Curwood James Oliver - The Valley of Silent Men

8/12/2019 Curwood James Oliver - The Valley of Silent Men

1/637


2/637

Project Gutenberg's The Valley of Silen

Men, by James Oliver Curwood

This eBook is for the use of anyon

anywhere at no cost and with

almost no restrictions whatsoever. You ma

copy it, give it away or

re-use it under the terms of the Projec

Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online a

www.gutenberg.net

Title: The Valley of Silent Men

Author: James Oliver Curwood

Release Date: July 14, 2009 [EBook #29407

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOO

THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN ***


3/637

Thanks to Al Haines, based on the

non-illustrated version, at

www.gutenberg.org/etext/4707

Thanks to Robert Rowe, Charles Franks an

the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team.


4/637


5/637

From the girl's revolver leaped forth a

sudden spurt of smoke and flame.

THE VALLEY OF

SILENT MEN


6/637

A STORY OF THE

THREE RIVER

COUNTRY

BY


7/637

JAMES OLIVER

CURWOOD

AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER'S END,"

ETC.

CHAPTER

I

CHAPTER

II

CHAPTER

III

CHAP

IV


8/637

CHAPTER

VI

CHAPTER

VII

CHAPTER

VIII

CHAP

IX

CHAPTER

XI

CHAPTER

XII

CHAPTER

XIII

CHAP

XIV

CHAPTER

XVI

CHAPTER

XVII

CHAPTER

XVIII

CHAP

XIX

CHAPTERXXI CHAPTERXXII CHAPTERXXIII CHAPXXIV

CHAPTER

XXVI

THE VALLEY OF


9/637

SILENT MEN

Before the railroad's thin lines of stee

bit their way up through the wilderness

Athabasca Landing was the picturesquhreshold over which one must step wh

would enter into the mystery an

adventure of the great white North. It i

stillIskwatamthe "door" which open

o the lower reaches of the Athabasca, th

Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is somewha

difficult to find on the map, yet it is therebecause its history is written in more tha

a hundred and forty years of romance an

ragedy and adventure in the lives of men

and is not easily forgotten. Over the ol


10/637

rail it was about a hundred and fifty mile

north of Edmonton. The railroad ha

brought it nearer to that base o

civilization, but beyond it the wildernesstill howls as it has howled for a thousan

years, and the waters of a continent flow

north and into the Arctic Ocean. It i

possible that the beautiful dream of threal-estate dealers may come true, for th

most avid of all the sportsmen of the earth

he money-hunters, have come up on th

bumpy railroad that sometimes lights it

sleeping cars with lanterns, and with the

have come typewriters, and stenographers

and the art of printing advertisements, anhe Golden Rule of those who sel

handfuls of earth to hopeful purchaser

housands of miles away"Do others a

hey would do you." And with it, too, ha


11/637

come the legitimate business of barter an

rade, with eyes on all that treasure of th

orth which lies between the Gran

Rapids of the Athabasca and the edge ohe polar sea. But still more beautiful tha

he dream of fortunes quickly made is th

deep-forest superstition that the spirits o

he wilderness dead move onward asteam and steel advance, and if this is so

he ghosts of a thousand Pierres an

Jacquelines have risen uneasily from thei

graves at Athabasca Landing, hunting

new quiet farther north.

For it was Pierre and Jacqueline, Henr

and Marie, Jacques and his Jeanne, whos

brown hands for a hundred and forty year

opened and closed this door. And those

hands still master a savage world for tw


12/637

housand miles north of that threshold o

Athabasca Landing. South of it a wheez

engine drags up the freight that came no

so many months ago by boat.

It is over this threshold that the dark eye

of Pierre and Jacqueline, Henri an

Marie, Jacques and his Jeanne, look inthe blue and the gray and the sometime

watery ones of a destroying civilization

And there it is that the shriek of a ma

ocomotive mingles with their age-olriver chants; the smut of coal drifts ove

heir forests; the phonograph screeches it

reply to le violon; and Pierre and Henr

and Jacques no longer find themselves th

kings of the earth when they come in fro

far countries with their precious cargoe

of furs. And they no longer swagger and


13/637

ell loud-voiced adventure, or sing thei

wild river songs in the same old abandon

for there are streets at Athabasca Landin

now, and hotels, and schools, and ruleand regulations of a kind new an

errifying to the bold of the old voyageurs

It seems only yesterday that the railroawas not there, and a great world o

wilderness lay between the Landing an

he upper rim of civilization. And whe

word first came that a steam thing waeating its way up foot by foot throug

forest and swamp and impassable muskeg

hat word passed up and down the water

ways for two thousand miles, a colossa

oke, a stupendous bit of drollery, th

funniest thing that Pierre and Henri an

Jacques had heard in all their lives. And


14/637

when Jacques wanted to impress upo

Pierre his utter disbelief of a thing, h

would say:

"It will happen, m'sieu, when the stea

hing comes to the Landing, when cow

beasts eat with the moose, and when ou

bread is found for us in yonder swamps!"

And the steam thing came, and cow

grazed where moose had fed, and brea

WAS gathered close to the edge of thegreat swamps. Thus did civilization brea

nto Athabasca Landing.

Northward from the Landing, for twhousand miles, reached the domain of th

rivermen. And the Landing, with its two

hundred and twenty-seven souls before th


15/637

railroad came, was the wildernes

clearing-house which sat at the beginnin

of things. To it came from the south all the

freight which must go into the north; on itflat river front were built the great scow

which carried this freight to the end of th

earth. It was from the Landing that th

greatest of all river brigades set fortupon their long adventures, and it wa

back to the Landing, perhaps a year o

more later, that still smaller scows and

huge canoes brought as the price o

exchange their cargoes of furs.

Thus for nearly a century and a half th

arger craft, with their great sweeps an

heir wild-throated crews, had gone dow

he river toward the Arctic Ocean, and th

smaller craft, with their still wilde


16/637

crews, had come up the river towar

civilization. The River, as the Landin

speaks of it, is the Athabasca, with it

headwaters away off in the BritisColumbian mountains, where Baptiste an

McLeod, explorers of old, gave up thei

ives to find where the cradle of it lay

And it sweeps past the Landing, a slowand mighty giant, unswervingly on its wa

o the northern sea. With it the rive

brigades set forth. For Pierre and Henr

and Jacques it is going from one end to th

other of the earth. The Athabasca ends and

s replaced by the Slave, and the Slav

empties into Great Slave Lake, and frohe narrow tip of that Lake the Mackenzi

carries on for more than a thousand mile

o the sea.


17/637

In this distance of the long water trai

one sees and hears many things. It is life

t is adventure. It is mystery and romanc

and hazard. Its tales are so many thabooks could not hold them. In the faces o

men and women they are written. They li

buried in graves so old that the forest tree

grow over them. Epics of tragedy, of loveof the fight to live! And as one goe

farther north, and still farther, just so do

he stories of things that have happene

change.

For the world is changing, the sun i

changing, and the breeds of men ar

changing. At the Landing in July there ar

seventeen hours of sunlight; at For

Chippewyan there are eighteen; at For

Resolution, Fort Simpson, and For


18/637

Providence there are nineteen; at the Grea

Bear twenty-one, and at Fort McPherson

close to the polar sea, from twenty-two t

wenty-three. And in December there aralso these hours of darkness. With ligh

and darkness men change, women change

and life changes. And Pierre and Henr

and Jacques meet them all, but alwayTHEY are the same, chanting the old

songs, enshrining the old loves, dreamin

he same dreams, and worshiping alway

he same gods. They meet a thousan

perils with eyes that glisten with the lov

of adventure.

The thunder of rapids and the howling

of storm do not frighten them. Death ha

no fear for them. They grapple with it

wrestle joyously with it, and are gloriou


19/637

when they win. Their blood is red an

strong. Their hearts are big. Their soul

chant themselves up to the skies. Yet they

are simple as children, and when they arafraid, it is of things which children fear

For in those hearts of theirs is superstitio

and also, perhaps, royal blood. Fo

princes and the sons of princes and thnoblest aristocracy of France were th

first of the gentlemen adventurers wh

came with ruffles on their sleeves an

rapiers at their sides to seek furs wort

many times their weight in gold tw

hundred and fifty years ago, and of thes

ancient forebears Pierre and Henri anJacques, with their Maries and Jeanne

and Jacquelines, are the living voices o

oday.


20/637

And these voices tell many stories

Sometimes they whisper them, as the win

would whisper, for there are stories weir

and strange that must be spoken softlyThey darken no printed pages. The tree

isten to them beside red camp-fires a

night. Lovers tell them in the glad sunshin

of day. Some of them are chanted in songSome of them come down through th

generations, epics of the wilderness

remembered from father to son. And eac

year there are the new things to pass fro

mouth to mouth, from cabin to cabin, fro

he lower reaches of the Mackenzie to th

far end of the world at Athabasca LandingFor the three rivers are always makers o

romance, of tragedy, of adventure. Th

story will never be forgotten of how

Follette and Ladouceur swam their ma


21/637

race through the Death Chute for love o

he girl who waited at the other end, or o

how Campbell O'Doone, the red-heade

giant at Fort Resolution, fought the wholof a great brigade in his effort to run awa

with a scow captain's daughter.

And the brigade loved O'Doone, thougt beat him, for these men of the stron

north love courage and daring. The epic o

he lost scowhow there were men wh

saw it disappear from under their vereyes, floating upward and afterwar

riding swiftly away in the skiesis tol

and retold by strong-faced men, deep i

whose eyes are the smoldering flames o

an undying superstition, and these sam

men thrill as they tell over again th

strange and unbelievable story o


22/637

Hartshope, the aristocratic Englishma

who set off into the North in all the glor

of monocle and unprecedented luggage

and how he joined in a tribal war, becama chief of the Dog Ribs, and married

dark-eyed, sleek-haired, little India

beauty, who is now the mother of hi

children.

But deepest and most thrilling of all th

stories they tell are the stories of the lon

arm of the Lawthat arm which reachefor two thousand miles from Athabasc

Landing to the polar sea, the arm Of th

Royal Northwest Mounted Police.

And of these it is the story of Jim Ken

we are going to tell, of Jim Kent and o

Marette, that wonderful little goddess o


23/637

he Valley of Silent Men, in whose vein

here must have run the blood of fightin

menand of ancient queens. A story o

he days before the railroad came.

CHAPTER I

In the mind of James Grenfell Ken

sergeant in the Royal Northwest Mounte

Police, there remained no shadow of

doubt. He knew that he was dying. He hamplicit faith in Cardigan, his surgeo

friend, and Cardigan had told him tha

what was left of his life would b

measured out in hoursperhaps i


24/637

minutes or seconds. It was an unusua

case. There was one chance in fifty that h

might live two or three days, but there wa

no chance at all that he would live morhan three. The end might come with an

breath he drew into his lungs. That wa

he pathological history of the thing, as fa

as medical and surgical science knew ocases similar to his own.

Personally, Kent did not feel like a dyin

man. His vision and his brain were clearHe felt no pain, and only at infrequen

ntervals was his temperature abov

normal. His voice was particularly cal

and natural.

At first he had smiled incredulousl

when Cardigan broke the news. That th


25/637

bullet which a drunken half-breed had sen

nto his chest two weeks before ha

nicked the arch of the aorta, thus formin

an aneurism, was a statement by Cardigawhich did not sound especially wicked o

convincing to him. "Aorta" and "aneurism

held about as much significance for him a

his perichondrium or the process of histylomastoid. But Kent possessed a

unswerving passion to grip at facts i

detail, a characteristic that had largel

helped him to earn the reputation of bein

he best man-hunter in all the northlan

service. So he had insisted, and hi

surgeon friend had explained.

The aorta, he found, was the main blood

vessel arching over and leading from th

heart, and in nicking it the bullet had s


26/637

weakened its outer wall that it bulged ou

n the form of a sack, just as the inner tub

of an automobile tire bulges through th

outer casing when there is a blowout.

"And when that sack gives way insid

you," Cardigan had explained, "you'll g

ike that!" He snapped a forefinger anhumb to drive the fact home.

After that it was merely a matter o

common sense to believe, and now, surhat he was about to die. Kent had acted

He was acting in the full health of hi

mind and in extreme cognizance of th

paralyzing shock he was contributing as

final legacy to the world at large, or a

east to that part of it which knew him o

was interested. The tragedy of the thin


27/637

did not oppress him. A thousand times in

his life he had discovered that humor an

ragedy were very closely related, and tha

here were times when only the breadth oa hair separated the two. Many times h

had seen a laugh change suddenly to tears

and tears to laughter.

The tableau, as it presented itself abou

his bedside now, amused him. Its humo

was grim, but even in these last hours o

his life he appreciated it. He had alwaymore or less regarded life as a joke

very serious joke, but a joke for all that

a whimsical and trickful sort of thin

played by the Great Arbiter on humanity a

arge; and this last count in his own life

as it was solemnly and tragically tickin

tself off, was the greatest joke of all. Th


28/637

amazed faces that stared at him, thei

passing moments of disbelief, thei

repressed but at times visible betrayals o

horror, the steadiness of their eyes, thenseness of their lipsall added to wha

he might have called, at another time, th

dramatic artistry of his last grea

adventure.

That he was dying did not chill him, o

make him afraid, or put a tremble into hi

voice. The contemplation of throwing ofhe mere habit of breathing had never a

any stage of his thirty-six years of lif

appalled him. Those years, because h

had spent a sufficient number of them i

he raw places of the earth, had given hi

a philosophy and viewpoint of his own

both of which he kept unto himself withou


29/637

effort to impress them on other people. H

believed that life itself was the cheapes

hing on the face of all the earth. All othe

hings had their limitations.

There was so much water and so muc

and, so many mountains and so man

plains, so many square feet to live on anso many square feet to be buried in. Al

hings could be measured, and stood up

and cataloguedexcept life itself. "Give

ime," he would say, "a single pair ohumans can populate all creation.

Therefore, being the cheapest of all things

t was true philosophy that life should b

he easiest of all things to give up whe

he necessity came.

Which is only another way o


30/637

emphasizing that Kent was not, and neve

had been, afraid to die. But it does not sa

hat he treasured life a whit less than th

man in another room, who, a day or sbefore, had fought like a lunatic befor

going under an anesthetic for th

amputation of a bad finger. No man had

oved life more than he. No man had livenearer it.

It had been a passion with him. Full o

dreams, and always with anticipationahead, no matter how far short realization

fell, he was an optimist, a lover of the su

and the moon and the stars, a worshiper o

he forests and of the mountains, a ma

who loved his life, and who had fought fo

t, and yet who was readyat the lastt

yield it up without a whimper when th


31/637

fates asked for it.

Bolstered up against his pillows, he di

not look the part of the fiend he waconfessing himself to be to the peopl

about him. Sickness had not emaciate

him. The bronze of his lean, clean-cut fac

had faded a little, but the tanning of winand sun and campfire was still there. Hi

blue eyes were perhaps dulled somewha

by the nearness of death. One would no

have judged him to be thirty-six, evehough over one temple there was a strea

of gray in his blond haira heritage fro

his mother, who was dead. Looking a

him, as his lips quietly and calml

confessed himself beyond the pale o

men's sympathy or forgiveness, one woul

have said that his crime was impossible.


32/637

Through his window, as he sat bolstered

up in his cot, Kent could see the slow

moving shimmer of the great Athabasc

River as it moved on its way toward thArctic Ocean. The sun was shining, and h

saw the cool, thick masses of the spruc

and cedar forests beyond, the risin

undulations of wilderness ridges and hillsand through that open window he caugh

he sweet scents that came with a sof

wind from out of the forests he had love

for so many years.

"They've been my best friends," he ha

said to Cardigan, "and when this nice littl

hing you're promising happens to me, ol

man, I want to go with my eyes on them."

So his cot was close to the window.


33/637

Nearest to him sat Cardigan. In his face

more than in any of the others, wa

disbelief. Kedsty, Inspector of the Roya

orthwest Mounted Police, in charge of NDivision during an indefinite leave o

absence of the superintendent, was pale

even than the girl whose nervous finger

were swiftly putting upon paper everword that was spoken by those in th

room. O'Connor, staff-sergeant, was lik

one struck dumb. The little, smooth-face

Catholic missioner whose presence as

witness Kent had requested, sat with hi

hin fingers tightly interlaced, silentl

placing this among all the other strangragedies that the wilderness had given u

o him. They had all been Kent's friends

his intimate friends, with the exception o

he girl, whom Inspector Kedsty ha


34/637

borrowed for the occasion. With the littl

missioner he had spent many an evening

exchanging in mutual confidence th

strange and mysterious happenings of thdeep forests, and of the great north beyon

he forests. O'Connor's friendship was

friendship bred of the brotherhood of th

rails. It was Kent and O'Connor who habrought down the two Eskimo murderer

from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and th

adventure had taken them fourteen months

Kent loved O'Connor, with his red face

his red hair, and his big heart, and to hi

he most tragic part of it all was that h

was breaking this friendship now.

But it was Inspector Kedsty

commanding N Division, the biggest an

wildest division in all the Northland, tha


35/637


36/637

of latitude, with its farthest limit three an

one-half degrees within the Arctic Circle

To police this area meant upholding the

aw in a country fourteen times the size ohe state of Ohio. And Kedsty was the ma

who had performed this duty as only on

other man had ever succeeded in doing it.

Yet Kedsty, of the five about Kent, wa

most disturbed. His face was ash-gray. A

number of times Kent had detected

broken note in his voice. He had seen hihands grip at the arms of the chair he sat i

until the cords stood out on them as i

about to burst. He had never seen Kedst

sweat until now.

Twice the Inspector had wiped hi

forehead with a handkerchief. He was n


37/637

onger Minisak"The Rock"a nam

given to him by the Crees. The armor tha

no shaft had ever penetrated seemed t

have dropped from him. He had ceased tbe Kedsty, the most dreaded inquisitor i

he service. He was nervous, and Ken

could see that he was fighting to reposses

himself.

"Of course you know what this means t

he Service," he said in a hard, low voice

"It means"

"Disgrace," nodded Kent. "I know. I

means a black spot on the otherwise brigh

escutcheon of N Division. But it can't b

helped. I killed John Barkley. The ma

you've got in the guard-house, condemne

o be hanged by the neck until he is dead


38/637

s innocent. I understand. It won't be nic

for the Service to let it be known that

sergeant in His Majesty's Royal Mounte

s an ordinary murderer, but"

"Not an ordinarymurderer," interrupted

Kedsty. "As you have described it, th

crime was deliberatehorrible annexcusable to its last detail. You were

not moved by a sudden passion. You

ortured your victim. It is inconceivable!"

"And yet true," said Kent.

He was looking at the stenographer'

slim fingers as they put down his wordand Kedsty's. A bit of sunshine touched

her bowed head, and he observed the re

ights in her hair. His eyes swept to


39/637

O'Connor, and in that moment th

commander of N Division bent over him

so close that his face almost touche

Kent's, and he whispered, in a voice sow that no one of the other four coul

hear,

"Kentyou lie!"

"No, it is true," replied Kent.

Kedsty drew back, again wiping thmoisture from his forehead.

"I killed Barkley, and I killed him as

planned that he should die," Kent went on"It was my desire that he should suffer

The one thing which I shall not tell you i

why I killed him. But it was a sufficien


40/637

reason."

He saw the shuddering tremor that swep

hrough the shoulders of the girl who waputting down the condemning notes.

"And you refuse to confess you

motive?"

"Absolutelyexcept that he ha

wronged me in a way that deserve

death."

"And you make this confession knowin

hat you are about to die?"

The flicker of a smile passed ove

Kent's lips. He looked at O'Connor an

for an instant saw in O'Connor's eyes

flash of their old comradeship.


41/637

"Yes. Dr. Cardigan has told me

Otherwise I should have let the man in th

guard-house hang. It's simply that thi

accursed bullet has spoiled my luckansaved him!"

Kedsty spoke to the girl. For half an hou

she read her notes, and after that Kenwrote his name on the last page. The

Kedsty rose from his chair.

"We have finished, gentlemen," he said.

They trailed out, the girl hurryin

hrough the door first in her desire to fre

herself of an ordeal that had straineevery nerve in her body. The commande

of N Division was last to go. Cardiga

hesitated, as if to remain, but Kedst


42/637

motioned him on. It was Kedsty wh

closed the door, and as he closed it h

ooked back, and for a flash Kent met hi

eyes squarely. In that moment he receivedan impression which he had not caugh

while the Inspector was in the room. I

was like an electrical shock in it

unexpectedness, and Kedsty must havseen the effect of it in his face, for h

moved back quickly and closed the door

n that instant Kent had seen in Kedsty'

eyes and face a look that was not only o

horror, but what in the face and eyes o

another man he would have sworn wa

fear.

It was a gruesome moment in which t

smile, but Kent smiled. The shock wa

over. By the rules of the Criminal Code h


43/637

knew that Kedsty even now wa

nstructing Staff-Sergeant O'Connor t

detail an officer to guard his door. Th

fact that he was ready to pop off at anmoment would make no difference in th

regulations of the law. And Kedsty was a

stickler for the law as it was written

Through the closed door he heard voicendistinctly. Then there were footsteps

dying away. He could hear the heav

hump, thump of O'Connor's big feet

O'Connor had always walked like that

even on the trail.

Softly then the door reopened, an

Father Layonne, the little missioner, cam

n. Kent knew that this would be so, fo

Father Layonne knew neither code no

creed that did not reach all the hearts o


44/637

he wilderness. He came back, and sa

down close to Kent, and took one of hi

hands and held it closely in both of hi

own. They were not the soft, smooth handof the priestly hierarchy, but were hard

with the callosity of toil, yet gentle wit

he gentleness of a great sympathy. He had

oved Kent yesterday, when Kent hadstood clean in the eyes of both God an

men, and he still loved him today, when

his soul was stained with a thing that mus

be washed away with his own life.

"I'm sorry, lad," he said. "I'm sorry."

Something rose up in Kent's throat tha

was not the blood he had been wipin

away since morning. His fingers returne

he pressure of the little missioner's hands


45/637

Then he pointed out through the window t

he panorama of shimmering river an

green forests.

"It is hard to say good-by to all that

Father," he said. "But, if you don't mind

'd rather not talk about it. I'm not afraid o

t. And why be unhappy because one haonly a little while to live? Looking bac

over your life, does it seem so very lon

ago that you were a boy, a small boy?"

"The time has gone swiftly, ver

swiftly."

"It seems only yesterdayor so?"

"Yes, only yesterdayor so."

Kent's face lit up with the whimsica


46/637

smile that long ago had reached the littl

missioner's heart. "Well, that's the way I'm

ooking at it, Father. There is only

yesterday, a today, and a tomorrow in theongest of our lives. Looking back fro

seventy years isn't much different fro

ooking back from thirty-six when you'r

ooking back and not ahead. Do you thinwhat I have just said will free Sand

McTrigger?"

"There is no doubt. Your statementshave been accepted as a death-be

confession."

The little missioner, instead of Kent

was betraying a bit of nervousness.

"There are matters, my sonsome few


47/637

matterswhich you will want attended to

Shall we not talk about them?"

"You mean"

"Your people, first. I remember tha

once you told me there was no one. Bu

surely there is some one somewhere."

Kent shook his head. "There is no on

now. For ten years those forests out ther

have been father, mother, and home tome."

"But there must be personal affairs

affairs which you would like to entrustperhaps, to me?"

Kent's face brightened, and for an instan

a flash of humor leaped into his eyes. "It i


48/637

funny," he chuckled. "Since you remind m

of it, Father, it is quite in form to make m

will. I've bought a few little pieces of lan

here. Now that the railroad has almosreached us from Edmonton, they'v

umped up from the seven or eight hundre

dollars I gave for them to about te

housand. I want you to sell the lots anuse the money in your work. Put as muc

of it on the Indians as you can. They'v

always been good brothers to me. And

wouldn't waste much time in getting m

signature on some sort of paper to tha

effect."

Father Layonne's eyes shone softly

"God will bless you for that, Jimmy," h

said, using the intimate name by which h

had known him. "And I think He is goin


49/637

o pardon you for something else, if yo

have the courage to ask Him."

"I am pardoned," replied Kent, lookinout through the window. "I feel it. I know

t, Father."

In his soul the little missioner wapraying. He knew that Kent's religion wa

not his religion, and he did not press th

service which he would otherwise hav

rendered. After a moment he rose to hifeet, and it was the old Kent who looke

up into his face, the clean-faced, gray

eyed, unafraid Kent, smiling in the ol

way.

"I have one big favor to ask of you

Father," he said. "If I've got a day to live,


50/637

don't want every one forcing the fact o

me that I'm dying. If I've any friends left,

want them to come in and see me, and talk

and crack jokes. I want to smoke my pipe'll appreciate a box of cigars if you'l

send 'em up. Cardigan can't object now

Will you arrange these things for me

They'll listen to youand please shovmy cot a little nearer the window befor

you go."

Father Layonne performed the service isilence. Then at last the yearnin

overcame him to have the soul speak out

hat his God might be more merciful, an

he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You

repent that you killed John Barkley?"

"No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done


51/637

And please don't forget the cigars, wil

you, Father?"

"No, I won't forget," said the littlmissioner, and turned away.

As the door opened and closed behin

him, the flash of humor leaped into Kent'eyes again, and he chuckled even as h

wiped another of the telltale stains o

blood from his lips. He had played th

game. And the funny part about it was thano one in all the world would ever know

except himselfand perhaps one other.


52/637

CHAPTER II

Outside Kent's window was Spring, th

glorious Spring of the Northland, and i

spite of the death-grip that was tightenin

n his chest he drank it in deeply an

eaned over so that his eyes traveled ovewide spaces of the world that had been hi

only a short time before.

It occurred to him that he had suggestehis knoll that overlooked both settlemen

and river as the site for the building whic

Dr. Cardigan called his hospital. It was

structure rough and unadorned, unpaintedand sweetly smelling with the aroma o

he spruce trees from the heart of which it

unplaned lumber was cut. The breath of i

was a thing to bring cheer and hope. It


53/637

silvery walls, in places golden and brow

with pitch and freckled with knots, spok

oyously of life that would not die, and th

woodpeckers came and hammered on it ahough it were still a part of the forest, an

red squirrels chattered on the roof an

scampered about in play with a soft patte

of feet.

"It's a pretty poor specimen of man tha

would die up here with all that under hi

eyes," Kent had said a year before, whehe and Cardigan had picked out the site

"If he died looking at that, why, he jus

simply ought to die, Cardigan," he ha

aughed.

And now he was that poor specimen

ooking out on the glory of the world!


54/637

His vision took in the South and a part o

he East and West, and in all those

directions there was no end of the forest

t was like a vast, many-colored sea wituneven billows rising and falling until th

blue sky came down to meet them man

miles away. More than once his hear

ached at the thought of the two thin ribs osteel creeping up foot by foot and mile b

mile from Edmonton, a hundred and fift

miles away. It was, to him, a desecration

a crime against Nature, the murder of hi

beloved wilderness. For in his soul tha

wilderness had grown to be more than

hing of spruce and cedar and balsam, opoplar and birch; more than a grea

unused world of river and lake an

swamp. It was an individual, a thing. Hi

ove for it was greater than his love fo


55/637

man. It was his inarticulate God. It hel

him as no religion in the world could hav

held him, and deeper and deeper it ha

drawn him into the soul of itselfdelivering up to him one by one it

guarded secrets and its mysteries, openin

for him page by page the book that was th

greatest of all books. And it was thwonder of it now, the fact that it was nea

him, about him, embracing him, glowin

for him in the sunshine, whispering to hi

n the soft breath of the air, nodding and

alking to him from the crest of ever

ridge, that gave to him a strange happines

even in these hours when he knew that hwas dying.

And then his eyes fell nearer to th

settlement which nestled along the edge o


56/637

he shining river a quarter of a mile away

That, too, had been the wilderness, in th

days before the railroad came. The poiso

of speculation was stirring, but it had noyet destroyed. Athabasca Landing wa

still the door that opened and closed o

he great North. Its buildings wer

scattered and few, and built of logs andrough lumber. Even now he could hear th

drowsy hum of the distant sawmill tha

was lazily turning out its grist. Not fa

away the wind-worn flag of the Britis

Empire was floating over a Hudson Ba

Company's post that had bartered in th

rades of the North for more than hundred years. Through that hundred year

Athabasca Landing had pulsed with th

heart-beats of strong men bred to th

wilderness. Through it, working its wa


57/637

by river and dog sledge from the South

had gone the precious freight for which th

farther North gave in exchange its stil

more precious furs. And today, as Kenooked down upon it, he saw that sam

activity as it had existed through the year

of a century. A brigade of scows, laden to

heir gunwales, was just sweeping out inthe river and into its current. Kent ha

watched the loading of them; now he saw

hem drifting lazily out from the shore

heir long sweeps glinting in the sun, thei

crews singing wildly and fiercely thei

beloved Chanson des Voyageurs as thei

faces turned to the adventure of the North.

In Kent's throat rose a thing which h

ried to choke back, but which broke fro

his lips in a low cry, almost a sob. H


58/637

heard the distant singing, wild and free a

he forests themselves, and he wanted t

ean out of his window and shout a las

good-by. For the brigadea Companbrigade, the brigade that had chanted it

songs up and down the water reaches o

he land for more than two hundred an

fifty yearswas starting north. And hknew where it was goingnorth, and stil

farther north; a hundred miles, fiv

hundred, a thousandand then anothe

housand before the last of the scow

unburdened itself of its precious freigh

For the lean and brown-visaged men wh

went with them there would be manmonths of clean living and joyous thril

under the open skies. Overwhelmed by th

yearning that swept over him, Kent leane

back against his pillows and covered hi


59/637

eyes.

In those moments his brain painted fo

him swiftly and vividly the things he waosing. Tomorrow or next day he would

be dead, and the river brigade would stil

be sweeping onon into the Gran

Rapids of the Athabasca, fighting thDeath Chute, hazarding valiantly the rock

and rapids of the Grand Cascade, th

whirlpools of the Devil's Mouth, th

hundering roar and boiling dragon teeth ohe Black Runon to the end of th

Athabasca, to the Slave, and into th

Mackenzie, until the last rock-blunte

nose of the outfit drank the tide-water o

he Arctic Ocean. And he, James Kent

would be DEAD!


60/637

He uncovered his eyes, and there was

wan smile on his lips as he looked fort

once more. There were sixteen scows i

he brigade, and the biggest, he knew, wacaptained by Pierre Rossand. He coul

fancy Pierre's big red throat swelling i

mighty song, for Pierre's wife was waitin

for him a thousand miles away. The scowwere caught steadily now in the grip of th

river, and it seemed to Kent, as h

watched them go, that they were the las

fugitives fleeing from the encroachin

monsters of steel. Unconscious of the act

he reached out his arms, and his soul crie

out its farewell, even though his lips wersilent.

He was glad when they were gone an

when the voices of the chanting oarsme


61/637

were lost in the distance. Again h

istened to the lazy hum of the sawmil

and over his head he heard the velvety ru

of a red squirrel and then its reckleschattering. The forests came back to him

Across his cot fell a patch of golde

sunlight. A stronger breath of air came

aden with the perfume of balsam ancedar through his window, and when th

door opened and Cardigan entered, h

found the old Kent facing him.

There was no change in Cardigan'

voice or manner as he greeted him. Bu

here was a tenseness in his face which h

could not conceal. He had brought i

Kent's pipe and tobacco. These he laid o

a table until he had placed his head clos

o Kent's hearty listening to what he calle


62/637

he bruitthe rushing of blood through th

aneurismal sac.

"Seems to me that I can hear it myselnow and then," said Kent. "Worse, isn

t?"

Cardigan nodded. "Smoking may hurry iup a bit," he said. "Still, if you want to"

Kent held out his hand for the pipe an

obacco. "It's worth it. Thanks, old man."

Kent loaded the pipe, and Cardiga

ighted a match. For the first time in tw

weeks a cloud of smoke issued frobetween Kent's lips.

"The brigade is starting north," he said.


63/637

"Mostly Mackenzie River freight,

replied Cardigan. "A long run."

"The finest in all the North. Three yearago O'Connor and I made it with th

Follette outfit. Remember Follettean

Ladouceur? They both loved the same gir

and being good friends they decided tsettle the matter by a swim through th

Death Chute. The man who came throug

first was to have her. Gawd, Cardigan

what funny things happen! Follette camout first, but he was dead. He'd braine

himself on a rock. And to this day

Ladouceur hasn't married the girl, becaus

he says Follette beat him; and tha

Follette's something-or-other would haun

him if he didn't play fair. It's a queer"


64/637

He stopped and listened. In the hall wa

he approaching tread of unmistakabl

feet.

"O'Connor," he said.

Cardigan went to the door and opened i

as O'Connor was about to knock. Whehe door closed again, the staff-sergean

was in the room alone with Kent. In one o

his big hands he clutched a box of cigars

and in the other he held a bunch of vividlred fire-flowers.

"Father Layonne shoved these into m

hands as I was coming up," he explaineddropping them on the table. "And Iwel

I'm breaking regulations to come up an

ell you something, Jimmy. I never called


65/637

you a liar in my life, but I'm calling yo

one now!"

He was gripping Kent's hands in thfierce clasp of a friendship that nothin

could kill. Kent winced, but the pain of i

was joy. He had feared that O'Connor

ike Kedsty, must of necessity turn againshim. Then he noticed something unusual i

O'Connor's face and eyes. The staff

sergeant was not easily excited, yet h

was visibly disturbed now.

"I don't know what the others saw, when

you were making that confession, Kent

Mebby my eyesight was better because

spent a year and a half with you on th

rail. You were lying. What's your game

old man?"


66/637

Kent groaned. "Have I got to go all ove

t again?" he appealed.

O'Connor began thumping back and fortover the floor. Kent had seen him that way

sometimes in camp when there wer

perplexing problems ahead of them.

"You didn't kill John Barkley," he

nsisted. "I don't believe you did, an

nspector Kedsty doesn't believe itye

he mighty queer part of it is"

"What?"

"That Kedsty is acting on youconfession in a big hurry. I don't believ

t's according to Hoyle, as the regulation

are written. But he's doing it. And I wan


67/637

o knowit's the biggest thing I EVE

wanted to knowdid you kill Barkley?"

"O'Connor, if you don't believe a dyinman's wordyou haven't much respect fo

death, have you?"

"That's the theory on which the lawworks, but sometimes it ain't human

Confound it, man, did you?"

"Yes."

O'Connor sat down and with his finger

nails pried open the box of cigars. "Min

f I smoke with you?" he asked. "I need it'm shot up with unexpected things thi

morning. Do you care if I ask you abou

he girl?"


68/637

"The girl!" exclaimed Kent. He sat u

straighter, staring at O'Connor.

The staff-sergeant's eyes were on hiwith questioning steadiness. "I seeyo

don't know her," he said, lighting hi

cigar. "Neither do I. Never saw he

before. That's why I am wondering abounspector Kedsty. I tell you, it's queer. He

didn't believe you this morning, yet he wa

all shot up. He wanted me to go with hi

o his house. The cords stood out on hineck like thatlike my little finger.

"Then suddenly he changed his mind an

said we'd go to the office. That took u

along the road that runs through the popla

grove. It happened there. I'm not much of

girl's man, Kent, and I'd be a fool to try t


69/637

ell you what she looked like. But ther

she was, standing in the path not ten fee

ahead of us, and she stopped me in m

racks as quick as though she'd sent a shonto me. And she stopped Kedsty, too.

heard him give a sort of grunta funn

sound, as though some one had hit him.

don't believe I could tell whether she haa dress on or not, for I never saw anythin

ike her face, and her eyes, and her hair

and I stared at them like a thunder-struc

fool. She didn't seem to notice me an

more than if I'd been thin air, a ghost sh

couldn't see.

"She looked straight at Kedsty, and sh

kept looking at himand then she passe

us. Never said a word, mind you. Sh

came so near I could have touched he


70/637

with my hand, and not until she was tha

close did she take her eyes from Kedst

and look at me. And when she'd passed

hought what a couple of cursed idiots wwere, standing there paralyzed, as if we'

never seen a beautiful girl before in ou

ives. I went to remark that much to th

Old Man when"

O'Connor bit his cigar half in two as h

eaned nearer to the cot.

"Kent, I swear that Kedsty was as whit

as chalk when I looked at him! Ther

wasn't a drop of blood left in his face, an

he was staring straight ahead, as thoug

he girl still stood there, and he gav

another of those gruntsit wasn't a laug

as if something was choking him. And


71/637

hen he said:

"'Sergeant, I've forgotten somethin

mportant. I must go back to see DrCardigan. You have my authority to give

McTrigger his liberty at once!'"

O'Connor paused, as if expecting somexpression of disbelief from Kent. Whe

none came, he demanded,

"Was that according to the CriminaCode? Was it, Kent?"

"Not exactly. But, coming from th

S.O.D., it was law."

"And I obeyed it," grunted the staff

sergeant. "And if you could have see

McTrigger! When I told him he was free


72/637

and unlocked his cell, he came out of i

gropingly, like a blind man. And he would

go no farther than the Inspector's office

He said he would wait there for him."

"And Kedsty?"

O'Connor jumped from his chair anbegan thumping back and forth across th

room again. "Followed the girl," h

exploded. "He couldn't have done anythin

else. He lied to me about Cardigan. Therwouldn't be anything mysterious about it i

he wasn't sixty and she less than twenty

She was pretty enough! But it wasn't he

beauty that made him turn white there i

he path. Not on your life it wasn't! I tel

you he aged ten years in as many seconds

There was something in that girl's eye


73/637

more terrifying to him than a leveled gun

and after he'd looked into them, his firs

hought was of McTrigger, the man you're

saving from the hangman. It's queer, KentThe whole business is queer. And the

queerest of it all is your confession."

"Yes, it's all very funny," agreed Kent"That's what I've been telling myself righ

along, old man. You see, a little thing like

a bullet changed it all. For if the bulle

hadn't got me, I assure you I wouldn't havgiven Kedsty that confession, and a

nnocent man would have been hanged. A

t is, Kedsty is shocked, demoralized. I'

he first man to soil the honor of the fines

Service on the face of the earth, and I'm i

Kedsty's division. Quite natural that h

should be upset. And as for the girl"


74/637

He shrugged his shoulders and tried t

augh. "Perhaps she came in this mornin

with one of the up-river scows and wa

merely taking a little constitutional," hsuggested. "Didn't you ever notice

O'Connor, that in a certain light unde

poplar trees one's face is sometime

ghastly?"

"Yes, I've noticed it, when the trees are

n full leaf, but not when they're jus

opening, Jimmy. It was the girl. Her eyeshattered every nerve in him. And his firs

words were an order for me to fre

McTrigger, coupled with the lie that he

was coming back to see Cardigan. And i

you could have seen her eyes when sh

urned them on me! They were blueblu

as violetsbut shooting fire. I coul


75/637

magine black eyes like that, but not blu

ones. Kedsty simply wilted in their blaze

And there was a reasonI know it

reason that sent his mind like lightning the man in the cell!"

"Now, that you leave me out of it, th

hing begins to get interesting," said Kent"It's a matter of the relationship of thi

blonde girl and"

"She isn't blondeand I'm not leavinyou out of it," interrupted O'Connor. "

never saw anything so black in my life a

her hair. It was magnificent. If you saw

hat girl once, you would never forget he

again as long as you lived. She has neve

been in Athabasca Landing before, o

anywhere near here. If she had, we surel


76/637

would have heard about her. She came fo

a purpose, and I believe that purpose wa

accomplished when Kedsty gave me th

order to free McTrigger."

"That's possible, and probable," agree

Kent. "I always said you were the bes

clue-analyst in the force, Bucky. But don't see where I come in."

O'Connor smiled grimly. "You don't?

Well, I may be both blind and a fool, andperhaps a little excited. But it seemed t

me that from the moment Inspector Kedst

aid his eyes on that girl he was a little to

anxious to let McTrigger go and hang you

n his place. A little too anxious, Kent."

The irony of the thing brought a har


77/637

smile to Kent's lips as he nodded for th

cigars. "I'll try one of these on top of th

pipe," he said, nipping off the end of th

cigar with his teeth. "And you forget tha'm not going to hang, Bucky. Cardigan ha

given me until tomorrow night. Perhap

until the next day. Did you see Rossand'

fleet leaving for up north? It made mhink of three years ago!"

O'Connor was gripping his hand again

The coldness of it sent a chill into thstaff-sergeant's heart. He rose and looke

hrough the upper part of the window, so

hat the twitching in his throat was hidde

from Kent. Then he went to the door.

"I'll see you again tomorrow," he said

"And if I find out anything more about th


78/637

girl, I'll report."

He tried to laugh, but there was

remble in his voice, a break in the humohe attempted to force.

Kent listened to the tramp of his heav

feet as they went down the hall.

CHAPTER III

Again the world came back to Kent, th

world that lay just beyond his ope

window. But scarcely had O'Connor gon

when it began to change, and in spite o


79/637

his determination to keep hold of his nerv

Kent felt creeping up with that change

hing that was oppressive and smothering

Swiftly the distant billowings of thforests were changing their tones an

colors under the darkening approach o

storm. The laughter of the hills and ridge

went out. The shimmer of spruce ancedar and balsam turned to a sombe

black. The flashing gold and silver o

birch and poplar dissolved into a ghostl

and unanimated gray that was almos

nvisible. A deepening and somber gloom

spread itself like a veil over the river tha

only a short time before had reflected thglory of the sun in the faces of dark

visaged men of the Company brigade. And

with the gloom came steadily nearer a low

rumbling of thunder.


80/637

For the first time since the menta

excitement of his confession Kent fel

upon him an appalling loneliness. He stil

was not afraid of death, but a part of hiphilosophy was gone. It was, after all,

difficult thing to die alone. He felt that th

pressure in his chest was perceptibl

greater than it had been an hour or twbefore, and the thought grew upon him tha

t would be a terrible thing for th

"explosion" to come when the sun was no

shining. He wanted O'Connor back again

He had the desire to call out for Cardigan

He would have welcomed Father Layonn

with a glad cry. Yet more than all elsewould he have had at his side in thes

moments of distress a woman. For th

storm, as it massed heavier and nearer

filling the earth with its desolation


81/637

bridged vast spaces for him, and he foun

himself suddenly face to face with th

might-have-beens of yesterday.

He saw, as he had never guessed before

he immeasurable gulf betwee

helplessness and the wild, brute freedo

of man, and his soul cried outnot foadventure, not for the savage strength o

ifebut for the presence of a creatur

frailer than himself, yet in the gentle touc

of whose hand lay the might of alhumanity.

He struggled with himself. H

remembered that Dr. Cardigan had told

him there would be moments of deep

depression, and he tried to fight himsel

out of the grip of this that was on him


82/637

There was a bell at hand, but he refused t

use it, for he sensed his own cowardice

His cigar had gone out, and he relighted i

He made an effort to bring his mind baco O'Connor, and the mystery girl, and

Kedsty. He tried to visualize McTrigger

he man he had saved from the hangman

waiting for Kedsty in the office abarracks. He pictured the girl, a

O'Connor had described her, with he

black hair and blue eyesand then th

storm broke.

The rain came down in a deluge, an

scarcely had it struck when the doo

opened and Cardigan hurried in to clos

he window. He remained for half an hour

and after that young Mercer, one of hi

wo assistants, came in at intervals. Lat


83/637

n the afternoon it began to clear up, an

Father Layonne returned with paper

properly made out for Kent's signature. H

was with Kent until sundown, wheMercer came in with supper.

Between that hour and ten o'clock Ken

observed a vigilance on the part of DrCardigan which struck him as bein

unusual. Four times he listened with th

stethoscope at his chest, but when Ken

asked the question which was in his mindCardigan shook his head.

"It's no worse, Kent. I don't think it wil

happen tonight."

In spite of this assurance Kent wa

positive there was in Cardigan's manne


84/637

an anxiety of a different quality than h

had perceived earlier in the day. Th

hought was a definite and convincing one

He believed that Cardigan was smoothinhe way with a professional lie.

He had no desire to sleep. His light wa

urned low, and his window was opeagain, for the night had cleared. Never ha

air tasted sweeter to him than that whic

came in through his window. The littl

bell in his watch tinkled the hour oeleven, when he heard Cardigan's doo

close for a last time across the hall. Afte

hat everything was quiet. He drew

himself nearer to the window, so that b

eaning forward he could rest himsel

partly on the sill. He loved the night. Th

mystery and lure of those still hours o


85/637

darkness when the world slept had neve

ceased to hold their fascination for him

ight and he were friends. He ha

discovered many of its secrets. Ahousand times he had walked hand i

hand with the spirit of it, approachin

each time a little nearer to the heart of it

mastering its life, its sound, thwhispering languages of that "other side o

ife" which rises quietly and as if in fea

o live and breathe long after the sun ha

gone out. To him it was more wonderfu

han day.

And this night that lay outside hi

window now was magnificent. Storm ha

washed the atmosphere between earth an

sky, and it seemed as though the stars had

descended nearer to his forests, shining i


86/637

golden constellations. The moon wa

coming up late, and he watched the rudd

glow of it as it rode up over th

wilderness, a splendid queen enterinupon a stage already prepared by th

esser satellites for her coming. No longe

was Kent oppressed or afraid. In stil

deeper inhalations he drank the night ainto his lungs, and in him there seemed t

grow slowly a new strength. His eyes an

ears were wide open and attentive. Th

own was asleep, but a few lights burne

dimly here and there along the river'

edge, and occasionally a lazy sound cam

up to himthe clink of a scow chain, thbark of a dog, the rooster crowing. In spit

of himself he smiled at that. Ol

Duperow's rooster was a foolish bird an

always crowed himself hoarse when th


87/637

moon was bright. And in front of him, no

far away, were two white, lightning

shriven spruce stubs standing like ghost

n the night. In one of these a pair of owlhad nested, and Kent listened to the queer

chuckling notes of their honeymooning an

he flutter of their wings as they darted ou

now and then in play close to his windowAnd then suddenly he heard the sharp sna

of their beaks. An enemy was prowlin

near, and the owls were giving warning

He thought he heard a step. In anothe

moment or two the step was unmistakable

Some one was approaching his window

from the end of the building. He leaneover the sill and found himself staring int

O'Connor's face.

"These confounded feet of mine!


88/637

grunted the staff-sergeant. "Were you

asleep, Kent?"

"Wide-awake as those owls," assuredKent.

O'Connor drew up to the window. "

saw your light and thought you werawake," he said. "I wanted to make sur

Cardigan wasn't with you. I don't want hi

o know I am here. Andif you don't min

will you turn off the light? Kedsty iawake, tooas wide-awake as the owls.

Kent reached out a hand, and his roo

was in darkness except for the glow omoon and stars. O'Connor's bulk at th

window shut out a part of this. His fac

was half in gloom.


89/637

"It's a crime to come to you like this

Kent," he said, keeping his big voic

down to a whisper. "But I had to. It's m

ast chance. And I know there's somethinwrong. Kedsty is getting me out of the wa

because I was with him when he met th

girl over in the poplar bush. I'm detaile

on special duty up at Fort Simpson, twhousand miles by water if it's a foot! I

means six months or a year. We leave in

he motor boat at dawn to overtak

Rossand and his outfit, so I had to take thi

chance of seeing you. I hesitated until

knew that some one was awake in you

room."

"I'm glad you came," said Kent warmly

"Andgood God, how I would like to g

with you, Bucky! If it wasn't for this thin


90/637

n my chest, ballooning up for a

explosion"

"I wouldn't be going," interrupteO'Connor in a low voice. "If you were o

your feet, Kent, there are a number o

hings that wouldn't be happening

Something mighty queer has come oveKedsty since this morning. He isn't th

Kedsty you knew yesterday or for the las

en years. He's nervous, and I miss m

guess if he isn't constantly on the watch fosome one. And he's afraid of me. I know

t. He's afraid of me because I saw him g

o pieces when he met that girl. For

Simpson is simply a frame-up to get m

away for a time. He tried to smooth th

edge off the thing by promising me a

nspectorship within the year. That wa


91/637

his afternoon, just before the storm. Sinc

hen"

O'Connor turned and faced the moonlighfor a moment.

"Since then I've been on a still-hunt fo

he girl and Sandy McTrigger," he added"And they've disappeared, Kent. I gues

McTrigger just melted away into th

woods. But it's the girl that puzzles me

've questioned every scow chemanat thLanding. I've investigated every plac

where she might have got food or lodging

and I bribed Mooie, the old trailer, to

search the near-by timber. Th

unbelievable part of it isn't he

disappearance. It's the fact that not a sou

n Athabasca Landing has seen her


92/637


93/637

"And has built himself a log bungalow

somewhat removed from the town," adde

O'Connor.

"And his Chinaman cook an

housekeeper is away."

"And the bungalow is closed, osupposed to be."

"Except at night, when Kedsty goes ther

o sleep."

O'Connor's hand gripped Kent's

"Jimmy, there never was a team in N

Division that could beat us, The girl ihiding at Kedsty's place!"

"But why hiding?" insisted Kent. "Sh

hasn't committed a crime."


94/637

O'Connor sat silent for a moment. Ken

could hear him stuffing the bowl of hi

pipe.

"It's simply the big hunch," he grunted

"It's got hold of me, Kent, and I can

hrow it off. Why, man"

He lighted a match in the cup of hi

hands, and Kent saw his face. There wa

more than uncertainty in the hard, set line

of it.

"You see, I went back to the poplar

again after I left you today," O'Conno

went on. "I found her footprints. She haurned off the trail, and in places the

were very clear.


95/637

"She had on high-heeled shoes, Kent

hose Frenchy thingsand I swear her fee

can't be much bigger than a baby's! I foun

where Kedsty caught up with her, and thmoss was pretty well beaten down. H

returned through the poplars, but the gir

went on and into the edge of the spruce.

ost her trail there. By traveling in thaimber it was possible for her to reac

Kedsty's bungalow without being seen. I

must have been difficult going, with shoe

half as big as my hand and heels tw

nches high! And I've been wondering

why didn't she wear bush-country shoes o

moccasins?"

"Because she came from the South an

not the North," suggested Kent. "Probabl

up from Edmonton."


96/637

"Exactly. And Kedsty wasn't expecting

her, was he? If he had been, that first sigh

of her wouldn't have shattered every nerv

n his body. That's why the big hunchwon't let loose of me, Kent. From th

moment he saw her, he was a differen

man. His attitude toward you change

nstantly. If he could save you now braising his little finger, he wouldn't do it

simply because it's absolutely necessar

for him to have an excuse for freein

McTrigger. Your confession came at jus

he psychological moment. The girl'

unspoken demand there in the poplars wa

hat he free McTrigger, and it was backedup by a threat which Kedsty understoo

and which terrified him to his marrow

McTrigger must have seen him afterward

for he waited at the office until Kedst


97/637

came. I don't know what passed betwee

hem. Constable Doyle says they wer

ogether for half an hour. Then McTrigge

walked out of barracks, and no one haseen him since. It's mighty queer. Th

whole thing is queer. And the queeres

part of the whole business is this sudde

commission of mine at Fort Simpson."

Kent leaned back against his pillows

His breath came in a series of short

hacking coughs. In the star glow O'Connosaw his face grow suddenly haggard an

ired-looking, and he leaned far in so tha

n both his own hands he held one o

Kent's.

"I'm tiring you, Jimmy," he said huskily

"Good-by, old pal! II" He hesitated


98/637

and then lied steadily. "I'm going up to

ake a look around Kedsty's place. I won

be gone more than half an hour and wil

stop on my way back. If you're asleep"

"I won't be asleep," said Kent.

O'Connor's hands gripped closer"Good-by, Jimmy."

"Good-by." And then, as O'Conno

stepped back into the night, Kent's voiccalled after him softly: "I'll be with you o

he long trip, Bucky. Take care of yoursel

always."

O'Connor's answer was a sob, a sob tha

rose in his throat like a great fist, an

choked him, and filled his eyes wit


99/637

scalding tears that shut out the glow o

moon and stars. And he did not go toward

Kedsty's, but trudged heavily in th

direction of the river, for he knew thaKent had called his lie, and that they ha

said their last farewell.

CHAPTER IV

It was a long time after O'Connor ha

gone before Kent at last fell asleep. It waa slumber weighted with the restlessnes

of a brain fighting to the last agains

exhaustion and the inevitable end. A

strange spirit seemed whirling Kent bac


100/637

hrough the years he had lived, even to th

days of his boyhood, leaping from crest t

crest, giving to him swift and passin

visions of valleys almost forgotten, ohappenings and things long ago faded an

ndistinct in his memory. Vividly hi

dreams were filled with ghostsghost

hat were transformed, as his spirit wenback to them, until they were riotous wit

ife and pulsating with the red blood o

reality. He was a boy again, playing three

old-cat in front of the little old red bric

schoolhouse half a mile from the far

where he was born, and where his mothe

had died.

And Skinny Hill, dead many years ago

was his partner at the batlovabl

Skinny, with his smirking grin and hi


101/637

breath that always smelled of the mos

delicious onions ever raised in Ohio. And

hen, at dinner hour, he was trading som

of his mother's cucumber pickles for somof Skinny's onionstwo onions for

pickle, and never a change in the price

And he played old-fashioned casino wit

his mother, and they were pickinblackberries together in the woods, and h

killed over again a snake that he ha

clubbed to death more than twenty year

ago, while his mother ran away an

screamed and then sat down and cried.

He had worshiped that mother, and th

spirit of his dreams did not let him loo

down into the valley where she lay dead

under a little white stone in the countr

cemetery a thousand miles away, with hi


102/637

father close beside her. But it gave him

passing thrill of the days in which he ha

fought his way through collegeand the

t brought him into the North, his beloveorth.

For hours the wilderness was heav

about Kent. He moved restlessly, at timehe seemed about to awaken, but always h

slipped back into the slumberous arms o

his forests. He was on the trail in the cold

gray beginning of Winter, and the glow ohis campfire made a radiant patch of re

glory in the heart of the night, and close t

him in that glow sat O'Connor. He wa

behind dogs and sledge, fighting storm

dark and mysterious streams rippled unde

his canoe; he was on the Big River

O'Connor with him againand then


103/637

suddenly, he was holding a blazing gun i

his hand, and he and O'Connor stood wit

heir backs to a rack, facing th

bloodthirsty rage of McCaw and his freeraders. The roar of the guns half rouse

him, and after that came pleasanter thing

the droning of wind in the spruce tops

he singing of swollen streams iSpringtime, the songs of birds, the swee

smells of life, the glory of life as he ha

ived it, he and O'Connor. In the end, hal

between sleep and wakefulness, he wa

fighting a smothering pressure on hi

chest. It was an oppressive and torturin

hing, like the tree that had fallen on hiover in the Jackfish country, and he fel

himself slipping off into darkness

Suddenly there was a gleam of light. H

opened his eyes. The sun was flooding i


104/637

at his window, and the weight on his ches

was the gentle pressure of Cardigan'

stethoscope.

In spite of the physical stress of th

phantoms which his mind has conceived

Kent awakened so quietly that Cardiga

was not conscious of the fact until hraised his head. There was something i

his face which he tried to conceal, bu

Kent caught it before it was gone. Ther

were dark hollows under his eyes. He waa bit haggard, as though he had spent

sleepless night. Kent pulled himself up

squinting at the sun and grinnin

apologetically. He had slept well alon

nto the day, and

He caught himself with a sudden grimac


105/637

of pain. A flash of something hot and

burning swept through his chest. It wa

ike a knife. He opened his mouth t

breathe in the air. The pressure inside hiwas no longer the pressure of

stethoscope. It was real.

Cardigan, standing over him, was tryino look cheerful. "Too much of the nigh

air, Kent," he explained. "That will pas

awaysoon."

It seemed to Kent that Cardigan gave a

almost imperceptible emphasis to th

word "soon," but he asked no question. H

was quite sure that he understood, and h

knew how unpleasant for Cardigan th

answer to it would be. He fumbled unde

his pillow for his watch. It was nin


106/637

o'clock. Cardigan was moving abou

uneasily, arranging the things on the tabl

and adjusting the shade at the window

For a few moments, with his back to Kenhe stood without moving. Then he turned

and said:

"Which will you have, Kenta wash-upand breakfast, or a visitor?"

"I am not hungry, and I don't feel lik

soap and water just now. Who's thvisitor? Father Layonne orKedsty?"

"Neither. It's a lady."

"Then I'd better have the soap and water

Do you mind telling me who it is?"

Cardigan shook his head. "I don't know


107/637

've never seen her before. She came thi

morning while I was still in pajamas, an

has been waiting ever since. I told her t

come back again, but she insisted that shwould remain until you were awake. Sh

has been very patient for two hours."

A thrill which he made no effort toconceal leaped through Kent. "Is she

young woman?" he demanded eagerly

"Wonderful black hair, blue eyes, wear

high-heeled shoes just about half as big ayour handand very beautiful?"

"All of that," nodded Cardigan. "I eve

noticed the shoes, Jimmy. A very beautifu

young woman!"

"Please let her come in," said Kent


108/637

"Mercer scrubbed me last night, and I fee

fairly fit. She'll forgive this beard, and I'l

apologize for your sake. What is he

name?"

"I asked her, and she didn't seem to hear

A little later Mercer asked her, and he

said she just looked at him for a momenand he froze. She is reading a volume o

my Plutarch's 'Lives'actually reading it

know it by the way she turns the pages!"

Kent drew himself up higher against hi

pillows and faced the door when Cardiga

went out. In a flash all that O'Connor ha

said swept back upon himthis gir

Kedsty, the mystery of it all. Why had sh

come to see him? What could be th

motive of her visitunless it was to than


109/637

him for the confession that had give

Sandy McTrigger his freedom? O'Conno

was right. She was deeply concerned i

McTrigger and had come to express hegratitude. He listened. Distant footstep

sounded in the hall. They approache

quickly and paused outside his door. A

hand moved the latch, but for a moment thdoor did not open. He heard Cardigan'

voice, then Cardigan's footsteps retreatin

down the hall. His heart thumped. H

could not remember when he had been s

upset over an unimportant thing.

CHAPTER V


110/637

The latch moved slowly, and with it

movement came a gentle tap on the panel.

"Come in," he said.

The next instant he was staring. The gir

had entered and closed the door behin

her. O'Connor's picture stood in flesh andblood before him. The girl's eyes met hi

own. They were like glorious violets, a

O'Connor had said, but they were not th

eyes he had expected to see. They werhe wide-open, curious eyes of a child. H

had visualized them as pools o

slumbering flamethe idea O'Connor ha

given himand they were the opposite o

hat. Their one emotion seemed to be th

emotion roused by an overwhelming

questioning curiosity. They wer


111/637

apparently not regarding him as a dyin

human being, but as a creature immensel

nteresting to look upon. In place of th

gratitude he had anticipated, they werfilled with a great, wonderin

nterrogation, and there was not th

slightest hint of embarrassment in thei

gaze. For a space it seemed to Kent that hsaw nothing but those wonderfu

dispassionate eyes looking at him. Then h

saw the rest of herher amazing hair, he

pale, exquisite face, the slimness an

beauty of her as she stood with her back t

he door, one hand still resting on th

atch. He had never seen anything quitike her. He might have guessed that sh

was eighteen, or twenty, or twenty-two

Her hair, wreathed in shimmering, velvet

coils from the back to the crown of he


112/637

head, struck him as it had struc

O'Connor, as unbelievable. The glory of i

gave to her an appearance of height whic

she did not possess, for she was not talland her slimness added to the illusion.

And then, greatly to his embarrassmen

n the next instant, his eyes went to hefeet. Again O'Connor was righttiny feet

high-heeled pumps, ravishingly turne

ankles showing under a skirt of som

fluffy brown stuff or other

Correcting himself, his face flushed red

The faintest tremble of a smile was on th

girl's lips. She looked down, and for th

first time he saw what O'Connor had seen

he sunlight kindling slumberous fires i

her hair.


113/637

Kent tried to say something, but befor

he succeeded she had taken possession o

he chair near his bedside.

"I have been waiting a long time to se

you," she said. "You are James Kent

aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm Jim Kent. I'm sorry Dr

Cardigan kept you waiting. If I had know

"

He was getting a grip on himself again

and smiled at her. He noticed the amazin

ength of her dark lashes, but the viole

eyes behind them did not smile back ahim. The tranquillity of their gaze wa

disconcerting. It was as if she had no

quite made up her mind about him yet an


114/637

was still trying to classify him in th

museum of things she had known.

"He should have awakened me," Kenwent on, trying to keep himself fro

slipping once more. "It isn't polite to keep

a young lady waiting two hours!"

This time the blue eyes made him fee

hat his smile was a maudlin grin.

"Yesyou are different." She spokesoftly, as if expressing the thought to

herself. "That is what I came to find out, i

you were different. You are dying?"

"My GodyesI'm dying!" gaspe

Kent. "According to Dr. Cardigan I'm du

o pop off this minute. Aren't you a littl


115/637

nervous, sitting so near to a man who'

ready to explode while you're looking a

him?"

For the first time the eyes changed. Sh

was not facing the window, yet a glow

ike the glow of sunlight flashed into them

soft, luminous, almost laughing.

"No, it doesn't frighten me," she assure

him. "I have always thought I should lik

o see a man dienot quickly, likdrowning or being shot, but slowly, a

nch at a time. But I shouldn't like to se

YOU die."

"I'm glad," breathed Kent. "It's a grea

satisfaction to me."


116/637

"Yet I shouldn't be frightened if you

did."

"Oh!"

Kent drew himself up straighter agains

his pillows. He had been a man of man

adventures. He had faced almost everconceivable kind of shock. But this was

new one. He stared into the blue eyes

ongueless and mentally dazed. They wer

cool and sweet and not at all excited. Andhe knew that she spoke the truth. Not by

quiver of those lovely lashes would sh

betray either fear or horror if he poppe

off right there. It was astonishing.

Something like resentment shot for a

nstant into his bewildered brain. Then i


117/637

was gone, and in a flash it came upon hi

hat she was but uttering his ow

philosophy of life, showing him life'

cheapness, life's littleness, the absurditof being distressed by looking upon th

ight as it flickered out. And she wa

doing it, not as a philosopher, but with th

beautiful unconcern of a child.

Suddenly, as if impelled by an emotio

n direct contradiction to her apparent lac

of sympathy, she reached out a hand andplaced it on Kent's forehead. It wa

another shock. It was not a professiona

ouch, but a soft, cool little pressure tha

sent a comforting thrill through him. Th

hand was there for only a moment, and sh

withdrew it to entwine the slim finger

with those of the others in her lap.


118/637

"You have no fever," she said. "Wha

makes you think you are dying?"

Kent explained what was happeninnside him. He was completely shunted of

his original track of thought an

anticipation. He had expected to ask for a

east a mutual introduction when hivisitor came into his room, and ha

anticipated taking upon himself th

position of a polite inquisitor. In spite o

O'Connor, he had not thought she wouldbe quite so pretty. He had not believed he

eyes would be so beautiful, or their lashe

so long, or the touch of her hand s

pleasantly unnerving. And now, in place

of asking for her name and the reason fo

her visit, he became an irrational idiot

explaining to her certain matters o


119/637

physiology that had to do with aortas an

aneurismal sacs. He had finished befor

he absurdity of the situation dawned upo

him, and with absurdity came the humor ot. Even dying, Kent could not fail to se

he funny side of a thing It struck him a

suddenly as had the girl's beauty and he

bewildering and unaffectengenuousness.

Looking at him, that same glow o

mysterious questioning in her eyes, the girfound him suddenly laughing straight int

her face.

"This is funny. It's very funny, Miss

Miss"

"Marette," she supplied, answering hi


120/637

hesitation.

"It's funny, Miss Marette."

"Not Miss Marette. Just Marette," sh

corrected.

"I say, it's funny," he tried again. "Yousee, it's not so terribly pleasant as yo

might think toerbe here, where I am

dying. And last night I thought about t

Curwood James Oliver - The Valley of Silent Men

Documents

Transcript of Curwood James Oliver - The Valley of Silent Men