The Heart of Unaga

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE HEART OF THE WILDERNESS

  Marcel and Keeko were standing at the dawn of a new life. The man hadlooked into a woman's wide, blue eyes. He had gazed upon softly roundedcheeks, as perfect as physical well-being could make them. He hadcontemplated rich, ripe lips that tempted him well-nigh to distraction.Thus it was that the passionless life of the outworld had no longerpower before the stirring of a soul at last awakened from its pristineslumbers.

  The meaning of their encounter was no less for Keeko. She was less ofthe wilderness, perhaps, than Marcel. She had not been so wholly bred toit as he. Her child's eyes had looked upon some measure of civilization,and her mind had gathered a brief training amongst the youth of her ownsex. But the result was no less. The grey shadows, which, as far back asshe could remember, had overhung her home life seemed suddenly to havebeen lifted, and the rugged desolation of the Northland had beentransformed into a veritable Eden of hope and delight.

  It was his new inspiration that lent wings to the feet of Marcel when hehastened to collect his personal outfit. It was under the sameinspiration that he flung himself into the task of preparing for thefulfilment of his pledge. And from the moment he joined the girl'soutfit on the banks of the river that came up out of the south hebecame the acknowledged leader, whose will was absolute.

  And Keeko's spirit was swift to respond. She displayed a readiness thatmust have astonished the Indians who were accustomed to implicitacknowledgment of her rule. Or, perhaps, in their savage hearts, theyunderstood something of the change that had been wrought. Here was agreat white man, a man whose power and abilities they were quick torecognize and appreciate, whose body was great, and whose eye was clearand commanding. Here was a white girl, fairer than any they had everknown, and whose spirit had served them in a hundred ways. Well? Whatthen? They were all men of maturing years--these Indians. They had hadmany squaws of their own. Perhaps? Who could tell? It seemed naturalthat Keeko should choose her man from those of her own colour. And ifthis man were to be the chosen one they were ready to yield him the samefidelity they would yield to her.

  So the night before the morning of departure came round. In three daysMarcel had completed every preparation, and all was in readiness for theearliest possible start.

  By the time supper was finished the summer daylight showed no sign ofgiving way to the two-hour night. Marcel had that in his mind which hewas determined to do before their well-earned rest beside the camp-firewas taken. And he pointed at the iron-bound cliff which frowned downupon the waters of the river.

  "Say, Keeko, I've a notion to set it up before we quit," he said, with alaugh. "Do you feel like passing me a hand?"

  Keeko turned from the sluggish waters, black with the reflection of thebarren walls of the gorge.

  "What are you going to set up?" she questioned like one dragged backfrom the contemplation of happy dreams.

  "Oh, it's just a notion," Marcel laughed, in a boyish, half shamefacedfashion as he lit his pipe with a firebrand. "Will you--come along?"

  Keeko was on her feet in a moment. For all the days of labour there wasno weariness in her body. Besides----

  "Guess you're handing me a mystery," she cried happily. "Seeing I'm awoman I can't just miss it."

  So they passed up the rugged foreshore to the foot of the path that cuta perilous ascent to the fringe of the primordial forest above. It wasthe man who led, and Keeko had no desire that it should be otherwise.

  In a few minutes they were standing beside the fallen tree-trunk whereMarcel had first gazed down upon the scant encampment over which hissovereignty was now absolute. He drew a deep breath as he gazed againupon that first scene of the new life that had come to him.

  "Gee!" he said, "I'm kind of glad."

  "Glad?"

  Keeko was regarding him amusedly. In those first three days of theirlife together, in her woman's way, she had been studying him. And thatwhich she had learned filled her with a tender, almost motherlyamusement. He was transparent in his simplicity. His singleness ofpurpose was almost amazing. But under it all she had become aware of astrength and latent force that could only be guessed at. Their talks hadbeen less intimate during the time of their preparations, and sheunderstood that it was the result of the purpose that preoccupied him.Now she speculated as to that which was in his mind. What was the boyishwhim that had brought them to the place he had selected as their tryst?What was it that had made him express such gladness?

  "I was thinking of that darn old moose," Marcel explained with eyesalight and whimsical.

  The girl waited and he went on.

  "Say, I guess life's a pretty queer thing," he observed profoundly."It's a mighty small piece between content and discontent, isn't it?It's so small you'd think anyone of sense could fix it so we couldn't bediscontented--ever. Yet we either can't or won't fix it. One leads togood and the other leads to bad--and only time can say how bad. I wasgetting mighty near discontent. Why? Because I'd got most everything Iwanted except the things--I wanted." He laughed. "I was crazy forsomething, and I didn't quite know what. There was something in mecrying out, hollering help, and I couldn't hand that help. Well, I guessthere isn't a sound like that going on in me now. I'm just crazy withcontent."

  "Why?"

  The girl's question was instant, but, in a moment, she regretted it.

  The man's eyes regarded her steadily for a moment, and Keeko hastilyturned away. Promptly the echoes of the canyon were awakened by theyouth's laughter.

  "I couldn't just tell you--easy," he cried. "But I'm about as content asa basking seal. That's all. It's easier telling you how I feel gladthinking of that old moose. Oh, yes, that's easy. I owe him a debt Ican't repay easy, seeing he's dead. Still, I feel like doing the best Iknow to make him feel good about things."

  Marcel's mood infected the girl.

  "You're--you're not reckoning to start in and--bury him?" she cried.

  Marcel shook his head.

  "There's only his bones left. The rest of him is chasing around in thebellies of a pack of timber wolves. No. It's his head and his antlers.The wolves have cleaned his head sheer to the bone, as I reckoned theywould, and I've toted their leavings right here, and I guess we're goingto set it up a monument. Say, Keeko," he went on, with real seriousness,"I couldn't quit this camp here without setting up a monument. Do youknow why?"

  Keeko sat herself on the old tree-trunk. She made no reply. She simplywaited for whatever he had to say.

  "It's to commemorate something," he went on quickly, gazing out over thecanyon. "I've found something I've been looking for--years. And I justdidn't know I was looking for it. Well, that old moose found it for me.So I'm going to set his skull up, with his proud antlers a-top of it, inthe best and highest place I can set it, so his old dead eye sockets canjust look out over the territory he reigned over till Fate reckoned itwas time to set a human queen reigning in his stead. I don't guess he'llworry about things. He'll just feel proud that it wasn't a feller of hisown sex ever beat him, and, if I know a thing, he'll feel sort ofcontent and pleased watching over things for us."

  The whim of the man, intended to be so light, was full of real feeling.Keeko was torn between tears and laughter. In the end she trustedherself only to a simple question.

  "Where are you going to fix him up?" she demanded.

  The spell was broken. Marcel promptly became the man of action. Hepointed at the gnarled and broken head of a stunted tree growing at thevery edge of the canyon, with its battered crest reaching out at aperilous angle over the abyss.

  "At the head of that," he said, "so he can watch for your coming up outof the south, and--tell me about it."

  "But----!"

  A sickening apprehension had seized upon Keeko as she contemplated theoverhang of the tree. It was almost at right angles to the face of thecliff. It projected out nearly thirty feet, and below--Her woman's heartcould not repress a shudder at the thought of the three hundred feetdrop to the rocky shoals in the waters
below.

  "You don't mean that?" she demanded a little desperately.

  Marcel nodded.

  "It's plumb easy."

  There was no showiness, no bravado. Marcel had no thought to dazzle thegirl. His purpose was a simple, boyish act.

  He moved off into the forest while Keeko looked after him. From herheart she could have begged him to abandon, or modify his plan. But sherefrained, and, somehow, sick at the thought of his purpose, she stillrealized a thrill at the object of it all. She looked at the roots ofthe overhanging tree and shuddered. They were partly torn out of theground.

  Marcel returned with his trophy. It was a burden of no mean weight. AndKeeko's recognition of the fact only added to her fears.

  "How--?" she began. But her question remained unasked.

  "It's a cinch," Marcel cried. "Don't worry a thing. See those?" Hepointed at two thongs of plaited rawhide, each secured to one of thehorns. "Guess I'll tie them into a sling about the old trunk, and movethe poor feller's head up as I get out, leaving it hanging below. Then,when I get to the end, I'll just haul it up, and fix it in its place.I've got it all figured."

  Keeko nodded.

  "I can help you fix the slings," she said eagerly.

  "Sure."

  The approval had its effect. Keeko set her teeth, and beat down herpanic.

  The minutes stretched out into the better part of half an hour beforethe sling was successfully adjusted about the tree-trunk. But at lastMarcel stood up from his task and regarded the moose head swinging justbeyond the face of the cliff. Then he followed Keeko's gaze, which wasin the direction of the upstanding roots of the tree where they had beenpartially torn from their hold in the ground. It was only for a moment,however. He had no misgivings. Forthwith he divested himself of hispea-jacket and stood ready for the final task.

  "What--what can I do now?"

  Keeko's voice refused that steadiness which was its wont, and Marcellaughed.

  "Do? Why just sit around and act audience while I do the balancing act.Guess that old moose is yearning for his place out there. He didn'tfigure on the honour, but--he's earned it."

  And, despite her fears Keeko smiled at the boyishness of it all.

  In a moment her breath was drawn sharply. Marcel was out on the log. Hehad passed from the cliff edge and was sitting astride of the trunk withhis feet and calves gripping tight about it like a horseman on a buckingbroncho. His progress was rapid. He lifted the sling and set it out atthe full reach of his powerful arms, and then drew himself out after it.

  Keeko watched. She watched with wide, apprehensive eyes. It was a fearquite new to her. A vivid imagination possessed her. She saw the greatbody of this man lying crushed and broken upon the rocks below, and theterror of it left her with nerves and muscles straining. She did notpause to consider the reason of her fears. She knew it, and acknowledgedit to herself. In the battle of life which she had been forced to fighta champion had suddenly appeared. A champion such as she had sometimesdreamed of. And with perfect trust and simple faith she had yielded hersoul to him.

  Foot by foot Marcel moved out, always thrusting his trophy ahead of him.There was a growing vibration in the leaning tree. It laboured under hisweight. He pressed on, his whole mind and purpose concentrated. Keekowatched the roots for a sign of the strain. There was none. She glancedout at the distance he yet had to go. And the length of it prompted awarning cry she dared not utter. Farther and farther he passed on. Thencame a pause that suggested uncertainty.

  Keeko's heart leapt. Was he dizzy? Had he suddenly become aware of theperilous depth below him? Was his nerve----?

  The moment passed. He was moving on again. The far off head of the treewas coming nearer, but the vibration had increased with his movements.Would the roots hold? Could they be expected to with the balance soheavily against them? Keeko could look no longer, and, in the agony ofthe moment, she seized hold of the upstanding roots and clung to them ina ridiculously impotent frenzy of hope that the weight of her own lightbody might help him.

  The vibrations of the tree ceased and Keeko raised her terrified eyesfor the meaning.

  A wave of partial relief swept over her. Marcel had reached his goal. Hehad swung up the great moose head to set it in position. It was abreathless moment. She understood that his greatest difficulties hadbegun, and again she withdrew her gaze. But she clung to the roots ofthe tree, desperately determined that if the tree fell it should dragher to the disaster waiting upon him.

  The suspense seemed endless. But at last there was renewed vibration inthe tree. Keeko raised her eyes again. Marcel was moving backwards, andthere, right at the broken head of the tree, the fleshless skull withits magnificent antlers was set up in its place.

  The girl was still clinging to the upstanding roots when Marcel leaptfrom his seat on the trunk and stood confronting her. His quick, smilingeyes took in the meaning of the situation at once. He reached out andremoved the hands from their task, and, in doing so, he retained themlonger than was necessary.

  "You guessed you could hold that up if it--fell?" he asked.

  And Keeko's reply was full of confusion.

  "I didn't think," she stammered. "I didn't know what to do. It wasshaking, and I thought--I thought----"

  "You didn't want me to get smashed on the rocks below. Well--say--!"Marcel turned abruptly and pointed at the splendid antlers. "There heis," he laughed. "Isn't he a dandy? You could see him miles. And he'sfeeling good. He just told me that before I quit him. And he said he'dstop right there and see no harm came along your way. So I patted hisdarn old head, and told him I'd come along each year and see the rawhidewas sound, and, if necessary, I'd fix him up again. Well?"

  Keeko's fears had passed like a summer storm and the sun of her smilehad returned again to her eyes.

  "I'm just glad," she said. Then she became serious. "Say, do you believein omens?" She was gazing out at the great antlers. "I don't guess youdo. Only Indians worry with omens. Not folks of sense. Still, I kind offancy that feller set up that way is our omen. He's going to hand usgood luck in plenty. We'll get a great 'catch' where we're going, andwe'll get back-safe. Do you think that?"

  "Sure. Guess I think a heap more than that, though." Marcel's smile wasgood to see. "That's not the limit of our luck," he went on. "Not by alot. Say, I was raised by a feller who handed me a whole heap of wisdom.Guess there's more wisdom in him than ever I could get a grip on. Healways guessed that luck was real in the folk who understood that way.He said a feller made his luck by faith. The darn fool who squealedbecause things went wrong queered his own luck, and just chased it outof sight. Get a notion and hammer it through so long as you've a breathin your body, and, if you act that way, luck'll pour itself all over youtill you're kind of floating around on a sea of desire fulfilled. That'sbeen his way, and I reckon it's good. I'm out to act as he said, so Idon't reckon that hollow-eyed feller out there is the whole meaning ofthings. I've got all my notions and I'm going to push 'em plumbthrough."

  Keeko nodded.

  "That's the grit a man needs," she said. "Maybe a woman does, too,only--she's kind of different."

  "Is she?" Marcel shook his head, and his eyes were full of a boyishhumour. "She isn't--when it comes to grit. Say, there's only one woman Iknow except you, and those poor folks you see in Seal Bay, who--whodon't know better. But that other woman and you have taught me thingsabout grit most fellers don't ever learn. Most all the time a fellerwho's built strong can fight to the limit of his muscles. A gal isn'tborn with muscles worth speaking about, and she spends her life mostlyfighting beyond the limit. Say, she's born to troubles and worries allthe time. And she mostly gets through all the time. Why? Grit! Shedoesn't just care a darn. She's going to get through--and she does. Say,let's get along down and leave that wall-eyed old figurehead keepingguard. Come on."