CHAPTER XVII
A Duel for Fur
In the long months that passed after his departure from Fort Bruce, Donald Norton won through to a greater dominance in the hearts of its people than he had gained while there. The world at large thinks of the Hudson's Bay only as a great monopoly, a giant machine that throttles the north, and of its people as hardened, ruthless minions wholly subservient to dividend-grasping stockholders in London. It grants them only a colorful, adventurous life.
But vast though the scope of the company's operations are, monopolistic though it may have been for two centuries, governed as it has been through a semi-military form of organization, the minds and hearts of its servants have never ceased to be human. Rather the isolation, the loneliness and the sense of camaraderie developed have accentuated the human qualities and have produced an independence of thought and action that falls short of being mutiny only because of a deeply underlying loyalty to an ideal—not to a corporation.
In the first year of the great war the London office, in the grip of panic, issued orders that no "debt" was to be given the hunters, that the method of trading to which the Indians had become accustomed through generations was to end. But every post manager in more than two hundred stations, scattered through four thousand miles of wilderness, stuffed the order into a pigeon hole in his desk and conducted the business of his trade shop as he always had.
Rulers in their provinces, close to the real problems in the gathering of fur, these men thought first of the childlike people they ruled, stiffened their backs beneath the increased burdens the white race is obligated to bear, and remained true to an ideal. They alone saw that if the Hudson's Bay were to maintain its spiritual integrity it must stand as a buffer between the hunters and economic conditions to which they could not adapt themselves.
It has always been this ideal to which these men have remained true and it was thus that Donald Norton, though he had disappeared from the north country and was no longer employed by the company, was still considered a Hudson's Bay man. He was respected the more for his action and the question of his parentage was never brought near the scales of justice.
In the Layard home there was another factor that made of Donald's dismissal a supreme tragedy. Neither Merton nor Evelyn could remain unaware of what had happened to Janet. Even before the girl had been driven to self-revelation when Corrigal told his story, Evelyn had seen what was in her heart.
The day of Donald's arrival, immediately after his one strained visit to the dwelling house and before the departure of the picnic party, Janet had gone to her mother.
"What was the matter with Donald?" she demanded abruptly.
Evelyn was unprepared for such directness and as her startled glance searched the girl's face Janet continued:
"Last summer, the day before he left, he was the same way. I saw him that morning. He had not changed. Later he came to talk to you and when I saw him at noon——"
She was looking steadily at her mother and Evelyn's eyes wavered slightly.
"I think I understand," Janet said. "What did you say to him?"
Evelyn could not force herself to meet her daughter's accusing glance. Janet stared at her for a moment and then burst forth in impassioned accusation.
"You had no right!" she cried. "That was my problem. I would never have failed him. Now he thinks I am like the others."
In the days that followed Evelyn tried repeatedly to talk with Janet of Donald. The girl was no longer bitter or hard but always she refused to discuss the subject. After a time Evelyn ceased her efforts. She knew her daughter had walled off a corner of her heart and had retreated within it.
The first week in January, six months after Donald had disappeared from the north country, Merton came home from the district office one afternoon.
"Corrigal has heard from Donald," he began when he found Evelyn alone in the living room.
"Heard from him?" she repeated as she sprang to her feet.
"Heard of him, I should say. He is working for the Keewatin Company and has started a post at Kenogami. Sandy Hay's winter packet has just arrived and from what Corrigal said I gathered that Donald is raising Ned out there. And Sandy wrote me privately that the situation is really more serious than he has told Corrigal, that Donald, because he knows every Kenogami hunter, is liable to get half the fur this winter."
Layard made no attempt to disguise his elation, but when Evelyn gathered the import of what he was saying her quick mind leaped forward to the true significance of the news that had come from Kenogami.
"It is terrible, Merton," she said, "after all these years!"
"What do you mean?"
"That Donald should be driven to such a thing. All his life he has never known anything except the Hudson's Bay. He has worshiped the company."
"The Hudson's Bay isn't what it used to be."
"You mean Corrigal?"
"Of course. Every man who left Fort Bruce last fall had a bad taste in his mouth. It's hard to be loyal when a man like Corrigal is about all of the company you come in contact with."
"But Hudson's Bay was a passion with Donald."
"I know," Merton said; "still I think he is moved by a greater passion now."
"Hatred?"
"Can you blame him? It was a case of rank injustice. Donald could have remained in the service and have won back a large part of what he lost here. He has it in him and if he had gone to another district he would have established himself in two or three years. Instead, he went straight to Winnipeg and, from the speed with which he worked, he must have gone at once to the Keewatin Company with a plan for a post at Kenogami. With his knowledge of conditions there he would be a valuable man for the opposition and the Keewatin people took immediate advantage of it."
"But he is bound to lose in the end," Evelyn protested. "He may have a brief success but he can't win out that way. The Hudson's Bay is too big for any one man to fight it."
"Donald is fighting Corrigal, not the Hudson's Bay," said Merton. "Nothing could hurt Corrigal more than to have Donald establish a post where the opposition has never gained a foothold before and Donald can do that at Kenogami."
In the following month the Layards discussed the matter several times. While Merton was certain Donald could gain his point, that he could go on to a success sufficient to compel the Hudson's Bay to recognize Corrigal's mistake and take him back into the service, Evelyn was never satisfied with this view of the situation.
Being a woman, she knew Donald far better than did Merton. In the early days of the boy's struggles to shed the odor of the wigwam she had been permitted many glimpses of his soul. The passion, the longing, the fierce endeavor, the intentness of purpose and always the courage—these she had seen and sometimes they had awed her. From the beginning she had watched the development of a love for the Hudson's Bay until it had become part of life itself to the lonely youth.
Without family, without religion, without even a sense of patriotism or of country, Donald had found in the Hudson's Bay the sole outlet for that natural enthusiasm and romance and yearning of all boys. He knew nothing else, had heard of nothing else. So far as he could comprehend, the great company was the universe itself. Since infancy he had heard it called only "that to which we owe thanks."
As the years passed, as he won his first position, as a more mature viewpoint permitted him to see the vast scope of Hudson's Bay activities and influence, his devotion grew until when he had gained complete acceptance at Fort Bruce in the days of Duncan Mactavish's benign leadership it became the ruling factor in his life.
Evelyn Layard had seen this from the beginning. She had watched that devotion to the great company develop in Scotch and English youths, she had seen it attain complete dominance in the lives of many men, and she knew with what anguish of spirit Donald must accept employment with the hated and scorned opposition. Reared in fur land, ignorant of the great world outside, trained from the first for the gathering of pelts, there was nothing for him to do but accept the ignominy.
But a month later Evelyn's convictions received a shock. Word came from Fort James that Donald had appeared there when the Indians gathered on New Year's and that he had made terrific inroads upon Millington. Corrigal left Fort Bruce at once to handle the situation himself. He had been gone only a day when a special packet from Nicol MacKar, now manager at Whitefish Lake, told of Donald's arrival in that territory and of his unusual activity. He did not linger at the Keewatin post with Collinge, but took to the trails with a tripper's outfit, visiting distant wigwams and sending back load upon load of fur. Each flash of news caused a fresh sensation at Fort Bruce.
"Donald is general manager for the Keewatin Company," Merton told Evelyn when he reported the arrival of the last packet. "He only started that new post at Kenogami and then jumped over to Fort James and on to Whitefish."
"Then he'll be at Whitefish Lake when Corrigal stops there on his way to Fort James," Evelyn said, her mind leaping at once to the possibilities for human drama in this new situation.
"Won't Corrigal be wild," Merton chuckled.
"Merton! And you a Hudson's Bay man!"
"I don't care. Corrigal has earned this. Just think what Donald can do. He was raised at Kenogami. He was at Whitefish Lake six years and at Fort James two. He knows every hunter trading at the three posts, knows how many children he has, how he gets along with his wife, how dependable he is. He knows everything necessary to get the fur."
"But he can't make much headway against the Hudson's Bay."
"You're worse than an old trader," Merton laughed. "It takes a woman to become blind in her devotion."
"It isn't that at all. I was thinking how impossible it is for one man, with only the backing of a small company like the Keewatin, to affect so gigantic an enterprise as the Hudson's Bay."
"Oh, he'll not put the company out of business but he will put a big dent in the fur receipts of this district and Corrigal is responsible to the commissioner for a good showing."
"You still think Donald is doing this solely because he hates Corrigal?"
"What else could it be? He has every reason. He believes Corrigal is his father and therefore twice responsible for all that has happened. And it looks as if he would get his revenge. Corrigal won't last long if this continues."
"It is something else," Evelyn protested, "something bigger than revenge."
Merton laughed. He was still exuberant over the news that had come to Fort Bruce that winter. Donald's motive was of comparatively slight importance to him. He was interested chiefly in the fact that Donald was making good, that he was stinging Corrigal in his most tender spot, humbling the pride of this hard, ruthless executive who had come out of the west and disrupted the morale of an entire district.
Merton was no less loyal to the Hudson's Bay because he was willing to see it lose money and prestige, if only the success of his young friend were achieved. The attitude of those men who have spent a lifetime in the service of the great company is a peculiar thing. All-pervading though the spirit of that service may be, lonely men must find something by which they may personify it and because of the very camaraderie of isolation they have chosen each other and their immediate superiors.
It has always been true. The history of the great company is filled with incidents of revolt—not against the company itself but against executives. Grievances have been carried through to the directors themselves in far-away London and always the men have stuck together. There is the one classic incident of the inspector who was discharged by the chief factor because he had reported adversely on a popular man's methods of conducting his post.
All the Fort Bruce district felt as did Merton Layard. From the first Donald had been popular and his fight with Millington had cemented the allegiance of his fellow post managers. Now they saw him only as the victim of an injustice wholly out of place in fur land. No one was negligent in his duty that Donald might have a better opportunity for success. Their peculiar code forbade that, but they retained the right to wish him well and, with the exception of Millington, every post manager in the district was secretly exultant over the successful manner in which Donald had begun his attack.
When Donald prodded them they chuckled. They did not consider that it meant a financial loss to the company. They only knew that with each prod Corrigal squirmed.
But if Corrigal squirmed no one saw him do so. He was constantly on the trail between Whitefish Lake, Fort James and Kenogami. Since his arrival at Fort Bruce the post managers had known him as a cold, hard, relentless superior—driving, scheming, urging and always, they believed, covertly threatening.
With the first report of Donald's activities he became a different man. He was more grim, more relentless, and he drove harder than before, but with fire and feeling. Once he had been a general far back of the lines, issuing orders, planning campaigns. Now he burst through the front rank and led the charge and the very manner in which he did it began to have an effect. Before the winter was over he had whipped the entire district into fighting trim.