Part 10

David’s senses were awake now, and sitting up he attempted to look about him. Faintly, as through a smoke, he saw a fire and an Indian woman bending over it. Two Indians sat opposite, smoking, and there were other Indians by the fire. He recognized at once the interior of an Indian wigwam. Then the pain in his eyes compelled him to close them again immediately.

“Beeg snow. Mooch bad,” said one of the Indians good-naturedly, observing that David was awake.

“Where am I?” asked David.

“Sa-peesh tent,” said the Indian.

“Andy! Is Andy all right?” David asked apprehensively.

“Andy sleep mooch,” laughed the Indian. “Heem all right.”

David was vastly relieved by this assurance. He knew Sa-peesh, the old Mountaineer Indian, well, for Sa-peesh had camped at the post each summer for as many years as David could remember, and of all the Indians that came there was the only one who could speak English.

With Sa-peesh’s limited command of English, and the few Indian words that David understood, he presently learned that he and Andy had fallen headlong against the wigwam in the night, that the Indians had thus discovered and rescued them, and that they were quite welcome to remain until they were sufficiently recovered from exhaustion and snowblindness to return to the tilts. He also learned that they were a considerable distance to the eastward of Namaycush Lake, and had doubtless traveled up, instead of, as they had supposed, down, the river.

Satisfied with the assurance that Andy was quite safe, David lay back again upon the bed of boughs, as there was nothing else to do, and as he lay there he recounted to himself the happenings of the previous day.

The cloud of fire that had appeared so suddenly before him, then, was the Indians’ tent, with the firelight filtering through it and he whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving that God had guided him and Andy to it--and that they had kept their grit. Then he heard a movement by his side, and Andy’s voice speaking his name.

“Here I be, Andy!” said David eagerly. “How you feelin’?”

“Not so bad if ’tweren’t for th’ hurt in my eyes. Where are we, Davy?” asked Andy.

“In Sa-peesh’s tent, and away up th’ river instead o’ down,” answered David. “We ran into their tent in th’ dark. ’Twas good we kept our grit, Andy, or we’d ha’ perished before we got here.”

“We _did_ keep our grit, now, didn’t we Davy, and stout hearts, too?” and there was pride and satisfaction in Andy’s voice.

“And now,” continued David, “we’ll be here a week, _what_ever, before th’ snowblind leaves us, and then in another fortnight ’twill be time t’ strike up th’ traps.”

“But we made a fine hunt, _what_ever,” said Andy.

“That we did!” agreed David. “A fine hunt, now!”

While the boys were talking Mrs. Sa-peesh was dipping generous portions of boiled venison from a kettle that simmered over the fire, and now Sa-peesh interrupted the boys with an invitation to eat, setting before them, at the same time, the dish of venison, two tin cups and a kettle of tea. And though they could open their eyes only to narrow slits, because of the pain, there was no complaint to be made with their appetite, and they managed well enough.

And thus, miraculously, David and Andy were rescued, and they were safe enough, and comfortable enough, too, in the wigwam with Sa-peesh and Mrs. Sa-peesh, and Mesh-tuk (tree), a young Indian who lived with them and hunted with Sa-peesh, and Amish-ku (beaver) and Ni-pit-se (summer), the two children. A-mish-ku, a lad of twelve, and Ni-pit-se, a maiden of fifteen years, were exceedingly well pleased that they were to have the companionship of David and Andy for so long, and they chattered to the two boys in their wild Indian tongue, and there was a deal of sport for all, learning to pronounce each other’s strange words.

* * * * *

It was Saturday evening that week when Indian Jake reached the Narrows tilt, for he too had been delayed by the storm. He was not in the least astonished or disturbed that the boys did not appear as usual.

“Held up by the storm,” said he to himself. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

He was somewhat at a loss to account for their non-arrival on Sunday. The storm had continued but two days, and he could think of no good reason why they should have been delayed longer. He slept not the less soundly, however, Sunday night, and on Monday morning as usual set out upon the weekly round of his trail, well satisfied that the boys would appear later.

He was mystified, however, upon returning the following Friday, to discover that David and Andy had not visited the tilt during his absence, and still more mystified when they failed to appear either that evening or Saturday evening.

“Something has happened,” he said, when it grew so late he was assured they would not come. “I’ll go over their trail tomorrow and take a look for them.”

Accordingly, early on Sunday morning he set out with his long, swinging, rapid stride for the Halfway tilt, and making no pause to visit traps, and not following the windings of the trail but taking a straight course, reached there a considerable time before midday. A brief survey was sufficient to satisfy him that the boys had not been there for many days, and without halting to prepare his dinner he continued to the Namaycush Lake tilt.

It was early afternoon of the long April day when the tilt came into view, and as he approached it his sharp eyes took in every detail of the surroundings. There had been no storm since the blizzard in which David and Andy were lost, and the half-breed was quick to discover no track of snowshoes.

“Not here since the storm!” he exclaimed.

The boys’ toboggan leaned against the tilt outside, and within, the half-breed discovered their sleeping bags and other equipment which they usually carried with them. He closed the tilt and set out upon the marsh, but no sign or mark could be found to indicate the course they had taken.

“Lost in the storm,” he said, turning back after an hour’s fruitless search. “No use looking for them any longer. They’ve perished. They’re buried deep enough under the drifts somewhere, and when the thaw comes they’ll be food for foxes and wolves.”

Indian Jake proceeded to kindle a fire in the stove, and, while the kettle was boiling, to examine two marten pelts, which hung from the ceiling. These he took down and stuffed into the bosom of his shirt. Then turning his attention to a search for food, he discovered some fat pork and stale camp bread. He sliced some of the pork into a frying pan and placed it upon the stove. Indian Jake was hungry, for he had eaten nothing since early morning.

When he had disposed of his simple and hastily prepared dinner, the half-breed set out upon his return without delay. When night fell the trail was lighted by a brilliant moon, and he did not stop until near midnight, when he reached the Narrows tilt.

Indian Jake kindled a fire, boiled the kettle, and ate a belated supper. Then he took down a bag suspended from the ceiling, opened it, and drew forth the furs which David and Andy had captured during the winter.

The pelts were in the condition in which they had been cured, the fur side turned in, the fleshy side out, for, as previously explained, in skinning a fur-bearing animal the trapper draws the pelt off whole, necessarily turning it as he draws it down over the head, and it is then stretched upon a properly shaped board, after which all fat and fleshy adhesions are scraped away.

One by one Indian Jake turned down each pelt sufficiently to examine the color and texture of the fur, turned it back again, and laid it on the bunk. Thus he first went over the marten pelts, laying them in three piles, graded as to value and quality. In the same manner he graded the fox and mink pelts. There were also four lynx and the three wolf skins. Indian Jake had previously examined every pelt, to be sure, but never before with the careful criticism he now displayed.

This done he mentally calculated the value, and uttered a huge grunt of satisfaction.

“Worth five hundred dollars--maybe six hundred--at the Bay, and they’d bring nine hundred in Quebec. Good! One more round o’ th’ trail, and I’ll strike up, and go. Won’t be safe t’ wait for the break up. Wish I had my fur here; I’d go in the mornin’!”

The following morning the half-breed left the tilt at the usual hour, gathering his fur at his tilts as he went, and striking up his traps when he had examined them for his week’s catch; and on Friday drew his toboggan as usual to the Narrows tilt.

On Saturday Indian Jake assorted his own furs in the same manner in which he had previously assorted those of David and Andy.

“Ugh!” he grunted. “Thought I’d tell ’em what I had! Wonder what they’d said t’ that!”

And he held up to his admiring gaze a beautiful silver fox skin, shaking it briskly as he did so, that all its glossy luster might appear to advantage.

“Worth six hundred anyhow,” he muttered with satisfaction.

Then he drew out another, shook and examined it in like manner.

“Not so good,” he said. “Worth four hundred, though, at the Post. Even if I hadn’t got these two silvers, it’s the best hunt I ever had. Worth with the silvers about fifteen hundred. And Tom Angus thinks he’ll get a third of it! Ugh!”

The balance of the day was occupied in getting together the things he wished to take with him. The venison had long since been eaten. There was some whitefish, taken upon a second fishing excursion, four rabbits and several partridges. A small amount of flour, salt pork and tea also remained. These he carefully packed. On Sunday morning Indian Jake lashed upon his toboggan all of the provisions, a cotton tent, a tent stove, his sleeping bag and other equipment, and all the furs.

Snow was falling when the half-breed closed the tilt door, and, hauling his well-laden toboggan, turned southward. Presently the thick falling flakes closed upon him, and covered his tracks, and no sign or mark remained to indicate in which direction he had gone. The Narrows tilt and the fur trails were now deserted indeed.

XX

A LETTER FROM THE GREAT DOCTOR

The Jug was lonely enough after the departure of David and Andy in September. Margaret and Jamie missed them, perhaps, more than Thomas, who was accustomed to the solitude of the trails. Margaret was quite sure the place would have been well-nigh unbearable but for Doctor Joe, who went about his work whistling or singing snatches of song, and who always had a smile or a joke when he breezed into the cabin. And his evening stories were something to look forward to.

Doctor Joe was bustling about from morning until night, these days, preparing for his winter’s work. There was no end of work to be done about the cabin, that all might be made “ship-shape,” as he said, “and snug for any storm that might blow.”

Thomas was as patient as ever a man with a broken leg could be. But it was quite natural that he should wish to be up and about. A hundred times during these weeks he asked Doctor Joe if it were not time to take the “lashin’s” off his leg, and declared that he was “weary of dawdlin’ there in bed.” His restlessness was not to be wondered at, for never before in all his life had Thomas Angus “dawdled” in bed for a single day. Thomas Angus had always been an uncommonly strong and healthy man, for which he was duly thankful.

Never once after David and Andy departed did Jamie utter a word of complaint about the mist in his eyes. They had gone forth to do great deeds. They would meet, up there in that lonely land of mystery, many a bitter hardship, and they would have “plenty o’ grit, and keep their hearts stout, like a man’s,” for they had promised their father and Jamie they would. Why, then, should he complain? He, too, must keep plenty o’ grit, and a stout heart, and be brave and patient.

Perhaps, too, Jamie was becoming accustomed to the mist, as one will, in time, become accustomed to anything. Perhaps the abounding hope of youth helped him--and with Jamie it was the hope that one day he would see as well as ever he had--for was not the great doctor to work a wonderful cure--when summer came again? Jamie’s faith never wavered. He entertained no doubt that David and Andy and Indian Jake would meet with success, and bring back with them the furs necessary to meet the expense of the journey to New York. He never failed to ask for this in his prayers. Oh, that the faith of childhood, simple, abiding, unquestioning, might never be shattered! What a blessed consolation is faith! What a bulwark of strength in time of need!

Jamie often asked Margaret to describe the mountains to him as she saw them from the cabin windows. It was a vast satisfaction to have the assurance that they were still there, big and brave and strong, standing guard over the world beyond the Bay. And sometimes he would ask her to watch for the moment when the light from the setting sun tipped their highest peaks with glory, and tell him when God reached down to kiss the world good night.

* * * * *

“Now that leg!” announced Doctor Joe one day. “We’ll take the splints off and see what it looks like.”

“I’m wonderful glad t’ have un took off,” said Thomas, his face brightening visibly.

Doctor Joe laughed, as he went to work, and presently the bandages and splints were removed, and he surveyed the leg.

“I never saw a better job!” he exclaimed. “Straight and fine! It won’t be long, Thomas, till you’ll forget you ever had a broken leg!”

“She feels strange,” remarked Thomas.

“Does she, now?” laughed Doctor Joe.

“Aye, she does that! She pricks and hurts, and she wasn’t hurtin’ a bit when th’ lashin’s were on,” said Thomas.

“That’ll soon pass away. It’s the blood circulating,” Doctor Joe explained.

And after that it was not long until Thomas was moving about the cabin on a pair of rude crutches Doctor Joe had made for him, and mightily pleased he was.

“Plenty t’ be thankful for,” declared Thomas. “Here, now I’ll soon have as good a pair o’ legs as ever I had, with Doctor Joe’s mendin’, and if Doctor Joe hadn’t been here ’tis like as not, and liker too, I’d ha’ been crippled for life.”

Late in October winter snapped down upon them in a night. Everywhere the great bay was frozen, and there was no longer the sound of lapping waves upon the beach. Very soon, too, the cheerful voice of Roaring Brook, tumbling headlong over the rocks, was hushed into silence.

Rime filled the air, and the cabin windows became thick-crusted with a frost that never melted that livelong winter. Before the end of November the snow lay a full fathom deep every where, and there was no going abroad now, save upon snowshoes.

But there was wood enough ranked high in the shed to keep the big stove roaring and crackling merrily, and the cabin assumed a greater coziness than ever.

Thomas busied himself making snowshoes for future use, mending dog harness, and attending to innumerable odd jobs for which ordinarily in his busy existence he found small leisure.

“’Tis a blessin’ t’ feel I has th’ time for un without neglectin’ and makin’ a shift of other work,” he declared. Thomas found a blessing and a reason for thankfulness in everything.

Each morning almost before the break of dawn Doctor Joe would steal away into the cold, dreary gloom of the silent forest, and each night, as dusk was settling, they would hear his cheery call as he returned. This was the brightest hour of the day for Jamie and Margaret, aye and Thomas, too.

But following the fur trails from morning till night, and day after day, was hard and wearisome work for Doctor Joe. His success as a trapper was indifferent. He was not born and bred to it as were Thomas and the boys. There were days and days when he returned of nights empty handed, but he always wore a cheerful face and a smile when he entered the lighted cabin, no matter how gloomy it may have been in the dark woods. And if Thomas, perchance, had permitted himself to grow down-hearted, Doctor Joe’s smile and cheerfulness raised his spirits and drove the gloom away. There is no tonic more potent than a smile and a cheerful face. ’Tis a great mender of a sore heart.

Doctor Joe, however, in spite of his brave front, was deeply troubled at his lack of success on the trail. It was of vital importance that sufficient furs should be had to pay the way for Jamie’s operation, and he was not in the least certain of the result of David’s and Andy’s winter hunt, or altogether satisfied as to their safety. He could never quite clear his mind of doubts as to Indian Jake’s responsibility and integrity. So much depended upon the boys and Indian Jake! Jamie’s whole future depended upon them or so Doctor Joe believed. He was watching Jamie’s eyes carefully and constantly, and there was no doubt that the mist was gradually but constantly thickening.

When the northern posts are ice-bound the last autumn mail for the coast is left by the mail boat each year at a post three hundred miles to the southward, and carried thence to its destination by dog sledge. Customarily this mail reaches the Hudson Bay Post in Eskimo Bay on the evening of the twenty-second or twenty-third of December. Doctor Joe was keenly anxious for its arrival this year, for he was confident it would contain the hoped-for reply from the great New York surgeon, and as the time approached he was indeed in a state of nervous expectancy.

There was still the uncertainty as to whether or no the surgeon would be in New York the following summer. Doctor Joe had promised that he would be there, or at least held out such strong hopes that Jamie and Thomas and Margaret were depending upon them as a promise, and with the utmost faith. Doctor Joe felt the responsibility keenly, and as the weeks wore away this feeling of personal responsibility increased. He did not dare to think of Jamie’s future should his plans fail, and when the thought did force itself upon him a strange panic seized him.

Doctor Joe’s anxiety was so keen that he must needs lose no time in receiving the letter that he hoped would come to him, and two days before Christmas, when he came home from the trail in the evening, he announced that he was to go to the Post the following morning.

“How would you like to take the cruise with me, Margaret?” he asked. “You haven’t been away from The Jug in six months.”

“Oh, ’twould be fine!” exclaimed Margaret, delighted at the prospect. “I’d like so much t’ go!”

“Then I’ll drive the dogs over, and take you,” said Doctor Joe. “Your father and Jamie will do very well without you for one day, and I’m not going out on my trail on Christmas eve. Besides, we’re very apt to meet Santa Claus, and we mustn’t miss seeing him, for he may have something for Jamie, and the old rascal would like as not go right on and never leave it, if we don’t remind him.”

Doctor Joe gave a quizzical glance toward Jamie, who was immediately intensely excited.

“Jamie and I’ll do fine alone for _one_ day,” declared Thomas, “though I don’t know how we’d ever do without Margaret longer than that. It never would do to miss old Santa Claus, though, and Margaret must go along.”

“Ask he--ask he--if you sees he, now, t’ bring me a knife!” exclaimed Jamie, vastly excited. “A huntin’ knife! When th’ mist leaves my eyes I’ll have un t’ use when I goes huntin’ with Pop. Tell he that, and he’ll sure give un to me!”

“Very well,” agreed Doctor Joe, “we’ll tell him. But supposing he has no hunting knives? He may be all out of them. Then what shall he bring you?”

“A jackknife,” said Jamie, with prompt decision. “A jackknife that’ll be all my own.”

Accordingly the following morning Doctor Joe made ready the sledge and harnessed the eight big dogs, and when Margaret heard the dogs yelping in eagerness to be away she came running out, all bundled up, her eyes sparkling and face aglow with the prospect of the journey. When she had seated herself in a big box on the rear of the sledge, Doctor Joe wrapped caribou skins about her and tucked her in as snug and warm as could be. Then he seized the front of the komatik, as they called the sledge, jerked it sharply toward him to break it loose from the snow, and as he did so shouted “Oo-isht! Oo-isht!” With a creak the sledge was freed and the dogs, straining at their traces, shot ahead at a gallop down the steep slope to the ice.

The sledge once in motion coasted after the dogs at a mad pace. Doctor Joe, throwing himself upon it, with his feet extending forward and over the side, drove his heels into the snow in rapid succession, while he pulled back with all his might in an effort to retard the speed. Margaret, enveloped by the cloud of snow which Doctor Joe kicked up, clung desperately to the swaying box. It was exciting and thrilling. At the foot of the slope was a mass of ice hummocks, piled up by the tide, and as the dogs and sledge dashed among them the speed slackened. Here, with quick, agile jerks upon the front of the runners, Doctor Joe steered them safely to the smooth white surface of the Bay.

Now the dogs settled to a comfortable trot. Doctor Joe seated himself upon the sledge, and looking back he and Margaret waved their hands gaily to Thomas and Jamie, who were standing at the cabin door, while Thomas told Jamie what was taking place.

It was dusk when the howl of eager dogs announced the return of Doctor Joe and Margaret. Thomas and Jamie hastened to the door, and were in time to greet them as the sledge drew up the incline.

“Oh, we had a fine trip!” exclaimed Margaret enthusiastically, as she threw off the caribou skins and stepped lightly from the box, quite as pleased and excited with her journey and visit to the trading post as any country girl in our land would be with a journey of a hundred miles and a visit to a great city.

“Did you see Santa Claus?” asked Jamie in high expectation.

“Oh, yes, we saw him!” answered Margaret gaily.

“And is he t’ come here?” and Jamie was on tiptoe with excitement.

“He’s t’ come here!” declared Margaret. “He’ll not be passing _here_, _what_ever!”

“We told him that he must come _here_, whatever he did!” called Doctor Joe, who was unharnessing the dogs. “We told him ’twould be a sorry day for him if he passed The Jug without stopping.”

“O-h-h!” breathed Jamie.

And presently, when Doctor Joe had turned the dogs loose and fed them, he came stamping into the cabin all aglow with the good news of a letter from the great doctor, who had written that he would cut the mist away from Jamie’s eyes. That in itself was the greatest Christmas present that could have come to any of them. Jamie asked a hundred questions about it, and they all declared that they were never before in all their lives made so glad of a Christmas eve.

That night, with faith complete, Jamie hung up his stocking, and sure enough on Christmas morning it contained not only the coveted knife but a little package of candy. And to Margaret’s great surprise, for she had not in the least expected to be remembered, Santa Claus had brought her a beautiful knitted sweater to wear about when the cabin was chilly, and she was no less happy with the gift than was Jamie with his.

And Thomas and Doctor Joe were as happy as either of them. Santa Claus must be a very happy old man indeed, for the greatest happiness in the world comes from making others happy. And it is not the worth of a gift in money, either, that counts for value, but the depth of love that goes with it. And after all, every one who does his best to make others happy at Christmas time or at any other time is a Santa Claus.

As the weeks passed the mist in Jamie’s eyes grew so thick that at length he ceased his old pathetic habit of brushing his hand before them to drive it away. It hurt Margaret’s sympathetic heart solely to see him groping for things that were usually near at hand, but which he could not find.