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diff --git a/6180.txt b/6180.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b849f46 --- /dev/null +++ b/6180.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2490 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook Romany Of The Snows, v1, by Gilbert Parker +#8 in our series by Gilbert Parker + Contents: + Across The Jumping Sandhills + A Lovely Bully + The Filibuster + The Gift Of The Simple King + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. 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: Romany of the Snows, Continuation of "Pierre and His People", v1 + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6180] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on August 31, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANY OF THE SNOWS, V1, BY PARKER *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + +[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the +file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an +entire meal of them. D.W.] + + + + + +A ROMANY OF THE SNOWS + +BEING A CONTINUATION OF THE PERSONAL HISTORIES OF "PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE" +AND THE LAST EXISTING RECORDS OF PRETTY PIERRE + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 1. + + + +CONTENTS + +Volume 1. +ACROSS THE JUMPING SANDHILLS +A LOVELY BULLY +THE FILIBUSTER +THE GIFT OF THE SIMPLE KING + +Volume 2. +MALACHI +THE LAKE OF THE GREAT SLAVE +THE RED PATROL +THE GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN +AT BAMBER'S BOOM + +Volume 3. +THE BRIDGE HOUSE +THE EPAULETTES +THE HOUSE WITH THE BROKEN SHUTTER +THE FINDING OF FINGALL +THREE COMMANDMENTS IN THE VULGAR TONGUE + +Volume 4. +LITTLE BABICHE +AT POINT O' BUGLES +THE SPOIL OF THE PUMA +THE TRAIL OF THE SUN DOGS +THE PILOT OF BELLE AMOUR + +Volume 5. +THE CRUISE OF THE "NINETY-NINE" +A ROMANY OF THE SNOWS +THE PLUNDERER + + + + + To SIR WILLIAM C. VAN HORNE. + + MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM, + + To the public it will seem fitting that these new tales of "Pierre + and His People" should be inscribed to one whose notable career is + inseparably associated with the life and development of the Far + North. + + But there is a deeper and more personal significance in this + dedication, for some of the stories were begotten in late gossip by + your fireside; and furthermore, my little book is given a kind of + distinction, in having on its fore-page the name of one well known + as a connoisseur of art and a lover of literature. + + Believe me, + + DEAR SIR WILLIAM, + + Sincerely yours, + + GILBERT PARKER. + + 7 PARK PLACE. + ST. JAMES'S. + LONDON. S. W. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +It can hardly be said that there were two series of Pierre stories. +There never was but one series, in fact. Pierre moved through all the +thirty-nine stories of Pierre and His People and A Romany of the Snows +without any thought on my part of putting him out of existence in one +series and bringing him to life again in another. The publication of the +stories was continuous, and at the time that Pierre and His People +appeared several of those which came between the covers of A Romany of +the Snows were passing through the pages of magazines in England and +America. All of the thirty-nine stories might have appeared in one +volume under the title of Pierre and His People, but they were published +in two volumes with different titles in England, and in three volumes in +America, simply because there was enough material for the two and the +three volumes. In America The Adventurer of the North was broken up into +two volumes at the urgent request of my then publishers, Messrs. Stone & +Kimball, who had the gift of producing beautiful books, but perhaps had +not the same gift of business. These two American volumes succeeding +Pierre were published under the title of An Adventurer of the North and A +Romany of the Snows respectively. Now, the latter title, A Romany of the +Snows, was that which I originally chose for the volume published in +England as An Adventurer of the North. I was persuaded to reject the +title, A Romany of the Snows, by my English publisher, and I have never +forgiven myself since for being so weak. If a publisher had the +infallible instinct for these things he would not be a publisher-- +he would be an author; and though an author may make mistakes like +everybody else, the average of his hits will be far higher than the +average of his misses in such things. The title, An Adventurer of the +North, is to my mind cumbrous and rough, and difficult in the mouth. +Compare it with some of the stories within the volume itself: for +instance, The Going of the White Swan, A Lovely Bully, At Bamber's Boom, +At Point o' Bugles, The Pilot of Belle Amour, The Spoil of the Puma, A +Romany of the Snows, and The Finding of Fingall. There it was, however; +I made the mistake and it sticks; but the book now will be published in +this subscription edition under the title first chosen by me, A Romany of +the Snows. It really does express what Pierre was. + +Perhaps some of the stories in A Romany of the Snows have not the +sentimental simplicity of some of the earlier stories in Pierre and His +People, which take hold where a deeper and better work might not seize +the general public; but, reading these later stories after twenty years, +I feel that I was moving on steadily to a larger, firmer command of my +material, and was getting at closer grips with intimate human things. +There is some proof of what I say in the fact that one of the stories in +A Romany of the Snows, called The Going of the White Swan, appropriately +enough published originally in Scribner's Magazine, has had an +extraordinary popularity. It has been included in the programmes of +reciters from the Murrumbidgee to the Vaal, from John O'Groat's to Land's +End, and is now being published as a separate volume in England and +America. It has been dramatised several times, and is more alive to-day +than it was when it was published nearly twenty years ago. Almost the +same may be said of The Three Commandments in the Vulgar Tongue. + +It has been said that, apart from the colour, form, and setting, the +incidents of these Pierre stories might have occurred anywhere. That +is true beyond a doubt, and it exactly represents my attitude of mind. +Every human passion, every incident springing out of a human passion +to-day, had its counterpart in the time of Amenhotep. The only +difference is in the setting, is in the language or dialect which +is the vehicle of expression, and in race and character, which are the +media of human idiosyncrasy. There is nothing new in anything that one +may write, except the outer and visible variation of race, character, and +country, which reincarnates the everlasting human ego and its scena. + +The atmosphere of a story or novel is what temperament is to a man. +Atmosphere cannot be created; it is not a matter of skill; it is a matter +of personality, of the power of visualisation, of feeling for the thing +which the mind sees. It has been said that my books possess atmosphere. +This has often been said when criticism has been more or less acute upon +other things; but I think that in all my experience there has never been +a critic who has not credited my books with that quality; and I should +say that Pierre and His People and A Romany of the Snows have an +atmosphere in which the beings who make the stories live seem natural to +their environment. It is this quality which gives vitality to the +characters themselves. Had I not been able to create atmosphere which +would have given naturalness to Pierre and his friends, some of the +characters, and many of the incidents, would have seemed monstrosities +--melodramatic episodes merely. The truth is, that while the episode, +which is the first essential of a short story, was always in the very +forefront of my imagination, the character or characters in the episode +meant infinitely more to me. To my mind the episode was always the +consequence of character. That almost seems a paradox; but apart from +the phenomena of nature, as possible incidents in a book, the episodes +which make what are called "human situations" are, in most instances, the +sequence of character and are incidental to the law of the character set +in motion. As I realise it now, subconsciously, my mind and imagination +were controlled by this point of view in the days of the writing of +Pierre and His People. + +In the life and adventures of Pierre and his people I came, as I think, +to a certain command of my material, without losing real sympathy with +the simple nature of things. Dexterity has its dangers, and one of its +dangers is artificiality. It is very difficult to be skilful and to ring +true. If I have not wholly succeeded in A Romany of the Snows, I think I +have not wholly failed, as the continued appeal of a few of the stories +would seem to show. + + + + +ACROSS THE JUMPING SANDHILLS + +"Here now, Trader; aisy, aisy! Quicksands I've seen along the sayshore, +and up to me half-ways I've been in wan, wid a double-and-twist in the +rope to pull me out; but a suckin' sand in the open plain--aw, Trader, +aw! the like o' that niver a bit saw I." + +So said Macavoy the giant, when the thing was talked of in his presence. + +"Well, I tell you it's true, and they're not three miles from Fort +O'Glory. The Company's--[Hudson's Bay Company]--men don't talk about it +--what's the use! Travellers are few that way, and you can't get the +Indians within miles of them. Pretty Pierre knows all about them--better +than anyone else almost. He'll stand by me in it--eh, Pierre?" + +Pierre, the half-breed gambler and adventurer, took no notice, and was +silent for a time, intent on his cigarette; and in the pause Mowley the +trapper said: "Pierre's gone back on you, Trader. P'r'aps ye haven't +paid him for the last lie. I go one better, you stand by me--my treat +--that's the game!" + +"Aw, the like o' that," added Macavoy reproachfully. "Aw, yer tongue to +the roof o' yer mouth, Mowley. Liars all men may be, but that's wid +wimmin or landlords. But, Pierre, aff another man's bat like that--aw, +Mowley, fill your mouth wid the bowl o' yer pipe." + +Pierre now looked up at the three men, rolling another cigarette as he +did so; but he seemed to be thinking of a distant matter. Meeting the +three pairs of eyes fixed on him, his own held them for a moment +musingly; then he lit his cigarette, and, half reclining on the bench +where he sat, he began to speak, talking into the fire as it were. + +"I was at Guidon Hill, at the Company's post there. It was the fall of +the year, when you feel that there is nothing so good as life, and the +air drinks like wine. You think that sounds like a woman or a priest? +Mais, no. The seasons are strange. In the spring I am lazy and sad; in +the fall I am gay, I am for the big things to do. This matter was in the +fall. I felt that I must move. Yet, what to do? There was the thing. +Cards, of course. But that's only for times, not for all seasons. +So I was like a wild dog on a chain. I had a good horse--Tophet, black +as a coal, all raw bones and joint, and a reach like a moose. His legs +worked like piston-rods. But, as I said, I did not know where to go or +what to do. So we used to sit at the Post loafing: in the daytime +watching the empty plains all panting for travellers, like a young +bride waiting her husband for the first time." + +Macavoy regarded Pierre with delight. He had an unctuous spirit, +and his heart was soft for women--so soft that he never had had one on +his conscience, though he had brushed gay smiles off the lips of many. +But that was an amiable weakness in a strong man. "Aw, Pierre," he said +coaxingly, "kape it down; aisy, aisy. Me heart's goin' like a trip- +hammer at thought av it; aw yis, aw yis, Pierre." + +"Well, it was like that to me--all sun and a sweet sting in the air. +At night to sit and tell tales and such things; and perhaps a little +brown brandy, a look at the stars, a half-hour with the cattle--the same +old game. Of course, there was the wife of Hilton the factor--fine, +always fine to see, but deaf and dumb. We were good friends, Ida and me. +I had a hand in her wedding. Holy, I knew her when she was a little +girl. We could talk together by signs. She was a good woman; she had +never guessed at evil. She was quick, too, like a flash, to read and +understand without words. A face was a book to her. + +"Eh bien. One afternoon we were all standing outside the Post, +when we saw someone ride over the Long Divide. It was good for the eyes. +I cannot tell quite how, but horse and rider were so sharp and clear-cut +against the sky, that they looked very large and peculiar--there was +something in the air to magnify. They stopped for a minute on the top of +the Divide, and it seemed like a messenger out of the strange country at +the farthest north--the place of legends. But, of course, it was only a +traveller like ourselves, for in a half-hour she was with us. + +"Yes, it was a girl dressed as a man. She did not try to hide it; she +dressed so for ease. She would make a man's heart leap in his mouth-- +if he was like Macavoy, or the pious Mowley there." + +Pierre's last three words had a touch of irony, for he knew that the +Trapper had a precious tongue for Scripture when a missionary passed that +way, and a bad name with women to give it point. Mowley smiled sourly; +but Macavoy laughed outright, and smacked his lips on his pipe-stem +luxuriously. + +"Aw now, Pierre--all me little failin's--aw!" he protested. + +Pierre swung round on the bench, leaning upon the other elbow, and, +cherishing his cigarette, presently continued: + +"She had come far and was tired to death, so stiff that she could hardly +get from her horse; and the horse too was ready to drop. Handsome enough +she looked, for all that, in man's clothes and a peaked cap, with a +pistol in her belt. She wasn't big built--just a feathery kind of +sapling--but she was set fair on her legs like a man, and a hand that was +as good as I have seen, so strong, and like silk and iron with a horse. +Well, what was the trouble?--for I saw there was trouble. Her eyes had +a hunted look, and her nose breathed like a deer's in the chase. All at +once, when she saw Hilton's wife, a cry came from her and she reached out +her hands. What would women of that sort do? They were both of a kind. +They got into each other's arms. After that there was nothing for us men +but to wait. All women are the same, and Hilton's wife was like the +rest. She must get the secret first; then the men should know. We had +to wait an hour. Then Hilton's wife beckoned to us. We went inside. +The girl was asleep. There was something in the touch of Hilton's wife +like sleep itself--like music. It was her voice--that touch. She could +not speak with her tongue, but her hands and face were words and music. +Bien, there was the girl asleep, all clear of dust and stain; and that +fine hand it lay loose on her breast, so quiet, so quiet. Enfin, the +real story--for how she slept there does not matter--but it was good to +see when we knew the story." + +The Trapper was laughing silently to himself to hear Pierre in this +romantic mood. A woman's hand--it was the game for a boy, not an +adventurer; for the Trapper's only creed was that women, like deer, were +spoils for the hunter. Pierre's keen eye noted this, but he was above +petty anger. He merely said: "If a man have an eye to see behind the +face, he understands the foolish laugh of a man, or the hand of a good +woman, and that is much. Hilton's wife told us all. She had rode two +hundred miles from the south-west, and was making for Fort Micah, sixty +miles farther north. For what? She had loved a man against the will of +her people. There had been a feud, and Garrison--that was the lover's +name--was the last on his own side. There was trouble at a Company's +post, and Garrison shot a half-breed. Men say he was right to shoot him, +for a woman's name must be safe up here. Besides, the half-breed drew +first. Well, Garrison was tried, and must go to jail for a year. At the +end of that time he would be free. The girl Janie knew the day. Word +had come to her. She made everything ready. She knew her brothers were +watching--her three brothers and two other men who had tried to get her +love. She knew also that they five would carry on the feud against +the one man. So one night she took the best horse on the ranch and +started away towards Fort Micah. Alors, you know how she got to Guidon +Hill after two days' hard riding--enough to kill a man, and over fifty +yet to do. She was sure her brothers were on her track. But if she +could get to Fort Micah, and be married to Garrison before they came; +she wanted no more. + +"There were only two horses of use at Hilton's Post then; all the rest +were away, or not fit for hard travel. There was my Tophet, and a lean +chestnut, with a long propelling gait, and not an ounce of loose skin on +him. There was but one way: the girl must get there. Allons, what is +the good? What is life without these things? The girl loves the man: +she must have him in spite of all. There was only Hilton and his wife +and me at the Post, and Hilton was lame from a fall, and one arm in a +sling. If the brothers followed, well, Hilton could not interfere-- +he was a Company's man; but for myself, as I said, I was hungry for +adventure, I had an ache in my blood for something. I was tingling to +the toes, my heart was thumping in my throat. All the cords of my legs +were straightening as if I was in the saddle. + +"She slept for three hours. I got the two horses saddled. Who could +tell but she might need help? I had nothing to do; I knew the shortest +way to Fort Micah, every foot--and then it is good to be ready for all +things. I told Hilton's wife what I had done. She was glad. She made a +gesture at me as to a brother, and then began to put things in a bag for +us to carry. She had settled all how it was to be. She had told the +girl. You see, a man may be--what is it they call me?--a plunderer, and +yet a woman will trust him, comme ca!" + +"Aw yis, aw yis, Pierre; but she knew yer hand and yer tongue niver wint +agin a woman, Pierre. Naw, niver a wan. Aw swate, swate, she was, wid a +heart--a heart, Hilton's wife, aw yis!" + +Pierre waved Macavoy into silence. "The girl waked after three hours +with a start. Her hand caught at her heart. 'Oh,' she said, still +staring at us, 'I thought that they had come!' A little after she and +Hilton's wife went to another room. All at once there was a sound of +horses outside, and then a knock at the door, and four men come in. +They were the girl's hunters. + +"It was hard to tell what to do all in a minute; but I saw at once the +best thing was to act for all, and to get all the men inside the house. +So I whispered to Hilton, and then pretended that I was a great man in +the Company. I ordered Hilton to have the horses cared for, and, not +giving the men time to speak, I fetched out the old brown brandy, +wondering all the time what could be done. There was no sound from the +other room, though I thought I heard a door open once. Hilton played the +game well, and showed nothing when I ordered him about, and agreed word +for word with me when I said no girl had come, laughing when they told +why they were after her. More than one of them did not believe at first; +but, pshaw, what have I been doing all my life to let such fellows doubt +me? So the end of it was that I got them all inside the house. There +was one bad thing--their horses were all fresh, as Hilton whispered to +me. They had only rode them a few miles--they had stole or bought them +at the first ranch to the west of the Post. I could not make up my mind +what to do. But it was clear I must keep them quiet till something +shaped. + +"They were all drinking brandy when Hilton's wife come into the room. +Her face was, mon Dieu! so innocent, so childlike. She stared at the +men; and then I told them she was deaf and dumb, and I told her why they +had come. Voila, it was beautiful--like nothing you ever saw. She shook +her head so innocent, and then told them like a child that they were +wicked to chase a girl. I could have kissed her feet. Thunder, how she +fooled them! She said, would they not search the house? She said all +through me, on her fingers and by signs. And I told them at once. But +she told me something else--that the girl had slipped out as the last man +came in, had mounted the chestnut, and would wait for me by the iron +spring, a quarter of a mile away. There was the danger that some one of +the men knew the finger-talk, so she told me this in signs mixed up with +other sentences. + +"Good! There was now but one thing--for me to get away. So I said, +laughing, to one of the men. 'Come, and we will look after the horses, +and the others can search the place with Hilton.' So we went out to +where the horses were tied to the railing, and led them away to the +corral. + +"Of course you will understand how I did it. I clapped a hand on his +mouth, put a pistol at his head, and gagged and tied him. Then I got my +Tophet, and away I went to the spring. The girl was waiting. There were +few words. I gripped her hand, gave her another pistol, and then we got +away on a fine moonlit trail. We had not gone a mile when I heard a +faint yell far behind. My game had been found out. There was nothing to +do but to ride for it now, and maybe to fight. But fighting was not +good; for I might be killed, and then the girl would be caught just the +same. We rode on--such a ride, the horses neck and neck, their hoofs +pounding the prairie like drills, rawbone to rawbone, a hell-to-split +gait. I knew they were after us, though I saw them but once on the crest +of a Divide about three miles behind. Hour after hour like that, with +ten minutes' rest now and then at a spring or to stretch our legs. We +hardly spoke to each other; but, nom de Dieu! my heart was warm to this +girl who had rode a hundred and fifty miles in twenty-four hours. Just +before dawn, when I was beginning to think that we should easy win the +race if the girl could but hold out, if it did not kill her, the chestnut +struck a leg into the crack of the prairie, and horse and girl spilt on +the ground together. She could hardly move, she was so weak, and her +face was like death. I put a pistol to the chestnut's head, and ended +it. The girl stooped and kissed the poor beast's neck, but spoke +nothing. As I helped her on my Tophet I put my lips to the sleeve of her +dress. Mother of Heaven! what could a man do--she was so dam' brave. + +"Dawn was just breaking oozy and grey at the swell of the prairie over +the Jumping Sandhills. They lay quiet and shining in the green-brown +plain; but I knew that there was a churn beneath which could set those +swells of sand in motion, and make glory-to-God of an army. Who can tell +what it is? A flood under the surface, a tidal river-what? No man +knows. But they are sea monsters on the land. Every morning at sunrise +they begin to eddy and roll--and who ever saw a stranger sight? Bien, I +looked back. There were those four pirates coming on, about three miles +away. What was there to do? The girl and myself on my blown horse were +too much. Then a great idea come to me. I must reach and cross the +Jumping Sandhills before sunrise. It was one deadly chance. + +"When we got to the edge of the sand they were almost a mile behind. I +was all sick to my teeth as my poor Tophet stepped into the silt. Sacre, +how I watched the dawn! Slow, slow, we dragged over that velvet powder. +As we reached the farther side I could feel it was beginning to move. +The sun was showing like the lid of an eye along the plain. I looked +back. All four horsemen were in the sand, plunging on towards us. By +the time we touched the brown-green prairie on the farther side the sand +was rolling behind us. The girl had not looked back. She seemed too +dazed. I jumped from the horse, and told her that she must push on alone +to the Fort, that Tophet could not carry both, that I should be in no +danger. She looked at me so deep--ah, I cannot tell how! then stooped +and kissed me between the eyes--I have never forgot. I struck Tophet, +and she was gone to her happiness; for before 'lights out!' she reached +the Fort and her lover's arms. + +"But I stood looking back on the Jumping Sandhills. So, was there ever +a sight like that--those hills gone like a smelting-floor, the sunrise +spotting it with rose and yellow, and three horses and their riders +fighting what cannot be fought?--What could I do? They would have got +the girl and spoiled her life, if I had not led them across, and they +would have killed me if they could. Only one cried out, and then but +once, in a long shriek. But after, all three were quiet as they fought, +until they were gone where no man could see, where none cries out so we +can hear. The last thing I saw was a hand stretching up out of the +sands." + +There was a long pause, painful to bear. The Trader sat with eyes fixed +humbly as a dog's on Pierre. At last Macavoy said: "She kissed ye, +Pierre, aw yis, she did that! Jist betune the eyes. Do yees iver see +her now, Pierre?" + +But Pierre, looking at him, made no answer. + + + + + + +A LOVELY BULLY + +He was seven feet and fat. He came to Fort O'Angel at Hudson's Bay, an +immense slip of a lad, very much in the way, fond of horses, a wonderful +hand at wrestling, pretending a horrible temper, threatening tragedies +for all who differed from him, making the Fort quake with his rich roar, +and playing the game of bully with a fine simplicity. In winter he +fattened, in summer he sweated, at all times he ate eloquently. + +It was a picture to see him with the undercut of a haunch of deer or +buffalo, or with a whole prairie-fowl on his plate, his eyes measuring it +shrewdly, his coat and waistcoat open, and a clear space about him--for +he needed room to stretch his mighty limbs, and his necessity was +recognised by all. + +Occasionally he pretended to great ferocity, but scowl he ever so much, +a laugh kept idling in his irregular bushy beard, which lifted about his +face in the wind like a mane, or made a kind of underbrush through which +his blunt fingers ran at hide-and-seek. + +He was Irish, and his name was Macavoy. In later days, when Fort O'Angel +was invaded by settlers, he had his time of greatest importance. + +He had been useful to the Chief Trader at the Fort in the early days, and +having the run of the Fort and the reach of his knife, was little likely +to discontinue his adherence. But he ate and drank with all the dwellers +at the Post, and abused all impartially. "Malcolm," said he to the +Trader, "Malcolm, me glutton o' the H.B.C., that wants the Far North for +your footstool--Malcolm, you villain, it's me grief that I know you, and +me thumb to me nose in token. "Wiley and Hatchett, the principal +settlers, he abused right and left, and said, "Wasn't there land in the +East and West, that you steal the country God made for honest men--you +robbers o' the wide world! Me tooth on the Book, and I tell you what, +it's only me charity that kapes me from spoilin' ye. For a wink of me +eye, an' away you'd go, leaving your tails behind you--and pass that +shoulder of bear, you pirates, till I come to it sideways, like a hog to +war." + +He was even less sympathetic with Bareback the chief and his braves. +"Sons o' Anak y'are; here today and away to-morrow, like the clods of the +valley--and that's your portion, Bareback. It's the word o' the +Pentytook--in pieces you go, like a potter's vessel. Don't shrug your +shoulders at me, Bareback, you pig, or you'll think that Ballzeboob's +loose on the mat. But take a sup o' this whisky, while you swear wid +your hand on your chest, 'Amin' to the words o' Tim Macavoy." + +Beside Macavoy, Pierre, the notorious, was a child in height. Up to +the time of the half-breed's coming the Irishman had been the most +outstanding man at Fort O'Angel, and was sure of a good-natured homage, +acknowledged by him with a jovial tyranny. + +Pierre put a flea in his ear. He was pensively indifferent to him even +in his most royal moments. He guessed the way to bring down the gusto +and pride of this Goliath, but, for a purpose, he took his own time, +nodding indolently to Macavoy when he met him, but avoiding talk with +him. + +Among the Indian maidens Macavoy was like a king or khan; for they count +much on bulk and beauty, and he answered to their standards--especially +to Wonta's. It was a sight to see him of a summer day, sitting in the +shade of a pine, his shirt open, showing his firm brawny chest, his arms +bare, his face shining with perspiration, his big voice gurgling in his +beard, his eyes rolling amiably upon the maidens as they passed or +gathered near demurely, while he declaimed of mighty deeds in patois +or Chinook to the braves. + +Pierre's humour was of the quietest, most subterranean kind. He knew +that Macavoy had not an evil hair in his head; that vanity was his +greatest weakness, and that through him there never would have been +more half-breed population. There was a tradition that he had a wife +somewhere--based upon wild words he had once said when under the +influence of bad liquor; but he had roared his accuser the lie when the +thing was imputed to him. + +At Fort Ste. Anne Pierre had known an old woman, by name of Kitty Whelan, +whose character was all tatters. She had told him that many years agone +she had had a broth of a lad for a husband; but because of a sharp word +or two across the fire, and the toss of a handful of furniture, he had +left her, and she had seen no more of him. "Tall, like a chimney he +was," said she, "and a chest like a wall, so broad, and a voice like a +huntsman's horn, though only a b'y, an' no hair an his face; an' little I +know whether he is dead or alive; but dead belike, for he's sure to come +rap agin' somethin' that'd kill him; for he, the darlin', was that aisy +and gentle, he wouldn't pull his fightin' iron till he had death in his +ribs." + +Pierre had drawn from her that the name of this man whom she had cajoled +into a marriage (being herself twenty years older), and driven to +deserting her afterwards, was Tim Macavoy. She had married Mr. Whelan on +the assumption that Macavoy was dead. But Mr. Whelan had not the nerve +to desert her, and so he departed this life, very loudly lamented by Mrs. +Whelan, who had changed her name with no right to do so. With his going +her mind dwelt greatly upon the virtues of her mighty vanished Tim: and +ill would it be for Tim if she found him. + +Pierre had travelled to Fort O'Angel almost wholly because he had Tim +Macavoy in his mind: in it Mrs. Whelan had only an incidental part; his +plans journeyed beyond her and her lost consort. He was determined on an +expedition to capture Fort Comfort, which had been abandoned by the great +Company, and was now held by a great band of the Shunup Indians. + +Pierre had a taste for conquest for its own sake, though he had no +personal ambition. The love of adventure was deep in him; he adored +sport for its own sake; he had had a long range of experiences--some +discreditable--and now he had determined on a new field for his talent. + +He would establish a kingdom, and resign it. In that case he must have a +man to take his place. He chose Macavoy. + +First he must humble the giant to the earth, then make him into a great +man again, with a new kind of courage. The undoing of Macavoy seemed a +civic virtue. He had a long talk with Wonta, the Indian maiden most +admired by Macavoy. Many a time the Irishman had cast an ogling, rolling +eye on her, and had talked his loudest within her ear-shot, telling of +splendid things he had done: making himself like another Samson as to +the destruction of men, and a Hercules as to the slaying of cattle. + +Wonta had a sense of humour also, and when Pierre told her what was +required of her, she laughed with a quick little gurgle, and showed as +handsome a set of teeth as the half-breed's; which said much for her. +She promised to do as he wished. So it chanced when Macavoy was at his +favourite seat beneath the pine, talking to a gaping audience, Wonta and +a number of Indian girls passed by. Pierre was leaning against a door +smoking, not far away. Macavoy's voice became louder. + +"'Stand them up wan by wan,' says I, 'and give me a leg loose, and a fist +free; and at that--'" + +"At that there was thunder and fire in the sky, and because the great +Macavoy blew his breath over them they withered like the leaves," cried +Wonta, laughing; but her laugh had an edge. + +Macavoy stopped short, open-mouthed, breathing hard in his great beard. +He was astonished at Wonta's raillery; the more so when she presently +snapped her fingers, and the other maidens, laughing, did the same. Some +of the half-breeds snapped their fingers also in sympathy, and shrugged +their shoulders. Wonta came up to him softly, patted him on the head, +and said: "Like Macavoy there is nobody. He is a great brave. He is not +afraid of a coyote, he has killed prairie-hens in numbers as pebbles by +the lakes. He has a breast like a fat ox,"--here she touched the skin of +his broad chest,--"and he will die if you do not fight him." + +Then she drew back, as though in humble dread, and glided away with the +other maidens, Macavoy staring after her, with a blustering kind of shame +in his face. The half-breeds laughed, and, one by one, they got up, and +walked away also. Macavoy looked round: there was no one near save +Pierre, whose eye rested on him lazily. Macavoy got to his feet, +muttering. This was the first time in his experience at Fort O'Angel +that he had been bluffed--and by a girl; one for whom he had a very soft +place in his big heart. Pierre came slowly over to him. + +"I'd have it out with her," said he. "She called you a bully and a +brag." + +"Out with her?" cried Macavoy. "How can ye have it out wid a woman?" + +"Fight her," said Pierre pensively. + +"Fight her? fight her? Holy smoke! How can you fight a woman?" + +"Why, what--do you--fight?" asked Pierre innocently. + +Macavoy grinned in a wild kind of fashion. "Faith, then, y'are a fool. +Bring on the divil an' all his angels, say I, and I'll fight thim where I +stand." + +Pierre ran his fingers down Macavoy's arm, and said "There's time enough +for that. I'd begin with the five." + +"What five, then?" + +"Her half-breed lovers: Big Eye, One Toe, Jo-John, Saucy Boy, and Limber +Legs." + +"Her lovers? Her lovers, is it? Is there truth on y'r tongue?" + +"Go to her father's tent at sunset, and you'll find one or all of them +there." + +"Oh, is that it?" said the Irishman, opening and shutting his fists. +"Then I'll carve their hearts out, an' ate thim wan by wan this night." + +"Come down to Wiley's," said Pierre; "there's better company there than +here." + +Pierre had arranged many things, and had secured partners in his little +scheme for humbling the braggart. He so worked on the other's good +nature that by the time they reached the settler's place, Macavoy was +stretching himself with a big pride. Seated at Wiley's table, with +Hatchett and others near, and drink going about, someone drew the giant +on to talk, and so deftly and with such apparent innocence did Pierre, by +a word here and a nod there, encourage him, that presently he roared at +Wiley and Hatchett: + +"Ye shameless buccaneers that push your way into the tracks of honest +men, where the Company's been three hundred years by the will o' God-- +if it wasn't for me, ye Jack Sheppards--" + +Wiley and Hatchett both got to their feet with pretended rage, saying +he'd insulted them both, that he was all froth and brawn, and giving him +the lie. + +Utterly taken aback, Macavoy could only stare, puffing in his beard, and +drawing in his legs, which had been spread out at angles. He looked from +Wiley to the impassive Pierre. "Buccaneers, you callus," Wiley went on; +"well, we'll have no more of that, or there'll be trouble at Fort +O'Angel." + +"Ah, sure y'are only jokin'," said Macavoy, "for I love ye, ye +scoundrels. It's only me fun." + +"For fun like that you'll pay, ruffian!" said Hatchett, bringing down +his fist on the table with a bang. + +Macavoy stood up. He looked confounded, but there was nothing of the +coward in his face. "Oh, well," said he, "I'll be goin', for ye've got +y'r teeth all raspin'." + +As he went the two men laughed after him mockingly. "Wind like a bag," +said Hatchett. "Bone like a marrow-fat pea," added Wiley. + +Macavoy was at the door, but at that he turned. "If ye care to sail +agin' that wind, an' gnaw on that bone, I'd not be sayin' you no." + +"Will to-night do--at sunset?" said Wiley. + +"Bedad, then, me b'ys, sunset'll do--an' not more than two at a time," he +added softly, all the roar gone from his throat. Then he went out, +followed by Pierre. + +Hatchett and Wiley looked at each other and laughed a little confusedly. +"What's that he said?" muttered Wiley. "Not more than two at a time, +was it?" + +"That was it. I don't know that it's what we bargained for, after all." +He looked round on the other settlers present, who had been awed by the +childlike, earnest note in Macavoy's last words. They shook their heads +now a little sagely; they weren't so sure that Pierre's little game was +so jovial as it had promised. + +Even Pierre had hardly looked for so much from his giant as yet. In a +little while he had got Macavoy back to his old humour. + +"What was I made for but war!" said the Irishman, "an' by war to kape +thim at peace, wherever I am." Soon he was sufficiently restored in +spirits to go with Pierre to Bareback's lodge, where, sitting at the tent +door, with idlers about, he smoked with the chief and his braves. Again +Pierre worked upon him adroitly, and again he became loud in speech, and +grandly patronising. + +"I've stood by ye like a father, ye loafers," he said, "an' I give you my +word, ye howlin' rogues--" + +Here Bareback and a half-dozen braves came up suddenly from the ground, +and the chief said fiercely: "You speak crooked things. We are no +rogues. We will fight." + +Macavoy's face ran red to his hair. He scratched his head a little +foolishly, and gathered himself up. "Sure, 'twas only me tasin', +darlins," he said, "but I'll be comin' again, when y'are not so narvis." +He turned to go away. + +Pierre made a sign to Bareback, and the Indian touched the giant on the +arm. "Will you fight?" said he. + +"Not all o' ye at once," said Macavoy slowly, running his eye carefully +along the half-dozen; "not more than three at a toime," he added with a +simple sincerity, his voice again gone like the dove's. "At what time +will it be convaynyint for ye?" he asked. + +"At sunset," said the chief, "before the Fort." Macavoy nodded and +walked away with Pierre, whose glance of approval at the Indians did +not make them thoroughly happy. + +To rouse the giant was not now so easy. He had already three engagements +of violence for sunset. Pierre directed their steps by a roundabout to +the Company's stores, and again there was a distinct improvement in the +giant's spirits. Here at least he could be himself, he thought, here no +one should say him nay. As if nerved by the idea, he plunged at once +into boisterous raillery of the Chief Trader. "Oh, ho," he began, "me +freebooter, me captain av the looters av the North!" The Trader snarled +at him. "What d'ye mean, by such talk to me, sir? I've had enough-- +we've all had enough--of your brag and bounce; for you're all sweat and +swill-pipe, and I give you this for your chewing, that though by the +Company's rules I can't go out and fight you, you may have your pick of +my men for it. I'll take my pay for your insults in pounded flesh--Irish +pemmican!" + +Macavoy's face became mottled with sudden rage. He roared, as, perhaps, +he had never roared before: "Are ye all gone mad-mad-mad? I was jokin' +wid ye, whin I called ye this or that. But by the swill o' me pipe, and +the sweat o' me skin, I'll drink the blood o' yees, Trader, me darlin'. +An' all I'll ask is, that ye mate me to-night whin the rest o' the pack +is in front o' the Fort--but not more than four o' yees at a time--for +little scrawney rats as y'are, too many o' yees wad be in me way." He +wheeled and strode fiercely out. Pierre smiled gently. + +"He's a great bully that, isn't he, Trader? There'll be fun in front of +the Fort to-night. For he's only bragging, of course--eh?" + +The Trader nodded with no great assurance, and then Pierre said as a +parting word: "You'll be there, of course--only four av ye!" and hurried +out after Macavoy, humming to himself-- + + "For the King said this, and the Queen said that, + But he walked away with their army, O!" + +So far Pierre's plan had worked even better than he expected, though +Macavoy's moods had not been altogether after his imaginings. He drew +alongside the giant, who had suddenly grown quiet again. Macavoy turned +and looked down at Pierre with the candour of a schoolboy, and his voice +was very low: + +"It's a long time ago, I'm thinkin'," he said, "since I lost me frinds-- +ages an' ages ago. For me frinds are me inimies now, an' that makes a +man old. But I'll not say that it cripples his arm or humbles his back." +He drew his arm up once or twice and shot it out straight into the air +like a catapult. "It's all right," he added, very softly, "an', Half- +breed, me b'y, if me frinds have turned inimies, why, I'm thinkin' me +inimy has turned frind, for that I'm sure you were, an' this I'm certain +y 'are. So here's the grip av me fist, an' y'll have it." Pierre +remembered that disconcerting, iron grip of friendship for many a day. +He laughed to himself to think how he was turning the braggart into a +warrior. "Well," said Pierre, "what about those five at Wonta's tent?" + +"I'll be there whin the sun dips below the Little Red Hill," he said, as +though his thoughts were far away, and he turned his face towards Wonta's +tent. Presently he laughed out loud. "It's manny along day," he said, +"since--" + +Then he changed his thoughts. "They've spoke sharp words in me teeth," +he continued, "and they'll pay for it. Bounce! sweat! brag! wind! is it? +There's dancin' beyant this night, me darlins!" + +"Are you sure you'll not run away when they come on?" said Pierre, a +little ironically. + +"Is that the word av a frind?" replied Macavoy, a hand fumbling in his +hair. + +"Did you never run away when faced?" Pierre asked pitilessly. + +"I never turned tail from a man, though, to be sure, it's been more talk +than fight up here: Fort Ste. Anne's been but a graveyard for fun these +years." + +"Eh, well," persisted Pierre, "but did you never turn tail from a slip of +a woman?" + +The thing was said idly. Macavoy gathered his beard in his mouth, +chewing it confusedly. "You've a keen tongue for a question," was his +reply. "What for should anny man run from a woman?" + +"When the furniture flies, an' the woman knows more of the world in a day +than the man does in a year; and the man's a hulking bit of an Irishman-- +bien, then things are so and so!" + +Macavoy drew back dazed, his big legs trembling. "Come into the shade of +these maples," said Pierre, "for the sun has set you quaking a little," +and he put out his hand to take Macavoy's arm. + +The giant drew away from the hand, but walked on to the trees. His face +seemed to have grown older by years on the moment. "What's this y'are +sayin' to me?" he asked hoarsely. "What do you know av--av that woman?" + +"Malahide is a long way off," said Pierre, "but when one travels why +shouldn't the other?" + +Macavoy made a helpless motion with his lumbering hand. "Mother o' +saints," he said, "has it come to that, after all these years? Is she-- +tell me where she is, me frind, and you'll niver want an arm to fight for +ye, an' the half av a blanket, while I have wan!" + +"But you'll run as you did before, if I tell you, an' there'll be no +fighting to-night, accordin' to the word you've given." + +"No fightin', did ye say? an' run away, is it? Then this in your eye, +that if ye'll bring an army, I'll fight till the skin is in rags on me +bones, whin it's only men that's before me; but woman--and that wan! +Faith, I'd run, I'm thinkin', as I did, you know when--Don't tell me that +she's here, man; arrah, don't say that!" + +There was something pitiful and childlike in the big man's voice, so much +so that Pierre, calculating gamester as he was, and working upon him as +he had been for many weeks, felt a sudden pity, and dropping his fingers +on the other's arm, said: "No, Macavoy, my friend, she is not here; but +she is at Fort Ste. Anne--or was when I left there." + +Macavoy groaned. "Does she know that I'm here?" he asked. + +"I think not. Fort Ste. Anne is far away, and she may not hear." + +"What--what is she doing?" + +"Keeping your memory and Mr. Whelan's green." Then Pierre told him +somewhat bluntly what he knew of Mrs. Macavoy. + +"I'd rather face Ballzeboob himself than her," said Macavoy. "An' she's +sure to find me." + +"Not if you do as I say." + +"An' what is it ye say, little man?" + +"Come away with me where she'll not find you." + +"An' where's that, Pierre darlin'?" + +"I'll tell you that when to-night's fighting's over. Have you a mind +for Wonta?" he continued. + +"I've a mind for Wonta an' many another as fine, but I'm a married man," +he said, "by priest an' by book; an' I can't forget that, though the +woman's to me as the pit below." + +Pierre looked curiously at him. "You're a wonderful fool," he said, "but +I'm not sure that I like you less for that. There was Shon M'Gann--but +it is no matter." He sighed and continued: "When to-night is over, you +shall have work and fun that you've been fattening for this many a year, +and the woman'll not find you, be sure of that. Besides--" he whispered +in Macavoy's ear. + +"Poor divil, poor divil, she'd always a throat for that; but it's a +horrible death to die, I'm thinkin'." Macavoy's chin dropped on his +breast. + +When the sun was falling below Little Red Hill, Macavoy came to Wonta's +tent. Pierre was not far away. What occurred in the tent Pierre never +quite knew, but presently he saw Wonta run out in a frightened way, +followed by the five half-breeds, who carried themselves awkwardly. +Behind them again, with head shaking from one side to the other, +travelled Macavoy; and they all marched away towards the Fort. "Well," +said Pierre to Wonta, "he is amusing, eh?--so big a coward, eh?" + +"No, no," she said, "you are wrong. He is no coward. He is a great +brave. He spoke like a little child, but he said he would fight them +all when--" + +"When their turn came," interposed Pierre, with a fine "bead" of humour +in his voice; "well, you see he has much to do." He pointed towards the +Fort, where people were gathering fast. The strange news had gone +abroad, and the settlement, laughing joyously, came to see Macavoy +swagger; they did not think there would be fighting. + +Those whom Macavoy had challenged were not so sure. When the giant +reached the open space in front of the Fort, he looked slowly round him. +A great change had come over him. His skin seemed drawn together more +firmly, and running himself up finely to his full height, he looked no +longer the lounging braggart. Pierre measured him with his eye, and +chuckled to himself. Macavoy stripped himself of his coat and waistcoat, +and rolled up his sleeves. His shirt was flying at the chest. + +He beckoned to Pierre. + +"Are you standin' me frind in this?" he said. "Now and after," said +Pierre. + +His voice was very simple. "I never felt as I do since the day the +coast-guardsmin dropped on me in Ireland far away, an' I drew blood an +every wan o' them--fine beautiful b'ys they looked--stretchen' out on the +ground wan by wan. D'ye know the double-an'-twist?" he suddenly added, +"for it's a honey trick whin they gather in an you, an' you can't be +layin' out wid yer fists. It plays the divil wid the spines av thim. +Will ye have a drop av drink--cold water, man--near, an' a sponge betune +whiles? For there's manny in the play--makin' up for lost time. Come +on," he added to the two settlers, who stood not far away, "for ye began +the trouble, an' we'll settle accordin' to a, b, c." + +Wiley and Hatchett were there. Responding to his call, they stepped +forward, though they had now little relish for the matter. They were +pale, but they stripped their coats and waistcoats, and Wiley stepped +bravely in front of Macavoy. The giant looked down on him, arms folded. +"I said two of you," he crooned, as if speaking to a woman. Hatchett +stepped forward also. An instant after the settlers were lying on the +ground at different angles, bruised and dismayed, and little likely to +carry on the war. Macavoy took a pail of water from the ground, drank +from it lightly, and waited. None other of his opponents stirred. +"There's three Injins," he said, "three rid divils, that wants showin' +the way to their happy huntin' grounds. . . . Sure, y'are comin', +ain't you, me darlins?" he added coaxingly, and he stretched himself, +as if to make ready. + +Bareback, the chief, now harangued the three Indians, and they stepped +forth warily. They had determined on strategic wrestling, and not on the +instant activity of fists. But their wiliness was useless, for Macavoy's +double-and-twist came near to lessening the Indian population of Fort +O'Angel. It only broke a leg and an arm, however. The Irishman came out +of the tangle of battle with a wild kind of light in his eye, his beard +all torn, and face battered. A shout of laughter, admiration and wonder +went up from the crowd. There was a moment's pause, and then Macavoy, +whose blood ran high, stood forth again. The Trader came to him. + +"Must this go on?" he said; "haven't you had your fill of it?" + +Had he touched Macavoy with a word of humour the matter might have ended +there; but now the giant spoke loud, so all could hear. + +"Had me fill av it, Trader, me angel? I'm only gittin' the taste av it. +An' ye'll plaze bring on yer men--four it was--for the feed av Irish +pemmican." + +The Trader turned and swore at Pierre, who smiled enigmatically. +Soon after, two of the best fighters of the Company's men stood forth. +Macavoy shook his head. "Four, I said, an' four I'll have, or I'll ate +the heads aff these." + +Shamed, the Trader sent forth two more. All on an instant the four made +a rush on the giant; and there was a stiff minute after, in which it was +not clear that he was happy. Blows rattled on him, and one or two he got +on the head, just as he tossed a man spinning senseless across the grass, +which sent him staggering backwards for a moment, sick and stunned. + +Pierre called over to him swiftly: "Remember Malahide!" + +This acted on him like a charm. There never was seen such a shattered +bundle of men as came out from his hands a few minutes later. As for +himself, he had but a rag or two on him, but stood unmindful of his +state, and the fever of battle untameable on him. The women drew away. + +"Now, me babes o' the wood," he shouted, "that sit at the feet av the +finest Injin woman in the North,--though she's no frind o' mine--and +aren't fit to kiss her moccasin, come an wid you, till I have me fun wid +your spines." + +But a shout went up, and the crowd pointed. There were the five half- +breeds running away across the plains. + +The game was over. + +"Here's some clothes, man; for Heaven's sake put them on," said the +Trader. + +Then the giant became conscious of his condition, and like a timid girl +he hurried into the clothing. + +The crowd would have carried him on their shoulders, but he would have +none of it. + +"I've only wan frind here," he said, "an' it's Pierre, an' to his shanty +I go an' no other." + +"Come, mon ami," said Pierre, "for to-morrow we travel far." + +"And what for that?" said Macavoy. + +Pierre whispered in his ear: "To make you a king, my lovely bully." + + + + + + +THE FILIBUSTER + +Pierre had determined to establish a kingdom, not for gain, but for +conquest's sake. But because he knew that the thing would pall, he took +with him Macavoy the giant, to make him king instead. But first he made +Macavoy from a lovely bully, a bulk of good-natured brag, into a Hercules +of fight; for, having made him insult--and be insulted by--near a score +of men at Fort O'Angel, he also made him fight them by twos, threes, and +fours, all on a summer's evening, and send them away broken. Macavoy +would have hesitated to go with Pierre, were it not that he feared a +woman. Not that he had wronged her; she had wronged him: she had married +him. And the fear of one's own wife is the worst fear in the world. + +But though his heart went out to women, and his tongue was of the race +that beguiles, he stood to his "lines" like a man, and people wondered. +Even Wonta, the daughter of Foot-in-the-Sun, only bent him, she could not +break him to her will. Pierre turned her shy coaxing into irony--that +was on the day when all Fort O'Angel conspired to prove Macavoy a child +and not a warrior. But when she saw what she had done, and that the +giant was greater than his years of brag, she repented, and hung a dead +coyote at Pierre's door as a sign of her contempt. + +Pierre watched Macavoy, sitting with a sponge of vinegar to his head, +for he had had nasty joltings in his great fight. A little laugh came +crinkling up to the half-breed's lips, but dissolved into silence. + +"We'll start in the morning," he said. + +Macavoy looked up. "Whin you plaze; but a word in your ear; are you sure +she'll not follow us?" + +"She doesn't know. Fort Ste. Anne is in the south, and Fort Comfort, +where we go, is far north." + +"But if she kem!" the big man persisted. + +"You will be a king; you can do as other kings have done," Pierre +chuckled. + +The other shook his head. "Says Father Nolan to me, says he, "tis till +death us do part, an' no man put asunder'; an' I'll stand by that, though +I'd slice out the bist tin years av me life, if I niver saw her face +again." + +"But the girl, Wonta--what a queen she'd make!" + +"Marry her yourself, and be king yourself, and be damned to you! For +she, like the rest, laughed in me face, whin I told thim of the day whin +I--" + +"That's nothing. She hung a dead coyote at my door. You don't know +women. There'll be your breed and hers abroad in the land one day." + +Macavoy stretched to his feet--he was so tall that he could not stand +upright in the room. He towered over Pierre, who blandly eyed him. +"I've another word for your ear," he said darkly. "Keep clear av the +likes o' that wid me. For I've swallowed a tribe av divils. It's +fightin' you want. Well, I'll do it--I've an itch for the throats av +men, but a fool I'll be no more wid wimin, white or red--that hell-cat +that spoilt me life an' killed me child, or--" + +A sob clutched him in the throat. + +"You had a child, then?" asked Pierre gently. + +"An angel she was, wid hair like the sun, an' 'd melt the heart av an +iron god: none like her above or below. But the mother, ah, the mother +of her! One day whin she'd said a sharp word, wid another from me, an' +the child clinging to her dress, she turned quick and struck it, meanin' +to anger me. Not so hard the blow was, but it sent the darlin's head +agin' the chimney-stone, and that was the end av it. For she took to her +bed, an' agin' the crowin' o' the cock wan midnight, she gives a little +cry an' snatched at me beard. 'Daddy,' says she, 'daddy, it hurts!' +An' thin she floats away, wid a stitch av pain at her lips." + +Macavoy sat down now, his fingers fumbling in his beard. Pierre was +uncomfortable. He could hear of battle, murder, and sudden death +unmoved--it seemed to him in the game; but the tragedy of a child, a mere +counter yet in the play of life--that was different. He slid a hand over +the table, and caught Macavoy's arm. "Poor little waif!" he said. + +Macavoy gave the hand a grasp that turned Pierre sick, and asked: "Had ye +iver a child av y'r own, Pierre-iver wan at all?" + +"Never," said Pierre dreamily, "and I've travelled far. A child--a child +--is a wonderful thing. . . . Poor little waif!" + +They both sat silent for a moment. Pierre was about to rise, but Macavoy +suddenly pinned him to his seat with this question: "Did y' iver have a +wife, thin, Pierre?" + +Pierre turned pale. A sharp breath came through his teeth. He spoke +slowly: "Yes, once." + +"And she died?" asked the other, awed. + +"We all have our day," he replied enigmatically, "and there are worse +things than death. . . . Eh, well, mon ami, let us talk of other +things. To-morrow we go to conquer. I know where I can get five men I +want. I have ammunition and dogs." + +A few minutes afterwards Pierre was busy in the settlement. At the +Fort he heard strange news. A new batch of settlers was coming from the +south, and among them was an old Irishwoman who called herself now Mrs. +Whelan, now Mrs. Macavoy. She talked much of the lad she was to find, +one Tim Macavoy, whose fame Gossip had brought to her at last. + +She had clung on to the settlers, and they could not shake her off. +"She was comin'," she said, "to her own darlin' b'y, from whom she'd been +parted manny a year, believin' him dead, or Tom Whelan had nivir touched +hand o' hers." + +The bearer of the news had but just arrived, and he told it only to the +Chief Trader and Pierre. At a word from Pierre the man promised to hold +his peace. Then Pierre went to Wonta's lodge. He found her with her +father alone, her head at her knees. When she heard his voice she looked +up sharply, and added a sharp word also. + +"Wait," he said; "women are such fools. You snapped your fingers in his +face, and laughed at him. Bien, that is nothing. He has proved himself +great. That is something. He will be greater still, if the other woman +does not find him. She should die, but then some women have no sense." + +"The other woman!" said Wonta, starting to her feet; "who is the other +woman?" + +Old Foot-in-the-Sun waked and sat up, but seeing that it was Pierre, +dropped again to sleep. Pierre, he knew, was no peril to any woman. +Besides, Wonta hated the half-breed, as he thought. + +Pierre told the girl the story of Macavoy's life; for he knew that she +loved the man after her heathen fashion, and that she could be trusted. + +"I do not care for that," she said, when he had finished; "it is +nothing. I would go with him. I should be his wife, the other should +die. I would kill her, if she would fight me. I know the way of knives, +or a rifle, or a pinch at the throat--she should die!" + +"Yes, but that will not do. Keep your hands free of her." + +Then he told her that they were going away. She said she would go also. +He said no to that, but told her to wait and he would come back for her. + +Though she tried hard to follow them, they slipped away from the Fort in +the moist gloom of the morning, the brown grass rustling, the prairie- +hens fluttering, the osiers soughing as they passed, the Spirit of the +North, ever hungry, drawing them on over the long Divides. They did not +see each other's faces till dawn. They were guided by Pierre's voice; +none knew his comrades. Besides Pierre and Macavoy, there were five +half-breeds--Noel, Little Babiche, Corvette, Josh, and Jacques Parfaite. +When they came to recognise each other, they shook hands, and marched on. +In good time they reached that wonderful and pleasant country between the +Barren Grounds and the Lake of Silver Shallows. To the north of it was +Fort Comfort, which they had come to take. Macavoy's rich voice roared +as of old, before his valour was questioned--and maintained--at Fort +O'Angel. Pierre had diverted his mind from the woman who, at Fort +O'Angel, was even now calling heaven and earth to witness that "Tim +Macavoy was her Macavoy and no other, an' she'd find him--the divil and +darlin', wid an arm like Broin Borhoime, an' a chest you could build a +house on--if she walked till Doomsday!" + +Macavoy stood out grandly, his fat all gone to muscle, blowing through +his beard, puffing his cheek, and ready with tale or song. But now that +they were facing the business of their journey, his voice got soft and +gentle, as it did before the Fort, when he grappled his foes two by two +and three by three, and wrung them out. In his eyes there was the thing +which counts as many men in any soldier's sight, when he leads in battle. +As he said himself, he was made for war, like Malachi o' the Golden +Collar. + +Pierre guessed that just now many of the Indians would be away for the +summer hunt, and that the Fort would perhaps be held by only a few score +of braves, who, however, would fight when they might easier play. He had +no useless compunctions about bloodshed. A human life he held to be a +trifle in the big sum of time, and that it was of little moment when a +man went, if it seemed his hour. He lived up to his creed, for he had +ever held his own life as a bird upon a housetop, which a chance stone +might drop. + +He was glad afterwards that he had decided to fight, for there was one +in Fort Comfort against whom he had an old grudge--the Indian, Young Eye, +who, many years before, had been one to help in killing the good Father +Halen, the priest who dropped the water on his forehead and set the cross +on top of that, when he was at his mother's breasts. One by one the +murderers had been killed, save this man. He had wandered north, lived +on the Coppermine River for a long time, and at length had come down +among the warring tribes at the Lake of Silver Shallows. + +Pierre was for direct attack. They crossed the lake in their canoes, at +a point about five miles from the Fort, and, so far as they could tell, +without being seen. Then ammunition went round, and they marched upon +the Fort. Pierre eyed Macavoy--measured him, as it were, for what he was +worth. The giant seemed happy. He was humming a tune softly through his +beard. Suddenly Jose paused, dropped to the foot of a pine, and put his +ear to it. Pierre understood. He had caught at the same thing. "There +is a dance on," said Jose, "I can hear the drum." + +Pierre thought a minute. "We will reconnoitre," he said presently. + +"It is near night now," remarked Little Babiche. "I know something of +these. When they have a great snake dance at night, strange things +happen." Then he spoke in a low tone to Pierre. + +They halted in the bush, and Little Babiche went forward to spy upon the +Fort. He came back just after sunset, reporting that the Indians were +feasting. He had crept near, and had learned that the braves were +expected back from the hunt that night, and that the feast was for +their welcome. + +The Fort stood in an open space, with tall trees for a background. In +front, here and there, were juniper and tamarac bushes. Pierre laid his +plans immediately, and gave the word to move on. Their presence had not +been discovered, and if they could but surprise the Indians the Fort +might easily be theirs. They made a detour, and after an hour came upon +the Fort from behind. Pierre himself went forward cautiously, leaving +Macavoy in command. When he came again he said: + +"It's a fine sight, and the way is open. They are feasting and dancing. +If we can enter without being seen, we are safe, except for food; we must +trust for that. Come on." + +When they arrived at the margin of the woods a wonderful scene was before +them. A volcanic hill rose up on one side, gloomy and stern, but the +reflection of the fires reached it, and made its sides quiver--the rock +itself seemed trembling. The sombre pines showed up, a wall all round, +and in the open space, turreted with fantastic fires, the Indians swayed +in and out with weird chanting, their bodies mostly naked, and painted in +strange colours. The earth itself was still and sober. Scarce a star +peeped forth. A purple velvet curtain seemed to hang all down the sky, +though here and there the flame bronzed it. The Indian lodges were +empty, save where a few children squatted at the openings. The seven +stood still with wonder, till Pierre whispered to them to get to the +ground and crawl close in by the walls of the Fort, following him. They +did so, Macavoy breathing hard--too hard; for suddenly Pierre clapped a +hand on his mouth. + +They were now near the Fort, and Pierre had seen an Indian come from the +gate. The brave was within a few feet of them. He had almost passed +them, for they were in the shadow, but Jose had burst a puffball with his +hand, and the dust, flying up, made him sneeze. The Indian turned and +saw them. With a low cry and the spring of a tiger Pierre was at his +throat; and in another minute they were struggling on the ground. +Pierre's hand never let go. His comrades did not stir; he had warned +them to lie still. They saw the terrible game played out within arm's +length of them. They heard Pierre say at last, as the struggles of the +Indian ceased: "Beast! You had Father Halen's life. I have yours." + +There was one more wrench of the Indian's limbs, and then he lay still. + +They crawled nearer the gate, still hidden in the shadows and the grass. +Presently they came to a clear space. Across this they must go, and +enter the Fort before they were discovered. They got to their feet, and +ran with wonderful swiftness, Pierre leading, to the gate. They had just +reached it when there was a cry from the walls, on which two Indians were +sitting. The Indians sprang down, seized their spears, and lunged at the +seven as they entered. One spear caught Little Babiche in the arm as he +swung aside, but with the butt of his musket Noel dropped him. The other +Indian was promptly handled by Pierre himself. By this time Corvette and +Jose had shut the gates, and the Fort was theirs--an easy conquest. The +Indians were bound and gagged. + +The adventurers had done it all without drawing the attention of the +howling crowd without. The matter was in its infancy, however. They +had the place, but could they hold it? What food and water were there +within? Perhaps they were hardly so safe besieged as besiegers. Yet +there was no doubt on Pierre's part. He had enjoyed the adventure so far +up to the hilt. An old promise had been kept, and an old wrong avenged. + +"What's to be done now?" said Macavoy. "There'll be hell's own racket; +and they'll come on like a flood." + +"To wait," said Pierre, "and dam the flood as it comes. But not a bullet +till I give the word. Take to the chinks. We'll have them soon." + +He was right: they came soon. Someone had found the dead body of Young +Eye; then it was discovered that the gate was shut. A great shout went +up. The Indians ran to their lodges for spears and hatchets, though the +weapons of many were within the Fort, and soon they were about the place, +shouting in impotent rage. They could not tell how many invaders were in +the Fort; they suspected it was the Little Skins, their ancient enemies. +But Young Eye, they saw, had not been scalped. This was brought to the +old chief, and he called to his men to fall back. They had not seen one +man of the invaders; all was silent and dark within the Fort; even the +two torches which had been burning above the gate were down. At that +moment, as if to add to the strangeness, a caribou came suddenly through +the fires, and, passing not far from the bewildered Indians, plunged into +the trees behind the Fort. + +The caribou is credited with great powers. It is thought to understand +all that is said to it, and to be able to take the form of a spirit. No +Indian will come near it till it is dead, and he that kills it out of +season is supposed to bring down all manner of evil. + +So at this sight they cried out--the women falling to the ground with +their faces in their arms--that the caribou had done this thing. For a +moment they were all afraid. Besides, as a brave showed, there was no +mark on the body of Young Eye. + +Pierre knew quite well that this was a bull caribou, travelling wildly +till he found another herd. He would carry on the deception. "Wail for +the dead, as your women do in Ireland. That will finish them," he said +to Macavoy. + +The giant threw his voice up and out, so that it seemed to come from over +the Fort to the Indians, weird and crying. Even the half-breeds standing +by felt a light shock of unnatural excitement. The Indians without drew +back slowly from the Fort, leaving a clear space between. Macavoy had +uncanny tricks with his voice, and presently he changed the song into a +shrill, wailing whistle, which went trembling about the place and then +stopped suddenly. + +"Sure, that's a poor game, Pierre," he whispered; "an' I'd rather be +pluggin' their hides wid bullets, or givin' the double-an'-twist. It's +fightin' I come for, and not the trick av Mother Kilkevin." + +Pierre arranged a plan of campaign at once. Every man looked to his gun, +the gates were slowly opened, and Macavoy stepped out. Pierre had thrown +over the Irishman's shoulders the great skin of a musk-ox which he had +found inside the stockade. He was a strange, immense figure, as he +walked into the open space, and, folding his arms, looked round. In the +shadow of the gate behind were Pierre and the halfbreeds, with guns +cocked. + +Macavoy had lived so long in the north that he knew enough of all the +languages to speak to this tribe. When he came out a murmur of wonder +ran among the Indians. They had never seen anyone so tall, for they were +not great of stature, and his huge beard and wild shock of hair were a +wonderful sight. He remained silent, looking on them. At last the old +chief spoke. "Who are you?" + +"I am a great chief from the Hills of the Mighty Men, come to be your +king," was his reply. + +"He is your king," cried Pierre in a strange voice from the shadow of the +gate, and he thrust out his gun-barrel, so that they could see it. + +The Indians now saw Pierre and the half-breeds in the gateway, and they +had not so much awe. They came a little nearer, and the women stopped +crying. A few of the braves half-raised their spears. Seeing this, +Pierre instantly stepped forward to the giant. He looked a child in +stature thereby. He spoke quickly and well in the Chinook language. + +"This is a mighty man from the Hills of the Mighty Men. He has come to +rule over you, to give all other tribes into your hands; for he has +strength like a thousand, and fears nothing of gods nor men. I have the +blood of red men in me. It is I who have called this man from his +distant home. I heard of your fighting and foolishness: also that +warriors were to come from the south country to scatter your wives and +children, and to make you slaves. I pitied you, and I have brought you a +chief greater than any other. Throw your spears upon the ground, and all +will be well; but raise one to throw, or one arrow, or axe, and there +shall be death among you, so that as a people you shall die. The spirits +are with us. . . . Well?" + +The Indians drew a little nearer, but they did not drop their spears, for +the old chief forbade them. + +"We are no dogs nor cowards," he said, "though the spirits be with you, +as we believe. We have seen strange things"--he pointed to Young Eye-- +"and heard voices not of men; but we would see great things as well as +strange. There are seven men of the Little Skins tribe within a lodge +yonder. They were to die when our braves returned from the hunt, and for +that we prepared the feast. But this mighty man, he shall fight them all +at once, and if he kills them he shall be our king. In the name of my +tribe I speak. And this other," pointing to Pierre, "he shall also fight +with a strong man of our tribe, so that we shall know if you are all +brave, and not as those who crawl at the knees of the mighty." + +This was more than Pierre had bargained for. Seven men at Macavoy, and +Indians too, fighting for their lives, was a contract of weight. But +Macavoy was blowing in his beard cheerfully enough. + +"Let me choose me ground," he said, "wid me back to the wall, an' I'll +take thim as they come." + +Pierre instantly interpreted this to the Indians, and said for himself +that he would welcome their strongest man at the point of a knife when he +chose. + +The chief gave an order, and the Little Skins were brought. The fires +still burned brightly, and the breathing of the pines, as a slight wind +rose and stirred them, came softly over. The Indians stood off at the +command of the chief. Macavoy drew back to the wall, dropped the musk-ox +skin to the ground, and stripped himself to the waist. But in his +waistband there was what none of these Indians had ever seen--a small +revolver that barked ever so softly. In the hands of each Little Skin +there was put a knife, and they were told their cheerful exercise. They +came on cautiously, and then suddenly closed in, knives flashing. But +Macavoy's little bulldog barked, and one dropped to the ground. The +others fell back. The wounded man drew up, made a lunge at Macavoy, but +missed him. As if ashamed, the other six came on again at a spring. But +again the weapon did its work smartly, and one more came down. Now the +giant put it away, ran in upon the five, and cut right and left. So +sudden and massive was his rush that they had no chance. Three fell at +his blows, and then he drew back swiftly to the wall. "Drop your +knives," he said, as they cowered, "or I'll kill you all." They did so. +He dropped his own. + +"Now come on, ye scuts!" he cried, and suddenly he reached and caught +them, one with each arm, and wrestled with them, till he bent the one +like a willow-rod, and dropped him with a broken back, while the other +was at his mercy. Suddenly loosing him, he turned him towards the woods, +and said: "Run, ye rid divil, run for y'r life!" + +A dozen spears were raised, but the rifles of Pierre's men came in +between: the Indian reached cover and was gone. Of the six others, two +had been killed, the rest were severely wounded, and Macavoy had not a +scratch. + +Pierre smiled grimly. "You've been doing all the fighting, Macavoy," he +said. + +"There's no bein' a king for nothin'," he replied, wiping blood from his +beard. + +"It's my turn now, but keep your rifles ready, though I think there's no +need." + +Pierre had but a short minute with the champion, for he was an expert +with the knife. He carried away four fingers of the Indian's fighting +hand, and that ended it; for the next instant the point was at the red +man's throat. The Indian stood to take it like a man; but Pierre loved +that kind of courage, and shot the knife into its sheath instead. + +The old chief kept his word, and after the spears were piled, he shook +hands with Macavoy, as did his braves one by one, and they were all moved +by the sincerity of his grasp: their arms were useless for some time +after. They hailed as their ruler, King Macavoy I.; for men are like +dogs--they worship him who beats them. The feasting and dancing went on +till the hunters came back. Then there was a wild scene, but in the end +all the hunters, satisfied, came to greet their new king. + +The king himself went to bed in the Fort that night, Pierre and his +bodyguard--by name Noel, Little Babiche, Corvette, Jose, and Parfaite +--its only occupants, singing joyfully: + + "Did yees iver hear tell o' Long Barney, + That come from the groves o' Killarney? + He wint for a king, oh, he wint for a king, + But he niver keen back to Killarney + Wid his crown, an' his soord, an' his army!" + +As a king Macavoy was a success, for the brag had gone from him. Like +all his race he had faults as a subject, but the responsibility of ruling +set him right. He found in the Fort an old sword and belt, left by some +Hudson's Bay Company's man, and these he furbished up and wore. + +With Pierre's aid he drew up a simple constitution, which he carried in +the crown of his cap, and he distributed beads and gaudy trappings as +marks of honour. Nor did he forget the frequent pipe of peace, made +possible to all by generous gifts of tobacco. Anyone can found a kingdom +abaft the Barren Grounds with tobacco, beads, and red flannel. + +For very many weeks it was a happy kingdom. But presently Pierre yawned, +and was ready to return. Three of the half-breeds were inclined to go +with him. Jose and Little Babiche had formed alliances which held them +there--besides, King Macavoy needed them. + +On the eve of Pierre's departure a notable thing occurred. + +A young brave had broken his leg in hunting, had been picked up by a band +of another tribe, and carried south. He found himself at last at Fort +O'Angel. There he had met Mrs. Whelan, and for presents of tobacco, and +purple and fine linen, he had led her to her consort. That was how the +king and Pierre met her in the yard of Fort Comfort one evening of early +autumn. Pierre saw her first, and was for turning the King about and +getting him away; but it was too late. Mrs. Whelan had seen him, and she +called out at him: + +"Oh, Tim! me jool, me king, have I found ye, me imp'ror!" + +She ran at him, to throw her arms round him. He stepped back, the red of +his face going white, and said, stretching out his hand, "Woman, y'are me +wife, I know, whativer y' be; an' y've right to have shelter and bread av +me; but me arms, an' me bed, are me own to kape or to give; and, by God, +ye shall have nayther one nor the other! There's a ditch as wide as hell +betune us." + +The Indians had gathered quickly; they filled the yard, and crowded the +gate. The woman went wild, for she had been drinking. She ran at +Macavoy and spat in his face, and called down such a curse on him as, +whoever hears, be he one that's cursed or any other, shudders at till he +dies. Then she fell in a fit at his feet. Macavoy turned to the +Indians, stretched out his hands and tried to speak, but could not. He +stooped down, picked up the woman, carried her into the Fort, and laid +her on a bed of skins. + +"What will you do?" asked Pierre. + +"She is my wife," he answered firmly. + +"She lived with Whelan." + +"She must be cared for," was the reply. Pierre looked at him with a +curious quietness. "I'll get liquor for her," he said presently. He +started to go, but turned and felt the woman's pulse. "You would keep +her?" he asked. + +"Bring the liquor." Macavoy reached for water, and dipping the sleeve +of his shirt in it, wetted her face gently. + +Pierre brought the liquor, but he knew that the woman would die. He +stayed with Macavoy beside her all the night. Towards morning her eyes +opened, and she shivered greatly. + +"It's bither cold," she said. "You'll put more wood on the fire, Tim, +for the babe must be kept warrum." + +She thought she was at Malahide. + +"Oh, wurra, wurra, but 'tis freezin'!" she said again. "Why d'ye kape +the door opin whin the child's perishin'?" + +Macavoy sat looking at her, his trouble shaking him. + +"I'll shut the door meself, thin," she added; "for 'twas I that lift it +opin, Tim." She started up, but gave a cry like a wailing wind, and fell +back. + +"The door is shut," said Pierre. + +"But the child--the child!" said Macavoy, tears running down his face +and beard. + + + + + + +THE GIFT OF THE SIMPLE KING + +Once Macavoy the giant ruled a tribe of Northern people, achieving the +dignity by the hands of Pierre, who called him King Macavoy. Then came +a time when, tiring of his kingship, he journeyed south, leaving all +behind, even his queen, Wonta, who, in her bed of cypresses and yarrow, +came forth no more into the morning. About Fort Guidon they still +gave him his title, and because of his guilelessness, sincerity, and +generosity, Pierre called him "The Simple King." His seven feet and +over shambled about, suggesting unjointed power, unshackled force. +No one hated Macavoy, many loved him, he was welcome at the fire and +the cooking-pot; yet it seemed shameful to have so much man useless-- +such an engine of life, which might do great things, wasting fuel. +Nobody thought much of that at Fort Guidon, except, perhaps, Pierre, +who sometimes said, "My simple king, some day you shall have your great +chance again; but not as a king--as a giant, a man--voila!" + +The day did not come immediately, but it came. When Ida, the deaf and +dumb girl, married Hilton, of the H.B.C., every man at Fort Guidon, and +some from posts beyond, sent her or brought her presents of one kind or +another. Pierre's gift was a Mexican saddle. He was branding Ida's name +on it with the broken blade of a case-knife when Macavoy entered on him, +having just returned from a vagabond visit to Fort Ste. Anne. + +"Is it digging out or carvin' in y'are?" he asked, puffing into his +beard. + +Pierre looked up contemptuously, but did not reply to the insinuation, +for he never saw an insult unless he intended to avenge it; and he would +not quarrel with Macavoy. + +"What are you going to give?" he asked. + +"Aw, give what to who, hop-o'-me-thumb?" Macavoy said, stretching +himself out in the doorway, his legs in the sun, head in the shade. + +"You've been taking a walk in the country, then?" Pierre asked, though +he knew. + +"To Fort Ste. Anne: a buryin', two christ'nin's, an' a weddin'; an' +lashin's av grog an' swill-aw that, me button o' the North!" + +"La la! What a fool you are, my simple king! You've got the things end +foremost. Turn your head to the open air, for I go to light a cigarette, +and if you breathe this way, there will be a grand explode." + +"Aw, yer thumb in yer eye, Pierre! It's like a baby's, me breath is, +milk and honey it is--aw yis; an' Father Corraine, that was doin' the +trick for the love o' God, says he to me, 'Little Tim Macavoy,'--aw yis, +little Tim Macavoy,--says he, 'when are you goin' to buckle to, for the +love o' God?' says he. Ashamed I was, Pierre, that Father Corraine +should spake to me like that, for I'd only a twig twisted at me hips to +kape me trousies up, an' I thought 'twas that he had in his eye! 'Buckle +to,' says I, 'Father Corraine? Buckle to, yer riv'rince?'--feelin' I was +at the twigs the while. 'Ay, little Tim Macavoy,' he says, says he, +'you've bin 'atin' the husks av idleness long enough; when are you goin' +to buckle to? You had a kingdom and ye guv it up,' says he; 'take a +field, get a plough, and buckle to,' says he, 'an' turn back no more'-- +like that, says Father Corraine; and I thinkin' all the time 'twas the +want o' me belt he was drivin' at." + +Pierre looked at him a moment idly, then said: "Such a tom-fool! And +where's that grand leather belt of yours, eh, my monarch?" + +A laugh shook through Macavoy's beard. "For the weddin' it wint: buckled +the two up wid it for better or worse--an' purty they looked, they did, +standin' there in me cinch, an' one hole left--aw yis, Pierre." + +"And what do you give to Ida?" Pierre asked, with a little emphasis of +the branding-iron. + +Macavoy got to his feet. "Ida! Ida!" said he. "Is that saddle for +Ida? Is it her and Hilton that's to ate aff one dish togither? That +rose o' the valley, that bird wid a song in her face and none an her +tongue. That daisy dot av a thing, steppin' through the world like a +sprig o' glory. Aw, Pierre, thim two!--an' I've divil a scrap to give, +good or bad. I've nothin' at all in the wide wurruld but the clothes an +me back, an' thim hangin' on the underbrush!"--giving a little twist to +the twigs. "An' many a meal an' many a dipper o' drink she's guv me, +little smiles dancin' at her lips." + +He sat down in the doorway again, with his face turned towards Pierre, +and the back of his head in the sun. He was a picture of perfect health, +sumptuous, huge, a bull in beauty, the heart of a child looking out of +his eyes, but a sort of despair, too, in his bearing. + +Pierre watched him with a furtive humour for a time, then he said +languidly: "Never mind your clothes, give yourself." + +"Yer tongue in yer cheek, me spot o' vinegar. Give meself! What's that +for? A purty weddin' gift, says I? Handy thing to have in the house! +Use me for a clothes-horse, or shtand me in the garden for a fairy bower- +aw yis, wid a hole in me face that'd ate thim out o' house and home!" + +Pierre drew a piece of brown paper towards him, and wrote on it with a +burnt match. Presently he held it up. "Voila, my simple king, the thing +for you to do: a grand gift, and to cost you nothing now. Come, read it +out, and tell me what you think." + +Macavoy took the paper, and in a large, judicial way, read slowly: + +"On demand, for value received, I promise to pay to . . . IDA HILTON . +. . or order, meself, Tim Macavoy, standin' seven foot three on me bare +fut, wid interest at nothin' at all." + +Macavoy ended with a loud smack of the lips. "McGuire!" he said, and +nothing more. + +McGuire was his strongest expression. In the most important moments of +his career he had said it, and it sounded deep, strange, and more +powerful than many usual oaths. A moment later he said again "McGuire!" +Then he read the paper once more out loud. "What's that, me Frinchman?" +he asked. "What Ballzeboob's tricks are y'at now?" + +Pierre was complacently eyeing his handiwork on the saddle. He now +settled back with his shoulders to the wall, and said: "See, then, it's +a little promissory note for a wedding-gift to Ida. When she says some +day, 'Tim Macavoy, I want you to do this or that, or to go here or there, +or to sell you or trade you, or use you for a clothes-horse, or a bridge +over a canyon, or to hold up a house, or blow out a prairie-fire, or be +my second husband,' you shall say, 'Here I am'; and you shall travel from +Heaven to Halifax, but you shall come at the call of this promissory." + +Pierre's teeth glistened behind a smile as he spoke, and Macavoy broke +into a roar of laughter. "Black's the white o' yer eye," he said at +last, "an' a joke's a joke. Seven fut three I am, an' sound av wind an' +limb--an' a weddin'-gift to that swate rose o' the valley! Aisy, aisy, +Pierre. A bit o' foolin' 'twas ye put on the paper, but truth I'll make +it, me cock o' the walk. That's me gift to her an' Hilton, an' no other. +An' a dab wid red wax it shall have, an' what more be the word o' Freddy +Tarlton the lawyer?" + +"You're a great man," said Pierre with a touch of gentle irony, for his +natural malice had no play against the huge ex-king of his own making. +With these big creatures--he had connived with several in his time--he +had ever been superior, protective, making them to feel that they were as +children beside him. He looked at Macavoy musingly, and said to himself: +"Well, why not? If it is a joke, then it is a joke; if it is a thing to +make the world stand still for a minute sometime, so much the better. He +is all waste now. By the holy, he shall do it. It is amusing, and it +may be great by and by." + +Presently Pierre said aloud: "Well, my Macavoy, what will you do? Send +this good gift?" + +"Aw yis, Pierre; I shtand by that from the crown av me head to the sole +av me fut sure. Face like a mornin' in May, and hands like the tunes of +an organ, she has. Spakes wid a look av her eye and a twist av her purty +lips an' swaying body, an' talkin' to you widout a word. Aw motion-- +motion--motion; yis, that's it. An' I've seen her an tap av a hill wid +the wind blowin' her hair free, and the yellow buds on the tree, and the +grass green beneath her feet, the world smilin' betune her and the sun: +pictures--pictures, aw yis! Promissory notice on demand is it anny +toime? Seven fut three on me bare toes--but Father o' Sin! when she +calls I come, yis." + +"On your oath, Macavoy?" asked Pierre; "by the book av the Mass?" + +Macavoy stood up straight till his head scraped the cobwebs between the +rafters, the wild indignation of a child in his eye. "D'ye think I'm a +thafe to stale me own word? Hut! I'll break ye in two, ye wisp o' +straw, if ye doubt me word to a lady. There's me note av hand, and ye +shall have me fist on it, in writin', at Freddy Tarlton's office, wid a +blotch av red an' the Queen's head at the bottom. McGuire!" he said +again, and paused, puffing his lips through his beard. + +Pierre looked at him a moment, then waving his fingers idly, said, "So, +my straw-breaker! Then tomorrow morning at ten you will fetch your +wedding-gift. But come so soon now to M'sieu' Tarlton's office, and we +will have it all as you say, with the red seal and the turn of your fist +--yes. Well, well, we travel far in the world, and sometimes we see +strange things, and no two strange things are alike--no; there is only +one Macavoy in the world, there was only one Shon McGann. Shon McGann +was a fine fool, but he did something at last, truly yes: Tim Macavoy, +perhaps, will do something at last on his own hook. Hey, I wonder!" +He felt the muscles of Macavoy's arm musingly, and then laughed up in +the giant's face. "Once I made you a king, my own, and you threw it all +away; now I make you a slave, and we shall see what you will do. Come +along, for M'sieu' Tarlton." + +Macavoy dropped a heavy hand on Pierre's shoulder. "'Tis hard to be a +king, Pierre, but 'tis aisy to be a slave for the likes o' her. I'd kiss +her dirty shoe sure!" + +As they passed through the door, Pierre said, "Dis done, perhaps, when +all is done, she will sell you for old bones and rags. Then I will buy +you, and I will burn your bones and the rags, and I will scatter to the +four winds of the earth the ashes of a king, a slave, a fool, and an +Irishman--truly!" + +"Bedad, ye'll have more earth in yer hands then, Pierre, than ye'll ever +earn, and more heaven than ye'll ever shtand in." + +Half an hour later they were in Freddy Tarlton's office on the banks of +the Little Big Swan, which tumbled past, swelled by the first rain of the +early autumn. Freddy Tarlton, who had a gift of humour, entered into the +spirit of the thing, and treated it seriously; but in vain did he protest +that the large red seal with Her Majesty's head on it was unnecessary; +Macavoy insisted, and wrote his name across it with a large +indistinctness worthy of a king. Before the night was over everybody at +Guidon Hill, save Hilton and Ida, knew what gift would come from Macavoy +to the wedded pair. + + + +II + +The next morning was almost painfully beautiful, so delicate in its +clearness, so exalted by the glory of the hills, so grand in the +limitless stretch of the green-brown prairie north and south. It was a +day for God's creatures to meet in, and speed away, and having flown +round the boundaries of that spacious domain, to return again to the nest +of home on the large plateau between the sea and the stars. Gathered +about Ida's home was everybody who lived within a radius of a hundred +miles. In the large front room all the presents were set: rich furs from +the far north, cunningly carved bowls, rocking-chairs made by hand, +knives, cooking utensils, a copy of Shakespeare in six volumes from the +Protestant missionary who performed the ceremony, a nugget of gold from +the Long Light River; and outside the door, a horse, Hilton's own present +to his wife, on which was put Pierre's saddle, with its silver mounting +and Ida's name branded deep on pommel and flap. When Macavoy arrived, +a cheer went up, which was carried on waves of laughter into the house +to Hilton and Ida, who even then were listening to the first words of the +brief service which begins, "I charge you both if you do know any just +cause or impediment--" and so on. + +They did not turn to see what it was, for just at that moment they +themselves were the very centre of the universe. Ida being deaf and +dumb, it was necessary to interpret to her the words of the service by +signs, as the missionary read it, and this was done by Pierre himself, +the half-breed Catholic, the man who had brought Hilton and Ida together, +for he and Ida had been old friends. After Father Corraine had taught +her the language of signs, Pierre had learned them from her, until at +last his gestures had become as vital as her own. The delicate precision +of his every movement, the suggestiveness of look and motion, were suited +to a language which was nearer to the instincts of his own nature than +word of mouth. All men did not trust Pierre, but all women did; with +those he had a touch of Machiavelli, with these he had no sign of +Mephistopheles, and few were the occasions in his life when he showed +outward tenderness to either: which was equally effective. He had +learnt, or knew by instinct, that exclusiveness as to men and +indifference as to women are the greatest influences on both. As he +stood there, slowly interpreting to Ida, by graceful allusive signs, the +words of the service, one could not think that behind his impassive face +there was any feeling for the man or for the woman. He had that +disdainful smile which men acquire who are all their lives aloof from the +hopes of the hearthstone and acknowledge no laws but their own. + +More than once the eyes of the girl filled with tears, as the pregnancy +of some phrase in the service came home to her. Her face responded to +Pierre's gestures, as do one's nerves to the delights of good music, and +there was something so unique, so impressive in the ceremony, that the +laughter which had greeted Macavoy passed away, and a dead silence; +beginning from where the two stood, crept out until it covered all the +prairie. Nothing was heard except Hilton's voice in strong tones saying, +"I take thee to be my wedded wife," etc.; but when the last words of the +service were said, and the newmade bride turned to her husband's embrace, +and a little sound of joy broke from her lips, there was plenty of noise +and laughter again, for Macavoy stood in the doorway, or rather outside +it, stooping to look in upon the scene. Someone had lent him the cinch +of a broncho and he had belted himself with it, no longer carrying his +clothes about "on the underbrush." Hilton laughed and stretched out his +hand. "Come in, King," he said, "come and wish us joy." + +Macavoy parted the crowd easily, forcing his way, and instantly was +stooping before the pair--for he could not stand upright in the room. + +"Aw, now, Hilton, is it you, is it you, that's pluckin' the rose av the +valley, snatchin' the stars out av the sky! aw, Hilton, the like o' +that! Travel down I did yesterday from Fort Ste. Anne, and divil a word +I knew till Pierre hit me in the eye wid it last night--and no time for a +present, for a wedding-gift--no, aw no!" + +Just here Ida reached up and touched him on the shoulder. He smiled down +on her, puffing and blowing in his beard, bursting to speak to her, yet +knowing no word by signs to say; but he nodded his head at her, and he +patted Hilton's shoulder, and he took their hands and joined them +together, hers on top of Hilton's, and shook them in one of his own till +she almost winced. Presently, with a look at Hilton, who nodded in +reply, Ida lifted her cheek to Macavoy to kiss--Macavoy, the idle, ill- +cared-for, boisterous giant. His face became red like that of a child +caught in an awkward act, and with an absurd shyness he stooped and +touched her cheek. Then he turned to Hilton, and blurted out, "Aw, the +rose o' the valley, the pride o' the wide wurruld! aw, the bloom o' the +hills! I'd have kissed her dirty shoe. McQuire!" + +A burst of laughter rolled out on the clear air of the prairie, and the +hills seemed to stir with the pleasure of life. Then it was that +Macavoy, following Hilton and Ida outside, suddenly stopped beside the +horse, drew from his pocket the promissory note that Pierre had written, +and said, "Yis, but all the weddin'-gifts aren't in. 'Tis nothin' I had +to give-divil a cent in the wurruld, divil a pound av baccy, or a pot for +the fire, or a bit av linin for the table; nothin' but meself and me +dirty clothes, standin' seven fut three an me bare toes. What was I to +do? There was only meself to give, so I give it free and hearty, and +here it is wid the Queen's head an it, done in Mr. Tarlton's office. +Ye'd better had had a dog, or a gun, or a ladder, or a horse, or a +saddle, or a quart o' brown brandy; but such as it is I give it ye-- +I give it to the rose o' the valley and the star o' the wide wurruld." + +In a loud voice he read the promissory note, and handed it to Ida. Men +laughed till there were tears in their eyes, and a keg of whisky was +opened; but somehow Ida did not laugh. She and Pierre had seen a serious +side to Macavoy's gift: the childlike manliness in it. It went home to +her woman's heart without a touch of ludicrousness, without a sound of +laughter. + + + +III + +After a time the interest in this wedding-gift declined at Fort Guidon, +and but three people remembered it with any singular distinctness--Ida, +Pierre, and Macavoy. Pierre was interested, for in his primitive mind he +knew that, however wild a promise, life is so wild in its events, there +comes the hour for redemption of all I O U's. + +Meanwhile, weeks, months, and even a couple of years passed, Macavoy and +Pierre coming and going, sometimes together, sometimes not, in all manner +of words at war, in all manner of fact at peace. And Ida, out of the +bounty of her nature, gave the two vagabonds a place at her fireside +whenever they chose to come. Perhaps, where speech was not given, a gift +of divination entered into her instead, and she valued what others found +useless, and held aloof from what others found good. She had powers +which had ever been the admiration of Guidon Hill. Birds and animals +were her friends--she called them her kinsmen. A peculiar sympathy +joined them; so that when, at last, she tamed a white wild duck, and made +it do the duties of a carrier-pigeon, no one thought it strange. + +Up in the hills, beside the White Sun River, lived her sister and her +sister's children; and, by and by, the duck carried messages back and +forth, so that when, in the winter, Ida's health became delicate, she had +comfort in the solicitude and cheerfulness of her sister, and the gaiety +of the young birds of her nest, who sent Ida many a sprightly message and +tales of their good vagrancy in the hills. In these days Pierre and +Macavoy were little at the Post, save now and then to sit with Hilton +beside the fire, waiting for spring and telling tales. Upon Hilton had +settled that peaceful, abstracted expectancy which shows man at his best, +as he waits for the time when, through the half-lights of his fatherhood, +he shall see the broad fine dawn of motherhood spreading up the world-- +which, all being said and done, is that place called Home. Something +gentle came over him while he grew stouter in body and in all other ways +made a larger figure among the people of the West. + +As Pierre said, whose wisdom was more to be trusted than his general +morality, "It is strange that most men think not enough of themselves +till a woman shows them how. But it is the great wonder that the woman +does not despise him for it. Quel caractere! She has so often to show +him his way like a babe, and yet she says to him, Mon grand homme! my +master! my lord! Pshaw! I have often thought that women are half +saints, half fools, and men half fools, half rogues. But Quelle vie!-- +what life! without a woman you are half a man; with one you are bound to +a single spot in the world, you are tied by the leg, your wing is +clipped--you cannot have all. Quelle vie--what life!" + +To this Macavoy said: "Spit-spat! But what the devil good does all yer +thinkin' do ye, Pierre? It's argufy here and argufy there, an' while yer +at that, me an' the rest av us is squeezin' the fun out o' life. Aw, go +'long wid ye. Y'are only a bit o' hell and grammar, annyway. Wid all +yer cuttin' and carvin' things to see the internals av thim, I'd do more +to the call av a woman's finger than for all the logic and knowalogy y' +ever chewed--an' there y'are, me little tailor o' jur'sprudince!" + +"To the finger call of Hilton's wife, eh?" + +Macavoy was not quite sure what Pierre's enigmatical tone meant. A wild +light showed in his eyes, and his tongue blundered out: "Yis, Hilton's +wife's finger, or a look av her eye, or nothin' at all. Aisy, aisy, ye +wasp! Ye'd go stalkin' divils in hell for her yerself, so ye would. But +the tongue av ye--but, it's gall to the tip." + +"Maybe, my king. But I'd go hunting because I wanted; you because you +must. You're a slave to come and to go, with a Queen's seal on the +promissory." + +Macavoy leaned back and roared. "Aw, that! The rose o' the valley--the +joy o' the wurruld! S't, Pierre--" his voice grew softer on a sudden, as +a fresh thought came to him--"did y' ever think that the child might be +dumb like the mother?" + +This was a day in the early spring, when the snows were melting in the +hills, and freshets were sweeping down the valleys far and near. That +night a warm heavy rain came on, and in the morning every stream and +river was swollen to twice its size. The mountains seemed to have +stripped themselves of snow, and the vivid sun began at once to colour +the foothills with green. As Pierre and Macavoy stood at their door, +looking out upon the earth cleansing itself, Macavoy suddenly said: "Aw, +look, look, Pierre--her white duck off to the nest on Champak Hill!" + +They both shaded their eyes with their hands. Circling round two or +three times above the Post, the duck then stretched out its neck to the +west, and floated away beyond Guidon Hill, and was hid from view. + +Pierre, without a word, began cleaning his rifle, while Macavoy smoked, +and sat looking into the distance, surveying the sweet warmth and light. +His face blossomed with colour, and the look of his eyes was that of an +irresponsible child. Once or twice he smiled and puffed in his beard, +but perhaps that was involuntary, or was, maybe, a vague reflection of +his dreams, themselves most vague, for he was only soaking in sun and air +and life. + +Within an hour they saw the wild duck-again passing the crest of Guidon, +and they watched it sailing down to the Post, Pierre idly fondling the +gun, Macavoy half roused from his dreams. But presently they were +altogether roused, the gun was put away, and both were on their feet; +for after the pigeon arrived there was a stir at the Post, and Hilton +could be seen running from the store to his house, not far away. + +"Something's wrong there," said Pierre. + +"D'ye think 'twas the duck brought it?" asked Macavoy. + +Without a word Pierre started away towards the Post, Macavoy following. +As they did so, a half-breed boy came from the house, hurrying towards +them. + +Inside the house Hilton's wife lay in her bed, her great hour coming on +before the time, because of ill news from beyond the Guidon. There was +with her an old Frenchwoman, who herself, in her time, had brought many +children into the world, whose heart brooded tenderly, if uncouthly, over +the dumb girl. She it was who had handed to Hilton the paper the wild +duck had brought, after Ida had read it and fallen in a faint on the +floor. + +The message that had felled the young wife was brief and awful. A cloud- +burst had fallen on Champak Hill, had torn part of it away, and a part of +this part had swept down into the path that led to the little house, +having been stopped by some falling trees and a great boulder. It +blocked the only way to escape above, and beneath, the river was creeping +up to sweep away the little house. So, there the mother and her children +waited (the father was in the farthest north), facing death below and +above. The wild duck had carried the tale in its terrible simplicity. +The last words were, "There mayn't be any help for me and my sweet +chicks, but I am still hoping, and you must send a man or many. But send +soon, for we are cut off, and the end may come any hour." + +Macavoy and Pierre were soon at the Post, and knew from Hilton all there +was to know. At once Pierre began to gather men, though what one or many +could do none could say. Eight white men and three Indians watched the +wild duck sailing away again from the bedroom window where Ida lay, to +carry a word of comfort to Champak Hill. Before it went, Ida asked for +Macavoy, and he was brought to her bedroom by Hilton. He saw a pale, +almost unearthly, yet beautiful face, flushing and paling with a coming +agony, looking up at him; and presently two trembling hands made those +mystic signs which are the primal language of the soul. Hilton +interpreted to him this: "I have sent for you. There is no man so big or +strong as you in the north. I did not know that I should ever ask you to +redeem the note. I want my gift, and I will give you your paper with the +Queen's head on it. Those little lives, those pretty little dears, you +will not see them die. If there is a way, any way, you will save them. +Sometimes one man can do what twenty cannot. You were my wedding-gift: +I claim you now." + +She paused, and then motioned to the nurse, who laid the piece of brown +paper in Macavoy's hand. He held it for a moment as delicately as if it +were a fragile bit of glass, something that his huge fingers might crush +by touching. Then he reached over and laid it on the bed beside her and +said, looking Hilton in the eyes, "Tell her, the slip av a saint she is, +if the breakin' av me bones, or the lettin' av me blood's what'll set all +right at Champak Hill, let her mind be aisy--aw yis!" + +Soon afterwards they were all on their way--all save Hilton, whose duty +was beside this other danger, for the old nurse said that, "like as not," +her life would hang upon the news from Champak Hill; and if ill came, his +place was beside the speechless traveller on the Brink. + +In a few hours the rescuers stood on the top of Champak Hill, looking +down. There stood the little house, as it were, between two dooms. Even +Pierre's face became drawn and pale as he saw what a very few hours or +minutes might do. Macavoy had spoken no word, had answered no question +since they had left the Post. There was in his eye the large +seriousness, the intentness which might be found in the face of a brave +boy, who had not learned fear, and yet saw a vast ditch of danger at +which he must leap. There was ever before him the face of the dumb wife; +there was in his ears the sound of pain that had followed him from +Hilton's house out into the brilliant day. + +The men stood helpless, and looked at each other. They could not say to +the river that it must rise no farther, and they could not go to the +house, nor let a rope down, and there was the crumbled moiety of the hill +which blocked the way to the house: elsewhere it was sheer precipice +without trees. + +There was no corner in these hills that Macavoy and Pierre did not know, +and at last, when despair seemed to settle on the group, Macavoy, having +spoken a low word to Pierre, said: "There's wan way, an' maybe I can an' +maybe I can't, but I'm fit to try. I'll go up the river to an aisy p'int +a mile above, get in, and drift down to a p'int below there, thin climb +up and loose the stuff." + +Every man present knew the double danger: the swift headlong river, and +the sudden rush of rocks and stones, which must be loosed on the side of +the narrow ravine opposite the little house. Macavoy had nothing to say +to the head-shakes of the others, and they did not try to dissuade him; +for women and children were in the question, and there they were below +beside the house, the children gathered round the mother, she waiting-- +waiting. + +Macavoy, stripped to the waist, and carrying only a hatchet and a coil of +rope tied round him, started away alone up the river. The others waited, +now and again calling comfort to the woman below, though their words +could not be heard. About half an hour passed, and then someone called +out: "Here he comes!" Presently they could see the rough head and the +bare shoulders of the giant in the wild churning stream. There was only +one point where he could get a hold on the hillside--the jutting bole of +a tree just beneath them, and beneath the dyke of rock and trees. + +It was a great moment. The current swayed him out, but he plunged +forward, catching at the bole. His hand seized a small branch. It held +him an instant, as he was swung round, then it snapt. But the other hand +clenched the bole, and to a loud cheer, which Pierre prompted, Macavoy +drew himself up. After that they could not see him. He alone was +studying the situation. + +He found the key-rock to the dyked slide of earth. To loosen it was to +divert the slide away, or partly away, from the little house. But it +could not be loosened from above, if at all, and he himself would be in +the path of the destroying hill. + +"Aisy, aisy, Tim Macavoy," he said to himself. "It's the woman and the +darlins av her, an' the rose o' the valley down there at the Post!" + +A minute afterwards, having chopped down a hickory sapling, he began to +pry at the boulder which held the mass. Presently a tree came crashing +down, and a small rush of earth followed it, and the hearts of the men +above and the woman and children below stood still for an instant. An +hour passed as Macavoy toiled with a strange careful skill and a +superhuman concentration. His body was all shining with sweat, and sweat +dripped like water from his forehead. His eyes were on the keyrock and +the pile, alert, measuring, intent. At last he paused. He looked round +at the hills-down at the river, up at the sky-humanity was shut away from +his sight. He was alone. A long hot breath broke from his pressed lips, +stirring his big red beard. Then he gave a call, a long call that echoed +through the hills weirdly and solemnly. + +It reached the ears of those above like a greeting from an outside world. +They answered, "Right, Macavoy!" + +Years afterwards these men told how then there came in reply one word, +ringing roundly through the hills--the note and symbol of a crisis, the +fantastic cipher of a soul: + +"M'Guire!" + +There was a loud booming sound, the dyke was loosed, the ravine split +into the swollen stream its choking mouthful of earth and rock; and a +minute afterwards the path was clear to the top of Champak Hill. To it +came the unharmed children and their mother, who, from the warm peak sent +the wild duck "to the rose o' the valley," which, till the message came, +was trembling on the stem of life. But Joy, that marvellous healer, kept +it blooming with a little Eden bird nestling near, whose happy tongue was +taught in after years to tell of the gift of the Simple King; who had +redeemed, on demand, the promissory note for ever. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +A human life he held to be a trifle in the big sum of time +Fear of one's own wife is the worst fear in the world +He never saw an insult unless he intended to avenge it +Liars all men may be, but that's wid wimmin or landlords +Men are like dogs--they worship him who beats them +She valued what others found useless +Women are half saints, half fools + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANY OF THE SNOWS, V1, BY PARKER *** + +*********** This file should be named 6180.txt or 6180.zip ************ + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +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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