CHILDREN OF THE NORTH
CHILDREN OF THE NORTH
CHILDREN OF THE NORTH
Each day the sun’s brief reign was growing less. There was perhaps six hours of daylight, fiercely bright when the snow clouds permitted, but otherwise grey and cold, and without beneficence. To the human mind day was no longer a thing of joy, but only a respite in which to complete those labours essential to existence in the northern wilderness before the long twilight of night finally closed down upon the world.
At the farm on the Caribou preparations for the winter were already in full swing. Already the reindeer herd had been passed up to the shelter of the hills to roam well-nigh free through the dark aisles of the woodland bluffs which lined the deeper valleys of the great divide, out of the heart of which the waters of the Caribou sprang. The labour of banking the outer walls of the homestead with soil for greater security against the cold had been completed. For the ground was already hardening under the sharp night frosts, and almost any day now might see the first flurry of snow. Daily the hauling of fuel went on from the distant forest bluff which sheltered the ruins of the missionary’s home where the Kid had first seen the light of the northern day. And this work was undertaken by the boys, and the half-breed Eskimos, whose work amongst the deer herd had ceased with its departure to the hills in search of winter keep.
Life just now was a sheer routine. A routine which demanded faithful observance. The least neglect might well spell disaster for those who knew the narrowness of the margin in human victory over the merciless winter season. But these northern people knew the routine of it by heart, and nothing would be neglected, nothing forgotten. The haulage of fuel would go on far into the winter, and when the world froze up and the white pall was spread over its dead body only the method of its transport would be changed.
But for all the drear of outlook in the coming season life was apparently no less the care-free thing which the youth of the farm so surely made it appear. Childish laughter was proof against a falling sun. It was proof against the anxious labour of it all, just as it was proof against the contemplation of unending darkness. It was almost as though the change had its appeal. Was not the twilight of winter something to inspire imagination? Was not the fierce blizzard, when the world was completely blinded for days on end, something to confront and defy with all the hardy spirit of youth? Was not the brilliant aurora something about which to weave romantic dreams as fantastic as was the great crescent of dancing light itself? And the ghostly northern lights, and the brilliant night-lit heavens, with their moon, and reflected moons, were not these matters in which the budding human mind could find a wealth of inspiration for the riot of imagination?
Yes, the long night of winter was not without its appeal to the young life on the Caribou River. Only was it for those elders, who knew its desperateness, who had long since learned the littleness of human life in the monstrous battle of the elements, a season of grave anxiety that left them indifferent to the irresponsible imaginings and dreamings of those at the threshold of life.
For Mary Justicia down to the youthful Jane Constance, with her curling brown hair and her velvet dark eyes, the coming of winter was a season of exciting interest. And this year even more so than usual. This year there was a curious hopeful change in their lives. The measure of it, perhaps, they failed to fully understand. But the effect was there, and they felt its influence. They one and all knew that Usak had returned with a really good trade. Usak was the genius of their lives, and this year he had waved his magic wand to some purpose. They had heard whispers amongst their elders of a good time coming. They had heard the Kid and their mother discussing colours and materials for suitings. They had heard talks of dollars in thousands. And visions of canned delicacies, of nice, fat, sticky syrup, and succulent preserves, had crept into their yearning minds.
But that was not all. There was a wondrous change in the hero of their youthful worship. The Kid’s smile was rarely shadowed as she ordered their lives. A soft delight looked out of her pretty eyes which shone with happy contentment whatever their childish aggravations. Then the mother of them all. Infrequent and gentle as were her scoldings generally, just now she seemed to have utterly forgotten her dispensing of them. The wash tub claimed her, her needle claimed her, her cooking claimed her, leaving her happily oblivious to their many and frequent shortcomings.
Then there were the gold seekers on the river. The laughing, red-headed Irishman, who had vanished up the river with the rivermen and those poorer whites in whom they were less interested. But the two others visited the homestead pretty regularly, and laughed, and talked, and did their best to make life one long joy for them.
Especially was this the case with the man Bill Wilder. Bill Wilder had caught the fancy of all, from their mother down to the merry Janey, whose table manners were a source of never-ending anxiety to Hesther. The children loved him as children will so often love a big man who is never reluctant to encourage their games. Perse clung to him at every opportunity. Was he not a gold man, and was not his coming to Caribou a justification of his own boyish dreams of gold? Clarence found in him a kindred spirit of the trail. And Alg sought his advice on his domestic labours on any and every excuse. But Gladys Anne and Janey were his favourites—next to the smiling Kid.
And the mother looked on, watchful and wisely alert. Her busy mind was full of speculation and contentment. She was thinking how she and her brood would fare should these men ultimately find the gold they sought. She refused to build on the notion. It was not her way. And just now, as a result of Usak’s return, she felt that ways and means were less pressing, and so, in her easy philosophy, that aspect of the position was permitted to drift into the background.
The Kid was her main thought just now. Her woman’s wisdom was sufficient for her to grasp the real meaning of Wilder’s frequent attendance at the farm. It was plainly written in his manner. It was still more plainly written in the manner of the girl in his absence. She had long since dragged the full story of their original meeting at the Hekor rapids from the diffident and almost reluctant girl. She had laughingly chidden her for her long reticence. She had even admonished her for the invitation she had flung at him, a gold man stranger.
But under it all, away back in her simple woman’s mind she nursed the romance of it all, and hoped and hoped, while yet she gravely feared for the orphan she had mothered.
The brief days flew rapidly by. Almost every night the tall figure of Wilder came up from the river bearing something for their supper, which he was scrupulously determined to share. The meal was partaken of by the yellow light of an oil lamp. Big Bill, as the children loved to call him, was for a brief while a part of the family, and sat around in the warm kitchen, smoking and laughing, and submitting to the ready banter which his search for gold on the Caribou inspired. Then later he strode off to his canoe lying drawn up on the river bank, and, not infrequently, he was accompanied by some of the elder children, and on occasions by the Kid, herself, alone.
Of all the folk at the homestead Usak took no delight in these visits. He definitely resented them. But he said no word, and simply refrained from taking any part in the welcome extended to the intruding whiteman. There was never a protest forthcoming. His protest had been made on the occasion he had stirred the Kid to wrath, and he had no desire to experience another such encounter. So he remained at his labours in his own quarters, watchful, alert, determined. And he made his preparations for the winter trail which was to yield something approaching affluence for those he served.
It was at the end of his first week on the river that Bill’s voice hailed the homestead as he came up from the landing, bearing a string of a dozen or more speckled mountain trout. The night was dark with heavy cloud, but the younger children raced out of the house to meet him at his summons.
A few moments later Perse dashed into his mother’s presence flourishing the shining fish at her.
“It’s a dandy bunch, Mum,” he cried, sprawling them on the table. “They’re for supper. Big Bill’s comin’ right along up with Janey an’ Gladys Anne.”
He turned to the Kid who was gazing down at the fish without any display of interest. The boy’s grinning eyes were full of mischief. He came round to her side and looked into her unsmiling eyes.
“Guess you didn’t get it, Kid,” he said. “Big Bill’s comin’ right along up.”
Then he jumped and ran for the door under a swift cuff that came from his mother’s work-worn hand.
“Be right off you imp o’ perdition,” she cried. “The Kid ain’t worried whose comin’ to this house. Ef I get that talk agin ther’s a rawhide waitin’ on you.”
Then she moved to the girl’s side. She reached up and laid a sympathetic hand on her slim shoulder.
“Say, Kid,” she said, with a gentle smile. “Ther’s scarce a night he don’t come along.” She glanced hastily round the room to be sure they were alone. “Are you kind o’ glad?” she ventured anxiously. “Does it make you feel sort o’—glad?”
The girl smiled down into the soft brown eyes. She nodded.
“Yes, Mum, I’m just glad all through.” She paused. “But I was kind of thinking. It was fixed Clarence was to make the trail to Placer with Usak. Well, Usak don’t reckon it’s safe to trust to him—a boy. He figgers I best go.”
The mother nodded. Then she drew a deep breath.
“He’s queer,” she said. “I reckon he hates Big Bill Wilder.”
The Kid laughed, but it was without mirth.
“He surely does, Mum,” she said with bitter emphasis.
The man was standing just inside the doorway. The pleasant warmth was welcome enough in contrast to the sharp night air outside. But he made no attempt to remove the seal parka which had replaced the thick pea-jacket he usually wore.
“No,” he said with a laugh, in response to the mother’s urging to “sit around” while she prepared the supper. “Guess I’m not eating with you dear folk to-night.” His gaze sought the shyly smiling eyes of the Kid. “There aren’t enough of those trout to make a right feed for the bunch. And, anyway, Chilcoot and I are making a party to ourselves.”
He turned to the mother who was at the stove, about to shake down the ashes and fire-up for the preparation of the evening meal.
“We’d have fancied askin’ you all, the whole bunch, to come right along up and eat with us. But I guess the kiddies need to make their blankets early, and anyway our camp fixings aren’t unlimited. So we reckoned to ask you, mam, and the Kid, here, and say one of the boys. That ’ud leave Mary and the other standing guard over the bunch of mischief you leave behind to see they don’t choke themselves. And there’s always the great Usak to see no harm comes to them. Do you feel like making the trip? Chilcoot’s waiting around at the landing, and ther’s two canoes to take us up.”
“Say, if that ain’t real mean.”
It was Perse, who had flung himself into the chair usually at the disposal of Big Bill on his evening visits. His small body was lost in the ample rawhide seat.
“I call that dirt mean,” he went on, in an aggrieved treble. “What you makin’ the party for, Bill? Ha’ you made the big ‘strike’?” Then his intelligent grey eyes turned shrewdly on the Kid. “Guess I know though. I’ll—”
For a second time he hastily vacated the room. The ready hand of the mother, quick as it was, had no time to descend before he had jumped clear.
“Yes,” she cried after him, “you beat it, and send Clarence along right at once. He’s working around with Usak an’ Alg in the fur store. You ken send Mary Justicia right along, too.”
Then she turned to the smiling man who found keen amusement in the outrageous Perse.
“He’s an imp, that’s what he is,” she declared, while the Kid moved quickly to the stove and shook it down. “But that’s real kind of you, Bill. I’d like fine to come along and eat with you, but I guess these ‘God’s Blessings’ o’ mine ’ud run wild without me. Would you fancy takin’ Mary Justicia along, and that bright little feller, Perse, an’ Clarence, an’ the Kid? I’ll pass Perse a word and set him behavin’ right. He’ll make one more bit for you to feed than you reckon, but I don’t guess that’ll worry your outfit. He can take his own platter an’ pannikin. He’d be mighty grieved not to go. You see, he thinks Big Bill the greatest proposition north o’ ‘sixty’—seeing he guesses ther’s gold on Caribou.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled with humour as she concluded with the now time-honoured jest at her visitor’s expense.
Bill nodded good-humouredly, and his eyes sought the face of the girl standing in the background beside the stove.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be real glad for the boy to come along.” He laughed. “Ther’ won’t be anything fancy for him t’ eat. It’s just duck, an’ some trout, an’ some canned truck. But I’d sure be glad. Wot you say, Kid?” he asked, his tone not without a shade of concern. “Will you come along up with us? I’d been mighty thankful for your Mum to share in, but I sort of knew beforehand the social whirl on Caribou hadn’t a claim on her to compare with her ‘God’s Blessings.’ Will you come? Chilcoot reckons he’s all sorts of a feller at entertaining women folk to supper. An’ maybe he’ll start in to yarn of the gold trail, an’ we’ll be hard set to stop him. Ther’s an elegant moon for the trip. And you’ll all be right back before she sets.”
His manner was light but behind it was real earnestness, and a shade of anxiety. Hesther, all the mother in her alert, was swift to detect it. She smiled encouragingly round on the girl.
The Kid nodded. Her gaze was averted with just a shadow of shyness.
“I’d just love the trip,” she declared quickly. Then her shyness passed and her sweet blue eyes laughed happily into the man’s face. “What is it? Have you found Perse’s color? Ther’s sure something back of this,” she went on in delighted enjoyment, as she watched the man’s expressive face as he strove for unconcern. She shook her head. “No,” she declared. “Guess it’s not Perse’s gold. I guess you reckon Mum’s cooking isn’t the thing she believes, and you’re goin’ to show us the sort of swell thing Chilcoot and you make of it. My! I’m dying to see how two great men live on the trail. Sure I’ll come, an’ so will Mary, an’ Clarence, an’ Perse. Do we need to fix ourselves for the party? Perse most always needs fixing, anyway.”
There was a laugh in every word the girl spoke, and to the man it was a delight to listen to her, and to watch the play of her expressive face.
To the mother eyes there was that in the girl’s manner which wholly escaped the man. She knew the Kid was striving with everything in her power to conceal the feelings Wilder had so deeply stirred in her. She sighed quietly, and hoped and prayed that all might be for the best happiness of the girl she had come to lean on so surely in the battle they fought together for existence. She only had her instinct to guide her. She had no real worldly wisdom. She liked the steady, honest gaze of Bill’s eyes. So she yielded to that best philosophy in the world, which, in sober moments, she was wont to hurl at her inquiring offspring: “Act right, an’ eat good, an’ don’t worry to get after Fate with a club.”
Bill laughed. He was in the mood to laugh.
“No,” he said. “Come right along, just as you’re fixed. Chilcoot don’t reckon to receive you in swallowtails. Maybe he’s greased his roof with seal oil to make it shine some. I can’t say. Ah, here’s Clarence, an’ Mary, and Master Perse. Now beat it all of you and get right into parkas. Your Mum figgers to be rid of you awhile so you’re coming right along to eat with me. Guess Chilcoot’ll be nigh frozen to death waiting down at the river.”
The leanto was shadowed. The single oil lamp cast its feeble rays on the general litter. And the scene was characteristic of the Indian whose methods obtained so largely in the running of the farm.
Usak laboured silently, grimly amongst the shadows. His movements were in that quiet fashion which the padding of moccasined feet on an earthen floor never fails to intensify. He was quite alone now, for the last of his helpers had departed at the urgent summons of the boy, Perse, who had bidden them to the presence of their visitor.
The man’s dusky face was hard-set as he moved about amongst his chattels. His black eyes were narrowed and pre-occupied. There were moments when he paused from his labours and stood listening. It was as though he expected some jarring sound which he was ready to resent and hate with all the strength of his heart.
It was at such moments that his gaze seemed inevitably to be drawn to the long, old rifle leaning against the wall just within the wide doorway. It was his life-long friend. It was his oldest associate in his lighter as well as his darker moods. And just now his mood left him yearning for the feel of its ancient trigger under a mercilessly compressing forefinger.
The man was sorting and classifying his summer trade, and preparing it for transport. Pelts lay scattered about, and the smell of pepper, and other preservatives, was in the air. The long sled was set on its runners, repaired, and ready to face the coming winter trail to Placer. And about it, littered in almost hopeless confusion, was an ill assortment of camp outfit which needed cleansing and repair. The whole scene was of the tentative preparations of the trail man. There might be many weeks before the snow and freeze-up would make the journey possible. But Usak was possessed of that restless spirit which refuses to submit to idleness, and whose sense of responsibility drove him at all times.
As the moments passed his pauses from the work of sorting and bestowing became prolonged. Once he passed to the doorway and stood out in the chill night air, and his sense of hearing was clearly directed to windward where the night breeze came directly across the white-folk’s portion of the rambling habitation. And on its breath sounds of laughter and happy voices came to him. And amongst them he was clearly able to distinguish the strong, deep tones of the big man whose presence he so deeply resented on the river.
He stood thus for some moments. Then a sharp sound escaped his set lips and he passed again within, as though in self-defence against the passions which the sound of that hated voice had stirred.
His examination of the skins had lost its deliberateness. He picked them up and flung them aside only half scrutinized. And, at last, he abandoned his task altogether. He deliberately squatted on the blackened, up-turned bottom of an iron camp kettle, and sat staring out into the dark night in the direction in which he knew lay the landing at the river bank.
There was no longer any attempt to hide the desperateness of his mood. It was in every line of his dusky features; it was in the coming and going of his turbulent breathing; it was in the smouldering fire that shone in his black eyes. The native savage was definitely uppermost. And insane passion was driving.
He remained, statue-like, on his improvised seat, and every sound that reached him from the house was noted and interpreted. Sometimes the sounds were so low as to be almost inaudible. Sometimes they were the sounds of laughter. Sometimes they smote his ears with clear definite words, for the night was very still, and the darkness rendered his animal-like hearing profoundly acute.
Suddenly there came the opening and shutting of a door, and with it a sound of voices and laughter. He started. He rose from his seat and moved almost furtively to the doorway, and his hand instinctively fell upon the muzzle of his leaning rifle.
He listened intently. The voices were still plain, but becoming rapidly fainter. Yes. He could clearly distinguish the individual tones he knew so well. He heard the voice of the Kid. And replies came in the voice of the man. There were other voices, but somehow, they seemed quite apart from these two.
He could stand it no longer. He turned about and extinguished the lamp. Then he moved over to his leaning rifle and possessed himself of his old friend. Just for one moment he remained listening. Then, with a curious movement suggesting a shrugging of his great shoulders, he passed out into the night.