<h2 id="c14"><br/>CHAPTER XIV <br/>MYSTERIOUS MUSIC</h2>
<p>Two days later Marian and Attatak found
themselves tramping slowly along behind their
tired deer. It was night. Now and again the
moon shot a golden beam of light across their
trail. For the most part that trail was dark,
overshadowed by great spruce and fir trees that
stood out black against the whiteness of the
snow, each tree seeming a gown clad monk—silent
witnesses of their passing.</p>
<p>There was now a definitely marked trail. An
ax cut here and there on a tree told them this
trail had been made by men, and not by moose
and caribou. They had seen no traces of man.
No human habitation had sent its gleam of light
across their trail to bid them welcome. Scarcely
knowing whether she wished to see the light of
a cabin, Marian tramped doggedly on. It was
long past camping time, yet she feared to make
camp. Several times she had caught the long
drawn howl of a wolf, faint and indistinct in
the distance.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div>
<p>With a burst of joy and hope she thought of
the progress they had made. The tramp across
open tundra had been fearfully hard. They had,
however, reaped from it a rich reward; the river
they had found was larger than the other and its
surface had offered an almost perfect trail. It
flowed north by west instead of southwest. It
took them directly on their way. Even now
Marian was wondering if this were not the very
river at whose junction with the great Yukon
was located the station they sought to reach
before the Government Agent had passed.</p>
<p>“If it is,” she murmured, “what can hinder
us from making the station in time?”</p>
<p>It seemed that there could be but one answer
to this; yet in the Arctic there is no expression
that is so invariably true as this one: “You never
can tell.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
<p>Then, suddenly, Marian’s thoughts were
drawn to another subject. A peculiar gleam of
moonlight among the trees reminded her of the
purple flame. At once she began wondering
what could be the source of that peculiar and
powerful light; who possessed it, and what their
purpose was in living on the tundra.</p>
<p>“And Patsy?” she questioned herself, “I
wonder if they are troubling her. Wonder if
they are really living off our deer. I wish I had
not been obliged to leave our camp. Seems that
there were problems enough without this. I
wish—”</p>
<p>Suddenly she put out one hand and stopped her
deer, while with the other she gave Attatak a
mute signal for silence.</p>
<p>Breaking gently through the hushed stillness
of the forest, like a spring zephyr over a
meadow, there came to her ears a sound of
wonderful sweetness.</p>
<p>“Music,” she breathed, “and such music!
The very music of Heaven!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div>
<p>Moments passed, and still with slightly bowed
heads, as if listening to the Angelus, they stood
there, still as statues, listening to the strange
music.</p>
<p>“The woods were God’s first temples,” Marian
whispered.</p>
<p>For the moment she lived as in a trance. A
great lover of music, she felt the thrill of perfect
melody breaking over her soul like bright
waves upon golden sand. She fancied that this
melody had no human origin, that it was a spontaneous
outburst from the very heart of the
forest; God himself speaking through the mute
life of earth.</p>
<p>When this illusion had passed she still stood
there wondering.</p>
<p>“Attatak, what day of the week is this?”</p>
<p>For a moment Attatak did not answer. She
was counting on her fingers.</p>
<p>“Sunday,” she said at last.</p>
<p>“Sunday,” Marian repeated. “And that is
a pipe organ. How wonderful! How perfectly
beautiful! A pipe organ in the midst of the
forest!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
<p>“And yet,” she hesitated, scarcely daring to
believe her senses, “how could a pipe organ be
brought way up here?”</p>
<p>“But it is!” she affirmed a few seconds later.
“Attatak, you watch the deer while I go ahead
and find out what sort of place it is, and whether
there are dangerous dogs about.”</p>
<p>Her wonder grew with every step that she
took in the direction of the mysterious musician.
As she came closer, and the tones became more
distinct, she knew that she could not be mistaken.</p>
<p>“It’s a pipe organ,” she told herself with conviction,
“and a splendid one at that! Who in
all the world would bring such a wonderful instrument
away up here? Strange I have never
heard of this settlement. It must be a rather
large village or they could not afford such an
organ for their church.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
<p>As she thought of these things, and as the
rise and fall of the music still came sweeping
through the trees, a strange spell fell upon her.
It was as if she were resting upon the soft,
cushioned seat of some splendid church. With
the service appealing to her sense of the artistic
and the beautiful, and to her instinct of reverence;
with the soft lights pervading all, she was
again in the chapel of her own university.</p>
<p>“Oh!” she cried, “I do hope it’s a real church
and that we’re not too late for the service.”</p>
<p>One thought troubled her as she hurried forward.
If this was a large village, where were
the tracks of dog teams that must surely be
travelling up the river; trappers going out over
their lines of traps; hunters seeking caribou;
prospectors starting away over the trail for a
fresh search for the ever illusive yellow gold?
Surely all these would have left a well beaten
trail. Yet since the last snow there had not
been a single team passing that way.</p>
<p>“It’s like a village of the dead,” she mused,
and shivered at the thought.</p>
<p>When at last she rounded a turn and came
within full sight of the place from which the
enchanting tones issued, the sight that met her
eyes caused her to start back and stare with
surprise and amazement.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
<p>She had expected to find a cluster of log
cabins; a store, a church and a school. Instead,
she saw a yawning hole in a bank of snow; a
hole that was doubtless an entrance to some sort
of structure. Whether the structure was built
of sod, logs, or merely of snow, she could not
guess. Some thirty feet from this entrance, and
higher, apparently perched on the crust of snow,
were two such cupola affairs as Marian had seen
on certain types of sailing vessels and gasoline
schooners. From these there streamed a pale
yellow light.</p>
<p>“Well!” she exclaimed. “Well, of all
things!”</p>
<p>For a moment, undecided whether to flee from
that strange place, she stood stock still.</p>
<p>The organ, for the moment, was stilled. The
woods were silent. Such a hush as she had never
experienced in all her life lay over all. Then,
faint, indistinct, came a single note of music.
Someone had touched a key. The next instant
the world seemed filled with the most wonderful
melody.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
<p>“<i>Handel’s Largo</i>,” she whispered as she stood
there enchanted. Of all pipe organ music, she
loved Handel’s Largo best. Throughout the rendering
of the entire selection, she stood as one
enchanted.</p>
<p>“It is enough,” she said when the sound of
the last note had died away in the tree tops.
“It’s all very mysterious, but any person who
can play <i>Handel’s Largo</i> like that is not going
to be unkind to two girls who are far from home.
I’m going in.”</p>
<p>With unfaltering footsteps she started forward.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />