Grit A-Plenty Part 23

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' s...o...b..ind 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 appet.i.te, 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 companions.h.i.+p 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 p.r.o.nounce each other's strange words.

It was Sat.u.r.day 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 Sat.u.r.day evening.

"Something has happened," he said, when it grew so late he was a.s.sured 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 s.h.i.+rt.

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 sc.r.a.ped 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 Sat.u.r.day Indian Jake a.s.sorted his own furs in the same manner in which he had previously a.s.sorted 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 l.u.s.ter 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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 s.n.a.t.c.hes 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 "s.h.i.+p-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 "las.h.i.+n'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 hards.h.i.+p, 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 a.s.surance 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 G.o.d 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."