KASBA
(White Partridge)
A Story of Hudson Bay
by
GEORGE R. RAY, M.P.P.
Author’s Edition
Printed by
William Briggs
Toronto, 1915
Copyright, Canada, 1915
By George R. Ray.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I have always regarded the writing of prefaces to be, for the most part,
work thrown away; nevertheless, I am tempted to prefix a few words to
this novel, in the form of a note, in order to defend myself against
charges which may possibly be made against me by the critics, and to
which I may be unable to revert after they shall have been preferred. It
may be said, in the first place, that all the characters in this story
speak ordinary English, which I admit. The natural language of the
natives is, of course, the tongue of their race, Chipewyan or Eskimo, as
the case may be, but in order that the reader might understand it, a
translation was necessary. Since this was the case, why not have the
translation in good English, instead of in pigeon-English, which no one
properly understands and which is misleading and equally untrue to life?
Then, again, my description of Chesterfield Inlet may be found fault
with, and with good reason, for I have written of trees where no trees
exist. Chesterfield Inlet is in the barren lands, as most people know.
But a wooded district was necessary to my plot, and in describing the
country I have changed the topography to suit the requirements of my
story. And now, as a last word, I would assure my readers that the
incidents in this novel, though they may appear untrue to life and
far-fetched, are nevertheless mostly made up of my own personal
experiences and properly authenticated stories of curious happenings to
other people in these northern regions.
—G. R. R.
“Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons’ difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.”
—“_As You Like It,” Act II., Sc. I._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. AN UNPLEASANT INCIDENT 11
II. FORT FUTURE 25
III. KASBA FIGHTS A BITTER FIGHT 46
IV. THE MAN OF THE SHADOWS 57
V. AN ESKIMO CONJURER AND A PUGILISTIC 77
ENCOUNTER
VI. LOST IN THE DRIFTING SNOW 92
VII. “THE PACKET” AT LAST 101
VIII. DELGEZIE’S DESPAIR 113
IX. ENTERTAINING THE “PACKET” MEN 127
X. A TRIP TO AN ESKIMO ENCAMPMENT 134
XI. BROOM HAS CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES 142
AND A SORE TEMPTATION
XII. AN ESKIMO ENCAMPMENT 157
XIII. A DASTARDLY DEED 168
XIV. GRUESOME DISCOVERIES 184
XV. A BITTER SORROW 195
XVI. RETRIBUTION 205
XVII. A NARROW ESCAPE 223
XVIII. AN INGENIOUS EXPEDIENT 238
XIX. KASBA’S SACRIFICE 251
KASBA
CHAPTER I.
_AN UNPLEASANT INCIDENT._
It was a bright, bitter-cold day in the short days of winter. The sun
shone forlornly upon the bleak, ice-bound shores of Hudson Bay, as if in
despair at its utter inability to warm the intensely cold atmosphere, or
change in the slightest degree the frozen face of nature. Limitless
fields of dazzling Whiteness stretched to the horizon on either hand; a
tremendous expanse of turbulent ice-fields, of hills and ridges, of
plains and dells; a great white world, apparently empty.
Over all was the silence of death; a silence of awful profundity, yet at
the same time an indescribably beautiful revelation.
Near at hand a trapped Arctic fox lay dishevelled and bleeding, its
little green eyes glittering evilly and watching with some apprehension
the movements of an object which had sprung up, apparently from nowhere,
to advance upon it with startling directness.
The object was Roy Thursby, an intrepid young officer of the Hudson’s
Bay Company, visiting his “line” of traps; a big fellow of
five-and-twenty, with muscles of iron; a clean-shaven face—a noble face
that betrayed a high-minded nature; eyes that as a rule were hard, but
could soften; and a heart that never quailed. He was dressed in moleskin
trousers, a pair of long blue stroud leggings, a coat made of
hairy-deerskin (that is to say, deerskin dressed on the one side only),
with a hood edged with fur, a l’Assumption belt that encircled his
waist, and large deerskin moccasins, under which he undoubtedly wore at
least two pairs of hairy-deerskin socks. Mittens of dressed deerskin
were suspended from his shoulders by a worsted cord, and a fur cap with
earpieces completed his costume. He wore snowshoes and carried a
hunting-bag across his back and a rifle over his shoulder.
Over the undulating plain he came, pausing occasionally, diverging
rarely, and ever nearer.
At length there was the sound of crunching snow, the swish of snowshoes;
a short, stifled bark, and a white, furry, inanimate thing lay on the
snow.
Without doffing his mitts Roy reset the trap. It was a steel trap,
destitute of teeth, with two springs. The jaws when spread out flat were
exactly on a level with the snow. He hid the chain and brushed a thin
layer of snow on top of the trap. A few scraps of fish were scattered
about for bait and the whole carefully smoothed over, so that it was
almost impossible to tell that anything was there.
Then he straightened himself. The air had needles in it, and he
readjusted the hood of his hairy coat and tightened the wide ribbed belt
around his waist.
Slipping the fox into his bag, he reached for his axe and gun, and with
the long, even strides of one who could never tire, continued his
“rounds,” pausing now and then to “trim” a trap when nothing was in it,
or killing an animal when caught and dropping it into his trapping-bag.
As he pressed on, his keen eyes, ever alert, caught a glimpse of a small
dark blot moving along the face of a ridge of rocks in the foreground.
He paused in his stride to scrutinize the moving object; then,
apparently satisfied, he resumed his tramp.
Yowl, yowl; kum-pack, kum-pack—ptarmigan ran uneasily together in an
adjacent clump of willows. Whir-r-r, and a flock flew up at his very
feet. Other flocks followed on the right and left of him, but he heeded
them not, for his thoughts were on the “packet.” Somewhere in the
wilderness of snow and ice to the south, two men and a train of dogs
were laboring and straining every nerve to reach Fort Future. Of this
the Company’s hard and fast regulations made him cognizant: but where
were they? Already they were several days overdue. What could have
happened to detain them? Would they reach the Fort that day? These and
like questions occupied his mind.
Soon he was winding his way up a gully in the ridge of rocks, and right
before him was the object he had previously descried. As he drew near,
it took on the form of an Indian girl, a young and beautiful Chipewyan
of about eighteen summers. She wore a blanket-skirt, very short as to
length; a pair of red stroud leggings, beadwork moccasins and a thick
woollen shawl, which ordinarily muffled the head and face but had now
slipped back, leaving them exposed to view. She was a Chipewyan, but had
scarcely a feature like them.
Her face was exquisitely moulded, and of a rich golden brown; her cheeks
of coral red; her eyes large, dark and liquid, very strongly marked
brows and long, thick lashes; her mouth was small and expressive, with
very beautiful teeth. Her hair was neatly braided, crossed at the back
of the head and tied on either side with a piece of narrow ribbon. She
turned as he approached, and, dropping a bundle of short sticks and an
axe, stood with heightened color and a pretty, embarrassed look on her
finely cut features, waiting for him to come up.
With eyes intent upon the trader, the girl was quite oblivious of the
presence of the middle-aged man of unprepossessing appearance, who had
been skulking behind her for some time. Perceiving her preoccupation, he
now approached her with a stealthy tread. In a flash he leaped from the
background and caught her in his arms, drew her to him with a force she
could not resist, and kissed her.
He was about to repeat this, when she gaspingly cried out.
There was an answering shout, the sound of someone running, a voice that
imparted courage, crying, “I am here, Kasba!” and suddenly she was
wrested from the man’s clutches and he was sent violently to the snow.
Palpitating with fear, the girl crouched down, hiding her face in her
hands.
Roy stood breathing sharply, waiting for the man to rise. “By heaven,
Broom,” he thundered, in a wrath that was terrible, “this is too much! I
will not stand this!”
Broom picked himself up. Instinctively his hand felt for his revolver;
he evidently had no scruples against attacking an unarmed man (when Roy
rushed to Kasba’s assistance he had dropped his gun and it lay some few
yards away), and inwardly he cursed himself for not having the weapon
upon his person. “Curse you,” he cried hoarsely, a paroxysm of rage
almost preventing the utterance. “I’ll kill you for that!” and, roaring
like a wild beast, he hurled himself upon his opponent.
The other’s blazing eyes narrowed ominously. He met Broom’s mad rush
with a swing of his heavy arm. The impact resounded sharply, and there
was considerable force behind the blow, for the brute staggered and
again fell.
Recovering himself, he stood sucking his bleeding lips, and glaring
venomously at his antagonist. “_You_ won’t stand this!” he shouted with
a blast of profanity; “and who are _you_?” Then with an insolent laugh:
“Oh, I see now how ’tis, I was poaching on your preserves.”
The trader made a quick step toward him.
But defiantly the fellow went on: “Of course if I’d known how matters
stood between you and this little——”
“Silence!” roared Roy, rushing upon him. “Silence! Speak another word
and I will kill you! By heaven, I will! I will kill you where you
stand!” His eyes fixed upon the other’s blazing orbs and held them.
Broom was no coward, but there was such fierce wrath in the trader’s
look that it caused him to hesitate, and in that moment of hesitation he
remembered what he had lost all thought of in his baffled
fury—remembered that Roy was all-powerful in those parts, where he held
the food supply and controlled the natives; that the trader could turn
him adrift in the trackless wilderness to meet a certain death. And in
another moment he had recovered himself.
He laughed awkwardly. “I beg pardon,” he said with a sneer; “I will
leave you with the—lady.” Then, bowing mockingly to Kasba, who was now
on her feet, he left them.
When the fellow had gone, Roy went up to the girl, and taking one of her
hands softly in both his, began to comfort her. She was breathing
heavily and her face was pale. “Oh, I am so terrified!” she said; “I
know he will do you harm. He will kill you! Heaven! It would be
terrible!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time it was tried,” Roy answered with an easy
laugh. “Don’t worry, little friend,” he added, patting her hand
tenderly.
A wave of color flooded the girl’s face. “Oh, you are so strong, and so
brave,” she cried, then stopped, lost in admiration. She stood looking
at him now out of half-closed eyes. Her lashes were long, and shadowed
the orbs so that he could not see the expression in them. Then she
smiled dazzlingly and turned her face aside, but one full blushing cheek
was kept towards him and one shell-like little ear—I am afraid this
heroine of ours was a natural little coquette.
Roy started a little and tried to scrutinize the girl’s face more
closely.
Kasba’s breath came quickly, her heart palpitated wildly, the crimson
deepened in her cheeks and brow. Her secret was there—plain for him to
read, and he would have been blind, indeed, had he not read it.
Surprised, and somewhat startled, he dropped her hand and stepped back,
looking at her uncertainly for a moment. Then Kasba laughed, a nervous
little laugh, and tossing her head back, and opening her eyes wide,
looked at him roguishly,—brown as a berry but a veritable little
beauty.
For a few moments there was silence, then Roy turned and walked away. A
profound pity was in his eyes.
But the girl’s flashed and she stamped her little foot furiously. Her
teeth set tightly, her breath coming and going swiftly. Then tears
trembled in her eyes, and in an irresistible impulse of yearning she
threw out her arms and softly called his name. But he did not pause or
look back, and she dropped her arms and bent her head with a sigh of
pain. She was a little bundle of opposites, this dusky maiden.
Hitherto she had roamed the country unattended and unmolested, pure,
happy, serene. Now at one blow all this was changed. Broom’s assault on
her had opened her eyes to the danger of wandering alone. Her violent
struggles to free herself from his tight embrace had bruised her arms
and bosom, and she ached in every limb. But her agony of body was as
nothing compared with her agony of mind. Ignorant of the world, she knew
nothing of the prejudices of rank or race, but Roy’s walking away had
somehow revealed their relative positions; and Kasba considered it folly
to think anything good could possibly come from her unwise affection.
After a time she stooped down, and, lifting up the bundle of sticks,
threw it across her back, then moved away. Erect and supple, gently
swaying under her burden, she glided along.
Crossing a small pond in a deep hollow in the summit of the rocks, she
came in sight of her father’s hut, which stood quite alone, at some
little distance from the Fort, in the sheltering angle of a ridge of
rocks.
Delgezie, her father, was a widower, and as Kasba was his only child he
showered all the love of his poor old heart upon her. Nothing was too
good for her, no sacrifice too great. She had been brought up at
Churchill, and though he still clung to many of the superstitions of his
race, he had allowed her to attend the day school conducted by the
missionary, and in the end to spend most of her childhood at the
Mission, for the missionary’s wife had soon become fond of the bright
little motherless girl, and had easily persuaded the doting old man that
it was to the girl’s advantage. So it had come about that it was to this
good lady Kasba owed her superior manners and refinement.
Kasba had been exceedingly happy in those days. But since she had come
with her father to Fort Future a deep shadow had come into her young
life. She had offered Roy Thursby all the love of her warm little heart
and he had turned from it. She was intensely miserable. In her present
misery she thought of those cloudless days, and a sigh escaped her.
“You are sad, Kasba,” said a voice in Chipewyan at her side.
The girl stopped and looked up. It was Sahanderry, a tall,
active-looking native.
Kasba turned to him with a wan smile. She was fond of Sahanderry, for
she had known him all her life; besides, he wished to marry her.
Remembering how quickly Roy had turned away on discovering her secret
love for him, a feeling of tenderness came over her for this Indian.
“Should she spoil his life?” she asked herself. “What had she to do with
love? The girls of her race,” she argued, “had no voice in the choosing
of their husbands.” For the first time in her life she felt discontented
with her lot.
“Leave it, Sahanderry,” she said, a trifle bitterly, as he reached up to
take the bundle from her back. “It’s contrary to the customs of our race
for men to carry wood; that’s woman’s work.”
Sahanderry looked at her a moment in surprise.
“But you are not like the other women of our race,” he urged, quietly.
“Still I am a Chipewyan,” she burst forth. Then seeing the pained,
puzzled expression on his face, she put out her hand tenderly and
touched him on the arm. “Forgive me,” she said, “I am sorry. I did not
mean to be unkind. What I meant to say was that I’m a Chipewyan and must
follow the customs of my people.” With this she walked on.
The man stood bewildered. He could not understand Kasba in her present
mood. He had often met her in this way and she had never before objected
to his taking her burden. He felt she was behaving unfairly. He watched
her for a moment, then, like a faithful dog, slowly followed after. He
had not gone far, however, before he saw her stop and look round. At
this, he quickened his footsteps, caught up with her and walked close
behind her, for the rest of the way in silence.
Arriving at the hut, the girl dropped her load and entered, and
instantly attended to the fire.
The hut was built of logs, caulked with moss, and had a flat roof. It
comprised only one room. In the centre of this was a large Carron stove,
the pipes from which completely encircled the room before bolting out of
a hole in the roof to carry off the smoke. The walls were bare of paint
and ornamented with snowshoes, dog-whips, shotbags and such other
paraphernalia of the chase. A few rude shelves held such articles as a
clock and a lamp, while the table was of rough plank, and a few empty
cases did duty for chairs. Pushed against the rear wall and opposite the
door were two narrow beds, neatly covered with deerskin robes. High
overhead several long sticks or poles had been suspended horizontally to
form a rack or shelf, on the theory that heat rises, and half-a-dozen
fish lay there slowly thawing out, while several pairs of moccasins, in
various stages of dryness, dangled from it by their strings. The place,
though primitive, was clean and tidy, and bore unmistakable signs of a
woman’s careful attention.
Sahanderry brought in an armful of wood, which he dropped beside the
stove. Kasba reached out her hand blindly, placed a few of the pieces
gingerly upon the embers and blew the whole into a blaze; then,
satisfied that the fire was well under way, she rose from her knees, and
putting off her outdoor clothing, selected half-a-dozen ptarmigan from a
number on the table, and, seating herself on an empty sugar-case,
commenced to pluck the birds into a large tin bowl at her feet. She
worked the faster because a dull pain was making itself felt in her
heart.
There was silence. Presently the man fumbled in his pocket and brought
forth a knife and a plug of nigger-head, which he proceeded to cut up on
a corner of the table. He glanced at the girl slyly.
The noise of the tobacco-cutting and the crackling of the fire were the
only sounds to break the stillness.
Having duly and solemnly finished the operation, Sahanderry took out his
pipe, which he leisurely filled. Presently there was a grunt of
satisfaction, and a cloud of smoke issued from his mouth.
The girl threw him a furtive glance. He happened to be looking at her at
that instant and caught her in the act. Kasba dropped her head. A
wistful expression came into the man’s face, and laying aside his pipe,
he leaned forward, as if to get a closer look at her countenance, but
she dropped her head still lower.
“Kasba,” he said earnestly, then stooped over her, gently tilting her
chin upwards so that he could see her face more closely, “why won’t you
promise to marry me when we get back to Churchill?”
“Because I am a bad, wicked Indian,” she said presently with a show of
impulse, and tearing herself free.
The man stood staring at her, thunderstruck. “_You_ bad! _You_ wicked!”
he ejaculated, greatly amazed. Then, suddenly his look of amazement
changed to one of outrage. His brow darkened and his eyes struck fire.
“If _Bekothrie_ (master) has——” he began, shaking his fist in the air.
But the girl sprang to her feet and stopped him with some little
excitement. The bird she was plucking fell from her lap to the feathers
in the bowl and sank out of sight. “Hush, Sahanderry!” she cried,
severely. “Remember, it is of the master you are speaking.”
The man fairly hung his head.
Now Kasba with all her impetuosity possessed considerable sense of
justice and grasping his arm tightly, she went on resolutely. “You must
not speak against Mr. Thursby. This trouble is all of my own making. I
alone am to blame. I have been very silly, and—if you will forgive me
and be patient with me, I—I—” she dropped her head.
“You will love me?” he suggested, eagerly, his face betraying the
liveliest emotions.
She was silent several moments, then raised her face, a little paler
than it had been, but with a passionless resolve set on it. “If I can,”
she responded bravely, giving him her hands. “I will _try_ to love you,
I—” she stopped and his arms went about her.
“You make me very happy!” he said. Then he kissed her.
She closed her eyes to shut out the look on his face, and pushed him
gently from her. “No, no; not now!” she said, all in a tremble. “Give me
time. Give this evil spell time to pass away, and be good and patient
with me.”
“I will be patient, Kasba,” he said, pressing her hand.
The man’s actions reminded her sharply of how soothingly another had
patted her hand shortly before, how the other’s touch had caused the
blood to dance in her veins and to rush to her face and her heart to
beat so wildly with joy that it had shown itself in her eyes; and she
withdrew her hand quickly.
“What is the matter?” enquired Sahanderry, feeling the rebuke.
“Nothing,” replied the girl a trifle coldly and drawing back a little.
“You had better go now, the master will be wanting you.”
The man bowed his head mutely, and turned slowly on his heel. At the
door he looked back. She smiled at him, but there was a great deal of
sadness in the look. He returned the smile and went out.
The girl stood still and watched him go. Then with her handkerchief she
rubbed vigorously at her cheek—the place where Sahanderry had kissed
her.