by Jack London
THE SUN-DOG TRAIL
Sitka Charley smoked his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the _PoliceGazette_ illustration on the wall. For half an hour he had been steadilyregarding it, and for half an hour I had been slyly watching him.Something was going on in that mind of his, and, whatever it was, I knewit was well worth knowing. He had lived life, and seen things, andperformed that prodigy of prodigies, namely, the turning of his back uponhis own people, and, in so far as it was possible for an Indian, becominga white man even in his mental processes. As he phrased it himself, hehad come into the warm, sat among us, by our fires, and become one of us.He had never learned to read nor write, but his vocabulary wasremarkable, and more remarkable still was the completeness with which hehad assumed the white man's point of view, the white man's attitudetoward things.
We had struck this deserted cabin after a hard day on trail. The dogshad been fed, the supper dishes washed, the beds made, and we were nowenjoying that most delicious hour that comes each day, and but once eachday, on the Alaskan trail, the hour when nothing intervenes between thetired body and bed save the smoking of the evening pipe. Some formerdenizen of the cabin had decorated its walls with illustrations torn frommagazines and newspapers, and it was these illustrations that had heldSitka Charley's attention from the moment of our arrival two hoursbefore. He had studied them intently, ranging from one to another andback again, and I could see that there was uncertainty in his mind, andbepuzzlement.
"Well?" I finally broke the silence.
He took the pipe from his mouth and said simply, "I do not understand."
He smoked on again, and again removed the pipe, using it to point at the_Police Gazette_ illustration.
"That picture--what does it mean? I do not understand."
I looked at the picture. A man, with a preposterously wicked face, hisright hand pressed dramatically to his heart, was falling backward to thefloor. Confronting him, with a face that was a composite of destroyingangel and Adonis, was a man holding a smoking revolver.
"One man is killing the other man," I said, aware of a distinctbepuzzlement of my own and of failure to explain.
"Why?" asked Sitka Charley.
"I do not know," I confessed.
"That picture is all end," he said. "It has no beginning."
"It is life," I said.
"Life has beginning," he objected.
I was silenced for the moment, while his eyes wandered on to an adjoiningdecoration, a photographic reproduction of somebody's "Leda and theSwan."
"That picture," he said, "has no beginning. It has no end. I do notunderstand pictures."
"Look at that picture," I commanded, pointing to a third decoration. "Itmeans something. Tell me what it means to you."
He studied it for several minutes.
"The little girl is sick," he said finally. "That is the doctor lookingat her. They have been up all night--see, the oil is low in the lamp,the first morning light is coming in at the window. It is a greatsickness; maybe she will die, that is why the doctor looks so hard. Thatis the mother. It is a great sickness, because the mother's head is onthe table and she is crying."
"How do you know she is crying?" I interrupted. "You cannot see herface. Perhaps she is asleep."
Sitka Charley looked at me in swift surprise, then back at the picture.It was evident that he had not reasoned the impression.
"Perhaps she is asleep," he repeated. He studied it closely. "No, sheis not asleep. The shoulders show that she is not asleep. I have seenthe shoulders of a woman who cried. The mother is crying. It is a verygreat sickness."
"And now you understand the picture," I cried.
He shook his head, and asked, "The little girl--does it die?"
It was my turn for silence.
"Does it die?" he reiterated. "You are a painter-man. Maybe you know."
"No, I do not know," I confessed.
"It is not life," he delivered himself dogmatically. "In life littlegirl die or get well. Something happen in life. In picture nothinghappen. No, I do not understand pictures."
His disappointment was patent. It was his desire to understand allthings that white men understand, and here, in this matter, he failed. Ifelt, also, that there was challenge in his attitude. He was bent uponcompelling me to show him the wisdom of pictures. Besides, he hadremarkable powers of visualization. I had long since learned this. Hevisualized everything. He saw life in pictures, felt life in pictures,generalized life in pictures; and yet he did not understand pictures whenseen through other men's eyes and expressed by those men with color andline upon canvas.
"Pictures are bits of life," I said. "We paint life as we see it. Forinstance, Charley, you are coming along the trail. It is night. You seea cabin. The window is lighted. You look through the window for onesecond, or for two seconds, you see something, and you go on your way.You saw maybe a man writing a letter. You saw something withoutbeginning or end. Nothing happened. Yet it was a bit of life you saw.You remember it afterward. It is like a picture in your memory. Thewindow is the frame of the picture."
I could see that he was interested, and I knew that as I spoke he hadlooked through the window and seen the man writing the letter.
"There is a picture you have painted that I understand," he said. "It isa true picture. It has much meaning. It is in your cabin at Dawson. Itis a faro table. There are men playing. It is a large game. The limitis off."
"How do you know the limit is off?" I broke in excitedly, for here waswhere my work could be tried out on an unbiassed judge who knew lifeonly, and not art, and who was a sheer master of reality. Also, I wasvery proud of that particular piece of work. I had named it "The LastTurn," and I believed it to be one of the best things I had ever done.
"There are no chips on the table," Sitka Charley explained. "The men areplaying with markers. That means the roof is the limit. One man playyellow markers--maybe one yellow marker worth one thousand dollars, maybetwo thousand dollars. One man play red markers. Maybe they are worthfive hundred dollars, maybe one thousand dollars. It is a very big game.Everybody play very high, up to the roof. How do I know? You make thedealer with blood little bit warm in face." (I was delighted.) "Thelookout, you make him lean forward in his chair. Why he lean forward?Why his face very much quiet? Why his eyes very much bright? Why dealerwarm with blood a little bit in the face? Why all men very quiet?--theman with yellow markers? the man with white markers? the man with redmarkers? Why nobody talk? Because very much money. Because last turn."
"How do you know it is the last turn?" I asked.
"The king is coppered, the seven is played open," he answered. "Nobodybet on other cards. Other cards all gone. Everybody one mind. Everybodyplay king to lose, seven to win. Maybe bank lose twenty thousanddollars, maybe bank win. Yes, that picture I understand."
"Yet you do not know the end!" I cried triumphantly. "It is the lastturn, but the cards are not yet turned. In the picture they will neverbe turned. Nobody will ever know who wins nor who loses."
"And the men will sit there and never talk," he said, wonder and awegrowing in his face. "And the lookout will lean forward, and the bloodwill be warm in the face of the dealer. It is a strange thing. Alwayswill they sit there, always; and the cards will never be turned."
"It is a picture," I said. "It is life. You have seen things like ityourself."
He looked at me and pondered, then said, very slowly: "No, as you say,there is no end to it. Nobody will ever know the end. Yet is it a truething. I have seen it. It is life."
For a long time he smoked on in silence, weighing the pictorial wisdom ofthe white man and verifying it by the facts of life. He nodded his headseveral times, and grunted once or twice. Then he knocked the ashes fromhis pipe, carefully refilled it, and after a thoughtful pause, lighted itagain.
"Then have I, too, seen many pictures of life," he began; "pictures notpainted, but seen with the eyes. I ha
ve looked at them like through thewindow at the man writing the letter. I have seen many pieces of life,without beginning, without end, without understanding."
With a sudden change of position he turned his eyes full upon me andregarded me thoughtfully.
"Look you," he said; "you are a painter-man. How would you paint thiswhich I saw, a picture without beginning, the ending of which I do notunderstand, a piece of life with the northern lights for a candle andAlaska for a frame."
"It is a large canvas," I murmured.
But he ignored me, for the picture he had in mind was before his eyes andhe was seeing it.
"There are many names for this picture," he said. "But in the picturethere are many sun-dogs, and it comes into my mind to call it 'The Sun-Dog Trail.' It was a long time ago, seven years ago, the fall of '97,when I saw the woman first time. At Lake Linderman I had one canoe, verygood Peterborough canoe. I came over Chilcoot Pass with two thousandletters for Dawson. I was letter carrier. Everybody rush to Klondike atthat time. Many people on trail. Many people chop down trees and makeboats. Last water, snow in the air, snow on the ground, ice on the lake,on the river ice in the eddies. Every day more snow, more ice. Maybeone day, maybe three days, maybe six days, any day maybe freeze-up come,then no more water, all ice, everybody walk, Dawson six hundred miles,long time walk. Boat go very quick. Everybody want to go boat.Everybody say, 'Charley, two hundred dollars you take me in canoe,''Charley, three hundred dollars,' 'Charley, four hundred dollars.' I sayno, all the time I say no. I am letter carrier.
"In morning I get to Lake Linderman. I walk all night and am much tired.I cook breakfast, I eat, then I sleep on the beach three hours. I wakeup. It is ten o'clock. Snow is falling. There is wind, much wind thatblows fair. Also, there is a woman who sits in the snow alongside. Sheis white woman, she is young, very pretty, maybe she is twenty years old,maybe twenty-five years old. She look at me. I look at her. She isvery tired. She is no dance-woman. I see that right away. She is goodwoman, and she is very tired.
"'You are Sitka Charley,' she says. I get up quick and roll blankets sosnow does not get inside. 'I go to Dawson,' she says. 'I go in yourcanoe--how much?'
"I do not want anybody in my canoe. I do not like to say no. So I say,'One thousand dollars.' Just for fun I say it, so woman cannot come withme, much better than say no. She look at me very hard, then she says,'When you start?' I say right away. Then she says all right, she willgive me one thousand dollars.
"What can I say? I do not want the woman, yet have I given my word thatfor one thousand dollars she can come. I am surprised. Maybe she makefun, too, so I say, 'Let me see thousand dollars.' And that woman, thatyoung woman, all alone on the trail, there in the snow, she take out onethousand dollars, in greenbacks, and she put them in my hand. I look atmoney, I look at her. What can I say? I say, 'No, my canoe very small.There is no room for outfit.' She laugh. She says, 'I am greattraveller. This is my outfit.' She kick one small pack in the snow. Itis two fur robes, canvas outside, some woman's clothes inside. I pick itup. Maybe thirty-five pounds. I am surprised. She take it away fromme. She says, 'Come, let us start.' She carries pack into canoe. Whatcan I say? I put my blankets into canoe. We start.
"And that is the way I saw the woman first time. The wind was fair. Iput up small sail. The canoe went very fast, it flew like a bird overthe high waves. The woman was much afraid. 'What for you come Klondikemuch afraid?' I ask. She laugh at me, a hard laugh, but she is stillmuch afraid. Also is she very tired. I run canoe through rapids to LakeBennett. Water very bad, and woman cry out because she is afraid. We godown Lake Bennett, snow, ice, wind like a gale, but woman is very tiredand go to sleep.
"That night we make camp at Windy Arm. Woman sit by fire and eat supper.I look at her. She is pretty. She fix hair. There is much hair, and itis brown, also sometimes it is like gold in the firelight, when she turnher head, so, and flashes come from it like golden fire. The eyes arelarge and brown, sometimes warm like a candle behind a curtain, sometimesvery hard and bright like broken ice when sun shines upon it. When shesmile--how can I say?--when she smile I know white man like to kiss her,just like that, when she smile. She never do hard work. Her hands aresoft, like baby's hand. She is soft all over, like baby. She is notthin, but round like baby; her arm, her leg, her muscles, all soft andround like baby. Her waist is small, and when she stand up, when shewalk, or move her head or arm, it is--I do not know the word--but it isnice to look at, like--maybe I say she is built on lines like the linesof a good canoe, just like that, and when she move she is like themovement of the good canoe sliding through still water or leaping throughwater when it is white and fast and angry. It is very good to see.
"Why does she come into Klondike, all alone, with plenty of money? I donot know. Next day I ask her. She laugh and says: 'Sitka Charley, thatis none of your business. I give you one thousand dollars take me toDawson. That only is your business.' Next day after that I ask her whatis her name. She laugh, then she says, 'Mary Jones, that is my name.' Ido not know her name, but I know all the time that Mary Jones is not hername.
"It is very cold in canoe, and because of cold sometimes she not feelgood. Sometimes she feel good and she sing. Her voice is like a silverbell, and I feel good all over like when I go into church at Holy CrossMission, and when she sing I feel strong and paddle like hell. Then shelaugh and says, 'You think we get to Dawson before freeze-up, Charley?'Sometimes she sit in canoe and is thinking far away, her eyes like that,all empty. She does not see Sitka Charley, nor the ice, nor the snow.She is far away. Very often she is like that, thinking far away.Sometimes, when she is thinking far away, her face is not good to see. Itlooks like a face that is angry, like the face of one man when he want tokill another man.
"Last day to Dawson very bad. Shore-ice in all the eddies, mush-ice inthe stream. I cannot paddle. The canoe freeze to ice. I cannot get toshore. There is much danger. All the time we go down Yukon in the ice.That night there is much noise of ice. Then ice stop, canoe stop,everything stop. 'Let us go to shore,' the woman says. I say no, betterwait. By and by, everything start down-stream again. There is muchsnow. I cannot see. At eleven o'clock at night, everything stop. Atone o'clock everything start again. At three o'clock everything stop.Canoe is smashed like eggshell, but is on top of ice and cannot sink. Ihear dogs howling. We wait. We sleep. By and by morning come. Thereis no more snow. It is the freeze-up, and there is Dawson. Canoe smashand stop right at Dawson. Sitka Charley has come in with two thousandletters on very last water.
"The woman rent a cabin on the hill, and for one week I see her no more.Then, one day, she come to me. 'Charley,' she says, 'how do you like towork for me? You drive dogs, make camp, travel with me.' I say that Imake too much money carrying letters. She says, 'Charley, I will pay youmore money.' I tell her that pick-and-shovel man get fifteen dollars aday in the mines. She says, 'That is four hundred and fifty dollars amonth.' And I say, 'Sitka Charley is no pick-and-shovel man.' Then shesays, 'I understand, Charley. I will give you seven hundred and fiftydollars each month.' It is a good price, and I go to work for her. Ibuy for her dogs and sled. We travel up Klondike, up Bonanza andEldorado, over to Indian River, to Sulphur Creek, to Dominion, backacross divide to Gold Bottom and to Too Much Gold, and back to Dawson.All the time she look for something, I do not know what. I am puzzled.'What thing you look for?' I ask. She laugh. 'You look for gold?' Iask. She laugh. Then she says, 'That is none of your business,Charley.' And after that I never ask any more.
"She has a small revolver which she carries in her belt. Sometimes, ontrail, she makes practice with revolver. I laugh. 'What for you laugh,Charley?' she ask. 'What for you play with that?' I say. 'It is nogood. It is too small. It is for a child, a little plaything.' When weget back to Dawson she ask me to buy good revolver for her. I buy aColt's 44. It is very heavy, but she carry it in her belt all the time
.
"At Dawson comes the man. Which way he come I do not know. Only do Iknow he is _checha-quo_--what you call tenderfoot. His hands are soft,just like hers. He never do hard work. He is soft all over. At first Ithink maybe he is her husband. But he is too young. Also, they make twobeds at night. He is maybe twenty years old. His eyes blue, his hairyellow, he has a little mustache which is yellow. His name is JohnJones. Maybe he is her brother. I do not know. I ask questions nomore. Only I think his name not John Jones. Other people call him Mr.Girvan. I do not think that is his name. I do not think her name isMiss Girvan, which other people call her. I think nobody know theirnames.
"One night I am asleep at Dawson. He wake me up. He says, 'Get the dogsready; we start.' No more do I ask questions, so I get the dogs readyand we start. We go down the Yukon. It is night-time, it is November,and it is very cold--sixty-five below. She is soft. He is soft. Thecold bites. They get tired. They cry under their breaths to themselves.By and by I say better we stop and make camp. But they say that theywill go on. Three times I say better to make camp and rest, but eachtime they say they will go on. After that I say nothing. All the time,day after day, is it that way. They are very soft. They get stiff andsore. They do not understand moccasins, and their feet hurt very much.They limp, they stagger like drunken people, they cry under theirbreaths; and all the time they say, 'On! on! We will go on!'
"They are like crazy people. All the time do they go on, and on. Why dothey go on? I do not know. Only do they go on. What are they after? Ido not know. They are not after gold. There is no stampede. Besides,they spend plenty of money. But I ask questions no more. I, too, go onand on, because I am strong on the trail and because I am greatly paid.
"We make Circle City. That for which they look is not there. I thinknow that we will rest, and rest the dogs. But we do not rest, not forone day do we rest. 'Come,' says the woman to the man, 'let us go on.'And we go on. We leave the Yukon. We cross the divide to the west andswing down into the Tanana Country. There are new diggings there. Butthat for which they look is not there, and we take the back trail toCircle City.
"It is a hard journey. December is most gone. The days are short. Itis very cold. One morning it is seventy below zero. 'Better that wedon't travel to-day,' I say, 'else will the frost be unwarmed in thebreathing and bite all the edges of our lungs. After that we will havebad cough, and maybe next spring will come pneumonia.' But they are_checha-quo_. They do not understand the trail. They are like deadpeople they are so tired, but they say, 'Let us go on.' We go on. Thefrost bites their lungs, and they get the dry cough. They cough till thetears run down their cheeks. When bacon is frying they must run awayfrom the fire and cough half an hour in the snow. They freeze theircheeks a little bit, so that the skin turns black and is very sore. Also,the man freezes his thumb till the end is like to come off, and he mustwear a large thumb on his mitten to keep it warm. And sometimes, whenthe frost bites hard and the thumb is very cold, he must take off themitten and put the hand between his legs next to the skin, so that thethumb may get warm again.
"We limp into Circle City, and even I, Sitka Charley, am tired. It isChristmas Eve. I dance, drink, make a good time, for to-morrow isChristmas Day and we will rest. But no. It is five o'clock in themorning--Christmas morning. I am two hours asleep. The man stand by mybed. 'Come, Charley,' he says, 'harness the dogs. We start.'
"Have I not said that I ask questions no more? They pay me seven hundredand fifty dollars each month. They are my masters. I am their man. Ifthey say, 'Charley, come, let us start for hell,' I will harness thedogs, and snap the whip, and start for hell. So I harness the dogs, andwe start down the Yukon. Where do we go? They do not say. Only do theysay, 'On! on! We will go on!'
"They are very weary. They have travelled many hundreds of miles, andthey do not understand the way of the trail. Besides, their cough isvery bad--the dry cough that makes strong men swear and weak men cry. Butthey go on. Every day they go on. Never do they rest the dogs. Alwaysdo they buy new dogs. At every camp, at every post, at every Indianvillage, do they cut out the tired dogs and put in fresh dogs. They havemuch money, money without end, and like water they spend it. They arecrazy? Sometimes I think so, for there is a devil in them that drivesthem on and on, always on. What is it that they try to find? It is notgold. Never do they dig in the ground. I think a long time. Then Ithink it is a man they try to find. But what man? Never do we see theman. Yet are they like wolves on the trail of the kill. But they arefunny wolves, soft wolves, baby wolves who do not understand the way ofthe trail. They cry aloud in their sleep at night. In their sleep theymoan and groan with the pain of their weariness. And in the day, as theystagger along the trail, they cry under their breaths. They are funnywolves.
"We pass Fort Yukon. We pass Fort Hamilton. We pass Minook. Januaryhas come and nearly gone. The days are very short. At nine o'clockcomes daylight. At three o'clock comes night. And it is cold. And evenI, Sitka Charley, am tired. Will we go on forever this way without end?I do not know. But always do I look along the trail for that which theytry to find. There are few people on the trail. Sometimes we travel onehundred miles and never see a sign of life. It is very quiet. There isno sound. Sometimes it snows, and we are like wandering ghosts.Sometimes it is clear, and at midday the sun looks at us for a momentover the hills to the south. The northern lights flame in the sky, andthe sun-dogs dance, and the air is filled with frost-dust.
"I am Sitka Charley, a strong man. I was born on the trail, and all mydays have I lived on the trail. And yet have these two baby wolves mademe very tired. I am lean, like a starved cat, and I am glad of my bed atnight, and in the morning am I greatly weary. Yet ever are we hittingthe trail in the dark before daylight, and still on the trail does thedark after nightfall find us. These two baby wolves! If I am lean likea starved cat, they are lean like cats that have never eaten and havedied. Their eyes are sunk deep in their heads, bright sometimes as withfever, dim and cloudy sometimes like the eyes of the dead. Their cheeksare hollow like caves in a cliff. Also are their cheeks black and rawfrom many freezings. Sometimes it is the woman in the morning who says,'I cannot get up. I cannot move. Let me die.' And it is the man whostands beside her and says, 'Come, let us go on.' And they go on. Andsometimes it is the man who cannot get up, and the woman says, 'Come, letus go on.' But the one thing they do, and always do, is to go on. Alwaysdo they go on.
"Sometimes, at the trading posts, the man and woman get letters. I donot know what is in the letters. But it is the scent that they follow,these letters themselves are the scent. One time an Indian gives them aletter. I talk with him privately. He says it is a man with one eye whogives him the letter, a man who travels fast down the Yukon. That isall. But I know that the baby wolves are after the man with the one eye.
"It is February, and we have travelled fifteen hundred miles. We aregetting near Bering Sea, and there are storms and blizzards. The goingis hard. We come to Anvig. I do not know, but I think sure they get aletter at Anvig, for they are much excited, and they say, 'Come, hurry,let us go on.' But I say we must buy grub, and they say we must travellight and fast. Also, they say that we can get grub at Charley McKeon'scabin. Then do I know that they take the big cut-off, for it is therethat Charley McKeon lives where the Black Rock stands by the trail.
"Before we start, I talk maybe two minutes with the priest at Anvig. Yes,there is a man with one eye who has gone by and who travels fast. And Iknow that for which they look is the man with the one eye. We leaveAnvig with little grub, and travel light and fast. There are three freshdogs bought in Anvig, and we travel very fast. The man and woman arelike mad. We start earlier in the morning, we travel later at night. Ilook sometimes to see them die, these two baby wolves, but they will notdie. They go on and on. When the dry cough take hold of them hard, theyhold their hands against their stomach and double up i
n the snow, andcough, and cough, and cough. They cannot walk, they cannot talk. Maybefor ten minutes they cough, maybe for half an hour, and then theystraighten up, the tears from the coughing frozen on their faces, and thewords they say are, 'Come, let us go on.'
"Even I, Sitka Charley, am greatly weary, and I think seven hundred andfifty dollars is a cheap price for the labor I do. We take the big cut-off, and the trail is fresh. The baby wolves have their noses down tothe trail, and they say, 'Hurry!' All the time do they say, 'Hurry!Faster! Faster!' It is hard on the dogs. We have not much food and wecannot give them enough to eat, and they grow weak. Also, they must workhard. The woman has true sorrow for them, and often, because of them,the tears are in her eyes. But the devil in her that drives her on willnot let her stop and rest the dogs.
"And then we come upon the man with the one eye. He is in the snow bythe trail, and his leg is broken. Because of the leg he has made a poorcamp, and has been lying on his blankets for three days and keeping afire going. When we find him he is swearing. He swears like hell. Neverhave I heard a man swear like that man. I am glad. Now that they havefound that for which they look, we will have rest. But the woman says,'Let us start. Hurry!'
"I am surprised. But the man with the one eye says, 'Never mind me. Giveme your grub. You will get more grub at McKeon's cabin to-morrow. SendMcKeon back for me. But do you go on.' Here is another wolf, an oldwolf, and he, too, thinks but the one thought, to go on. So we give himour grub, which is not much, and we chop wood for his fire, and we takehis strongest dogs and go on. We left the man with one eye there in thesnow, and he died there in the snow, for McKeon never went back for him.And who that man was, and why he came to be there, I do not know. But Ithink he was greatly paid by the man and the woman, like me, to do theirwork for them.
"That day and that night we had nothing to eat, and all next day wetravelled fast, and we were weak with hunger. Then we came to the BlackRock, which rose five hundred feet above the trail. It was at the end ofthe day. Darkness was coming, and we could not find the cabin of McKeon.We slept hungry, and in the morning looked for the cabin. It was notthere, which was a strange thing, for everybody knew that McKeon lived ina cabin at Black Rock. We were near to the coast, where the wind blowshard and there is much snow. Everywhere there were small hills of snowwhere the wind had piled it up. I have a thought, and I dig in one andanother of the hills of snow. Soon I find the walls of the cabin, and Idig down to the door. I go inside. McKeon is dead. Maybe two or threeweeks he is dead. A sickness had come upon him so that he could notleave the cabin. The wind and the snow had covered the cabin. He hadeaten his grub and died. I looked for his cache, but there was no grubin it.
"'Let us go on,' said the woman. Her eyes were hungry, and her hand wasupon her heart, as with the hurt of something inside. She bent back andforth like a tree in the wind as she stood there. 'Yes, let us go on,'said the man. His voice was hollow, like the _klonk_ of an old raven,and he was hunger-mad. His eyes were like live coals of fire, and as hisbody rocked to and fro, so rocked his soul inside. And I, too, said,'Let us go on.' For that one thought, laid upon me like a lash for everymile of fifteen hundred miles, had burned itself into my soul, and Ithink that I, too, was mad. Besides, we could only go on, for there wasno grub. And we went on, giving no thought to the man with the one eyein the snow.
"There is little travel on the big cut-off. Sometimes two or threemonths and nobody goes by. The snow had covered the trail, and there wasno sign that men had ever come or gone that way. All day the wind blewand the snow fell, and all day we travelled, while our stomachs gnawedtheir desire and our bodies grew weaker with every step they took. Thenthe woman began to fall. Then the man. I did not fall, but my feet wereheavy and I caught my toes and stumbled many times.
"That night is the end of February. I kill three ptarmigan with thewoman's revolver, and we are made somewhat strong again. But the dogshave nothing to eat. They try to eat their harness, which is of leatherand walrus-hide, and I must fight them off with a club and hang all theharness in a tree. And all night they howl and fight around that tree.But we do not mind. We sleep like dead people, and in the morning get uplike dead people out of their graves and go on along the trail.
"That morning is the 1st of March, and on that morning I see the firstsign of that after which the baby wolves are in search. It is clearweather, and cold. The sun stay longer in the sky, and there are sun-dogs flashing on either side, and the air is bright with frost-dust. Thesnow falls no more upon the trail, and I see the fresh sign of dogs andsled. There is one man with that outfit, and I see in the snow that heis not strong. He, too, has not enough to eat. The young wolves see thefresh sign, too, and they are much excited. 'Hurry!' they say. All thetime they say, 'Hurry! Faster, Charley, faster!'
"We make hurry very slow. All the time the man and the woman fall down.When they try to ride on sled the dogs are too weak, and the dogs falldown. Besides, it is so cold that if they ride on the sled they willfreeze. It is very easy for a hungry man to freeze. When the woman falldown, the man help her up. Sometimes the woman help the man up. By andby both fall down and cannot get up, and I must help them up all thetime, else they will not get up and will die there in the snow. This isvery hard work, for I am greatly weary, and as well I must drive thedogs, and the man and woman are very heavy with no strength in theirbodies. So, by and by, I, too, fall down in the snow, and there is noone to help me up. I must get up by myself. And always do I get up bymyself, and help them up, and make the dogs go on.
"That night I get one ptarmigan, and we are very hungry. And that nightthe man says to me, 'What time start to-morrow, Charley?' It is like thevoice of a ghost. I say, 'All the time you make start at five o'clock.''To-morrow,' he says, 'we will start at three o'clock.' I laugh in greatbitterness, and I say, 'You are dead man.' And he says, 'To-morrow wewill start at three o'clock.'
"And we start at three o'clock, for I am their man, and that which theysay is to be done, I do. It is clear and cold, and there is no wind.When daylight comes we can see a long way off. And it is very quiet. Wecan hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and in the silence that isa very loud sound. We are like sleep-walkers, and we walk in dreamsuntil we fall down; and then we know we must get up, and we see the trailonce more and bear the beating of our hearts. Sometimes, when I amwalking in dreams this way, I have strange thoughts. Why does SitkaCharley live? I ask myself. Why does Sitka Charley work hard, and gohungry, and have all this pain? For seven hundred and fifty dollars amonth, I make the answer, and I know it is a foolish answer. Also is ita true answer. And after that never again do I care for money. For thatday a large wisdom came to me. There was a great light, and I saw clear,and I knew that it was not for money that a man must live, but for ahappiness that no man can give, or buy, or sell, and that is beyond allvalue of all money in the world.
"In the morning we come upon the last-night camp of the man who is beforeus. It is a poor camp, the kind a man makes who is hungry and withoutstrength. On the snow there are pieces of blanket and of canvas, and Iknow what has happened. His dogs have eaten their harness, and he hasmade new harness out of his blankets. The man and woman stare hard atwhat is to be seen, and as I look at them my back feels the chill as of acold wind against the skin. Their eyes are toil-mad and hunger-mad, andburn like fire deep in their heads. Their faces are like the faces ofpeople who have died of hunger, and their cheeks are black with the deadflesh of many freezings. 'Let us go on,' says the man. But the womancoughs and falls in the snow. It is the dry cough where the frost hasbitten the lungs. For a long time she coughs, then like a woman crawlingout of her grave she crawls to her feet. The tears are ice upon hercheeks, and her breath makes a noise as it comes and goes, and she says,'Let us go on.'
"We go on. And we walk in dreams through the silence. And every time wewalk is a dream and we are without pain; and every time we fall down isan
awakening, and we see the snow and the mountains and the fresh trailof the man who is before us, and we know all our pain again. We come towhere we can see a long way over the snow, and that for which they lookis before them. A mile away there are black spots upon the snow. Theblack spots move. My eyes are dim, and I must stiffen my soul to see.And I see one man with dogs and a sled. The baby wolves see, too. Theycan no longer talk, but they whisper, 'On, on. Let us hurry!'
"And they fall down, but they go on. The man who is before us, hisblanket harness breaks often, and he must stop and mend it. Our harnessis good, for I have hung it in trees each night. At eleven o'clock theman is half a mile away. At one o'clock he is a quarter of a mile away.He is very weak. We see him fall down many times in the snow. One ofhis dogs can no longer travel, and he cuts it out of the harness. But hedoes not kill it. I kill it with the axe as I go by, as I kill one of mydogs which loses its legs and can travel no more.
"Now we are three hundred yards away. We go very slow. Maybe in two,three hours we go one mile. We do not walk. All the time we fall down.We stand up and stagger two steps, maybe three steps, then we fall downagain. And all the time I must help up the man and woman. Sometimesthey rise to their knees and fall forward, maybe four or five timesbefore they can get to their feet again and stagger two or three stepsand fall. But always do they fall forward. Standing or kneeling, alwaysdo they fall forward, gaining on the trail each time by the length oftheir bodies.
"Sometimes they crawl on hands and knees like animals that live in theforest. We go like snails, like snails that are dying we go so slow. Andyet we go faster than the man who is before us. For he, too, falls allthe time, and there is no Sitka Charley to lift him up. Now he is twohundred yards away. After a long time he is one hundred yards away.
"It is a funny sight. I want to laugh out loud, Ha! ha! just like that,it is so funny. It is a race of dead men and dead dogs. It is like in adream when you have a nightmare and run away very fast for your life andgo very slow. The man who is with me is mad. The woman is mad. I ammad. All the world is mad, and I want to laugh, it is so funny.
"The stranger-man who is before us leaves his dogs behind and goes onalone across the snow. After a long time we come to the dogs. They liehelpless in the snow, their harness of blanket and canvas on them, thesled behind them, and as we pass them they whine to us and cry likebabies that are hungry.
"Then we, too, leave our dogs and go on alone across the snow. The manand the woman are nearly gone, and they moan and groan and sob, but theygo on. I, too, go on. I have but one thought. It is to come up to thestranger-man. Then it is that I shall rest, and not until then shall Irest, and it seems that I must lie down and sleep for a thousand years, Iam so tired.
"The stranger-man is fifty yards away, all alone in the white snow. Hefalls and crawls, staggers, and falls and crawls again. He is like ananimal that is sore wounded and trying to run from the hunter. By and byhe crawls on hands and knees. He no longer stands up. And the man andwoman no longer stand up. They, too, crawl after him on hands and knees.But I stand up. Sometimes I fall, but always do I stand up again.
"It is a strange thing to see. All about is the snow and the silence,and through it crawl the man and the woman, and the stranger-man who goesbefore. On either side the sun are sun-dogs, so that there are threesuns in the sky. The frost-dust is like the dust of diamonds, and allthe air is filled with it. Now the woman coughs, and lies still in thesnow until the fit has passed, when she crawls on again. Now the manlooks ahead, and he is blear-eyed as with old age and must rub his eyesso that he can see the stranger-man. And now the stranger-man looks backover his shoulder. And Sitka Charley, standing upright, maybe falls downand stands upright again.
"After a long time the stranger-man crawls no more. He stands slowlyupon his feet and rocks back and forth. Also does he take off one mittenand wait with revolver in his hand, rocking back and forth as he waits.His face is skin and bones and frozen black. It is a hungry face. Theeyes are deep-sunk in his head, and the lips are snarling. The man andwoman, too, get upon their feet and they go toward him very slowly. Andall about is the snow and the silence. And in the sky are three suns,and all the air is flashing with the dust of diamonds.
"And thus it was that I, Sitka Charley, saw the baby wolves make theirkill. No word is spoken. Only does the stranger-man snarl with hishungry face. Also does he rock to and fro, his shoulders drooping, hisknees bent, and his legs wide apart so that he does not fall down. Theman and the woman stop maybe fifty feet away. Their legs, too, are wideapart so that they do not fall down, and their bodies rock to and fro.The stranger-man is very weak. His arm shakes, so that when he shoots atthe man his bullet strikes in the snow. The man cannot take off hismitten. The stranger-man shoots at him again, and this time the bulletgoes by in the air. Then the man takes the mitten in his teeth and pullsit off. But his hand is frozen and he cannot hold the revolver, and itfails in the snow. I look at the woman. Her mitten is off, and the bigColt's revolver is in her hand. Three times she shoot, quick, just likethat. The hungry face of the stranger-man is still snarling as he fallsforward into the snow.
"They do not look at the dead man. 'Let us go on,' they say. And we goon. But now that they have found that for which they look, they are likedead. The last strength has gone out of them. They can stand no moreupon their feet. They will not crawl, but desire only to close theireyes and sleep. I see not far away a place for camp. I kick them. Ihave my dog-whip, and I give them the lash of it. They cry aloud, butthey must crawl. And they do crawl to the place for camp. I build fireso that they will not freeze. Then I go back for sled. Also, I kill thedogs of the stranger-man so that we may have food and not die. I put theman and woman in blankets and they sleep. Sometimes I wake them and givethem little bit of food. They are not awake, but they take the food. Thewoman sleep one day and a half. Then she wake up and go to sleep again.The man sleep two days and wake up and go to sleep again. After that wego down to the coast at St. Michaels. And when the ice goes out ofBering Sea, the man and woman go away on a steamship. But first they payme my seven hundred and fifty dollars a month. Also, they make me apresent of one thousand dollars. And that was the year that SitkaCharley gave much money to the Mission at Holy Cross."
"But why did they kill the man?" I asked.
Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe. He glanced atthe _Police Gazette_ illustration and nodded his head at it familiarly.Then he said, speaking slowly and ponderingly:
"I have thought much. I do not know. It is something that happened. Itis a picture I remember. It is like looking in at the window and seeingthe man writing a letter. They came into my life and they went out of mylife, and the picture is as I have said, without beginning, the endwithout understanding."
"You have painted many pictures in the telling," I said.
"Ay," he nodded his head. "But they were without beginning and withoutend."
"The last picture of all had an end," I said.
"Ay," he answered. "But what end?"
"It was a piece of life," I said.
"Ay," he answered. "It was a piece of life."
NEGORE, THE COWARD
He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, and hispursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew full wellwere the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy lowlands and overthe steep divides, bent on no less than the extermination of all hispeople. He was travelling light. A rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle-loading rifle, and a few pounds of sun-dried salmon constituted hisoutfit. He would have marvelled that a whole people--women and childrenand aged--could travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror that drovethem on.
It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when thenineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled afterhis fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the head watersof the Pee-lat
. Though near the midnight hour, it was bright day as hepassed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all knew him, but few andcold were the greetings he received.
"Negore, the Coward," he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and Sun-ne,his sister's daughter, laughed with her.
Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his wayamong the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man. A youngwoman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles of his legs. Heraised a sightless face and listened intently as Negore's foot crackled adead twig.
"Who comes?" he queried in a thin, tremulous voice.
"Negore," said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task.
Negore's face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and waited.The old man's head had sunk back upon his chest. The young woman pressedand prodded the wasted muscles, resting her body on her knees, her bowedhead hidden as in a cloud by her black wealth of hair. Negore watchedthe supple body, bending at the hips as a lynx's body might bend, pliantas a young willow stalk, and, withal, strong as only youth is strong. Helooked, and was aware of a great yearning, akin in sensation to physicalhunger. At last he spoke, saying:
"Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has but nowcome back?"
She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to himselfafter the manner of the old.
"Thou art my woman, Oona," Negore said, his tones dominant and conveyinga hint of menace.
She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, her eyesflashing, her nostrils quivering like a deer's.
"I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; the daughter ofOld Kinoos mates not with a coward!"
She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to speak.
"Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange land. Thy people took usin by their fires and made us warm, nor asked whence or why we wandered.It was their thought that Old Kinoos had lost the sight of his eyes fromage; nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor did I, his daughter. OldKinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was never a boaster. And now, whenI tell thee of how his blindness came to be, thou wilt know, beyondquestion, that the daughter of Kinoos cannot mother the children of acoward such as thou art, Negore."
Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his tongue.
"Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all thy journeyingsthrough this land, thou wouldst not come to the unknown Sitka on theGreat Salt Sea. In that place there be many Russian folk, and their ruleis harsh. And from Sitka, Old Kinoos, who was Young Kinoos in thosedays, fled away with me, a babe in his arms, along the islands in themidst of the sea. My mother dead tells the tale of his wrong; a Russian,dead with a spear through breast and back, tells the tale of thevengeance of Kinoos.
"But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always did we find thehated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, but the sight of them was ahurt to his eyes; so we fled on and on, through the seas and years, tillwe came to the Great Fog Sea, Negore, of which thou hast heard, but whichthou hast never seen. We lived among many peoples, and I grew to be awoman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to him no other woman, nor did Itake a man.
"At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon drowns itself inthe Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on the rim of the sea, among apeople by whom the Russians were well hated. But sometimes they came,these Russians, in great ships, and made the people of Pastolik show themthe way through the islands uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. Andsometimes the men they took to show them the way never came back, tillthe people became angry and planned a great plan.
"So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward and said he wouldshow the way. He was an old man then, and his hair was white; but he wasunafraid. And he was cunning, for he took the ship to where the seasucks in to the land and the waves beat white on the mountain calledRomanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to where the waves beat white, andit ground upon the rocks and broke open its sides. Then came all thepeople of Pastolik, (for this was the plan), with their war-spears, andarrows, and some few guns. But first the Russians put out the eyes ofOld Kinoos that he might never show the way again, and then they fought,where the waves beat white, with the people of Pastolik.
"Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He it was, with his twothumbs, who drove out the eyes of Kinoos. He it was who fought his waythrough the white water, with two men left of all his men, and went awayalong the rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north. Kinoos was wise. Hecould see no more and was helpless as a child. So he fled away from thesea, up the great, strange Yukon, even to Nulato, and I fled with him.
"This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old man. But how did theyoung man, Negore?"
Once again she silenced him.
"With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of the great fort,and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, Ivan, who thrust out myfather's eyes, lay the lash of his dog-whip upon thee and beat thee likea dog. This I saw, and knew thee for a coward. But I saw thee not, thatnight, when all thy people--yea, even the boys not yet hunters--fell uponthe Russians and slew them all."
"Not Ivan," said Negore, quietly. "Even now is he on our heels, and withhim many Russians fresh up from the sea."
Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan was notdead, but went on:
"In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all men fought, eventhe boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and knew thee doubly a coward."
"Thou art done? All done?" Negore asked.
She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though astonished thathe should have aught to say.
"Know then that Negore is no coward," he said; and his speech was verylow and quiet. "Know that when I was yet a boy I journeyed alone down tothe place where the Yukon drowns itself in the Great Fog Sea. Even toPastolik I journeyed, and even beyond, into the north, along the rim ofthe sea. This I did when I was a boy, and I was no coward. Nor was Icoward when I journeyed, a young man and alone, up the Yukon farther thanman had ever been, so far that I came to another folk, with white faces,who live in a great fort and talk speech other than that the Russianstalk. Also have I killed the great bear of the Tanana country, where noone of my people hath ever been. And I have fought with the Nuklukyets,and the Kaltags, and the Sticks in far regions, even I, and alone. Thesedeeds, whereof no man knows, I speak for myself. Let my people speak forme of things I have done which they know. They will not say Negore is acoward."
He finished proudly, and proudly waited.
"These be things which happened before I came into the land," she said,"and I know not of them. Only do I know what I know, and I know I sawthee lashed like a dog in the day; and in the night, when the great fortflamed red and the men killed and were killed, I saw thee not. Also, thypeople do call thee Negore, the Coward. It is thy name now, Negore, theCoward."
"It is not a good name," Old Kinoos chuckled.
"Thou dost not understand, Kinoos," Negore said gently. "But I shallmake thee understand. Know that I was away on the hunt of the bear, withKamo-tah, my mother's son. And Kamo-tah fought with a great bear. Wehad no meat for three days, and Kamo-tah was not strong of arm nor swiftof foot. And the great bear crushed him, so, till his bones cracked likedry sticks. Thus I found him, very sick and groaning upon the ground.And there was no meat, nor could I kill aught that the sick man mighteat.
"So I said, 'I will go to Nulato and bring thee food, also strong men tocarry thee to camp.' And Kamo-tah said, 'Go thou to Nulato and get food,but say no word of what has befallen me. And when I have eaten, and amgrown well and strong, I will kill this bear. Then will I return inhonor to Nulato, and no man may laugh and say Kamo-tah was undone by abear.'
"So I gave heed to my brother's words; and when I was come to Nulato, andthe Russian, Ivan, laid the lash of his dog-whip upon me, I knew I mustnot fight. For no man knew of Kamo-tah, sick and gr
oaning and hungry;and did I fight with Ivan, and die, then would my brother die, too. Soit was, Oona, that thou sawest me beaten like a dog.
"Then I heard the talk of the shamans and chiefs that the Russians hadbrought strange sicknesses upon the people, and killed our men, andstolen our women, and that the land must be made clean. As I say, Iheard the talk, and I knew it for good talk, and I knew that in the nightthe Russians were to be killed. But there was my brother, Kamo-tah, sickand groaning and with no meat; so I could not stay and fight with the menand the boys not yet hunters.
"And I took with me meat and fish, and the lash-marks of Ivan, and Ifound Kamo-tah no longer groaning, but dead. Then I went back to Nulato,and, behold, there was no Nulato--only ashes where the great fort hadstood, and the bodies of many men. And I saw the Russians come up theYukon in boats, fresh from the sea, many Russians; and I saw Ivan creepforth from where he lay hid and make talk with them. And the next day Isaw Ivan lead them upon the trail of the tribe. Even now are they uponthe trail, and I am here, Negore, but no coward."
"This is a tale I hear," said Oona, though her voice was gentler thanbefore. "Kamo-tah is dead and cannot speak for thee, and I know onlywhat I know, and I must know thee of my own eyes for no coward."
Negore made an impatient gesture.
"There be ways and ways," she added. "Art thou willing to do no lessthan what Old Kinoos hath done?"
He nodded his head, and waited.
"As thou hast said, they seek for us even now, these Russians. Show themthe way, Negore, even as Old Kinoos showed them the way, so that theycome, unprepared, to where we wait for them, in a passage up the rocks.Thou knowest the place, where the wall is broken and high. Then will wedestroy them, even Ivan. When they cling like flies to the wall, and topis no less near than bottom, our men shall fall upon them from above andeither side, with spears, and arrows, and guns. And the women andchildren, from above, shall loosen the great rocks and hurl them downupon them. It will be a great day, for the Russians will be killed, theland will be made clean, and Ivan, even Ivan who thrust out my father'seyes and laid the lash of his dog-whip upon thee, will be killed. Like adog gone mad will he die, his breath crushed out of him beneath therocks. And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, Negore, to crawlsecretly away so that thou be not slain."
"Even so," he answered. "Negore will show them the way. And then?"
"And then I shall be thy woman, Negore's woman, the brave man's woman.And thou shalt hunt meat for me and Old Kinoos, and I shall cook thyfood, and sew thee warm parkas and strong, and make thee moccasins afterthe way of my people, which is a better way than thy people's way. Andas I say, I shall be thy woman, Negore, always thy woman. And I shallmake thy life glad for thee, so that all thy days will be a song andlaughter, and thou wilt know the woman Oona as unlike all other women,for she has journeyed far, and lived in strange places, and is wise inthe ways of men and in the ways they may be made glad. And in thine oldage will she still make thee glad, and thy memory of her in the days ofthy strength will be sweet, for thou wilt know always that she was easeto thee, and peace, and rest, and that beyond all women to other men hasshe been woman to thee."
"Even so," said Negore, and the hunger for her ate at his heart, and hisarms went out for her as a hungry man's arms might go out for food.
"When thou hast shown the way, Negore," she chided him; but her eyes weresoft, and warm, and he knew she looked upon him as woman had never lookedbefore.
"It is well," he said, turning resolutely on his heel. "I go now to maketalk with the chiefs, so that they may know I am gone to show theRussians the way."
"Oh, Negore, my man! my man!" she said to herself, as she watched him go,but she said it so softly that even Old Kinoos did not hear, and his earswere over keen, what of his blindness.
* * * * *
Three days later, having with craft ill-concealed his hiding-place,Negore was dragged forth like a rat and brought before Ivan--"Ivan theTerrible" he was known by the men who marched at his back. Negore wasarmed with a miserable bone-barbed spear, and he kept his rabbit-skinrobe wrapped closely about him, and though the day was warm he shiveredas with an ague. He shook his head that he did not understand the speechIvan put at him, and made that he was very weary and sick, and wishedonly to sit down and rest, pointing the while to his stomach in sign ofhis sickness, and shivering fiercely. But Ivan had with him a man fromPastolik who talked the speech of Negore, and many and vain were thequestions they asked him concerning his tribe, till the man fromPastolik, who was called Karduk, said:
"It is the word of Ivan that thou shalt be lashed till thou diest if thoudost not speak. And know, strange brother, when I tell thee the word ofIvan is the law, that I am thy friend and no friend of Ivan. For I comenot willingly from my country by the sea, and I desire greatly to live;wherefore I obey the will of my master--as thou wilt obey, strangebrother, if thou art wise, and wouldst live."
"Nay, strange brother," Negore answered, "I know not the way my peopleare gone, for I was sick, and they fled so fast my legs gave out fromunder me, and I fell behind."
Negore waited while Karduk talked with Ivan. Then Negore saw theRussian's face go dark, and he saw the men step to either side of him,snapping the lashes of their whips. Whereupon he betrayed a greatfright, and cried aloud that he was a sick man and knew nothing, butwould tell what he knew. And to such purpose did he tell, that Ivan gavethe word to his men to march, and on either side of Negore marched themen with the whips, that he might not run away. And when he made that hewas weak of his sickness, and stumbled and walked not so fast as theywalked, they laid their lashes upon him till he screamed with pain anddiscovered new strength. And when Karduk told him all would he well withhim when they had overtaken his tribe, he asked, "And then may I rest andmove not?"
Continually he asked, "And then may I rest and move not?"
And while he appeared very sick and looked about him with dull eyes, henoted the fighting strength of Ivan's men, and noted with satisfactionthat Ivan did not recognize him as the man he had beaten before the gatesof the fort. It was a strange following his dull eyes saw. There wereSlavonian hunters, fair-skinned and mighty-muscled; short, squat Finns,with flat noses and round faces; Siberian half-breeds, whose noses weremore like eagle-beaks; and lean, slant-eyed men, who bore in their veinsthe Mongol and Tartar blood as well as the blood of the Slav. Wildadventurers they were, forayers and destroyers from the far lands beyondthe Sea of Bering, who blasted the new and unknown world with fire andsword and clutched greedily for its wealth of fur and hide. Negorelooked upon them with satisfaction, and in his mind's eye he saw themcrushed and lifeless at the passage up the rocks. And ever he saw,waiting for him at the passage up the rocks, the face and the form ofOona, and ever he heard her voice in his ears and felt the soft, warmglow of her eyes. But never did he forget to shiver, nor to stumblewhere the footing was rough, nor to cry aloud at the bite of the lash.Also, he was afraid of Karduk, for he knew him for no true man. His wasa false eye, and an easy tongue--a tongue too easy, he judged, for theawkwardness of honest speech.
All that day they marched. And on the next, when Karduk asked him atcommand of Ivan, he said he doubted they would meet with his tribe tillthe morrow. But Ivan, who had once been shown the way by Old Kinoos, andhad found that way to lead through the white water and a deadly fight,believed no more in anything. So when they came to a passage up therocks, he halted his forty men, and through Karduk demanded if the waywere clear.
Negore looked at it shortly and carelessly. It was a vast slide thatbroke the straight wall of a cliff, and was overrun with brush andcreeping plants, where a score of tribes could have lain well hidden.
He shook his head. "Nay, there be nothing there," he said. "The way isclear."
Again Ivan spoke to Karduk, and Karduk said:
"Know, strange brother, if thy talk be not straight, and if thy peopleblock the way and fall upon Ivan and his men, that thou shalt die,
and atonce."
"My talk is straight," Negore said. "The way is clear."
Still Ivan doubted, and ordered two of his Slavonian hunters to go upalone. Two other men he ordered to the side of Negore. They placedtheir guns against his breast and waited. All waited. And Negore knew,should one arrow fly, or one spear be flung, that his death would comeupon him. The two Slavonian hunters toiled upward till they grew smalland smaller, and when they reached the top and waved their hats that allwas well, they were like black specks against the sky.
The guns were lowered from Negore's breast and Ivan gave the order forhis men to go forward. Ivan was silent, lost in thought. For an hour hemarched, as though puzzled, and then, through Karduk's mouth, he said toNegore:
"How didst thou know the way was clear when thou didst look so brieflyupon it?"
Negore thought of the little birds he had seen perched among the rocksand upon the bushes, and smiled, it was so simple; but he shrugged hisshoulders and made no answer. For he was thinking, likewise, of anotherpassage up the rocks, to which they would soon come, and where the littlebirds would all be gone. And he was glad that Karduk came from the GreatFog Sea, where there were no trees or bushes, and where men learned water-craft instead of land-craft and wood-craft.
Three hours later, when the sun rode overhead, they came to anotherpassage up the rocks, and Karduk said:
"Look with all thine eyes, strange brother, and see if the way be clear,for Ivan is not minded this time to wait while men go up before."
Negore looked, and he looked with two men by his side, their guns restingagainst his breast. He saw that the little birds were all gone, and oncehe saw the glint of sunlight on a rifle-barrel. And he thought of Oona,and of her words: "And when the fighting begins, it is for thee, Negore,to crawl secretly away so that thou be not slain."
He felt the two guns pressing on his breast. This was not the way shehad planned. There would be no crawling secretly away. He would be thefirst to die when the fighting began. But he said, and his voice wassteady, and he still feigned to see with dull eyes and to shiver from hissickness:
"The way is clear."
And they started up, Ivan and his forty men from the far lands beyond theSea of Bering. And there was Karduk, the man from Pastolik, and Negore,with the two guns always upon him. It was a long climb, and they couldnot go fast; but very fast to Negore they seemed to approach the midwaypoint where top was no less near than bottom.
A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard the war-yellof all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks and bushes bristlealive with his kinfolk. Then he felt torn asunder by a burst of flamehot through his being, and as he fell he knew the sharp pangs of life asit wrenches at the flesh to be free.
But he gripped his life with a miser's clutch and would not let it go. Hestill breathed the air, which bit his lungs with a painful sweetness; anddimly he saw and heard, with passing spells of blindness and deafness,the flashes of sight and sound again wherein he saw the hunters of Ivanfalling to their deaths, and his own brothers fringing the carnage andfilling the air with the tumult of their cries and weapons, and, farabove, the women and children loosing the great rocks that leaped likethings alive and thundered down.
The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and swung, andstill he heard and saw dimly. And when the great Ivan fell across hislegs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a down-rushing rock, heremembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and was glad.
Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered past, and hesaw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, spearing the wounded asthey came. And near to him he heard the scuffle of a mighty Slavonianhunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne back and down by thethirsty spears.
Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms ofOona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the greatwalls were upright and moved not.
"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou art myman, Negore."
And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she hadtold him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went out of thesky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of her was sweet.And as even the memories dimmed and died in the darkness that fell uponhim, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of all the ease and rest she hadpromised him. And as black night wrapped around him, his head upon herbreast, he felt a great peace steal about him, and he was aware of thehush of many twilights and the mystery of silence.
