"GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS"
As the candle sputtered for a moment and then flared up, it revealed,
lying prone on opposite sides of the lodge, feet to the embers of the
dying fire, two human wrecks, whose emaciated features and shrunken
forms could never have been recognised as those of Shad and Manikawan.
Bob stooped, and taking Shad gently by the shoulder shook him, saying
as he did so:
"Shad! Shad! Shad!"
Slowly Shad, awakening from deep and exhausting slumber, opened his
cavernous eyes and stared vacantly at Bob.
"Shad!" Bob repeated. "'Tis Bob an' Ed an' Dick come for you! Shad! We
has grub, Shad!"
Still Shad gave no sign of recognition.
"Shad! Shad!" pleaded Bob. "Don 't you know me now, Shad?"
Then light came into Shad's face, and he forced himself to a sitting
position.
"Bob! Oh, Bob!" he exclaimed, in a weak voice. "Am I awake or is it
just a dream? Oh, Bob! Good old Bob! And Ed! and Dick! I was dreaming
of you and the tilts. The dear old tilts! And you've come! You've
really come? I heard you calling, Bob--days and days and days I heard
you, and I answered. But my voice was too weak, and you couldn't hear.
"We've been in hell, Bob! In hell! The devils chased us, Bob--chased
us for months and months and months. They looked like wolves,
Bob--hungry, ugly wolves. I shot one! Yes, shot it! We ate it, and it
was good! Ate the devil, Bob! and Ed! and Dick! Are you angels from
heaven, or really you?"
"A bit o' tea's what he needs first thing," suggested Ed, in a shaky
voice, as Shad paused in his ramblings. "Dick, you cut some wood, now,
an' I'll be fillin' th' kettle with ice an' get un over. Bob better be
stayin' right here."
"Bob!" Shad continued, as Dick and Ed passed out of the lodge. "Is it
really you, Bob?"
His voice was now more rational, though very weak.
"Yes, Shad, 'tis me."
"How is Manikawan, Bob? Look after her, won't you? I'm all right now.
I've tried to keep her out of the deep sleeps she falls into. I've
been afraid she'd die. But I was very tired, and I think I must have
been very sound asleep myself--and slept for hours. Leave me, Bob, and
wake her up. I'm all right."
Bob obediently passed over to Manikawan, leaving Shad sitting and
anxiously watching him.
It seemed for a time that he was not to succeed in rousing Manikawan
from the coma-like sleep into which she had passed. But when Dick
placed wood upon the fire, and the lodge began to warm, she displayed
symptoms of waking; and Bob lifted her head to his shoulder, chafed
her temples, and spoke her name over and over again. At last she
opened her eyes, and with almost instant recognition smiled:
"White Brother of the Snow--Manikawan is glad you have come. It
has--been--long--but Manikawan knew--White Brother of the Snow--would
come at last--she did not--leave his friend."
Then she paused, exhausted, but presently continued:
"Manikawan told--White Brother of the Snow--she would--stay until he
came--for his friend."
"Manikawan has done well. She has been very brave. She is a Ne-ne-not
(Nascaupee), and brave." Bob could trust himself to say no more, for
his voice was thick.
Manikawan's eyes lighted at these words of praise, and, never taking
them from Bob's face, she lay silent upon his shoulder until the food
was ready.
Ed Matheson gave some tea and a small portion of broiled ptarmigan and
bread to Shad, while Bob held the cup for Manikawan, then fed her some
morsels of the meat as one would have fed a child. It was difficult
for her to eat, though the tea stimulated her temporally, and she
began presently to speak again, in a scarcely audible voice:
"The Spirit--of Hunger--followed us. The Gaunt
Gray--Wolf--was--always--behind--us.
The--Spirit--of--Death--stood--at--the--door--of the--lodge. The
spirits--were--strong--and cunning--like--the
wolverine--Manikawan--was--weak--like a rabbit."
She was out of breath again and had to rest, and Bob held the cup of
tea to her lips. With renewed strength she continued:
"Manikawan--killed--two ptarmigans--with--her--arrow.
She--ate--the--entrails--but she--gave--the meat--to the friend--of
White Brother of--the Snow. She was--not afraid--to die.
She--could--not say to--White Brother--of the Snow--when he came--'The
Spirit--of Death--has--entered--the lodge--and--taken--your--friend.'"
There was another pause. Bob could see, and Ed and Dick could see that
the Spirit of Death was even then in the lodge, and that his cold hand
was upon Manikawan's brow. Tears trickled down Bob's cheeks. He could
not check them.
"White--Brother--of--the--Snow--must--not--feel--bad.
He--must--be--strong. Manikawan--is--happy.
She--is--warm--as--when--the--sun--grows--brave--in--summer--and--
comes--to--warm--the--earth."
A smile played upon her lips.
"Manikawan--is--very--happy.
She--sees--a--light--like--the--rising--sun.
White--Brother--of--the--Snow--"
That was the end. Bob's cheeks were wet as he laid the lifeless form
upon its couch of boughs, and gently covered it with a deerskin robe;
and tears streamed down the weather-beaten cheeks of the two rough
trappers standing at his side.
Manikawan was not a Christian. She had never heard of Christ and His
saving grace. But dare any say He did not welcome her to His Father's
house?
She had renounced her own hope of life by remaining behind in the
lodge when Mookoomahn left them. In the name of love and duty she had
made the supreme sacrifice--she had laid down her life for
another--and Christ hath said: "Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends."
And, after all, did Manikawan not worship the same God that you and I
worship? Standing upon the high pinnacle of rock, looking toward the
rising sun, she offered a silent prayer to the Great Mystery, that she
might be made nobler, braver, and more generous--worthy to stand in
the presence of the Great Mystery--the Maker of heaven and earth and
all things.
We call Him God. Manikawan called Him the Great Mystery.