by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER X THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS
Strange to say, at about the time Curlie and Jerry spoke of the pigeonthat seemed so out of place in this frozen land, others in the cabin onthe shore of far-off Great Slave Lake were speaking of this same bird.This did not come to pass, however, until a certain mysteriousindividual, seated beside the fire in Johnny Thompson's cabin, hadmaintained complete silence for the space of two full hours. This person,who had the straight black hair of an Indian and the sharp, hawk-likefeatures of a certain type of white man, was known far and wide as "TheVoice of the Wilderness," or more briefly as "The Voice." The Voice spokeonly when the Spirit moved him. And woe be to that one who attempted tobreak in upon his periods of silence.
Johnny knew him. Sandy MacDonald knew him. They knew his ways; knew, too,that at times he was able to render valuable service to those whorespected his silence.
When, therefore, as the twilight faded, he appeared at their door, theygreeted him with a hearty "B'Jo" (a corruption of the French _bon jour_),made a place for him by the fire, poured him a cup of black coffee, andleft him to his silence.
That did not mean, however, that the others might not speak. On thisnight it was Sandy MacDonald who talked. And when Sandy elected to speaksomething was said, for Sandy was wise in many lores and was no meanphilosopher besides.
Appearing to sense the fact that The Voice there in the corner wouldmaintain a long silence, he drew on his fur parka and invited Johnny tojoin him in a stroll in the moonlight along the shore before the cabin.As they walked along the snow-whitened shores at a spot where, other thanthemselves, no one lived, he said as a look of contentment overspread hisface:
"Johnny, for me this is the place of peace."
"This place?" Johnny looked at him in surprise.
"Yes. I have been here before. Must have been ten years back. I wasprospecting then with a pack on my back. No, I didn't build the cabin.Some other dreamer had been here before me.
"It was late winter when I arrived. I lingered through spring and summer.Why? I couldn't tell you that. Perhaps I was getting acquainted withnature and with God.
"You know, Johnny," his voice was low and mellow, "for each of us thereis a place of peace. Once there was a man who was asked to define peace.He led the one who asked to a waterfall. There in bubbling, tumblingconfusion a tumultuous cataract made its way to the rocks below.
"'Peace!' his friend cried. 'Do you call this peace?'
"'No,' replied the philosopher, 'Not this. But look! Above the falls,poised over that rushing confusion, swaying there on a slender branch, isa tiny bird. And if you will watch closely, though because of thethundering waters you cannot hear him, you will see that he is singinghis little song to the tune of the rushing water. He has found peace.'
"And so it was for him," the aged prospector added, after looking away atthe stars. "There are men like that, thousands of them. Go into somegreat steel mill where is constant din and confusion. Look far up to anarrow cage. A man stands manipulating levers. Climb up there and askhim: 'Where is your place of peace?'
"If he knows the answer it will be: 'Here.'
"You'll find the same thing in a great city, Johnny. Go into somedepartment store where the rush is greatest; in the wheat pit where menare shouting loudest; it's all the same. You'll find men there who'llsay: 'This is the place of peace.'
"But for me--" His tone dropped once more. "As for me, this is the placeof peace. Do you know that at the back of the cabin only a few low treesgrow?"
Johnny nodded.
"It's no clearing. No axe has been put to any tree. When God and thebirds planted these low forests they left this place for me.
"Spring and summer," he mused, "they are marvelous here. The wild duckscome to lay their eggs and rear their young. There's an egg or two extrafor me. There are ptarmigan in the low hills and fish aplenty. A lightrifle and a gill-net, that's all you need for living well.
"At night you hear the bull moose calling to his mate. One stormy day yousee the caribou passing by your cabin, a line many miles long, strakingaway toward the north.
"When the notion seizes you, you drop into your canoe and paddle away.You enter a broad bay and you say to yourself, 'There must be aprosperous village deep in the heart of this bay. There the saw mills arehumming and the merchants are measuring out goods over the counter. ThereI will find a bed and a meal such as only good Molly McGregor canprovide.'
"But you are deceiving yourself. There is no village, no saw mill, nostore, no bed save that of spruce boughs, and no meal save that whichnature will provide.
"In all this broad bay there is no village, nor even an inhabited cabin.This is God's country and His alone.
"His and mine!" he added reverently. "That is why I love it. That is why,for me, it is the place of peace.
"And, Johnny," he went on after a time, "sometimes I'd leave the lake andgo wandering away into the heart of the forest, following a trail notmade by man but by wild creatures of the North; moose, caribou, deer andbear had been there. And then I, smaller than them all, walked thereunafraid. It made me feel strong, Johnny; made me think I was truly achild of the Great Father.
"The path was soft under my feet, all padded with moss, Johnny. The airwas cool and damp. And such a stillness as there was, until some littlebird began his faint, melodious song.
"And then a noisy old raven who was raising his black brood in a treenear-by would spy me. And, ah! how he would tear the air into shreds withhis senseless warning!
"I'd hide myself away and squawk like a young raven who'd been captured.Then I'd throw myself on my back and look up as the angry black-coatedone would come over shouting at me. I'd shout back and laugh, laugh athim and at the sun and everything that is good and clean and new. I'dimagine I was a boy again, Johnny, just a boy. Yes, Johnny, this is theplace of peace, the place I can call home.
"But come!" He shook himself as if to bring himself back to the present."Come, let us go inside. The silence may be broken. The Voice may speak.It will pay well to listen. Indeed it will." And once again he told thetruth.
