THE WILDERNESS
Dusk was falling and the tired horses plodded slowly past the rows of
shadowy trunks when the sound of running water came out of the gloom.
Agatha ached from the jolting and felt cramped and sleepy, but she
roused herself when a light began to flicker among the trees. The driver
urged his team, the light got brighter as the rig lurched down a rough
incline, and Agatha saw a man standing in the trail. His figure was
indistinct and she could not see his face, but she no longer felt jaded
and lonely, for she knew who he was.
"Tired?" he said in a sympathetic voice as he gave her his hand to get
down when the rig stopped in an opening. "It's a long ride from the
railroad, but after all it was better for you to make it in the day.
Besides, we must pull out to-morrow."
Agatha said she was not excessively tired. She liked his matter-of-fact
manner and thought he had struck the right note.
"Have you got the tent I recommended?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "It's in the small box."
"Then as the poles are cut, the boys will soon put it up. In the
meantime, supper's ready."
He took her across the narrow open space, and when near the fire she
stopped and looked about. It was after ten o'clock, but a pale-green
glow shone above the pines, whose ragged tops cut against it in a black
saw-edge. Below, a river brawled among dark rocks, catching a reflection
here and there, and then plunging into shadow. It was not dark; she
could see the brush and the wild-berry vines that crawled between the
trunks. Then she turned towards the fire that burned at the foot of a
ledge. Two or three figures moved about the rocks behind it; sometimes
picked out with hard distinctness so that she could see their brown
faces and travel-stained overalls, and sometimes fading into gloom.
The smoke went nearly straight up and then spread slowly across the
river; the flames leaped among the snapping branches and sank. Strong
lights and puzzling shadows played about the camp; there was an aromatic
smell, and the air was keen and bracing. The turmoil of the river rather
emphasized than disturbed the quietness. It was different from the noisy
city where the big arc-lights burned above the hurrying crowds, but
Agatha did not find it strange. She felt as if she were revisiting a
scene she had known before, and thought this was an inheritance from her
father, who had loved the wilds. But perhaps she might go further back;
it was, relatively, not long since all Ontario was a wilderness, and she
sprang from pioneering stock.
Then Thirlwell indicated a folding chair and she sat down beside two
logs, rolled close together to make a cooking hearth. A kettle and two
frying-pans stood on the logs, supported by both, and the space between
was filled with glowing embers, about which flickered little blue and
orange flames. Thirlwell gave her a plate and a tin mug, and she found
the fresh trout and hot bannocks appetizing. Then she liked the acid
wild-berries he brought on a bark tray, and the strong, smoke-flavored
tea. She smiled as she remembered that in Toronto she had been
fastidious about her meals and sometimes could not eat food that was
roughly-served.
When supper was over Thirlwell sat on one of the hearth-logs and lighted
his pipe. Agatha was pleased that he did so. While they were in the bush
their relations must be marked by an informal friendliness, as if she
were a comrade and partner and not a girl. Anything that hinted at the
difference in their sex must be avoided.
"You'll get used to camp-life in a few days," he remarked by and by. "At
first I expect you'll find it a change from, the cities. Things are
rudimentary in the bush."
"Nothing jars, except the mosquitoes," Agatha replied. "I have no sense
of strangeness; in fact, I feel as if I had been here before and
belonged to the woods."
"After, all, you do know something about them. I think you said you had
camped in the timber."
"That was different. It was a summer camp, organized by the railroad,
and supplied with modern comforts. You bought a ticket and a gasolene
launch took you up the lake. Then the men wore smart flannels and the
girls new summer clothes. In the evenings one sang and played a banjo,
another a mandolin."
Thirlwell laughed. "You don't like music?"
"I love it; but not ragtime and modern coon songs in the bush. No doubt
the people who went there had earned a holiday, but it would have been
different had they gone to fish or hunt. They went to loaf, play noisy
games, and flirt. Indeed, I used to think we jarred as much as the
horrible dump of old fruit and meat cans among the willows."
"I think I know what you mean. Man makes ugly marks on the wilderness
unless he goes to farm. A mine, for example, is remarkably
unpicturesque."
"But it stands for endeavor, for something useful done."
"Not all mines. A number stand for wasted money."
"And vanished hopes," said Agatha. "Do you think I shall find the lode?
I want you to be frank."
Thirlwell hesitated. "On the whole, I don't think so, but my judgment
mayn't be sound and my employer, Scott, does not agree. Anyway, I'll
help you all I can."
For a moment or two Agatha studied him. His face was brown and rather
thin and had a hint of quiet force; his easy pose was graceful but
virile. Somehow he did not clash with the austerity of the woods; nor
did the other men, who now sat, smoking, round the larger fire. Agatha
liked their quietness, their slow, drawling speech and tranquil
movements. She knew she could trust Thirlwell, but remembering a remark
of Mabel Farnam's, she asked herself why he had offered his help. She
could find no satisfactory answer and thought it better to leave the
puzzle alone.
"But you are doubtful," she said. "Confidence is a strong driving
force."
"In a way, that's true," he agreed. "Still it sometimes drives you into
mistakes, and when you get to work in the right way it doesn't matter
much if you're confident or not. Your feelings can't alter Nature's
laws. If you know how the vein dips, you can strike the ore; if you sink
the shot-hole right, and use enough powder, you split the rock."
"It's obvious that you are a materialist."
"I'm a mining engineer," Thirlwell rejoined with a smile.
Agatha gave him a quiet, friendly look. "It's lucky I have you to help,
because I could not have gone far alone. I've studied Nature's laws in
the laboratory, but in the bush she works on another scale. There's a
difference between a blow-pipe flame and the subterranean fires. Now if
I don't find the ore, it will be some comfort to know that I have
properly tried." She glanced at her wrist-watch and got up. "It is later
than I thought!"
"Your tent is ready," Thirlwell replied.
She turned and saw a light shining through the V-shaped canvas on the
edge of the trees, but although she was tired, felt reluctant to leave
the fire. It had burned low between the logs, but it gave the lonely
spot a comfortable home-like look, and the bush was dark. Thirlwell,
sitting where the faint light touched him, somehow added to the charm by
a hint of human fellowship. He looked as if he were resting by his
hearth, and she had spent a happy hour with him in quiet,
half-confidential talk.
"Thank you. Good-night," she said, and went away.
When she reached the tent she looked about with surprise. The earth
floor was beaten smooth and sprinkled with pine-sprays that gave out an
aromatic smell; a bed had been cleverly made of thin branches and packed
twigs. Her blankets were neatly folded and the small canvas bucket was
filled. All she was likely to need was ready, and the boxes that had
held her outfit were arranged to make a seat and wash-stand. She felt
grateful for this thought for her comfort, and putting out the miner's
lamp, sat down on the twig-bed and hooked the canvas door back.
Although there was no moon, she could distinguish the black pine-trunks
across the river, the lines of foam where the current broke upon the
reefs, and the canoes drawn up on the bank. Thirlwell and his _Metis_
packers had gone, and as hers was the only tent she wondered where they
slept. The fires were nearly out, and except for the noise of the river
a solemn quietness brooded over the camp.
She began to muse. She had liked Thirlwell when she met him at the
summer hotel, but she liked him better in the bush. He harmonized with
his surroundings; he was, so to speak, natural, but not at all uncouth.
The woods had made him quiet, thoughtful, and vigilant. She had noted
his quick, searching glance, and although there was nothing aggressive
about him, he had force. Yet she did not think him clever; she had met
men whose mental powers were much more obvious, but when she tried to
contrast them with him, he came out best. After all, character took one
further than intellectual subtlety.
Agatha blushed as she admitted that had she wanted a lover she might
have been satisfied with a man of Thirlwell's type; but she did not want
a lover. She had inherited a duty and must concentrate on finding the
silver vein; the task in a manner set her apart from other women, who
could follow their bent. Sometimes she envied them their freedom and
gave way to bitterness, but her austere sense of duty returned. It was
strong just now, but the picture of Thirlwell sitting opposite by the
fire had a happy domestic touch that made her dissatisfied.
Then she remembered that if she found the vein she would be rich. So
far, she had not dwelt much on this, because it was not a longing for
money that animated her. All the same, she saw that success in the
search would give her power and freedom to choose the life she would
lead. Not long since, she had thought to find happiness in the pursuit
of science; and with wealth at her command she could make costly
experiments and build laboratories. The thought still pleased her, but
it had lost something of its charm. Besides, it was too soon for such
speculations and she must be practical.
Suppose she did find the ore? The claim must be recorded and developed
as the mining laws required, and she would need a man who understood
such matters to help her; but it must be a man she could trust. She
could trust Thirlwell and admitted that she had half-consciously
allotted him the supposititious post; for one thing, if he were manager,
they would not be separated by her success. But this was going too far,
and she resolutely pulled herself up. She had not found the vein and was
perhaps thinking about Thirlwell oftener than she ought. Feeling for the
hooks, she fastened the tent door and soon afterwards went to sleep.
They launched the canoes in the cool of the morning, while the mist
drifted among the pines and the sun came up behind the forest. The
stream ran fast and as they toiled up river a brawny half-breed waded
through the shallows with the tracking line. Thirlwell stood in the
stern, using the pole, and Agatha noted the smooth precision of his
movements. He wasted no effort and did not seem to be working hard, but
he did what he meant and the hint of force was plainer than when he
talked. Two _Metis_ were occupied with the canoe behind and as they
poled and tracked they sang old songs made by the early French
_voyageurs_. Although the river had shrunk far down the bank, there was
water enough for the canoes, and Agatha remarked how skilfully the men
avoided the rocks in the channel and drove the craft up angry rapids.
When they nooned upon a gravel bank near the end of a wide lake it was
fiercely hot. The calm water, flashed like polished steel, and Agatha
could hardly see the flames of the snapping fire; the smoke went up in
thin gray wreaths that were almost invisible. A clump of juniper grew
among the stones and she sat down in the shade and looked about with
dazzled eyes. A line of driftwood, hammered by the ice and bleached
white by the sun, marked the subsidence of the water from its high,
spring level. Small islands broke the shining surface, some covered with
stunted trees and some quite bare. The rocks about the beach were
curiously worn, but Agatha knew they had been ground smooth by drifting
floes. Behind the beach, the forest rolled back in waves of somber green
to a bold ridge that faded into leaden thunder-clouds.
The landscape was wild, and although it had nothing of the savage
grandeur Agatha expected, she thought it forbidding. Its influence was
insidious; one was not daunted by a glance, but realized by degrees its
grimness and desolation. The North was not dramatic, except perhaps when
the ice broke up; the forces that molded the rugged land worked with a
stern quietness. It looked as if they also molded the character of the
men who braved the rigors of the frozen waste. The _Metis_ were not
vivacious like the French _habitants_; they were marked by a certain
grave melancholy and their paddling songs had a plaintive undertone. Yet
their vigor and stubbornness were obvious, and Agatha thought Thirlwell
was like his packers, in a way. He was not melancholy, and indeed, often
laughed, but one got a hint of reserve and unobtrusive strength. He did
not display his qualities, as some of the professors and business men
she knew had done, but she imagined they would be seen if there was
need.
"In a sense, the North is disappointing," she remarked. "I expected to
feel rather overwhelmed, but I'm not."
"Wait," said Thirlwell, smiling. "After a few hundred miles of lonely
trail you'll know the country better. I don't want you to get to love
it; but in the wilderness love often goes with fear."
"Once I thought that impossible," Agatha replied. "Now I don't know. I'm
beginning to recognize that I'm not as modern as I thought. But have you
ever been frankly afraid of the wilds?"
"Often. When you meet the snow on the frozen trail, a hundred miles from
shelter, mind and body shrink. Perhaps it's worse when all that stands
for warmth and life is loaded on the hand-sledge you haul across the
rotten ice. Then it's significant that the _Metis_ are sometimes more
afraid than white men. They know the country better."
"They haven't the civilized man's intellect. Ignorance breeds
superstition that makes men cowards."
"That's so, to some extent," Thirlwell agreed. "I suppose superstition
is man's fear of dangers he can't understand and his wish to propitiate
the unknown powers that rule such things. You and I call these powers
natural forces, for which we have our weights and measures; but I must
own that the measures are often found defective when applied to mining.
I've met rock-borers who would sooner trust a mascot than a scientific
rule."
"We are a curious people," Agatha remarked with a laugh. "But you passed
a smooth beach with good shade where the river runs out. Why did you
come on here?"
"The other's the regular camping spot. I remembered that you don't like
old provision cans."
Agatha was pleased. He had thought about her and remembered her
dislikes. While she wondered how she could tactfully thank him, he went
on--
"Besides, I wanted to make another mile or two. A good day's journey is
important."
"Would a mile or two make much difference?"
"You would have to take the distance off at the other end. The economy
of travel in the North is sternly simple, and transport's the main
difficulty. You can travel a fixed distance on a fixed quantity of food,
and how much you take depends on the skill and number of your packers.
Good men get good wages and money does not go far. I want to save up as
many miles as possible for our prospecting."
"I see," said Agatha. "Yet you stated that you didn't think we would
find the lode!" Then she gave him a shrewd glance. "Aren't you a little
impatient to get on now?"
"I am," he admitted, turning to the south. "There's a threat of thunder
and I'd like to cross the lake before the storm comes."
Agatha got up and in a few minutes they launched the canoes. The heat
was overwhelming and Agatha felt no movement of the air, but the _Metis_
sweated and panted as they labored at the paddles. The thud of the
blades came back in measured echoes from the motionless pines and a
fan-shaped wake trailed far across the glassy lake. In the meantime, the
cloud bank rolled up the sky like a ragged arch and covered the sun. The
glare faded and a thick, blue haze crept out upon the water, until it
looked as if the horizon advanced to meet them, but the heat did not get
less. At the edge of the haze, an island loomed indistinctly and by and
by Thirlwell turned to Agatha.
"There's a good beach behind the point and shelter among the rocks," he
said in a breathless voice. "Would you like to stop?"
"How long should we have to stop?"
He looked up at the moving cloud, which was fringed with ragged
streamers.
"I imagine we wouldn't get off again to-day."
"Then we'll go on," said Agatha.
Thirlwell signed to the _Metis_, who had slackened their efforts, and
the foam swirled up at the bows as they drove the paddles through the
water.