The Heart of Unaga

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VII

  THE HARVEST OF WINTER

  Steve was confronted with six months of desperate winter on the plateauof Unaga. It was an outlook that demanded all the strength of his simplefaith. He was equal to the tasks lying before him, but not for onemoment did he underestimate them.

  For all the harshness of the life which claimed him Steve's whole naturewas imbued with a saneness of sympathy, a deep kindliness of spirit thatleft him master of himself under every emotion. The great governingfactor in his life was a strength of honest purpose. A purpose, in itsturn, prompted by his sense of right and justice, and those things whichhave their inspiration in a broad generosity of spirit. So it was thatunder all conditions his conscience remained at peace.

  It was supported by such feelings that he faced the tasks which thedesperate heart of Unaga imposed upon him. He had the care of anorphaned child, he had the care of that child's Indian nurse, and thelives and well-being of his own two men charged up against him. He alsohad the investigations which he had been sent to make, and furthermore,there was his own life to be preserved for the woman he loved, and theinfant child of their love, waiting for his return a thousand milesaway. The work was the work of a giant rather than a man; but never forone moment did his confidence fail him.

  The days following the arrival at the post were urgent. They were daysof swift thought and prompt action. The open season was gone, and thestruggle for existence might begin without a moment's warning. Steveknew. Everyone knew. That is, everyone except little Marcel.

  The boy accepted every changing condition without thought, and busiedhimself with the preparations of his new friends. It had no significancefor him that all day long the forest rang with the clip of the fellingaxe. Neither did the unceasing work of the buck-saw, as it ploughed itsway through an endless stream of sapling trunks, afford him anythingbeyond the joy of lending his assistance. Then, too, the morning surveyof the elemental prospect, when his elders searched the skies, fearingand hoping, and grimly accepting that which the fates decreed, was onlyone amongst his many joys. It was all a great and fascinating game, fullof interest and excitement for a budding capacity which Steve was quickto recognize.

  But the child's greatest delight was the moment when "Uncle Steve"invited him to assist him in discovering the economic resources of hisown home. As the examination proceeded Steve learned many things whichcould never have reached him through any other source. He obtained apeep into the lives of these people through the intimate eyes of thechild, and his keen perception read through the tumbling, eager words tothe great truths of which the child was wholly unaware. And it was astory which left him with the profoundest admiration and pity for thedead man who was the genius of it all.

  Not for one moment did Steve permit a shadow to cross the child's sunny,smiling face. From the first moment when the responsibility for Marcel'slittle life had fallen into his hands his mind was made up. By everyartifice the boy must be kept from all knowledge of the tragedy thathad befallen him. When he asked for his mother he was told that she wasso sick that she could not be worried. This was during the first twodays. After that he was told that she had gone away. She had gone awayto meet his father, and that when she came back she would bring his"pop" with her. A few added details of a fictitious nature completelysatisfied, and the child accepted without question that which his herotold him.

  He was permitted to see nothing of the little silent cortege that leftthe post late on the second night. He saw nothing of the grief-ladeneyes of An-ina as she followed the three men bearing their burden of thedead mother, enclosed in a coffin made out of the packing cases withwhich the fort was so abundantly supplied. He had seen the men diggingin the forest earlier in the day, and had been more than satisfied when"Uncle Steve" assured him they were digging a well. Later on he woulddiscover the great beacon of stones which marked the "well." But, forthe moment, while the curtain was being rung down on the tragedy of hislife, he was sleeping calmly, and dreaming those happy things which onlychild slumbers may know.

  Good fortune smiled on the early efforts at the fort For ten days thearch-enemy withheld his hand. For ten days the weary sun was draggedfrom its rest by the evil "dogs" which seemed to dominate its movementscompletely. But each day their evil eyes grew more and more portentiousand threatening as they watched the human labourers they seemed toregard with so much contempt.

  Then came the change. It was the morning of the eleventh day. The "dogs"had hidden their faces and the weary sun remained obscured behind a massof grey cloud. The crisp breeze which had swept the valley with itsinvigorating breath had died out, and the world had suddenly becomethreateningly silent.

  A few great snowflakes fluttered silently to the ground. Steve was atthe gateway of the stockade, and his constant attendant was beside himin his bundle of furs. The man's eyes were measuring as they gazed up atthe grey sky. Little Marcel was wisely studying, too.

  "Maybe us has snow," he observed sapiently at last, as he watched thefalling flakes.

  "Yes. I guess we'll get snow."

  Steve smiled down at the little figure beside him.

  "Wot makes snow, Uncle Steve?" the boy demanded.

  "Why, the cold, I guess. It just freezes the rain in the clouds. Andwhen they get so heavy they can't stay up any longer, why--they justcome tumbling down and makes folk sit around the stove and wish theywouldn't."

  "Does us wish they wouldn't?"

  "Most all the time."

  The child considered deeply. Then his face brightened hopefully.

  "Bimeby us digs, Uncle Steve," he said. "Boy likes digging."

  Steve held out a hand and Marcel yielded his.

  "Boy'll help 'Uncle Steve,' eh?"

  "I's always help Uncle Steve."

  The spontaneity of the assurance remained unanswerable.

  Steve glanced back into the enclosure. Then his hand tightened upon theboy's with gentle pressure.

  "Come on, old fellow. We'll get along in, and make that stove, and--wishit wouldn't."

  He led the way back to the house.

  The snowfall grew in weight and density. Silent, still, the world ofUnaga seemed to have lost all semblance of life. White, white, eternalwhite, and above the heavy grey of an overburdened sky. Solitude,loneliness, desperately complete. It was the silence which well nighdrives the human brain to madness. From minutes to hours; from inches tofeet. Day and night. Day and night. Snow, snow all the time, till thetally of days grew, and the weeks slowly passed. It almost seemed as ifNature, in her shame, were seeking to hide up the sight of her owncreation.

  For three silent weeks the snow continued to fall without a break. Thenit ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the fort buried well nighto the eaves. The herald of change was a wild rush of wind sweeping downthe valley from the broken hills which formed its northern limits. And,within half an hour, the silence was torn, and ripped, and tattered, andthe world transformed, and given up to complete and utter chaos. Ahurricane descended on the post, and its timbers groaned under the addedburden. The forest giants laboured and protested at the mercilessonslaught, while the crashing of trees boomed out its deep note amidstthe shriek of the storm. As the fury of it all rose, so rose up thesnowfall of weeks into a blinding fog which shut out every sight of thedesolate plateau as though it had never been.

  * * * * *

  Five weeks saw the extent of winter's first onslaught. And after thatfor awhile, the battle resolved itself into a test of human endurance,with the temperature hovering somewhere below 60 deg. below zero. For a fewshort hours the sun would deign to appear above the horizon, prosecuteits weary journey across the skyline, and ultimately die its daily deathwith almost pitiful indifference. Then some twenty hours, when the worldwas abandoned to the starry magnificence of the Arctic night, supportedby the brilliant light of a splendid aurora.

  It was during this time that Steve pursued his researches into the livesof these people. He was sitting now i
n the laboratory, which was abuilding apart from all the rest. It was the home of the chemist'sresearch. It was equipped with wonderful completeness. Besides theshelves containing all the paraphernalia of a chemist's profession, andthe counter which supported a distilling apparatus, and which wasclearly intended for other experiment as well, there was a desk, and asmall wood stove, which was alight, and radiating a pleasant heat.

  It was the desk which held most interest for Steve. It was here helooked to find, in the dead man's papers, in his letters, in his recordsand books, the answer to every question in his mind.

  For some hours he had been reading from one of the volumes of the man'sexhaustive diary. It was a living document containing a fascinatingstory of the chemist's hopes and fears for the great objects which hadled to his abandonment of the civilized world for the bitter heights ofUnaga. And in every line of it Steve realized it could only have beenwritten by a man of strong, deep conviction and enthusiasm, a man whosepurpose soared far above the mere desire for gain. He felt, in thereading, he was listening to the words of a man who was all and more,far more, than his wife had claimed for him.

  At last the fire in the stove shook down and he became aware of the workof busy shovels going on just outside. He pulled out his watch, and theyellow light of the oil lamp told him that he had been reading fornearly three hours. Setting a marker in the book he closed itreluctantly, and prepared to return the litter of documents to thedrawers which stood open beside him.

  At that moment the door opened, and the tall figure of the squaw An-inastood in the framing.

  "Him supper all fixed," she announced, in her quietly assured fashion.

  Steve looked up, and his eyes gazed squarely into the woman's handsomeface. He was thinking rapidly.

  "Say An-ina," he began at last. "I've been reading a whole heap. It'swhat the man, Brand, wrote. He seems to have been a pretty greatfeller."

  The woman nodded as he paused.

  "Heap good man," she commented.

  Her eyes lit with an emotion there could be no misunderstanding. For allthe savage stock from which she sprang the dead white man had claimed agreat loyalty and devotion.

  "You see, An-ina," Steve went on, "I came along up here to chase up themurder of two men. My work's to locate all the facts, arrest themurderers, take them back to where I come from, and make my report."

  "Sure. That how An-ina mak it so."

  The woman's eyes were questioning. She was wondering at the meaning ofall this preliminary. And she was not without disquiet. She had come torealize that, with the death of her mistress, only this man and hisscouts stood between her and disaster. She could not rid herself of thedread which pursued her now. Little Marcel was a white child. This manwas white. She--she was just a squaw. She was of the colour of these"Sleeper" Indians. Would they take the child of her mother heart fromher, and leave her to her fate amongst these folk who slept the wholewinter through?

  "Yes," Steve was gazing thoughtfully at the light which came from underthe rough cardboard shade of the lamp. "Well, the whole look of thingshas kind of changed since I've--" he indicated the papers on thedesk--"taken a look into all these."

  "Him read--much. Him look--always look. So."

  Steve nodded.

  "That's so. Well, I've got to get busy now, and do the things I was sentup to do. But it seems likely there's going to be no murderer to takeback with me. It looks like a report of two men dead, by each other'shand, a woman dead through accident, and you, and little Marcel leftalive. That being so I guess I can't leave you two up here. Do you getthat?" He set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands."There's the boy, he's white," he said, watching the squaw's troubledface. "He's got to go right back with me, when my work's done. Andyou--why, you'd best come, too. I'd hate to rob you of the boy. You'llboth need to come right along. And the big folk will say what's to bedone with you when we get back. How do you say?"

  The trouble had completely vanished from the woman's eyes. It was likethe passing of a great shadow. Their velvet softness radiated herthankfulness, her gratitude.

  "It good. Much good," she cried, with a sudden abandonment of that stoicunemotional manner which was native to her. "An-ina love white boy. Shelove him much. Boy go? Then An-ina all go dead. An-ina wait. So stormdevil him come. Then An-ina go out, and sleep, sleep, and not wake neverno more. An-ina keep boy? Then An-ina much happy. An-ina help white manofficer. An-ina strong. Mak long trail. An-ina no sick. No mak tire.Work all time. An' help--much help white man officer. So."

  Steve's smiling eyes indicated his acceptance of the woman'sprotestations.

  "That's all right," he said. Then he went on after a moment's thought:"Now, you know these folk. These 'Sleepers.' Do you know theirlingo--their language? I've got to make a big pow-wow with their headman. I guess that can't be done till they wake. You figger they wake atintervals, and they dope themselves again. If that's so, I've got to gettheir big chief right at that time. D' you guess you could take me rightalong to get a look at these folk, and, after that, fix things so I cangrab their big man first time he wakes?"

  The woman nodded at once, and her eyes wore a contented smile.

  "Sure. An-ina know. Show him white man officer. Oh, yes. Show him allthis folk. Oh, yes. When? Now? Oh, yes. Him not snow. It good. Thensometime An-ina watch. She watch, watch, all time, and when him wake,an' eat, then him white man come an' mak pow-wow. Good?"

  "Fine." Steve returned all the papers to the drawers in the desk andstood up. "Guess I'll eat right away, and after that we'll get along an'take a peek at these folks. The boys got the snow clear outside?"

  "Him dig much. Snow plenty gone."

  "Good. And little Marcel?" Steve enquired, with a tender smile. "Has hebeen digging?"

  The squaw's eyes lit.

  "Oh, yes, him boy dig. An' Julyman, an' him Oolak all laff. Boy dig alltime, everywhere." An-ina laughed in her silent way. Then she sobered,and a great warmth shone in her eyes. "Boss white man officer love himboy? Yes?"

  Steve nodded in his friendly way.

  "Oh, I guess so," he admitted. "You see, I've got a little girl baby ofmy own way back--where I come from."

  "So."

  There was no mistaking the understanding in the woman's significantejaculation.

  * * * * *

  Steve and An-ina passed out into the wonderful glowing twilight. Therewas no need for the sun in the steely glittering heavens. The fullmoonlight of the lower latitudes was incomparable with the Arctic night.From end to end in a great arc the aurora lit the world, and left thestars blazing impotently. The cold was at its lowest depths, and not abreath of wind stirred the air. Up to the eyes in furs the two figuresmoved out beyond the stockade into the shadowed world.

  The squaw led the way, floundering over the frozen snow-drifts with thegentle padding sound of her moccasined feet. Steve kept hard behind heryielding himself entirely to her guidance.

  Out in the open no sign remained of the dome-roofed settlement of theSleepers. The huts had served to buttress the snow for the blizzard.They were buried deep under the great white ridges which the storm hadleft.

  It was something upon which Steve had not calculated. And he swiftlydrew the squaw's attention.

  "Say," he cried, pointing at the place where the huts had been visible,"I kind of forgot the snow."

  The squaw's eyes were just visible under her fur hood. Their brightnesssuggested a smile.

  "No 'Sleeper' man by this hut. Oh, no," she exclaimed decidedly. "Nowinter, then him 'Sleeper' man live by this hut. Winter come, then himsleep by woods. Much hut. Plenty. All cover, hid-up. Come, I show."

  Steve was more than relieved. The snow had looked like upsetting all hiscalculation.

  Once clear of the banked snow-drifts, which rose to the height of thestockade, they moved rapidly over the crusted surface towards the darkwall of woods which frowned down upon them in the twilight, and, in afew moments, the light of the splendid auror
a was shut out, and themyriad of night lights were suddenly extinguished.

  "Keep him much close," An-ina cried, her mitted hand grasping Steve bythe arm. "Bimeby him bush go all thick. An-ina know."

  They trudged on, and as they proceeded deeper and deeper into thedarkness of the forest, Steve's eyes became accustomed. The snow brokeinto patches, and soon they found themselves more often walking over theunderlay of rotting pine cones than the winter carpet of the Northernworld. The temperature, too, rose, and Steve, at least, was glad toloosen the furs from about his cheeks and nose.

  Half an hour of rapid walking proved the squaw's words. The lanktree-trunks, down aisles of which they had been passing, became lost ina wealth of dense undergrowth. It was here that the woman paused for herbearings. But her fault was brief, and in a few moments she picked upthe opening of a distinct but winding pathway. The windings, theentanglement of the growth which lined it, made the path seeminterminable. But the confidence and decision of his guide left Stevewithout the slightest doubt. Presently his confidence was justified.

  The path led directly to the entrance of a stoutly constructedhabitation. Even in the darkness Steve saw that the hut exactly occupieda cleared space. The surrounding bush, in its wild entanglement,completely overgrew it. The result was an extraordinarily effectivehiding. Only precise knowledge could ever have hoped to discover it.

  An-ina paused at the low door and pointed beyond.

  "Track him go long way. More hut. Much, plenty. Oh, yes. Much hut. This,big man chief. All him fam'ly. Come."

  She bent low, and passed into the tunnel-like entrance, built of closelyinterlaced Arctic willow. A dozen paces or more brought them to ahanging curtain of skins. The woman raised this, and held it while Stevepassed beyond. A few paces farther on was a second curtain, and An-inapaused before she raised it.

  "So," she said, pointing at it. "All him Sleepers."

  Steve understood. And with a queer feeling, almost of excitement, hewaited while the woman cautiously raised the last barrier. He scarcelyknew what to expect. Perhaps complete darkness, and the sound ofstertorous, drugged slumber. That which was revealed, however, came as acomplete surprise.

  The first thing he became aware of was light, and a reeking atmosphereof burning oil. The next was the warmth and flicker of two wood fires.And after that a general odour which he recognized at once. It was thesame heavy, pungent aroma that pervaded the fort where the dead chemiststored the small but precious quantities of the strange weed he traded.

  They stepped cautiously within, and stood in silent contemplation of thefantastic picture revealed by the three primitive lights. They emanatedfrom what looked like earthenware bowls of oil, upon which some sort ofworsted wicks were floating. These were augmented by the ruddy flickerof two considerable wood fires, which burned within circular embankmentsconstructed on the hard earthen floor.

  The lights and fires were a revelation to the man, and he wondered atthem, and the means by which they were tended. But his speculations werequickly swallowed up by the greater interest of the rest of the scene.

  The hut was large. Far larger than might have been supposed; and Steveestimated it at something like thirty feet long by twenty wide. The roofwas thatched with reedy grass, bound down with thongs of rawhide to thesapling rafters. The ridge of the pitched roof was supported by twotree-trunks, which had been cut to the desired height, and left rootedin the ground, while the two ends of it rested upon the end walls. Thewalls themselves were constructed of thick mud plaster, overlaying afoundation of laced willow branches. The whole construction was ofunusual solidity, and the smoke-blackened thatch yielded two holes,Indian fashion, through which the fire smoke was permitted exit.

  But Steve's main interest lay in the drug-suspended life which the placecontained. It was there, still, silent. It lay in two rows down thelength of either side of the great interior. In the dim light he countedit. There were forty-two distinct piles of furs, each yielding the roughoutline of a prone human figure beneath it. Each figure was deathlystill. And the whole suggested some primitive mortuary, with itsfreight, awaiting identification.

  For many moments Steve remained powerless to withdraw his fascinatedgaze. And all the while he was thinking of Julyman, and the story he hadbeen told so long ago. He remembered how he had derided it as beyondbelief.

  At last the fascination passed, and he turned his gaze in search ofthose things which made this extraordinary scene possible. They werethere. Oh, yes. Julyman had not lied. No one had lied about thesecreatures of hibernation. Piles of food were set out in earthenwarebowls, similar to the bowls which contained the floating lights. Thenthere were other vessels, set ready to hand beside the food, and heconjectured their contents to be the necessary brew of the famous drug.

  An-ina's voice broke in upon his reflections.

  "Him all much sleep," she said. "No wake now. Bimeby. Oh, yes."

  She spoke in her ordinary tone. She had no fear of waking these "dead"creatures.

  "Tell me," Steve said after a pause, "who keeps these fires going? Whowatches them? And those oil lights. Do they burn by themselves?"

  An-ina made a little sound. It was almost a laugh.

  "Him light burn all time. Him seal oil," she explained. "Indian man much'fraid for devil-man come. Him light keep him devil-man 'way all time.Winter, yes. Summer, yes. Plenty oil. Only wind mak him blow out. Fire,oh yes. When him wakes bimeby him mak plenty fire. Each man. Him sit byfire all time eat. Then him sleep once more plenty. Each man wake, eachman mak fire. So fire all time. No freeze dead."

  "None awake now," demurred Steve lowering his voice unconsciously.

  "Oh, no," returned the squaw. "No man wake now. Bimeby yes. H'st!"

  The woman's sudden, low-voiced warning startled Steve. Her Indian eyeshad been quicker than his. There was a movement under the fur robes ofone of the curious heaps in the distance, to the left, and she pointedat it.

  Steve followed the direction indicated. Sure enough there was movement.One of the men had turned over on his back.

  "Him wake--bimeby," whispered the squaw. "Come!"

  She moved towards the doorway, and Steve followed closely. In a momentthey had passed the curtained barriers out into the fresh night air.

  Steve paused.

  "Would that be the headman?" he demanded.

  An-ina shook her head.

  "Him headman by door. Him sleep where we stand. Him sleep by door. Himbrave. Keep devil-man away. So."

  "I see," Steve moved on down the path. "Well, we'll get right back. I'mgoing to reckon on you, An-ina. Each day you go. When the headman wakesyou speak with him. You tell him white man officer of the Great WhiteChief come. He looks for dead white men. You must tell him to keep awakewhile you bring white man officer. See?"

  "Sure. An-ina know. An-ina mak him fix all so."