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Honor of the Big Snows

<h2 id="id00712" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> <h5 id="id00713">BROTHER JAN</h5> When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Jan's face showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had already finished, and he found Mélisse alone. Her hair was brushed back in its old, smooth way; and when she heard him, she flung her long braid over her shoulder, so that it fell down in front of her. He saw the movement, and smiled his thanks without speaking. "You don't look well, Jan," she said anxiously. "You are pale, and your eyes are bloodshot." "I am not feeling right," he admitted, trying to appear cheerful, "but this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the world, Mélisse?" "How do you know, brother?" she asked. "Have you drunk any other than mine since years ago at Churchill and York Factory?" "Only Iowaka's. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of the coffee at the bay." "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?" she asked gently, looking at him across the table. "I dreamed of those days last night, Jan, though I don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been too young; but I remember when you went to Nelson House, and how lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went, and that we stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away the gun case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Jan, and ride on a wonderful ship like that?" "It may be, Mélisse." "And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone; and some one else came to me, whom I didn't like at all, and tried to MAKE me go to the ship. Wasn't that strange?" She laughed softly, as she rose to give him another cup of coffee. "What did you mean, Jan Thoreau, by running away from me like that?" "To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain," he replied quickly. She paused, the cup half filled, and Jan, looking up, caught her eyes full of mock astonishment. "And were you sorry I ran away from you?" Despite himself, his pale cheeks flushed. "Do you think I was?" he replied equivocally. "I—don't—know," she answered slowly, filling his cup. "What are you going to do to-day, Jan?" "Drive out on the Churchill trail. Ledoq wants supplies, and he's too busy with his trap-lines to come in." "Will you take me?" "I'm afraid not, Mélisse. It's a twelve-mile run and a heavy load." "Very well. I'll get ready immediately." She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and ran to her room. "It's too far, Mélisse," he called after her. "It's too far, and I've a heavy load—" "Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to—Oh, dear! Jan, have you seen my new lynx-skin cap?" "It's out here, hanging on the wall," replied Jan, falling into her humor despite himself. "But I say, Mélisse—" "Are the dogs ready?" she called. "If they're not, I'll be dressed before you can harness them, Jan." "They'll be here within fifteen minutes," he replied, surrendering to her. Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly open door, destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with something of his old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune as he hurried toward the store. When he returned with the team, Mélisse was waiting for him, a gray thing of silvery lynx fur, with her cheeks, lips and eyes aglow, her trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, and with a bunch of the brilliant bakneesh fastened jauntily in her cap. "I've made room for you," he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. "Which I'm not going to fill for five miles, at least," declared Mélisse. "Isn't it a glorious morning, Jan? I feel as if I can run from here to Ledoq's!" With a crack of his whip and a shout, Jan swung the dogs across the open, with Mélisse running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean and Iowaka called out shrill adieus. "The day is not far off when they two will be as you and I, my Iowaka," said Jean in his poetic Cree. "I wager you that it will be before her next birthday!" And Mélisse was saying: "I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iowaka!" She caught her breath, and Jan cracked on the dogs in a spurt that left her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild halloo he stopped the team, and waited. "That's unfair, Jan! You'll have to put me on the sledge." He tucked her in among the furs, and the dogs strained at their traces, with Jan's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until they were leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the smooth trail. Then Jan gathered in his whip and ran close to the leader, his moccasined feet taking the short, quick, light steps of the trained forest runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes upon the twisting trail ahead. It was a glorious ride, and Mélisse's eyes danced with joy. Her blood thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of their backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads, and their half-gaping jaws—and from them she looked to Jan. There was no effort in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair swept back from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the dogs, there was music in his movement, there was the beauty of strength, of endurance, of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone proudly; the color deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, wondering if there was another man in the world like Jan Thoreau. Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the mountain on which he had fought the missionary did Jan bring his dogs to a walk. Mélisse jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. "I can beat you to the top now!" she cried. "If you catch me—" There was the old witching challenge in her eyes. She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Jan pursued with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of the ridge. "You're as pretty as a fairy, Mélisse!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with admiration. "Prettier than the fairy in the book!" "Thank you, brother! The one with golden hair?" "Yes, all of them." "I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair; can you, Jan?" Before he could answer she added mischievously: "Did you see any fairies at Churchill or York Factory?" "None that could compare with you, Mélisse." "Thank you again, brother mine! I believe you DO still love me a little." "More than ever in my life," replied Jan quickly, though he tried to hold his tongue. As they went on to Ledoq's, he found that the joyousness of the morning was giving way again to the old gloom and heartache. Brother Jan, Brother Jan, Brother Jan! The words pounded themselves incessantly in his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps beside the sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the preceding night, and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the trapper's. Ledoq was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the factor at Lac Bain with Jan, he jumped briskly to his feet, flung his cap through the door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her with all his might. It was well known in the province of Lac Bain that many years before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother, who had disappeared one day in the woods; and there were those who hinted that Ledoq was that brother, for Jean and he were as like as two peas in the ready use of their tongues, and were of the same build and the same briskness. Mélisse laughed merrily as Ledoq continued to bow before her, rattling away in a delighted torrent of French. "Ah, thes ees wan gr-r-reat compleeman, M'selle Mélisse," he finished at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a spring and turned, to Jan. "Did you meet the strange team?" "We met no team." Ledoq looked puzzled. Half a mile away, the top of a snow-covered ridge was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. "An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain—three men and six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac Bain?" "No one," replied Jan. "It must have been the new agent from Churchill. We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, Mélisse, and see if he has brought our books and violin-strings?" "You must have dinner with me," objected Ledoq. Jan caught a quick signal from Mélisse. "Not to-day, Ledoq. It's early, and we have a lunch for the trail. What do you say, Mélisse?" "If you're not tired, Jan." "Tired!" He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip over the dogs' backs as they both cried out their farewell to the little Frenchman. "Tired!" he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung lightly back into the trail, and laughing down into her face. "How could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Mélisse?" "I wouldn't mind if you did—just a little, Jan. Isn't there room for two?" She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Jan leaped upon the moving sledge, kneeling close behind her. "Always, always, I have to ask you!" she pouted. "You needn't get too near, you know, if you don't want to!" The old, sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a moment Jan felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs—so loud that it startled her—and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads, like a thing filled with life. He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came to the ridge along which Ledoq, two hours before, had seen the strangers hurrying toward Lac Bain. "Stop!" cried Mélisse, taking this first opportunity to scramble from the sledge. "You're cruel to the dogs, Jan! Look at their jaws—see them pant! Jan Thoreau, I've never seen you drive like that since the night we were chased in from the barrens by the wolves!" "And did you ever see me run any faster?" He struggled, dropping exhausted upon the sledge. "I remember only one other time." He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume of air into his lungs. "Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us?" Mélisse asked. "No, it was many years ago, when I heard, far to the south, that my little Mélisse was dying of the plague." Mélisse sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown palms. "Tell me about it, Jan." "That was all—I ran." "You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you?" He looked at her boldly, and saw that there was not half of the brilliant flush in her cheeks. "I ran for you, just now—and you didn't like it," he replied. "I don't mean that." She looked up at him, and her fingers tightened round his own. "Away back—years and years and years ago, Jan—you went out to fight the plague, and nearly died in it, for me. Would you do that much again?" "I would do more, Mélisse." She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of something in his face which she scarce believed in his words. Slowly he rose to his feet, lifting her with him; and when he had done this he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes. "Some day I will do a great deal more for you than that, Mélisse, and then—" "What?" she questioned, as he hesitated. "Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and years and years ago," he finished, gently repeating her words. There was something in his voice that held Mélisse silent as he turned to straighten out the dogs; but when he came back, making her comfortable on the sledge, she whispered: "I wish you would do it SOON, Brother Jan!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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