Early next morning Roy was in the inner room making a protracted search for the store key, which had mysteriously disappeared from the nail on which it had hung the night before. Suddenly discontinuing his efforts, he strode into the kitchen.
Sahanderry was standing near the door in earnest conversation with Kasba, who had apparently just arrived with a message from her father. Squatted beside the stove was the Eskimo, Ocpic.
Roy nodded to the girl, who discreetly drew aside, then questioned Sahanderry, who instantly assured him of his total ignorance of the matter.
Still pondering over the disappearance of the key, Roy suddenly raised his eyes and encountered those of Ocpic, who was watching him keenly. In a flash Roy perceived the culprit.
He glanced searchingly at the Eskimo, who returned the look with an inscrutable face.
Roy smiled and flashed a glance at Sahanderry, who was standing with a puzzled expression, gazing from one to the other of them. The Chipewyan’s brain worked slowly, ponderously. It was some little time before a suspicion of what was in the other’s mind dawned upon him.
Roy beckoned him with a slight movement of the head and then went outside. The Indian lingered for a few moments before following with an awkward attempt at careless ease.
“It was Ocpic,” declared Roy, vehemently, without preamble, as Sahanderry joined him. “Of course it was he! I left him in the room with the sailor when I went out to Delgezie, and the sailor followed. But you,” he demanded quickly with a wrathful look, “what were you thinking of that you allowed the Eskimo to stay alone in the room?”
The delinquent dropped his head guiltily, expecting a storm.
“Now go in,” continued the speaker peremptorily. “Try to keep Ocpic in the kitchen while I fix up a plan to get the key away from him.”
The servant acquiesced gladly, and quickly disappeared into the house. Roy followed more leisurely. He spoke jocosely to Kasba as he passed through the kitchen.
On reaching the inner room he threw himself into a chair to form his plans to outwit the Eskimo. In the dilemma his knowledge of the native character stood him in good stead.
A feasible way presenting itself, he called the Eskimo forward.
Ocpic entered with a solemn face. There was a menacing gleam in his eye. Roy knew at a glance that the native’s suspicions were aroused; that he was prepared to deny any knowledge of the key with mule-like obstinacy. It had been mislaid by himself, Roy explained, or it had dropped from his pocket, as the case might be. Ocpic had often boasted of his feats as a conjurer. Let him find the key and the trader would consider him as clever as he made himself out to be.
The Eskimo hesitated. The trader twitted him with his incapability as a conjurer, laughing at his hesitation to comply with such a simple request. However, if Ocpic refused to find the key, he had only to change the lock on the store door and the key would be of no use to anyone.
Ocpic glanced searchingly at Roy, but his face had assumed such a bland, innocent expression that any suspicion Ocpic might have had was instantly allayed.
The Eskimo was now on his mettle. He felt his reputation as a conjurer at stake. He hesitated a moment longer while the thought of the change of locks sank into his brain. He had instantly perceived that the stolen key would then be of no use to him, and so, his face assuming his old simple, ingratiating smile, he gave a ready assent.
He would bring his conjuring belt, he said, and left the room.
The trader laughed inwardly.
After a short absence Ocpic again presented himself. He held a large kaip-puk (deerskin robe) in his hand and wore around his waist a belt of string, to which rags of different material and color and sundry tiny parchment ornaments had been attached. This belt was the insignia of his office.[2]
Entering the room, Ocpic made arrangements for the coming performance with the profoundest gravity, while the trader watched him with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
The native seemed to have some difficulty in finding a suitable spot on the floor, but at length chose a place near the door, where he squatted down, drawing the kaip-puk over his head and completely enveloping himself therewith. When this was accomplished to his own satisfaction, he began a mumbled incantation, interspersed with much scratching on the floor.
The conjurer’s voice swelled into a loud song as the ceremony progressed. The kaip-puk heaved, while the figure beneath seemed to be engaged in a violent struggle, presumably with some turbulent spirit.
Meanwhile the noise made by Ocpic had gradually stirred Broom’s senses. He slowly awoke, raised himself on one elbow, and gazed at the heaving kaip-puk as if fascinated. He brushed his hand across his eyes sharply as if to make sure he was thoroughly awake, then threw another hasty, startled glance in the same direction. Presently he smiled grimly as the import of the scene grew clear to him. After watching the Eskimo’s struggles for some moments longer, Broom dropped his legs over the side of the bunk and sat in a stooping position. He was occupying the lower bunk and the limited space above would not allow him to sit upright. He then noticed Roy’s presence for the first time.
“What’s the bally performance?” he inquired, catching a glance from the trader.
“Oh, I’ve lost the key of the trading store, and Ocpic’s finding it for me,” responded Roy. The conjurer was still enveloped in the kaip-puk, and, taking advantage of this, the speaker closed an eye.
Broom’s eye twinkled. “Ah,” he said significantly with a smile and a meaning glance at the struggling bulk, which was now undergoing astounding evolutions.
A moment later a tremendous upheaval occurred and the Eskimo’s head appeared. He sat blinking at Roy, his overheated countenance perspiring profusely.
“The spirit wants to know what kind of key it is,” he said breathlessly.
“A big key,” returned the trader, illustrating its length with his two index fingers.
Ocpic nodded comprehendingly, gazed seriously around the room for a moment, then, taking a long breath, again disappeared.
The two white men glanced at each other and smiled.
“That fellow’s some conjurer,” asserted Broom, whose voice seemed to betray a considerable appreciation of the ludicrous element in the incident.
“He sure is,” said Roy, with a broad grin; “the best in the land.”
Broom started to laugh, but a sharp look from Roy turned it to a prolonged yawn.
The conjurer’s previous herculean efforts were mere child’s play compared to the superhuman display that followed. The intervals of scratching became continuous, the incantations swelled into a roar and the twisting figure beneath the kaip-puk worked itself into a frenzy. Then suddenly all was still and a closed hand pushed itself out through the covering. The grimy fingers and the thumb slowly opened, disclosing the wards of a large key.
“Is that the key?” asked a muffled voice from beneath the kaip-puk.
“Yes,” replied Roy without moving from his seat to examine the thing in the extended hand.
The fingers and thumb closed back on the object and the hand again disappeared. Ocpic’s voice was then heard in conversation. After a time the attendant spirits were, apparently, dismissed, for the figure arose. The kaip-puk fell to the floor in a heap and the Eskimo stood revealed, smiling and perspiring. With a proud look he held a large key extended on his open palm. The trader slowly took it, then, like a flash, his expression of careless indifference disappeared and his face took on a look of implacable wrath. Reaching for the fallen kaip-puk he hurled it into the kitchen as far as he could throw it; then turning to the Eskimo, he grasped him firmly by the shoulder.
“You’re a thief,” he cried. “You stole the key.” With this he gave the astonished Ocpic a shake which nearly sent him off his feet. “If ever I find you in this room again I will shoot you,” he added sternly. “Now go.” Ocpic breathed heavily, his face worked passionately, then suddenly he gave a loud shout. Hatred, the implacable hatred of a coward, flashed from his eyes as he did so.
As if by magic the doorway was filled with angry faces. A number of Eskimos shuffled in and made an effort to draw near to Ocpic.
Quietly Broom dropped from the bunk to the floor. Deliberately he reached for a chair. Then he took his place beside Roy, balancing the chair in his hand.
Then a slight figure pressed itself through the group at the door. It was Kasba. Roy looked at her surprised, and smiled. Straightening herself, she faced Ocpic’s allies with outstretched hand and eyes aflame and stood as if warning them back, a veritable little fury. For a moment the Eskimos wavered, then they murmured together and moved as if to push past the girl.
Roy smiled grimly. He was conscious of feeling a slight exultation at the prospect of a conflict with the natives, for the old race antagonism was strong in him. He knew the moment of his life had come, that to show the least fear now was to lose command over these people forever. All depended upon a bold front.
Abruptly he motioned Broom back. Then he gently brushed Kasba aside. Stern and fearless he strode up to Ocpic, who never moved a muscle. With blazing eyes Roy pointed to the door. He looked particularly big in his wrath.
“Hilimee!” (Go!), he barked. The command was not one to be ignored. He seemed with his stern visage and flashing eyes to be very earnest indeed.
There was a tense silence. The two men gazed fixedly into each other’s eyes; then, as invariably happens, the native quailed before an unflinching outward manifestation of the stronger will. Ocpic’s eyes dropped sullenly. He turned and shuffled out. The group at the door had already melted away, as silently as it had appeared.
Roy turned to speak to Kasba, but found her gone. The danger past, she had vanished. The two white men silently gripped hands.
A few minutes later Sahanderry appeared with a trembling, scared face; so terrified was he at what had just transpired that he quaked with terror. He kept muttering to himself while he laid the table for breakfast. Evidently he expected Ocpic to take summary vengeance by a murderous act similar to one of which he was already declared guilty.
Having recovered the key, Roy decided to go alone to the trading-store to ascertain the extent of Ocpic’s peculations, and with this intention struggled into his hairy-coat and was about to leave the room when an enamelled plate fell with a loud clatter from Sahanderry’s trembling fingers to the floor. This drew Roy’s attention to the Indian’s state of extreme nervousness. He looked fixedly at him for a moment and then spoke.
“Sahanderry,” he said in a voice that made the man addressed spin round as if shot.
“Bekothrie!” gasped the Indian.
The trader quietly held his gaze until the other had somewhat mastered his agitation, then:
“Don’t be a fool,” he added sharply.
These peremptory words, coupled with the speaker’s perfect coolness, had the desired effect. Assuming courage borrowed from Roy’s composure, Sahanderry continued his labors with less nervousness, but heavily and with scant interest.
Broom, who was feeling “as fresh as a daisy,” returned to his seat on the edge of the bunk, where he sat warbling scraps of songs of questionable morality in a harsh, grating voice, like the rasping of dull metal, beating a tattoo meanwhile with the heels of his naked feet and throwing Sahanderry an occasional glance to see how he was appreciating these efforts.
Strange to say, Sahanderry was far from being offended at the levity of the singer, and hovered about the table with an approving smile on his dark face long after he had completed his duties. Perceiving his apparent interest, Broom threw himself into the attitude of a preacher and with inscrutable face severely lectured the Indian on his indiscretion in listening.
“You are a hardened sinner, my man,” he declared sharply. “Mind what you are about, or you will come to a bad end.”
This admonition discomfited Sahanderry for the moment, then he threw the incorrigible Broom a look of infinite scorn and abruptly walked out with his head in the air.
Left alone, the other delivered himself of a rattling chorus as a grand finale, then, dropping on his feet, he pulled on his clothes with a dexterity almost incredible. In a few moments Mr. Broom was dressed and out of doors.
After breakfast the trader rose from the table and paced the room restlessly. “That packet!” he murmured, sighing a little. “How I wish it would turn up. For some unaccountable reason my fiancée’s letters missed connection last mail; I haven’t heard from her for a year.”
“What, a whole twelve months!” cried his companion with a theatrical start of horror. “A year without a ‘billy-doo.’ What a calamity!”
Roy made a playful lunge, which the other skilfully avoided, then, laughing good-naturedly at Broom’s banter, he attired himself and went out, but he did not remain out of doors long, quickly returning and wandering listlessly about the place during the rest of the morning. He was too anxious about the “packet” to attend his traps or settle himself to anything about the Fort.
Broom made himself comfortable and began to read the book he had laid aside on the previous day. But as time went on he put it down and endeavored to attract the trader’s attention by making significant signs and gestures, such as filling an invisible vessel from an imaginary bottle, lifting his hand to his mouth and going through the motions of drinking with evident gusto, and swallowing an indefinite quantity of something with an appreciative smack of the lips. These pantomimic efforts failing, he coughed spasmodically, then uttered sundry vague half sentences, among which “An eye-opener,” “Throat as dry as a lime-kiln,” “A hair of the dog that bites you,” could be plainly distinguished, and all these attempts at effecting a “liquor up” being abortive, he came abruptly to the point with a hint there was no mistaking.
“What about a drink?” he asked with an ingratiating smile.
But the trader was gazing out through the window, his thoughts far away, and Broom was obliged to repeat his words with emphasis before Thursby became aware that he was speaking.
Then, “Eh!” he ejaculated, turning sharply and collecting his errant thoughts with an effort. “I beg pardon, Broom. I was thinking, and your words passed over me.”
“Oh, I was merely inquiring whether there was a ‘shot left in the locker,’” grumbled Broom.
The other laughed, paused irresolutely, then set a bottle and enamelled mug on the table. Broom eyed these proceedings with manifest satisfaction. But perceiving there was but one mug he raised his eyebrows and glanced significantly from the mug to Roy and back to the mug again.
Roy shook his head and smiled. “No,” he said, “it’s too early.” He waited until Broom had helped himself, then again placed the bottle under lock and key.
Broom shrugged his shoulders at this caution. He screwed his face into an extravagant expression of dismay, then, changing his expression suddenly, he emptied the mug at a gulp.
Buttoning his coat and drawing his cap well down, Roy went out to take another look for the packet. Broom followed Roy to the door with his eyes, then took up the mug and looked into it as if to see whether by any possible chance a drop had been left in the bottom. Raising it to his lips, he drained the few remaining drops, then finding he could squeeze no more out of it, replaced the mug and settled himself to read.
Meanwhile, Sahanderry, trying to appear at ease, was in the kitchen preparing dinner. He broke off short in a song to glance at Ocpic who was squatting in a corner, watching him from beneath lowered brows. Mustering courage, Sahanderry again burst forth, but only managed two lines before his courage again failed him. His song stopped abruptly; he wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a hand that trembled; his eyes rolled in their sockets, and his hair stood on end more than usual. Then he laughed the short mirthless laugh of a man who was afraid.
At this juncture the door opened and Delgezie appeared, accompanied by Minnihak, and Sahanderry’s face brightened instantly. He greeted the newcomers with effusion. Feeling that he had a sympathetic confidant in Delgezie, he related the story of the stolen key. But the old man evidently was made of “sterner stuff.” He listened to the tale with the keenest attention and at first looked puzzled, then astonished, then fierce and wrathful.
The story was no sooner finished than Delgezie called Minnihak to him and, despite Sahanderry’s protests, and his own limited knowledge of the Eskimo language, he acquainted him with what had occurred.
Minnihak nodded twice after the old man had finished speaking, as if to let him know that he perfectly understood, then, walking across the kitchen, he squatted down a few feet in front of Ocpic and sat gazing fixedly at him.
Ocpic, no whit abashed, returned the look.
After some moments of silence, “You’re a thief!” said Minnihak sharply, and there was a prolonged wait. The two Eskimo glared fiercely at each other, Ocpic’s breath came quickly, and his eyes glittered evilly. At length he got slowly to his feet.
The other did likewise and, standing silently, the two men continued their fixed stare.
Presently Ocpic deliberately threw off his coat and shirt and again Minnihak leisurely followed suit. Then, still in perfect silence, they straightened themselves, and, standing naked to the waist, prepared for a pugilistic encounter.
Stationing themselves at arm’s length the belligerents stood firm, and Ocpic, considering himself the better man, allowed his opponent the first blow and placed himself in the required position to receive it. With left arm drawn tight against his side and the shoulder pushed well forward, he stood offering the other a fair opportunity to strike his exposed biceps.
Minnihak paused a moment, as if mustering his strength, then, with a swinging blow, he struck. The blow was received with a grim smile, and the arm fell into its natural position, proclaiming the recipient ready to take his revenge.
Drawing himself up, Minnihak then offered the muscles of his arm for sacrifice. Ocpic brought his fist round with a wicked swing and struck a mighty blow. Minnihak winced visibly. Ocpic smiled grimly and drew back into position again.
There was now a few minutes interval of quiet, during which Broom entered the kitchen.
“Hullo! You giddy gamecocks,” he cried, “What’s the row?”
Delgezie hastened to explain and the sailor seated himself to enjoy the fight.
It was a novel scene. The daylight straggled through the frosted windows and lit the room dimly. The combatants breathed heavily. Delgezie leaned against the table with an anxious look on his bronzed face. He was feeling a little apprehensive for Minnihak’s safety. Sahanderry clung to the old man in abject terror. He was viewing an Eskimo fight for the first time and the heavy, resounding blows appeared fearfully blood-thirsty compared to the milder hair-pulling battles of his own race. Broom sat smiling and contemptuous.
The pugilists again took positions and more hard blows were given and received. These proceedings were repeated several times. Ocpic accepted his punishment carelessly, but Minnihak was showing signs of fatigue. He was clearly getting the worst of it. After a few more exchanges upon the arms, Ocpic threw his head to one side, offering his cheek for a mark, and the other drew himself together and made laudable efforts to gain the victory, but his blow lacked force, and all felt that the fight was over when it became Ocpic’s turn to strike. Their fears were well grounded. Ocpic struck his opponent low down upon the jaw. The blow had a touch of the uppercut, and Minnihak staggered and fell to the floor, where he lay for a few moments blinking confusedly. Then he slowly got to his feet. Ocpic stood watching him closely, but Minnihak had evidently had enough. He crossed over to where his clothes were lying and started to pull on his shirt. This was the act of a vanquished man. Ocpic smiled exultantly at each of the spectators in turn, then followed the example of his opponent. Their toilets completed, the two Eskimos squatted on the floor close together and filled their pipes from the victor’s fire-bag as if nothing unusual had happened.
|
In order to become a conjurer an Eskimo isolates himself in a tent and neither eats nor drinks for fifteen days, when a spirit comes and shakes him by the hand. This handshaking once performed he is a conjurer. Henceforth he is supposed to hold an army of attendant spirits at his beck and call: he can cause a lost article to be found; a person to recover from an illness or the reverse; and a hundred and one things equally astounding to happen. |
While the incorrigible Mr. Broom was sitting on his bunk making prodigious efforts at harmony, David and Kasba were preparing to fetch the deer that had fallen to the boy’s gun on the previous day. The sled was brought to the door and packed with sundry cooking utensils, and, this completed, David drew the wrapper together and lashed it with a clapmatch line, tucking his rifle and axe under the lashing at the top of the load to be handy in case of need.
Meanwhile Kasba caught and harnessed the dogs, and everything being ready, she started off at a quick walk. Barking joyfully, the dogs bounded after, while David sat astride the loaded sled, laughing and jubilant.
Mile after mile was accomplished in this manner till the sun peeped over the horizon, and Kasba, bethinking herself of breakfast, slackened her pace, keeping a wary eye for a suitable place for a halt. After journeying a short distance she came to a place where there were sufficient spruce trees and enough dry wood for their purpose.
Stepping suddenly, she turned and called to the dogs, who required no encouragement to increase their efforts. The girl’s act was significant: they knew exactly what was about to happen. With lolling tongues and panting breath they reached the girl and threw themselves down to snatch the few minutes’ rest which they knew would be allowed them.
David dropped from the sled to his feet, took his axe and attacked a few dead spruce trees while Kasba, obedient to Indian custom, made a fire and put a kettle on the burning embers. Contrary to the old proverb that “a watched pot never boils,” the water in this kettle was soon bubbling, and the two young people sank upon the brush which David had strewn beside the fire, eating their scanty breakfast with eager relish. The meal did not occupy many minutes, however, and they were soon on their way again.
The morning was bright, and the cold acted as a stimulant on the two. Kasba walked quickly over the snow with easy, buoyant steps, gazing on the monotonous scene with eager eyes. The branches of the spruce had taken unto themselves a covering of white, sparkling crystals which easily outvied in beauty the trees’ natural verdure. Large flocks of willow partridges ran about on the smooth white crust or delved into the snow, occasionally disappearing into the thickest part of the scrub for safety when a partridge-hawk hovered ominously over them. The sky was blue and cloudless save for a few white fleeces floating low down upon the horizon. The air was clear and still. A cut track led through the thicker part of the scrub to a lake two or three miles in width. Half way across this icebound lake the dogs espied a number of deer grouped together, not far to the right, watching their progress; with a lightning-like movement the leader diverged from the straight course and made toward the deer, which, perceiving no danger, were now calmly approaching the objects of their curiosity. But after drawing quite close they made a sudden retrograde movement, then ran around in circles. At intervals they stopped in their course to scrutinize the dogs anew.
As the dogs started on their wild rush after the deer, Kasba joined David in dragging on the head-line, but even the combined efforts of the two had no effect in staying them.
Scenting danger, the deer soon made off at a long, easy trot with the dogs in wild pursuit, until the sled’s coming in contact with a large block of ice threw Kasba forward, and she was dragged rapidly onward until, her arms growing tired, the line slipped from her grasp and the dogtrain quickly shot ahead.
Gathering herself up the girl stood looking after the disappearing sled with a rueful countenance and combined feelings of mortification and disgust at her ignominious position.
Meanwhile David was speeding over the ice in a manner calculated to break his neck, but a momentary delay occasioned by the sled colliding with the stump of a tree on the farther side of the lake gave him an opportunity to regain control of the dogs, which he halted, and then waited for Kasba to come up.
When the discomfited girl at length reached them David gazed at her mutely for a moment, then the woeful expression on her face somehow tickled the boy’s sense of humor and he burst into a fit of loud laughter.
This sudden change from extreme gravity to boisterous gaiety startled Kasba, who stood for a moment irresolute, then threw herself beside him on the sled, laughing hysterically.
Presently, as David’s wandering gaze became fixed upon the sky, his gaiety ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and he sat staring at the threatening storm-clouds which were silently creeping upward. Then, jumping hastily off the sled, he “drove up” his dogs with all vigor.
Kasba, shivering, drew the hood of her coat, which had slipped back during her frantic slide on the lake, upon her head with a quick pull, for a keen and cutting wind was rising, and started off at a quick trot in the direction pointed out by her companion.
Soon a large, dark heap, marked by a fluttering handkerchief tied to a stick, came into view. The girl divined that it was the object of their journey and ran straight toward it. As she approached a number of small white animals stood about it barking shrilly. They were the white foxes of the North, and appeared about to defend their position, but a nearer approach disconcerted them and they scuttled off to a safe distance, where they sat watching events. Not all, however, for David had set steel traps around the deer the day before, and a few foxes were caught.
The weather now looked ominous, and no time was lost in loading the sled with meat. The train was then turned toward home, and Kasba started back against the wind with a resolute look on her small brown face. David urged the dogs along with loud cracks of the whip, for the wind had risen and was now rushing across the plain in a biting blast, while large dark clouds, which had suddenly appeared upon the horizon, spread rapidly over the sky like huge phantoms, extinguishing the sun in a veil of vapor. David adjured Kasba to make all speed and “drove up” his dogs with renewed energy. Hurrying on, they stopped for nothing, till presently the “little hill,” which meant home, could be dimly seen in the distance.
The girl breathed a sigh of relief, for she realized that the Fort was only a few miles beyond the hill. But her comfort was short-lived. The wind, as if regretting its previous leniency toward them, now burst into a hurricane, and all sounds were drowned by its howlings, while the whirlwinds of snow which it raised filled the air and completely obscured objects a few yards distant.
As the storm cast its cutting ice-dust against David’s face, he could not even see the dogs. He halted them and shouted loudly for Kasba to come back, then fired his rifle several times. He waited five minutes, ten minutes, but the moments passed and the girl did not appear. He walked forward as far as he dared, but returned immediately, for he could not see two paces from him and the drifting snow obliterated every footmark.
David paused irresolutely. He hated to proceed without Kasba, yet he felt that to remain would be a useless sacrifice, for he was utterly helpless in such a blizzard. Besides, Kasba was walking in the right direction when last he saw her, and she might possibly stumble upon the Fort. It would be a miracle, he knew, but miracles did sometimes happen. Thus buoying up his hopes for Kasba’s safety, he determined to trust to the sagacity of the dogs to take him home.
But the dogs were now lying down and showed a decided objection to the biting wind and drifting snow. Finding his efforts to make them draw the loaded sled of no avail, he hastily threw off the meat, and again endeavored to start them. Presently an idea of what their driver required seemed to dawn upon the dogs, and, their speed accelerated by a few sharp cuts of the whip, they started off so suddenly that they left David standing where he was; and it was only with the utmost difficulty that he caught them up and threw himself on the empty sled, where he lay prone upon his face, burying his head in the heavy sled wrapper.
If David’s condition was precarious, Kasba’s at the same time was even more perilous. Had she remained where she was when the hurricane burst upon them the dogs would have overtaken her, for they soon passed the spot on their way to the Fort. But, in her trepidation, she had endeavored to return to David, and this proved her undoing. The clouds of whirling snow thickened as she scudded along, a mere play-thing for the wind. Then suddenly there was a muffled shout and the girl turned quickly in the direction of the sound, and endeavored to reach the spot from whence it came. But the wind caught her again, driving her before it until she had totally lost any vague idea she had previously entertained concerning her position.
Notwithstanding this, she persevered. She walked till she was well assured that she had lost David in the drifting snow, then she turned, and made prodigious efforts to reach a place of shelter. By keeping the wind in her face, she felt that she was going in the right direction, but thick clouds of snow struck her at close intervals and prevented her from seeing a yard before her, while the force of the wind was such that it was almost impossible at times for her to stand upright against it.
To dream of reaching the Fort in such weather was simply madness, and the poor girl had no choice but to proceed at random with the slender hope of finding some shelter from the strength of the blizzard, and soon she felt that nothing short of a miracle could save her, and staggered forward with a prayer on her lips. But the thought of her poor old father’s terrible grief should she perish in the cold, forced her onward and kept her weary legs from sinking beneath her. With the heroism of a martyr the girl endeavored to do for his sake what, as she felt, she had neither the will nor the strength to accomplish for her own, and she stood for a moment in dull despair, worn out by cold, fatigue and hunger, for she had eaten nothing since their hasty breakfast early that morning. Nature called to her loudly to discontinue her arduous efforts and sink down upon the snow, but distracted though the girl was, she fully understood that should she succumb to the languor she was feeling, a little white mound would soon mark her last resting-place. Filial affection was strong within her, and with superhuman efforts she staggered forward. After half-an-hour’s desperate struggle with the hurricane—half an hour which to her appeared like a century—the girl stumbled and fell. She quickly recovered herself but had not proceeded many steps before she fell again. This time the fall well-nigh deprived her of the little energy now left her, and it was with great difficulty that she regained her feet.
As she endeavored to shake off the numbing effects of the intense cold, she looked around her, gradually, carefully, and then for the first time she perceived that she was getting among rocks, and that it was the outlying boulders of these that had caused her to fall. Presently a ridge of rocks loomed through the drifting snow, seen during a lull in the gusts. This presented a welcome protection from the wind’s icy blast, and uttering the glad cry of one suddenly rescued from what had appeared almost certain death, the girl staggered forward.
But the hurricane, as if angered at losing its lawful prey, seemed to rush upon her with greater force than ever. It almost dragged her away in its powerful grasp. Aroused by the imminence of the danger, Kasba made strenuous efforts to reach a projecting rock, which stood up heroically to the furious tempest, offering its protection to the distressed girl. With a cry of relief she sank under its shelter. She was still in a most unenviable position, however, and was not slow to realize it.
After resting some moments, Kasba applied herself to prayer. In a few broken sentences she conveyed her thanks to God for His infinite mercy in rescuing her from the drifting snow. Then feeling assured that she had not been saved from the hurricane to perish miserably from cold and hunger, she turned her thoughts to the means of effecting her further escape.
Gazing around she tried to discover her whereabouts. A close scrutiny of the rock that sheltered her proved it to be a well-known landmark, and this sufficed to tell her that she was in a gully not far from the Fort. With this comforting assurance she proceeded to keep herself as warm as she might. Breaking some branches with much difficulty from a spruce tree that grew near-by, she laid them at the bottom of a hole in the rock. Then going out upon the plain she stood her snowshoes upright as a sign of her close proximity in case the worst befel and search was made for her body.
Returning to her haven of safety, Kasba drew off her hairy-coat, and, tying a handkerchief over her head, crouched in the hollow, drawing the coat over her in the manner of a blanket. Then she waited with a fortitude worthy of the sterner sex for the end of the hurricane; for she knew relief from the Fort was hardly possible till then.
On the morning of the day on which Kasba and David were lost in the blizzard, Roy Thursby stood on a high ridge of rocks at the back of the Fort, gazing through a telescope at a minute speck in the distance. Was it his imagination, or did the object move? He gazed eagerly at it until his sight became blurred, and he was forced to drop the glass and give his eyes a rest. However, after a few minutes spent in excitedly wiping the lens of the telescope, he again applied it to his eye. Yes, the object did move, but—was he sure? Again he gazed long and earnestly, his feelings undergoing curious changes as they wavered between certainty and doubt. Then the object of his attention suddenly made a slight detour which was unmistakable. Roy uttered a wild whoop, shut the telescope with a snap and went scrambling down the rocks with the enthusiasm of a delighted school-boy.
Long before he reached the Fort he fell to shouting, joyfully:
“Sahanderry! Sahanderry! Up with the flag!”
The kitchen door opened and Broom’s face appeared.
“Where’s the fire?” he enquired with a well-feigned look of terror.
“Fire be hanged! It’s the ‘packet,’” cried Roy exultantly, and in a lumbering fashion he cut a boyish caper on the loose snow.
Not to be outdone, Broom stepped from the doorway and began a grotesque performance which he called the Highland fling.
“Get out of it,” cried Roy, giving him a push.
Broom paused with a leg poised gracefully in the air. “You’re an unappreciative, cold-blooded Englishman,” he exclaimed in an injured tone. “Why, I’m thinking of you, not of myself. I’m dancing with delight, my boy, sheer delight. You’ll now be satiated with ‘billy doos,’” and he performed a few more intricate steps.
“Stop your nonsense, man!” commanded Roy, while he laughed heartily at the man’s antics. “But put on your coat and come out on the rocks.”
Broom instantly stopped his piroueting, to disappear into the house and return shortly, struggling into his coat as he came.
“Now, my bold Sir Launcelot, my lovesick swain, we will proceed to watch the approach of Cupid’s errant messenger.”
With this he attempted to link his arm in Roy’s, who promptly gave him a push which wellnigh precipitated him into an adjacent snowdrift.
Chatting merrily, the two men climbed the rocks till they arrived at the summit, where they stood gazing over the dazzling whiteness at the blot, which could easily be distinguished with the naked eye.
A number of dogs, scenting excitement, scampered about on top of the ridge of rocks, startling the kas-i-ba (rock partridges), which flew up in flocks of great size. Near at hand Delgezie and Sahanderry scrambled up the eminence, while below Ocpic and Minnihak, accompanied by more dogs, were making prodigious efforts to join them. The flagstaff cut the sky-line sharply, and the flag, which had now been run up, fluttered merrily as if it, too, desired to welcome the weary “packet-men.”
Within half-an-hour of their undignified scramble up the rocks they were precipitating themselves down again to welcome the arrivals, who were now close at hand.
It was only by the persistent efforts of the dog-driver and his companion that the “packet” sled was drawn to the summit of the snowdrift in front of the Fort, for the dogs were completely worn out. They staggered along, making heroic attempts to appear to the best advantage before strangers, but appearances were against them.
“Well, George Hopkins,” said Roy, extending his hand, “I’m glad to see you.”
“And we’re right glad to get here, sir,” answered Hopkins, drily. “The trip’s been a hard one.”
“Yes, I suppose it has,” returned the trader with an approving glance at the plucky little half-breed who had accomplished the long, arduous journey. But Hopkins appeared to look on the trip as nothing exceptionally hazardous; it was just a part of the work that his contract with the Hudson’s Bay Company called for.
Hopkins’ Eskimo companion, Poo-koo, next received Roy’s attention, and just then Broom, who had been standing idly by, uttered a terrific yell as the dog-driver lifted the packet-box from under the sled wrapper. The package was a small and unimposing spectacle, covered with canvas; an insignificant object, indeed, to be carried such a number of miles at so great an expenditure of money and labor; but the importance of its contents and mission made up for its otherwise commonplace appearance, and such evidently was Hopkins’ opinion, for he handled the box carefully and with great respect for its “honorable enclosures.”
Roy turned sharply on his heel at the sailor’s shout, and, perceiving what Hopkins had in his hand, he walked forward to take charge of it with as much unconcern as his excited state permitted him to assume. He was feeling a little piqued at the noise Broom was making. It was, he felt, a continuance of the ridicule he had provoked that morning, and he resented Broom’s pertinacious buffoonery.
Broom was watching Roy with considerable curiosity, for the occasion suggested to him the possibility of a celebration. But the Englishman’s manner was disappointing. In common with most of his countrymen, he thought it a weakness to give unlimited sway to his finer emotions, and generally covered them with an appearance of coldness and reserve. He did so in this instance, and Broom’s hopes fell to zero. But the expected happened, for when Roy and Hopkins started for the house, the former suggested that George should “take a drink.”
The suggestion was received by George with unconcealed satisfaction, and Broom, who was following them closely, smiled in silent approbation of a proposal which was so entirely in accord with his own mind.
“It’s going to be a dirty day,” remarked Roy, glancing at the threatening clouds which hovered on the horizon.
“Yes, it’s going to blow from the north-west,” prophesied the dog-driver. “We’ve just got here in time.”
“Yes, you’re lucky. It will drift like the very dickens with all this loose snow about,” supplemented the trader, who now paused to look around; then, “But come,” he added, “let’s get indoors.”
With steps few and rapid the men soon reached the house. As they entered the door Sahanderry was observed standing with a steaming kettle in his hand. He spoke hurriedly to Hopkins, who hesitated a moment, then detained the trader with a respectful touch on the arm, and requested permission to postpone the whiskey-drinking till he had partaken of a few cups of tea.
“Tea!” ejaculated the surprised trader.
Broom was vastly amazed; that any man in the possession of his senses should prefer this homely beverage to the more exhilarating spirit was entirely beyond his comprehension.
“Yes,” observed George in respectful tones of apology, “I haven’t drunk tea for eight days.”
Roy’s face cleared. “Of course,” he said, “you’ve been without wood to boil the kettle. Where did you get the last cup of tea?”
“At Cape Eskimo,” replied the other, mentioning a point some two hundred miles south of Fort Future.
“And you haven’t tasted tea since; poor devil!” Roy now exhorted Sahanderry to at once supply the packet man with what he desired.
But the Indian had a comprehensive knowledge of “tripping,” and had already brewed a kettle of tea. He now offered Hopkins a large mugful.
“Why, that’s capital, Sahanderry,” cried Roy, and he bade George seat himself and eat and drink to his heart’s content. “You’ve earned it,” he declared. “You can come to me later for the whiskey.”
With the “packet” under his arm Roy entered his sanctum sanctorum, closely followed by Broom, whose face displayed the resentment he was feeling at what he considered Hopkins’ idiosyncrasy in preferring tea to whiskey. He considered Hopkins had thrown away a glorious opportunity, and expressed his irritation in sullen looks and dissatisfied demeanor. “Of all the lunatics,” he murmured to himself, glaring back at the unconscious cause of his anger.
The trader opened the “packet” without any unseemly haste, for he felt the other’s eyes upon him. There were a goodly number of letters and newspapers. These he commenced to sort, but, feeling that Broom was watching his every movement, he suddenly stopped, caught up a handful of newspapers at random and handed them to his too watchful companion.
Broom took the newspapers awkwardly and murmured something, presumably his thanks.
Again Roy turned to his correspondence. He hummed an Eskimo Crane song as he separated the letters from the papers.