Help Comes
Stefan had watched the departure of those people grimly, until he felt
sure that they would not return. Madge had stood near him. In her
desolation it was splendid to have him there with her, to be no longer
obliged to stare at the sick man's face in lonely terror, to feel that
if there was any help needed he would be at hand, with all his immense
strength and courage.
"I tank dey don't mean much badness," the man explained to her. "Mebbe
ye knows peoples in dis countree ain't much to do in dis vintertime
and dey gets fonny iteas about foolin' araount. Dey goes home all
qviet now, you bet, and don't talk to nobotty vhat tam fools dey bin,
eh!"
They both entered the shack again and the big fellow went up to the
bunk upon which lay his friend. For a very long time he looked at him,
finally touching a hand with infinite care and gentleness. After this
he turned to Madge a face expressive of deepest pain.
"Leetle leddy," he said, gently, "vos it true as you shot him?
Papineau he telt me so. A accident, he said it vos."
The girl looked at him imploringly, with elbows bent but hands
stretched towards him, as if she were suing for forgiveness. The man
was seated on a stool, waiting for her answer.
"Yes, it was an accident--a terrible accident," sobbed Madge, whose
strength and courage seemed to leave her suddenly. "You--you believe
me, don't you?"
It is hard to say whether it was weakness or the excess of her emotion
that forced her down to her knees. She grasped one of the huge hands
the man had extended towards her. He laid the other upon her bent
back, very softly.
"In course I do, you poor leetle leddy. Yes, I sure beliefe you. Dere
vosn't anybotty vould hurt Hugo, unless dey vos grazy, you bet. He ban
a goot friend to me--ay, he ban a goot friend to all peoples."
He helped her up, very tenderly, and made her sit on a stool close to
the one he occupied. There was a very long interval of silence, during
which his great face and beard were hidden in the hollow of his hands.
Then he spoke again, in a very low voice, as if he had been addressing
the smallest of his own babes.
"You poor leetle leddy," he repeated, "I feels most turriple sorry for
Hugo, for it most tear my heart out yoost to look at him. But vhen I
looks at you I feels turriple sorry for you too. I knows vhat it must
be, sure ting, for a leetle leddy like you to be sittin' here, in dis
leetle shack, a-lookin' at de man she lofe an see de life goin' out of
him. Last fall Hugo ban gone a vhiles back East again, and vhen you
comes I tank mebbe you some nice gal he promise to marry. Even vhen de
telegraft come I make sure it is so. I pring de bit paper here myself
an' vaits a vhiles, but he no come and I haf to go on. I vanted to see
de happy face on him. I say to myself, 'Hah! You rascal Hugo, you
nefer tell nodding to your ole friend Stefan, but he know all de
same.' But vhen I got to go I couldn't say nodding. I leaf de paper on
de table here an' I tank how happy he is vhen he come home an' find
it. You poor leetle leddy!"
The man was mistaken, most honestly so, for no idea of love had ever
entered Hugo's head, and none had come to Madge. Yet the big fellow's
words seemed to stab the girl to the heart and she moaned. She felt
that she could not allow Hugo's friend to remain undeceived. There had
been already too many mysteries, too many lies--she would have no
share in them if she could help it.
"I--I wasn't in love with him when I came, Stefan," she faltered.
"He--he was a stranger to me. I had never seen him--never in all my
life. I came here because--because there has been some terrible
mistake--in some letters, queer letters that bade me come here
and--and meet a man who wanted a wife. And I--I was a poor miserable
sick girl in New York and--and I just couldn't keep body and soul
together anymore--and--and be a good decent girl. And those letters
seemed so beautiful that I felt I must come and see the man who wrote
them, and--and I was ready to marry him if he would be kind to me
and--and treat me decently and--and keep me from starvation and
suffering. And when I came here he didn't know anything about it,
and--and I thought he lied. But--but I never thought to do him any
harm. I took the little pistol out of the bag, because I was looking
for something else, and it went off! Oh!"
She hid her face in her hands, as if the whole scene had been again
enacted before her, and the man heard her sobbing.
"Hugo he nefer tell no lie," said Stefan, softly. "I don't know vhat
all dis mean, you bet. But I am glad you ban come like a stranger. I
am glad he no lofe you, and den I am sorry, too, for you so nice gal,
vid voice so soft and such prettee eyes, I tank if he lofe you den you
sure lofe him too. Den you two so happy in dis place, ma'am."
He interrupted himself, striking his fist upon his chest, as if to
still a pain in it, and went on again.
"You haf no idea how prettee place dis is, leetle leddy, in de
summertime. A vonderful place to be happy in. De big falls dey make
music all day and at night dey sings you to sleep, like de modder she
sings leetle babies. Und de big birches dey lean ofer, so beautiful,
and de birds dey comes all rount, nesting in all de bushes. Oh, such a
vonderful place for a man and a voman to love, dem falls of dat
Roaring Rifer! Hugo he cleared such a goot piece, oder side of dat
leetle hill, vhere de oats vould grow fine. And down by de Rifer, on
de north side, he find silver, plenty silver in big veins, like dey
got east of us, in Nipissing countree. So I tank one day he ban a rich
man and haf a prettee little voman and plenty nice kiddies, leetle
children like one lofes to see, and dey all lif here so happy."
His voice grew suddenly hoarse. It was with an effort that he spoke
again.
"An' now he don' know me--or you or Maigan, and--and my goot dear
frient Hugo he look like he ban dyin'!"
Stefan stopped abruptly again, apparently overcome. His face, tanned
by frost and sun to a hue of dull brick, also lay in the hollow of his
hands. The vastness of his grief seemed to be commensurate with his
size. But when he looked up Madge saw that his eyes were dry, for he
was suffering according to the way of strong men with the agony that
clutches at the breast and twists a cord about the temples. In his
helplessness before the peril he was pitiful to see, since all his
confidence had gone, his pride in his power, his faith in his ability
to surmount all things by the mere force of his will. And the present
weakness of the man augmented the girl's own sorrow, even though his
being there was relief of a sort.
The Swede looked about him vaguely, and then his eyes became fixed on
a point of the log wall, as if through it he had been able to discern
things that lay beyond.
"Hugo an' me," he began again, very slowly and softly, "ve vent off
north from here, a year an' a half it is now, after de ice she vent
off de lakes. And ve trafel long vays, most far as vhere de Albany she
come down in James Bay. Ve vos lookin' for silfer an' copper an' tings
like dat. An' dere come one day vhen ve gets awful rough water on a
lake and ve get upset. Him Hugo he svim like a otter, he do, but me I
svim like a stone. De shore he ban couple hundret yard off, mebbe
leetle more. I hold on to de bow and Hugo he grab de stern. So he
begin push for shore, svimmin' vid his feet, but dat turriple slow
going, vid de canoe all under vater, yoost holdin' us up a bit, and it
vos cold, awful turriple cold in dat vater. He calls to me ve can't
make it dat vay, ve don't make three-four yards a minute. Den I calls
for him to let go, for I ban tanking he safe his life anyvay, svimmin'
ashore vhere ve had our camp close by. Und vhat you tank he do, ma'am?
He yell to me not be tam fool, dat vhat he do! He say, 'How I look at
your voman an' de kids in de face, vhen I gets back vidout you?' So he
lets go and my end sink deep so I let go an' vos fighting to keep up
but he grab me and say to take holt of his shoulter. He swear he trown
vid me if I don't. So I done it, ma'am, and he svim, svim turriple
hard, draggin' me ashore. I yoost finds my feet on de bottom vhen he
keels ofer, like dead, vid de cold and de playin' out. So I takes him
in my arms and runs in. I had matches in my screw-box but my fingers
vos dat froze I couldn't get 'em out first. But I manages make a fire,
by an' by, and I rubs de life back into him again. And--and you know
vhat is first ting he say vhen he vake up?"
Madge shook her head.
"Him Hugo yoost say, 'Now I kin look Mis' Olsen in de face, vhen ve
gets back, eh, old pard?'"
The man kept still again, looking anxiously at the sufferer and
watching the hurried breathing. The feeling of his uselessness was
evidently a torture to him, but his heart was too full for him to
remain silent very long.
"An' now I am here an' can do nodings. I ban no more use dan--dan de
tog dere. My God, leddy, tell me vhat I can do! He most trown himself
an' freeze to death to safe me dat time an' I got sit still like a big
tam fool an' him goin' under vidout a hand to pull him out. All de
blood in my body, every drop, I gif to safe him. Don't you beliefe? I
remember vhen de vaves and de vind pring dot canoe ashore. Ve lose not
a ting because eferyting is lashed tight. Py dat time he vos vhistling
and singin' alretty, like nodings efer happen. Ve had de big fire
roarin', I tell you, and vhen I say again he safe my life he yoost
laugh like it is a fine yoke an' say: 'Oh, shut up, Stefan, ve're a
pair big fools to get upset, anyvays. And some tay you do yoost same
ting for me, I bet.' And now--now I can do nodings--nodings at all."
He seemed to be in an agony of despair. Madge had hardly realized that
the suffering of men could reach such an intensity. She rose and
placed her little hand on the giant's shoulder. The huge frame was
shaking convulsively, in great sobs that brought no tears with them.
Then, all at once, he rose and faced her, shamefacedly.
"Poor leetle leddy," he faltered, "I ban makin' you unhappy vid dem
story. I ban sorry be such a big tam fool, but I can no help it.
It--it is stronger as me."
For a time he paced up and down the little shack, struggling hard to
keep himself in hand. Once he seized his shaggy head in his great paws
and seemed to be trying to squeeze out of it the unendurable pain that
was in it.
"De sun he begin go town," he said, stopping suddenly. "Vhy don't dat
Papineau get back? It get dark soon. I tank I take de togs an' go down
de road. Mebbe his team break down. His leader ban a young tog."
For an instant Madge felt like begging him to remain. Ay, she could
have shrieked out her terror at the idea of being left alone with the
man that was dying, as she thought, but she also succeeded in
controlling herself, realizing that if the man was not allowed to do
something, anything that would require the strength of his thews and
divert the turmoil of his brain, he might go mad.
"As--as you think best," she assented, with her head bent low.
Stefan took his cap and fitted it over his great shock of hair, but at
this moment Maigan rose and went to the door, whining.
"Some one ban comin', but it ain't Papineau," said Stefan.
It proved to be Mrs. Papineau, hurrying down the path and carrying a
basket. She explained that the cow had had a calf, hence her delay.
Puffing and breathless she scolded them for not lighting the lamp and
bustled about the place, declaring that the two watchers should have
made tea and that it took an experienced mother of many to know how to
handle things.
"I have made strong soup vid moose-meat," she told them. "Heem do
Monsieur Hugo moch good. I put on de stove now an' get hot."
She spoke confidently, just as usual, as if nothing out of the
ordinary were going on in the shack, but it was a transparent effort
to encourage the others, and she was not able to keep it up long. She
happened to look at Hugo again, and suddenly her face fell and her
hands went up, while she buried her face in her blue apron and sobbed
right out.
"De good Lord Heem bring an' de good Lord Heem take away," was what
she said, and it sounded like a knell in the ears of the others.
Since the light was beginning to fail Madge lit the little lamp. Mrs.
Papineau took some of the soup out of the pot and stirred it with a
spoon to cool it, and then she lifted the sick man's head. Her voice
became soft and caressing, as if she had spoken to a child.
"My leetle Hugo," she said, "dere's a good fellar. Try an' drink, jus'
one bit. H'open mouth, dat way. Now you swallow, dere's good boy. An'
now you try heem again, jus' one more spoon. H'it is awful good, from
de big moose what Philippe he get. Jus' one more spoon an' I not
bodder you no more."
Whether Hugo understood or not no one could have told. At any rate,
with infinite patience, she was able to feed him a little, until he
finally pushed her hand away from him.
Stefan, whose back had been resting on the door and whose arms had
been hanging dejectedly at his side, took a step towards the girl.
"Ay go down de road a bit an' meet Papineau if he come back," he
proposed. "If de togs is tired I take de doctor on my toboggan. Get
back qvicker dat vay. So long! I comes back soon anyvays, sure."
He started away at a swift pace, his strong dogs, amply rested,
barking and throwing themselves hard upon the breastpieces of their
harness. After he was out of hearing the two women sat very close
together, for mutual comfort and consolation, and the older one began
to speak in a low whisper.
"You very lucky, mademoiselle. It ees lucky it ain't you h'own man as
lie dere an' you haf to see heem like dat. It is turriple ting to see.
One time Papineau heem get h'awful seek, an' I watch him five--no, six
day and de nights. An' it vos back in de Grand Nord, no doctor nor
noding at all. An' me wid my little Justine jus' two month ole in my
h'arms. An' den come de day ven de good Lord Heem 'ear 'ow I pray all
de time an' Papineau heem begin to get vell again. But de time vos
like having big knife planted in my 'eart, jus' like dat."
She made a gesture as if she had stabbed herself, and went on:
"You not know 'ow 'appy you must be you no love a man as goin' for die
soon. You--you go crazy times like dat!"
But Madge made no answer and could only continue to stare at the form
that seemed to grow dimmer as the small oil lamp cast flickering
shadows in the room. In her ears the continued, eternal sound of the
great falls had taken on an ominous character. It was like some solemn
dirge that rose and fell, unaccountably, like the breathing of a vast
force that could reck nothing of the piteous tragedy being enacted. It
appeared to be growing ever so much colder again. A few feet away from
the stove it was freezing. She sought to look out of the little window
but great massing clouds had hidden the crimson of sunset. A strong
wind was arising and caused the great firs and spruces to groan
dismally. The minutes were again becoming cruel things that tortured
one with their maddening slowness. The girl became conscious of the
beats of her heart, unaccountably slow, as she thought.
And then, for a moment, that heart stopped utterly. A shout had come
from the little lumber road and Maigan was barking at the door
excitedly, in spite of the older woman's scolding. The toboggan
slithered over the snow and there was a patter of dogs' feet.
Madge threw the door open and let in a man in a great coonskin coat,
who was carrying a bag. In spite of the heaviest fur mitts his hands
were chilled and for a moment he held them to the glow of the stove,
before turning calmly to his patient, after a curt nod to each of the
women.