THE SUMMER OF LIFE
The passage of time for John Kars had never been so swift, so feverish
in the rush of poignant events. Four months had passed since he had
landed like a shadow in the night on the banks of Snake River, to tell
the story of men's evil to those to whom he would gladly have imparted
only happy tidings.
Now he was at the landing again, with pages of tragic history turned in
his book of life. But they were turned completely, and only the memory
of them was left behind. The other pages, those remaining to be
perused, were different. They contained all those things without which
no life could ever be counted complete. That happiness which all must
seek, and the strong and wise will cling to, and only the weak and
foolish will make a plaything of.
It was the crowning day of his life, and he desired to live every
moment of it. So he had left his bed under the hospitable roof of
Father José to witness the first moment of its birth.
The first gray shadow lit the distant hilltops. To him it was like the
first stirring of broken slumber. Strange but familiar sounds broke
the profound stillness. The cry of belated beast, and the waking cries
of the feathered world. The light spread northward. It moved along
stealing, broadening towards the south. It mounted the vault of night.
Again, to him it was the growth of conscious life, the passing from
dream to reality.
He saw the stubborn darkness yield reluctantly. He watched the silver
ghosts flee from the northern sky, back, back to the frigid bergs which
inspired their fantastic steps; the challenge hurled at the
star-world's complacent reign. Even the perfect burnish of the silver
moon was powerless before the victorious march of day.
His spirit responded in perfect harmony. As the flush of victory
deepened it reminded him of all that a life of effort meant. The
myriad hues growing in the east were the symbol of human hope of
success so hardly striven. The massing billows, fantastic
cloud-shapes, rich in splendid habiliments, suggested the enthronement
of joy supreme. And then, in blazing splendor, the golden rising sun
pointed the achievement of that perfect happiness which the merciful
Creator designs for every living creature.
It was a moment when there should have been no room for shadowed
memory. It was a moment when only the great looking forward should
have filled him. But the strong soul of the man had been deeply seared
by the conflict which had been fought and won. In the midst of all the
emotion of that day of days memory would not wholly be denied, and he
dwelt upon those events of which he had read so deeply in the pages of
his book of life.
For all his desire to forget, the rapid moving scenes of the summer
days came back to him now, vivid, painful. It was as though the pure
search-light of dawn had a power of revealing no less than its
inspiration of hope and delight. He contemplated afresh his journey
down the river with his prisoner and his loyal friends. He remembered
his landing on that very spot when sleep wrapped the Mission of St.
Agatha, as it did now. He thought of his first visit to the Padre, and
of his ultimate telling of his story to the two women who had suffered
so deeply at the hands of the murderer. It had been painful. Yet it
had not been without a measure of compensation. Had he not run the man
to earth? And was not the avenging of the girl he loved yet to come?
Yes, this had been so, and he dwelt on the courage and patience which
governed the simple women who listened to the details of man's
merciless villainy.
The story told, then had come the great looking forward. His work
completed, he had promised that not a consideration in the world should
stay his feet from the return. And Jessie had yielded to his urgency.
On that return she would give herself to him, and the beloved Padre
should bless their union in the little Mission House. Then had come
the mother's renunciation of all the ties which had so long held her to
the banks of the Snake River. Happiness had been hers in the long
years of her life there, but the overwhelming shadow of suffering
weighed her down completely now, and she would gladly renounce the home
which had known her so long.
So it had been arranged under the strong purpose the man had put forth,
and, in consequence, added energy was flung into his labors. That
night his canoe glided from the landing, and he was accompanied by
Keewin, and two other Indians, who had been witnesses of Murray's
movements on the day of the murder in Leaping Horse.
The memory of these things carried him on to his journey's end where he
encountered again the tawdry pretentiousness of Leaping Horse, seeking
to hide its moral poverty under raiment of garish hue. He remembered
the anxious, busy days when the machinery of outland justice creaked
rustily under his efforts to persuade it into full and perfect motion.
The labor of it. How Bill Brudenell had labored. The staunch efforts
of the Mounted Police. And all the time the dread of a breakdown in
the rusted machinery, and the escape of the murderer from the just
penalty of his crimes.
None knew better than Kars the nearness of that disaster. Money had
flowed like water in the interests of the accused. It had
correspondingly had to flow in the interests of the prosecution. The
tradition of Leaping Horse had been maintained throughout the whole
trial. And loathing and disgust colored his every recollection. The
defending counsel had set out to buy and corrupt. Kars had accepted
the challenge without scruple. The case was one of circumstance,
circumstance that was overwhelming. But the power of money in Leaping
Horse was tremendous. The verdict remained uncertain to the last
moment. Perhaps the balance was turned through weight of money. Kars
cared very little. The Jesuitical method of it all was a matter for
scruple. And scruple was banished completely from this battle-field.
And Justice had won. Whatever the method, Justice had won. The relief
of it. The cold reward. Allan Mowbray was avenged. Jessie and her
mother were freed from the threat which had so long over-shadowed their
lives. The bitter air of the northland had been cleansed of a
pestilential breath. So he turned his back on Leaping Horse with the
knowledge that the murderer would pay his penalty before God and man.
Nor was the whole thing without a curiously grim irony. Even while
Murray McTavish was fighting for his life he was witness of the
complete shattering of all that for which he had striven. His trial
revealed to the world the secret which his every effort had sought to
keep inviolate, and the horde of vultures from the gold city were
breaking the trail in their surging lust. Word flashed down the
boulevards. It flew through the slums. It sung on the wires to the
rail-heads at the coast. It reached the wealthy headquarters at
Seattle. Thence it journeyed on the wings of cable and wire to every
corner of the world. And the message only told the fabulous stories of
the new strike on Bell River. The world was left all unconcerned with
the crimes it had inspired.
The scenes of the early days were renewed. Nor was there any great
difference from them. It was a pell-mell rush. Incompetent, harpy,
"sharp" and the gold seeker of substance. It was a train of the
northland flotsam, moving again without scruple or mercy. Kars watched
its beginning. He understood. None could understand this sort of
thing better. All his life had been spent in the midst of such
conditions. The thing had been bound to come, and he was frankly glad
that those who had served him so well were already in possession of all
they required in the new Eldorado.
How the "rush" ultimately fared he neither knew nor seriously cared.
It had no concern for him. The lust of gold had completely passed from
him. All he cared was that it had left Fort Mowbray untouched. The
overland route had suited the needs of these folk best. It was
shorter, and therein lay its claim. The waterways which would have
brought pandemonium to the doors of the folk he loved were circuitous,
and the double burden of water and land transport would have been a
hindrance in the crazy haste of the reckless souls seeking fortune in a
whirlwind of desire.
So the girl he loved was saved the contamination from which he desired
to shield her. So the pristine calm of the Mission of St. Agatha was
left unbroken. Father José was left to his snuff-box and his mission
of mercy. And Kars was glad.
His work was done. And now, on this day of days, as he watched its
splendid birth, he thanked his God that the contamination of the gold
world which had so long overshadowed would no longer threaten the life
of the girl who was to be given into his keeping before its close.
The sun cleared the sky-line, a molten, magnificent spectacle. And as
it rose the multi-hued escort of cloud fell away. Its duty was done.
It had launched the God of day upon its merciful task for mankind. It
would go, waiting to conduct him to his nightly couch at the other side
of the world.
Kars drew a deep breath. The draught of morning air was nectar to his
widely expanding lungs. Realization of happiness rarely comes till it
is past. Kars was realizing it to the full.
His eyes turned from the splendid vision. The landing was crowded with
craft. But it was not the craft of trade which usually gathered at the
close of summer. It was his own outfit, largely augmented. And it was
deeply laden.
He dwelt upon it for some moments. Its appeal held him fascinated. A
week had been spent upon the lading, a week of unalloyed happiness and
deeply sentimental care. These were canoes laden with the many
household goods and treasures of the feminine hearts who were about to
take their places in his life. Those slight, graceful vessels
contained a hundred memories of happiness and pain carefully taken from
the settings to which they had so long been bound. He knew that they
represented the yielding up of long years of treasured life upon the
altar of sacrifice his coming had set up. He had no other feeling than
thankfulness and tenderness. It stirred every fibre of his manhood to
its depths.
His happy contemplation was suddenly broken. A sound behind him caught
his quick ears. In a moment he had turned, and, in that moment, the
deep happiness of his communing became a living fire of delight.
Jessie was standing in the mouth of the avenue which led down from the
clearing. She stood there framed in the setting of ripe summer
foliage, already tinging with the hues of fall. Her ruddy brown hair
was without covering, and her tall slim figure was wrapped in an ample
fur-lined cloak which reached to her feet. Kars recognized the garment
as something he had dared to purchase for her in Leaping Horse, to keep
her from the night and morning chills on the journey from the Fort. In
his eyes she made a picture beyond all compare. Her soft cheeks were
tinted with a blush of embarrassment, and her smiling eyes were shyly
regarding him.
He strode up to her, his arms outheld. The girl yielded to his embrace
on the instant, and then hastily released herself, and glanced about
her in real apprehension.
Kars smilingly shook his head.
"There's no one around," he comforted her.
"Are you quite sure?"
"Quite."
The girl led the way back to the landing.
"Tell me," she cried, glancing half shyly up at the strong, smiling
face that contained in its rugged molding the whole meaning of life to
her. "What--why are you down here--now?"
The man's responsive smile was half shamefaced. He shook his head.
"I can't just say. Maybe it's the same reason you're around."
"Oh, I just came along to look at things."
Kars' embarrassment passed. He laughed buoyantly.
"That's how I felt. I needed to look at--things."
"What things?"
The girl pressed him. Her great love demanded confession of those
inner feelings and thoughts a man can so rarely express. Kars resorted
to subterfuge.
"You see, I'm responsible to you and your mother for the outfit. I had
to see nothing's amiss. There won't be a heap of time later, and we
start right out by noon. You can trust Bill most all the time. And
Charley's no fool on the trail. But I had to get around."
"So you got up before the sun to see to it."
Kars laughed again.
"Yes. Same as you."
The girl shook her head.
"Say, it won't do. I'll--I'll be frank. Yes. I was awake. Wide
awake--hours. I just couldn't lie there waiting--waiting. I had to
get around. I had to look at it all--again. Say, John, dear, it's our
great day. The greatest in all life for us. And all this means--means
just a great big whole world. So I stole out of the house, and hurried
along to look at it. Am I foolish? Am I just a silly, sentimental
girl? I--I--couldn't help it. True."
They were standing at the edge of the landing. The speeding waters
were lapping gently at the prows of the moored craft under pressure of
the light morning breeze. The groans of the summer-racked glacier
across the river rumbled sonorously, accentuating the virgin peace of
the world about them. The insect world was already droning its
day-long song, and the cries of the feathered world came from the
distance.
The girl's appeal was irresistible. Kars caught her in his arms, and
his passionate kisses rained on her upturned face. All the ardor of
his strong soul gazed down into her half-closed eyes in those moments
of rapture.
"You couldn't help it? No more could I," he cried, yielding all
restraint before the passion of that moment. "I had to get around. I
had to see the day from its beginning. Same as I want to see it to its
end. Great? Why, it's everything to me--to us, little Jessie. I want
it all--all. I wouldn't miss a second of its time. I watched the
first streak of the dawn, and I've seen the sun get up full of fire and
glory. And that's just how this day is to us. Think of it, little
girl, think of it. By noon you'll be my wife--my wife. And after,
after we've eaten, and Father José and Bill have said their pieces,
we'll be setting out down the river with all the folks we care for, for
a new, big, wide world, and the wide open trail of happiness waiting
for us. If it wasn't I'm holding you right now in my arms I guess
it--it would be incredible."
But the girl had suddenly remembered the possibility of prying eyes.
With obvious reluctance she released herself from the embrace she had
no desire to deny.
"Yes," she breathed, "it's almost--incredible." Then with a sudden
passionate abandon she held out her arms as though to embrace all that
which told her of her joy. "But it's real, real. I'm glad--so glad."
It was a scene which had for its inspiration a world of the gentler
human emotions.
The laden canoes had added their human freight. Each was manned by its
small dusky crew, Indians tried in the service of the long trail, men
of the Mission, and men who had learned to regard John Kars as a great
white chief. It was an expedition that had none of the grim
earnestness of the long trail. The dusky Indians, even, were imbued
with the spirit of the moment. Every one of these people had witnessed
the wonderful ceremonial of a white man's mating, the whole Mission had
been feasted on white man's fare. Now the landing was thronged for the
departure. Women, and men, and children. They were gathered there for
the final Godspeed.
Peigan Charley was consumed with his authority over the vessels which
led the way, bearing the baggage of the party. He was part of the
white man's life, therefore his contempt for the simple awe of the rest
of his race, at the witnessing of the wedding ceremony, still claimed
his profoundest "damn-fool." Never were his feelings of superiority
more deeply stirred.
Bill Brudenell piloted the vessel which bore Ailsa Mowbray towards the
new life for which she had renounced her old home. Kars and his bride
were the last in the procession, as the vessels swept out into the
stream under the powerful strokes of the paddles.
It was an unforgetable moment for all. For the women it had perhaps an
even deeper meaning than for any one else. It was happiness and regret
blended in a confused tangle. But it was a tangle which time would
completely unravel, and, flinging aside all regret, would set happiness
upon its throne. For Bill it was the great desire of his life
fulfilled. His friend, the one man above all others he regarded, had
finally stepped upon the path he had always craved for him. For
himself? His years were passing. There was still work to be done in
the unsavory purlieus of Leaping Horse.
For John Kars it was a moment of the profoundest, unalloyed joy. No
searching of his emotions could have revealed anything but the
wholesome feelings of a man who has achieved his destiny in those
things which the God of All has set out for human desire. The world
lay all before him. Wealth was his, and, in his frail barque, setting
out upon the waters of destiny, was the wife he had won for himself
from the bosom of the desolate north.
Father José, gray headed, aged in the long years of a life of
sacrifice, stood at the forefront of the landing as the procession
glided out on to the bosom of the stream. Simple in spirit, single in
purpose, he regarded the going with the calmness which long years of
trial had imposed upon him. His farewell was smiling. It was deep
with truth and feeling. He knew it was the close of a long chapter in
the book of his life's effort. He accepted it, and turned the page.
But for all the great gathering of his Mission about him he was a
lonely little figure, and the sigh which followed his voiceless
blessing came from a loyal heart which knew no other purpose than to
continue to the end its work of patient, unremitting mercy.