Back Aa

Purple Flame

Close

<h2 id="c19"><br/>CHAPTER XIX <br/>PASSING THE RAPIDS</h2> <p>As the raft, which had been dragged from the bank of the river by the hermit of the mysterious lodge, swung out into the ice strewn current, it shot directly for the glacier’s end as if drawn by a magnet.</p> <p>Taking a quick turn of the rope about a point of rock, the aged man braced himself for the shock which must come when the raft, with its load of sleds and other trappings, had taken up the slack.</p> <p>All too soon it came. Bracing himself as best he could, he held his ground. The strain increased. It seemed that the rope must snap; that the old man’s iron grip must yield. Should the raft reach the glacier it would be lost forever. The muscles in the man’s arms played like bands of steel. Blood vessels stood out on his temples like whipcords, yet he held his ground.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div> <p>Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty, then with a whirl like some wild animal yielding to its captor, the raft swung about and shot away down stream.</p> <p>Plunging forward, leaping rocks, gliding over glassy surfaces of snow, puffing, perspiring, the old man followed.</p> <p>Now he was down; the cause seemed lost. But in a flash he was up again, clutching at a jagged rock that tore his hand. For a second time he stayed the mad rush of the raft. Then he was on again.</p> <p>Bobbing from reef to reef, plunging through foam, leaping high above the torrents, the raft went careering on. Twice it all but turned over, and but for the skill of its master would have been crushed by great grinding cakes of ice.</p> <p>For thirty long minutes the battle lasted; minutes that seemed hours to the aged man. Then with a sigh he guided the raft into a safe eddy of water.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div> <p>Sinking down upon a hard packed bank of snow, he lay there as if dead. For a long time he lay there, then rising stiffly, made his way down the ledge to drag the raft ashore and unlash the sleds. After this he drew the sleds up the hill one at a time and set them across the blazed trail.</p> <p>“There!” he sighed. “A good night’s work done, and a neat one. I could not have done it better twenty years ago. ‘Grow old along with me,’” he threw back his hair as if in defiance of raging torrents, “‘The best is yet to be. The last of life, for which the first was made—’”</p> <p>Having delivered this bit of poetical oration to the tune of the booming rapids, he turned to pick his way back over the uncertain trail that led to his strange abode.</p> <p>Eight hours after she had crept into the luxurious bed in the guest room of the strange lodge, Marian stirred, then half awake, felt the drowsy warmth of wolf-skin rugs. For a moment she lay there and inhaled the drug-like perfume of balsam and listened to the steady breathing of the Eskimo girl beside her. She was about to turn over for another sleep, when, from some cell of her brain where it had been stowed the night before, there came the urge that told her she must make haste.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div> <p>“Haste! Haste! Haste!” came beating in upon her drowsy senses. It was as if her brain were a radio, and the message was coming from the air.</p> <p>Suddenly she sat bolt upright. At the same instant she found herself wide awake, fully alert and conscious of the problems she must face that day—the passing of the rapids and covering a long span of that trail which still lay between them and their goal.</p> <p>She did not waken Attatak. That might not be necessary for another hour. She sprang out upon the heavy bear skin rug, and there went through a set of wild, whirling gestures that limbered every muscle in her body and sent the red blood racing through her veins. After that she quickly slipped into her blouse, knickers, stockings and deerskin boots, to at last go tiptoeing down the corridor toward the large living-room where she heard the roar of the open fire as it raced up the chimney.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div> <p>She found her host sitting by the fire. In the uncertain light he appeared haggard and worn, as if quite done in from some great exertion. Of course Marian could not so much as guess how he had spent the night. She had slept through it all.</p> <p>With a smile of greeting the old man motioned her to a seat beside him.</p> <p>“You’ll not begrudge an old man a half hour’s company?” he said.</p> <p>“Indeed not.”</p> <p>“You’ll wish to ask me things. Everyone who passes this way wants to. Mostly they ask and I don’t tell. A fair lady, though,” there was something of ancient gallantry in his tone, “fair ladies usually ask what they will and get it, too.”</p> <p>For a moment he sat staring silently into the fire.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div> <p>“This house,” he said at last, “is a bit unusual. That pipe organ, for instance—you wouldn’t expect it here. It came here as if by accident; Providence, I call it. A rich young man had more things than he knew what to do with. The Creator sent some of them to me.</p> <p>“As for me, I came here voluntarily. You have probably taken me for a prospector. I have never bought pick nor pan. There are things that lure me, but gold is not one of them.</p> <p>“I had troubles before I came here. Troubles are the heritage of the aged. I sometimes think that it is not well to live too long.</p> <p>“And yet,” he shook himself free of the mood; his face lighting up as he exclaimed, “And yet, life is very wonderful! Wonderful, even up here in the frozen north. I might almost say, <i>especially</i> here in the north.</p> <p>“I came here to be alone. I brought in food with a dog team. I built a cabin of logs, and here I lived for a year.</p> <p>“One day a young man came up the river in a wonderful pleasure yacht and anchored at the foot of the rapids. Being a lover of music, he had built a pipe organ into his yacht; the one you heard last night.”</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div> <p>“And did—did he die?” Marian asked, a little break coming in her voice.</p> <p>“No,” the old man smiled, “he tarried too long. Being a lover of nature—a hunter and an expert angler—and having found the most ideal spot in the world as long as summer lasted, he stayed on after the frosts and the first snow. I was away at the time, else I would have warned him. I returned the day after it happened. There had been a heavy freeze far up the river, then a storm came that broke the ice away. The ice came racing down over the rapids like mad and wrecked his wonderful yacht beyond all repair.</p> <p>“We did as much as we could about getting the parts on shore; saved almost all but the hull. He stayed with me for a few days; then, becoming restless, traded me all there was left of his boat for my dog team.</p> <p>“That winter, with the help of three Indians and their dogs, I brought the wreckage up here. Gradually, little by little, I have arranged it into the form of a home that is as much like a boat as a house. The organ was unimpaired, and here it sings to me every day of the great white winter.”</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div> <p>He ceased speaking and for a long time was silent. When he spoke again his tones were mellow with kindness and a strange joy.</p> <p>“I am seldom lonely now. The woods and waters are full of interesting secrets. Travellers, like you, come this way now and again. I try to be prepared to serve them; to be their friend.”</p> <p>“May—may I ask one question?” Marian suggested timidly.</p> <p>“As many as you like.”</p> <p>“How did you know I was at the door last night when you were playing? You did not see me. You couldn’t have heard me.”</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div> <p>“That,” he smiled, “is a question I should like to ask someone myself; someone much wiser than I am. I knew you were there. I had been feeling your presence for more than an hour before you came. I knew I had an audience. I was playing for them. How did I know? I cannot tell. It has often been so before. Perhaps all human presence can be felt by some specially endowed persons. It may be that in the throngs of great cities the message of soul to soul is lost, just as a radio message is lost in a jumble of many messages sent at once.</p> <p>“But then,” he laughed, “why speculate? Life’s too short. Some things we must accept as they are. What’s more important to you is that your sleds are beyond the rapids. When breakfast is over, you can strap your sleeping bags on your deer and I will guide you over the trail around the rapids to the point where I left your sleds.”</p> <p>A look of consternation flashed over Marian’s face. She was thinking of the ancient dishes and how fragile they were. “I have some fragile articles in the sleeping bags,” she said. “They—they might break!”</p> <p>“Break?” He wore a puzzled look.</p> <p>For a second she hesitated; then, reassured by the kindly face of the gentle old man, decided to tell him the story of their adventure in the cave. Then she launched into the story with all the eagerness of a discoverer.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div> <p>“I see,” he said, when she had finished the story. “I know just how you feel. However, there is now only one safe thing to do. Leave these treasures with me. If the rapids are frozen over when the time comes for the return trip, you can pass here and get them. You’ll always be welcome. Better leave an address to which they may be sent in case you should not pass this way. The rapids freeze over every winter. I will surely be able to get them off on the first river boat. They can be sent to any spot in the world. To attempt to pack them over on your deer would mean certain destruction.”</p> <p>Reluctant as Marian was to leave the treasure behind, she saw the wisdom of his advice. So, feeling a perfect confidence in him, she decided to leave her treasure in his care. Then she gave him her address at Nome, with instructions for shipping should she fail to return this way.</p> <p>“One thing more I wanted to ask you,” she said. “How many men are there at the Station?”</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div> <p>“One man; the trader. He stays there the year ’round.”</p> <p>“One man!” she exclaimed.</p> <p>“One is all. Time was when there were twenty. Prospectors, traders, Indians, trappers. Two years ago forest fires destroyed the timber. The game sought other feeding grounds and the trappers, traders and Indians went with them. Gold doesn’t seem to exist in the streams hereabouts, so the prospectors have left, too. Now one man keeps the post; sort of holding on, I guess, just to see if the old days won’t return.”</p> <p>“Do you suppose he could—could leave for a week or two?” Marian faltered.</p> <p>“Guess not. Company wouldn’t permit it.”</p> <p>“Then—then—” Marian set her lips tight. She would not worry this kind old man with her troubles. The fact remained, however, that if there was but one man at the Station, and he could not leave, there was no one who could be delegated by the Government Agent to go back with her to help fight her battles against Scarberry.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div> <p>Suddenly, as she thought of the weary miles they had travelled, of the hardships they had endured, and of the probability that they would, after all, fail in fulfilling their mission, she felt very weak and as one who has suddenly grown old.</p> <div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

1 of 2

2 of 2