Again he repeated: “With all respect, faithfully yours, Rose Lepage.”
The dog Bouche looked up. Perhaps it detected something unusual in
the voice. It rose, came over, and laid its head on its master’s knee.
Hume’s hand fell gently on the head, and he said to the fire: “Ah, Rose
Lepage, you can write to Factor Field what you dare not write to your
husband if you knew. You might say to him then, ‘With all love,’ but not
‘With all respect.’”
He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Then he took the dog’s
head between his hands and said: “Listen, Bouche, and I will tell you a
story.” The dog blinked, and pushed its nose against his arm.
“Ten years ago two young men who had studied and graduated together at
the same college were struggling together in their profession as civil
engineers. One was Clive Lepage and the other was Jaspar Hume. The one
was brilliant and persuasive, the other, persistent and studious. Lepage
could have succeeded in any profession; Hume had only heart and mind for
one.
“Only for one, Bouche, you understand. He lived in it, he loved it, he
saw great things to be achieved in it. He had got an idea. He worked at
it night and day, he thought it out, he developed it, he perfected it,
he was ready to give it to the world. But he was seized with illness,
became blind, and was ordered to a warm climate for a year. He left his
idea, his invention, behind him--his complete idea. While he was gone
his bosom friend stole his perfected idea--yes, stole it, and sold it
for twenty thousand dollars. He was called a genius, a great inventor.
And then he married her. You don’t know her, Bouche. You never saw
beautiful Rose Varcoe, who, liking two men, chose the one who was
handsome and brilliant, and whom the world called a genius. Why didn’t
Jaspar Hume expose him, Bouche? Proof is not always easy, and then he
had to think of her. One has to think of a woman in such a case, Bouche.
Even a dog can see that.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he said: “Come, Bouche. You will
keep secret what I show you.”
He went to a large box in the corner, unlocked it, and took out a model
made of brass and copper and smooth but unpolished wood.
“After ten years of banishment, Bouche, Hume has worked out another
idea, you see. It should be worth ten times the other, and the world
called the other the work of a genius, dog.”
Then he became silent, the animal watching him the while. It had seen
him working at this model for many a day, but had never heard him talk
so much at a time as he had done this last ten minutes. He was generally
a silent man--decisive even to severity, careless carriers and shirking
under-officers thought. Yet none could complain that he was unjust. He
was simply straight-forward, and he had no sympathy with those who had
not the same quality. He had carried a drunken Indian on his back for
miles, and from a certain death by frost. He had, for want of a more
convenient punishment, promptly knocked down Jeff Hyde, the sometime
bully of the fort, for appropriating a bundle of furs belonging to a
French half-breed, Gaspe Toujours. But he nursed Jeff Hyde through an
attack of pneumonia, insisting at the same time that Gaspe Toujours
should help him. The result of it all was that Jeff Hyde and Gaspe
Toujours became constant allies. They both formulated their oaths by
Jaspar Hume. The Indian, Cloud-in-the-Sky, though by word never thanking
his rescuer, could not be induced to leave the fort, except on some
mission with which Jaspar Hume was connected. He preferred living an
undignified, un-Indian life, and earning food and shelter by coarsely
labouring with his hands. He came at least twice a week to Hume’s
log house, and, sitting down silent and cross-legged before the fire,
watched the sub-factor working at his drawings and calculations. Sitting
so for perhaps an hour or more, and smoking all the time, he would rise,
and with a grunt, which was answered by a kindly nod, would pass out as
silently as he came.
And now as Jaspar Hume stood looking at his “Idea,” Cloud-in-the-Sky
entered, let his blanket fall by the hearthstone and sat down upon it.
If Hume saw him or heard him, he at least gave no sign at first. But he
said at last in a low tone to the dog: “It is finished, Bouche; it is
ready for the world.”
Then he put it back, locked the box, and turned towards Cloud-in-the-Sky
and the fireplace. The Indian grunted; the other nodded with the
debating look again dominant in his eyes. The Indian met the look with
satisfaction. There was something in Jaspar Hume’s habitual reticence
and decisiveness in action which appealed more to Cloud-in-the-Sky than
any freedom of speech could possibly have done.
Hume sat down, handed the Indian a pipe and tobacco, and, with arms
folded, watched the fire. For half an hour they sat so, white man,
Indian, and dog. Then Hume rose, went to a cupboard, took out some
sealing wax and matches, and in a moment melted wax was dropping upon
the lock of the box containing his Idea. He had just finished this as
Sergeant Gosse knocked at the door, and immediately afterwards entered
the room.
“Gosse,” said the sub-factor, “find Jeff Hyde, Gaspe Toujours, and Late
Carscallen, and bring them here.” Sergeant Gosse immediately
departed upon this errand. Hume then turned to the Indian, and said
“Cloud-in-the-Sky, I want you to go a long journey hereaway to the
Barren Grounds. Have twelve dogs ready by nine to-morrow morning.”
Cloud-in-the-Sky shook his head thoughtfully, and then after a pause
said: “Strong-back go too?” Strongback was his name for the sub-factor.
But the other either did not or would not hear. The Indian, however,
appeared satisfied, for he smoked harder afterwards, and grunted to
himself many times. A few moments passed, and then Sergeant Gosse
entered, followed by Jeff Hyde, Gaspe Toujours, and Late Carscallen.
Late Carscallen had got his name “Late” from having been called “The
Late Mr. Carscallen” by the chief factor because of his slowness. Slow
as he was, however, the stout Scotsman had more than once proved himself
a man of rare merit according to Hume’s ideas. He was, of course, the
last to enter.
The men grouped themselves about the fire, Late Carscallen getting the
coldest corner. Each man drew his tobacco from his pocket, and, cutting
it, waited for Hume to speak. His eyes were debating as they rested on
the four. Then he took out Mrs. Lepage’s letter, and, with the group
looking at him, he read it aloud. When it was finished, Cloud-in-the-Sky
gave a guttural assent, and Gaspe Toujours, looking at Jeff Hyde, said:
“It is cold in the Barren Grounds. We shall need much tabac.” These men
could read without difficulty Hume’s reason for summoning them. To Gaspe
Toujours’ remark Jeff Hyde nodded affirmatively, and then all looked
at Late Carscallen. He opened his heavy jaws once or twice with an
animal-like sound, and then he said, in a general kind of way:
“To the Barren Grounds. But who leads?”
Hume was writing on a slip of paper, and he did not reply. The faces of
three of them showed just a shade of anxiety. They guessed who it would
be, but they were not sure. Cloud-in-the-Sky, however, grunted at them,
and raised the bowl of his pipe towards the subfactor. The anxiety then
seemed to disappear.
For ten minutes more they sat so, all silent. Then Hume rose, handed
the slip of paper to Sergeant Gosse, and said: “Attend to that at once,
Gosse. Examine the food and blankets closely.”
The five were left alone.
Then Hume spoke: “Jeff Hyde, Gaspe Toujours, Late Carscallen, and
Cloud-in-the-Sky, this man, alive or dead, is between here and the
Barren Grounds. He must be found--for his wife’s sake.”
He handed Jeff Hyde her letter. Jeff rubbed his fingers before he
touched the delicate and perfumed missive. Its delicacy seemed to
bewilder him. He said: in a rough but kindly way: “Hope to die if
I don’t,” and passed it on to Gaspe Toujours, who did not find it
necessary to speak. His comrade had answered for him. Late Carscallen
held it inquisitively for a moment, and then his jaws opened and shut as
if he were about to speak. But before he did so Hume said: “It is a long
journey and a hard one. Those who go may never come back. But this man
was working for his country, and he has got a wife--a good wife.” He
held up the letter. “Late Carscallen wants to know who will lead you.
Can’t you trust me? I will give you a leader that you will follow to the
Barren Grounds. To-morrow you will know who he is. Are you satisfied?
Will you do it?”
The four rose, and Cloud-in-the-Sky nodded approvingly many times. Hume
held out his hand. Each man shook it, Jeff Hyde first. Then he said:
“Close up ranks for the H.B.C.!” (H.B.C. meaning, of course, Hudson’s
Bay Company.)
With a good man to lead them, these four would have stormed, alone, the
Heights of Balaklava.
Once more Hume spoke. “Go to Gosse and get your outfits at nine
to-morrow morning. Cloud-in-the-Sky, have your sleds at the store at
eight o’clock, to be loaded. Then all meet me at 10.15 at the office of
the chief factor. Good night.”
As they passed out into the semi-arctic night, Late Carscallen with
an unreal obstinacy said: “Slow march to the Barren Grounds--but who
leads?”
Left alone Hume sat down to the pine table at one end of the room and
after a short hesitation began to write. For hours he sat there, rising
only to put wood on the fire. The result was three letters: the largest
addressed to a famous society in London, one to a solicitor in Montreal,
and one to Mr. Field, the chief factor. They were all sealed carefully.
Then he rose, took out his knife, and went over to the box as if to
break the red seal. He paused, however, sighed, and put the knife back
again. As he did so he felt something touch his leg. It was the dog.
Hume drew in a sharp breath and said: “It was all ready, Bouche; and in
another six months I should have been in London with it. But it will go
whether I go or not--whether I go or not, Bouche.”
The dog sprang up and put his head against his master’s breast.
“Good dog, good dog, it’s all right, Bouche; however it goes, it’s all
right,” said Hume.
Then the dog lay down and watched his master until he drew the blankets
to his chin, and sleep drew oblivion over a fighting soul.