Rouletta Kirby was awakened by the sound of chopping; in the still,
frosty morning the blows of the ax rang out loudly. For a moment she
lay staring upward at the sloping tent-roof over her bed, studying with
sleepy interest the frost-fringe formed by her breath during the night.
This fringe was of intricate design; it resembled tatters of filmy lace
and certain fragments of it hung down at least a foot, a warning that
the day was to be extremely cold. But Rouletta needed no proof of that
fact beyond the evidence of her nose, the tip of which was like ice and
so stiff that she could barely wrinkle it. She covered it now with a
warm palm and manipulated it gently, solicitously.
There was a damp, unpleasant rime of hoar-frost standing on the edge of
her fur robe, and this she gingerly turned back. Cautiously she freed
one arm, then raised herself upon her elbow. Reaching up, she struck
the taut canvas roof a sharp blow; then with a squeak, like the cry of
a frightened marmot, she dodged under cover just in time to avoid the
frosty shower.
The chopping abruptly ceased. 'Poleon's voice greeted her gaily: "Bon
jour, ma soeur! By golly! You gettin' be de mos' lazy gal! I'spect you
sleep all day only I mak' beeg noise."
"Good morning!" Rouletta's voice was muffled. As if repeating a lesson,
she ran on: "Yes, I feel fine. I had a dandy sleep; didn't cough and my
lungs don't hurt. And no bad dreams. So I want to get up. There! I'm
well."
"You hongry, too, I bet, eh?"
"Oh, I'm dying. And my nose--it won't work."
Doret shouted his laughter. "You wait. I mak' fire queeck an' cook de
breakfas', den--you' nose goin' work all right. I got beeg s'prise for
dat li'l nose to-day."
The top of Rouletta's head, her eyes, then her mouth, came cautiously
out from hiding.
"What is it, 'Poleon? Something to eat?"
"Sapre! What I tol' you? Every minute 'eat, eat'! You' worse dan harmy
of Swede'. I ain't goin' tol' you what is dis s'prise--bimeby you smell
him cookin'."
"Moose meat!" Rouletta cried.
"No'" 'Poleon vigorously resumed his labor every stroke of the ax was
accompanied by a loud "Huh!" "I tol' you not'in'!" he declared; then
after a moment he voiced one word, "Caribou!"
Again Rouletta uttered a famished cry.
Soon the tent strings were drawn and the axman pushed through the door,
his arms full of dry spruce wood. He stood smiling down at the face
framed snugly in the fox fur; then he dropped his burden and knelt
before the stove. In a moment there came a promising crackle, followed
quickly by an agreeable flutter which grew into a roar as the stove
began to draw.
"CARIBOU!" Rouletta's eyes were bright with curiosity and an emotion
far more material. "Where in the world--?"
"Some hinjun hunter mak' beeg kill. I got more s'prise as dat, too. By
golly! Dis goin' be regular Chris'mas for you."
Rouletta stirred. There was stubborn defiance in her tone when she
said: "I'm going to get up and I'm--going--outdoors--clothes or no
clothes. I'll wrap the robe around me and play I'm a squaw." She
checked 'Poleon's protest. "Oh, I'm perfectly well, and the clothes I
have are thick enough."
"Look out you don' froze yourse'f. Dat pretty dress you got is give you
chillsblain in Haugust." The speaker blew upon his fingers and sat back
upon his heels, his eyes twinkling, his brown face wreathed in smiles.
"Then I can do it? You'll let me try?" Rouletta was all eagerness.
"We'll talk 'bout dat bimeby. First t'ing we goin' have beeg potlatch,
lak Siwash weddin'."
"Goody! Now run away while I get up."
But the man shook his head. "Don' be soch hurry. Dis tent warm slow.
Las' night de reever is froze solid so far you look. Pretty queeck
people come."
"Do you think they'll have extra clothes--something warm that I can
wear?"
"Sure! I fix all dat." Still smiling, 'Poleon rose and went stooping
out of the tent, tying the flaps behind him. A few rods distant was
another shelter which he had pitched for himself; in front of it, on a
pole provision-cache, were two quarters of frozen caribou meat, and
seated comfortably in the snow beneath, eyes fixed upon the prize, were
several "husky" dogs of unusual size. At 'Poleon's appearance they
began to caper and to fawn upon him.
"Ho, you ole t'iefs!" he cried, sternly. "You lak steal dose meat, I
bet! Wal, I eat you 'live." Stretching on tiptoe, he removed one of the
quarters and bore it into his tent. The dogs gathered just outside the
door; cautiously they nosed the canvas aside; and as 'Poleon set to
work with hatchet and hunting-knife their bright eyes followed his
every move.
"Non!" he exclaimed, with a ferocious frown. "You don't get so much as
li'l smell. You t'ink ma soeur goin' hongry to feed loafer' lak you?"
Bushy gray tails began to stir, the heads came farther forward, there
was a most unmannerly licking of chops. "By Gar! You sound lak'
miner-man eatin' soup. Wat for you'spect nice grub? You don' work
none." 'Poleon removed a layer of fat, divided it, and tossed a portion
to each animal. The morsels vanished with a single gulp, with one
wolfish click of sharp white teeth, "No, I give you not'in'."
For no reason whatever the speaker broke into loud laughter; then, to
further relieve his bubbling joyousness, he began to hum a song. As he
worked his song grew louder, until its words were audible to the girl
in the next tent.
"Oh, la voix du beau Nord qui m'appelle, Pour benir avec lui le jour,
Et desormais toute peine cruelle Fuira devant mon chant d'amour.
D'amour, d'amour." ("Oh, the voice of the North is a-calling me, To
join in the praise of the day, So whatever the fate that's befalling
me, I'll sing every sorrow away. Away, away.")
The Yukon stove was red-hot now, and Rouletta Kirby's tent was warm.
She seated herself before a homely little dresser fashioned from two
candle-boxes, and began to arrange her hair. Curiously she examined the
comb and brush. They were, or had been, 'Poleon's; so was the
pocket-mirror hanging by a safety-pin to the canvas wall above.
Rouletta recalled with a smile the flourish of pride with which he had
presented to her this ludicrous bureau and its fittings. Was there ever
such a fellow as this Doret? Was there ever a heart so big, so kind? A
stranger, it seemed to the girl that she had known him always. There
had been days--days interminable--when he had seemed to be some dream
figure; an indistinct, unreal being at once familiar and unfamiliar,
friendly and forbidding; then other days during which he had gradually
assumed substance and actuality and during which she had come to know
him. Following her return to sanity, Rouletta had experienced periods
of uncertainty and of terror, then hours of embarrassment the mere
memory of which caused her to shrink and to hide her head. Those were
times of which, even yet, she could not bear to think. Hers had been a
slow recovery and a painful, nay a tragic, awakening, but, as she had
gained the strength and the ability to understand and to suffer,
'Poleon, with a tact and a thoughtfulness unexpected in one of his
sort, had dropped the character of nurse and assumed the role of friend
and protector. That had been Rouletta's most difficult ordeal, the most
trying time for both of them, in fact; not one man in ten thousand
could have carried off such an awkward situation at a cost so low to a
woman's feelings. It was, of course, the very awkwardness of that
situation, together with 'Poleon's calm, courageous method of facing
it, that had given his patient the strength to meet him half-way and
that had made her convalescence anything less than a torture.
And the manner in which he had allowed her to learn all the truth about
herself--bit by bit as her resistance grew--his sympathy, his
repression, his support! He had to know just how far to go; he had
spared her every possible heartache, he had never permitted her to
suffer a moment of trepidation as to herself. No. Her first conscious
feeling, now that she recalled it, had been one of implicit,
unreasoning faith in him. That confidence had increased with every
hour; dismay, despair, the wish to die had given place to resignation,
then to hope, and now to a brave self-confidence. Rouletta knew that
her deliverance had been miraculous and that this man, this total
stranger, out of the goodness of his heart, had given her back her
life. She never ceased pondering over it.
She was now sitting motionless, comb and brush in hand, when 'Poleon
came into the tent for a second time and aroused her from her
abstraction. She hastily completed her toilette, and was sitting curled
up on her bed when the aroma of boiling coffee and the sound of frying
steak brought her to her feet. With a noisy clatter she
enthusiastically arranged the breakfast dishes.
"How wonderful it is to have an appetite in the morning!" said she;
then: "This is the last time you're going to cook. You may chop the
wood and build the fires, but I shall attend to the rest. I'm quite
able."
"Bien!" The pilot smiled his agreement. "Everybody mus' work to be
happy--even dose dog. Wat you t'ink? Dey loaf so long dey begin fight,
jus' lak' people." He chuckled. "Pretty queeck we hitch her up de sled
an' go fly to Dyea. You goin' henjoy dat, ma soeur. Mebbe we meet dose
cheechako' comin' in an' dey holler: 'Hallo, Frenchy! How's t'ing' in
Dawson?' an' we say: 'Pouf! We don' care 'bout Dawson; we goin' home.'"
"Home!" Rouletta paused momentarily in her task.
"Sure! Now--voila! Breakfas' she's serve in de baggage-car." With a
flourish he poured the coffee, saying, "Let's see if you so hongry lak
you pretend, or if I'm goin' keep you in bed some more."
Rouletta's appetite was all--yes, more--than she had declared it to be.
The liberality with which she helped herself to oatmeal, her lavish use
of the sugar--spoon, and her determined attack upon the can of
"Carnation" satisfied any lingering doubts in Doret's mind. Her
predatory interest in the appetizing contents of the frying-pan--she
eyed it with the greedy hopefulness of a healthy urchin--also was
eloquent of a complete recovery and brought a thrill of pride to her
benefactor.
"Gosh! I mak' bad nurse for hospital," he grinned. "You eat him out of
house an' lot." He finished his meal, then looked on until Rouletta
leaned back with regretful satisfaction; thereupon he broke out:
"Wal, I got more s'prise for you."
"You--you can't surprise a toad, and--I feel just like one. Isn't food
good?"
Now Rouletta had learned much about this big woodsman's peculiarities;
among other things she had discovered that he took extravagant delight
in his so-called "s'prises." They were many and varied, now a titbit to
tempt her palate, or again a native doll which needed a complete outfit
of moccasins, cap, and parka, and which he insisted he had met on the
trail, very numb from the cold; again a pair of rabbit-fur
sleeping-socks for herself. That crude dresser, which he had completed
without her suspecting him, was another. Always he was making or doing
something to amuse or to occupy her attention, and, although his gifts
were poor, sometimes absurdly simple, he had, nevertheless, the power
of investing them with importance. Being vitally interested in all
things, big or little, he stimulated others to share in that interest.
Life was an enjoyable game, inanimate objects talked to him, every
enterprise was tinted imaginary colors, and he delighted in
pretense--welcome traits to Rouletta, whose childhood had been starved.
"What is my new s'prise?" she queried. But, without answering, 'Poleon
rose and left the tent; he was back a moment later with a bundle in his
hands. This bundle he unrolled, displaying a fine fur parka, the hood
of which was fringed with a deep fox-tail facing, the skirt and sleeves
of an elaborate checker-board pattern of multicolored skins. Gay
squirrel-tail streamers depended from its shoulders as further
ornamentation. Altogether it was a splendid specimen of Indian
needlework and Rouletta gasped with delight.
"How WONDERFUL!" she cried. "Is--it for me?" The pilot nodded. "Sure
t'ing. De purtiest one ever I see. But look!" He called her attention
to a beaver cap, a pair of beaded moose-hide mittens, and a pair of
small fur boots that went with the larger garments--altogether a
complete outfit for winter travel. "I buy him from dose hinjun hunter.
Put him on, queeck."
Rouletta slipped into the parka; she donned cap and mittens; and
'Poleon was in raptures.
"By golly! Dat's beautiful!" he declared. "Now you' fix for sure. No
matter how col' she come, your li'l toes goin' be warm, you don' froze
your nose--"
"You're good and true--and--" Rouletta faltered, then added, fervently,
"I shall always thank God for knowing you."
Now above all things Doret dreaded his "sister's" serious moods or any
expression of her gratitude; he waved her words aside with an airy
gesture and began in a hearty tone:
"We don't stop dis place no longer. To-morrow we start for Dyea. Wat
you t'ink of dat, eh? Pretty queeck you be home." When his hearer
displayed no great animation at the prospect he exclaimed, in
perplexity: "You fonny gal. Ain't you care?"
"I have no home," she gravely told him.
"But your people--dey goin' be glad for see you?"
"I have no people, either. You see, we lived a queer life, father and
I. I was all he had, outside of poor Danny Royal, and he--was all I
had. Home was where we happened to be. He sold everything to come
North; he cut all ties and risked everything on a single throw. That
was his way, our way--all or nothing. I've been thinking lately; I've
asked myself what he would have wished me to do, and--I've made up my
mind."
"So?" 'Poleon was puzzled.
"I'm not going 'outside.' I'm going to Dawson. 'Be a thoroughbred.
Don't weaken.' That's what he always said. Sam Kirby followed the
frontier and he made his money there. Well, I'm his girl, his blood is
in me. I'm going through."
'Poleon's brow was furrowed in deep thought; it cleared slowly. "Dawson
she's bad city, but you're brave li'l gal and--badness is here," he
tapped his chest with a huge forefinger. "So long de heart she's pure,
not'in' goin' touch you." He nodded in better agreement with Rouletta's
decision. "Mebbe so you're right. For me, I'm glad, very glad, for I
t'ink my bird is goin' spread her wing' an' fly away south lak all de
res', but now--bien! I'm satisfy! We go to Dawson."
"Your work is here," the girl protested. "I can't take you away from
it."
"Fonny t'ing 'bout work," 'Poleon said, with a grin. "Plenty tam I try
to run away from him, but always he catch up wit' me."
"You're a poor man. I can't let you sacrifice too much."
"Poor?" The pilot opened his eyes in amazement. "Mon Dieu! I'm reech
feller. Anybody is reech so long he's well an' happy. Mebbe I sell my
claim."
"Your claim? Have you a claim? At Dawson?"
The man nodded indifferently. "I stake him las' winter. He's pretty
claim to look at--plenty snow, nice tree for cabin, dry wood,
everyt'ing but gold. Mebbe I sell him for beeg price."
"Why doesn't it have any gold?" Rouletta was genuinely curious.
"Why? Biccause I stake him," 'Poleon laughed heartily. "Dose claim I
stake dey never has so much gold you can see wit' your eye. Not one,
an' I stake t'ousan'. Me, I hear dose man talk 'bout million dollar;
I'm drinkin' heavy so I t'ink I be millionaire, too. But bimeby I'm
sober ag'in an' my money she's gone. I'm res'less feller; I don' stop
long no place."
"What makes you think it's a poor claim?"
'Poleon shrugged. "All my claim is poor. Me, I'm onlucky. Mebbe so I
don' care enough for bein' reech. W'at I'll do wit' pile of money, eh?
Drink him up? Gamble? Dat's fun for while. Every spring I sell my fur
an' have beeg tam; two weeks I'm drunk, but--dat's plenty. Any feller
dat's drunk more 'n two weeks is bum. No!" He shook his head and
exposed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "I'm cut off for poor man.
I mak' beeg soccess of dat."
Rouletta studied the speaker silently for a moment. "I know." She
nodded her complete understanding of his type. "Well, I'm not going to
let you do that any more."
"I don' hurt nobody," he protested. "I sing plenty song an' fight li'l
bit. A man mus' got some fun."
"Won't you promise--for my sake?"
'Poleon gave in after some hesitation; reluctantly he agreed. "Eh bien!
Mos' anyt'ing I promise for you, ma soeur. But--she's goin' be mighty
poor trip for me. S'pose mebbe I forget dose promise?"
"I sha'n't let you. I've seen too much drinking--gambling. I'll hold
you to your pledge."
Again the man smiled; there was a light of warm affection in his eyes.
"By Gar! It's nice t'ing to have sister w'at care for you. When we
goin' start for Dawson, eh?"
"To-morrow."