CHAPTER X
AN INTERVIEW
"Oh, forgive me!" Chloe cried, "I--I did not know that I was intrudingupon--sacred ground!" There was real concern in her voice, and thelines of Bob MacNair's face softened.
"It is no matter," he said. "She who sleeps here will not bedisturbed."
The unlooked for gentleness of the man's tone, the simple dignity ofhis words, went straight to Chloe Elliston's heart. She felt suddenlyashamed of her air of flippant defiance, felt mean, and small, andself-conscious. She forgot for the moment that this big, quiet man whostood before her was rough, even boorish in his manner, and that he wasthe oppressor and debaucher of Indians.
"A--a woman's grave?" faltered the girl.
"My mother's."
"Did _she_ live here, on Snare Lake?" Chloe asked in surprise, as herglance swept the barren cliffs of its shore.
MacNair answered with the same softness of tone that somehow dispelledall thought of his uncouthness. "No. She lived at Fort Norman, overon the Mackenzie--that is, she died there. Her home, I think, was inthe Southland. My father used to tell me how she feared theNorth---its snows and bitter cold, its roaring, foaming rivers, itswild, fierce storms, and its wind-lashed lakes. She hated its ruggedcliffs and hills, its treeless barrens and its mean, scrubby timber.She loved the warm, long summers, and the cities and people, and--" hepaused, knitting his brows--"and whatever there is to love in your landof civilization. But she loved my father more than these--more thanshe feared the North. My father was the factor at Fort Norman, so shestayed in the North--and the North killed her. To live in the North,one must love the North. She died calling for the green grass of herSouthland."
He ceased speaking and unconsciously stooped and plucked a few spearsof grass which he held in his palm and examined intently.
"Why should one die calling for the sight of grass?" he asked abruptly,gazing into Chloe's eyes with a puzzled look.
The girl gazed directly, searchingly into MacNair's eyes. The naivefrankness of him--his utter simplicity--astounded her.
"Oh!" she cried, impulsively stepping forward. "It wasn't the_grass_--it was--oh! _can't_ you _see_?" The man regarded herwonderingly and shook his head.
"No," he answered gravely. "I can not see."
"It was--everything! Life--friends--home! The grass was only thesymbol--the tangible emblem that stood for life!" MacNair nodded, but,by the look in his eye, Chloe knew that he did not understand and thatpride and a certain natural reserve sealed his lips from furtherquestioning.
"It is far to the Mackenzie," ventured the girl.
"Aye, far. After my father died I brought her here."
"You! Brought her here!" she exclaimed, staring in surprise into thestrong emotionless face.
The man nodded slowly. "In the winter it was--and I camealone--dragging her body upon a sled----"
"But why----"
"Because I think she would have wished it so. If one hated the wild,rugged cliffs and the rock-tossed rapids, would one wish to lie upon acliff with the rapids roaring, for ever and ever? I do not think that,so I brought her here--away from the grey hills and the ceaseless roarof the rapids."
"But the grass?"
"I brought that from the Southland. I failed many times before I founda kind that would grow. It is little I can do for her, and she doesnot know, but, somehow, it has made me feel--easier--I cannot tell youexactly. I come here often."
"I think she _does_ know," said Chloe softly, and brushed hot tearsfrom her eyes. Could _this_ be the man whose crimes against the poor,ignorant savages were the common knowledge of the North? Could this behe whom men called Brute--this simple-spoken, straightforward, boyishman who had endured hardships and spared no effort, that the mother hehad never known might lie in her eternal rest beneath the green sod ofher native land, far from the sights, and sounds that, in life, hadbecome a torture to her soul, and worn her, at last, to the grave?
"Mr.--MacNair." The hard note--the note of uncompromisingantagonism--had gone from her voice, and the man looked at her insurprise. It was the first time she had addressed him withoutprefixing the name Brute and emphasizing the prefix. He stood,regarding her calmly, waiting for her to proceed. Somehow, Chloe foundthat it had become very difficult for her to speak; to say the thingsto this man that she had intended to say. "I cannot understandyou--your viewpoint."
"Why should you try? I ask no one to understand me. I care not whatpeople think."
"About the Indians, I mean----"
"The Indians? What do you know of my viewpoint in regard to theIndians?" The man's face had hardened at her mention of the Indians.
"I know this!" exclaimed the girl. "That you are trading them whiskey!With my own eyes I saw Mr. Lapierre smash your kegs--the kegs that werecunningly disguised as bales of freight and marked with your name, andI saw the whiskey spilled out upon the ground."
She paused, expecting a denial, but MacNair remained silent and againshe saw the peculiar twinkle in his eye as he waited for her toproceed. "And I--you, yourself told me that you would kill some of Mr.Lapierre's Indians! Do you call that justice--to kill men because theyhappen to be in the employ of a rival trader--one who has as much rightto trade in the Northland as you have?"
Again she paused, but the man ignored her question.
"Go on," he said shortly.
"And you told me your Indians had to work so hard they had no time forbook-learning, and that the souls of the Indians were black as--ashell."
"And I told you, also, that I have never owned any whiskey. Why do youbelieve me in some things and not in others? It would seem moreconsistent, Miss Chloe Elliston, for you either to believe or todisbelieve me."
"But, I _saw_ the whiskey. And as for what you, yourself, told me--aman will scarcely make himself out worse than he is."
"At least, I can scarcely make myself out worse than you believe me tobe." The twinkle was gone from MacNair's eyes now, and he spoke moregruffly. "Of what use is all this talk? You are firmly convinced ofmy character. Your opinion of me concerns me not at all. Even if Iwere to attempt to make my position clear to you, you would not believeanything I should tell you."
"What defence can there be to conduct such as yours?"
"Defence! Do you imagine I would stoop to defend my conduct to_you_--to one who is, either wittingly or unwittingly, hand in glovewith Pierre Lapierre?"
The unconcealed scorn of the man's words stung Chloe to the quick.
"Pierre Lapierre is a man!" she cried with flashing eyes. "He isneither afraid nor ashamed to declare his principles. He is the friendof the Indians--and God knows they need a friend--living as they do bysufferance of such men as you, and the men of the Hudson Bay Company!"
"You believe that, I think," MacNair said quietly. "I wonder if youare really such a fool, or do you know Lapierre for what he is?"
"Yes!" exclaimed the girl, her face flushed. "I _do_ know him for whathe is! He is a _man_! He knows the North. I am learning the North,and together we will drive you and your kind out of the North."
"You cannot do that," he said. "Lapierre, I will crush as I wouldcrush a snake. I bear you no ill will. As you say, you will learn theNorth--for you will remain in the North. I told you once that youwould soon tire of your experiment, but I was wrong. Your eyes are theeyes of a fighting man."
"Thank you, Mr.--MacNair----"
"Why not Brute MacNair?"
Chloe shook her head. "No," she said. "Not that--not after--I think Ishall call you Bob MacNair."
The man looked perplexed. "Women are not like men," he said, simply."I do not understand you at times. Tell me--why did you come into theNorth?"
"I thought I had made that plain. I came to bring education to theIndians. To do what I can to lighten their burden and to make itpossible for them to compete with the white man on the white man'sterms when this country shall bow before the inevitable advance ofcivilization; when it has ceased to b
e the land beyond the outposts."
"We are working together then," answered, MacNair. "When you havelearned the North we shall be--friends."
"Never! I----"
"Because you will have learned," he continued, ignoring her protest,"that education is the last thing the Indians need. If you can makebetter trappers and hunters of them; teach them to work in mines,timber, on the rivers, you will come nearer to solving their problemthan by giving them all the education in the world. No, Miss ChloeElliston, they can't play the white man's game--with the white man'schips."
"But they can! In the States we----"
"Why didn't you stay in the States?"
"Because the government looks after the education of theIndians--provides schools and universities, and----"
"And what do they turn out?"
"They turn out lawyers and doctors and engineers and ministers of thegospel, and educated men in all walks of life. We have Indians inCongress!"
"How many? And how many are lawyers and doctors and engineers andministers of the gospel? And how many can truthfully be said to be'educated men in all walks of life'? A mere handful! Where onesucceeds, a hundred fail! And the others return to their reservation,dissolute, dissatisfied, to live on the bounty of your government; you,yourself, will admit that when an Indian does rise into a professionfor which his education has fitted him, he is an object of wonder--aman to be written about in your newspapers and talked about in yourhomes. And then your sentimentalists--your fools--hold him up as atype! Not your educated Indians are reaping the benefit of yourgovernment's belated attention, but those who are following the callingfor which nature has fitted them--stock-raising and small farming ontheir allotted reservations. The educated ones know that thegovernment will feed and clothe them--why should they exert themselves?
"Here in the North, because the Indians have been dealt with sanely,and not herded onto restricted reservations, and subjected to theexperiments of departmental fools well-intentioned--and otherwise--theyare infinitely better off. They are free to roam the woods, to huntand to trap and to fish, and they are contented. They remain at theposts only long enough to do their trading, and return again to thewilds. For the most part they are truthful and sober and honest. Theycan obtain sufficient clothing and enough to eat. The lakes and therivers teem with fish, and the woods and the barrens abound with game,
"Contrast these with the Indians who have come more intimately intocontact with the whites. You can see them hanging about the depots andthe grogeries and rum shops of the railway towns, degenerate, diseased,reduced to beggary and petty thievery. And you do not have to go tothe railway towns to see the effect of your civilization upon them.Follow the great trade rivers! From source to mouth, their banks arelined with the Indians who have come into contact with yourcivilization!
"Go to any mission centre! Do you find that the Indian has takenkindly to the doctrines it teaches? Do you find them happy,God-fearing Indians who embraced Christianity and are living in accordwith its precepts? You do not! Except in a very few isolated cases,like your lawyers and doctors of the states, you will find at the verygates of the missions, be their denomination what they may, debaucheryand rascality in its most vicious forms. Read your answer there in thevice-marked, ragged, emaciated hangers-on of the missions.
"I do not say that this harm is wrought wilfully--on the contrary, Iknow it is not. They are noble and well-meaning men and women whocarry the gospel into the North. Many of them I know and respect andadmire--Father Desplaines, Father Crossett, the good Father O'Reiley,and Duncan Fitzgilbert, of my mother's faith. These men are good men;noble men, and the true friends of the Indians; in health and insickness, in plague, famine, and adversity these men shoulder the redman's burden, feed, clothe, and doctor him, and nurse him back tohealth--or bury him. With these I have no quarrel, nor with thereligion they teach--in its theory. It is not bad. It is good. Thesemen are my friends. They visit me, and are welcome whenever they come.
"Each of these has begged me to allow him to establish a mission amongmy Indians. And my answer is always the same--'_No!_' And I point tothe mission centres already established. It is then they tell me thatthe deplorable condition exists, not because of the mission, but_despite_ it." He paused with a gesture of impatience. "_Because_!_Despite_! A quibble of words! If the _fact_ remains, what differencedoes it make whether it is _because_ or _despite_? It must be a greatcomfort to the unfortunate one who is degraded, diseased, damned, toknow that his degradation, disease, and damnation, were wrought not_because_, but _despite_. I think God laughs--even as he pities. But,in spite of all they can do, the _fact_ remains. I do not ask you tobelieve me. Go and see it with your own eyes, and then if you _dare_,come back and establish another plague spot in God's own wilderness.The Indian rapidly acquires all the white man's vices--and but few ofhis virtues.
"Stop and think what it means to experiment with the future of apeople. To overthrow their traditions: to confute their beliefs andsuperstitions, and to subvert their gods! And what do you offer themin return? Other traditions; other beliefs; another God--andeducation! Do you dare to assume the responsibility? Do you dare toimplant in the minds of these people an education--a culture--that willrender them for ever dissatisfied with their lot, and send many of themto the land of the white man to engage in a feeble and hopelessstruggle after that which is, for them, unattainable?"
"But it is _not_ unattainable! They----"
"I know your sophisms; your fabrication of theory!" MacNairinterrupted her almost fiercely. "The _facts_! I have seen therum-sodden wrecks, the debauched and soul-warped men and women who hangabout your frontier towns, diseased in body and mind, and whosegreatest misfortune is that they live. These, Miss Chloe Elliston, arethe real monuments to your education. Do you dare to drive one hundredto certain degradation that is worse than fiery hell, that you maypoint with pride to one who shall attain to the white man's standard ofsuccess?"
"That is not the truth! I do not believe it! I _will_ not believe it!"
The steel-grey eyes of the man bored deep into the shining eyes ofbrown. "I know that you do not believe it. But you are wrong when yousay that you _will_ not believe it. You are honest and unafraid, and,therefore, you will learn, and now, one thing further.
"We will say that you succeed in keeping your school, or post, ormission, from this condition of debauchery--which you will not. Whatthen? Suppose you educate your Indians? There are no employers in theNorth. None who buy education. The men who pay out money in the wasteplaces pay it for bone and brawn, not for brains; they have brains--orsomething that answers the purpose--therefore, your educated Indianmust do one of two things--he must go where he can use his education orhe must remain where he is. In either event he will be the loser. Ifhe seeks the land of the white man, he must compete with the white manon the white man's terms. He cannot do it. If he stays here in theNorth he must continue to hunt, or trap, or work on the river, or inthe mines, or the timber, and he is ever afterward dissatisfied withhis lot. More, he has wasted the time he spent in filling his brainwith useless knowledge."
MacNair spoke rapidly and earnestly, and Chloe realized that he spokefrom his heart and also that he spoke from a certain knowledge of hissubject. She was at a loss for a reply. She could not dispute him,for he had told her not to believe him; to go see for herself. She didnot believe MacNair, but in spite of herself she was impressed.
"The missionaries _are_ doing good! Their reports show----"
"Their reports show! Of course their reports show! Why shouldn'tthey? Where do their reports go? To the people who pay them theirsalaries! Do not understand me to say that in all cases these reportsare falsely made. They are not--that is, they are literally true. Amission reports so many converts to Christianity during a certainperiod of time. Well and good; the converts are there--they canproduce them. The Indians are not fools. If the white men want themto profess Christiani
ty, why they will profess Christianity--orHinduism or Mohammedanism. They will worship any god the white mansuggests--for a fancy waistcoat or a piece of salt pork. The white mangives many gifts of clothing, and sometimes of food--to his converts.Therefore, he shall not want for converts--while the clothing holdsout!"
"And _your_ Indians? Have they not suffered from their contact withyou?"
"No. They have not suffered. I know them, their needs andrequirements, and their virtues and failings. And they know me."
"Where is your fort?"
"Some distance above here on the shore of this lake."
"Will you take me there? Show me these Indians, that I may see formyself that you have spoken the truth?"
"No. I told you you were to have nothing to do with my Indians. Ialso warned my Indians against you--and your partner Lapierre. Icannot warn them against you and then take you among them."
"Very well. I shall go myself, then. I came up here to see your fortand the condition of your Indians. You knew I would come."
"No. I did not know that. I had not seen the fighting spirit in youreyes then. Now I know that you will come--but not while I am here.And when you do come you will be taken back to your own school. Youwill not be harmed, for you are honest in your purpose. But you will,nevertheless, be prevented from coming into contact with my Indians. Iwill have none of Lapierre's spies hanging about, to the injury of mypeople."
"Lapierre's spies! Do you think I am a spy? Lapierre's?"
"Not consciously, perhaps--but a spy, nevertheless. Lapierre may evennow be lurking near for the furtherance of some evil design."
Chloe suddenly realized that MacNair's boring, steel-grey eyes werefixed upon her with a new intentness--as if to probe into the verythoughts of her brain.
"Mr. Lapierre is far to the Southward," she said--and then, upon theedge of the tiny clearing, a twig snapped. The man whirled, his riflejerked into position, there was a loud report, and Bob MacNair sankslowly down upon the grass mound that was his mother's grave.
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