CHAPTER XVII
THE DEVOTION OF A GREAT WOMAN
The daylight was lengthening. Very slowly the lolling sun was returningto life and power. A sense of revivifying was in the air. As yet thegrip of winter still held. The snow was still spread to the depth ofmany feet upon the broad expanse of the valley of the Sleepers. But itsperfect hue was smirched with the lateness of the season. It had assumedthat pearly grey which denotes the coming of the great thaw.
Marcel was standing on the drifted bank of the little river, winding itsway towards the Northern hills. He was there for the purpose ofascertaining the conditions prevailing. But his purpose had beenforgotten.
Erect, motionless, superb in his physical greatness, he was gazing outat the wall of western hills, heedless of that which he looked upon. Hewas absorbed in thought that was reaching out far, far beyond the hillswhich barred his vision. It was somewhere out there where the eyelesssockets of an old moose looked down upon the great river coming up outof the south, cutting its way between the granite walls of the earth'sfoundations.
Keeko! He was thinking, dreaming of the girl who had come to him in theheart of the far-off woods, with all her woman's appeal to his youthfulmanhood. He was thinking of her wonderful blue eyes, her radiant smile,her amazing courage. They were the same thoughts which had lightenedeven the darkest moments of the howling storms of winter and transformedthe deadly monotony of it all into something more than an endurance towhich the life of the Northern world condemned him.
But there was more than all this stirring him now. He was moved toimpatience, the impatience of headstrong youth. It was not new. He hadhad to battle against it from the moment of his return to the fort. Morethan all else in the world he desired to fling every caution, everyresponsibility to the winds, and set out for the meeting-place overwhich the old moose stood guard.
He knew it could not be. He knew it would be an act of the basestingratitude and selfishness. Uncle Steve had not yet returned. He couldnot return for weeks yet. If he, Marcel, yielded to his desires An-inamust be left alone. His impatience was useless. He knew that. TheSleepers would awaken soon, and demand their trade. He could not flingthe burden of it all on the willing shoulders of An-ina. He must wait.He could do no less.
He turned away. It was an act of renunciation. The signs on the riverhad told him nothing, because he had asked no question. He knew it allwithout asking. He had known before he had sought his excuse. So hefloundered through the snow back to the fort.
The silence was profound. The world at the moment was a desert, a frigiddesert. There was no life anywhere. There were not even the voices ofwarring dogs to greet him, and yield him excuse to vent the impatienceof his mood.
He passed the gateway of the stockade where he had so often stoodsearching the distance in the long years. And so he approached thedoorway of his home. A weight of depression clouded his handsome eyes.He was weighted with a trouble which seemed to him the greatest in theworld.
The door of the store opened before he reached it. Keen, watching,understanding eyes had been observing his approach. They were eyes thatread him with an ease such as was denied them on the contemplation ofthe pages of an open book. An-ina had made up her mind, and she stoodframed in the doorway to carry out her purpose.
The man's eyes lighted at sight of her. His trouble was lifted as thoughby some strong hand. This mother woman never failed in her comfort evenin the simple fact of her presence. With his thought still filled withthe white beauty of Keeko, the soft copper of An-ina's skin, the smilinggentleness of her dark eyes were things at all times to soften theroughness of Marcel's mood.
"Marcel come back? The ice all hold? Oh, yes. Bimeby the trail open andMarcel mak' him. An-ina know. But--not yet."
Marcel made no attempt to conceal his feelings from this woman. He hadtold her all. He had spread out before her all his hopes and fears, allthe impatience of his youthful heart. She had endured the burden of itthroughout the long winter not unwillingly, and her sympathy had beenyielded abundantly.
Marcel laughed. It was not out of any feeling of joy. It was theself-consciousness of youth before the eyes of maturity.
He shook his head.
"Not yet," he said. "Uncle Steve isn't back anyway."
"No." An-ina sighed. For a moment her smile died out, and her wistfulgaze was unconsciously turned towards the North. It only encountered thecrude interior of the storage sheds where the canoes and trail gearwere usually kept. One of the sheds was standing empty.
Presently her eyes came back to the man's face, and they were smilingconfidently again.
"He come--bimeby. Yes."
Even in the midst of his own troubles Marcel could never be forgetful ofthis devoted creature.
"He certainly will," he said, in no doubtful fashion. "He'll be alongbefore the Sleepers wake. Say, An-ina, I'm not wise to many things. Butthere's one I know, like--like nothing else. The North can't beat UncleSteve."
The dark eyes lit with a feeling which even Marcel realized.
"Marcel good. But An-ina, too, know he come--sure."
The woman paused with her gaze again turned upon the sheds, and after amoment she looked deeply, earnestly into the eyes of the man who heldher mother love.
"That why An-ina say to Marcel now," she went on. "She think much. Oh,yes. An-ina think much--this white girl who mak' Marcel all much happy.She far away. Long, long by the trail. Maybe she come where Marcel saywhen the river all break up. It all long piece 'way. Marcel wait whileriver him break, then long-piece 'way river break too. So. This Keekogirl she come by river. No? She mak' trail. She think Marcel not come.He no more care find Keeko. So. Marcel go all heap sick. No Keeko--nonothing."
The woman's halting words lost nothing of their purpose in theirlimitations. Marcel's brows drew sharply together in alarm at theprospect she painted for him. Then, after a moment, he passed a handacross his forehead as though to brush his fears aside.
"But Uncle Steve's not back yet," he said, as though the fact clinchedall argument finally.
An-ina, however, had no intention of accepting any such finality. Sheshook her head.
"That all so. Oh, yes," she said. "Uncle Steve not come back longwhiles. But he come back. When him come An-ina say: 'Good. Much good.'Then An-ina say: 'Marcel lose all up white girl, Keeko. Bad. Much bad.No good--nothing.'" She shook her head. "Marcel go now. Take plenty dog.Sled. Canoe. Oh, yes. Take all thing. Reindeer. Everything plenty. So.When river all break Marcel find white girl, Keeko. He bring Keeko toAn-ina. An-ina much happy. Uncle Steve happy--too."
The woman drove straight to the purpose at which she aimed. All theproblems concerning the lives of the men she loved held for her aperfectly simple solution. Steve would come back to her in his own goodtime. There was nothing to be considered on that score. Marcel loved thewhite girl, Keeko. He must meet her again when the winter broke, or hewould know no happiness. Then he must go--go now--so that he should bethere to greet her when her canoes came up out of the south.
Self never entered into An-ina's calculations. So long as the path oflife was made as smooth and pleasant for her men folk as the Northlandwould permit there was nothing else with which she need concern herself.She would be alone, unprotected. When the Sleepers roused from theirtorpor their trade must be seen to. Well, that was all right. She couldsee to it all. She saw nothing in these things which must be allowed tointerfere with the happiness of any one belonging to her. Then, too,there was the white girl Keeko. Her simple woman's mind was stirred towonder and curiosity as to the woman who had taken possession of theheart of the man who was to her as a son.
The unselfishness of it all appealed to the simple heart of the youth.But the passion that had taken possession of him overrode his finerscruples. The selflessness of the woman was the mother in An-ina. Theemotions of the man were the emotions belonging to those primal laws ofnature wherein self stands out supreme over every other instinct. An-inawas urging him to go--to go now--to leave her unprotected
. It was thevery thing for which he had blamed Uncle Steve. And he knew from themoment her words had been spoken that he intended to take her at herword. He shook his head, but his eyes were shining.
"I just can't do it, An-ina," he said a little desperately. "I can'tleave you here alone. Suppose----"
An-ina interrupted him with her low, almost voiceless laugh.
"An-ina know," she said with a curious gentle derision which wascalculated out of her years of study of the youth. "An-ina no good. Shenot nothing, anyway. Indian man come beat her head. She fall dead quick.Oh, yes. She not know gun from the 'gee-pole.' She got not two hands.She not learn shoot caribou, same like Marcel. She big fool-woman.An-ina know. Marcel think that. Steve not think that way. Oh, no. BossSteve plenty wise. So Marcel come wise--later." Again came her lowlaugh. "This Keeko. This white girl so like the sun, the moon, all himstar. Marcel love her? Oh, yes? An-ina say 'no.' Marcel not love her.Marcel love her, he say: 'An-ina no 'count Indian woman. She go plumb tohell--anyway. She nothing. Only Keeko. Marcel love her all to death. Hego find her. He not care. Only so he find her.'"
Marcel stood dumb with amazement. His eyes were alight with a laugh hestrove to restrain, but they were alight with something else, too.An-ina watched him. And her laugh came again as she flung her finaltaunt.
"Indian man say him love An-ina?" she cried. "Indian man not come fetchher--quick? Indian man say him not leave mother for An-ina? Then An-inaspit at him."
It was the savage breaking through the years of simple culture. Theappeal of it all was beyond Marcel's power to resist. Suddenly he flungout his two great arms, and the hands that were immense with hismuscular strength came down on the woman's soft, ample shoulders, and heheld her in a great affectionate embrace.
"That's fixed it, you dear mother thing!" he cried, his face flushingwith the joy of it all, the shame of it. "I'm going right away. I'm justgoing to leave you right here to the darn Sleepers, to the wolves, andthe dogs, and any old thing that fancies to get around. There's no womangoing to spit at--your Marcel."
* * * * *
Marcel had gone. An-ina had seen to that. She had given him no chance tochange his mind, or to permit his duty to override his desire.
There had been little enough likelihood of any such thing happening. Theman was too human, too young, too madly in love. But An-ina was takingno risk. So, with her own hands, she helped him prepare his outfit, andshe saw to and considered those details for his comfort which, in hissuperlative impulse, he would probably have ignored. He went alone. Herefused to rouse one single Sleeper to lend him aid. His journey was inthat treacherous time between the seasons, when the snow and ice wouldbe rotting, and the latter part of his journey would find his winterequipment an added burden.
Then he had set out. An-ina watched his great figure move away with joyand pride thrilling her heart. He was out to battle with the elements,with everything which the life of the Northland could oppose to him, forthe possession of the woman he loved. In her simple, half savage mind itwas the sign of the crown of manhood to which she had helped him. Shewas glad--so glad.
The joy of her thought was her great support in the long days ofsolitude that followed, and it filled her mind with a peace that lefther undisturbed. She filled each moment of her waking hours with thelabours which had become her habit. The Sleepers would soon awaken, andall must be made ready for that moment when the work of the open seasonbegan. It was her simple pride that with the return of her man he shouldbe able to find no fault.
Ah, she was longing for that moment. The return of her man. Perhaps atriumphant return. She did not know. She could not guess. His successwould give her joy only that she would witness the light of triumphshining in his eyes. Happiness for her would lie in his return.
He would come. She knew he would come. Her faith was expressed in thesublime trust and confidence which her woman's adoration had built upabout the idol of her life. No god of the human mind was ever endowedwith greater, more infallible powers. So the hours of labour were briefand swiftly passing, for she felt that each detail of her daily life wascarried out under the approving eyes that, in her imagination, werealways looking on. She was happy--utterly, completely happy. She couldhave sung throughout the hours of waking, had song been her habit. Shecould have laughed aloud, if the Indian in her permitted it. Heart,mind, and body were absorbed in her faith.
* * * * *
It was in the dead of night. An-ina stirred restlessly under theblankets which were those that once had covered the white mother ofMarcel. In a moment she was wide awake, sitting up in the darkness,listening. The savage barking of the three old dogs, the only dogs nowleft in the compound behind the fort, had roused her from sleep. It wasa furious chorus that warned her of the unusual. It suggested to hermind the approach of marauding wolves, or some other creature thathaunted the Northern wastes.
She sprang from her bed without a moment's hesitation. Fear was unknownto her. She knew the old dogs, long past the work of the trail, were noteasily disturbed in their slumbers. It was for her to ascertain, ifnecessary----
The chorus was still raging as she flung open the door of the store, andstood peering out into the brilliant night. Steve's repeating rifle wasready in her hand. She had lit the lamp before she removed the bars ofthe door, and stood silhouetted against its yellow light. Only a womanor the utterly reckless could have committed such a folly.
With every sense alert, those senses that were so keenly instinct withthe perception of the animal world, she searched the shadows within thestockade, and the distance beyond its open gateway. There was no sign ofthe marauder she looked for. But nevertheless the chorus of the caninedispleasure and protest went on. At last she pulled the door to behindher and passed out into the night.
Once in the open her search was swift and keen. The great enclosureyielded nothing to disturb, so she passed on to the gateway, where thebarking of the aged dogs had no power to confuse her observation.
The coldly gleaming sky shone radiantly upon the white-clad earth. Thecalm of the world was unbroken. Even the wind was dead flat, and not asigh came from the woods which hid up the dreaming Sleepers. There wasnothing. Nothing at all. And she determined to return and to silence thefoolish old trail dogs with the weight of a rawhide. Just a few momentslonger she waited searching with eyes and ears, then she turned back.
But her purpose remained unfulfilled. She stood seemingly rooted to thespot while her ears listened to the faint distant shout of a humanvoice. It was prolonged. It had nothing in it of a cry of distress. Itwas the call of a voice suggesting a simple signal of approach.
For an instant her heart seemed to leap into her throat. Then, in a wildsurge, it started to hammer as though seeking to free itself from thebonds that held it. That call. She knew it. There could be no mistake.Nor could she mistake the voice that uttered it. It was the voice ofSteve. It was the great return of which her faith had assured her. Andhigh and shrill she flung back her answer, with all the power of herlungs and a grateful heart.
* * * * *
The greeting had been all An-ina had ever dreamed it. It had been evenmore, for she had gazed into steady grey eyes shining with the light oftriumph.
They were standing in the store where the stove, banked for the long,cold night, was radiating its comforting warmth. Steve, sturdy,unemotional, was replying to the question which had come with thepassing of the woman's greeting.
"We're loaded right down, and the dogs are well-nigh beat," he said, inhis quiet way. "Guess that's not the reason they're way back campedwhile I got on to home though. It's the green weed in full bloom, andwe daren't open the bales with folks around without masks. We daren'trisk a thing that way. I kind of guessed I'd best get on and warn youand Marcel, and make ready to pass it right into the store-house quick."He thrust up a hand and pushed his fur cap back from his brow. And, fora brief moment, he permitted play to his feelings. "Say
, it's great,An-ina! And--and I'm just glad. I guess we've been as near hell as thisland can show us, but we've made good. The boys are with me back there.They're feeling good and fit, and we've--Where's Marcel?"
An-ina's eyes were shining with the joy of a triumph no less than theman's. It was the greatest moment of her life. Had not her idol provedhimself even beyond her dreams? Her gladness only deepened at his sharpquestion. She had her great story to tell. The story which no woman'sheart can resist.
"Him go," she said, with a little gesture of the hands. "An-ina sendhim. Oh, yes."
"Gone? Where?"
Steve was startled. For a moment a sickening doubt flashed through hismind, and robbed his eyes of the shining joy of his return.
"It Keeko. She call--call. All the time she call to Marcel, who is greatman like to Boss Steve. Yes. Oh, yes. She call--this white girl, Keeko.And An-ina say, 'Go! Marcel go! Bring this white girl.' But Marcel say,'No. Uncle Steve not come back. An-ina alone. Oh, no. Marcel go bimeby.'Then An-ina say, 'Go.' She know. Him all sick for Keeko. So. Marcel go."
An-ina's low, gentle laugh came straight from the woman in her. Just asher account of Marcel's reluctance to leave her was a touch of themother defending her offspring.
But Steve missed these things. He was amazed. He waswondering--searching.
"White girl? Keeko?" he exclaimed sharply. "What crazy story--Tell me!"he commanded. "Tell me quick!"
He flung aside his cap, and the furs which encased his sturdy body. Thenhe caught up a bench, and set it beside the stove. He sat down, and heldout his strong hands to the warmth with that habit which belongs to theNorth.
An-ina remained standing. It was her way to stand before him. She wouldtell her story thus. Was she not in the presence of the man whose smilewas her greatest joy on earth?