CHAPTER XIII
"ADRESOL"
The horrible aroma of a gently smouldering smudge fire, battling withinvading mosquitoes; the pleasant smell of tobacco, adding to theenjoyment of the crisp Northern air; the resplendent sunset, slashing abroken sky with a sea of multitudinous colours, and lighting a prospectof verdant woods at the foot of a line of distant hills; a wide,sheltered stoop with deep-seated rocking-chairs; these things were thekey to the deeper recesses of the hearts of men who have learned to playthe great game of life upon the lonely wastes of a Northern world.
Ian Ross raised a warning finger as the sounds of laughter came fromsome distant part of the house behind him. There was a child's laughter,fresh, happy, and the light laugh of a woman, who has learned, throughher own, the perfect happiness which childhood can inspire in thosewhose instincts remain unimpaired.
"Do you need to ask me?" he said, in reply to the other's question."That kiddie is just crazy with happiness--so's Millie. Guess she'll bedown along after awhile, when she's quit fooling with him in his bath."
Steve breathed deeply, and his far gazing eyes rested unblinkingly uponthe sunset of a myriad hues. The reek of tobacco hung upon the stillair, and the light veil of smoke from the "smudge" sailed gently acrossthe view beyond the veranda.
He was full healed now--outwardly. There was little change in him as hesat back in his deep rocker on the veranda of Ian Ross's house atDeadwater. His steady eyes looked out with their uncompromisingdirectness. But there were lines about his eyes and mouth, and betweenhis level brows, which had been less noticeable twelve months ago. Thiswas the front which he set up before the eyes of the little world heknew. In moments of solitude, when no eyes were there to observe, it mayhave been different. But he desired neither sympathy nor support. Hedesired only to be left to himself, to those purposes which he wouldpermit nothing to change or interfere with.
He had rid himself of all signs of his connection with the police forceas though he had determined to cut himself off from a period of his lifewhich had only yielded bitter memories. Nor had he anything about himreminiscent of the trail, which had been so much a part of his life. Hewas clad in the tweeds of civilization, which robbed him of some of thatdistinction which the rougher wear had always pronounced.
"I'm glad," he said, and went on smoking in the silent fashion whichonly real companionship understands.
After a few moments of voiceless contemplation of the wide view over theReservation the Scotsman stirred in his chair. The thoughtful knittingof his heavy brows relaxed, and he glanced at the preoccupied face ofhis companion.
"There's a heap of things I'd like to ask you, Steve," he said bluntly."And a whole heap I wouldn't. It's the sort of position I don'tgenerally reckon to find myself in," he added, with a twinkle in hisdeep-set eyes. "You see, I mostly know the things I want to say. Maybeyou've got things you want to tell me, as well as things you don't. It'sup to you."
Steve nodded.
"It's best that way," he said. "Yes, there's things I want to say. Andit's mostly about the boy, and--An-ina. There's other things, too." Hepaused. Then he went on: "You see, Doc, I haven't made a heap offriends. There's about no one, except you. I'd like to talk straightout. McDowell's a decent enough citizen, but he's not the sort you canhand out some things to. Jack Belton and those others, well, they'regood enough boys, but--Anyway, it don't cut any ice. You're justdifferent and I want to hand you what'll maybe make you wish I hadn't.The first is just this. I want you to forget the things that'shappened--to me. I want you just to tell yourself 'He don't care acurse.' It won't be the truth, but I want you to act as if it were.Those things are mine. Just mine. I've set them in a sort of grave, andit's only going to be my hands that open it, and my eyes that look intoit. You don't need to avoid talk of Nita and little Coqueline if youfeel that way. You can't open that grave. It's mine. And it's deep. Youcan't add hurt to that already done."
Steve's eyes were gazing unflinchingly into his companion's, and Ross'sfeelings were stirred to their depths by the stern courage underlyinghis words. He knew. He understood.
"Yes," he said. "I get that. It's best that way for--the man who canstand it."
"I'm going East," Steve went on, "and I'll be away maybe a year. Maybeless, maybe more. I can't say. You see, there's a big lot to be done,and it depends on how quick I get through. There's my father's affairsto fix up and--other things."
"Other things?"
"Yes."
Steve's eyes were on the rapidly softening colours of the sunset. Theirfar-off look of pre-occupation had returned to them.
"I don't know how I'll come back," he went on after a moment. "Maybe ina hurry." His brows suddenly depressed. "I can't say. But it'll be forthe boy and An-ina, and, anyway, it'll likely be the last time you'llsee me on this earth. I don't need to tell you more on this thing. Maybea time'll come when you'll feel glad you didn't know any more."
"I think--I understand."
Ross breathed heavily through his pipe. He was thinking of the man,Garstaing. He was thinking of himself in Steve's place. And he felt itwas more than likely that in that case he, too, might desire to returnto his home _in a hurry_, and, perhaps, leave it again for the--lasttime.
"Sure. I guessed you'd understand," Steve said. "That's why I'mtalking."
Again followed a brief, thoughtful pause.
"That boy," he went on. "It's him I want to tell you about. He's shownme how to get a grip on myself. He's a sort of anchor that's held mesafe till the storm's blown itself out. He's been a sort of act ofProvidence and the life that's left to me is for him. You get that?"
"I've had it all the time. Maybe you don't remember I tried to take himfrom you when you crawled out of that darn canoe."
A shadowy smile hovered in Steve's eyes.
"I remember it--good," he said. "Well, if things should happen so Idon't get back I'll fix it so the boy gets all the stuff my father'shanded me, and I'll ask you to raise him as if he was your own. Youhaven't a son, Doc. He won't be a worry. An-ina's his nurse, and hecouldn't have a better. If I come back I'm hoping your Millie won't betoo grieved at parting from him. Can you fix that, too? You see," headded, "I'm asking you a whole heap."
"You can't ask too much, boy."
Steve's nod thanked the bluff heartiness of the big man.
"Good. Now for the things you don't know, Doc," he went on, his mannerrelaxing as he felt that his difficulties were lessening. "You didn'tread the report I'd written. It told the whole story of the boy right. Itore it up after you'd--told me. I had to. If I hadn't, why, I'd havelost that anchor God Almighty flung out to me in my trouble. Next to myown little kiddie I love that boy. He's got into my heart good--what'sleft of it. You see, he's white, and he's no folks. That means the Statehanding him over to the folks set to deal with the 'strays' of God'sworld. It means his being out of my life when I most need him. Icouldn't stand for that. If Nita and my little girl had been here itwouldn't have been that way. I'd have persuaded them to leave him withme. With no home to take him to I'd have no case. So I got busy on areport that made him out the bastard of An-ina and the dead trader. Theycan't claim him from his mother, even though she's a squaw. And anywayI've fixed it with McDowell they both remain with you."
Ross nodded prompt agreement.
"He's a bright kid and I'm glad. Glad for him and glad for you," he saidheartily.
"I hoped that way," Steve went on quickly. "You see, Doc, I didn't tellyou a thing till it was done. I was scared to take a chance." He sigheda deep relief. "The other things come easy with that fixed. I cut thatreport to the bone, and hid up all that concerned the boy. The work theyasked of me was investigation into the death of two white men who werethought to be traders up in Unaga, where they didn't reckon there wereany white folk. So I told them a yarn that's simple truth, but whichhid up all the things I didn't see putting them wise to. They guessedthese men had been murdered by the Eskimo. Well, they weren't. Theyfought to the death for the mother of this
boy, and she was a whitewoman, and the wife of his father. It was the old game. A game I hope toplay. Only the other man was a partner in the enterprise, and not theIndian Agent of the Allowa Reserve. I told them of the Indians, too. Arace that sleeps half the year."
"The boy's been talking of them."
Ross sat up. A pair of keen eyes were shrewdly questioning.
Steve nodded.
"I guessed he'd be talking of them."
"The old yarn of hibernating folks," the Scotsman said, his eyes alightwith tolerant amusement.
"Just that. Only, it's no--yarn."
Steve had no responsive smile. His eyes were serious with a convictionthat promptly changed the other's attitude. He searched an inner pocketand drew forth a neatly tied packet. This he unfastened while the otherwatched him curiously.
The wrappings removed, a bunch of something that looked rather likedried seaweed lay revealed. And a curious sweet odour made itselfapparent on the still air.
Steve passed it across to his companion without comment. And Ross tookit, and, for some thoughtful moments, sat gazing upon the strangeproduct of the hidden Unaga. Then he gingerly picked up some of theshrivelled weed for a closer examination, and, a moment later, pressedit against his nose and inhaled deeply. As he did so, Steve, watchinghim, beheld a sudden excited lighting of his eyes.
"You know it, Doc," he said. "I don't need to ask."
Steve spoke quite quietly, and the other continued to contemplate thestuff in the intent, absorbed fashion of a suddenly startled scientificmind. At last he withdrew his fascinated gaze.
"'Adresol!'" he exclaimed. And his tone was thrilling with the joy ofthe enthusiast.
"Yes."
"You knew it?"
The Scotsman's sharp question was accompanied by the searching ofastonished eyes.
"Sure."
Ross made no attempt to return the weed. It seemed as though he found itimpossible to deny its fascination.
"Tell me about it," he said, fingering the stuff with the tenderness ofan artist contemplating some precious work of delicate craftsmanship.
"It's the key to the hibernating yarn," Steve said. "Yes, I need to handit you all. That way you'll understand the things I've got in my mind."
It was a long enough story. Steve was anxious that nothing should beomitted that could convince the only man who could assist him incarrying out his plans. Sunset had nearly faded out of the sky by thetime it was finished. He told everything as he knew it both from An-inaand the mother of Marcel. Also that which he had learned first hand, andfrom the diaries of Marcel Brand. The story of the dead chemist who hadabandoned everything, even life itself, in the pursuit of the elusiveweed lost nothing from his wide sympathy. And the crude use of the drugby the Indians formed a picture full of colour and romance.
Ross absorbed it all, and wonder and interest grew in his mind as helistened to the story of it.
At the conclusion he re-lit his forgotten pipe.
"And it grows there--in plenty?" he said, in profound amazement."Steve, boy, do you know what it means to find a big source of thatstuff? Oh," he cried with a rush of enthusiasm, "it means--it means thegreatest thing for suffering humanity that's been discovered in athousand years. Here, I'll tell you. Oh, it's known to us folk, who'vestudied dope as a special study. It's been found in places, but not inmuch bigger quantities than would dope a fair-sized litter of piebaldkittens. It's sort of like radium, and half a pint of the distilled drugwould be worth over twenty-five thousand dollars. Maybe that'll tell youhow much there is of it on the market. But it's not that. Oh, no, it's aheap bigger than that, boy. The plant itself is deadly in the greenstate. It exhales a poison you couldn't stand for ten seconds. Dried,its poison is killed stone dead. But it leaves behind it its pricelessnarcotic properties. And these are perfectly innocuous, and evenhealth-giving. I don't need to worry you with the scientific side of it,but it'll tell you something of what it means when I say it suspendslife, and you don't need to worry about the condition of the personwho's doped with it. You said those darn Indians live to a great age. Ibelieve it. You see, they live only _six months of the year_. They'redead the rest. Or anyway their life is suspended. I seem to know thename of that man Brand. I seem to recall it in association with'Adresol.' Anyway, the work he's done mustn't be wasted. We'll have toget an outfit. A big outfit that can't fail to grab the secret of thoseneches upon Unaga. There's no small crowd of folk has any right to denythe rest of the world the benefits of this wonderful drug. We----"
"That's how I reckon," Steve broke in quickly. "But the thing's to bedone the way I've figured."
"How's that?"
Steve was sitting up in his rocking-chair.
"I didn't hand you that stuff and my story of these things for pastime,Doc. I guess I'd learnt all you've told me from the books and papers ofthe boy's father. Knowing you for the man you are, and the way you mostgenerally try to make a ten-pound heart look like a sparrow's egg byshouting at folks, I reckoned you'd see with me in this thing. That poorfeller Brand. As you say, his work isn't to be wasted. He's left behindhim a kiddie which hasn't a thing in the world, and if I'm any judge ofthings that kiddie was the whole sun, moon, and stars of his life. I'mthinking of that kiddie now. And I'm thinking of him alone. You'rethinking of a suffering world. If there's twenty-five thousand dollarsfor a half pint of that dope the money belongs to the helpless kid ofthe man who's given his life to locate it. We don't need an outfit toget the neches' secret. We don't need a thing. There's just one manknows how to locate the place where Marcel Brand lived, and that's me.There's not a living soul, not even Julyman, or Oolak, or An-ina, couldever make it without me. And I tell you right here there's no one everlearns it from me. That secret is for Marcel, and I figure to hand it tohim, and all that's coming out of it. That's why I've told you thesethings. Now you'll understand what's in my mind when I say that I'mcoming along back when I've settled with Garstaing, or failed to locatehim. If I've settled with him I'll be in a hurry. And I'm going upnorth--north where no one can ever hope to follow me, with An-ina, andMarcel, and maybe Julyman and Oolak again, and I'm going to work thisthing for the rest of my life for--Marcel. It's his, all of it. Andwhat's left over is for the suffering humanity you're thinking about.See, here, Doc, you and me, we aren't any sort of twin brothers offriends. We haven't been raised together. I hadn't a notion of you tillI took charge of this station. But I know a man--a real man. And ifyou've the guts I reckon you have, then you'll help me to do the thingthat's going to shut the gates of the hell that's opened to swallow meup."
"You mean the care of the boy and An-ina?"
"Till I get back. Then you'll hand 'em over without--a kick."
Ross ran his great fingers through his hair, while he sought the lastglow of sunset for inspiration.
"It's a hell of a country--up there," he protested, after a moment. Hewas thinking of the child. He was thinking of Millie's possible protestsat sacrificing the child to the terrors of Unaga.
"He was bred there." Steve's eyes were urgent. "It's handing to him thethings his father would have wanted him to have. Think, Doc. By everymoral right the 'Adresol' secret is his. It cost him a father. It costhim a mother. It would have cost him his life--a white man's life--if ithadn't been for the hand of Providence sending me along to him. Besides,it's all here, Doc," he went on tapping his breast. "He's been myanchor, my small, little anchor, but a mighty powerful one. He's savedme from all sorts of hell, and I want to hand him the life he's saved inreturn. I want to raise him to a great manhood, and hand him a futurethat'll stagger half the world. And if I fail I'll have done all amortal man can."
The rustle of a woman's dress in the hallway behind them heraldedMillie's approach. Ross stood up hastily. He was just a shade relievedat the interruption. In a moment the atmosphere was changed from Steve'spassionate urgency to the domestic lightness of a happy wife's presence.
"Why, Mac," she cried, as she stood framed in the doorway, "you two boysstill doping yo
urselves with smudge and tobacco smoke? That kiddie'sonly just gone off to sleep. He's a terrible tyrant, Steve, and justthe sweetest ever."
She glanced quickly from one to the other, and in a moment the smiledied out of her eyes in response to the seriousness she beheld in thefaces confronting her.
"You've got around in the nick o' time," the husband said. "Steve'sgoing away--East. He'll be back in awhile. Maybe a year. Maybe more. Andwhen he comes back he--wants the boy. He wants to take him right away,and to raise him as his own. He reckons he's kind of adrift now, and thekiddie looks like handing him an anchor. He's yearning to make good forhim, in a way that, maybe we, with our own two, couldn't hope to. We'reguessing it's up to you. A year or so, and then you--hand him to his'Uncle Steve.'"
Millie turned to the man who had battled for the boy's life. Her kindlyeyes were promptly lit with all a good woman's sympathy. She rememberedthe man's passionate devotion to his own. She remembered the terribledisaster that had overtaken him. Her thought went no further. At themoment it was incapable of going further.
She turned to the husband awaiting her reply, and there was a suspiciousmoisture in her clear smiling eyes.
"Say, Mac," she cried in her half tender, half humourous way, "by theway you talk folk might guess you were scared to death of the wife whodidn't know better than to take you for better or worse. Steve doesn'tneed to worry a thing. You know that. I don't know the rights of hisclaim by the laws of the folks who're set to worry us. But there's God'sclaim that don't need lawyers to make plain. Little Marcel, bless him,is his. If he comes, night or day, one year's time or ten, God willing,he'll be here waiting for him, and I'll hand him over with two ofeverything for the comfort of his sweet little body."
The Heart of Unaga Page 13
