Lords of the North

by Agnes C. Laut

  CHAPTER XII

  HOW A YOUTH BECAME A KING

  When the prima-donna of some vauntful city trills her bird-song abovethe foot-lights, or the cremona moans out the sigh of night-windsthrough the forest, artificial townsfolk applaud. Yet a nesting-tree, athousand leagues from city discords, gives forth better music withdeeper meaning and higher message--albeit the songster sings only fromlove of song. The fretted folk of the great cities cannot understand thewitching fascinations of a wild life in a wild, free, tameless land,where God's own hand ministers to eye and ear. To fare sumptuously, todress with the faultless distinction that marks wealth, to see and aboveall to be seen--these are the empty ends for which city men engage in amad, feverish pursuit of wealth, trample one another down in a strifemore ruthless than war and gamble away gifts of mind and soul. These arethe things for which they barter all freedom but the name. Where onesucceeds a thousand fail. Those with higher aims count themselves happy,indeed, to possess a few square feet of canvas, that truly representsthe beauty dear to them, before weeds had undermined and overgrown andchoked the temple of the soul. That any one should exchange gildedchains for freedom to give manhood shoulder swing, to be and todo--without infringing on the liberty of others to be and to do--is tosuch folk a matter of no small wonderment. For my part, I know I wascounted mad by old associates of Quebec when I chose the wild life ofthe north country.

  But each to his taste, say I; and all this is only the opinion of an oldtrader, who loved the work of nature more than the work of man. Othervoices may speak to other men and teach them what the waterways andforests, the plains and mountains, were teaching me. If "ologies" and"ics," the lore of school and market, comfort their souls--be it so. Asfor me, it was only when half a continent away from the jangle oflearning and gain that I began to stir like a living thing and to knowthat I existed. The awakening began on the westward journey; but the newlife hardly gained full possession before that cloudless summer day onthe prairie, when I followed the winding river trail south of the forks.The Indian scouts were far to the fore. Rank grass, high as thesaddle-bow, swished past the horse's sides and rippled away in anunbroken ocean of green to the encircling horizon. Of course allowancemust be made for a man in love. Other men have discovered a worldful ofbeauty, when in love; but I do not see what difference two figures onhorseback against the southern sky-line could possibly make to theshimmer of purple above the plains, or the fragrance of prairie-roseslining the trail. It seems to me the lonely call of the meadow-lark highoverhead--a mote in a sea of blue--or the drumming and chirruping offeathered creatures through the green, could not have sounded lessmusical, if I had not been a lover. But that, too, is only an opinion;for one glimpse of the forms before me brought peace into the wholeworld.

  Father Holland evidently saw me, for he turned and waved. The otherrider gave no sign of recognition. A touch of the spur to my horse and Iwas abreast of them, Frances Sutherland curveting her cayuse from thetrail to give me middle place.

  "Arrah, me hearty, here ye are at last! Och, but ye're a skulkin'wight," called the priest as I saluted both. "What d'y' say for y'rself,ye belated rascal, comin' so tardy when ye're headed for GretnaGreen--Och! 'Twas a _lapsus linguae_! 'Tis Pembina--not GretnaGreen--that I mean."

  Had it been half a century later, when a little place called Gretnasprang up on this very trail, Frances Sutherland and I need not haveflinched at this reference to an old-world Mecca for run-away lovers.But there was no Gretna on the Pembina trail in those days and theLittle Statue's cheeks were suddenly tinged deep red, while I completelylost my tongue.

  "Not a word for y'rself?" continued the priest, giving me full benefitof the mischievous spirit working in him. "He, who bearded the foe inhis den, now meeker than a lambkin, mild as a turtle-dove, timid as apigeon, pensive as a whimpering-robin that's lost his mate----"

  "There ought to be a law against the jokes of the clergy, Sir," Iinterrupted tartly. "The jokes aren't funny and one daren't hit back."

  "There ought to be a law against lovers, me hearty," laughed he."They're always funny, and they can't stand a crack."

  "Against all men," ventured Frances Sutherland with that instinctive,womanly tact, which whips recalcitrant talkers into line like a deftdriver reining up kicking colts. "All men should be warranted safe, notto go off."

  "Unless there's a fair target," and the priest looked us oversignificantly and laughed. If he felt a gentle pull on the rein, heyielded not a jot. Unluckily there are no curb-bits for hard-mouthedtalkers.

  "Rufus, I don't see that ye wear a ticket warranting ye'll not go off,"he added merrily. Red became redder on two faces, and hot, hotter withat least one temper.

  "And womankind?" I managed to blurt out, trying to second her effortsagainst our tormentor. "What guarantee against dangers from them? Thepulpit silenced--though that's a big contract--mankind labeled, what forwomen?"

  "Libeled," she retorted. "Men say we don't hit straight enough to bedangerous."

  "The very reason ye are dangerous," the priest broke in. "Ye aim at ahead and hit a heart! Then away ye go to Gretna Green--och! It'sPembina, I mean! Marry, my children----" and he paused.

  "Marry!--What?" I shouted. Thereupon Frances Sutherland broke into pealsof laughter, in which I could see no reason, and Father Holland winked.

  "What's wrong with ye?" asked the priest solemnly. "Faith, 'tis noadvice I'm giving; but as I was remarking, marry, my children, I'dsooner stand before a man not warranted safe than a woman, who mighttake to shying pretty charms at my head! Faith, me lambs, ye'll learnthat I speak true."

  As Mr. Jack MacKenzie used to put it in his peppery reproof, I alwaysdid have a knack of tumbling head first the instant an opportunityoffered. This time I had gone in heels and all, and now came up in asfine a confusion as any bashful bumpkin ever displayed before his lady.Frances Sutherland had regained her composure and came to my rescue withanother attempt to take the lead from the loquacious churchman.

  "I'm so grateful to you for arranging this trip," and she turneddirectly to me.

  "Hm-m," blurted Father Holland with unutterable merriment, before Icould get a word in, "he's grateful to himself for that same thing.Faith! He's been thankin' the stars, especially Venus, ever since he gotmarching orders!"

  "How did you reach Fort Gibraltar?" she persisted.

  "Sans boots and cap," I promptly replied, determined to be ahead of theinterloper.

  "Sans heart, too," and the priest flicked my broncho with his whip andknocked the ready-made speech, with which I had hoped to silence him,clean out of my head. Frances Sutherland took to examining remoteobjects on the horizon. Hers was a nature not to be beaten.

  "Let us ride faster," she suddenly proposed with a glance that bodedroguery for the priest's portly form. She was off like a shaft from abow-string, causing a stampede of our horses. That was effective. A hardgallop against a stiff prairie wind will stop a stout man's eloquence.

  "Ho youngsters!" exclaimed the priest, coming abreast of us as we reinedup behind the scouts. "If ye set me that gait--whew--I'll not be leftfor Gretna Green--Faith--it's Pembina, I mean," and he puffed like acargo boat doing itself proud among the great liners.

  He was breathless, therefore safe. Frances Sutherland was not disposedto break the accumulating silence, and I, for the life of me, could notthink of a single remark appropriate for a party of three. The ordinarycommonplaces, that stop-gap conversation, refused to come forth. Irehearsed a multitude of impossible speeches; but they stuck behindsealed lips.

  "Silence is getting heavy, Rufus," he observed, enjoying ourembarrassment.

  Thus we jogged forward for a mile or more.

  "Troth, me pet lambs," he remarked, as breath returned, "ye'll bothbleat better without me!"

  Forthwith, away he rode fifty yards ahead, keeping that distance beyondus for the rest of the day and only calling over his shoulderoccasionally.

  "Och! But y'r bronchos are slow! Don't be telling me y'r bronchos arenot slow! A
rrah, me hearties, be making good use o' the honeymoon,--Imean afternoon, not honeymoon. Marry, me children, but y'r bronchos arebog-spavined and spring-halted. Jiggle-joggle faster, with ye, yerascals! Faith, I see ye out o' the tail o' my eye. Those bronchos arenosing a bit too close, I'm thinkin'! I'm going to turn! I warn yefair--ready! One--shy-off there! Two--have a care! Three--I'm coming!Four--prepare!"

  And he would glance back with shouts of droll laughter. "Get epp! Wemustn't disturb them! Get epp!" This to his own horse and off he wouldgo, humming some ditty to the lazy hobble of his nag.

  "Old angel!" said I, under my breath, and I fell to wondering whatearthly reason any man had for becoming a priest.

  He was right. Talk no longer lagged, whatever our bronchos did; but,indeed, all we said was better heard by two than three. Why that was, Icannot tell, for like beads of a rosary our words were strung togetheron things commonplace enough; and fond hearts, as well as mystics, havea key to unlock a world of meaning from meaningless words. Tufts ofpoplars, wood islands on the prairie, skulking coyotes, that prowled tothe top of some earth mound and uttered their weird cries, mud-coloredbadgers, hulking clumsily away to their treacherous holes, gophers, slyfellows, propped on midget tails pointing fore-paws at us--these andother common things stole the hours away. The sun, dipping close to thesky-line, shone distorted through the warm haze like a huge bloodshield. Far ahead our scouts were pitching tents on ground well backfrom the river to avoid the mosquitoes swarming above the water. It wastime to encamp for the night.

  Those long June nights in the far north with fire glowing in the trackof a vanished sun and stillness brooding over infinite space--have aglory, that is peculiarly their own. Only a sort of half-darkness liesbetween the lingering sunset and the early sun-dawn. At nine o'clock thesun-rim is still above the western prairie. At ten, one may read bydaylight, and, if the sky is clear, forget for another hour that nighthas begun. After supper, Father Holland sat at a distance from the tentswith his back carefully turned towards us, a precaution on his part forwhich I was not ungrateful. Frances Sutherland was throned on the boxesof our quondam table, and I was reclining against saddle-blankets at herfeet.

  "Oh! To be so forever," she exclaimed, gazing at the globe of solid goldagainst the opal-green sky. "To have the light always clear, justahead, nothing between us and the light, peace all about, no care, noweariness, just quiet and beauty like this forever."

  "Like this forever! I ask nothing better," said I with great heartiness;but neither her eyes nor her thoughts were for me. Would the eyeslooking so intently at the sinking sun, I wondered, condescend to lookat a spot against the sun. In desperation I meditated standing up. 'Tisall very well to talk of storming the citadel of a closed heart, butunless telepathic implements of war are perfected to the same extent asmodern armaments, permitting attack at long range, one must first getwithin shooting distance. Apparently I was so far outside the defences,even my design was unknown.

  "I think," she began in low, hesitating words, so clear and thrilling,they set my heart beating wildly with a vague expectation, "I thinkheaven must be very, very near on nights like this, don't--you--Rufus?"

  I wasn't thinking of heaven at all, at least, not the heaven she had inmind; but if there is one thing to make a man swear white is black andblack white and to bring him to instantaneous agreement with anystatement whatsoever, it is to hear his Christian name so spoken for thefirst time. I sat up in an electrified way that brought the fringe oflashes down to hide those gray eyes.

  "Very near? Well rather! I've been in heaven all day," I vowed. "I'vebeen getting glimpses of paradise all the way from Fort William----"

  "Don't," she interrupted with a flash of the imperious nature, which Iknew. "Please don't, Mr. Gillespie."

  "Please don't Mister Gillespie me," said I, piqued by a return to theformal. "If you picked up Rufus by mistake from the priest, he sets agood example. Don't drop a good habit!"

  That was my first step inside the outworks.

  "Rufus," she answered so gently I felt she might disarm and slay me ifshe would, "Rufus Gillespie"--that was a return of the old spirit, acompromise between her will and mine--"please don't begin saying thatsort of thing--there's a whole day before us----"

  "And you think I can't keep it up?"

  "You haven't given any sign of failing. You know, Rufus," she addedconsolingly, "you really must not say those things, or something will behurt! You'll make me hurt it."

  "Something is hurt and needs mending, Miss Sutherland----"

  "Don't Miss Sutherland me," she broke in with a laugh, "call me Frances;and if something is hurt and needs mending, I'm not a tinker, though myfather and the priest--yes and you, too--sometimes think so. But sistersdo mending, don't they?" and she laughed my earnestness off as one wouldpuff out a candle.

  "No--no--no--not sisters--not that," I protested. "I have no sisters,Little Statue. I wouldn't know how to act with a sister, unless shewere somebody else's sister, you know. I can't stand the sisterlybusiness, Frances----"

  "Have you suffered much from the sisterly?" she asked with a merrytwinkle.

  "No," I hastened to explain, "I don't know how to play the sisterlytouch-and-go at all, but the men tell me it doesn't work--dead failure,always ends the same. Sister proposes, or is proposed to----"

  "Oh!" cried the Little Statue with the faintest note of alarm, and shemoved back from me on the boxes. "I think we'd better play at being verymatter-of-fact friends for the rest of the trip."

  "No, thank you, Miss Sutherland--Frances, I mean," said I. "I'm not thefool to pretend that----"

  "Then pretend anything you like," and there was a sudden coldness in hervoice, which showed me she regarded my refusal and the slip in her nameas a rebuff. "Pretend anything you like, only don't say things."

  That was a throwing down of armor which I had not expected.

  "Then pretend that a pilgrim was lost in the dark, lost where men'ssouls slip down steep places to hell, and that one as radiant as anangel from heaven shone through the blackness and guided him back tosafe ground," I cried, taking quick advantage of my fair antagonist'ssudden abandon and casting aside all banter.

  "Children! children!" cried the priest. "Children! Sun's down! Time togo to your trundles, my babes!"

  "Yes, yes," I shouted. "Wait till I hear the rest of this story."

  At my words she had started up with a little gasp of fright. A look ofawe came into her gray eyes, which I have seen on the faces of those whofind themselves for the first time beside the abyss of a precipice. AndI have climbed many lofty peaks, but never one without passing theseplaces with the fearful possibilities of destruction. Always the novicehas looked with the same unspeakable fear into the yawning depths, withthe same unspeakable yearning towards the jewel-crowned heights beyond.This, or something of this, was in the startled attitude of thetrembling figure, whose eyes met mine without flinching or favor.

  "Or pretend that a traveler had lost his compass, and though he waswithout merit, God gave him a star."

  "Is it a pretty story, Rufus?" called the priest.

  "Very," I cried out impatiently. "Don't interrupt."

  "Or pretend that a poor fool with no merit but his love of purity andtruth and honor lost his way to paradise, and God gave him an angel fora guide."

  "Is it a long story, Rufus?" called the priest.

  "It's to be continued," I shouted, leaping to my feet and approachingher.

  "And pretend that the pilgrim and the traveler and the fool, asked noother privilege but to give each his heart's love, his life's devotionto her who had come between him and the darkness----"

  "Rufus!" roared the priest. "I declare I'll take a stick to you. Comeaway! D' y' hear? She's tired."

  "Good-night," she answered, in a broken whisper, so cold it stabbed melike steel; and she put out her hand in the mechanical way of thewell-bred woman in every land.

  "Is that all?" I asked, holding the hand as if it had been a galvanicbattery, thou
gh the priest was coming straight towards us.

  "All?" she returned, the lashes falling over the misty, gray eyes. "Ah,Rufus! Are we playing jest is earnest, or earnest is jest?" and sheturned quickly and went to her tent.

  How long I stood in reverie, I do not know. The priest's broad handpresently came down on my shoulder with a savage thud.

  "Ye blunder-busticus, ye, what have ye been doing?" he asked. "TheLittle Statue was crying when she went to her tent."

  "Crying?"

  "Yes, ye idiot. I'll stay by her to-morrow."

  And he did. Nor could he have contrived severer punishment for theunfortunate effect of my words. Fool, that I was! I should keep myselfin hand henceforth. How many men have made that vow regarding the womanthey love? Those that have kept it, I trow, could be counted easilyenough. But I had no opportunity to break my vow; for the priest rodewith Frances Sutherland the whole of the second day, and not once did helet loose his scorpion wit. She had breakfast alone in her tent nextmorning, the priest carrying tea and toast to her; and when she cameout, she leaped to her saddle so quickly I lost the expected favor ofplacing that imperious foot in the stirrup. We set out three abreast,and I had no courage to read my fate from the cold, marble face. Theground became rougher. We were forced to follow long detours roundsloughs, and I gladly fell to the rear where I was unobserved. Clumps ofwillows alone broke the endless dip of the plain. Glassy creeksglittered silver through the green, and ever the trail, like a narrowribbon of many loops, fled before us to the dim sky-line.

  When we halted for our nooning, Frances Sutherland had slipped from hersaddle and gone off picking prairie roses before either the priest or Inoticed her absence.

  "If you go off, you nuisance, you," said the priest rubbing his baldpate, and gazing after her in a puzzled way, when we had the meal ready,"I think she'll come back and eat."

  I promptly took myself off and had the glum pleasure of hearing her chatin high spirits over the dinner table of packing boxes; but she was onher cayuse and off with the scouts long before Father Holland and I hadmounted.

  "Rufus," said the priest with a comical, quizzical look, as we set offtogether. "Rufus, I think y'r a fool."

  "I've thought that several hundred thousand times myself, this morning."

  "Have ye as much as got a glint of her eye to-day?"

  "No. I can't compete against the Church with women. Any fool knows that,even as big a fool as I."

  "Tush, youngster! Don't take to licking your raw tongue up and down thecynic's saw edge! Put a spur to your broncho there and ride ahead withher."

  "Having offended a goddess, I don't wish to be struck dead by invitingher wrath."

  "Pah! I've no patience with y'r ramrod independence! Bend a stiff neck,or you'll break a sore heart! Ride ahead, I tell you, you young mule!"and he brought a smart flick across my broncho.

  "Father Holland," I made answer with the dignity of a bishop and my nosemighty high in the air, "will you permit me to suggest that people knowtheir own affairs best----"

  "Tush, no! I'll permit you to do nothing of the kind," said he, drivinga fly from his horse's ear. "Don't you know, you young idiot, thatbetween a man surrendering his love, and a woman surrendering hers,there's difference enough to account for tears? A man gives his and getsit back with compound interest in coin that's pure gold compared to hiscopper. A woman gives hers and gets back----" the priest stopped.

  "What?" I asked, interest getting the better of wounded pride.

  "Not much that's worth having from idiots like you," said he; by whichthe priest proved he could deal honestly by a friend, without anymincing palliatives.

  His answer set me thinking for the best part of the afternoon; and Iwarrant if any man sets out with the priest's premises and thinks hardfor an afternoon he will come to the same conclusion that I did.

  "Let's both poke along a little faster," said I, after long silence.

  "Oho! With all my heart!" And we caught up with Frances Sutherland andfor the first time that day I dared to look at her face. If there weretear marks about the wondrous eyes, they were the marks of the showerafter a sun-burst, the laughing gladness of life in golden light, thejoyous calm of washed air when a storm has cleared away turbulence. Whydid she evade me and turn altogether to the priest at her right? Had Ibeen of an analytical turn of mind, I might, perhaps, have made a verycareful study of an emotion commonly called jealousy; but, when one'sheart beats fast, one's thoughts throng too swiftly for introspection.Was I a part of the new happiness? I did not understand human naturethen as I understand it now, else would I have known that fair eyesturn away to hide what they dare not reveal. I prided myself that I wasnow well in hand. I should take the first opportunity to undo my follyof the night before.

  * * * * *

  It was after supper. Father Holland had gone to his tent. FrancesSutherland was arranging a bunch of flowers in her lap; and I took myplace directly behind her lest my face should tell truth while my tongueuttered lies.

  "Speaking of stars, you know Miss Sutherland," I began, remembering thatI had said something about stars that must be unsaid.

  "Don't call me _Miss_ Sutherland, Rufus," she said, and that gentleanswer knocked my grand resolution clean to the four winds.

  "I beg your pardon, Frances----" Chaos and I were one. Whatever was it Iwas to say about stars?

  "Well?" There was a waiting in the voice.

  "Yes--you know--Frances." I tried to call up something coherent; butsomehow the thumping of my heart set up a rattling in my head.

  "No--Rufus. As a matter of fact, I don't know. You were going to tell mesomething."

  "Bother my stupidity, Miss--Miss--Frances, but the mastiff's forgottenwhat it was going to bow-wow about!"

  "Not the moon this time," she laughed. "Speaking of stars," and she gaveme back my own words.

  "Oh! Yes! Speaking of stars! Do you know I think a lot of the mencoming up from Fort William got to regarding the star above the leadingcanoe as their own particular star."

  I thought that speech a masterpiece. It would convince her she was thestar of all the men, not mine particularly. That was true enough toappease conscience, a half-truth like Louis Laplante's words. So I wouldrob my foolish avowal of its personal element. A flush suffused thesnowy white below her hair.

  "Oh! I didn't notice any particular star above the leading canoe. Therewere so very, very many splendid stars, I used to watch them half thenight!"

  That answer threw me as far down as her manner had elated me.

  "Well! What of the stars?" asked the silvery voice.

  I was dumb. She flung the flowers aside as though she would leave; butFather Holland suddenly emerged from the tent fanning himself with hishat.

  "Babes!" said he. "You're a pair of fools! Oh! To be young and throw ouropportunities helter-skelter like flowers of which we're tired," and helooked at the upset lapful. "Children! children! _Carpe Diem! CarpeDiem!_ Pluck the flowers; for the days are swifter than arrows," and hewalked away from us engrossed in his own thoughts, muttering over andover the advice of the Latin poet, "_Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem!_"

  "What is _Carpe Diem_?" asked Frances Sutherland, gazing after thepriest in sheer wonder.

  "I wasn't strong on classics at Laval and I haven't my crib."

  "Go on!" she commanded. "You're only apologizing for my ignorance. Youknow very well."

  "It means just what he says--as if each day were a flower, you know, hadits joys to be plucked, that can never come again."

  "Flowers! Oh! I know! The kind you all picked for me coming up from FortWilliam. And do you know, Rufus, I never could thank you all? Were those_Carpe Diem_ flowers?"

  "No--not exactly the kind Father Holland means we should pick."

  "What then?" and she turned suddenly to find her face not a hand'slength from mine.

  "This kind," I whispered, bending in terrified joy over her shoulder;and I plucked a blossom straight from her lips and another and
yetanother, till there came into the deep, gray eyes what I cannottranscribe, but what sent me away the king of all men--for had I notfound my Queen?

  And that was the way I carried out my grand resolution and kept myselfin hand.