THE BARRIER
The curiosity of the two girls knew no bounds as they neared the strange
abode. Who was this man? Why did he live here all by himself? How had he
brought his pipe organ to this remote spot? Whence had come those
peculiar skylights through which the yellow light gleamed? Whence came
the power for those electric lights? How had this strange man known of
their coming? Or had he known? Had he been expecting someone else and had
he, as a perfect host, pretended it was Marian he had known to be at the
door? These, and many other questions, flashed through Marian’s alert
mind as she guided her deer over the remaining distance and up to the
entrance to the cave-like structure.
Lights flashed on here and there as they passed inside. A long corridor,
walled on either side by hewn logs, led to a stall-like room where was
food in abundance for their reindeer, and, what was better still, perfect
protection from any night prowler.
Marian was wondering what sort of meal was being prepared for them when
they were at last led into the large room. Here, on the side opposite the
pipe organ, great logs crackled merrily in a fireplace half as wide as
the room itself.
After taking their fur parkas, the host motioned them to seats beside the
fire. There, charmed by the drowsy warmth, Marian experienced great
difficulty in keeping awake. Strange fancies floated through her mind.
She fancied she was aboard a ship at sea; the walls about her were the
walls of her state-room; the huge beams above, the ship’s beams; the
strange cupola affairs above, the lights to her cabin.
As she shook herself free from this fancy, she realized that aside from
the fireplace, the inside of the room was very like a cabin of a high
class schooner.
“It must all come from some vessel,” she reasoned. “Even the lighting
fixtures look as if they had been taken from a ship. I wonder what ship,
and why?”
She thought of stories she had read of beach combers who wrecked ships by
displaying fake shore lights on stormy nights that they might gather the
wreckage from the beach. For a moment she fancied this bearded patriarch
playing such a role. Finding this too absurd even for fancy, she shook
herself free from it.
“Food,” she murmured to herself, “I’m ravenously hungry. He spoke of
putting on the birds. I wonder what he could have meant?”
She did not have long to wait. A moment later there came to her nostrils
the delicious aroma of perfectly brewed coffee. Mingled with it were
various savory odors which gave promise of a rich meal.
“You are not yet fully warmed,” said their host, “so you may eat by the
fire.”
He was pushing before him a tea-wagon of wonderful design and
craftsmanship. This was fairly creaking under its load of chinaware of
exquisite design, and silver which did not require a second look to tell
that it was sterling. Marian barely avoided a gasp at sight of it.
If the service was perfect, the food was no less so. Four ptarmigan,
those wonderful “quail of the Arctic,” broiled to a delicious turn, were
flanked with potatoes, gravy, peas and apple sauce. The desert was
blueberries preserved in wild honey.
“Only idleness or indifference,” smiled their host as he caught their
looks of appreciation, “can hinder one from securing appetizing foods in
any land.”
“And now,” he said as they finished, “there are questions you may wish to
ask; information that you may wish to impart.”
“Why—we—” Marian began in some confusion.
He interrupted her with a wave of the hand. “It will all keep until
morning. This habit young people have, of sitting up talking all hours of
the night because life seems too exciting for sleep, is all wrong. You
are in need of rest. ‘Everything in its good time’ is my motto.
Fortunately my guest room is warm. The fire is not yet burned out. Last
night I had the honor of furnishing a night’s lodging to the Agent of our
Government.”
“The Agent?” Marian asked in surprise.
“Yes. He came up here to ask me about the lay of the land above here. I
think,” there was a merry twinkle in his eye, “that I may lay claim to
being the oldest resident of this town. No doubt I was able to give him
some valuable information.”
“And he is—is gone?” Marian gasped.
“Left this morning. Why? Did you wish to see him? Surely—yes, you would.
Being connected with the reindeer business, you would. Unfortunate that
you did not reach here a few hours earlier. He left on foot. The trail
around the rapids is rough. He did not try to bring his dogs and sleds
through. Left them with his driver at the foot of the rapids. Well enough
that he did. Couldn’t have made it.”
Upon realizing that she had missed the man she had come so far to see,
Marian could have burst into tears.
“You may find him at the Station, though,” her host assured her. “I
believe he means to stay there a day or two. His dogs are footsore from
travelling over crusted snow.”
Marian’s heart gave a leap of joy. But what was this about the trail and
the rapids?
“Did—did you say that one could not pass over the trail with a sled?” she
asked in the calmest tone she could command. “Are the rapids not yet
frozen over?”
“Frozen?” he stared at her incredulously. “Have you not heard them? Ah,
then, you came from up stream. The forest shuts out the sound. Slip on
your parka and come with me, and you shall hear. It is grand music, that
ceaseless rush and roar, that beating of waters and tumbling of ice.”
It may have seemed glorious to the old man, but to Marian, who listened
to the wild tumult of waters, it was frightening and disheartening.
“Can a boat run the rapids?” she asked, though she knew the question was
foolish and that no boat could run them.
“None ever has.”
“Can—can a sled pass over the trail above?”
“None has. None can. The way is too rough; the trees too closely crowded
together. Dogs, reindeer, men, yes; but sleds, no.”
“How far is it to the station?” Marian faltered.
“Three days journey.”
“Are there any houses on the way?”
“None.”
“Then, without our sleds, we would not dare undertake the journey.”
“No. It would not do. You would starve or freeze.”
It required all Marian’s power of will to remain standing as she
faltering said; “Then we are defeated. We—we must turn back. We—” She
could not go on.
The aged man studied her face for a moment. Then quietly he asked:
“Is it very important that you get to the station; that you see the
Agent?”
“Oh, very, very important! We—”
Again he motioned for silence. “Do not tell me now. I think it can be
arranged that your sleds may pass the rapids. It _shall_ be arranged. I
promise it. Come, you are worn out. It is time you should sleep.”