FACTOR MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE
When Paul opened his eyes he felt very damp and uncomfortable. As his
vision cleared he beheld Dan standing over him with his hat full of
water, which Dan was undoubtedly about to dash into his face.
“Don’t Dan! Don’t throw that on me!” he plead weakly. “What you
wetting me down that way for?”
“You comin’ to all right?” asked Dan. “You fainted, an’ I were sousin’
you t’ bring you to. I’m thinkin’ I better souse you this un. ’T will
do no harm.”
“Oh, Dan----”
But Paul’s protest came too late, and he received the contents of the
hat full in his face.
“There,” said Dan with satisfaction, “I’m thinkin’ that’ll be enough,
an’ bring you to, all right. How you feelin’?”
“All right now.” His voice was stronger, but still weak. “That thing
’most killed me, didn’t it?”
“You’re a long way from dyin’ yet, but you were havin’ a rare fine
fight with th’ varmint, an’ when you kills un you faints. Feelin’
stronger? I’m thinkin’ a bit more water’ll be helpin’ you, now.”
“No! No, Dan!” plead Paul, trying to rise, but still too weak. “Don’t
throw any more water on me. I’m soaked and freezing with it now.”
“Well, maybe you’re havin’ enough,” said Dan, uncertainly. “Dad says
th’ best thing t’ bring a feller around when he gets done up is plenty
o’ water.”
“What kind of an animal was that? When it came leaping at me I thought
my time had come.”
“’Twere a lynx, an’ a wonderful big un, too, an’ nice an’ fat. He’ll
make fine eatin’. How’d he come t’ fight? I never heard o’ one
fightin’ before. They always runs.”
“Why, I shot him, and thought I’d killed him, and when I came over
without the rifle he jumped on me.”
Dan examined the bloody carcass of the great lynx lying by Paul’s
side.
“There’s where your bullet comes,” said he, pointing at a furrow along
the top of the head. “’T were breakin’ th’ skin an’ stunnin’ he. He
just comes to, like you’re doin’ now, when you gets over, an’ bein’
sort o’ cornered he jumps on you. That’s th’ way of all beasts.
Anything’ll turn on a feller when ’tis cornered.”
“I thought I was a goner, and I don’t understand how I ever killed it.
Do I seem to be hurt much? I feel sore all over.”
“Not so bad. Scratched a bit, but ’t ain’t no account. You sticks your
knife in his heart. Feelin’ like gettin’ up now?”
“I’ll try.”
With Dan’s assistance Paul rose to his feet, but he felt very weak,
and uncertain on his legs.
“I never can walk back to the boat, Dan.”
“We’ll not be goin’ back t’ th’ boat this evenin’. There, keep a good
holt of me, an’ we’ll cross th’ creek an’ put a fire on. You’re
shiverin’ with th’ cold.”
Dan piloted the tottering Paul to a comfortable place beside the
embers of Paul’s former fire, relighted the fire and presently had a
cheerful blaze. Then he broke some spruce boughs for a couch, and when
Paul said he was quite comfortable and feeling “bully good again,
except for the sore spots,” Dan spread out before him a porcupine, a
big Arctic hare and five more ptarmigans.
“That’s what I were gettin’ on th’ hunt,” he announced proudly. “Now
what you thinkin’ o’ un?”
“Dan, that’s just fine. Why, we can live like kings now. I suppose
that’s a porcupine, isn’t it? And of course it’s good to
eat--everything seems to be good to eat in this country.”
“Yes, they’s rare fine eatin’. I likes un as well as deer’s meat. Now
I’ll have a snack an’ then pack th’ tent an’ beddin’ in here. I feels
wonderful gaunt.”
“Dan, you’re a wonder! Here you’ve been tramping after game all this
time, and stopping to help me, without a thing to eat since
yesterday.”
“If a feller gets game he’s got t’ keep after un when he sees un,”
commented Dan, between mouthfuls of the now cold ptarmigan Paul had
cooked for him. “An’ ’tis tastin’ wonderful fine, now I gets un. We’ll
be havin’ a good feed when I gets back, an’ we’ll find th’ tent rare
snug in this timber, free from th’ gale. She’s blowin’ wonderful stiff
outside.”
“I’m strong enough now, I guess, to go along and help carry the
things. I don’t want you to do it alone, Dan. You do all the hard
things,” and Paul attempted to rise.
“You’ll be stayin’ where you is,” objected Dan, forcing Paul back upon
his couch. “’Tis but a light load for me. I’m used t’ packin’, an’
I’ll not be long.”
“I do feel pretty weak,” admitted Paul, settling on his couch again.
When Dan returned an hour later the sun had set. He brought with him
the tent, blankets, cooking utensils and stove, but declared they were
not heavy. He declined Paul’s assistance in pitching the tent, and
working with the skill of a woodsman soon had all in readiness for
the night, a fire in the stove, and three ptarmigans stewing in the
kettle.
“They’s a wonderful rough sea runnin’,” he remarked when he finally
sat down. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll not be gettin’ out o’ here for two days
yet. Th’ wind’s shifted t’ th’ west’ard an’ she’s blowin’ a gale, an’
she’s kickin’ up a sea as won’t settle in a day after th’ blow stops.”
Dan’s weather prophecy proved quite correct, and three days passed
before they were permitted by weather and sea to break camp and resume
their journey. Paul’s wounds were not serious, though the deep
scratches he had received were painful and troublesome. However, he
was able while they remained ashore to attend to camp duties, while
Dan hunted.
Under Dan’s direction he roasted the four quarters of lynx and the
porcupine, together with another porcupine Dan had secured, as a
reserve supply of food. The porcupines were placed upon the coals and
the quills and hair thoroughly singed off, after which they were
scraped. This done, a big log fire was built. On either side and
slightly in front of the fire a stake was driven, and a pole extending
from stake to stake was tied in position. From the pole, and directly
before the fire, the porcupines and quarters of lynx were so
suspended, each at the end of a string, that they hung just high
enough to clear the ground. By occasionally twirling the string upon
which each was hung, every portion of the roasting meat was exposed to
the heat and thoroughly cooked.
Paul found Dan’s estimate of porcupine not at all overdrawn. He
declared it not unlike, and even superior to, roasted young pig; and
the lynx he insisted was equal to the finest veal.
Dan’s hunting during this period brought them, besides the second
porcupine, forty more ptarmigans and three snowshoe rabbits. Thus when
they broke camp they were not only well fed but were well supplied
with provisions for several days.
It was early dawn of a keen, cold morning when they turned toward the
boat with the outfit on their backs. The frost crackled under foot,
and when the sun broke out, as they were crossing the berry-covered
ridge, it set the frost-covered earth sparkling and scintillating,
transforming it into a fairy world strewn with diamonds.
From the hilltop they could see the sea stretching far away to the
eastward in a silvery, shimmering sheen.
“Isn’t it immense!” exclaimed Paul, as they sat beside their packs for
a brief rest. “I’ve learned to love the sea, in spite of the rough way
it’s knocked us about, and I’ll be mighty glad to be afloat again.”
“’Tis wonderful fine,” admitted Dan, rising to lead the way down.
A gentle swell was running, and with a good sailing breeze from the
northwest they made excellent progress. To their astonishment,
however, they discovered early in the afternoon a long coast line,
just discernible, directly east of them.
“Now this must be a bay we’re runnin’ into,” suggested Dan when this
new coast was discovered, “and I’m thinkin’ ’t will be best to cross
un, for if we runs t’ th’ head of un we’ll be losin’ a rare lot o’
time.”
Accordingly they took an easterly course, and with sunset made a
comfortable landing and cheerful camp, where driftwood in plenty was
to be found for their stove. It was a cozy, snug camp, and a savory
supper of hot broth and boiled birds, added to the satisfaction of
having accomplished a good day’s voyage to the southward, made them
very jolly and happy.
When they had eaten Dan produced his harmonica and blew a few notes.
Suddenly he ceased the music and listened intently, then springing to
his feet left the tent. Paul, aware that something of importance had
happened, was close at his heels. Outside Dan listened again, keeping
silence for several minutes. Then he asked excitedly:
“Does you hear un? Does you hear un?”
“Yes, what is it?” asked Paul, also excited. “Wolves?”
“Dogs! ’Tis husky dogs! They’s huskies clost by t’ th’ east’ard, an’
them’s their dogs howlin’! Hear un!”
They were silent again for a moment, to be certain that there was no
mistake, and as the distant “How-oo, how-oo, how-oo” came up from the
eastward, Paul shouted:
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” and then threw his cap in the air in an ecstasy of
delight.
“They’s down t’ th’ east’ard, an’ we’ll sure see un tomorrow,” said
Dan. “When I first hears un in th’ tent, I were thinkin’ ’t were
wolves howlin’, they howls so like wolves. But ’t ain’t wolves, ’tis
sure husky dogs.”
“And tomorrow we’ll meet people again, even if they are huskies, and
our troubles will be ended! Oh, Dan, I’m so thankful I can hardly
contain myself!”
They sat and talked about home and the hope of the morrow until late,
and even when they did lie down excitement and anticipation kept them
still talking and awake until at last they fell into restless sleep.
Long before daybreak Dan arose very quietly for a look at the weather
and to light the fire, but quiet as he was Paul heard him. “Is it time
to get up, Dan?” he asked.
“’T will soon be time,” answered Dan. “I wakes an’ gets up, for we’re
wantin’ t’ be early, sure, so’s t’ be fair ready t’ start soon’s we
can see.”
“I can hardly wait to get away!” exclaimed Paul.
Breakfast was eaten in darkness, and the boat loaded and ready for the
start before the first hint of dawn appeared in the east. In spite of
their impatience Dan deemed it unwise, however, to venture upon the
unknown waters until it was sufficiently light to avoid submerged
reefs and treacherous bars, and for nearly an hour they were compelled
to walk up and down the shore to keep warm, for the morning was
stinging cold. At length Dan announced:
“We may’s well be goin’ now. ’T is fair light.”
They hugged the shore closely, turning the boat into every cove and
bight, that there might be no possibility of missing the Eskimos for
whom they were looking.
“There!” said Dan at length. “There they is!”
Deep down in a cove, in a shelter of a towering ledge of rocks, stood
a skin tupek of the Eskimos. Two men and some women and children, who
had discovered the approaching boat even before Dan had discovered
them, were watching them curiously from the beach.
The welcome was most hospitable, as the welcome of Eskimos always is,
everyone shaking hands with Paul and Dan, laughing and greeting them
with “Oksunae.”
Presently they learned that one of the men could speak broken English,
and Dan related to him, making him understand with some difficulty,
their adventures.
“Kablunok soon,” said he, “close.”
“No understand. What’s ‘kablunok’?” Dan asked.
“Kablunok, white man. Very close.”
“Where is un?”
“Post; there,” pointing south. “Very close. Mr. MacTavish.”
The Eskimos indicated a direction apparently inland from their
position.
“No water?” asked Dan. “We walk?”
[Illustration: The Eskimos were watching them curiously from the
beach]
“No; water plenty. Big point,” explained the Eskimo, drawing on the
sand two parallel lines, rounded together at one end. “Land,” he
explained. “We here,” indicating a point on one side of it, “post
here,” indicating another point almost directly opposite. “Umiak,
boat, sail round.”
This made the situation clear to Dan. The Eskimo encampment was on one
side of a long, narrow peninsula, while on the opposite side of the
peninsula was located a trading post, and by sailing around the
extreme point of the peninsula they would presently reach the post.
The lads were anxious to proceed at once, but the Eskimos insisted
upon their drinking some hot tea which one of the women had prepared.
They then said adieu to their friends, and with light hearts and high
expectations resumed their journey, which they felt was now, with all
its hardships and uncertainties, soon to end.
Early in the forenoon the sun disappeared behind thickening gray
clouds, and before midday, when they rounded the point, an early
storm was threatening. But the young wanderers gave small thought to
this, for presently they were to reach the post, where they would be
secure from wintry blast and driving snow. In their impatience the
time passed tediously, and dusk was settling when at last Dan
exclaimed:
“There she is! There’s th’ post!”
Lying back from the shore were the low white buildings of Fort
Reliance, a famous post of the Hudson Bay Company. Smoke was rising
from its chimneys, and as they looked lights began to flicker in the
windows. Behind the post rose rugged, barren hills of storm-scoured
rocks. On a flat bit of ground to the westward of the buildings Indian
campfires lighted the thickening gloom, and in dark silhouette Indian
tepees stood out against the sky line. But despite its austere setting
and bleak surroundings, old Fort Reliance appealed to the two
expectant, weather-beaten youths as the most attractive haven on
earth.
It was quite dark when the bow of their boat finally grated upon the
gravelly beach below the post. The landing was deserted, save by
skulking, sinister-looking wolf dogs which prowled about, snarling at
one another, ever ready to attack the unwary man or beast that fell in
their way.
The first flakes of the coming snowstorm were falling as the boys
sprang ashore and made fast their boat. This secured, they followed a
well-beaten path to the door of a long, low building whose cheerfully
lighted windows bespoke warmth and comfort within. On the threshold
they hesitated for a moment, then Dan knocked boldly upon the door.
“Come in,” a voice called.
Paul took the lead, and entering they found themselves in a large
square room, lighted by kerosene lamps and heated by a big wood stove
which crackled a cheery welcome. Next the walls were several desks,
two of them occupied by young men busily engaged with their pens.
“Why, hello,” said the one near the door. “I thought it was one of the
men. Are you up from York factory?”
“No,” answered Paul, “we came from the north. We got lost in the fog,
and our ship got away without us.” With this introduction he told the
story briefly of their experiences. “And,” continued he, “we want to
put up here until a ship comes for us. I suppose that won’t be until
next summer, but my father will send it then, and he’ll pay your
bill.”
“You’ll have to talk with Mr. MacTavish, the master of the post, about
that. He’ll be in soon. Sit down.”
Presently the door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful man,
with full gray beard and shrewd eyes, entered. The young man stepped
smartly forward.
“These young fellows went adrift from their ship somewhere to the
northward, sir,” said he. “They’ve worked their way down here in a
small boat, and they want to be put up for the winter.”
Paul and Dan had respectfully risen to their feet. Mr. MacTavish’s
appearance as he surveyed them was anything but reassuring. There was
a certain hard look about his eyes and mouth that was repelling. His
attitude was not cordial, even before he spoke.
“Do you want to buy provisions?”
“No,” answered Paul, “we want to put up here for the winter.”
“This isn’t a hotel; it’s a Hudson Bay trading post. If you want to
pitch your tent, one of the men will point you out a good place, and
you can buy provisions at the shop.”
“But,” said Paul, his heart sinking, “we haven’t any money,” and he
proceeded again to relate with detail the story of their adventures.
“My father is rich,” he added, “and he’ll pay all our expenses when
the ship comes for us. You must have heard of him. He is John
Densmore, president of the Atlantic and Pacific Steamship Company, and
the head of a lot of other big companies.”
“I tell you this isn’t a hotel, young man, and even if your father is
all you say, it’s no recommendation to me. I don’t like you Americans.
But to be plain, I don’t believe your yarn. I know your type. You’ve
deserted from a whaler, and you probably stole the boat you have. I
can harbor neither thieves nor deserters,” and he turned toward one of
the desks in dismissal of them.
For a moment Paul was quite stupefied with the affront. Then his pride
and a sense of deep injustice roused his antagonism, and, stepping
before the bulky figure of Factor MacTavish, he exclaimed:
“Do you mean to call us deserters and thieves? You’re the head of this
place and you can do as you want to about giving us a place to stay,
but you can’t call us thieves and deserters. I want you to understand
I’m a gentleman, and I won’t be spoken to in this way by one like
you.”
With this outbreak Paul’s lips began to tremble, and he was at the
point of tears. Factor MacTavish was taken wholly by surprise. He was
accustomed to browbeat and insult the natives and people under him,
and none ever ventured a retort. Here was a different type of person.
He had expected a cringing appeal to follow his cruel charge. But
instead this youth, placing honor and good name above any
consideration of personal comfort and safety, boldly defied him. Here
certainly was a youth of spirit and of courage, and he admired the
characteristics. The big man looked down at Paul in silent, amused
astonishment. This attitude angered Paul almost beyond restraint. His
eyes flashed, he doubled his fists, and swallowing his emotion,
blurted out:
“I feel like striking you! You’re a big coward to speak to two boys
that way!”
[Illustration: “You are a big coward”]
Dan had until now kept silent. Paul’s speech quite dumbfounded him for
a moment, but quickly aware that his friend was thoroughly in earnest
in the threat, and fearing that he would actually attack the big man,
he grabbed Paul’s arm and drew him back.
“Don’t strike un, Paul! Don’t strike un!” Dan exclaimed. “’T will do
no good. He knows what he says ain’t true, an’ we know it ain’t true.
Dad says when a feller knows he’s right, an’ he knows th’ Lord knows
he’s right, it don’t matter what folks says or thinks.”
Factor MacTavish laughed, and in the laugh was a note of good humor.
The defiance of these two lads scarcely reaching to his shoulder
amused him, and he could not but admire the display of courage in the
face of odds.
“Well, you’ve got some spunk, and I like spunk. You may stay over
night. It’s snowing, and you’d better go to the men’s house for
tonight. We always put up travelers one night. James,” to one of the
clerks, “show them the men’s house.”
“We won’t stay a single night unless you take back what you said about
our being thieves and deserters,” broke in Paul, his defiant attitude
unabated. “We’re honest, and we’re not beggars crawling after you.”
“I don’t know whether you’re honest or not, or anything about you. You
may be what you say you are. Now, if you want to accept a night’s
lodging, it’s open to you, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. James, show
these boys to the men’s house.”
“You say you were wrong in calling us thieves?” insisted Paul.
“Perhaps I was. We won’t talk about it now,” and he turned to one of
the desks to put an end to the discussion.
“We’ll take that for an apology,” said Paul, somewhat mollified.
“Thank you.”
James, the clerk, introduced them to the men’s house, and presently
they had their things under cover, secure from the now heavily falling
snow, and ate their supper of cold roast lynx from their own larder,
supplemented by a pot of hot tea generously donated by the half-breed
Indian cook.