The Honor of the Big Snows

by James Oliver Curwood

  CHAPTER X

  RED SNOW-FLOWERS

  From the day after the caribou roast the fur-gatherers beganscattering. The Eskimos left the next morning. On the second dayMukee's people from the west set off along the edge of the barrens.Most of the others left by ones and twos into the wildernesses to thesouth and east.

  Less than a dozen still put off their return to the late springtrapping, and among these were Jean de Gravois and his wife. Jeanwaited until the third day. Then he went to see Jan. The boy wasbolstered up in his cot, with Cummins balancing the little Melisse onthe edge of the bed when he came in.

  For a time Jean sat and watched them in silence; then he made a sign toCummins, who joined him at the door.

  "I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he said. "I wish to talk withthe boy before I go. I have a word to say to him which no ears shouldhear but his own. Will it be right?"

  "Talk to him as long as you like," said Cummins, "but don't worry himabout the missionary. You'll not get a word from him."

  Jan's eyes spoke with a devotion greater than words as Jean de Gravoiscame and sat close beside him. He knew that it was Jean who had broughthim alive into the post, and now there was something in the suggestivegrimacing of the Frenchman's face, and in the eagerness with which helooked over his shoulder, as if he was not quite sure but that thewalls held ears, that caused the boy's heart to beat a little faster ashe speculated upon what Jean was going to say.

  For a few moments Jean looked at the other steadily, with his thin,black face propped in his hands and a curious smile on his lips. Hetwisted his face into a dozen expressions of a language as voluble asthat of his tongue, hunched his shoulders up to his ears as he grinnedat Jan, and chuckled between his grimaces.

  "Ah, it was wan be-e-a-u-tiful fight!" he said softly. "You are a braveboy, Jan Thoreau!"

  "You did not see it?" asked Jan.

  Unconsciously the words came from him in French. Jean caught one of histhin hands and laughed joyfully, for the spirit of him was French tothe bottom of his soul.

  "I see it? No, neither I nor Iowaka; but there it was in the snow, asplain as the eyes in your face. And did I not follow the trail thatstaggered down the mountain, while Iowaka brought you back to life? Andwhen I came to the lake, did I not see something black out upon it,like a charred log? And when I came to it, was it not the dead body ofthe missioner from Churchill? Eh, Jan Thoreau?"

  Jan sat up in his bed with a sharp cry.

  "Sh-h-h-h-h!" admonished Jean, pressing him back gently. "There is noneed of telling what is out there on the lake. Only the Blessed Virginmade me dream last night that you would like to see with your own eyesthat the missioner is dead. The thaw will open up the lake in a fewdays. Then he will go down in the first slush. And"--Jean looked abouthim cautiously again, and whispered low--"if you see anything about thedead missioner that you do not understand--THINK OF JEAN DE GRAVOIS!"

  He rose to his feet and bent over Jan's white face.

  "I am going the Athabasca way to-day," he finished. "Perhaps, JanThoreau, you will hear after a time that it would be best for Jean deGravois never to return again to this Post Lac Bain. If so, you willfind him between Fond du Lac and the Beaver River, and you can make itin four days by driving your dogs close to the scrub-edge of thebarrens, keeping always where you can see the musk-ox to the north." Heturned to the door, and hesitated there for a moment, smiling andshrugging his shoulders. "Jean de Gravois wonders if Jan Thoreauunderstands?" he said, and passed out.

  When Cummins returned, he found Jan's cheeks flushed and the boy in afever.

  "Devil take that Gravois!" he growled.

  "He has been a brother to me," said Jan simply. "I love him."

  On the second day after the Frenchman's departure, Jan rose free of thefever which had threatened him for a time, and in the afternoon heharnessed Cummins' dogs. The last of the trappers had started from thepost that morning, their sledges and dogs sinking heavily in thedeepening slush; and Jan set off over the smooth toboggan trail made bythe company's agent in his return to Fort Churchill.

  This trail followed close along the base of the ridge upon which he hadfought the missionary, joining that of Jean de Gravois miles beyond.Jan climbed the ridge. From where he had made his attack, he followedthe almost obliterated trail of the Frenchman and his Malemutes untilhe came to the lake; and then he knew that Jean de Gravois had spokenthe truth, for he found the missionary with his face half buried in theslush, stark dead.

  He no longer had to guess at the meaning of Jean's words. Thebullet-hole under the dead man's arms was too large to escape eyes likeJan's. Into the little hidden world which he treasured in his heartthere came another face, to remain always with him--the face of thecourageous little forest dandy who was hurrying with his bride backinto the country of the Athabasca.

  Jan allowed his dogs to walk all the way back to the post, and it wasdusk before they arrived. Maballa had prepared supper, and Cummins waswaiting for him. He glanced sharply at the boy. There was a smile onJan's lips, and there was something in his eyes which Cummins had neverseen there before. From that night they were no longer filled with thenervous, glittering flashes which at times had given him an appearancealmost of madness. In place of their searching suspicions, there was awarmer and more companionable glow, and Cummins felt the effect of thechange as he ate his caribou steak and talked once more entirely ofMelisse.

  A Cree trapper had found Jan's violin in the snow, and had brought itto Maballa. Before Cummins finished his supper, the boy began to play,and he continued to play until the lights at the post went out and boththe man and the child were deep in sleep. Then Jan stopped. There wasthe fire of a keen wakefulness in his eyes as he carefully unfastenedthe strings of his instrument, and held it close to the oil lamp, sothat he could peer down through the narrow aperture in the box.

  He looked again at Cummins. The man was sleeping with his face to thewall. With the hooked wire which he used for cleaning his revolver Janfished gently at the very end of the box, and after three or fourefforts the wire caught in something soft, which he pulled toward him.Through the bulge in the F-hole he dragged forth a small, tightlyrolled cylinder of faded red cloth.

  For a few moments he sat watching the deep breathing of Cummins,unrolling the cloth as he watched, until he had spread out upon thetable before him a number of closely written pages of paper. Heweighted them at one end with his violin, and held them down at theother with his hands. The writing was in French. Several of the pageswere in a heavy masculine hand, the words running one upon another soclosely that in places they seemed to be connected; and from them Jantook his fingers, so that they rolled up like a spring. Over the othershe bent his head, and there came from him a low, sobbing breath.

  On these pages the writing was that of a woman, and from the paperthere still rose a faint, sweet scent of heliotrope. For half an hourJan gazed upon them, reading the words slowly, until he came to thelast page.

  When there came a movement from over against the wall, he lifted for aninstant a pair of startled eyes. Cummins was turning in his sleep.Soundlessly Jan tiptoed across the floor, opened the door, withoutdisturbing the slumbering man and went out into the night. In the southand east there glowed a soft blaze of fire where the big spring moonwas coming up over the forest. As Jan turned his face toward it, a newand strange longing crept into his heart. He stretched out his arms,with the papers and his violin clutched in his hands, as if from out ofthat growing glory a wonderful spirit was calling to him.

  For the first time in his lonely life it came to him--this call of thegreat world beyond the wilderness; and suddenly he crushed the woman'sletter to his lips, and his voice burst from him in whispering,thrilling eagerness:

  "I will come to you--some day--w'en ze leetle Melisse come too!"

  He rolled the written pages together, wrapped them in the faded redcloth, and concealed them again in the box of his violin before hereentered the cabin.

  The next morning Cu
mmins stood in the door, and said:

  "How warm the sun is! The snow and ice are going, Jan. It's spring.We'll house the sledges to-day, and begin feeding the dogs on fish."

  Each day thereafter the sun rose earlier, the day was longer, and theair was warmer; and with the warmth there now came the sweet scents ofthe budding earth and the myriad sounds of the deep, unseen life of theforest, awakening from its long slumber in its bed of snow. Moose-birdschirped their mating songs and flirted from morning until night inbough and air; ravens fluffed themselves in the sun; andsnowbirds--little black-and-white beauties that were wont to whiskabout like so many flashing gems--changed their color from day to dayuntil they became new creatures in a new world.

  The poplar buds swelled in their joy until they split like over fatpeas. The mother bears come out of their winter dens, accompanied bylittle ones born weeks before, and taught them how to pull down theslender saplings for these same buds. The moose returned from theblizzardy tops of the great ridges, where for good reasons they hadpassed the winter, followed by the wolves who fed upon their weak andsick. Everywhere were the rushing torrents of melting snow, the crackleof crumbling ice, the dying frost-cries of rock and earth and tree; andeach night the pale glow of the aurora borealis crept farther andfarther toward the pole in its fading glory.

  The post fell back into its old ways. Now and then a visitor came infrom out of the forest, but he remained for only a day or two, takingback into the solitude with him a few of the necessaries of life.Williams was busy preparing his books for the coming of the company'schief agent from London, and Cummins, who was helping the factor, had agood deal of extra time on his hands.

  Before the last of the snow was gone, he and Jan began dragging in logsfor an addition which they planned for the little cabin. Basking out inthe sun, with a huge bearskin for a floor, Melisse looked upon the newhome-building with wonderful demonstrations of interest. Cummins' faceglowed with pleasure as she kicked and scrambled on the bearskin andgave shrill-voiced approval of their efforts.

  Jan was the happiest youth in the world. It was certain that the littleMelisse understood what they were doing, and the word passed fromCummins and Jan to the others at the post, so that it happenedfrequently during the building operations that Mukee and Per-ee, andeven Williams himself, would squat for an hour at a time in the snownear Melisse, marveling at the early knowledge which the great God sawfit to put into a white baby's brain. This miracle came to be a matterof deep discussion, in which there were the few words but much thoughtof men born to silence. One day Mukee brought two little Indian babiesand set them on the bearskin, where they continued to sit in stoicindifference--a clear proof of the superior development of Melisse.

  "I wouldn't be surprised to hear her begin talking at any time,"confided Cummins to Jan, one evening when the boy was tuning hisviolin. "She is nearly six months old."

  "Do you suppose she would begin in French?" asked Jan, suddenlystopping the tightening of his strings.

  Cummins stared.

  "Why?"

  Jan dropped his voice to an impressive whisper.

  "Because I have heard her many times say,'Bon-bon--bonbon--bonbon'--which means candee; and always I have givenher candee, an' now ze leetle Melisse say 'Bonbon' all of ze time."

  "Well," said Cummins, eying him in half belief. "Could it happen?"

  Like a shot Jan replied:

  "I began in Engleesh, an' Jan Thoreau is French!"

  He began playing, but Cummins did not hear much of the music. He wentto the door, and stared in lonely grief at the top of the tall spruceover the grave. Later he said to Jan:

  "It would be bad if that were so. Give her no more sweet stuff when shesays 'Bonbon,' Jan. She must forget!"

  The next day Jan tore down the sapling barricade around the woman'sgrave, and from noon until almost sunset he skirted the sunny side of agreat ridge to the south. When he came back he brought with him abasket of the early red snow-flowers, with earth clinging to theirroots. These he planted thickly over the mound under the spruce, andaround its edge he put rows of the young shoots of Labrador tea andbackneesh.

  As the weather grew warmer, and spring changed into summer, he tookMelisse upon short excursions with him into the forests, and togetherthey picked great armfuls of flowers and Arctic ferns. The grave wasnever without fresh offerings, and the cabin, with its new additioncomplete, was always filled with the beautiful things that spring upout of the earth.

  Jan and Melisse were happy; and in the joys of these two there waspleasure for the others of the post, as there had been happiness in thepresence of the woman. Only upon Cummins had there settled a deepgrief. The changes of spring and summer, bringing with them all thatthis desolate world held of warmth and beauty, filled him with theexcruciating pain of his great grief, as if the woman had died butyesterday.

  When he first saw the red flowers glowing upon her grave, he buried hishead in his arms and sobbed like a child. The woman had loved them. Shehad always watched for the first red blooms to shoot up out of the wetearth. A hundred times he had gone with her to search for them, and hadfastened the first flower in the soft beauty of her hair. Those werethe days when, like happy children, they had romped and laughedtogether out there beyond the black spruce. Often he had caught her upin his strong arms and carried her, tired and hungry but gloriouslyhappy, back to their little home in the clearing, where she would sitand laugh at him as he clumsily prepared their supper.

  Thoughts and pictures like these choked him and drove him off aloneinto the depths of the wilderness. When this spirit impelled him hismoccasined feet would softly tread the paths they had taken in theirwanderings; and at every turn a new memory would spring up before him,and he longed to fling himself down there with the sweet spirit of thewoman and die.

  Little did he dream, at these times, that Jan and Melisse were tocherish these same paths, that out of the old, dead joys there were tospring new joys, and that the new joys were to wither and die, even ashis own--for a time. Beyond his own great sorrow he saw nothing in thefuture. He gave up Melisse to Jan.

  At last, his gaunt frame thinned by sleepless nights and days of mentaltorture, he said that the company's business was calling him toChurchill, and early in August he left for the bay.