Plans
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Reverently the doctor
read the words to the committal of the Burial Service, while Hugo stood
near and sprinkled the earth upon the rough box which contained the
mortal remains of Charles Norris. The Indians had nearly all arrived
and were crowded about the open grave. They had lost their best earthly
friend, and their sad faces showed how fully they realised the fact.
Marion, with Zell, stood near the grave with her father on one side and
the sergeant on the other, with the constable just behind. Close by
was another grave, marked with a simple wooden cross, bearing only the
name of Martha Norris, and the date of her death. As Marion looked at
the emblem of salvation she thought of the life which the woman had led
as revealed by the Journal she had left. Soon there would be another
cross, and in years to come strangers would read the inscriptions, and
wonder, perhaps. But the Indians would remember, she felt sure, and
would pass on from generation to generation the story of those two
pioneers of the Gospel at The Gap.
John North, too, was thinking deeply. He had not spoken again of the
deep things of his heart since that day out in the mountains. Marion
knew nothing of all this, although she was surprised at his fervent
“Amen” when the doctor had finished reading the Burial Service. But as
she turned away from the grave and walked slowly back to the mission
house, he told her all. It was the confession of a man who had fought
a hard fight against his doubts, and had conquered. There was little
of the sentimental about North, but his body trembled and his voice
became somewhat husky as he talked. Among other things he told of the
impression made upon him by the sight of the missionary maintaining his
post at The Gap, and the thoughts which had come to him on the mountain
trail. He had not finished his story when they reached the mission
house and entered. Then it was that Marion threw her arms impetuously
around his neck, and in words broken with emotion told him of her joy
at the great change that had come into his life.
“It is almost too good to be true,” she said. “How I have longed and
prayed that it might come some day, but I had no idea it would be so
soon.”
“It is due in a large measure to you, sweetheart,” the sergeant
acknowledged, giving her an affectionate kiss. “It was your love which
first began to warm the coldness of my heart. I thought that such a
thing was impossible until I met you. Then all that followed were like
so many links in the wonderful chain of faith. I shall never forget
that terrible night I spent with that raving maniac in that cabin.
I comprehended then as never before the hopeless nature of unbelief
and disobedience to the higher life of the Master. I shall tell you
sometime of the wonderful thoughts that came to me as I watched by that
wretched man. They are almost too sacred to mention, but I shall reveal
them to you some day. Then when we reached The Gap in time to attend
that service, and listened to the missionary’s farewell words, and
later looked upon his face so calm in death, the last strand of doubt
was broken. What a difference between that man of God and the wretched
raving creature we have confined in the patrol-house over yonder. That
missionary standing at his post of duty, or ‘in the gap,’ as he termed
it, has had a far more reaching effect than he ever knew. His remaining
at his post, true and faithful, undaunted by failure, praying and
trusting, was an important link in saving my soul. There, I’m afraid
that I have tired you with all this. Anyway, it relieves me to have
someone to speak to.”
“Don’t think that you have tired me, John,” Marion replied. “You have
no idea how happy you have made me by telling me all this.”
No longer did they have time for further conversation, as steps sounded
outside, and Hugo and the doctor entered, with Zell following close
behind. By their quiet manner and sober faces it was easy to tell how
deeply they had been affected by the service they had just attended.
“We have done all we can,” the doctor remarked as he sat down somewhat
wearily in a chair near the stove. “I have attended many funerals in my
life, but none ever appealed to me like the one I have just witnessed.
It was the grandest of them all. As I stood there watching the Indians
fill in the grave, I thought of Stevenson’s touching words:
“‘Under the wide and starry sky
Dig my grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I lay me down with a will.
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter is home from the hill.’”
“You can quote poetry as neatly as Rolfe,” the sergeant remarked. “You
two are well mated. He should be here to cap your verse.”
“No doubt he could do it better, sergeant, for I understand he is
filled with poetry. That piece I quoted is about all I remember, and it
seems suitable to the death of that grand old man.”
As the afternoon was now well advanced, Marion and Zell began to
prepare supper. When the meal was ready and all gathered at the table,
the constable arrived. He looked very tired and worn, but quite
cheerful.
“My, I’m glad to be out of hearing of that maniac,” he remarked, as he
removed his cap and outer coat. “He’s getting worse all the time, and
the swelling in his leg is very bad. I believe it will finish him.”
“Is he well guarded?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes. Several Indians are looking after him.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Hugo enquired.
“Take him to Kynox,” the sergeant replied. “It will be a hard and
disagreeable trip. But Rolfe will take several Indians along. You
must get away early in the morning, Tom,” he reminded, turning to the
constable. “Get everything ready to-night.”
“I have made all preparations, sergeant, and have secured a fine team
of dogs. We shall travel fast.”
“Suppose you take my team, sergeant, while I go with Tom,” the doctor
suggested. “I am in a hurry, too, and the madman might need special
attention on the way. There is little I can do, I am well aware, but
then one never knows. The rest of you can travel more leisurely.”
“Are we to close up this house, and leave it just as it is?” Marion
asked. “What a pity there is no one to take the missionary’s place and
continue his work.”
“Oh, there will be some one ready to come, never fear,” the sergeant
replied. “I shall notify the Bishop and most likely he will send a man
here. We need not worry about that just now. The Indians will remain
loyal, I feel quite certain. They have been taught a severe lesson.”
All through the day Hugo had been very quiet, speaking seldom, and
apparently wrapped in serious thought. But that night as they all
gathered around the stove, he filled, lighted his pipe, and looked upon
the little group.
“I suppose this will be the last night we shall spend together for
some time,” he began. “Zell will marry Tim and live outside, so her
lot in life will be settled. The doctor will still carry on his good
work among the needy, and will win more jewels in his crown. Rolfe will
develop into a full-fledged poet. Not likely he hears what I am saying,
as he is so busy writing--a masterpiece, no doubt. Now, that leaves
three of us, and what are we to do?”
“Two will get married as soon as they can, if I am not mistaken,” the
doctor replied with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, not for some time yet,” Marion declared. “At least, not until John
leaves the Force.”
“And when will that be?” Hugo enquired.
“Next May,” the sergeant replied. “My time will be up then, and I am
going to leave. I am getting tired of this roving life, and have been
at it too long already. I should have left years ago.”
“Next May, eh? Well, that will suit fine,” and Hugo blew a cloud of
smoke into the air. “Now, what are you going to do then?”
“I have not the least idea. Go outside, I suppose, and begin all over
again. The outlook is not very bright, I assure you.”
“And having a wife will make it all the more difficult, eh?”
“Perhaps so. But something will turn up.”
“Now, suppose something should turn up here before you go out, how
would that suit you?”
“Very well, indeed. But what do you mean?”
“How would you like to do some mining?”
“Not on your life, unless I can strike something rich. I do not feel
inclined to spend the rest of my days following the will o’ wisp of
gold. I have seen too much of it. Why, there are many men wandering
about this country hoping and hoping in vain for a rich find.”
“But suppose the gold is already found, what then?”
“That would make a big difference.”
“Certainly it would, and that’s why I have mentioned it. Now listen. I
know where there is gold, plenty of it. I struck it rich several years
ago in a creek away to the south of us, and I am the only one who knows
where it is.”
“You did!” The sergeant as well as all the others were keenly
interested now. Even Rolfe paused in his writing to listen.
“Yes, I struck it rich,” Hugo repeated, “but never intended to make use
of it. I never expected to have any need of it, and did not report my
discovery. During those years when I thought that I was being followed
by the Police I was very vindictive and gloated over the thought that
I knew where there was gold, and it was known to me alone. At times I
longed to tell some poor unfortunate devils where it was, but I knew
that others would reap the benefit, so I said nothing. Perhaps it was
just as well, otherwise we would not have it to look forward to now.”
“Where is this creek of which you speak?” the sergeant asked.
“That must remain a secret until we are ready to begin work,” Hugo
replied with a smile. “There are several of us here, and it might
unintentionally leak out. But the gold is there, and it will keep a
while longer. I have samples of it in one of my cabins which I shall
show you some day. When the time is ripe, I shall notify you all here,
even Marion and Zell, so we can all get in on the ground floor.”
“May I have a hand in it, too?” the doctor asked.
“Sure. We shall need a doctor along, and you shall have your share.
Then when we get the gold we can either do the mining ourselves, or
sell out. There will be no trouble about that.”
“Do you think you could live in any other country but this, father?”
Marion questioned.
“Just give me a chance, my dear, and you will see how soon I shall hike
outside. I have several old scores to settle there which money alone
can accomplish. I have been shamefully treated, and never wanted to
square up until recently. Oh, yes, I shall make a sensation some day in
the smug business world, and money alone can do it. But that’s another
secret which must remain with me until the right time. There, now, I
think I have told you enough for one night. Henceforth I shall be no
longer Hugo, the trapper, but ‘Hugo, the miner.’ How does that sound?”
“Very good,” the sergeant replied. “But before you go to bed you
must listen to what Rolfe has written. He has finished his poem of
inspiration and is waiting to read it. Come on, Tom, and get through
with it.”
“It isn’t much,” the constable replied, “but merely a sample of what
I shall do when I get time. These are just a few hurried thoughts I
have been turning over in my mind ever since I came to The Gap and saw
the old missionary standing bravely at his post of duty. It applies
not only to him but to others of his kind. Later I shall lick the
verses into proper shape. I have called this poem ‘Across the Marches,’
suggested by some words I read in an old paper which I happened to
pick up in this very house. It was a report of an address given by the
Archbishop of Canterbury to a number of missionaries leaving for their
distant fields of work. ‘We from across the Marches stand by you in
your great endeavours,’ he said. Those words appealed to me. This is
what I have written as my humble tribute:
“Where the land lies dumb in winter, and the mountain trail is steep,
Where the frost bites like hot iron, and the snow-shoes gall the
feet;
Where the wind rips down the valley with its deadly, hurtling sting,
And the snow drifts like long breakers in its blinding, maddening
fling,
There across the great lone Marches press the Heralds of the King.”
“Where the frontier shelves to vagueness, and the trails lead God
knows where,
Where the Great Lights hurl their magic through the twanging midnight
air,
There they grope and there they falter, sweeping plain and crested
dome,
Holy Ordered, sturdy cruisers, bringing light where’er they roam,
Heartened far across the Marches by the Church of God at Home.”
“There they lead and there they battle, there the ranks are thinned
and wan,
But they lift aloft the Banner, and the few still stagger on;
On, with faces white and weary, on, the tide of night to stem;
On, for precious soul-wrought jewels for the Master’s diadem;
Church of Christ, across the Marches, lift your pleading prayers for
them.”
Slowly Rolfe folded the paper when he had finished, and thrust it into
an inside pocket. There was silence for a few minutes, and then Hugo
reached out his big right hand.
“Put it there, young man,” he said. “I congratulate you for those
words. You have struck the right note, eh, sergeant, don’t you think
so?”
“I do,” was the quiet reply. “Tom, I believe you will make a poet yet
if you keep at it.”
“He is a poet now,” Marion declared. “I enjoyed that poem very much,
and you will let me have a copy of it, will you not, Mr. Rolfe?”
“Why, yes, Miss Brisbane, I shall be delighted to do so. But suppose
you wait until I publish my first book of poems. I shall dedicate it to
you if you will let me, and I shall include this poem in the volume.”
That night Marion and the sergeant sat long together after the others
had gone to rest. There were many things they talked about in low
voices, and wonderful were the plans they formed for the future. They
were seated side by side near the stove, their eyes bright and their
hearts filled with joy and contentment.
“It is very wonderful how everything has turned out all right at the
last,” Marion whispered. “This northland will always be very dear to
me. It was here I found my long-lost father, and you.”
“And wonderful things are still ahead, let us hope,” the sergeant
replied. “It seems to me that Another has been guiding and leading us
together. And may He who has guided us still continue to guide over
that long, long trail which lies beyond.”
He bent his head and his lips met hers in one ravishing kiss of
enduring love.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.