CHAPTER XXV
JACK THORNTON
There was music that night in Le Pas. Jan heard it before he came tothe first of the scattered lights, and the dogs pricked up their ears.Kazan, the one-eyed, whined under his breath, and the weight at Jan'sheart grew heavier as the dog turned up his head to him in thestarlight. It was strange music, nothing like Jan had ever heard. Itwas strange to Kazan, and set him whining, and he thrust his muzzle upto his master's touch inquiringly. They passed on like shadows, closeto a big, lighted log building from which the music came, and with it atumult of laughter, of shuffling and stamping feet, of coarse singingand loud voices. A door opened and a man and a woman came out. The manwas cursing, and the woman was laughing at him--laughing as Jan hadnever heard a woman laugh before, and he held his breath as he listenedto the taunting mockery in it. Others followed the first man and thefirst woman. Some passed quietly. A woman, escorted between two men,screamed with merriment as she flung toward his shadowy figure anobject which fell with a crash against the sledge. It was a bottle.Kazan snarled. The trace-dogs slunk close to the leader's heels. With alow word Jan led them on.
Close down to the river, where the Saskatchewan swung in a half-moon tothe south and west, he found a low, squat building with a light hungover the door illuminating a bit of humor in the form of a printedlegend which said that it was "King Edward's Hotel." The scrub bush ofthe forest grew within a hundred yards of it, and in this bush Jan tiedhis dogs and left his sledge. It did not occur to him that now, when hehad entered civilization, he had come also into the land of lock andbolt, of robbers and thieves. It was loneliness, and not suspicion,that sent him back to unleash Kazan and take him with him.
They entered the hotel, Kazan with suspicious caution. The door openedinto a big room lighted by an oil lamp, turned low. The room was emptyexcept for a solitary figure sitting in a chair, facing a wide windowwhich looked into the north. Making no sound, that he might not disturbthis other occupant, Jan also seated himself before the window. Kazanlaid his wolfish head across his master's knees, his one eye upon himsteadily and questioningly. Never in all his years of life had Jan feltthe depth of loneliness that swept upon him now, as he looked into theNorth. Below him the Saskatchewan lay white and silent; beyond it hecould see the dark edge of the forest, and far, far, beyond that,hovering low in the sky, the polar star. It burned faintly now, almostlike a thousand other stars that he saw, and the aurora was only afading glow.
Something rose up in Jan's throat and choked him, and he closed hiseyes, with his fingers clutching Kazan's head. In spite of the battlethat he had fought, his mind swept back--back through the endlesssilent spaces, over mountains and through forests, swift, resistless,until once more the polar star flashed in all its glory over his head,and he was at Lac Bain. He did not know that he was surrendering tohunger, exhaustion, the cumulative effects of his thirteen days' fightin the forests. He was with Melisse again, with the old violin, withthe things that they had loved. He forgot in these moments that therewas another in the room; he heard no sound as the man shifted hisposition so that he looked steadily at him and Kazan. It was the low,heart-broken sob of grief that fell from his own lips that awakened himagain to a consciousness of the present.
He jerked himself erect, and found Kazan with his fangs gleaming. Thestranger had risen. He was standing close to him, leaning down, staringat him in the dim lamplight, and as Jan lifted his own eyes he knewthat in the pale, eager face of the man above him there was written agrief which might have been a reflection of his own. For a full breathor two they looked, neither speaking, and the hair along Kazan's spinestood stiff. Something reached out to Jan and set his tired bloodtingling. He knew that this man was not a forest man. He was not of hispeople. His face bore the stamp of the people to the south, ofcivilization. And yet something passed between them, leaped allbarriers, and made them friends before they had spoken. The strangerreached down his hand, and Jan reached up his. All of the loneliness,the clinging to hope, the starving desire of two men for companionship,passed in the long grip of their hands.
"You have just come down," said the man, half questioningly. "That wasyour sledge--out there?"
"Yes," said Jan.
The stranger sat down in the chair next to Jan.
"From the camps?" he questioned eagerly.
"What camps, m'sieur?"
"The railroad camps, where they are putting the new line through,beyond Wekusko."
"I know of no camps," said Jan simply. "I know of no railroad, exceptthis that comes to Le Pas. I come from Lac Bain, on the edge of thebarren lands."
"You have never been down before?" asked the stranger softly. Janwondered at the light in his eyes.
"A long time ago," he said, "for a day. I have passed all of mylife--up there." Jan pointed to the north, and the other's eyes turnedto where the polar star was fading low in the sky.
"And I have passed all of my life DOWN THERE," he replied, nodding hishead to the south. "A year ago I came up here for--for health andhappiness," he laughed nervously. "I found them both. But I'm leavingthem. I'm going back to-morrow. My name is Thornton," he added, holdingout his hand again. "I come from Chicago."
"My name is Thoreau--Jan Thoreau," said Jan. "I have read of Chicago ina book, and have seen pictures of it. Is it larger than the city thatis called Winnipeg?"
He looked at Thornton, and Thornton turned his head a little so thatthe light did not shine in his face. The grip of his fingers tightenedabout Jan's hand.
"Yes, it is larger."
"The officers of the great company are at Winnipeg, and LeCommissionaire, are they not, m'sieur?"
"Of the Hudson's Bay Company--yes."
"And if there was business to do--important business, m'sieur, would itnot be best to go to Le Commissionaire?" questioned Jan.
Thornton looked hard at the tense eagerness in Jan's face.
"There are nearer headquarters, at Prince Albert," he said.
"That is not far," exclaimed Jan, rising. "And they would do businessthere--important business?" He dropped his hand to Kazan's head, andhalf turned toward the door.
"Perhaps better than the Commissioner," replied Thornton. "It mightdepend--on what your business is."
To them, as each stood for a moment in silence, there came the lowwailing of a dog out in the night.
"They are calling for Kazan," said Jan quietly, as though he had notread the question in Thornton's last words. "Good night, m'sieur!"
The dogs were sitting upon their haunches, waiting, when Jan and Kazanwent back to them. Jan drew them farther back, where the thick spruceshut them out from the clearing, and built a fire. Over this he hunghis coffee-pail and a big chunk of frozen caribou meat, and tossedfrozen fish to the hungry dogs. Then he pulled down spruce boughs andspread his heavy blankets out near the fire, and waited for the coffeeand meat to cook. The huskies were through when he began eating, andthey lay on their bellies, close about his feet, ready to snap at thescraps which he threw them. Jan noticed, as he ate, that there was leftin them none of the old, fierce, fighting spirit. They did not snap orsnarl. There was no quarreling when he threw bits of meat to them, andhe found himself wondering if they, too, were filled with the sicknesswhich was eating at his own heart.
With this sickness, this deathly feeling of loneliness and heartache,there had entered into Jan now a strange sensation that was almostexcitement--an eagerness to fasten the dogs in their traces, to hurryon, in spite of his exhaustion, to that place which Thornton had toldhim of--Prince Albert, and to free himself there, for all time, of thething which had oppressed him since that night many years ago, when hehad staggered into Lac Bain to play his violin as Cummins' wife died.He reached inside his skin coat and there he felt papers which he hadtaken from the hole in the lob-stick tree. They were safe. For twentyyears he had guarded them. To-morrow he would take them to the greatcompany at Prince Albert. And after that--after he had done this thing,what would there remain in life for Jan Thoreau? Per
haps the companymight take him, and he would remain in civilization. That would bebest--for him. He would fight against the call of his forests as yearsand years ago he had fought against that call of the Other World thathad filled him with unrest for a time. He had killed THAT. If he DIDreturn to his forests, he would go far to the west, or far to the east.No one that had ever known him would hear again of Jan Thoreau.
Kazan had crept to his blanket, daring to encroach upon it inch byinch, until his great wolf-head lay upon Jan's arm. It was ten yearsago that Jan had taken Kazan, a little half-blind puppy that he andMelisse had chosen from a litter of half a dozen stronger brothers andsisters. Kazan was all that was left to him now. He loved the otherdogs, but they were not like Kazan. He tightened his arm about thedog's head. Exhaustion, and the warmth of the fire, made him drowsy,and, after a time, he slept, with his head thrown back against the tree.
Something awoke him, hours afterward. He opened his eyes, and foundthat the fire was still burning brightly. On the far side of it, beyondthe dogs, sat Thornton. A look at the sky, where the stars were dying,and Jan knew that it was just before the gray break of dawn. He satupright. Thornton laughed softly at him, and puffed out clouds of smokefrom his pipe.
"You were freezing," he said, as Jan stared, "and sleeping like a deadman. I waited for you back there, and then hunted you up. You know--Ithought--" He hesitated, and knocked the ash from his pipe bowl. Thenhe looked frankly and squarely at Jan. "See here, old man, if you'rehard up--had trouble of any sort--bad luck--got no money--won't you letme help you out?"
"Thank you, m'sieur--I have money," said Jan. "I prefer to sleepoutside with the dogs. Mon Dieu, I guess I would have been stiff withthe frost if you had not come. You have been here--all night?"
Thornton nodded.
"And it is morning," exclaimed Jan, rising and looking above the sprucetops. "You are kind, m'sieur. I wish I might do as much for you."
"You can," said Thornton quietly. "Where are you going--from here?"
"To the company's offices at Prince Albert. We will start within anhour."
"Will you take me with you?" Thornton asked.
"With pleasure!" cried Jan. "But it will be a hard journey, m'sieur. Imust hurry, and you may not be accustomed to running behind the dogs."
Thornton rose and stretched out a hand.
"It can't be too hard for me," he said. "I wish--"
He stopped, and something in his low voice made Jan look straight intohis eyes. For a moment they gazed at each other in silence, and againJan saw in Thornton's face the look of loneliness and grief which hehad first seen in the half gloom of the hotel. It was the suppressednote in Thornton's voice, of despair almost, that struck him deepest,and made him hold the other's hand a moment longer. Then he turned tohis pack upon the sledge.
"I've got meat and coffee and hard biscuits," he said. "Will you havebreakfast with me?"
That day Jan and Thornton made fifty miles westward over the levelsurface of the Saskeram, and camped again on the Saskatchewan. Thesecond day they followed the river, passed the Sipanock, and strucksouth and west over the snow-covered ice for Prince Albert. It wasearly afternoon of the fourth day when at last they came to the town.
"We will go to the offices of the great company," said Jan. "We willlose no time."
It was Thornton now who guided him to the century-old building at thewest edge of the town. It was Thornton who led him into an officefilled mostly with young women, who were laboring at clicking machines;and it was Thornton who presented a square bit of white card to agray-haired man at a desk, who, after reading it, rose from his chair,bowed, and shook hands with him. And a few moments later a door opened,and Jan Thoreau, alone, passed through it, his heart quivering, hisbreath choking him, his hand clutching at the papers in his breastpocket.
Outside Thornton waited. An hour passed and still the door did notreopen. The man at the desk glanced curiously at Thornton. Two girls attypewriters exchanged whispered opinions as to who might be thiswild-looking creature from the north who was taking up an hour of thesub-commissioner's time. Nearly two hours passed before Jan appeared.Thornton, still patient, rose as the door opened. His eyes firstencountered the staring face of the sub-commissioner. Then Jan cameout. He had aged five years in two hours. There was a tired stoop tohis shoulders, a strange pallor in his cheeks. To Thornton his thinface seemed to have grown thinner. With bowed head, looking nowhere butahead of him, Jan passed on, and as the last door opened to let themout into the pale winter sun, Thornton heard the muffled sobbing of hisbreath. His fingers gripped Jan's arm, his eyes were blazing.
"If you're getting the wrong end of anything up there," he criedfiercely; "if you're in trouble, and they're taking the blood out ofyou--tell me and I'll put the clamps on 'em, so 'elp me God! They'llbuck the devil when they buck Jack Thornton, and if it needs money toshow 'em so, I've got half a million to teach 'em the game!"
"Thanks, m'sieur," struggled Jan, striving to keep a lump out of histhroat. "It's nothing like that. I don't need money. Half a millionwould just about buy--what I've given away up there."
He clutched his hand for an instant to the empty pocket where thepapers had been.
The Honor of the Big Snows Page 25
