All-Story Weekly, March 24, 1917
THOUSAND jumbled street noises
came in through the open window of
Tom
Larkin.
A the Hudson Bay fur-house, where Rod
Selkirk was bending over the sorting-table.
One terrible moment Rod Selkirk held
It was not the din of a city’s traffic that the message in his trembling fingers, fighting the sorter heard as his fingers lingered upon an off the horror that suddenly had pounced
unusually fine marten-skin. His heart leaped to down upon him. For Tom Larkin was dead!
the sound of wilderness voices; the low
Rod Selkirk had ranged the northern
humming of the northern pines, and the silver wilderness for ten years in company with that tinkle of a mountain brook. It was the far matchless old hunter, whose heart was as big challenge of the unmapped lands, that called and unmapped as the lonely lands that he
and called, and refused to be still.
loved.
Lovingly he caressed the wonderful
At last they had blundered upon an
skin that had awakened that flood of untrapped valley on the far head-waters of the memories. Then his hand paused in the middle Pelly River, and made a fortune in one winter.
of the stroke.
They had agreed never to go back to
The unmistakable crackle of paper the old life. Rod had found it a losing battle, came to him over the soft whisper of the
fighting against that subtle lure of the north, trembling fur.
and had compromised by going to work for
Methodically his fingers searched the Hudson Bay Fur Company at Seattle, within the marten-skin, and brought out the where he might handle the skins that came out crumpled page of a magazine. Thoughtfully he of the wilderness which he never could forget.
placed it upon the table and smoothed out its But T»m Larkin had followed the fur-wrinkled surface.
trails too many years. He sniffed the first Then the languid unconcern that was
autumn wind that blew out of the north—and born of a homesick longing was suddenly
broke his promise.
swept away. White-lipped and trembling he
With a homesick longing for the lonely
read the written words that glared up at him lakes and dog-toothed crags of his beloved from the margin of the page.
wilderness, he had hired out to the Hudson Bay people, and turned his face toward the For God’s sake come and save me!
Pelly.
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De Friers, at the Pelly River post, sent
waited for his coming.
word down that the old hunter had been
That was enough. Among the
caught in a fierce blizzard. An Indian had multitude of men who owed a debt of
found him frozen among the drifts.
gratitude to the old hunter, none had looked Yes, Tom Larkin was dead, and the
upon his naked soul as had Rod Selkirk; and northland had lost something it never could upon no other did the obligations of
replace. A thousand times the old hero had brotherhood fall so heavily.
faced death that weaker men might live. Yet it The fur-sorter tucked the paper in his
was the wilderness that had claimed him in the pocket and started for the office. At first he end. He was lost, but never would be forgotten had intended to show the paper to McMasters, while men followed a dim trail through the who was in charge of the Seattle branch. Upon blinding smother of the storm. Every wind
second thought he decided that it would be that blew out of the north seemed to Rod
foolish to expose his hand now.
Selkirk to hold something of the old man’s He knew he was pitted against some
presence, as though his soul still wandered hidden power. It had been no trifling thing that upon the hills.
had caused the resourceful old warrior to send Yet there was the scrap of paper out that pitiful appeal for help.
bearing the old man’s unmistakable scrawl.
The face of Rod Selkirk had assumed a
Could it be that—somewhere in the trackless bored expression when he slipped into the
north, Tom Larkin lived—and suffered?
private office of McMasters. He purposely left However, there was little to point the
the door ajar behind him.
way. The paper bore neither date nor address.
“I can’t stand it any longer—I got to
It had every appearance of having been dashed get back to the wilderness for a while.” the off in haste.
fur-sorter complained petulantly.
The marten-skin which had served as a
“This rustle and roar will drive me
hiding-place for the message might have come mad if I stay another day. I’m going to the from any one of a hundred creeks where some Barren Grounds or to the tundra-country back independent Indian had a trap-line, and sold of Point Barrow—I got to get a little room to his furs through the Pelly River post. Or it breathe.”
might have come direct from the Wolf Canon
“You fellows from the wilds are a
country, where De Friers was master of the queer race of ginks,” McMasters smiled. “But wilderness miles.
we need you in the business. If you ever get But if Tom Larkin still lived, why had
tired of wandering, just report to the nearest De Friers sent out that message about the man Hudson Bay post and go to work. There
who was found dead among the drifts?
always is room for a man like you with the It was too detailed a report to have
company.”
been a case of mistaken identity; and no
Rod gripped the extended hand of the
message had come from Tom since he left
manager, and walked out of the room.
tidewater at Skagway.
“You wasn’t thinking of going back to
The thought gave Rod a cold chill, as
the old stamping-ground, was you Selkirk?”
if some hidden thing menaced him across the The voice at his elbow startled the fur-miles. But only for a moment did the fur-
sorter. He turned and looked into the cold, sorter allow that unspoken fear to stand like a calculating eyes of Louie Raus, the assistant phantom barrier across the northern trail. The manager.
conviction grew that Tom Larkin lived, and Raus never had tried to hide his hatred
Peon of the Snows
3
for Selkirk. He had been at the Pelly River would once more hear the sound of Rod
post when the two hunters brought their boat-Selkirk’s feet along the lonely trails.
load of choice marten-skins down from that Then the voice changed, and it seemed
untrapped valley upon the far head-waters of to be a greedy gloating that drifted in on the the stream. Raus had pleaded excitedly, and north wind; something that stamped and raged De Friers had blustered when they saw that among those homeless solitudes as it waited cargo of matchless furs slipping through their for the coming of its prey.
fingers. But in the end Rod had sold the skins to the Hudson Bay people in Seattle.
II.
That cargo of fur had put Rod and
Tom in solid with McMasters and the rest. Yet MORE than once Rod Selkirk had made
the hatred only deepened in the gray-green preparations for a thousand-mile journey
eyes of Raus when he heard of it.
between the dark and the dawn. So now he
This was the f
irst pleasant word the
gathered up his camp-kit and was aboard a
assistant manager had spoken to the sorter north-bound steamer before most men would
since he came to work for them. So Rod
have finished reading the time-tables. Less answered him cheerfully:
than two hours had elapsed since Rod had
“I hadn’t thought of it—why?”
heard that call for help, and already he was
“Oh, nothing, only I had some orders
coming to the relief of his friend as fast as going out to De Friers, and thought I might steam could carry him.
send them along—but no matter—it wasn’t
There was nothing in the make-up of
anything important.”
Rod Selkirk that should have made him a
As Rod Selkirk turned away he had the
marked man among that crowd of miners and
uncomfortable sensation that those gray-green prospectors who were heading back to the
eyes of Raus were looking through him as if wilderness. His garments were of a kind that he had been made of glass; that even the
had won general approval among the hardy
message from Tom Larkin which he had souls who people that last frontier up under hidden in his pocket was not safe from the the flicker of the northern lights. His face bore prying assistant manager.
the indelible traces of arctic winds, and his Once more he sensed an intangible gait had been schooled to perfection upon hard danger that hovered over him like a dead
trails.
man’s curse. He quickened his steps toward Any man of the north would have
his boarding-house in the hope of shaking off called him “old timer,” and let it go at that!
the morbid impression. But it followed him But Seattle was still in sight astern
through the jostling streets of Seattle, a when a pious-faced man in black picked Rod sinister hate that dogged his footsteps, but out of the crowd to make a confidant of him.
refused to come out into the open and fight, as
“Brother, tell me of your north. What
the honor-code of the wilderness demanded.
will I find there?” The stranger laid a hand Yet through the shadow of this upon Rod’s shoulder. “You are a wonderful nameless danger, which only the soul of the race of men, you fellows who live among the hunter sensed as yet, there was the ringing call snows. But silent—believe me, brother, you of the northland. Now there was a satisfied are the first man on the ship who hasn’t
note in the far voice, like the lazy droning of backed away from me and whispered ‘sky-wind among the spruces. It seemed to him that pilot’ to his friends.”
the wise old wilderness knew that soon it
“I suppose they don’t want to talk
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4
along your line,” Selkirk ventured, “They
Rod hurried aboard the waiting train
don’t keep read up on such things—and are
and began the hard climb to Whitehorse. He ashamed to show their ignorance.”
had everything in readiness, and as soon as he
“It isn’t that.” The stranger lowered his
stepped from the cars he plunged into the
voice. “I wanted them to tell me about the wilderness, following an old, abandoned
north—to show me the ways of the land, so I Indian trail that struck across country to the wouldn’t go wrong. I had given up in despair upper Pelly, one hundred and fifty miles as the when I happened to see you. I knew at a
crow flies. There was a song in the heart of the glance that I had found a man who would
man who had grown weary of the bustle of the show me the ways of the country.”
town. The soft wind that fluttered among the
“You made a mistake that time, tree-tops was like the voice of an old friend parson,” Rod laughed. “You’ll have to wish speaking to him. As eager as a schoolboy he yourself on one of those miners. They know pressed forward till the gathering darkness where they are going, and when they get there shut out the trail and forced him to camp.
they’ll stop. I may keep a going till I hit the He sat beside his leaping fire and
pole.”
listened to the voices of the wilderness night.
“A most remarkable man, most The spicy perfume of the northern spruces was remarkable,” the parson flattered. “Just like like wine in Rod Selkirk’s blood. He ate his your wild, free country. To know you is to simple supper with a keener relish than he know the north. It is fortunate that we both ever had felt over a feast back there in the have a roving commission, and each has a
town.
touch of the wanderlust in his soul. We are The satisfaction of that first camp out
going to get on famously together, as soon as there under the fragrant spruces was in a
we take to the trail.”
measure broken by the memory of Tom
“There won’t be any trail where I’m
Larkin. There was something missing from the going,” Rod attempted to shake off the picture. No friendly face smiled at him across unwelcome guest. “I have been down in the
the leaping blaze. The big-hearted old hunter States spending my money. I have got enough who always had shared his camp was caught
of civilization to last me a long while. You in the tentacles of some mysterious power that can bet I won’t let the grass grow under my hung like a curse above the northern hills.
feet as soon as I get ashore. I wouldn’t dare Once more Rod seemed to sense the
take you along—you couldn’t keep up with
nearness of danger, and his hearing was
me. I’d have to leave you for the wolves.”
sharpened for any unusual sound.
“Don’t be so sure about that!” There
For an hour the night deepened about
was a thrill of pride in the parson’s voice. “I him. The wilderness voices grew more
used to be the champion cross-country walker confident and unafraid out in the swamp. Then in the Tacoma Y. M. C. A.”
over the soft sighing of the spruces the man Rod didn’t try to argue it out with the
beside the fire heard something that sent the man who wanted to be his trail-mate. He blood leaping in his veins.
avoided him.
It was the measured tread of human
feet upon the mossy trail!
Selkirk was the first passenger ashore
Rod moved back into the shadows and
at Skagway. Once he caught a glimpse of the waited.
parson on the street and dodged around a
A moment later the hard-walking
corner.
parson came stamping into the firelight.
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5
“This is worse than anything I ever
before—will you?”
experienced with the Y. M. C. A.,” he
“Sure thing,” Rod agreed as he started
wheezed as he threw his pack down beside the down the trail. In his heart he sympathized fire.
with the man behind. His own muscles ached,
“Forget about that Y. M. C. A. and his joints fairly snapped at every step. As business,” Selkirk snapped. “You are trail-soon as he was out of sight he dropped into an wise—and then some. Just how you happened
easier gait.
to get tangled up with trouble down there in He knew this would be the worst day
the States is none of my business. Any man of the trip. After that he would be able to who has known the north as you have known
cover his usual thirty miles.
it, and then tries to live on the outside—well, he has my sympathy.”
III.
“Sure thing—that parson stunt was for
the benefit of the crowd,” the stranger THE
days that followed were as drab and laughed. “I didn’t expect you to believe it—
uneventful as the lonely swamps through
not after we got out of sight of the rail-head.”
which he was journeying. The soft moss
“Well, here’s luck to you, old timer—
underfoot gave no sound as he passed. Like a but remember I’m traveling alone.” Rod silent ghost he drifted through the wilderness, handed the parson a cup of steaming coffee where only a narrow speck of sky showed
from the fire. “Now, don’t get it into your through the swaying branches, and the spruce-head that I’ve got a rich strike back in the gloom hung deep and unbroken over the
country here because I am so anxious to shake homeless swamps.
you loose. I have heard enough talk in the past At dawn he was up and away, and
year to last me the rest of my life. I want a when night swooped down upon him he built
chance to stretch out beside the fire and just his camp. There would be an hour of beautiful smoke and think, without having some dreams beside the leaping fire, before the trail-mouthy guy trying to horn in with a fool
blight drove him to his blankets.
argument. It’s peace and quiet I want—and
I'm willing to fight to get them.”
Six days out from Whitehorse the Indian trail
“I’m dog-tired.” The stranger joined the well-beaten portage road of Wolf deliberately ignored the issue Rod had raised.
Canon. An hour later the buildings of the Pelly
“I’m going to turn in.”
River post showed up through the afternoon The next morning the parson haze.
awkwardly crawled from his sleeping-bag.
Peon of the Snows by Chart Pitt Page 1
