The Peace of Roaring River

She leaned forward again and looked upon his face, that was ashen under the coating of tan. Once he opened his eyes and looked at her, but the lids closed down again and once more she became obsessed by the idea that she might have been very unjust to him, that she had perhaps insulted and wronged him. All at once the face she was looking at became blurred, but it was because she saw it through a mist of gathering tears. It had been easy, when she had bought that pistol, to think of killing a man; now it seemed frightful, abominable, and the resentment she had felt against the man was turning against herself in spite of the fact that it had been an accident, just a miserable accident.

Long minutes, forty or fifty of them, went by as she waited and listened. But presently Maigan, that had laid his head in her lap and was looking at her pitifully, as if he had been begging her to help the man he loved, rose suddenly and dashed to the door, barking. It proved to be Papineau and his wife, who was very breathless.

The man came in, looked at Hugo and rushed out again. He took the time to exchange his toboggan for Hugo’s, which was lighter and to which he hitched his three powerful dogs. Madge went to him.

“You’ll hurry, won’t you?” she cried. “I–I’m afraid, I’m horribly afraid. Don’t–don’t come back without a doctor will you?”

“You bet de life, mees, I make dem dog ’urry plenty moch. Yes, ma’am, you bet!” he repeated, calmly, but looking at her with the strong steely eyes that seemed peculiar to these men of the great North.

He ran with his team up the path. When he reached the tote-road the girl saw that he had jumped on the sled, which was tearing away to the southward.

Within the shack Mrs. Papineau busied herself in many ways, placing things in order and fussing about the stove, upon which she had placed a pot containing more herbs she had brought with her. Every few minutes she interrupted her work in order to take another look at Hugo. Once or twice Madge saw a big tear roll down her fat cheeks, which she swiftly wiped off with her sleeve. A little later she managed to make the man swallow some of her concoction. He appeared to obey unconsciously, but when she spoke to him he just babbled something which neither of the women understood. Finally the Frenchwoman sat down at the side of Madge, snuffling a little, and began to whisper.

“Big strong man one day,” she commented, “an’ dis day seek an’ weak lak one leetle child. Eet is de way so strange of de Providence. It look lak de good Lord make one fine man, fines’ Heem can make–a man as should get de love of vomans an’ leetle children–an’ den Heem mak up his min’ for to tak heem avay. An’ Heem good Lord know why, but I tink I better pray. Maybe de good Lord Heem ’ear an’ tink let heem lif a whiles yet, eh?”

And so the woman knelt down and repeated prayers, for the longest time, speaking hurriedly the invocations she had all her life, known by heart, and ending each one with the devout crossing of her breast. Then Madge, for the first time in a very long while, remembered words she had so often heard in the little village church at home, which promised that whenever two or three were gathered together in the name of the Lord, He would be among them. Yes, she had heard that assurance often in the place of worship she could now see so vividly, in which the open windows, on summer days, let in the droning of the bees and the scent of honeysuckle outside. So she knelt beside the other woman and began to pray also, haltingly, in words that came well-nigh unbidden because they were the call of a heart in sore travail which had long forgotten how to pray for itself. And it seemed as if the great Power above must surely be listening.

Finally Mrs. Papineau rose. She was compelled to go back home and see that the children were fed. She promised she would return in a short time. The doctor would certainly not come before night, perhaps not even until early morning, for he would be compelled to make a journey on the train. Papineau would wait for him, of course. As soon as he had sent the message he would give the dogs a good feed and they would be ready for the return. Then when the doctor turned up, Papineau would rush him to Roaring River, and–and if the Lord was willing he might be able to do something, providing…

But she had to interrupt herself to wipe away another big tear. She placed a hand upon the girl’s shoulder, seeking to encourage her a little, and started off, her heavy footsteps crackling over the snow. Then silence came again, but for the hurried breathing of the sick man and the occasional sighs of Maigan, who refused food offered to him.

Madge forced herself to eat a little, dimly realizing that for a time there might be need of all her strength. After this she sat down again, feeling crushed with the sense of her helplessness and with the thought of the terribly long hours that must elapse before the doctor could arrive.

Once Hugo seemed to awaken, as if from a sleep. The hand that had lain so still seemed to grope, searchingly, and she placed her own upon it.

“Take you over–all right–to-morrow,” he said. “It–it’s a pity, because–because you’re so–so good and kind, now,” he muttered. “She–she thinks I–I’m the dirt under her feet. Ain’t–ain’t you there, Stefan?”

His eyes searched the room for a moment. Then, with a look of disappointment, his head sagged down on the pillow again and he lay quiet for a long time, till he began to mutter words that were disconnected and meaningless to her.

The noon hour came and went, with a glowing sun that shone brightly over the snow and tinted the mist from the great falls with the colors of the rainbow. But Madge did not see it, for within the little shack the panes were dimmed by the frost. The stove crackled and spat, with the sudden little explosions of wood fires. Close to it one felt very warm but the heat did not extend far, since the cold seemed to be seeking ever to penetrate the room, making its way beneath the door and through some of the chinked spaces between the logs. It affected Madge now as a sort of enemy, this cold that seemed to be on the watch for victims. It was one of the things that were always rising up in order to crush struggling men and women.

Another hour elapsed, that had been cruelly long, when Maigan suddenly leaped up and stood before the door, with hair bristling all over him and standing like a ridge along his back. He scratched furiously and looked back, as if demanding to be let out, and kept up a long, ominous growl that was very different from his usual bark.

Madge went to the door, feeling very uneasy. She opened it, after slipping her hand under Maigan’s collar. Upon the tote-road she saw a large sled that had been drawn by a pair of strong, shaggy horses, which a man was blanketing. From where she stood she heard confused voices of men and women, all of whom were strangers to her. They seemed to be consulting together. Finally they came down the path towards the shack, nine or ten of them, walking slowly and looking grim and unfriendly. Maigan was now barking fiercely and Madge had to struggle with him to prevent his dashing out towards them.

CHAPTER X

Stefan Runs

Philippe Papineau rode nearly all the way on the toboggan, sparing the dogs only in the hardest places on rising ground. The animals had been well-fed on the previous night and the trip around the trapping line had not been a hard one. It represented but a mere fifty miles or so, over which they had only hauled one man’s food in three days, with his blankets and a small shelter-tent he used when forced to stop away from one of the small huts he had built on the line. In fact, there had been little need of three dogs, but Papineau had taken them because it kept up their training. In the pink of condition, therefore, the team bade fair to equal Stefan’s best performances.

The Frenchman was within sight of the smokestack rising from Carcajou’s sawmill when he opened his eyes, widely. A pair of horses was coming along the old road, drawing a big sled. As the old lumber trail was used only by dog-teams, as a rule, this surprised him. A moment later he clucked at his dogs, which drew to one side, and the horses, from whose shaggy bodies a cloud of steam was rising, came abreast of him. The sled stopped.

“Hello there, Papineau!” called one of the men. “Going in for provisions? Thought you hauled in a barrel of flour last week.”

“Uh huh,” assented Philippe, non-committally.

“Is that fellow Ennis over to his shack?” asked McIntosh, the squaw-man.

“Uh huh,” repeated the settler.

“D’ye happen to know whether there’s a–a young ’ooman there too?”

“Vat you vant wid dat gal?” asked Papineau this time.

“We’re just goin’ visitin’, like,” Pat Kilrea informed him. “It’s sure a fine day for a ride in the country. And so that there young ’ooman’s been up there a matter o’ three-four days, ain’t she?”

“I tink so,” assented Philippe.

“D’ye know who she is?” asked Mrs. Kilrea, a severe looking and angular woman.

“Sure, heem gal is friend o’ Hugo,” answered the Frenchman, simply. “Mebbe you better no go to-day. Hugo heem seek. I got to ’urry, so good-by.”

He lashed his dogs on again, while Pat cracked his whip and the party went on. Mrs. Kilrea was looking rather horrified, thought Sophy McGurn. Her turn was coming at last. There would be a scene that would repay her for her trouble, she gleefully decided.

As they went on at a steady pace, over a road which none but horses inured to lumbering could have followed without breaking a leg or getting hopelessly stalled in deep snow, Philippe hurried over to the station and got Joe Follansbee to send a telegram. The young man would have given a good deal to have made one of the party but his official duties detained him.

“Who wants a doctor?” he asked, curiously.

“Hugo,” answered Papineau, impatiently. “You don’t h’ask so moch question, you fellar. Jus’ telegraph quick now an’ h’ask for answer ven dat docteur he come, you ’ear me?”

Joe looked at the Frenchman, intending to resent his sharp orders, but thought better of it. The small, square-built, wide-shouldered man was not one to be trifled with. He was known as a calm, cool sort of a chap with little sense of humor, and the youth reflected that, in this neck of the woods, it was best not to trifle with men who were apt to end a quarrel by fighting over an acre of ground and mauling one another until one or both parties were utterly unrecognizable, even to their best friends.

“Come back in about an hour and I expect I’ll have an answer,” he told the Frenchman, quite meekly.

The latter went into McGurn’s store and purchased some tobacco and a few needed groceries. Suddenly he bethought himself of Stefan.

“Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed. “Heem ought know right avay, sure.”

He drove his team around to Stefan’s smithy but failed to find him. At the house Mrs. Olsen told him that her husband had gone out a half an hour ago. He would probably be at Olaf Jonson’s, at the other end of the village. Thither drove Philippe and found his man.

“’Ello, Stefan, want for see you right avay,” said the trapper. “Come ’long!”

The Swede hastened to him.

“Vat it iss, Philippe?” he asked, eyeing the dogs expertly. “Py de looks off tem togs I tink you ban in some hurry, no?”

“Uh huh! I come to telegraph for de docteur. Hugo heem ’urted h’awful bad. Look lak’ heem die, mebbe.”

Stefan bellowed out an oath and began running towards his house at a tremendous gait. Papineau jumped on his toboggan and followed, only catching up after they had gone a couple of hundred yards. When they reached Olsen’s, the latter went in, shouted out the news and came out again. With the help of Papineau he hitched up his own great team of five.

“Tank you for lettin’ me know, Papineau,” he said. “I get ofer dere so tam qvick you don’t belief, I tank. So long!”

“’Old ’ard! ’Old ’ard!” shouted the Frenchman. “Vat for you tink Pat Kilrea an’ McIntosh, an’ Prouty an’ Kerrigan and more, an’ also vomans is goin’ up dere to de Falls? Dey say go visitin’. Dey don’t nevaire go make visits before dat vay. An’ dey h’ask me all ’bout de demoiselle, de gal vat is up dere, an’ I see Mis’ Kilrea an’ Kerrigan’s voman look one de oder in de face. Look mean lak’ de devil, dem vomans! I dunno, but I tink dey up to no good, dem crowd. If I no have to stay for docteur I go right back qvick. D’ye tink dey vant ter bodder Hugo, or de lady, Stefan?”

The latter swore again.

“If dey bodder ’em I tvists all dere necks like chickens, I tank,” he cried, excitedly. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Vell, most a h’our, now, I tink, and dem’s Kerrigan’s horses, as is five year olds an’ stronk lak’ de devil. Dey run good on de five-mile flat, dey do, sure, an’ odder places vhere snow is pack nice.”

This time Stefan didn’t answer. He shouted at his team, that started on the run, but Zeb Foraker’s St. Bernard, who could lick any dog in Carcajou singly, chanced to leap over the garden fence and come at them. In a moment a half dozen dogs were piled up in a fight. Stefan stepped into the snarl. A moment later he had the biggest animal, that was supposed to weigh close to two hundred, by the tail. With a wonderful heave he lifted it up and swung it over his master’s fence into a leafless copper beach that graced the plot, whence the animal fell to the ground, looking dazed. It took several minutes to straighten out the tangled traces and the leader was hopelessly lame. He had to be taken out and left at home. All the time Stefan’s language brought scared faces to the windows of neighboring shacks. It was a good thing, probably, that few people in Carcajou understood Swedish. Still, from the sound of it they judged that it must be something pretty bad. Finally he was off again, lacking the smartest animal in his team. The others, however, probably considered that this was no occasion for further bad behavior and old Jennie, mother of three of the bunch, led it without making any serious mistakes.

For the life of him Stefan couldn’t conceive why anyone should want to bother Hugo or the pretty lady. It was the very strangeness and mystery of the thing that aroused him. He never entertained the idea that Papineau was mistaken. The Frenchman was a fine smart fellow, one who loved Hugo, and a man not given to idle notions or to exaggeration. If he thought there was something wrong this must be the case.

On a long upgrade he ran at the side of his dogs, his great chest heaving at the tremendous effort. On the level he rode, urging the animals on and keeping his eyes on the tracks of the horses and sleigh, while his strong stern face seemed immovably frozen into an expression of grim determination. Anyone who touched his friend Hugo would have to reckon with him, indeed. The man was one of the few beings he cared for, like his wife or the young ones. Such a friendship was a possession, something he owned, a treasure he would not be robbed of and was prepared to defend, as he would have defended his little hoard of money, the home he had built, with the berserker fury of his ancestors. He was conscious of his might, conscious that there were few men on earth who could stand up against him in the rough and tumble fighting current in the far wilderness. He knew that he could go through such a crowd as was threatening his friend like a devastating cyclone through a cornfield.

“If dey’s qviet un’ reasonable I don’t ’urt nobotty but yoost tell ’em git out of here, tarn qvick,” he projected. “But if dem mens is up to anything rough I hope dey says dere prayers alretty, because I yoost bust ’em all up, you bet.”

The team was pulling hard, the breaths coming out in swift little puffs from their nostrils. Sometimes they walked, with tongues hanging out, while again they trotted easily, or, down the hills, galloped with the long easy lope of their wolfish ancestors. And Stefan calculated the speed the horses could have made here, and again over there. By the tracks he saw where they had trotted along good ground, or toiled more slowly over rough places. The man grinned when he came to spots where they must have proceeded very slowly with the heavy sleigh, and his brows corrugated when he saw that they had speeded up again.

“Dey drive tern horses fast,” he reflected. “Dey don’t vant trafel dis road back in dark, sure ting, to break dere necks. Dey vant make qvick vork. But I ban goin’ some, too, you bet.”

He was taking man’s eternal pleasure in swift motion, yet the anxiety remained with him that he might not catch up with them before they arrived. He knew that nothing could take place if he were there a minute before them. But if he was a minute late, what then? When this idea recurred, his face would take on its grim expression, the look wherewith Vikings once struck terror among their enemies. He hoped for the sake of that crowd that he might not be late, as well as for the good of his friend, for he would crush them, the men at any rate, and send the women trudging home, wishing they had never been born.

In him the two individualities that make up nearly every human being swung and seesawed. The kind-hearted, helpful, considerate man kept on surging upward, in the trust that his arrival would avert all trouble. Then this phase of his being would pass off and the great primal creature would take its place and come uppermost, with lustful ideas of vengeance, visions in which everything was tinged with red, and then his great voice would ring out in the still woods and the dogs would pull desperately, with never a pause, and the toboggan would slither and slide and groan, and the crunching snow seemed to complain, and the masses of snow suspended to great hemlocks and firs dropped down suddenly, with thuds that were like the echoes of great smiting clubs.

When again he ran beside the dogs, in a long pull uphill, the sense of personal effort comforted him. He was doing something. Once the toe of one of his snowshoes caught in the snaky root of a big spruce and he fell ponderously, without a word, and picked himself up again. Dimly he was conscious that it had injured him a little, but he scarcely felt it. It was like some hurt received in the heat and passion of battle, that a man never really feels till the excitement has passed. His team had kept on, galloping fast, but he never called to them, knowing that harder ground would presently slow them. And he ran on, his great limbs appearing to possess the strength of machinery wrought of steel and iron, while his enormous chest hoarsely drew in and cast forth great clouds. But he was not working beyond his power, merely getting the best he knew out of the thews that made him more efficient than most men, when it came to the toil of the wilds. He knew better than to play himself out so that he would arrive exhausted and unable to contend with the whole of his might. He was conscious as he ran that he would arrive nearly unbreathed and ready for any fray. And after he had swept off the intruders he would look upon the face of his friend, the man who for months had shared food with him, and the scented bedding of the woods, and the toil, and the downpours, and the clouds of black flies and mosquitoes, and who had always smiled through fair days and foul, and who, at the risk of his life, had saved him.

And that friendship was so strong that it must help the sick man. How could one be ill with a friend near by who had so much strength to give away, such determination to make all things well, such fierce power to contend with all inimical things? He would take him in his arms and bid him be of good cheer and courage, and the man would respond, would smile, would feel that strength being added to his own, so that he would soon be well again.

All this might be deepest folly, and was not formulated as we have been compelled to put it down in these pages. Rather it was but a simple trust, a faith based on love and hope, a belief originating in the mind of one of a nature so trusting and inclined to goodness that until the last moment he would never believe in the victory of powers of evil.

So Stefan caught up with his dogs again and stepped on the toboggan, without stopping them, and the great trunks of forest giants seemed to slip by him swiftly, while here and there, by dint of some formation of hillside or gorge, his ears grew conscious of the far-away roar of the great falls. From a little summit he saw the cloud of rising vapor, all of a mile away. At every turn he peered ahead, keenly disappointed on each occasion, for the party was not in sight. So he urged the dogs faster. The big sleigh must surely be just ahead, beyond the next turn.

“Oh, if dey touch one hair of de head of Hugo, den God pity dem!” he cried out.

And the dogs ran on, more swiftly than ever, breathing easily still in spite of the nearly three hundred pounds of manhood they drew, and the roar of the falls became more distinct, while to the right, away down below, the river swirled under the groaning ice and sped past wildly, towards the east and the south, as if seeking to save itself from the embrace of the North.

CHAPTER XI

A Visit Cut Short

Like the great majority of the denizens of the wilderness, Maigan could be a steadfast friend or a bitter enemy. He would readily have given his life for the one and torn the other asunder. Not being very far removed from a wolfish ancestry he was necessarily suspicious, intolerant at first of strangers and prepared to use his clean and cutting fangs at the shortest notice. But he was also more cautious than the dog of civilization and less apt to blurt his feelings right out. After his first outburst he appeared to quiet down, growling but a very little, very low, and stood at the girl’s side, watchful and ready for immediate action.

Madge stood on the wooden step that had been cleared of snow, in front of the little door of rough planks. She watched the people coming in Indian file down the path that had been beaten down in the deep snow. For a moment she had thought that they might be bringing help, that miraculously a doctor had been found at once, that these people were friends eager to help, to remove the sick man to Carcajou and thence to some hospital further down the railway line. But such people would have cried out inquiries. They would have come with some shout of greeting. But these newcomers came along without a word until their leader was but a few yards away, when he stopped and looked at the girl during a moment’s silence.

“Where’s Hugo Ennis?” he finally asked, gruffly.

“He is in the shack,” replied the girl, timidly. “He is dreadfully ill and lying on his bunk.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“He was shot–shot by accident, and now I’m afraid that he is going to die.”

“Well, I’ll go in and see. We’ll all go in. We’re mighty cold after that long ride. Stand aside!”

“I think you might go in,” the girl told him, still blocking the way, “but the others must not. I–I won’t allow him to be disturbed. Don’t–don’t you understand me? I’m telling you that he’s dying. I–I won’t have him disturbed. And–and who are you? You don’t look like a friend of his. What’s your purpose in coming here?”

The first feeling of timidity that had seized her seemed to have left her utterly. There remained to her but an instinct–a will to defend the man, to protect him from unwarranted intrusion, and she spoke with authority. But another of the visitors addressed her.

“We’re folks belongin’ to these townships,” he said. “What we want to know is who you are, and what right ye’ve got to order us about and say who’s goin’ in and who’s to keep out?”

Something in his words caused her cheeks to burn, but strangely enough she felt quite calm and strong in her innocence of any evil, and she answered quietly enough.

“My name is Madge Nelson, if you want to know, and I am here at this moment because I am taking care of Mr. Ennis. I feel responsible for his welfare and will continue until he is better and able to speak for himself, or–or until he is dead. I repeat that one of you may come in–but no more.”

It appeared that her manner impressed the men to some extent, if not the three women who crowded behind. One of the visitors was scratching the back of his neck.

“Look a-here, Aleck, I reckon that gal is talking sense, if Hugo’s real bad like she says. We ain’t got no call to butt in an’ make him worse. I know when Mirandy was sick the Doc he told me ter take a club if I had to, to keep folks out. Let Pat Kilrea go in if he wants to an’ we’ll stay outside an’ wait.”