home on the ship that comes over next summer. What do you +say to going back with me, Jan?" + +The spirit surged through Jan in a hot flood, and it was only an +accident that kept him from saying what was in his heart. + +They were standing with the icy bay stretching off in interminable +miles toward the pole. A little way from them, the restless tide was +beating up through the broken ice, and eating deeper into the frozen +shore. From out of the bank there projected, here and there, the ends +of dark, box-like objects, which, in the earlier days of the company, +had been gun-cases. In them were the bones of men who had lived and +died an age ago; and as Jan looked at the silent coffins, now falling +into the sea, another spirit--the spirit that bound him to Mélisse-- +entered into him, and he shuddered as he thought of what might happen +in the passing of a year. + +It was this spirit that won. In the spring, Jan went back to Lac Bain +with the company's supplies. The next autumn he followed the school to +York Factory, and the third year he joined it at Nelson House. Then +the company's teacher died, and no one came to fill his place. + +In midwinter of this third year, Jan returned to Lac Bain, and, +hugging the delighted Mélisse close in his arms, he told her that +never again would he go away without her. Mélisse, tightening her arms +around his neck, made his promise sacred by offering her little +rosebud of a mouth for him to kiss. Later, the restless spirit +slumbering within his breast urged him to speak to Cummins. + +"When Mélisse is a little older, should we not go with her into the +South?" he said. "She must not live for ever in a place like this." + +Cummins looked at him for an instant as if he did not understand. When +Jan's meaning struck home, his eyes hardened, and there was the +vibrant ring of steel in his quiet voice. + +"Her mother will be out there under the old spruce until the end of +time," he said slowly; "and we will never leave her--unless, some day, +Mélisse goes alone." + +From that hour Jan no longer looked into the box of his violin. He +struggled against the desire that had grown with his years until he +believed that he had crushed it and stamped it out of his existence. +In his life there came to be but one rising and one setting of the +sun. Mélisse was his universe. She crowded his heart until beyond her +he began to lose visions of any other world. + +Each day added to his joy. He called her "my little sister," and with +sweet gravity Mélisse called him "brother Jan," and returned in full +measure his boundless love. He marked the slow turning of her flaxen +hair into sunny gold, and month by month watched joyfully the +deepening of that gold into warm shades of brown. She was to be like +her mother! Jan's soul rejoiced, and in his silent way Cummins offered +up wordless prayers of thankfulness. + +So matters stood at Post Lac Bain in the beginning of Mélisse's ninth +year, when up from the south there came a rumor. As civil war spreads +its deepest gloom, as the struggle of father against son and brother +against brother stifles the breathing of nations, so this rumor set +creeping a deep pall over the forest people. + +Rumor grew into rumor. From the east, the south and the west they +multiplied, until on all sides the Paul Reveres of the wilderness +carried news that the Red Terror was at their heels, and the chill of +a great fear swept like a shivering wind from the edge of civilization +to the bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE RED TERROR + + +Nineteen years before these same rumors had come up from the south, +and the Red Terror had followed. The horror of it still remained with +the forest people; for a thousand unmarked graves, shunned like a +pestilence, and scattered from the lower waters of James Bay to the +lake country of the Athabasca, gave evidence of the toll it demanded. + +From DuBrochet, on Reindeer Lake, authentic word first came to Lac +Bain early in the winter. Henderson was factor there, and he passed up +the warning that had come to him from Nelson House and the country to +the southeast. + +"There's smallpox on the Nelson," his messenger informed Williams, +"and it has struck the Crees on Wollaston Lake. God only knows what it +is doing to the bay Indians, but we hear that it is wiping out the +Chippewayans between the Albany and the Churchill." He left the same +day with his winded dogs. "I'm off for the Révillon people to the +west, with the compliments of our company," he explained. + +Three days later, word came from Churchill that all of the company's +servants and her majesty's subjects west of the bay should prepare +themselves for the coming of the Red Terror. Williams' thick face went +as white as the paper he held, as he read the words of the Churchill +factor. + +"It means dig graves," he said. "That's the only preparation we can +make!" + +He read the paper aloud to the men at Lac Bain, and every available +man was detailed to spread the warning throughout the post's +territory. There was a quick harnessing of dogs, and on each sledge +that went out was a roll of red cotton cloth. Williams' face was still +white as he passed these rolls out from the company's store. They were +ominous of death, lurid signals of pestilence and horror, and the +touch of them sent shuddering chills through the men who were about to +scatter them among the forest people. + +Jan went over the Churchill trail, and then swung southward along the +Hasabala, where the country was crisscrossed with trap-lines of the +half-breeds and the French. First, he struck the cabin of Croisset and +his wife, and left part of his cloth. Then he turned westward, while +Croisset harnessed his dogs and hurried with a quarter of the roll to +the south. Between the Hasabala and Klokol Lake, Jan found three other +cabins, and at each he left a bit of the red cotton. Forty miles to +the south, somewhere on the Porcupine, were the lines of Henry +Langlois, the post's greatest fox-hunter. On the morning of the third +day, Jan set off in search of Langlois; and late in the afternoon of +the same day he came upon a well-beaten snow-shoe trail. On this he +camped until morning. When dawn came he began following it. + +He passed half a dozen of Langlois' trap-houses. In none of them was +there bait. In three the traps were sprung. In the seventh he found +the remains of a red fox that had been eaten until there was little +but the bones left. Two houses beyond there was an ermine in a trap, +with its head eaten off. With growing perplexity, Jan examined the +snow-shoe trails in the snow. The most recent of them were days old. +He urged on his dogs, stopping no more at the trap-houses, until, with +a shrieking command, he brought them to a halt at the edge of a +clearing cut in the forest. A dozen rods ahead of him was the +trapper's cabin. Over it, hanging limply to a sapling pole, was the +red signal of horror. + +With a terrified cry to the dogs, Jan ran back, and the team turned +about and followed him in a tangled mass. Then he stopped. There was +no smoke rising from the clay chimney on the little cabin. Its one +window was white with frost. Again and again he shouted, but no sign +of life responded to his cries. He fired his rifle twice, and waited +with his mittened hand over his mouth and nostrils. There was no +reply. Then, abandoning hope, he turned back into the north, and gave +his dogs no rest until he had reached Lac Bain. + +His team came in half dead. Both Cummins and Williams rushed out to +meet him as he drove up before the company's store. + +"The red flag is over Langlois' cabin!" he cried. "I fired my rifle +and shouted. There is no life! Langlois is dead!" + +"Great God!" groaned Williams. + +His red face changed to a sickly pallor, and he stood with his thick +hands clenched, while Cummins took charge of the dogs and Jan went +into the store for something to eat. + +Mukee and Per-ee returned to the post the next day. Young Williams +followed close after them, filled with terror. He had found the plague +among the Crees of the Waterfound. + +Each day added to the gloom at Lac Bain. For a time Jan could not +fully understand, and he still played his violin and romped joyfully +with Mélisse in the little cabin. He had not lived through the plague +of nineteen years before. Most of the others had, even to Mukee, the +youngest of them all. + +Jan did not know that it was this Red Terror that came like a Nemesis +of the gods to cut down the people of the great Northland, until they +were fewer in number than those of the Sahara desert. But he learned +quickly. In February, the Crees along Wollaston Lake were practically +wiped out. Red flags marked the trail of the Nelson. Death leaped from +cabin to cabin in the wilderness to the west. By the middle of the +month, Lac Bain was hemmed in by the plague on all sides but the +north. + +The post's trap-lines had been shortened; now they were abandoned +entirely, and the great fight began. Williams assembled his men, and +told them how that same battle had been fought nearly two decades +before. For sixty miles about the post every cabin and wigwam that +floated a red flag must be visited--and burned if the occupants were +dead. In learning whether life or death existed in these places lay +the peril for those who undertook the task. It was a dangerous +mission. It meant facing a death from which those who listened to the +old factor shrank with dread; yet, when the call came, they responded +to a man. + +Cummins and Jan ate their last supper together, with Mélisse sitting +between them and wondering at their silence. When it was over, the two +went outside. + +"Mukee wasn't at the store," said Cummins in a thick, strained voice, +halting Jan in the gloom behind the cabin. "Williams thought he was +off to the south with his dogs. But he isn't. I saw him drag himself +into his shack, like a sick dog, an hour before dusk. There'll be a +red flag over Lac Bain in the morning." + +Jan stifled the sharp cry on his lips. + +"Ah, there's a light!" cried Cummins. "It's a pitch torch burning in +front of his door!" + +A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and +the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father--a +wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing +of a dog. Sudden lights flashed into the night, as they had flashed +years ago when Cummins staggered forth from his home with word of the +woman's death. He gripped Jan's arm in a sudden spasm of horror. + +"The flag is up NOW!" he whispered huskily. "Go back to Mélisse. There +is food in the house for a month, and you can bring the wood in to- +night. Bar the door. Open only the back window for air. Stay inside-- +with her--until it is all over. Go!" + +"To the red flags, that is where I will go!" cried Jan fiercely, +wrenching his arm free. "It is your place to stay with Mélisse!" + +"My place is with the men." + +"And mine?" Jan drew himself up rigid. + +"One of us must shut himself up with her," pleaded Cummins. "It must +be you." His face gleamed white in the darkness. "You came--that +night--because Mélisse was here. SOMETHING sent you--SOMETHING--don't +you understand? And since then she has never been near to death until +now. You must stay with Mélisse--WITH YOUR VIOLIN!" + +"Mélisse herself shall choose," replied Jan. "We will go into the +cabin, and the one to whom she comes first goes among the red flags. +The other shuts himself in the cabin until the plague is gone." + +He turned swiftly back to the door. As he opened it, he stepped aside +to let Cummins enter first, and behind the other's broad back he +leaped quickly to one side, his eyes glowing, his white teeth gleaming +in a smile. Unseen by Cummins, he stretched out his arms to Mélisse, +who was playing with the strings of his violin on the table. + +He had done this a thousand times, and Mélisse knew what it meant--a +kiss and a joyous toss halfway to the ceiling. She jumped from her +stool and ran to him; but this time, instead of hoisting her above his +head, he hugged her up close to his breast, and buried his face in her +soft hair. His eyes looked over her in triumph to Cummins. + +"Up, Jan, up--'way up!" cried Mélisse. + +He tossed her until she half turned in midair, kissed her again as he +caught her in his arms, and set her, laughing and happy, on the edge +of the table. + +"I am going down among the sick Crees in Cummins' place," said Jan to +Williams, half an hour later. "Now that the plague has come to Lac +Bain, he must stay with Mélisse." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A LONG WAITING + + +The next morning Jan struck out over his old trail to the Hasabala. +The Crees were gone. He spent a day swinging east and west, and found +old trails leading into the north. + +"They have gone up among the Eskimos," he said to himself. "Ah, Kazan, +what in the name of the saints is that?" + +The leading dog dropped upon his haunches with a menacing growl as a +lone figure staggered across the snow toward them. It was Croisset. +With a groan, he dropped upon the sledge. + +"I am sick and starving!" he wailed. "The fiend himself has got into +my cabin, and for three days I've had nothing but snow and a raw +whisky-jack!" + +"Sick!" cried Jan, drawing a step away from him. + +"Yes, sick from an empty belly, and this, and this!" He showed a +forearm done up in a bloody rag, and pointed to his neck, from which +the skin was peeling. "I was gone ten days with that red cloth you +gave me; and when I came back, if there wasn't the horror itself +grinning at me from the top of my own shanty! I tried to get in, but +my wife barred the door, and said that she would shoot me if I didn't +get back into the woods. I tried to steal in at night through a +window, and she drenched me in hot water. I built a wigwam at the edge +of the forest, and stayed there for five days. Hon-gree! Blessed +saints, I had no matches, no grub; and when I got close enough to yell +these things to her, she kept her word and plunked me through a crack +in the door, so that I lost a pint of blood from this arm." + +"I'll give you something to eat," laughed Jan, undoing his pack. "How +long has the red flag been up?" + +"I've lost all count of time, but it's twelve days, if an hour, and I +swear it's going to take all winter to get it down!" + +"It's not the plague. Go back and tell your wife so." + +"And get shot for my pains!" groaned Croisset, digging into meat and +biscuit. "I'm bound for Lac Bain, if you'll give me a dozen matches. +That whisky-jack will remain with me until I die, for when I ate him I +forgot to take out his insides!" + +"You're a lucky man, Croisset. It's good proof that she loves you." + +"If bullets and hot water and an empty belly are proofs, she loves me +a great deal, Jan Thoreau! Though I don't believe she meant to hit me. +It was a woman's bad aim." + +Jan left him beside a good fire, and turned into the southwest to burn +Langlois and his cabin. The red flag still floated where he had seen +it weeks before. The windows were thicker with frost. He shouted, beat +upon the door with the butt of his rifle and broke in the windows. The +silence of death quickened the beating of his heart when he stopped to +listen. There was no doubt that Langlois lay dead in his little home. + +Jan brought dry brushwood from the forest, and piled it high against +the logs. Upon his sledge he sat and watched the fire until the cabin +was a furnace of leaping flame. + +He continued westward. At the head of the Porcupine he found the +remains of three burned wigwams, and from one of them he dug out +charred bones. Down the Porcupine he went slowly, doubling to the east +and west, until, at its junction with Gray Otter Creek, he met a Cree, +who told him that twenty miles farther on there was an abandoned +village of six teepees. Toward these he boldly set forth, praying as +he went that the angels were guarding Mélisse at Post Lac Bain. + +Croisset reached the post forty-eight hours after he had encountered +Jan. + +"The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal +over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as +thick as jays in springtime!" + +The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. + +"Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to +Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, +left the Gray Otter to burn them." + +Williams took down his birch-bark moose-horn and bellowed a weird +signal to Cummins, who opened a crack of his door to listen, with +Mélisse close beside him. + +"Thoreau is in the thick of it to the south," he called. "There's too +much of it for him, and I'm going down with the dogs. Croisset will +stay in the store for a few days." + +Mélisse heard the words, and her eyes were big with fear when her +father turned from closing and bolting the door. In more than a +childish way, she knew that Jan had gone forth to face a great danger. +The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun +to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, +just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the +responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. + +She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant. She knew that the +air of this world of hers had become filled with peril to those who +breathed it, and that people were dying out in the forests; that all +about them there was a terrible, unseen thing which her father called +the plague, and that Jan had gone forth to fight it, to breathe it, +and, perhaps, to die in it. Their own door was locked and bolted +against it. She dared not even thrust her head from the window which +was opened for a short time each day; and until Cummins assured her +that there was no danger in the sunshine, she shunned the few pale +rays that shot through the cabin-window at midday. + +Unconsciously, Cummins added to her fears in more ways than one, and +as he answered her questions truthfully, her knowledge increased day +by day. She thought more and more of Jan. She watched for him through +the two windows of her home. Every sound from outside brought her to +them with eager hope; and always, her heart sank with disappointment, +and the tears would come very near to her eyes, when she saw nothing +but the terrible red flag clinging to the pole over Mukee's cabin. + +In the little Bible which her mother had left there was written, on +the ragged fly-leaf, a simple prayer. Each night, as she knelt beside +her cot and repeated this prayer, she paused at the end, and added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, please take care of Jan!" + +The days brought quick changes now. One morning the moose-horn called +Cummins to the door. It was the fifth day after Williams had gone +south. + +"There was no smoke this morning, and I looked through the window," +shouted Croisset. "Mukee and the old man are both dead. I'm going to +burn the cabin." + +A stifled groan of anguish fell from Cummins' lips as he went like a +dazed man to his cot and flung himself face downward upon it. Mélisse +could see his strong frame shaking, as if he were crying like a child; +and twining her arms tightly about his neck, she sobbed out her +passionate grief against his rough cheek. She did not know the part +that Mukee had played in the life of the sweet woman who had once +lived in this same little cabin; she knew only that he was dead; that +the terrible thing had killed him and that, next to her father and +Jan, she had loved him more than any one else in the world. + +Soon she heard a strange sound, and ran to the window. Mukee's cabin +was in flames. Wild-eyed and tearless with horror, she watched the +fire as it burst through the broken windows and leaped high up among +the black spruce. In those flames was Mukee! She screamed, and her +father sprang to her with a strange cry, running with her from the +window into the little room where she slept. + +The next morning, when Cummins went to awaken her, his face went as +white as death. Mélisse was not asleep. Her eyes were wide open and +staring at him, and her soft cheeks burned with the hot glow of fire. + +"You are sick, Mélisse," he whispered hoarsely. "You are sick!" + +He fell upon his knees beside her, and lifted her face in his hands. +The touch of it sent a chill to his heart--such as he had not felt +since many years ago, in that other room a few steps away. + +"I want Jan," she pleaded. "I want Jan to come back to me!" + +"I will send for him, dear. He will come back soon. I will go out and +send Croisset." + +He hid his face from her as he dragged himself away. Croisset saw him +coming, and came out of the store to meet him. A hundred yards away +Cummins stopped. + +"Croisset, for the love of God, take a team and go after Jan Thoreau," +he called "Tell him that Mélisse is dying of the plague. Hurry, +hurry!" + +"Night and day!" shouted Croisset. + +Twenty minutes later, from the cabin window, Cummins saw him start. + +"Jan will be here very soon, Mélisse," he said, running his fingers +gently through her hair. + +It fell out upon the pillow in thick brown waves, and the sight of it +choked him with the memory of another vision which would remain with +him until the end of time. It was her mother's hair, shining softly in +the dim light; her mother's eyes looked up at him as he sat beside her +through all this long day. + +Toward evening there came a change. The fever left the child's cheeks. +Her eyes closed, and she fell asleep. Through the night Cummins sat +near the door, but in the gray dawn, overcome by his long vigil, his +head dropped upon his breast, and he slumbered. + +When he awoke the cabin was filled with light He heard a sound, and, +startled, sprang to his feet. Mélisse was at the stove building a +fire! + +"I'm better this morning, father. Why didn't you sleep until breakfast +was ready?" + +Cummins stared. Then he gave a shout, made a rush for her, and +catching her up in his arms, danced about the cabin like a great bear, +overturning the chairs, and allowing the room to fill with smoke in +his wild joy. + +"It's what you saw through the window that made you sick, Mélisse," he +cried, putting her down at last. "I thought--" He paused, and added, +his voice trembling: "I thought you were going to be sick for more +than one day, my sweet little woman!" + +He opened one of the windows to let in the fresh air of the morning. + +When Croisset returned, he did not find a red flag over Cummins' +cabin; nor did he bring word of Jan. For three days he had followed +the trails to the south without finding the boy. But he brought back +other news. Williams was sick with the plague in a Cree wigwam on the +lower Porcupine. It was the last they ever heard of the factor, except +that he died some time in March, and was burned by the Crees. + +Croisset went back over the Churchill trail, and found his wife ready +to greet him with open arms. After that he joined Per-ee, who came in +from the north, in another search for Jan. They found neither trace +nor word of him after passing the Gray Otter, and Cummins gave up +hope. + +It was not for long that their fears could be kept from Mélisse. This +first bitter grief that had come into her life fell upon her with a +force which alarmed Cummins, and cast him into deep gloom. She no +longer loved to play with her things in the cabin. For days at a time +she would not touch the books which Jan had brought from Churchill, +and which he had taught her to read. She found little to interest her +in the things which had been her life a few weeks before. + +With growing despair, Cummins saw his own efforts fail. As the days +passed Mélisse mingled more and more with the Indian and half-breed +children, and spent much of her time at the company's store, listening +to the talk of the men, silent, attentive, unresponsive to any efforts +they might make to engage her smiles. From her own heart she looked +out upon a world that had become a void for her. Jan had been mother, +brother, and everything that was tender and sweet to her--and he was +gone. Mukee, whom she had loved, was gone. Williams was gone. The +world was changed, terribly and suddenly, and it added years to her +perspective of things. + +Each day, as the weeks went on, and the spring sun began to soften the +snow, she became a little more like the wild children at Lac Bain and +in the forest. For Jan, she had kept her hair soft and bright, because +he praised her for it and told her it was pretty. Now it hung in +tangles down her back. + +There came a night when she forgot her prayer, and Cummins did not +notice it. He failed to notice it the next night, and the next. +Plunged deep in his own gloom, he was unobservant of many other +things, so that, in place of laughter and joy and merry rompings, only +gloomy and oppressive shadows of things that had come and gone filled +the life of the little cabin. + +They were eating dinner, one day in the early spring, with the +sunshine flooding in upon them, when a quick, low footfall caused +Mélisse to lift her eyes in the direction of the open door. A strange +figure stood there, with bloodless face, staring eyes, and garments +hanging in tatters--but its arms were stretched out, as those same +arms had been held out to her a thousand times before, and, with the +old glad cry, Mélisse darted with the swiftness of a sun-shadow beyond +Cummins, crying: + +"Jan, Jan--my Jan!" + +Words choked in Cummins' throat when he saw the white-faced figure +clutching Mélisse to its breast. + +At last he gasped "Jan!" and threw out his arms, so that both were +caught in their embrace. + +For an instant Jan turned his face up to the light The other stared +and understood. + +"You have been sick," he said, "but it has left no marks." + +"Thank God!" breathed Jan. + +Mélisse raised her head, and stroked his cheeks with her two hands. +That night she remembered her prayer, and at its end she added: + +"Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for sending back Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +ALMOST A WOMAN + + +Peace followed in the blighted trails of the Red Terror. Again the +forest world breathed without fear; but from Hudson's Bay to +Athabasca, and as far south as the thousand waters of the Reindeer +country, the winds whispered of a terrible grief that would remain +until babes were men and men went to their graves. + +Life had been torn and broken in a cataclysm more fearful than that +which levels cities and disrupts the earth. Slowly it began its +readjustment. There was no other life to give aid or sympathy; and +just as they had suffered alone, so now the forest people struggled +back into life alone, building up from the wreck of what had been, the +things that were to be. + +For months the Crees wailed their death dirges as they sought out the +bones of their dead. Men dragged themselves into the posts, wifeless +and childless, leaving deep in the wilderness all that they had known +to love and give them comfort. Now and then came a woman, and around +the black scars of burned cabins and teepees dogs howled mournfully +for masters that were gone. + +The plague had taken a thousand souls, and yet the laughing, dancing +millions in that other big world beyond the edge of the wilderness +caught only a passing rumor of what had happened. + +Lac Bain suffered least of the far northern posts, with the exception +of Churchill, where the icy winds down-pouring from the Arctic had +sent the Red Terror shivering to the westward. In the late snows, word +came that Cummins was to take Williams' place as factor, and Per-ee at +once set off for the Fond du Lac to bring back Jean de Gravois as +"chief man." Croisset gave up his fox-hunting to fill Mukee's place. + +The changes brought new happiness to Mélisse. Croisset's wife was a +good woman who had spent her girlhood in Montreal, and Iowaka, now the +mother of a fire-eating little Jean and a handsome daughter, was a +soft-voiced young Venus who had grown sweeter and prettier with her +years--which is not usually the case with half-breed women. + +"But it's good blood in her, beautiful blood," vaunted Jean proudly, +whenever the opportunity came. "Her mother was a princess, and her +father a pure Frenchman, whose father's father was a chef de +bataillon. What better than that, eh? I say, what better could there +be than that?" + +So, for the first time in her life, Mélisse discovered the joys of +companionship with those of her own kind. + +This new companionship, pleasant as it was, did not come between her +and Jan. If anything, they were more to each other than ever. The +terrible months through which they had passed had changed them both, +and had given them, according to their years, the fruits which are +often ripened in the black gloom of disaster rather than in the +sunshine of prosperity. + +To Mélisse they had opened up a new world of thought, a new vision of +the things that existed about her. The sternest teacher of all had +brought to her the knowledge that comes of grief, of terror, and of +death, and she had passed beyond her years, just as the cumulative +processes of generations made the Indian children pass beyond theirs. + +She no longer looked upon Jan as a mere playmate, a being whose +diversion was to amuse and to love her. He had become a man. In her +eyes he was a hero, who had gone forth to fight the death of which she +still heard word and whisper all about her. Croisset's wife and Iowaka +told her that he had done the bravest thing that a man might do on +earth. She spoke proudly of him to the Indian children, who called him +the "torch-bearer." She noticed that he was as tall as Croisset, and +taller by half a head than Jean, and that he lifted her now with one +arm as easily as if she were no heavier than a stick of wood. + +Together they resumed their studies, devoting hours to them each day, +and through all that summer he taught her to play upon his violin. The +warm months were a time of idleness at Lac Bain, and Jan made the most +of them in his teaching of Mélisse. She learned to read the books +which he had used at Fort Churchill, and by midsummer she could read +those which he had used at York Factory. At night they wrote letters +to each other and delivered them across the table in the cabin, while +Cummins looked on and smoked, laughing happily at what they read aloud +to him. + +One night, late enough in the season for a fire to be crackling +merrily in the stove, Jan was reading one of these letters, when +Mélisse cried: + +"Stop, Jan--stop THERE!" + +Jan caught himself, and he blushed mightily when he read the next +lines: + +"'I think you have beautiful eyes. I love them.'" + +"What is it?" cried Cummins interestedly. "Read on, Jan." + +"Don't!" commanded Mélisse, springing to her feet and running around +the table. "I didn't mean you to read that!" + +She snatched the paper from Jan's hand and threw it into the fire. + +Jan's blood filled with pleasure, and at the bottom of his next letter +he wrote back: + +"I think you have beautiful hair. I love it." + +That winter Jan was appointed post hunter, and this gave him much time +at home, for meat was plentiful along the edge of the barrens. The two +continued at their books until they came to the end of what Jan knew +in them. After that, like searchers in strange places, they felt their +way onward, slowly and with caution. During the next summer they +labored through all the books which were in the little box in the +corner of the cabin. + +It was Mélisse who now played most on the violin, and Jan listened, +his eyes glowing proudly as he saw how cleverly her little fingers +danced over the strings, his face flushed with a joy that was growing +stronger in him every day. One day she looked curiously into the F- +hole of the instrument, and her pretty mouth puckered itself into a +round, red "O" of astonishment when Jan quickly snatched the violin +from her hands. + +"Excuses-moi, ma belle Mélisse," he laughed at her in French. "I am +going to play you something new!" + +That same day he took the little cloth-covered roll from the violin +and gave it another hiding-place. It recalled to him the strange +spirit which had once moved him at Fort Churchill, and which had +remained with him for a time at Lac Bain. That spirit was now gone, +luring him no longer. Time had drawn a softening veil over things that +had passed. He was happy. + +The wilderness became more beautiful to him as Mélisse grew older. +Each summer increased his happiness; each succeeding winter made it +larger and more complete. Every fiber of his being sang in joyful +response as he watched Mélisse pass from childhood into young +girlhood. He marked every turn in her development, the slightest +change in her transformation, as if she had been a beautiful flower. + +He possessed none of the quick impetuosity of Jean de Gravois. Years +gave the silence of the North to his tongue, and his exultation was +quiet and deep in his own heart. With an eagerness which no one +guessed he watched the growing beauty of her hair, marked its +brightening luster when he saw it falling in thick waves over her +shoulders, and he knew that at last it had come to be like the +woman's. The changing lights in her eyes fascinated him, and he +rejoiced again when he saw that they were deepening into the violet +blue of the bakneesh flowers that bloomed on the tops of the ridges. + +To him, Mélisse was growing into everything that was beautiful. She +was his world, his life, and at Post Lac Bain there was nothing to +come between the two. Jan noticed that in her thirteenth year she +could barely stand under his outstretched arm. The next year she had +grown so tall that she could not stand there at all. Very soon she +would be a woman! + +The thought leaped from his heart, and he spoke it aloud. It was on +the girl's fifteenth birthday. They had come up to the top of the +ridge on which he had fought the missionary, to gather red sprigs of +the bakneesh for the festival that they were to have in the cabin that +night. High up on the face of a jagged rock, Jan saw a bit of the +crimson vine thrusting itself out into the sun, and, with Mélisse +laughing and encouraging him from below, he climbed up until he had +secured it. He tossed it down to her. + +"It's the last one," she cried, seeing his disadvantage, "and I'm +going home. You can't catch me!" + +She darted away swiftly along the snow-covered ridge, taunting him +with merry laughter as she left him clambering in cautious descent +down the rock. Jan followed in pursuit, shouting to her in French, in +Cree, and in English, and their two voices echoed happily in their +wild frolic. + +Jan slackened his steps. It was a joy to see Mélisse springing from +rock to rock and darting across the thin openings close ahead of him, +her hair loosening and sweeping out in the sun, her slender figure +fleeing with the lightness of the pale sun-shadows that ran up and +down the mountain. + +He would not have overtaken her of his own choosing, but at the foot +of the ridge Mélisse gave up. She returned toward him, panting and +laughing, shimmering like a sea-naiad under the glistening veil of her +disheveled hair. Her face glowed with excitement; her eyes, filled +with the light of the sun, dazzled Jan in their laughing defiance. +Before her he stopped, and made no effort to catch her. Never had he +seen her so beautiful, still daring him with her laugh, quivering and +panting, flinging back her hair. Half reaching out his arms, he cried: + +"Mélisse, you are beautiful--you are almost a woman!" + +The flush deepened in her cheeks, and there was no longer the sweet, +taunting mischief in her eyes. She made no effort to run from him when +he came to her. + +"Do you think so, Brother Jan?" + +"If you did your hair up like the pictures we have in the books, you +would be a woman," he answered softly. "You are more beautiful than +the pictures!" + +He drew a step back, and her eyes flashed at him again with the +sparkle of the old fun in them. + +"You say that I am pretty, and that I am almost a woman," she pouted. +"And yet--" She shrugged her shoulders at him in mock disdain. "Jan +Thoreau, this is the third time in the last week that you have not +played the game right! I won't play with you any more!" + +In a flash he was at her side, her face between his two hands and, +bending down, he kissed her upon the mouth. + +"There," she said, as he released her. "Isn't that the way we have +played it ever since I can remember? Whenever you catch me, you may +have that!" + +"I am afraid, Mélisse," he said seriously. "You are growing so tall +and so pretty that I am afraid." + +"Afraid! My brother afraid to kiss me! And what will you do when I get +to be a woman, Jan--which will be very soon, you say?" + +"I don't know, Mélisse." + +She turned her back to him and flung out her hair; and Jan, who had +done this same thing for her a hundred times before, divided the +silken mass into three strands and plaited them into a braid. + +"I don't believe that you care for me as much as you used to, Jan. I +wish I were a woman, so that I might know if you are going to forget +me entirely!" + +Her shoulders trembled; and when he had finished his task, he found +that she was laughing, and that her eyes were swimming with a new +mischief which she was trying to hide from him. In that laugh there +was something which was not like Mélisse. Slight as the change was, he +noticed it; but instead of displeasing him, it set a vague sensation +of pleasure trilling like a new song within him. + +When they reached the post, Mélisse went to the cabin with her +bakneesh, and Jan to the company's store. Tossing the vines upon the +table, Mélisse ran back to the door and watched him until he +disappeared. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips half parted in +excitement; and no sooner had he gone from view than she hurried to +Iowaka's home across the clearing. + +It was fully three quarters of an hour later when Jan saw Mélisse, +with Iowaka's red shawl over her head, walking slowly and with extreme +precision of step back to the cabin. + +"I wonder if she has the earache," he said to himself, watching her +curiously. "That is Iowaka's shawl, and she has it all about her +head." + +"A clear half-inch of the rarest wool from London," added the cheery +voice of Jean de Gravois, whose moccasins had made no sound behind +him. He always spoke in French to Jan. "There is but one person in the +world who looks better in it than your Mélisse, Jan Thoreau, and that +is Iowaka, my wife. Blessed saints, man, but is she not growing more +beautiful every day?" + +"Yes," said Jan. "She will soon be a woman." + +"A woman!" shouted Jean, who, not having his caribou whip, jumped up +and down to emphasize his words. "She will soon be a woman, did you +say, Jan Thoreau? And if she is not a woman at thirty, with two +children--God send others like them!--when will she be, I ask you?" + +"I meant Mélisse," laughed Jan. + +"And I meant Iowaka," said Jean. "Ah, there she is now, come out to +see if her Jean de Gravois is on his way home with the sugar for which +she sent him something like an hour ago; for you know she is chef de +cuisine of this affair to-night. Ah, she sees me not, and she turns +back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the +calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did +you ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven +who's nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find? +Deliver us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!" + +The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life, +calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him. + +A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was +passing. + +"I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting +that sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms. +"Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough +for the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common +flour and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at +Post Lac Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and +sweeter than sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her +earthly tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough, +mon ami. Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about +Mélisse and--" + +"Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out +for himself." + +"So--so it is," exclaimed the irrepressible Jean, plunging himself to +the elbows in his pan of dough. "Then hurry to the cabin, Jan, and see +what sort of a birthday gift Mélisse has got for you." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BIRTHDAYS + + +The big room was empty when Jan came quietly through the open door. He +stopped to listen, and caught a faint laugh from the other room, and +then another; and to give warning of his presence, he coughed loudly +and scraped a chair along the floor. A moment's silence followed. The +farther door opened a little, and then it opened wide, and Mélisse +came out. + +"Now what do you think of me, brother Jan?" She stood in the light of +the window through which came the afternoon sun, her hair piled in +glistening coils upon the crown of her head, as they had seen them in +the pictures, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing questioningly at +Jan. + +"Do I look--as you thought--I would, Jan?" she persisted, a little +doubtful at his silence. She turned, so that he saw the cluster of +soft curls that fell upon her shoulder, with sprigs of bakneesh half +smothered in them. "Do I?" + +"You are prettier than I have ever seen you, Mélisse," he replied +softly. + +There was a seriousness in his voice that made her come to him in her +old impulsive, half-childish way. She lifted her hands and rested them +on his shoulders, as she had always done when inviting him to toss her +above his head. + +"If I am prettier--and you like me this way--why don't you--" + +She finished with a sweet, upturned pouting of her mouth, and, with a +sudden, laughing cry, Jan caught her in his arms and kissed the lips +she held up to him. It was but an instant, and he freed her, a hot +blush burning in his brown cheeks. + +"My dear brother!" she laughed at him, gathering up the bakneesh on +the table. "I love to have you kiss me, and now I have to make you do +it. Father kisses me every morning when he goes to the store. I +remember when you used to kiss me every time you came home, but now +you forget to do it at all. Do brothers love their sisters less as +they grow older?" + +"Sometimes they love the SISTER less and the OTHER GIRL more, ma belle +Mélisse," came a quick voice from the door, and Jean de Gravois +bounded in like a playful cat, scraping and bowing before Mélisse +until his head nearly touched the floor. "Lovely saints, Jan Thoreau, +but she IS a woman, just as my Iowaka told me! And the cakes--the +bread--the pies! You must delay the supper my lady, for the good Lord +deliver me if I haven't spilled all the dough on the floor! Swas-s-s- +s-h--such a mess! And my Iowaka did nothing but laugh and call me a +clumsy dear!" + +"You're terribly in love, Jean," cried Mélisse, laughing until her +eyes were wet; "just like some of the people in the books which Jan +and I read." + +"And I always shall be, my dear, so long as the daughter of a princess +and the great-granddaughter of a chef de bataillon allows me to mix +her dough!" + +Mélisse flung the red shawl over her head, still laughing. + +"I will go and help her, Jean." + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Gravois, looking searchingly at Jan, when she had +left. "Shall I give you my best wishes, Jan Thoreau? Does it signify?" + +"Signify--what?" + +The little Frenchman's eyes snapped. + +"Why, when our pretty Cree maiden becomes engaged, she puts up her +hair for the first time, that is all, my dear Jan. When I asked my +blessed Iowaka to be my wife, she answered by running away from me, +taunting me until I thought my heart had shriveled into a bit of salt +blubber; but she came back to me before I had completely died, with +her braids done up on the top of her head!" + +He stopped suddenly, startled into silence by the strange look that +had come into the other's face. For a full minute Jan stood as if the +power of movement had gone from him. He was staring over the +Frenchman's head, a ghastly pallor growing in his cheeks. + +"No--it--means--nothing," he said finally, speaking as if the words +were forced from him one by one. + +He dropped into a chair beside the table like one whose senses had +been dulled by an unexpected blow. With a great sighing breath that +was almost a sob, he bowed his head upon his arms. + +"Jan Thoreau," whispered Jean softly, "have you forgotten that it was +I who killed the missioner for you, and that through all of these +years Jean de Gravois has never questioned you about the fight on the +mountain top?" There was in his voice, as gentle as a woman's, the +vibrant note of a comradeship which is next to love--the comradeship +of man for man in a world where friendship is neither bought nor sold. +"Have you forgotten, Jan Thoreau? If there is anything Jean de Gravois +can do?" + +He sat down opposite Jan, his thin, eager face propped in his hands, +and watched silently until the other lifted his head. Their eyes met, +steady, unflinching, and in that look there were the oath and the seal +of all that the honor of the big snows held for those two. + +Still without words, Jan reached within his breast and drew forth the +little roll which he had taken from his violin. One by one he handed +the pages over to Jean de Gravois. + +"Mon Dieu!" said Jean, when he had finished reading. He spoke no other +words. White-faced, the two men stared, Jan's throat twitching, +Gravois' brown fingers crushing the rolls he held. + +"That was why I tried to kill the missioner," said Jan at last. He +pointed to the more coarsely written pages under Jean's hand. "And +that--that--is why it could not signify that Mélisse has done up her +hair." He rose to his feet, straining to keep his voice even, and +gathered up the papers so that they shot back into the little +cylinder-shaped roll again. "Now do you understand?" + +"I understand," replied Jean in a low voice, but his eyes glittered +like dancing dragon-flies as he raised his elbows slowly from the +table and stretched his arms above his head. "I understand, Jan +Thoreau, and I praise the blessed Virgin that it was Jean de Gravois +who killed the missioner out upon the ice of Lac Bain!" + +"But the other," persisted Jan, "the other, which says that I--" + +"Stop!" cried Jean sharply. He came around the table and seized Jan's +hands in the iron grip of his lithe, brown fingers. "That is something +for you to forget. It means nothing--nothing at all, Jan Thoreau! Does +any one know but you and me?" + +"No one. I intended that some day Mélisse and her father should know; +but I waited too long. I waited until I was afraid, until the horror +of telling her frightened me. I made myself forget, burying it deeper +each year, until to-day--on the mountain--" + +"And to-day, in this cabin, you will forget again, and you will bury +it so deep that it will never come back. I am proud of you, Jan +Thoreau. I love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has +ever said this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!" + +With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they +now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door. +Half-way across the open were Mélisse and Iowaka, carrying a large +Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they +saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an +invitation for the two men to come to their assistance. + +"You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau," +exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!" + +He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two +who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder +by the time Jan arrived. + +"Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Mélisse, as she dropped a +few steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!" + +"I think I'm twenty-nine." + +"You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the +mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--" + +He had never spoken to Mélisse as he did now. + +"I was born some time in the winter, Mélisse--like you. Perhaps it was +yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow. That is all I know." + +He looked at her steadily, the grief which he was fighting to keep +back tightening the muscles about his mouth. + +Like the quick passing of sunshine, the fun swept from her face, +leaving her blue eyes staring up at him, filled with a pain which he +had never seen in them before. In a moment he knew that she had +understood him, and he could have cut out his tongue. Her hand reached +his arm, and she stopped him, her face lifted pleadingly, the tears +slowly gathering in her eyes. + +"Forgive me!" she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "Dear, +dear Jan, forgive me!" She caught one of his hands in both her own, +and for an instant held it so that he could feel the throbbing of her +heart. "To-day is your birthday, Jan--yours and mine, mine and yours-- +and we will always have it that way--always--won't we, Jan?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE RENUNCIATION + + +Jan was glad when the evening came, and was gone. Not until Jean and +Iowaka had said good night with Croisset and his wife, and both +Cummins and Mélisse had gone to their rooms, did he find himself +relieved of the tension under which he had struggled during all of +that night's merry-making in the cabin. + +From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and +indefinable sensation that was growing within him--something which he +could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and +meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely +he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never +had he played as on this night. His violin leaped with life, his voice +rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Croisset, he +sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers +touched the log beams overhead; and yet there was none of the flush of +excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon +Mélisse. + +She saw this, and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, +straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw in +response only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the Jan who +had pursued her that day on the mountain-top. + +Jan was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave +him these glances; deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty +of her flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming +depths of her clear eyes; but the mask of the thing at which she +wondered still remained. + +After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had +finished, he went to his room. Jan was now sleeping in a room at the +company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his +cap and coat. He opened the outer door quietly, so as not to arouse +Mélisse, who had gone to bed half an hour before. + +As he was about to go out, there came a sound--a low, gentle, +whispered word. + +"Jan!" + +He turned. Mélisse stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her +hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson bakneesh +shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her +two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same +question in her eyes. + +"Jan, you were not pleased with me to-night," she whispered. "Tell me, +why?" + +"I was pleased with you, Mélisse," he replied. + +He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm, and turned his +face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky, as they +had shone on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood +they saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows +out over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had +played when the woman died. Gaunt and solitary, the tall spruce loomed +up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the +night wind, as if in wailing answer to that far-away music in the +skies. + +Suddenly there leaped up from Jan Thoreau's breast a breath that burst +from his lips in a low cry. + +"Mélisse, Mélisse, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in +through that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin +when your mother died. You were a little baby then, and since that +night you have never pleased me more than now!" + +He dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door, to hide what he +knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heart-broken little sob +behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. + +"Jan, dear Jan!" + +Mélisse crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling +about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old +love, the love and pride of what seemed to Jan to be, years ago, the +old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong +arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in +the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes +glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full, into his face. + +She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. + +"I didn't please you to-day," she whispered. "I will never do up my +hair again!" + +He kissed her, and his arms dropped from her shoulders. + +"Never, never again--until you have forgotten to love me," she +repeated. "Good night, Brother Jan!" + +Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper +and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Jan +went from the door that closed between him and Mélisse, her last words +still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his +cheeks--and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him swiftly +surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which racked him to the +soul. + +Fifteen years ago! He stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening +his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of +ages and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale +fire, robbed of softness by the polar cold; there were the same +cloudless blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping +through its infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning +prayers on that night when he had staggered into Lac Bain. + +He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away +from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday, he +remembered how he had dragged himself through this swamp, bleeding and +starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of +dogs, which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into +it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge, +from which he looked out through the white night into the limitless +barrens to the north. + +Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths +between hunter's cabin and Indian wigwam, starving at times, almost +dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back, and playing-- +always playing to keep up his courage, until he found Mélisse. Fifteen +years had passed since then, and the cumulative force of the things +that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. He had +felt it first when Mélisse turned upon him at the foot of the +mountain; and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in +every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She +was no longer the little Mélisse, his sister. And yet-- + +He was almost saying her last words aloud: + +"Good night, Brother Jan!" + +She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to +him a thousand times before; but he had not kissed her in the old way. +It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot +blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. +His was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the +ways of passion. + +In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as +he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin--sacrilege +against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Mélisse came +to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, +unaware of his temptation; while he, Jan Thoreau-- + +He thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean +de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth, slowly, and held them +crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out +into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. + +His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags +behind him. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in +the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and +from tree to tree until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which +hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top +beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow +five hundred feet below. + +It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bough for a +hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their +solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. +Mukee had told Jan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life +at Lac Bain, he and Per-ee had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its +branches until only the black cap remained; and after that it was +known far and wide as the "lobstick" of Cummins' wife. It was a +voiceless cenotaph which signified that all the honor and love known +to the wilderness people had been given to her. + +To it went Jan, the papers still held in his hand. He had seen a pair +of whisky-jacks storing food in the butt of the tree, two or three +summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found +it, he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole +with chunks of bark. + +"Always my sister--and never anything more to Jan Thoreau," he said +gently in French, as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. +"That is the honor of these snows; it is what the great God means us +to be." The strife had gone from his voice; it rose strong and clear +as he stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, +his eyes upon the silent plume that heard his oath. "I swear that Jan +Thoreau will never do wrong to the little Mélisse!" + +With a face white and set in its determination, he turned slowly away +from the tree. Far away, from the lonely depths of the swamp, there +came the wailing howl of a wolf--a cry of hungerful savageness that +died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a +dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound +of it swept a flood of loneliness into Jan's heart. It was the death- +wail of his own last hope, which had gone out of him for ever that +night. + +He listened, and it came again; but in the middle of it, when the +long, moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair, there +broke in a sharp interruption--a shrieking, yelping cry, such as a dog +makes when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest +thrilled with the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who has started +a fresh kill. Hardly had its echoes died away when, from deeper in the +swamp, there came another cry, and still another from the mountain; +and up and out of the desolation rose the calls of others of the +scattered pack, in quick response to the comrade who had first found +meat. + +All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief, except +that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. +A few minutes, and another of the mournful howls changed into the +fierce hunt-cry; then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound +of the chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the +mountain and down into the barrens. + +"A caribou!" cried Jan softly. "A caribou, and he is going into the +barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!" + +He ran and leaned over beside the old tree, so that the great plain +stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt-cry +growing fainter until it almost died away. Then, slowly, it grew again +in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east--approaching +nearer and nearer until Jan saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the +white gloom. + +The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him; another half +rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out fan-shape, their gray +bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, and their leaders +almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. + +There was no sound now. Below him, Jan could see the pale glimmer of +ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the +caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The +moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. From +the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the +caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. +Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. + +After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the +crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, +the caribou was given up to the feast. + +Jan turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart, he +went back to Lac Bain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BROTHER JAN + + +When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face +showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had +already finished, and he found Mélisse alone. Her hair was brushed +back in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her +long braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He +saw the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. + +"You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and +your eyes are bloodshot." + +"I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but +this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the +world, Mélisse?" + +"How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than +mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" + +"Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of +the coffee at the bay." + +"It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him +across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I +don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have +been too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how +lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we +stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing +away the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, +too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you +suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a +wonderful ship like that?" + +"It may be, Mélisse." + +"And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one +else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to +the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to +give him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by +running away from me like that?" + +"To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he +replied quickly. + +She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes +full of mock astonishment. + +"And were you sorry I ran away from you?" + +Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. + +"Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. + +"I--don't--know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you +going to do to-day, Jan?" + +"Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too +busy with his trap-lines to come in." + +"Will you take me?" + +"I'm afraid not, Mélisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." + +"Very well. I'll get ready immediately." + +She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and +ran to her room. + +"It's too far, Mélisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've +a heavy load--" + +"Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to--Oh, dear! Jan, +have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" + +"It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her +humor despite himself. "But I say, Mélisse--" + +"Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed +before you can harness them, Jan." + +"They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to +her. + +Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, +destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with +something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune +as he hurried toward the store. + +When he returned with the team, Mélisse was waiting for him, a gray +thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her +trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, +and with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her +cap. + +"I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. + +"Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared +Mélisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run +from here to Ledoq's!" + +With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the +open, with Mélisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean +and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. + +"The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my +Iowaka," said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be +before her next birthday!" + +And Mélisse was saying: + +"I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" + +She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that +left her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he +stopped the team, and waited. + +"That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." + +He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their +traces, with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until +they were leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the +smooth trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the +leader, his moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of +the trained forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes +upon the twisting trail ahead. + +It was a glorious ride, and Mélisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood +thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of +magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of +their backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, +and their half-gaping jaws--and from them she looked to Jan. There was +no effort in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair +swept back from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the +dogs, there was music in his movement, there was the beauty of +strength, of endurance, of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone +proudly; the color deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, +wondering if there was another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. + +Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the +mountain on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs +to a walk. Mélisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. + +"I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me--" There +was the old witching challenge in her eyes. + +She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued +with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this +time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of +the ridge. + +"You're as pretty as a fairy, Mélisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining +with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" + +"Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" + +"Yes, all of them." + +"I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, +Jan?" Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any +fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" + +"None that could compare with you, Mélisse." + +"Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a +little." + +"More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to +hold his tongue. + +As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the +morning was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother +Jan, Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves +incessantly in his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps +beside the sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the +preceding night, and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the +trapper's. + +Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled +up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at +Lac Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap +through the door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her +with all his might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that +many years before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had +disappeared one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that +Ledoq was that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in +the ready use of their tongues, and were of the same build and the +same briskness. + +Mélisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling +away in a delighted torrent of French. + +"Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Mélisse," he finished +at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a +spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" + +"We met no team." + +Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered +ridge was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. + +"An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain--three men and +six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" + +"No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from +Churchill. We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, +Mélisse, and see if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" + +"You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. + +Jan caught a quick signal from Mélisse. + +"Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. +What do you say, Mélisse?" + +"If you're not tired, Jan." + +"Tired!" + +He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip +over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the +little Frenchman. + +"Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung +lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How +could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Mélisse?" + +"I wouldn't mind if you did--just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for +two?" + +She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped +upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. + +"Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too +near, you know, if you don't want to!" + +The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a +moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until +his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a +single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. +Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs--so loud that it startled her +--and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like +a thing filled with life. + +He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on +faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they +came to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the +strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. + +"Stop!" cried Mélisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from +the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws--see +them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the +night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" + +"And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping +exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." + +He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume +of air into his lungs. + +"Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Mélisse +asked. + +"No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my +little Mélisse was dying of the plague." + +Mélisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and +nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown +palms. + +"Tell me about it, Jan." + +"That was all--I ran." + +"You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" + +He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the +brilliant flush in her cheeks. + +"I ran for you, just now--and you didn't like it," he replied. + +"I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened +round his own. "Away back--years and years and years ago, Jan--you +went out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you +do that much again?" + +"I would do more, Mélisse." + +She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of +something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly +he rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this +he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her +eyes. + +"Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Mélisse, and +then--" + +"What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. + +"Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and +years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. + +There was something in his voice that held Mélisse silent as he turned +to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her +comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: + +"I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON + + +They did not lunch on the trail, but drove into the post in time for +dinner. Jean de Gravois and Croisset came forth from the store to meet +them. + +"You have company, my dear!" cried Jean to Mélisse. "Two gentlemen +fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and +handsomer than your own Jan Thoreau. They are waiting for you in the +cabin, where mon pere is getting them dinner, and telling them how +beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there." + +"Two!" said Jan, as Mélisse left them. "Who are they?" + +"The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, as red as the plague, and fatter +than a spawning fish! And his son, who has come along for fun, he +says; and I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here +very long, Jan Thoreau, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka +when she came into the store just now!" + +"Mon Dieu!" laughed Jan, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the +earth with a terrible gesture. "Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you +that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance!" + +"Is she not worth it?" cried Jean in rapture. "You are welcome to +every look that you can get, Jan Thoreau. But the foreigner--I will +skin him alive and spit him with devil-thorn if he so much as peeps at +her out of the wrong way of his eye!" + +Croisset spoke. + +"There was once a foreigner who came. You remember?" + +"I remember," said Jan. + +He looked to the white cross which marked Mukee's grave in the edge of +the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the +end of summer evenings. + +"And--he--died," said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. "God +forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea." + +Croisset shrugged his shoulders. + +"Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters!" he exclaimed fiercely. "La +charogne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Wholdaia, and +one--" + +A sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. When Croisset whirled toward him, he +stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if +just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. + +As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. + +"Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand!" he cried +shrilly. "Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose, +when your dogs are still in the traces!" Under his breath he +whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Jan's hand: "Le diable, +do you want to tell HIM?" Jan tried to laugh as Croisset came to see +what had happened. + +"Will you care for the dogs, Henri?" asked Jean. "It's only a trifling +sprain of the wrist, which Iowaka can cure with one dose of her +liniment." + +As they walked away, Jan's face still as pallid as the gray snow under +their feet, Gravois added: "You're a fool, Jan Thoreau. There's a +crowd at your cabin, and you'll have dinner with me." + +"La charogne!" muttered Jan. "Les bętes de charogne!" + +Jean gripped him by the arm. + +"I tell you that it means nothing--nothing!" he said, repeating his +words of the previous day in the cabin. "You are a man. You must fight +it down, and forget. No one knows but you and me." + +"You will never tell what you read in the papers?" cried Jan quickly. +"You swear it?" + +"By the blessed Virgin, I swear it!" + +"Then," said Jan softly, "Mélisse will never know!" + +"Never," said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iowaka's sweet +voice came to them, singing a Cree lullaby in the little home. "Some +day Mélisse will be singing that same way over there; and it will be +for you, Jan Thoreau, as my Iowaka is now singing for me!" + +An hour later Jan went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he +paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to +him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. +Mélisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his +eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was +sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when +she said: + +"Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Jan." + +The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. + +"I'm glad to know you, Cummins." + +"Thoreau," corrected Jan quietly, as he took the extended hand. "Jan +Thoreau." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought--" He turned inquiringly to Mélisse. +The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. + +"We are of no relation," continued Jan, something impelling him to +speak the words with cool precision. "Only we have lived under the +same roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother +and sister." + +"Miss Mélisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this +morning," exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly +as he detected the girl's embarrassment. "I wish I had seen it!" + +"There will be plenty of it very soon," replied Jan, caught by the +frankness of the other's manner. "Our runners will be going out among +the trappers within a fortnight." + +"And will they take me?" + +"You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after to-morrow." + +"Thanks," said Dixon, moving toward the door. + +Mélisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly she said: + +"I've kept your dinner for you, Jan. Why didn't you come sooner?" + +"I had dinner with Gravois," he replied. "Jean said that you would +hardly be prepared for five, Mélisse, so I accepted his invitation." + +He took down from the wall a fur sledge-coat, in which Mélisse had +mended a rent a day or two before, and, throwing it over his arm, +turned to leave. + +"Jan!" + +He faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a +strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. + +"Why are you going away the day after to-morrow--two weeks before the +others? You didn't tell me." + +"I'm going a hundred miles into the South," he answered. + +"Over the Nelson House trail?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, +and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. "I understand, brother," +she said softly. "Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten +that the MacVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she +is as sweet as a wild flower. I wish you would have her come up and +visit us some time, Jan." + +Jan's face went red, then white, but Mélisse saw only the first effect +of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. + +"I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach MacVeighs'." he +was on the point of saying; but the words hung upon his lips, and he +remained silent. + +A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little +Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his +pipe when Jan told him why he was leaving at once for the South. + +"Running away!" he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin +lips curling in a sneer. "I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Jan +Thoreau, else I would go myself and tell Mélisse what I read in the +papers. Pish! Why can't you forget?" + +"I may--some day," said Jan. "That is why I am going into the South +two weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I +remain here another week, I shall tell Mélisse, and then--" + +He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. + +"And then--what?" + +"I should go away for ever." + +Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. + +"Then remain another week, Jan Thoreau, and if it turns out as you +say, I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the +wolves!" + +"I am going the day after to-morrow." + +The next morning Iowaka complained to Mélisse that Gravois was as +surly as a bear. + +"A wonderful change has come over him," she said. "He does nothing but +shrug his shoulders and say 'Le diable!' and 'The fool!' Last night I +could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit +has come into my Jean?" + +Mélisse was wondering the same of Jan. She saw little of him during +the day. At noon, Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to +accompany Thoreau on the trip south. + +The following morning, before she was up, Jan had gone. She was deeply +hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without +spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father +to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening, so that +Jan might have an opportunity of bidding her good-by alone. + +Outside of her thoughts of Jan, the days and evenings that followed +were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat, +and took an immense liking to Mélisse. Young Dixon was good-looking +and brimming with life, and spent a great deal of his time in her +company. For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the +wonderful world across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life +to Jan at Fort Churchill, so he told of it to Mélisse, filling her +with visions of great cities, painting picture after picture, until +her imagination was riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and +she listened, with flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. + +One day, a week after Jan had gone, he told her about the women in the +world which had come to be a fairy-land to Mélisse. + +"They are all beautiful over there?" she asked wonderingly, when he +had finished. + +"Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Mélisse," +he replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. "Do you know that +you are beautiful?" + +His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the +signs of it in her face. Jan had often spoken those same words--a +thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful--but there bad +never been this fluttering of her heart before. + +There were few things which Iowaka and she did not hold in secret +between them, and a day or two later Mélisse told her friend what +Dixon had said. For the first time Iowaka abused the confidence placed +in her, and told Jean. + +"Le diable!" gritted Jean, his face blackening. + +He said no more until night, when the children were asleep. Then he +drew Iowaka close beside him on a bench near the stove, and asked +carelessly: + +"Mon ange, if one makes an oath to the blessed Virgin, and breaks it, +what happens?" + +He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. + +"It means that one will be for ever damned unless he confesses to a +priest soon after, doesn't it ma chérie? And if there is no priest +nearer than four hundred miles, it is a dangerous thing to do, is it +not? But--" He did not wait for an answer. "If one might have the oath +broken, and not do it himself, what then?" + +"I don't know," said Iowaka simply, staring at him in amazed +questioning. + +"Nor do I," said Jean, lighting his pipe. "But there is enough of the +devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was +for you, my Iowaka!" + +Her eyes glowed upon him softly. + +"A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man +she loves," she whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on +Jean's shoulder. "That is what my people believe, Jean; and if I have +given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you?" + +"For me alone, Iowaka?" + +"For you alone." + +"And not for a friend?" + +"For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the +god of my people bids me make all sacrifice." + +"But you do not believe in that god, Iowaka!" + +"Sometimes it is better to believe in the god of my people than in +yours," she replied gently. "I believed in him fifteen years ago at +Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then?" + +With a low cry of happiness Jean crushed his face against her soft +cheek. + +"Believe in him always, my Iowaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the +throat of any missioner who says you will not go to Paradise! But-- +this other. You are sure that you would break oath for none but me?" + +"And the children. They are a part of you, Jean." + +A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. +They could hear Croisset's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his +big whip. + +"I'll be back soon," said Jean, closing the door after him; but +instead of approaching Croisset and the fighting dogs he went in the +direction of Cummins' cabin. "Devil take an oath!" he growled under +his breath. "Neither one God nor the other will let me break it, and +Iowaka least of all!" He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh +sounded loudly in the cabin. "Two fools!" he went on communing with +himself. "Cummins--Jan Thoreau--both fools!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A KISS AND THE CONSEQUENCES + + +During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far +distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched +Mélisse and Dixon, and not even to Iowaka did he give hint of his +growing suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There +were a fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his +broad shoulders, and a general air of comradeship about him which won +all but Jean. + +The trap-line runners began leaving the post at the end of the second +week, and after this Mélisse and the young Englishman were more +together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the +sledges, and when they were gone he and Mélisse began taking walks in +the forest, when the sun was high and warm. + +It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the +caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As +he stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path +beaten down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of +him; and a moment later he recognized them as those of Mélisse and +Dixon. His face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. + +"Ah, if I was only Jan Thoreau--a Jan Thoreau with the heart of Jean +de Gravois--what a surprise I'd give that foreigner!" he said to +himself, leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. + +He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful +tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Mélisses arm. +They were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the +girl's bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly +he stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had +bent down and kissed her. + +With a low cry, Mélisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced +Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and +ran swiftly down the trail. + +A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face +to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His +eyes glittered like black diamonds. + +"Jean, Jean!" she sobbed, running to him. + +"He has insulted you," he said softly, smiling into her white face. +"Run along to the post, ma belle Mélisse." + +He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she +disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he +faced Dixon. + +"It is the first time that our Mélisse has ever suffered insult," he +said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. "If Jan Thoreau were here, +he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place!" + +He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until +he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman +convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to +one side, and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of +the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. + +Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry +of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see +Mélisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed +tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him +again, more cautiously than before. + +It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with +science. He darted in again, in his quick, cat-like way, and received +a blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. + +"Bah, this is like striking a baby!" exclaimed Dixon. "What are you +fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl?" + +"I am going to kill you!" said Jean as coolly as before. + +There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was +not excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long +knife in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense +lines gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. + +"Come, we don't want trouble like this," he urged. "I'm sorry--if +Mélisse didn't like it." + +"I am going to kill you!" repeated Jean. + +There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon +found himself retreating rather than from the man. They followed him, +never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. +Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed +softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at +him--and missed. + +It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another +world. For sport Jean had played with wounded lynx; his was the +quickness of sight, of instinct--without the other's science; the +quickness of the great loon that had often played this same game with +his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so +quickly that eyes could not follow. + +A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance, and +escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back +until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed +the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a +serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn +as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance +came. + +There were tricks in his fighting as well as in the other's, and a +dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his +side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman +straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to +the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. +Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had +come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, striking with +the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. + +Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science now-- +that of the forest man. The lithe, brown fingers, that could have +crushed the life of a lynx, fastened themselves around the +Englishman's man's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly +throttled cry as they tightened in their neck-breaking grip. + +"I will kill you!" said Jean again. + +Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their +sockets, his mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was +buried on the other's shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He +would not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not +come a sudden interruption--the terrified voice of Mélisse, the +frantic tearing of her hands at his hands. + +"He is dead!" she shrieked. "You have killed him, Jean!" + +He loosed his fingers and sat up. Mélisse staggered back, clutching +with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. + +"You have killed him!" + +Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. + +"He is not dead," he said, rising and going to her side. "Come, ma +chčre, run home to Iowaka. I will not kill him." Her slender form +shook with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "Run +home to Iowaka," he repeated gently. "I will not kill him, Mélisse." + +He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. + +"Mon Dieu, but it was near to it!" he exclaimed, as there came a +flicker of life into the eyes. "A little more, and he would have been +with the missioner!" + +He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail, and set his back +to a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more +strongly, he followed slowly after Mélisse. + +Unobserved, he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, +chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the +little glass which hung over the wash-basin. + +"Ah, my sweet Iowaka, but would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had +received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into +the blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the +gold in this world!" + +A little later he went to the cabin. Iowaka and the children were at +Croisset's, and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun +sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Mélisse came +in. + +"Hello, ma chčre," he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his +pipe. + +In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her +knees at his feet, her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her +breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. + +"Jean, Jean!" she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. +"Please tell me that you will never tell Jan--please tell me that you +never will, Jean--never, never, never!" + +"I will say nothing, Mélisse." + +"Never, Jean?" + +"Never." + +For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then, +suddenly, she drew down his face and kissed him. + +"Thank you, Jean, for what you have done!" + +"Mon Dieu!" gasped Jean when she had gone. "What if Iowaka had been +here then?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A BROKEN HEART + + +The day following the fight in the forest, Dixon found Jean de Gravois +alone, and came up to him. + +"Gravois, will you shake hands with me?" he said. "I want to thank you +for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss +Mélisse to forgive me--and I want to shake hands with you." + +Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. + +"Que diantre!" he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "Yes, I +will shake hands!" + +For several days after this Jean could see that Mélisse made an effort +to evade him. She did not visit Iowaka when he was in the cabin. +Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young +Englishman spent more of his time at the store; and just before the +trappers began coming in, he went on a three-days' sledge-trip with +Croisset. + +The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Mélisse after the +fight, his eyes flashed pleasure. + +"Jan will surely be coming home soon," he greeted her. "What if the +birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?" + +She flushed scarlet. + +"Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down on the +Nelson House trail, Jean," she retorted. + +"Pouf! Jan Thoreau doesn't give the snap of his small finger for the +MacVeigh girl!" Jean replied, warm in defense of his friend. + +"She is pretty," laughed Mélisse, "and I have just learned that is why +men like to--like them, I mean." + +Jean strutted before her like a peacock. + +"Am I pretty, Mélisse?" + +"No-o-o-o." + +"Then why"--he shrugged his shoulders suggestively--"in the cabin--" + +"Because you were brave, Jean. I love brave men!" + +"You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?" + +Mélisse did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner +of her eye as she left him. + +"Come home, Jan Thoreau," he hummed softly, as he went to the store. +"Come home, come home, come home, for the little Mélisse has grown +into a woman, and is learning to use her eyes!" + +Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was MacVeigh. +He brought word that Jan had gone south, to spend the annual holiday +at Nelson House, and Cummings told Mélisse whence the message came. He +did not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went +on: + +"I don't understand this in Jan. He is needed here for the carnival. +Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?" + +Mélisse shook her head. + +"MacVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief +man," continued the factor. "It is strange that he has sent no +explanation to me!" + +It was a week after the big caribou roast before Jan returned to Lac +Bain. Mélisse saw him drive in from the Churchill trail; but while her +heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at +least an equal show of the calm indifference with which he had left +her six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still rankled +bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her; he had not even passed +his last evening with her. + +But she was not prepared for the changed Jan Thoreau who came slowly +through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the +smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed +with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of +the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, +an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the half- +defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had spoken. +She had never known this Jan before, and her fortitude left her as she +approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to him. + +"Jan!" she said. + +Her voice trembled; her lips quivered. There was the old glorious +pleading in her eyes, and before it Jan bowed his unkempt head, and +crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was +silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At +last Jan spoke. + +"I'm glad to see you again, Mélisse. It has seemed like a very long +time!" + +He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, +and Jan freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, +nothing of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible +emotion, they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. + +"I have not played in so long," he said, turning from her, "that I +believe I have forgotten." + +He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over +the strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of +beard, as he said: + +"Ah, you must play for me now, Mélisse! It has surely gone from Jan +Thoreau." + +He held out the violin to her. + +"Not now, Jan," she said tremulously. "I will play for you to-night." +She went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her +back to him. "You will come to supper, Jan?" + +"Surely, Mélisse, if you are prepared." + +He hung up the violin as she closed the door, and went from the cabin. +Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried +across the open to meet him. + +"I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor," he cried gaily. +"Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see +you." + +"A beard is good to keep off the black flies," replied Jan. "It is +approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. Let us +go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you." + +Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce they sat down, +facing each other. Jan spoke in French. + +"I have traveled far since leaving Lac Bain," he said. "I went first +to Nelson House, and from here to the Wholdaia. I found them at Nelson +House, but not on the Wholdaia." + +"What?" asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. + +"My brothers, Jean de Gravois," answered Jan, drawing his lips until +his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "My brothers, les bętes de +charogne!" + +"Devil take Croisset for telling you where they were!" muttered Jean +under his breath. + +"I saw the two at Nelson House," continued Jan. "One of them is a +half-wit, and the other"--he hunched his shoulders--"is worse. +Petraud, one of the two who were at Wholdaia, was killed by a Cree +father last winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other +disappeared." + +Jean was silent, his head leaning forward, his face resting in his +hands. + +"So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend Jan +Thoreau!" + +Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his +companion. + +"I see that you are a bigger fool than ever," he said quietly. "Jan +Thoreau, what if I should break my oath--and tell Mélisse?" + +Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Jan's. Slowly +he unsheathed his long knife, and placed it upon the snow between his +feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With +a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. + +"Do you mean that, Jan Thoreau? Do you mean to give the knife- +challenge to one who has staked his life for you and who loves you as +a brother?" + +"Yes," said Jan deliberately. "I love you, Jean more than any other +man in the world; and yet I will kill you if you betray me to +Mélisse!" He rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the +little Frenchman. "Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you +have done as much for Iowaka?" + +For a moment Gravois was silent. + +"I would not have taken her love without telling her," he said then. +"That is not what you and I know as honor, Jan Thoreau. But I would +have gone to her, as you should now go to Mélisse, and she would have +opened her arms to me, as Mélisse would opens hers to you. That is +what I would have done." + +"And that is what I shall never do," said Jan decisively, turning +toward the post. "I could kill myself more easily. That is what I +wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know!" + +"I would like to choke that fool of a Croisset for sending you to hunt +up those people at Nelson House and Wholdaia!" grumbled Jean. + +"It was best for me." + +They saw Mélisse leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. +Both waved their hands to her, and Jan cut across the open to the +store. + +Jean went to the Cummins cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not +observed. There was little of the old vivacity in his manner as he +greeted Mélisse. He noted, too, that the girl was not her natural +self. There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had +been crying. + +"Mélisse," he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the +cap he was twisting in his fingers, "there has come a great change +over Jan." + +"A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his +heart has been broken down on the Nelson trail." + +Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little +as she spoke. He was before her in an instant, his cap fallen to the +floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. + +"Yes, the heart of Jan Thoreau is broken!" he cried. "But it has been +broken by nothing that lives on the Nelson House trail. It is broken +because of--YOU!" + +"I!" Mélisse drew back from him with a breathless cry. "I--I have +broken--" + +"I did not say that," interrupted Jean. "I say that it is broken +because of you. Mon Dieu, if only I might tell you!" + +"Do-DO, Jean! Please tell me!" She put her hands on his shoulders. Her +eyes implored him. "Tell me what I have done--what I can do, Jean!" + +"I can say that much to you, and no more," he said quietly. "Only know +this, ma chčre--that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Jan +Thoreau, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what +this grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to +find out, and to do this, above all else--let him know that you love +him!" + +The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again +in a swift flood. + +"That I love him?" + +"Yes. Not as a sister any longer, Mélisse, but as a WOMAN!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HER PROMISE + + +Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he +knew, as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, +and that if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the +door quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. + +Cummins and Jan came in together at suppertime. The factor was in +high humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox +that morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a +combination of incidents which put him in the best of moods. + +Mélisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red +bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her +throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, +which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a +clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the +old familiarity on her part. + +"Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after +asking Jan many questions about his trip. + +"I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'." + +Purposely he held his eyes from Mélisse. She understood his effort, +and a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. + +"It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor, +oblivious of the effect of his questions. + +"I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his trap- +lines." + +He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from +the cabin. Mélisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his +arm. + +"You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help +with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin." + +She pulled him into a chair as Cummins left, and tied an apron about +his shoulders. + +"Close your eyes--and don't move!" she commanded, laughing into his +surprised face as she ran into her room. + +A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The +hot blood surged through Jan's veins when he felt her fingers running +gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a +little nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, +snip of the scissors. + +"It's terribly long, Jan!" Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. +"Ugh!" she shuddered. "You must take that off your face. If you don't--" + +"Why?" he asked, through lack of anything else to say. + +She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. + +"Because it feels like bristles," she whispered. + +She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors +snipped more rapidly between her fingers. + +"I'm going to prospect the big swamp along the edge of the Barrens +this summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. "A +beard will protect me from the black flies." + +"You can grow another." + +She took the apron from about his shoulders, and held it so that he +could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. + +"Thank you, Mélisse. Do you remember when you last cut my hair?" + +"Yes--it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for +cutting bakneesh, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you +sit on a rock and let me trim it." + +"And you cut my ear," he reminded. + +"For which you made me pay," she retorted quickly, almost under her +breath. + +She went to the cupboard behind the stove, and brought out her +father's shaving-mug and razor. + +"I insist that you shall use them," she said, stirring the soap into a +lather, and noting the indecision in his face. "I am afraid of you!" + +"Afraid of me?" + +He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face +from side to side. Mélisse handed him the razor and cup. + +"You don't seem like the Jan that I used to know once upon a time. +There has been a great change in you since--since--" + +She hesitated. + +"Since when, Mélisse?" + +"Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair." +With timid sweetness she added: "I haven't had it up again, Jan." + +She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her +with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that +she was looking, and Mélisse set to work at the dishes. She had washed +them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin +from the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the +instrument in a Cree melody which Iowaka had taught her during Jan's +absence at Nelson House and the Wholdaia. + +Surprised, he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips +the gentle love-song of a heart-broken Indian maiden, filled with its +infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the +Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, +sobbing its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with +immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Mélisse. + +He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed +head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes +were wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. + +"It is wonderful, Mélisse! You have made beautiful music for it." + +"Thank you, Jan." + +She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the +wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the +violin. + +"Now you must play for me." + +"I have forgotten a great deal, Mélisse." + +She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over +the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was +not the old Jan who was playing for her now, but a new Jan, whose eyes +shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old +spirit of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to +another, and after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. + +Without speaking, she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the +wall. + +"You must practise a great deal," she said quietly. + +At her movement he, too, rose from his seat; and when she turned to +him again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into +her eyes. + +"Are you going so soon, Jan?" + +"I am tired," he said in excuse. "It has been two days since I have +slept, Mélisse. Good night!" + +He smiled at her from the door, but the "Good night" which fell from +her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Jan shivered when he went out. +Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come +from the cabin none too soon. + +Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Mélisse, he crossed +to the company store. + +It was late when Cummins returned home. Mélisse was still up. He +looked at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and +hat. + +"Has anything come between you and Jan?" he asked suddenly. "Why have +you been crying?" + +"Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know +of nothing that has come between Jan and me, only I--I don't +understand--" + +She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling +in her throat. + +"Neither do I understand," exclaimed the factor, going to the stove to +light his pipe. "He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the +company tonight!" + +"He is not going--to leave--the post?" breathed Mélisse. + +"He is leaving the service," reiterated her father. "That means he can +not long live at Lac Bain. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps +into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more?" + +"Nothing," said Mélisse. + +She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding +film burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to +master herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the +factor went into his room, and she took this opportunity of slipping +into her own, calling "Good night" to him from the partly closed door. + +The next day it was Croisset who went along the edge of the Barrens +for meat. Gravois found Jan filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. +It was their first encounter since he had learned that Jan had given +up the service. + +"Diable!" he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour +and salt in a rubber bag. "Diable, I say, M. Jan Thoreau!" + +Jan looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering +with rage. + +"Bon jour, M. Jean de Gravois!" he laughed back. "You see I am going +out among the foxes." + +"The devils!" snapped Jean. + +"No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make +better wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean! +It has been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes +must be eating up the country!" + +Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. "Blessed saints, and it was I +who--" + +He spun upon his heels without another word, and went straight to +Mélisse. + +"Jan Thoreau is going to leave the post," he announced fiercely, +throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. + +"So father has told me," said Mélisse. + +Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her +eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. + +"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Jean, whirling again, "you take it coolly!" + +A little later Mélisse saw Jan coming from the store. When he entered +the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was +laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. + +"I have come to say good-by, Mélisse," he said. "I am going to +prospect for a good trap-line among the Barrens." + +"I hope you will have good luck, Jan." + +In her voice, too, was a firmness almost metallic. + +For the first time in his life Jan held out his hand to her. She +started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her +face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and +unflinchingly in the eyes. + +"Will you wait a moment?" she asked. + +She hurried into her room, and scarcely had she gone before she +reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her +eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair, and it lay coiled +upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of +bakneesh. She came to him a second time, and once more gave him her +hand. + +"I don't suppose you care now," she said coldly, and yet laughing in +his face. "I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?" + +He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water, and he +fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. + +"You promised--" He could not go further. + +"I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had +forgotten to love me," she finished for him. "I will do it up now." + +He bowed his head, and she could see his shoulders quiver under their +thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted, and she raised her arms as +if on the point of stretching them out to him; but his voice came +evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of +what he spoke. + +"I have not forgotten to love you, Mélisse. I shall never cease to +love my little sister. But you are older now, and it is time for you +to do up your hair." + +He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her +arms still half stretched out to him, and went from the cabin. + +"Good-by, Jan!" + +The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far +to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in +front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin +of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and, with +bowed head, disappear slowly into the depths of the black spruce +forest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +JAN RETURNS + + +All that spring and summer Jan spent in the thick caribou swamps and +low ridge-mountains along the Barrens. It was two months before he +appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to +patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. + +Mélisse had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and +loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from +Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret; and yet when the gloom had +settled heaviest upon her, she was still buoyed up by a persistent +hope. Until Jan's last visit to Lac Bain this hope never quite went +out. + +The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west, he +came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and +shaggy, and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The +sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing +humor in Mélisse, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in +their devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence +of the forest man. Firmly and yet gently, it repelled whatever of the +old things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as +if by power of a strong hand. + +This time Mélisse knew that there was left not even the last +comforting spark of hope within her bosom. Jan had gone out of her +life for ever, leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they two +had once been to each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. + +After he went away again, the violin became more and more to her what +it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing +her loneliness and her heart-break through its strings, in lone hours +clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Jan had talked to it +in years gone by. + +"If you could only tell me--if you only could!" she whispered to it +one day, when the autumn was drawing near. "If you could tell me about +him, and what I might do--dear old violin!" + +Once during the autumn Jan came in for supplies and traps, and his +dogs and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles +to the west, in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac Bain for a +week, and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. + +The runner brought a new experience into the life of Mélisse--her +first letter. It was from young Dixon--twenty or more closely written +pages of it, in which he informed her that he was going to spend a +part of the approaching winter at Lac Bain. + +She was reading the last page when Jan came into the cabin. Her cheeks +were slightly flushed by this new excitement, which was reflected in +her eyes as she looked at Jan. + +"A letter!" she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the +pages. "A letter--to me, Jan, all the way from Fort Churchill!" + +"Who in the world--" he began, smiling at her; and stopped. + +"It's from Mr. Dixon," she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. +"He's going to spend part of the winter with us." + +"I'm glad of that, Mélisse," said Jan quietly. "I like him, and would +like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books--and +strings." He glanced at the old violin. "Do you play much?" + +"A great deal," she replied. "Won't you play for me, Jan?" + +"My hands are too rough; and besides, I've forgotten all that I ever +knew." + +"Even the things you played when I was a baby?" + +"I think I have, Mélisse. But you must never forget them." + +"I shall remember them--always," she answered softly. "Some day it may +be that I will teach them to you again." + +He did not see her again until six months later, when he came in to +the caribou roast, with his furs. Then he learned that another letter +had come to Mélisse, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of +coming to Lac Bain. + +The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the +Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Bain. Early summer brought no +news of him. In the floods, Jean went by the water-way to the +Athabasca, and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been +life in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting +snows they had not seen Jan. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac +said that he had found the bones of a white man on the Beaver, with a +Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. + +Jean came back to Lac Bain heavy at heart. + +"There is no doubt but that he is dead," he told Iowaka. "I do not +believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Mélisse." + +One day early in September a lone figure came in to the post at noon, +when the company people were at dinner. He carried a pack, and six +dogs trailed at his heels. It was Jan Thoreau. + +"I have been down to civilization," was his explanation. "I have +returned to spend this winter at Lac Bain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE RESCUE + + +On the first snow came young Dixon from Fort Churchill. Jean de +Gravois met him on the trail near Ledoq's. When the Englishman +recognized the little Frenchman he leaped from his sledge and advanced +with outstretched hand, his face lighting up with pleasure. + +"Bless me, if it isn't my old friend, Jean!" he cried. "I was just +thinking of you, Gravois, and how you trimmed me to a finish two +winters ago. I've learned a lot about you people up here in the snows +since then, and I'll never do anything like that again." He laughed +into Jean's face as they shook hands, and his voice was filled with +unbounded sincerity. "How is Mrs. Gravois, and the little Gravois--and +Mélisse?" he added, before Jean had spoken. + +"All well, M'seur Dixon," replied Jean. "Only the little Gravois have +almost grown into a man and woman." + +An hour or so later he said to Iowaka: + +"I can't help liking this man Dixon, and yet I don't want to. Why is +it, do you suppose?" + +"Is it because you are afraid that Mélisse will like him?" asked his +wife, smiling over her shoulder. + +"Blessed saints, I believe that it is!" said Jean frankly. "I hate +foreigners--and Mélisse belongs to Jan." + +"She did, once, but that was a long time ago, Jean." + +"It may be, and yet I doubt it, ma bien aimée. If Jan would tell her--" + +"A woman will not wait always," interrupted Iowaka softly. "Jan +Thoreau has waited too long!" + +A week later, as they stood together in front of their door, they saw +Dixon and Mélisse walking slowly in the edge of the forest. The woman +laughed into Jean's face. + +"Did I not say that Jan had waited too long?" + +Jean's face was black with disapprobation. + +"Then you would have taken up with some foreigner if I had remained in +the Athabasca country another year or two?" he demanded questioningly. + +"Very likely," retorted Iowaka mischievously, running into the cabin. + +"The devil!" said Jean sourly, stalking in the direction of the store. + +He was angered at the coolness with which Jan accepted the situation. + +"This Dixon is with Mélisse afternoon and evening, and they walk +together every day in the bush," he said to him. "Soon there will be a +wedding at Lac Bain!" + +"Mélisse deserves a good man," replied Jan, unmoved. "I like Dixon." + +Deep down in his soul he knew that each day was bringing the end of it +all much nearer for him. He did not tell Mélisse that he had returned +to Lac Bain to be near her once more, nor did he confide in Jean. He +had anticipated that this winter at the post would be filled with a +certain painful pleasure for him--but he had not anticipated Dixon. +Day after day he saw Mélisse and the Englishman together, and while +they awakened in him none of the fiery jealousy which might have +rankled in the bosom of Jean de Gravois, the knowledge that the girl +was at last passing from him for ever added a deeper grief to that +which was already eating at his heart. + +Dixon made no effort to conceal his feelings. He loved Mélisse. +Frankly he told this to Jean one day, when they were on the Churchill +trail. In his honest way he said things which broke down the last of +Jean's hereditary prejudices, and compelled him to admit that this was +a different sort of foreigner than he had ever known before. + +"Diable, I like him," he said to himself; "and yet I would rather see +him in the blessed hereafter than have him take Mélisse from Jan!" + +The big snow decided. + +It came early in December. Dixon had set out alone for Ledoq's early +in the morning. By noon the sky was a leaden black, and a little later +one could not see a dozen paces ahead of him for the snow. The +Englishman did not return that day. The next day he was still gone, +and Gravois drove along the top of the mountain ridge until he came to +the Frenchman's, where he found that Dixon had started for Lac Bain +the preceding afternoon. He brought word back to the post. Then he +went to Mélisse. + +"It is as good as death to go out in search of him," he said. "We can +no longer use the dogs. Snowshoes will sink like leaden bullets by +morning, and to go ten miles from the post means that there will be +bones to be picked by the foxes when the crust comes!" + +It was dark when Jan came into the cabin. Mélisse started to her feet +with a little cry when he entered, covered white with the snow. A +light pack was strapped to his back, and he carried his rifle in his +hand. + +"I am going to hunt for him," he said softly. "If he is alive, I will +bring him back to you." + +She came to him slowly, and the beating of Jan's heart sounded to him +like the distant thrumming of partridge-wings. Ah, would he ever +forget that look? The old glory was in her eyes, her arms were +reaching out, her lips parted. Jan knew how the Great Spirit had once +appeared to Mukee, and how a white mist, like a snow-veil, had come +between the half-breed's eyes and the wondrous Thing he beheld. That +same veil drifted between Jan and the girl. As in a vision, he saw her +face so near to him that he felt the touch of her sweet breath, and he +knew that one of his rough hands was clasped in both of her own, and +that after a moment it was crushed tightly against her bosom. + +"Jan, my hero--" + +He struggled back, almost sobbing, as he plunged out into the night +again. He heard her voice crying after him, but the wild wailing of +the spruce, and the storm in his brain, drowned its words. He had seen +the glorious light of love in her eyes--her love for Dixon! And he +would find him! At last he, Jan Thoreau, would prove that the old love +was not dead within him; he would do for Mélisse this night--to- +morrow--the next day, and until he fell down to die--what he had +promised to do on their sledge-ride to Ledoq's. And then-- + +He went to Ledoq's now, following the top of the mountain, and reached +his cabin in the late dawn. The Frenchman stared at him in amazement +when he learned that he was about to set out on a search for Dixon. + +"You will not find him," he said slowly in French; "but if you are +determined to go, I will hunt with you. It is a big chance that we +will not come back." + +"I don't want you to go," objected Jan. "One will do as much as two, +unless we search alone. I came your way to find if it had begun to +snow before Dixon left." + +"An hour after he had gone, you could not see your hand before your +face," replied Ledoq, preparing his pack. "There is no doubt but that +he circled out over Lac Bain. We will go that far together, and then +search alone." + +They went back over the mountain, and stopped when instinct told them +that they were opposite the spruce forests of the lake. There they +separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, +Ledoq trailing slowly and hopelessly into the south. + +It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the big snows +for the happiness of Mélisse. What it was to Ledoq no man ever guessed +or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that the +people at Lac Bain found what the foxes and the wolves had left of +him, far to the south. + +Fearlessly Jan plunged into the white world of the lake. There was +neither rock nor tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy +ghost-raiment of the Indian god. The balsams were bending under it, +the spruces were breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was +twisted in noiseless torture under its increasing weight. Out through +the still terror of it all Jan's voice went in wild, echoing shouts. +Now and then he fired his rifle, and always he listened long and +intently. The echoes came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then +each time fell the mirthless silence of the storm. + +Day came, only a little lighter than the night. He crossed the lake, +his snow-shoes sinking ankle-deep at every step, and once each half- +hour he fired a single shot from his rifle. He heard shots to the +south, and knew that it was Ledoq; each report coming to him more +faintly than the last, until they had died away entirely. + +Across the lake he struck the forest again, and his shouts echoed in +futile inquiry in its weird depths. About him there was no sign of +life, no sound except the faint fluttering of falling snow. Under five +feet of this snow the four-footed creatures of the wilderness were +snugly buried; close against the trunks of the spruces, sheltered +within their tent-like coverings, the birds waited like lifeless +things for the breaking of the storm. + +At noon Jan stopped and ate his lunch. Then he went on, carrying his +rifle always upon his right shoulder, so that the steps of his right +leg would be shortened, and he would travel in a circle, as he +believed Dixon had done. + +The storm thickened with the falling of night, and he burrowed himself +a great hole in the soft snow and filled it with balsam boughs for a +bed. When he awakened, hours later, he stood up, and thrust out his +head, and found himself buried to the arm-pits. With the aid of his +broad snow-shoes he drew himself out, until he stood knee-deep in the +surface. + +He lifted his pack. As he swung it before him, one arm thrust through +a strap, he gave a startled cry. Half of one side of the pack was +eaten away! He thrust his hands through the breach, and a moan of +despair sobbed on his lips when he found that his food was gone. A +thin trickle of flour ran through his fingers upon the snow. He pulled +out a gnawed pound of bacon, a little tea--and that was all. + +Frantically he ripped the rent wider in his search, and when he stood +up, his wild face staring into the chaos about him, he held only the +bit of bacon in his hand. In it were the imprints of tiny teeth--sharp +little razor-edged teeth that told him what had happened. While he had +slept a mink had robbed him of his food! + +With one of his shoes he began digging furiously in the snow. He tore +his balsam bed to pieces. Somewhere--somewhere not very far away--the +little animal must have cached its theft. He dug down until he came to +the frozen earth. For an hour he worked and found nothing. + +Then he stopped. Over a small fire he melted snow for tea and broiled +a slice of the bacon, which he ate with the few biscuit crumbs he +found in the pack. Every particle of flour that he could find he +scraped up with his knife and put into one of the deep pockets of his +caribou coat. After that he set cut in the direction in which he +thought he would find Lac Bain. + +Still he shouted for Dixon, and fired an occasional shot from his +rifle. By noon he should have struck the lake. Noon came and passed; +the gloom of a second night fell upon him. He built himself a fire, +and ate two-thirds of what remained of the bacon. The handful of flour +in his pocket he did not disturb. + +It was still night when he broke his rest and struggled on. His first +fears were gone. In place of them, there filled him now a grim sort of +pleasure. A second time he was battling with death for Mélisse. And +this, after all, was not a very hard fight for him. He had feared +death in the red plague, but he did not fear the thought of this death +that threatened him in the big snows. It thrilled him, instead, with a +strange sort of exhilaration. If he died, it would be for Mélisse, and +for all time she would remember him for what he had done. + +When he ate the last bit of his bacon, he made up his mind what he +would do when the end came. In the stock of his rifle he would scratch +a few last words to Mélisse. He even arranged the words in his brain-- +four of them--"Mélisse, I love you." He repeated them to himself as he +staggered on, and that night, beside the fire he built, he began by +carving her name. + +"To-morrow," he said softly, "I will do the rest." + +He was growing very hungry, but he did not touch the flour. For six +hours he slept, and then drank his fill of hot tea. + +"We will travel until day, Jan Thoreau," he informed himself, "and +then, if nothing turns up, we will build our last camp, and eat the +flour. It will be the last of us, for there will be no meat above this +snow for days." + +His snow-shoes were an impediment now, and he left them behind, along +with one of his two blankets, which had grown to be like lead upon his +shoulders. He counted his cartridges--ten of them. One of these he +fired into the air. + +Was that an echo he heard? + +A sudden thrill shot through him. He strained his ears to catch a +repetition of the sound. In a moment it came again--clearly no echo +this time. + +"Ledoq!" he cried aloud. + +He fired again. + +Back to him came the distant, splitting crack of a rifle. He forced +his way toward it. After a little he heard the signal again, much +nearer than before, and he fired in response. A few hundred yards +farther on he came to a low mountain ridge, and lifted his voice in a +loud shout. A shot came from just over the mountain. + +Waist deep in the light snow he began the ascent, dragging himself up +by the tops of the slender saplings, stopping every few yards to half- +stretch himself out in the soft mass through which he was struggling, +panting with exhaustion. He shouted when he gained the top of the +ridge. Up through the white blur of snow on the other side there came +to him faintly a shout; yet, in spite of its faintness, Jan knew that +it was very near. + +"Something has happened to Ledoq," he told himself, "but he surely has +food, and we can live it out until the storm is over." + +It was easier going down the ridge, and he went quickly in the +direction from which the voice had come, until a mass of huge boulders +loomed up before him. There was a faint odor of smoke in the air, and +he followed it in among the rocks, where it grew stronger. + +"Ho, Ledoq!" he shouted. + +A voice replied a dozen yards away. Slowly, as he advanced, he made +out the dim shadow of life in the white gloom--a bit of smoke climbing +weakly in the storm, the black opening of a brush shelter--and then, +between the opening and the spiral of smoke, a living thing that came +creeping toward him on all fours, like an animal. + +He plunged toward it, and the shadow staggered upward, and would have +fallen had it not been for the support of the deep snow. Another step, +and a sharp cry fell from Jan's lips. It was not Ledoq, but Dixon, who +stood there with white, starved face and staring eyes in the snow +gloom! + +"My God, I am starving--and dying for a drink of water!" gasped the +Englishman chokingly, thrusting out his arms. "Thoreau, God be +praised--" + +He staggered, and fell in the snow. Jan dragged him back to the +shelter. + +"I will have water for you--and something to eat--very soon," he said. + +His voice sounded unreal. There was a mistiness before his eyes which +was not caused by the storm, a twisting of strange shadows that +bothered his vision, and made him sway dizzily when he threw off his +pack to stir the fire. He suspended his two small pails over the +embers, which he coaxed into a blaze. Both he filled with snow; into +one he emptied the handful of flour that he had carried in his pocket +--into the other he put tea. Fifteen minutes later he carried them to +the Englishman. + +Dixon sat up, a glazed passion filling his eyes. He drank the hot tea +greedily, and as greedily ate the boiled flour-pudding. Jan watched +him hungrily until the last crumb of it was gone. He refilled the +pails with snow, added more tea, and then rejoined the Englishman. New +life was already shining in Dixon's eyes. + +"Not a moment too soon, Thoreau," he said thankfully, reaching over to +grip the other's hand. + +"Another night and--" Suddenly he stopped. "Great Heaven, what is the +matter?" + +He noticed for the first time the pinched torture in his companion's +face. Jan's head dropped weakly upon his breast. His hands were icy +cold. + +"Nothing," he murmured drowsily, "only--I'm starving, too, Dixon!" He +recovered himself with an effort, and smiled into Dixon's startled +face. "There is nothing to eat," he continued, as he saw the other +direct his gaze toward the pack. "I gave you the last of the flour. +There is nothing--but salt and tea." He rolled over upon the balsam +boughs with a restful sigh. "Let me sleep!" + +Dixon went to the pack. One by one, in his search for food, he took +out the few articles that it contained. After that he drank more tea, +crawled back into the balsam shelter, and lay down beside Jan. It was +broad day when he awoke, and he called hoarsely to his companion when +he saw that the snow had ceased falling. + +Jan did not stir. For a moment Dixon leaned over to listen to his +breathing, and then dragged himself slowly and painfully out into the +day. The fire was out. A leaden blackness still filled the sky; deep, +silent gloom hung in the wake of the storm. + +Suddenly there came to Dixon's ears a sound. It was a sound that would +have been unheard in the gentle whispering of a wind, in the swaying +of the spruce-tops; but in this silence it fell upon the starving +man's hearing with a distinctness that drew his muscles rigid and set +his eyes staring about him in wild search. Just beyond the hanging +pails a moose-bird hopped out upon the snow. It chirped hungrily, its +big, owl-like eyes scrutinizing Dixon. The man stared back, fearing to +move. Slowly he forced his right foot through the snow to the rear of +his left, and as cautiously brought his left behind his right, working +himself backward step by step until he reached the shelter. Just +inside was his rifle. He drew it out and sank upon his knees in the +snow to aim. At the report of the rifle, Jan stirred but did not open +his eyes; he made no movement when Dixon called out in shrill joy that +he had killed meat. He heard, he strove to arouse himself, but +something more powerful than his own will seemed pulling him down into +oblivion. It seemed an eternity before he was conscious of a voice +again. He felt himself lifted, and opened his eyes with his head +resting against the Englishman's shoulder. + +"Drink this, Thoreau," he heard. + +He drank, and knew that it was not tea that ran down his throat. + +"Whisky-jack soup," he heard again. "How is it?" + +He became wide-awake. Dixon was offering him a dozen small bits of +meat on a tin plate, and he ate without questioning. Suddenly, when +there were only two or three of the smallest scraps left, he stopped. + +"Mon Dieu, it was whisky-jack!" he cried. "I have eaten it all!" + +The young Englishman's white face grinned at him. + +"I've got the flour inside of me, Thoreau--you've got the moose-bird. +Isn't that fair?" + +The plate dropped between them. Over it their hands met in a great, +clutching grip, and up from Jan's heart there welled words which +almost burst from his lips in voice, words which rang in his brain, +and which were an unspoken prayer--"Mélisse, I thank the great God +that it is this man whom you love!" But it was in silence that he +staggered to his feet and went out into the gloom. + +"This may be only a lull in the storm," he said. "We must lose no +time. How long did you travel before you made this camp?" + +"About ten hours," said Dixon. "I made due west by compass until I +knew that I had passed Lac Bain, and then struck north." + +"Ah, you have the compass," cried Jan, his eyes lighting up. "M'seur +Dixon, we are very near to the post if you camped so soon! Tell me +which is north." + +"That is north." + +"Then we go south--south and east. If you traveled ten hours, first +west and then north, we are northwest of Lac Bain." + +Jan spoke no more, but got his rifle from the shelter and put only the +tea and two pails in his pack; leaving the remaining blanket upon the +snow. The Englishman followed close behind him, bending weakly under +the weight of his gun. Tediously they struggled to the top of the +ridge, and as Jan stopped to look through the gray day about him, +Dixon sank down into the snow. When the other turned toward him he +grinned up feebly into his face. + +"Bushed," he gasped. "Don't believe I can make it through this snow, +Thoreau." + +There was no fear in his eyes; there was even a cheerful ring in his +voice. + +A sudden glow leaped into Jan's face. + +"I know this ridge," he exclaimed. "It runs within a mile of Lac Bain. +You'd better leave your rifle behind." + +Dixon made an effort to rise and Jan helped him. They went on slowly, +resting every few hundred yards, and each time that he rose from these +periods of rest, Dixon's face was twisted with pain. + +"It's the flour and water anchored amidships," he smiled grimly. +"Cramps--Ugh!" + +"We'll make it by supper-time," assured Jan cheerfully. + +Dixon leaned heavily on his arm. + +"I wish you'd go on alone," he urged. "You could send help--" + +"I promised Mélisse that I would bring you back if I found you," +replied Jan, his face turned away. "If the storm broke again, you +would be lost." + +"Tell me--tell me--" he heard Dixon pant eagerly, "did she send you to +hunt for me, Thoreau?" + +Something in the Englishman's voice drew his eyes to him. There was an +excited flush in his starved cheeks; his eyes shone. + +"Did she send you?" + +Jan struggled hard to speak calmly. + +"Not in words, M'seur Dixon. But I know that if I get you safely back +to Lac Bain she will be very happy." + +Something came in Dixon's sobbing breath which Jan did not hear. A +little later he stopped and built a fire over which he melted more +snow and boiled tea. The drink stimulated them, and they went on. A +little later still and Jan hung his rifle in the crotch of a sapling. + +"We will return for the guns in a day or so," he said. + +Dixon leaned upon him more heavily now, and the distances they +traveled between resting periods became shorter and shorter. Three +times they stopped to build fires and cook tea. It was night when they +descended from the ridge to the snow-covered ice of Lac Bain. It was +past midnight when Jan dragged Dixon from the spruce forest into the +opening at the post. There were no lights burning, and he went with +his half-conscious burden to the company's store. He awakened +Croisset, who let them in. + +"Take care of Dixon," said Jan, "and don't arouse any of the people +to-night. It will be time enough to tell what has happened in the +morning." + +Over the stove in his own room he cooked meat and coffee, and for a +long time sat silent before the fire. He had brought back Dixon. In +the morning Mélisse would know. First she would go to the Englishman, +then--then--she would come to him! + +He rose and went to the rude board table in the corner of his room. + +"No, Mélisse must not come to me in the morning," he whispered to +himself. "She must never again look upon Jan Thoreau." + +He took pencil and paper and wrote. Page after page he crumpled in his +hand and flung into the fire. At last, swiftly and despairingly, he +ended with half a dozen lines. What he said came from his heart, in +French: + +"I have brought him back to you, my Mélisse, and pray that the good +God may give you happiness. I leave you the old violin, and always +when you play, it will tell you of the love of Jan Thoreau." + +He folded the page and sealed it in one of the company's envelopes. +Very quietly he went from his room down into the deserted store. +Without striking a light he found a new pack, a few articles of food, +and ammunition. The envelope, addressed to Mélisse, he left where +Croisset or the factor would find it in the morning. His dogs were +housed in a shack behind the store, and he called out their names +softly and warningly as he went among them. As stealthily as their +master they trailed behind him to the edge of the forest, and close +under the old spruce that guarded the grave Jan stopped, and silently +he stretched out his arms to the little cabin. + +The dogs watched him. Kazan, the one-eyed leader, glared from him into +the dimness of the night, whining softly. A low, mourning wind swept +through the spruce tops, and from Jan's throat there burst sobbingly +words which he had heard beside this same grave more than seventeen +years before, when Williams' choking voice had risen in a last prayer +for the woman. + +"May the great God care for Mélisse!" + +He turned into the trail upon which Jean de Gravois had fought the +Englishman, led his dogs and sledge in a twisting path through the +caribou swamp, and stood at last beside the lob-stick tree that leaned +out over the edge of the white barrens. With his knife he dug out the +papers which he had concealed in that whisky-jack hole. + +It was near dawn when he recovered the rifle which he had abandoned on +the mountain top. A little later it began to snow. He was glad, for it +would conceal his trail. + +For thirteen days he forced his dogs through the deep snows into the +south. On the fourteenth they came to Le Pas, which is the edge of +civilization. It was night when he came out of the forest, so that he +could see the faint glow of lights beyond the Saskatchewan. + +For a few moments, before crossing, he stopped his tired dogs and +turned his face back into the grim desolation of the North, where the +aurora was playing feebly in the skies, and beckoning to him, and +telling him that the old life of centuries and centuries ago would +wait for him always at the dome of the earth. + +"The good God bless you, and keep you, and care for you ever more, my +Mélisse," he whispered; and he walked slowly ahead of his dogs, across +the river, and into the Other World. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +JACK THORNTON + + +There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came to +the first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears. +Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan's +heart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in the +starlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. It +was strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle up +to his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, close +to a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it +a tumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse +singing and loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. +The man was cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as +Jan had never heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he +listened to the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man +and the first woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between +two men, screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy +figure an object which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a +bottle. Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's +heels. With a low word Jan led them on. + +Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon +to the south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light +hung over the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a +printed legend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub +bush of the forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush +Jan tied his dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that +now, when he had entered civilization, he had come also into the land +of lock and bolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not +suspicion, that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him. + +They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door opened +into a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was empty +except for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide window +which looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not +disturb this other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the +window. Kazan laid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one +eye upon him steadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of +life had Jan felt the depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as +he looked into the North. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and +silent; beyond it he could see the dark edge of the forest, and far, +far, beyond that, hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned +faintly now, almost like a thousand other stars that he saw, and the +aurora was only a fading glow. + +Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed his +eyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battle +that he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endless +silent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless, +until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head, +and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering to +hunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fight +in the forests. He was with Mélisse again, with the old violin, with +the things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that there +was another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted his +position so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low, +heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened +him again to a consciousness of the present. + +He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. The +stranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, +staring at him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he +knew that in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was +written a grief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a +full breath or two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along +Kazan's spine stood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his +tired blood tingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He +was not of his people. His face bore the stamp of the people to the +south, of civilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped +all barriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The +stranger reached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the +loneliness, the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for +companionship, passed in the long grip of their hands. + +"You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That was +your sledge--out there?" + +"Yes," said Jan. + +The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan. + +"From the camps?" he questioned eagerly. + +"What camps, m'sieur?" + +"The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through, +beyond Wekusko." + +"I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, except +this that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of the +barren lands." + +"You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Jan +wondered at the light in his eyes. + +"A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of my life-- +up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turned to +where the polar star was fading low in the sky. + +"And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding his +head to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health and +happiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leaving +them. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, +holding out his hand again. "I come from Chicago." + +"My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago +in a book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city +that is called Winnipeg?" + +He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so that +the light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightened +about Jan's hand. + +"Yes, it is larger." + +"The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and Le +Commissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?" + +"Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes." + +"And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would +it not be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan. + +Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face. + +"There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said. + +"That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do business +there--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, and +half turned toward the door. + +"Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It might +depend--on what your business is." + +To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the low +wailing of a dog out in the night. + +"They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had not +read the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!" + +The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazan +went back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruce +shut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hung +his coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossed +frozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs and +spread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffee +and meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, and +they lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at the +scraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was +left in them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not +snap or snarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to +them, and he found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with +the sickness which was eating at his own heart. + +With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache, +there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almost +excitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurry +on, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had told +him of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of the +thing which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when he +had staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died. +He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he had +taken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twenty +years he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the great +company at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this +thing, what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Perhaps the +company might take him, and he would remain in civilization. That +would be best--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests +as years and years ago he had fought against that call of the Other +World that had filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. +If he DID return to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far +to the east. No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan +Thoreau. + +Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch by +inch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten years +ago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he and +Mélisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers and +sisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the other +dogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about the +dog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy, +and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the +tree. + +Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and found +that the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, +beyond the dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were +dying, and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He +sat upright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of +smoke from his pipe. + +"You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a dead +man. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--I +thought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Then +he looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you're +hard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you +let me help you out?" + +"Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleep +outside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff with +the frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?" + +Thornton nodded. + +"And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the +spruce tops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for +you." + +"You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?" + +"To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within an +hour." + +"Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked. + +"With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. I +must hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs." + +Thornton rose and stretched out a hand. + +"It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--" + +He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight into +his eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and again +Jan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which he +had first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressed +note in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest, +and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned to +his pack upon the sledge. + +"I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you have +breakfast with me?" + +That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the level +surface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. The +second day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and struck +south and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It was +early afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town. + +"We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We will +lose no time." + +It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at the +west edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an office +filled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking +machines; and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card +to a gray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his +chair, bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door +opened, and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart +quivering, his breath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in +his breast pocket. + +Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did not +reopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls +at typewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be this +wild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of the +sub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared. +Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes first +encountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan came +out. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop to +his shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thin +face seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere +but ahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let +them out into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing +of his breath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing. + +"If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he cried +fiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out of +you--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'll +buck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money to +show 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!" + +"Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of his +throat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a million +would just about buy--what I've given away up there." + +He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where the +papers had been. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +TEMPTATION + + +That night, leaving Thornton still at supper in the little old Windsor +Hotel, Jan slipped away, and with Kazan at his heels, crossed the +frozen Saskatchewan to the spruce forest on the north shore. He wanted +to be alone, to think, to fight with himself against a desire which +was almost overpowering him. Once, long ago, he had laid his soul bare +to Jean de Gravois, and Jean had given him comfort. To-night he longed +to go to Thornton, as he had gone to Jean, and to tell him the same +story, and what had passed that day in the office of the sub- +commissioner. In his heart there had grown something for Thornton that +was stronger than friendship--something that would have made him fight +for him, and die for him, as he would have fought and died for Jean de +Gravois. It was a feeling cemented by a belief that something was +troubling Thornton--that he, too, was filled with a loneliness and a +grief which he was trying to conceal. And yet he fought to restrain +himself from confiding in his new friend. It would do no good, he +knew, except by relieving him of a part of his mental burden. He +walked along the shore of the river and recrossed it again near the +company's offices. All were dark with the exception of the sub- +commissioner's room. In that there glowed a light. The sub- +commissioner was keeping his promise. He was working. He worked until +late, for Jan came back two hours after and saw the light still there. + +A week--it might be ten days, the sub-commissioner had told him, and +it would be over. Always something in the north drew Jan's eyes, and +he looked there now, wondering what would happen to him after that +week was over. + +Lights were out and people were in bed when he and Kazan returned to +the hotel. But Thornton was up, sitting by himself in the gloom, as +Jan had first seen him at Le Pas. Jan sat down beside him. There was +an uneasy tremor in Thornton's voice when he said: + +"Jan, did you ever love a woman--love her until you were ready and +willing to die for her?" + +The suddenness of the question wrung the truth from Jan's lips in a +low, choking voice. For an instant he thought that Thornton must have +guessed his secret. + +"Yes, m'sieur." + +Thornton leaned toward him, gripping his knees, and the misery in his +face was deeper than Jan had ever seen it before. + +"I love a woman--like that," he went on tensely. "A girl--not a woman, +and she is one of your people, Jan--of the north, as innocent as a +flower, more beautiful to ME than--than all the women I have ever seen +before. She is at Oxford House. I am going home to--to save myself." +"Save yourself!" cried Jan. "Mon Dieu, m'sieur--does she not love +you?" + +"She would follow me to the end of the earth!" + +"Then--" + +Thornton straightened himself and wiped his pale face. Suddenly he +rose to his feet and motioned for Jan to follow him. He walked swiftly +out into the night, and still faster after that, until they passed +beyond the town. From where he stopped they could look over the +forests far into the pale light of the south. + +"THAT'S hell for me!" said Thornton, pointing. "It's what we call +civilization--but it's mostly hell, and it's all hell for me. It's a +hell of big cities, of strife, of blood-letting, of wickedness. I +never knew how great a hell it was until I came up here--among YOU. I +wish to God I could stay--always!" + +"You love her," breathed Jan. "You can stay." + +"I can't," groaned Thornton. "I can't--unless--" + +"What, m'sieur?" + +"Unless I lose everything--but her." + +Jan's fingers trembled as they sought Thornton's hand. + +"And everything is--is--nothing when you give it for love and +happiness," he urged. "The great God, I know--" + +"Everything," cried Thornton. "Don't you understand? I said +EVERYTHING!" He turned almost fiercely upon his companion. "I'd give +up my name--for HER. I'd bury myself back there in the forests and +never go out of them--for HER. I'd give up fortune, friends, lose +myself for ever--for HER. But I can't. Good God, don't you +understand?" + +Jan stared. His eyes grew large and dark. + +"I've spent ten years of WORSE than hell down there--with a woman," +went on Thornton. "It happens among us--frequently, this sort of hell. +I came up here to get out of it for a time. You know--now. There is a +woman down there who--who is my wife. She would be glad if I never +returned. She is happy now, when I am away, and I have been happy--for +a time. I know what love is. I have felt it. I have lived it. God +forgive me, but I am almost tempted to go back--to HER!" + +He stopped at the change which had come in Jan, who stood as straight +and as still as the blank spruce behind them, with only his eyes +showing that there was life in him. Those eyes held Thornton's. They +burned upon him through the gray gloom as he had never seen human eyes +burn before. He waited, half startled, and Jan spoke. In his voice +there was nothing of that which Thornton saw in his eyes. It was low, +and soft, and though it had that which rung like steel, Thornton could +not have understood or feared it more. + +"M'sieur, how far have you gone--WITH HER?" Thornton understood and +advanced with his hands reaching out to Jan. + +"Only as far as one might go with the purest thing on earth," he said. +"I have sinned--in loving her, and in letting her love me, but that is +all, Jan Thoreau. I swear that is all!" + +"And you are going back into the south?" + +"Yes, I am going back into the south." + +The next day Thornton did not go. He made no sign of going on the +second day. So it was with the third, the fourth, and the fifth. On +each of these days Jan went once, in the afternoon, to the office of +the sub-commissioner, and Thornton always accompanied him. At times, +when Jan was not looking, there was a hungry light in his eyes as he +followed the other's movements, and once or twice Jan caught what was +left of this look when he turned unexpectedly. He knew what was in +Thornton's mind, and he pitied him, grieved with him in his own heart +until his own secret almost wrung itself from his lips. Somehow, in a +way that he could not understand, Thornton's sacrifice to honor, and +his despair, gave Jan strength, and a hundred times he asked himself +if a confession of his own misery would do as much for the other. He +repeated this thought to himself again and again on the afternoon of +the ninth day, when he went to the sub-commissioner's office alone. +This time Thornton had remained behind. He had left him in a gloomy +corner of the hotel room from which he had not looked up when Jan went +out with Kazan. + +This ninth day was the last day for Jan Thoreau. In a dazed sort of +way he listened as the sub-commissioner told him that the work was +ended. They shook hands. It was dark when Jan came out from the +company's offices, dark with a pale gloom through which the stars were +beginning to glow--with a ghostly gloom, lightened still more in the +north with the rising fires of the northern lights. Alone Jan stood +for a few moments close down to the river. Across from him was the +forest, silent, black, reaching to the end of the earth, and over it, +like a signal light, beckoning him back to his world, the aurora sent +out its shafts of red and gold. And as he listened there came to him +faintly a distant wailing sound that he knew was the voice from that +world, and at the sound the hair rose along Kazan's spine, and he +whined deep down in his throat. Jan's breath grew quicker, his blood +warmer. Over there--across the river--his world was calling to him, +and he, Jan Thoreau, was now free to go. This very night he would bury +himself in the forest again, and when he lay down to sleep it would be +with his beloved stars above him, and the winds whispering sympathy +and brotherhood to him in the spruce tops. He would go--NOW. He would +say good-by to Thornton--and GO. + +He found himself running, and Kazan ran beside him. He was breathless +when he came to the one lighted street of the town. He hurried to the +hotel and found Thornton sitting where he had left him. + +"It is ended, m'sieur," he cried in a low voice. "It is over, and I am +going. I am going to-night." + +Thornton rose. "To-night," he repeated. + +"Yes, to-night--now. I am going to pick up my things. Will you come?" + +He went ahead of Thornton to the bare little room in which he had +slept while at the hotel. He did not notice the change in Thornton +until he had lighted a lamp. Thornton was looking at him doggedly. +There was an unpleasant look in his face, a flush about his eyes, a +rigid tenseness in the muscles of his jaws. + +"And I--I, too, am going to-night," he said. "Into the South, +m'sieur?" + +"No, into the NORTH." There was a fierceness in Thornton's emphasis. +He stood opposite Jan, leaning over the table on which the light was +placed. "I've broken loose," he went on. "I'm not going south--back to +that hell of mine. I'm never going south again. I'm dead down there-- +dead for all time. They'll never hear of me again. They can have my +fortune--everything. I'm going North. I'm going to live with YOU +people--and God--AND HER!" + +Jan sank into a chair, Thornton sat down in one across from him. + +"I am going back to her," he repeated. "No one will ever know." + +He could not account for the look in Jan's eyes nor for the nervous +twitching of the lithe brown hands that reached half across the table. +But Kazan's one eye told him more than Thornton could guess, and in +response to it that ominous shivering wave rose along his spine. +Thornton would never know that Jan's fingers twitched for an instant +in their old mad desire to leap at a human throat. + +"You will not do that," he said quietly. + +"Yes, I will," replied Thornton. "I have made up my mind. Nothing can +stop me but--death." + +"There is one other thing that can stop you, and will, m'sieur," said +Jan as quietly as before. "I, Jan Thoreau, will stop you." + +Thornton rose slowly, staring down into Jan's face. The flush about +his eyes grew deeper. + +"I will stop you," repeated Jan, rising also. "And I am not death." + +He went to Thornton and placed his two hands upon his shoulders, and +in his eyes there glowed now that gentle light which had made Thornton +love him as he had loved no other man on earth. + +"M'sieur, I will stop you," he said again, speaking as though to a +brother. "Sit down. I am going to tell you something. And when I have +told you this you will take my hand, and you will say, 'Jan Thoreau, I +thank the Great God that something like this has happened before, and +that it has come to my ears in time to save the one I love.' Sit down, +m'sieur." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +JAN'S STORY + + +Jan had aged five years during those two hours in the office of the +sub-commissioner; he aged now as Thornton looked at him. There came +the same tired, hopeless glow into his eyes, the same tense lines in +his face. And yet, quickly, he changed as he had not changed on that +afternoon. Two livid spots began to burn in his cheeks as he sat down +opposite Thornton. He turned the light low, and his eyes glowed more +darkly and with an animal-like luster in the half gloom. Something in +him now, a quivering, struggling passion that lay behind those eyes, +held Thornton white and silent. + +"M'sieur," he began in the low voice which Thornton was beginning to +understand, "I am going to tell you something which I have told to but +two other human beings. It is the story of another man--a man from +civilization, like you, who came up into this country of ours years +and years ago, and who met a woman, as you have met this girl at +Oxford House, and who loved her as you love this one, and perhaps +more. It is singular that the case should be so similar, m'sieur, and +it is because of this that I believe Our Blessed Lady gives me courage +to tell it to you. For this man, like you, left a wife--and two +children--when he came into the North. M'sieur, I pray the Great God +to forgive him, for he left a third child--unborn." + +Jan leaned upon his hand so that it shaded his face. + +"It is not so much of THAT as of what followed that I am going to tell +you, m'sieur," he went on. "It was a beautiful love--on the woman's +part, and it would have been a beautiful love on the man's part if it +had been pure. For her he gave up everything, even his God--as you +would give up everything--and your God--for this girl at Oxford House. +M'sieur, I will speak mostly of the woman now. She was beautiful. She +was one of the three most beautiful things that God ever placed in our +world, and she loved this man. She married him, believed in him, was +ready to die for him, to follow him to the ends of the earth, as our +women will do for the men they love. God in Heaven, can you not guess +what happened, m'sieur? A CHILD WAS BORN!" + +So fiercely did Jan cry out the words that Thornton jerked back as +though a blow had been struck at him from out of the gloom. + +"A child was born!" repeated Jan, and Thornton heard his nails digging +in the table. "That was the first curse of God--a child! La Charogne-- +les bętes de charogne--that is what we call them--beasts of carrion +and carrion eaters, breeders of devils and sin! Mon Dieu, that is what +happened! A child was born, with the curse of God upon him!" + +Jan stopped, his nails digging deeper, his breath escaping from him as +though he had been running. + +"Down in YOUR world he would have grown up a MAN," he continued, +speaking more calmly. "I have heard that--since. It is common down +there to be a two-legged carrion--a man or a woman born out of +wedlock. I have been told so, and that it is a curse not without hope. +But here it is different. The curse never dies. It follows, day after +day, year after year. And this child--more unfortunate than the wild +things, was born one of them. Do you understand, m'sieur? If the winds +had whispered the secret nothing would have come near him--the Indian +women would sooner have touched the plague--he would have been an +outcast, despised as he grew older, pointed at and taunted, called +names which are worse than those called to the lowest and meanest +dogs. THAT is what it means to be born under that curse--up here." + +He waited for Thornton to speak, but the other sat silent and moveless +across the table. + +"The curse worked swiftly, m'sieur. It came first--in remorse--to the +man. It gnawed at his soul, ate him alive, and drove him from place to +place with the woman and the child. The purity and love of the woman +added to his suffering, and at last he came to know that the hand of +God had fallen upon his head. The woman saw his grief but did not know +the reason for it. And so the curse first came to her. They went +north--far north, above the Barren Lands, and the curse followed +there. It gnawed at his life until--he died. That was seven years +after the child was born." + +The oil lamp sputtered and began to smoke, and with a quick movement +Jan turned the wick down until they were left in darkness. + +"M'sieur, it was then that the curse began to fall upon the woman and +the child. Do you not believe that about the sins of the fathers +falling upon others? Mon Dieu, it is so--it is so. It came in many +small ways--and then--the curse--it came suddenly--LIKE THIS." Jan's +voice came in a hissing whisper now. Thornton could feel his hot +breath as he leaned over the table, and in the darkness Jan's eyes +shone like two coals of fire. "It came like THIS!" panted Jan. "There +was a new missioner at the post--a--a Christian from the South, and he +was a great friend to the woman, and preached God, and she BELIEVED +him. The boy was very young, and saw things, but did not understand at +first. He knew, afterward, that the missioner loved his mother's +beauty, and that he tried hard to win it--and failed, for the woman, +until death, would love only the one to whom she had given herself +first. Great God, it happened THEN--one night when every soul was +about the big fires at the caribou roast, and there was no one near +the lonely little cabin where the boy and his mother lived. The boy +was at the feast, but he ran home--with a bit of dripping meat as a +gift for his mother--and he heard her cries, and ran in to be struck +down by the missioner. It happened THEN, and even the boy knew, and +followed the man, shrieking that he had killed his mother." There was +a terrible calmness now in Jan's voice. "M'sieur, it was true. She +wasted away like a flower after that night. She died, and left the boy +alone with the curse. And that boy, m'sieur, was Jan Thoreau. The +woman was his mother." + +There was silence now, a dead, pulseless quiet, broken after a moment +by a movement. It was Thornton, groping across the table. Jan felt his +hands touch his arm. They groped farther in the darkness, until Jan +Thoreau's hands were clasped tightly in Thornton's. + +"And that--is all?" he questioned hoarsely. + +"No, it is but the beginning," said Jan softly. "The curse has +followed me, m'sieur, until I am the unhappiest man in the world. To- +day I have done all that is to be done. When my father died he left +papers which my mother was to give to me when I had attained manhood. +When she died they came to me. She knew nothing of that which was in +them, and I am glad. For they told the story that I have told to you, +m'sieur, and from his grave my father prayed to me to make what +restitution I could. When he came into the North for good he brought +with him most of his fortune--which was large, m'sieur--and placed it +where no one would ever find it--in the stock of the Great Company. A +half of it, he said, should be mine. The other half he asked me to +return to his children, and to his real wife, if she were living. I +have done more than that, m'sieur. I have given up all--for none of it +is mine. A half will go to the two children whom he deserted. The +other half will go to the child that was unborn. The mother--is-- +dead." + +After a time Thornton said, + +"There is more, Jan." + +"Yes, there is more, m'sieur," said Jan. "So much more that if I were +to tell it to you it would not be hard for you to understand why Jan +Thoreau is the unhappiest man in the world. I have told you that this +is but the beginning. I have not told you of how the curse has +followed me and robbed me of all that is greatest in life--how it has +haunted me day and night, m'sieur, like a black spirit, destroying my +hopes, turning me at last into an outcast, without people, without +friends, without--that--which you, too, will give up in this girl at +Oxford House. M'sieur, am I right? You will not go back to her. You +will go south, and some day the Great God will reward you." + +He heard Thornton rising in the dark. + +"Shall I strike a light, m'sieur?" + +"No," said Thornton close to him. In the gloom their hands met. There +was a change in the other's voice now, something of pride, of triumph, +of a glory just achieved. "Jan," he said softly, "I thank you for +bringing me face to face with a God like yours. I have never met Him +before. We send missionaries up to save you, we look upon you as wild +and savage and with only half a soul--and we are blind. You have +taught me more than has ever been preached into me, and this great, +glorious world of yours is sending me back a better man for having +come into it. I am going--south. Some day I will return, and I will be +one of this world, and one of your people. I will come, and I will +bring no curse. If I could send this word to HER, ask her forgiveness, +tell her what I have almost been and that I still have hope--faith--I +could go easier down into that other world." + +"You can," said Jan. "I will take this word for you, m'sieur, and I +will take more, for I will tell her what it has been the kind fate for +Jan Thoreau to find in the heart of M'sieur Thornton. She is one of my +people, and she will forgive, and love you more for what you have +done. For this, m'sieur, is what the Cree god has given to his people +as the honor of the great snows. She will still love you, and if there +is to be hope it will burn in HER breast, too. M'sieur--" + +Something like a sob broke through Thornton's lips as he moved back +through the darkness. + +"And you--I will find you again?" + +"They will know where I go from Oxford House. I will leave word--with +HER," said Jan. + +"Good-by," said Thornton huskily. + +Jan listened until his footsteps had died away, and for a long time +after that he sat with his head buried in his arms upon the little +table. And Kazan, whining softly, seemed to know that in the darkened +room had come to pass the thing which broke at last his master's +overburdened heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE MUSIC AGAIN + + +That night Jan Thoreau passed for the last time back into the shelter +of his forests; and all that night he traveled, and with each mile +that he left behind him something larger and bolder grew in his breast +until he cracked his whip in the old way, and shouted to the dogs in +the old way, and the blood in him sang to the wild spirit of the +wilderness. Once more he was home. To him the forest had always been +home, filled with the low voice of whispering winds and trees, and to- +night it was more his home than ever. Lonely and sick at heart, with +no other desire than to bury himself deeper and deeper into it, he +felt the life, and sympathy, and love of it creeping into his heart, +grieving with him in his grief, warming him with its hope, pledging +him again the eternal friendship of its trees, its mountains, and all +of the wild that it held therein. + +And from above him the stars looked down like a billion tiny fires +kindled by loving hands to light his way--the stars that had given him +music, peace, since he could remember, and that had taught him more of +the silent power of God than the lips of man could ever tell. From +this time forth Jan Thoreau knew that these things would be his life, +his god. A thousand times in fanciful play he had given life and form +to the star-shadows about him, to the shadows of the tall spruce, the +twisted shrub, the rocks and even the mountains. And now it was no +longer play. With each hour that passed this night, and with each day +and night that followed, they became more real to him, and his fires +in the black gloom painted him pictures as they had never painted them +before, and the trees and the rocks and the twisted shrub comforted +him more and more in his loneliness, and gave to him the presence of +life in their movement, in the coming and going of their shadow-forms. +Everywhere they were the same old friends, unvarying and changeless. +The spruce-shadow of to-night, nodding to him in its silent way, was +the same that had nodded to him last night--a hundred nights ago; the +stars were the same, the winds whispering to him in the tree-tops were +the same, everything was as it was yesterday--years ago--unchanged, +never leaving him, never growing cold in their devotion. He had loved +the forest--NOW he worshipped it. In its vast silence he still +possessed Mélisse. It whispered to him still of her old love, of their +days and years of happiness, and with his forest he lived these days +over and over again, and when he slept with his forest he dreamed of +them. + +Nearly a month passed before he reached Oxford House and found the +sweet-faced girl whom Thornton loved. He did as Thornton had asked, +and went on--into the north and east. He had no mission now, except to +roam in his forests. He went down the Hayes, getting his few supplies +at Indian camps, and stopped at last, with the beginning of spring, +far up on the Cutaway. Here he built himself a camp and lived for a +time, setting dead-falls for bear. Then he struck north again, and +still east--keeping always away from Lac Bain. When the first chill +winds of the bay brought warning of winter down to him he was filled +for a time with a longing to strike north--and WEST, to go once more +back to his Barren Lands. But, instead, he went south, and so it came +to pass that a year after he had left Lac Bain he built himself a +cabin deep in the forest of God's River, fifty miles from Oxford +House, and trapped once more for the company. He had not forgotten his +promise to Thornton, and at Oxford House left word where he could be +found if the man from civilization should return. + +In late mid-winter Jan returned to Oxford House with his furs. It was +on the night of the day that he came into the post that he heard a +Frenchman who had come down from the north speak of Lac Bain. None +noticed the change in Jan's face as he hung back in the shadows of the +company's store. A little later he followed the Frenchman outside, and +stopped him where there were no others near to overhear. + +"M'sieur, you spoke of Lac Bain," he said in French. "You have been +there?" + +"Yes," replied the other, "I was there for a week waiting for the +first sledge snow." + +"It is my old home," said Jan, trying to keep his voice natural. "I +have wondered--if there are changes. You saw--Cummins--the factor?" + +"Yes, he was there." + +"And--and Jean de Gravois, the chief man?" + +"He was away. Mon Dieu, listen to that! The dogs are fighting out +there!" + +"A moment, m'sieur," begged Jan, as the Frenchman made a movement as +if to run in the direction of the tumult. "The factor had a daughter-- +Mélisse--" + +"She left Lac Bain a long time ago, m'sieur," interrupted the trapper, +making a tremendous effort to be polite as he edged toward the sound +of battle. "M'sieur Cummins told me that he had not seen her in a long +time--I believe it was almost a year. Sacre, listen to that! They are +tearing one another to bits, and they are MY dogs, m'sieur, for I can +tell their voices among a thousand!" + +He sprang through the darkness and Jan made a movement to follow. Then +he stopped, and turned instead to the company's store. He took his +pack to the sledge and dogs in the edge of the spruce, and Kazan +leaped to greet him at the end of his babiche. This night as Jan +traveled through the forest he did not notice the stars or the +friendly shadows. + +"A year," he repeated to himself, again and again, and once, when +Kazan rubbed against his leg and looked up into his face, he said, +"Ah, Kazan, our Mélisse went away with the Englishman. May the Great +God give them happiness!" + +The forest claimed him more than ever after this. He did not go back +to Oxford House in the spring but sold his furs to a passing half- +breed, and wandered through all of that spring and summer in the +country to the west. It was January when he returned to his cabin, +when the snows were deepest, and three days later he set out to outfit +at the Hudson's Bay post on God's Lake instead of at Oxford House. It +was while they were crossing a part of the lake that Kazan leaped +aside for an instant in his traces and snapped at something in the +snow. + +Jan saw the movement but gave no attention to it until a little later, +when Kazan stopped and fell upon his belly, biting at the harness and +whining in pain. The thought of Kazan's sudden snap at the snow came +to him then like a knife-thrust, and with a low cry of horror and fear +he fell upon his knees beside the dog. Kazan whimpered and his bushy +tail swept the snow as Jan lifted his great wolfish head between his +two hands. No other sound came from Jan's lips now, and slowly he drew +the dog up to him until he held him in his arms as he might have held +a child, Kazan stilled the whimpering sounds in his throat. His one +eye rested on his master's face, faithful, watching for some sign--for +some language there, even as the burning fires of a strange torture +gnawed at his life, and in that eye Jan saw the deepening reddish film +which he had seen a hundred times before in the eyes of foxes and +wolves killed by poison bait. + +A moan of anguish burst from Jan's lips and he held his face close +down against Kazan's head, and sobbed now like a child, while Kazan +rubbed his hot muzzle against his cheek and his muscles hardened in a +last desire to give battle to whatever was giving his master grief. It +was a long time before Jan lifted his face from the shaggy head, and +when he did he knew that the last of all love, of all companionship, +of all that bound him to flesh and blood in his lonely world, was +gone. Kazan was dead. + +From the sledge he took a blanket and wrapped Kazan in it, and carried +him a hundred yards back from the trail. With bowed head he came +behind his four dogs into God's House. Half an hour later he turned +back into the wilderness with his supplies. It was dark when he +returned to where he had left Kazan. He placed him upon the sledge and +the four huskies whined as they dragged on their burden, from which +the smell of death came to them. They stopped in the deep forests +beyond the lake and Jan built a fire. + +This night, as on all nights in his lonely life, Jan drew Kazan close +to him, and he shivered as the other dogs slunk back from him +suspiciously and the fire and the spruce tops broke the stillness of +the forest. He looked at the crackling flames, at the fitful shadows +which they set dancing and grimacing about him, and it seemed to him +now that they were no longer friends, but were taunting him--gloating +in Kazan's death, and telling him that he was alone, alone, alone. He +let the fire die down, stirring it into life only when the cold +stiffened him, and when at last he fell into an unquiet slumber it was +still to hear the spruce tops whispering to him that Kazan was dead, +and that in dying he had broken the last fragile link between Jan +Thoreau and Mélisse. + +He went on at dawn, with Kazan wrapped in his blanket on the sledge. +He planned to reach the cabin that night, and the next day he would +bury his old comrade. It was dark when he came to the narrow plain +that lay between him and the river. The sky was brilliant with stars +when he slowly climbed the big, barren ridge at the foot of which was +his home. At the summit he stopped and seated himself on the edge of a +rock, with nothing but a thousand miles of space between him and the +pale glow of the northern lights. At his feet lay the forest, black +and silent, and he looked down to where he knew his cabin was waiting +for him, black and silent, too. + +For the first time it came upon him that THIS was home--that the +forest, and the silence, and the little cabin hidden under the spruce +tops below held a deeper meaning for him than a few hours before, when +Kazan was a leaping, living comrade at his side. Kazan was dead. Down +there he would bury him. And he had loved Kazan;--he knew, now, as he +clutched his hands to his aching breast, that he would have fought for +Kazan--given up his life for him--as he would have done for a brother. +Down there, under the silent spruce, he would bury the last that had +remained to him of the old life, and there swelled up in his heart a +longing, almost a prayer, that Mélisse might know that he, Jan +Thoreau, would have nothing left to him to-morrow but a grave, and +that in that grave was their old chum, their old playmate--Kazan. Hot +tears blinded Jan's eyes and he covered his face with his hands, and +sobbed as he had sobbed years before, when in the southern wilderness +word came to him that Mélisse was dying. + +"Mélisse--Mélisse--" He moaned her name aloud, and stared through the +hot film in his eyes away into the north, sobbing to her, calling to +her in his grief, and looking through that thousand miles of starlit +space as though from out of it her sweet face would come to him once +more. And as he called there seemed to come to him from out of that +space a sound, so sweet, and low, and tender that his heart stood +still and he stood up straight and stretched his arms up to Heaven, +for Jan Thoreau knew that it was the sound of a violin that came to +him from out of the north--that Mélisse, an infinity away, had heard +his call, his prayer, and was playing for him and Kazan! + +And suddenly, as he listened, his arms fell to his sides, and there +shot into his eyes all of the concentrated light of the stars, for the +music came nearer and nearer, and still nearer to him, until he caught +Kazan in his arms and ran with him down the side of the mountain. It +died now in the forest--then rose again, softer and more distant it +seemed to him, luring him on into the forest gloom. For a few moments +consciousness of all else but that sound remained with him only in a +dazed, half real way, and as John Cummins had called upon the angels +at Lac Bain many years ago when he, too, had gone out into the night +to meet this wonderful music, so Jan Thoreau's soul cried to them now +as he clutched Kazan to him, and stumbled on. Then, suddenly, he came +upon the cabin, and in the cabin there was a light! + +Gently he laid Kazan down upon the snow, and for a full minute he +stood and listened, and heard, lower and sweeter still, the gentle +music, of the violin. Some one was in his cabin--living hands were +playing! After all it was not the spirit of Mélisse that had come to +him in the hour of his deepest grief, and a sob rose in his throat. He +went on, step by step, and at the door he stopped again, wondering if +he was mad, if the spirits of the forest were taunting him still, if-- +if-- + +One step more-- + +The Great God, he heard it now--the low, sweet music of the old Cree +love song, played in the old, old way, with all of its old sadness, +its whispering joy, its weeping song of life, of death, of love! With +a great cry he flung open the door and leaped in, with his arms +reaching out, his eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light--and +with a cry as piercing as his own, something ran through that light to +meet him--Mélisse, the old, glorious Mélisse, crushing her arms about +his neck, sobbing his name, pleading with him in her old, sweet voice +to kiss her, kiss her, kiss her--while Jan Thoreau for the first time +in his life felt sweeping over him a resistless weakness, and in this +vision he knew that Jean de Gravois came to him, too, and held him in +his arms, and that as the light faded away from about him he still +heard Mélisse calling to him, felt her arms about him, her face +crushed to his own. And as the deep gloom enveloped him more densely, +and he felt himself slipping down through it, he whispered to the +faces which he could no longer see, + +"Kazan--died--to-night--" + +For a long time Jan fought to throw off the darkness, and when he +succeeded, and opened his eyes again, he knew that it was Mélisse who +was sitting beside him, and that it was Mélisse who flung her arms +about him when he awoke from his strange sleep, and held his wild head +pressed against her bosom--Mélisse, with her glorious hair flowing +about her as he had loved it in their old days, and with the old love +shining in her eyes, only more glorious now, as he heard her voice. + +"Jan--Jan--we have been hunting for you--so long," she cried softly. +"We have been searching--ever since you left Lac Bain. Jan, dear Jan, +I loved you so--and you almost broke my heart. Dear, dear Jan," she +sobbed, stroking his face now, "I know why you ran away--I know, and I +love you so that--that I will die if--you go away again." + +"You know!" breathed Jan. He was in his cot, and raised himself, +clasping her beautiful face between his two hands, staring at her with +the old horror in his eyes. "You know--and you come--to me!" + +"I love you," said Mélisse. She slipped up to him and laid her face +upon his breast, and with her fingers clutched in his long hair she +leaned over to him and kissed him. "I love you!" + +Jan's arms closed about her, and he bowed his face so that it was +smothered in her hair and he felt against it the joyous tremble of her +bosom. + +"I love you," she whispered again, and under her cloud of hair their +lips met, and she whispered again, with her sweet breath still upon +his lips, "I love you." + +Outside Jean de Gravois was dancing up and down in the starlit edge of +the forest, and Iowaka was looking at him. + +"And NOW what do you think of your Jean de Gravois?" cried Jean for +the hundredth time at least. "NOW what do you think of him, my +beautiful one?" and he caught Iowaka's head in his arms, for the +hundredth time, too, and kissed her until she pushed him away. "Was it +not right for me to break my oath to the Blessed Virgin and tell +Mélisse why Jan Thoreau had gone mad? Was it not right, I say? And did +not Mélisse do as I told that fool of a Jan that she WOULD do? And +didn't she HATE the Englishman all of the time? Eh? Can you not speak, +my raven-haired angel?" + +He hugged Iowaka again in his arms, and this time he did not let her +go, but turned her face so that the starlight fell upon it. + +"And NOW what if Jan Thoreau still feels that the curse is upon him?" +he asked softly. "Ho, ho, we have fixed that--you, my sweet Iowaka, +and your husband, Jean de Gravois. I have it--here--in my pocket--the +letter signed by the sub-commissioner at Prince Albert, to whom I told +Jan's story when I followed his trail down there--the letter which +says that the other woman died BEFORE the man who was to be Jan +Thoreau's father married the woman who was to be his mother. And NOW +do you understand why I did not tell Mélisse of this letter, ma +chérie? It was to prove to that fool of a Jan Thoreau that she loved +him--WHATEVER HE WAS. NOW what do you think of Jean de Gravois, you +daughter of a princess, you--you--" + +"Wife of the greatest man in the world," laughed Iowaka softly. "Come, +my foolish Jean, we can not stand out for ever. I am growing cold. And +besides, do you not suppose that Jan would like to see ME?" + +"Foolish--foolish--foolish--" murmured Jean as they walked hand in +hand through the starlight. "She, my Iowaka, my beloved, says that I +am foolish--AND AFTER THIS! Mon Dieu, what can a man do to make +himself great in the eyes of his wife?" + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Honor of the Big Snows, by James Oliver Curwood + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS *** + +This file should be named 8hnbs10.txt or 8hnbs10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8hnbs11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8hnbs10a.txt + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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