The Heart of Unaga

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER IX

  THE CLOSE OF THE SEASON

  For days the journey continued through the ever deepening gorge. Thestern grey walls remained unbroken, except for occasional sentry treeswhich had survived the years of storm and flood. Carpets of Arcticlichen sometimes clothed their nakedness, and even wide wastes ofnoisome fungus. But these things had no power to depress Marcel andKeeko; the Indians, too, passed them all unheeded. They were concernedalone with the perils of the waters which were often almostoverwhelming.

  The journey northward was one continuous struggle by day, and the daylitnight was passed in the profound slumbers of exhausted bodies, with thecanoes beached on some low foreshore dank with an atmosphere of hideousdecay.

  For Keeko and the Indians it seemed as if the land was rising everhigher and higher, and the endless waterway was cutting its coursedeeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. But there was noquestion. Marcel was piloting them to a hunting ground of his own, andthis passage was the highway to it.

  Only once did Keeko protest. It was a protest that was natural enough.But Marcel swept it aside without scruple.

  "I call this 'Hell's Gate,'" he said, with a ready laugh. "Soundsrotten? But I always figger you need to pass through 'some' hell to makeParadise. We're in a mighty big country, and a-top of us are hundreds,and maybe thousands, of miles of forests that never heard tell of man.Wait. There's a break soon, just beyond the big rapids. That's wherethese darn old walls of rock fade right out, and make way for a lakethat's like a sea."

  It was his undisturbed confidence that broke the constant threat ofimagination. This north country was Marcel's home. He knew no other. Sothey drove on, and on, to the goal that he had set.

  The great rapids came at them as he had promised. And, in turn, theywere passed on that narrow margin which is the line drawn between safetyand destruction. Then came the mouth of the gorge, and the stretch ofopen river where it debouched upon the "lake that was like a sea."

  For Keeko it was all like some wonderful dream with Marcel the magicianwho inspired it.

  Two days later they had landed in a country whose relation to that whichKeeko knew was only in the swarming flies and mosquitoes, and the keenair, which, even in the height of the open season, warned her of theterrors which must reign when the aurora lit the night of winter.

  "Guess this is Paradise," Marcel explained, in answer to Keeko'sexpressed delight at the wide openness of it all, and at the sight ofthe sparse, lean Arctic grass which replaced the monotony of theshadowed river. "Guess it's a matter of contrasts," he went on. "It'skind of light, I guess, and it makes you think it's green. There's bush,or scrub, and bluffs of timber. But there's other things. It's mostly asort of tundra and muskeg. There's more flies to the square inch thanyou'd reckon there's room for. But it's the home of the silver foxthat's never been hunted."

  His words were lost upon the girl. Her whole attention had becomeabsorbed with her first glance out across the lake. She was staring at arange of tremendous hills far away to the north-east, and her wonder-liteyes were held by a strange phenomenon that filled the sky.

  It was a blaze of ruddy light tinting a world of frothing cloud. To herit looked like a stormy oasis in the steely blue of an almost cloudlesssky. It might have been the splendid light of an angry sunset, only thatthe sun was shining directly behind her. She pointed at it.

  "That!" she cried, in a startled, hushed voice. "What's that?"

  Marcel regarded the scene for some silent moments. It was a spectaclethat stirred him. He was closer to Nature than he knew. The primitivewas deeply rooted in him for all the pains at which Uncle Steve had beento widen his outlook through the learning which his dead father had leftbehind. Here was a caldron of fire playing its reflection upon a tumultof cloud. The cloud itself stood unaccounted in a perfect sky.

  But the answer came readily. Marcel knew those streaks of red and gold,those rosy tints in contrast against the threatening cloud. They werethe lights of Unaga. The lights from the Heart of Unaga, the dread Heartthat haunted the Indian mind, and the secret of which Uncle Steve had sorecently disclosed to him.

  What could he say to this girl to whom he could not lie?

  Doubt and hesitancy passed. These things could not long exist in anature such as his.

  "Guess I haven't seen it ever like that before," he said. Then hecorrected himself. "Not in my recollection. But I know what it is.That's the Heart of Unaga. It's a heart always afire. It's real red-hotfire that no man's ever had the nerve to get near. The Eskimo know it.And it scares them to death. They sort of reckon it's the world wherethe devil reigns. The hell that some folks reckon is real, andhot--and--hellish. But the feller that banks on learning and isn'tworried by superstition'll just hand you the plain truth. It's avolcano, a real, live volcano which they reckon is the heart of Unaga."

  The awe in Keeko's eyes only deepened.

  "It's--it's just amazing," she cried. Then she added with a deep breath,"It's--dreadful."

  * * * * *

  From the moment of their landing on the shores of the lake Marcel andKeeko became absorbed in the work that had brought them thither.

  The wonder of the fiery Heart of Unaga swiftly passed, and only in thebrief moments over the camp-fire its fascination claimed them. At suchmoments neither was quite free from the superstition they derided. ForKeeko it was a mystery of the unknown. For Marcel it was, perhaps, thekey to the whole life effort of the man who was his second father.

  But the fur hunt was theirs, and with this no mystery of Unaga waspermitted to interfere. Marcel was determined on a result such as he hadnever desired before. He dreamed of silver fox, he thought of silverfox. Silver and black fox had become the sole purpose of his life.

  So they beat this great, wide, half-created valley with trap and gun.They beat it up with all the skill of a life of experience, and rewardcame plentifully. It came rapidly, too. Sometimes it was almostoverwhelming.

  It was a land teeming with game of every description known to theregions north of 60 deg.. The neighbourhood of the lake was alive withfeather. Geese swarmed in their thousands, and there were moments whenthe sky was black with their legions. Duck, too, of every descriptionhad winged up from the south to the virgin waters of the North as Naturereluctantly released these hunting-grounds from the bonds of winter.Beaver and musk-ox, caribou and black-tail, reindeer and all the legionsof lesser furs abounded. Thus, in consequence, it was the normalhunting-ground of the pariah of the beast world. Fox swarmed to thefeast that was spread out. And it was the fox alone that needed to fearthe coming of the fur hunter.

  The slaughter of fox was immense, but selection was discriminate. Onlythe silver or black were troubled about, and these were collected with acare and skill that ensured the perfection of the pelts. Marcel wasbetter than his word. He lived on the trail, and the Indians were givenno rest. Keeko, borne on the uplift of success, knew no weariness whenthe effort promised treasure. They were working against time. Each ofthem knew it. And Marcel had the whole season mapped out almost to thehour.

  So the days drew out into weeks, and the sun dropped lower and lowertowards the horizon. Steadily the nights grew longer, and the workinghours less. With each passing day the store of perfect pelts mounted.They were pegged out and dried, and set ready for storing at the momentthe frost should bite through the air and hold them imperishable againsttheir journey down to Keeko's home.

  Life was almost uneventful in the monotony of success. Rains came, andgales blew down off the distant hills to the north-east. There weretimes when the great lake justified Marcel's description of it. It ragedlike a storm-swept sea, and white capped waves broke upon its bosom. Butwith the passing of the storm and the flattening influence of the rain,or under the breaking forth of the chilly Northern sunshine, peace wasrestored, and the calm looked never to have been broken.

  But for all the vagaries of climate, for all the unvarying nature oftheir labours, there was no monotony in t
he hearts of Marcel and Keeko.With every passing hour they came nearer and nearer to each other. Theyouth in them was driving them to that splendid ultimate, which is thehorizon of all things between man and woman. There were no doubts. Andtheir only fear was the nearing of that dreaded day when parting mustcome, and each would be forced to pursue the journey alone.

  The parting was in the back of their minds almost from the moment oftheir arrival at the valley of the lake. Each day that passed was markedoff in Keeko's mind. It was always one step nearer to the time when shewould be forced to bid farewell to the glad light of Marcel's happyeyes, and the sound of his deep-toned, cheerful voice.

  She knew. She had known it from those first happy days of theirpreparations for this northward adventure. And she admitted it withoutshame. She had learned to love the boy with a depth and strength she hadnever thought to yield to any man.

  Love? It had seemed so far removed from her life, and from those withwhom her life had been associated. She had thought a thousand times ofthose men with whom she had been brought into contact. And the very ideaof love had only filled her with nausea. Her experience, from herstep-father down to the loafing "sharps" of Seal Bay, had firmly plantedin her mind the conviction that the men who haunted the shadows northof 60 deg. were only creatures whose quality of soul dared not displayitself in the sunlight of truth and honesty.

  Yet here, here where the world's dark secrets were more deeply hiddenthan anywhere else, even with Marcel's simple confession of a hiddenpurpose, secret movements, she had found a man before whom her woman'sheart had at once prostrated itself. It was amazing even to her. Shefound no explanation even in her moments of heart searching. More thanthat she had no desire to explain or excuse. The wonderful dream of lifehad come true. She had yielded unbidden, and nothing she could think ofin life could undo the work that had been accomplished almost in thefirst moments of their meeting.

  So it was she watched the store of pelts mount up, she watched thegrowing laze of the sun as it rose less and less above the horizon, andshe noted with dread the steady lengthening of the brief summer night.Soon, far too soon, must come that parting which would rob her life ofthe light which had so suddenly broken through its shadows.

  And Marcel was no less troubled. But his nature refused to admit the endwhich Keeko saw ahead. His was a splendid optimism that refused defeat.He had the tryst he had established in his mind. And far back behind hisingenuous eyes the purpose lurked that should necessity arise he wouldcut every tie that bound his life, no matter at what cost, and pursue toits logical end the wonderful dream that had been vouchsafed to him.

  With determination such as this Marcel delayed the start of the returnjourney to the last possible moment. And Keeko set no obstacle in theway. She asked no margin of time for accident by the way. She wasprepared to accept all chances. The last moments before the permanentfreeze up must see her back at her home. For the rest this wild, uncouthland was a radiant garden of delight to her.

  But time waits no more for lovers than it waits for those whose hope isdying with the years. In the Northern wilderness time must be calculatedalmost to the second, and so the limit of safety was reached in adalliance that had nothing to do with the necessities of their trade.The moment had come when the return must begin, or the disaster ofwinter would terminate for ever their youthful dream. The night frostshad done their work upon the pelts. The day was no longer sufficientlywarm to seriously undo it. So the canoes floated laden at their mooringsas Keeko had dreamed they would, and the last night on the shores of thelake was already closing down.

  The camp-fire of driftwood and peat was glowing ruddily. The Indianswere already deep within their fur-lined bags, and slumbering with theutter indifference engendered of complete weariness of body. Marcel andKeeko were squatting beside each other over the cheering warmth whichkept the night chills at bay. Marcel was smoking. Keeko had no suchcomfort.

  "I'd say Lorson Harris'll need to hand you something a heap better thanfive thousand dollars," Marcel observed with a laugh of genuinesatisfaction and without turning from his contemplation of the fire."Where'll you keep it so----?"

  Keeko looked up with a start. Her thoughts had been far removed from theprofit of her trade.

  "At the bank at Seal Bay," she said hastily, lest her abstraction shouldbe noticed.

  "You keep it all--there?"

  "No." Keeko shook her head. "But I'll have to--this. It's just too big.I'd be scared to carry it with me."

  Marcel laughed again.

  "That 'scare' again," he said. Then he turned, and for a moment gazed atthe perfect profile which showed up against the growing dusk. "Say, youmake me laff. Scare? You don't know what it means."

  Keeko's eyes lit responsively as she turned and looked into his strong,fire-lit face.

  "Not now," she said quietly. "When I'm down there aloneit's--different."

  "Alone?" Marcel removed his pipe from between his strong teeth. Then henodded. "Yes," he agreed, "maybe it's different then."

  Just for a moment the impulse was strong in him to fling allresponsibility to the winds. He wanted to crush her in his great armsand tell her all those things which life ordains that woman shall yearnto hear. But the impulse was resisted. He knew it had to be.

  "But you don't ever need to be alone again," he said simply. "You'reforgetting. There's that darn old moose. That's a sign. You've only tosend word, or come right along up. You see, the folks who're alone arethe folks who've got no one to go to when things get awry. I guess youcan't ever feel just alone now--whatever happens."

  Keeko's eyes were very soft, very tender as she looked up into Marcel'sface.

  "It's good to hear that. It's good to feel that," she said gently. "AndI do feel it," she added with a deep sigh. "I've a whole heap to thankGod for, and, if it's not wrong to put it that way, still more to thankyou for. I just don't know how to say it all. But just as long as I liveI----"

  "Cut it right out, Keeko. Cut it right out."

  Marcel spoke hastily. He spoke almost roughly. He was in no frame ofmind to listen complacently to any words of thanks from this girl.Thanks? If thanks were due it was from him. She had given him her trustand confidence. She had given him moments in his life such as he hadnever dreamed could fall to the lot of any man. In the firelight heflushed deeply at the thought, and again impulse stirred and nearlyoverwhelmed him.

  "I just can't stand thanks from you, Keeko," he said impulsively."Thanks only need to come from folks whom you help feeling you don'tfancy doing it. You've handed me the sort of happiness that makes afeller feel like getting onto his hands and knees and thanking God for.Say, I can't talk to you same as I fancy to, and I guess it's not myfault. You don't know who I am, or a thing about me. And you can't handme much more about yourself. Still, I sort of feel the time'll come whenwe can open out things. What I want to say is, you've handed me a trustthat isn't hardly natural. You've chased this country with a feller whomight be any old thing from a 'hold-up' to a 'gun-artist,' and they'rearound in plenty north of 60 deg.. And it's the big white heart inside youmade you act that way, and I sort of feel that big white heart is stillmy care, even after we've made good-bye at that old moose head. I wishto death I could say the things I fancy right, but I just can't, andit's no use in talking. But don't you ever dare to hand me thanks, orI'll have to get right up and break things."

  Keeko's reply was a low thrilling laugh, full of a gentle gladness whichshe cared not if he read.

  "Maybe you haven't said the things the way you fancy saying them," shesaid, in her gentle fashion. "But you've said them the way I'd have yousay them. But you're right. There's folks in a person's life you can'tthank, you haven't a right to thank, and maybe that's how we're fixed.You've jumped right into my life with your big body and generous heart,and I--well, I guess you haven't found things easier because I've buttedinto yours. Still, the thing's happened, and it makes me kind of glad.Some day--But there--what's the use?"

  The temptation was irresistib
le. Marcel flung out one great hand andclosed it over the hands the girl was holding out to the fire.

  "That's it," he said hoarsely, while his body thrilled at the girl'swarm clasp in his. "What's the use? Neither you nor I can say the thingswe feel. That's so. There's a great big God of this Northland looking onand fixing things the way He sees. As you say 'Some day'! Meanwhilethere's the start back to-morrow morning. Just get right along andsleep, and dream good, and be sure you're aren't alone in theworld--ever again."