THE LOUCHOUX GIRL
Winter laid a heavy hand upon the country of the Great Slave. Blizzard
after howling blizzard came out of the North until the buildings of
Chloe Elliston's school lay drifted to the eaves in the centre of the
snow-swept clearing.
With the drifting snows and the bitter, intense cold that isolated the
little colony from the great world to the southward, came a sense of
peace and quietude that contrasted sharply with the turbulent,
surcharged atmosphere with which the girl had been surrounded from the
moment she had unwittingly become a factor in the machinations of the
warring masters of wolf-land.
With MacNair safely behind the bars of a jail far to the southward, and
Lapierre somewhere upon the distant rivers, the Indians for the first
time relaxed from the strain of tense expectancy. Of her own original
Indians, those who had remained at the school by command of the crafty
Lapierre, there remained only LeFroy and a few of the older men who
were unfit to go on the trap-lines, together with the women and
children.
MacNair's Indians, who had long since laid down their traps to pick up
the white man's tools, stayed at the school. And much to the girl's
surprise, under the direction of the refractory Sotenah, and Old Elk,
and Wee Johnnie Tamarack, not only performed with a will the necessary
work of the camp--the chopping and storing of firewood, the shovelling
of paths through the huge drifts, and the drawing of water from the
river--but took upon themselves numerous other labours of their own
initiative.
An ice-house was built and filled upon the bank of the river. Trees
were felled, and the logs ranked upon miniature rollways, where all
through the short days the Indians busied themselves in the rude
whip-sawing of lumber.
Their women and children daily attended the school and worked
faithfully under the untiring tutelage of Chloe and Harriet Penny, who
entered into the work with new enthusiasm engendered by the interest
and the aptness of the Snare Lake Indians--absent qualities among the
wives and children of Lapierre's trappers.
LeFroy was kept busy in the storehouse, and with the passing of the
days Chloe noticed that he managed to spend more and more time in
company with Big Lena. At first she gave the matter no thought. But
when night after night she heard the voices of the two as they sat
about the kitchen-stove long after she had retired, she began to
consider the matter seriously.
At first she dismissed it with a laugh. Of all people in the world,
she thought, these two, the heavy, unimaginative Swedish woman, and the
leathern-skinned, taciturn wood-rover, would be the last to listen to
the call of romance.
Chloe was really fond of the huge, silent woman who had followed her
without question into the unknown wilderness of the Northland, even as
she had accompanied her without protest through the maze of the far
South Seas. With all her averseness to speech and her vacuous, fishy
stare, the girl had long since learned that Big Lena was both loyal and
efficient and shrewd. But, Big Lena as a wife! Chloe smiled broadly
at the thought.
"Poor LeFroy," she pitied. "But it would be the best thing in the
world for him. 'The perpetuity of the red race will be attained only
through its amalgamation with the white,'" she quoted; the trite
banality of one of the numerous theorists she had studied before
starting into the North.
Of LeFroy she knew little. He seemed a half-breed of more than average
intelligence, and as for the rest--she would leave that to Lena. On
the whole, she rather approved of the arrangement, not alone upon the
amalgamation theory, but because she entertained not the slightest
doubt as to who would rule the prospective family. She could depend
upon Big Lena's loyalty, and her marriage to one of their number would
therefore become a very important factor in the attitude of the Indians
towards the school.
Gradually, the women of the Slave Lake Indians taking the cue from
their northern sisters, began to show an appreciation of the girl's
efforts in their behalf. An appreciation that manifested itself in
little tokens of friendship, exquisitely beaded moccasins, shyly
presented, and a pair of quill-embroidered leggings laid upon her desk
by a squaw who slipped hurriedly away. Thus the way was paved for a
closer intimacy which quickly grew into an eager willingness among the
Indians to help her in the mastering of their own language.
As this intimacy grew, the barrier which is the chief stumbling-block
of missionaries and teachers who seek to carry enlightenment into the
lean lone land, gradually dissolved. The women with whom Chloe came in
contact ceased to be Indians _en masse_; they became
_people_--personalities--each with her own capability and propensity
for the working of good or harm. With this realization vanished the
last vestige of aloofness and reserve. And, thereafter, many of the
women broke bread by invitation at Chloe's own table.
The one thing that remained incomprehensible to the girl was the
idolatrous regard in which MacNair was held by his own Indians. To
them he was a superman--the one great man among all white men. His
word was accepted without question. Upon leaving for the southward
MacNair had told the men to work, therefore they worked unceasingly.
Also he had told the women and the children to obey without question
the words of the white _kloochman_, and therefore they absorbed her
teaching with painstaking care.
Time and again the girl tried to obtain the admission that MacNair was
in the habit of supplying his Indians with whiskey, and always she
received the same answer. "MacNair sells no whiskey. He hates
whiskey. And many times has he killed men for selling whiskey to his
people."
At first these replies exasperated the girl beyond measure. She set
them down as stereotyped answers in which they had been carefully
coached. But as time went on and the women, whose word she had come to
hold in regard, remained unshaken in their statements, an uncomfortable
doubt assailed her--a doubt that, despite herself, she fostered. A
doubt that caused her to ponder long of nights as she lay in her little
room listening to the droning voices of LeFroy and Big Lena as they
talked by the stove in the kitchen.
Strange fancies and pictures the girl built up as she lay, half waking,
half dreaming between her blankets. Pictures in which MacNair,
misjudged, hated, fighting against fearful odds, came clean through the
ruck and muck with which his enemies had endeavoured to smother him,
and proved himself the man he might have been; fancies and pictures
that dulled into a pain that was very like a heartache, as the vivid
picture--the real picture--which she herself had seen with her own eyes
that night on Snare Lake, arose always to her mind.
The tang of the northern air bit into the girl's blood. She spent much
time in the open and became proficient and tireless in the use of
snowshoes and skis. Daily her excursions into the surrounding timber
grew longer, and she was never so happy as when swinging with strong,
wide strides on her fat thong-strung rackets, or sliding with the speed
of the wind down some steep slope of the river-bank, on her smoothly
polished skis.
It was upon one of these solitary excursions, when her steps had
carried her many miles along the winding course of a small tributary of
the Yellow Knife, that the girl became so fascinated in her exploration
she failed utterly to note the passage of time until a sharp bend of
the little river brought her face to face with the low-hung winter sun,
which was just on the point of disappearing behind the shrub pines of a
long, low ridge.
With a start she brought up short and glanced fearfully about her.
Darkness was very near, and she had travelled straight into the
wilderness almost since early dawn. Without a moment's delay she
turned and retraced her steps. But even as her hurrying feet carried
her over the back-trail she realized that night would overtake her
before she could hope to reach the larger river.
The thought of a night spent alone in the timber at first terrified
her. She sought to increase her pace, but her muscles were tired, her
footsteps dragged, and the rackets clung to her feet like inexorable
weights which sought to drag her down, down into the soft whiteness of
the snow.
Darkness gathered, and the back-trail dimmed. Twice she fell and
regained her feet with an effort. Suddenly rounding a sharp bend, she
crashed heavily among the dead branches of a fallen tree. When at
length she regained her feet, the last vestige of daylight had
vanished. Her own snowshoe tracks were indiscernible upon the white
snow. She was off the trail!
Something warm and wet trickled along her cheek. She jerked off her
mittens and with fingers tingling in the cold, keen air, picked bits of
bark from the edges of the ragged wound where the end of a broken
branch had snagged the soft flesh of her face. The wound stung, and
she held a handful of snow against it until the pain dulled under the
numbing chill.
Stories of the night-prowling wolf-pack, and the sinister, man-eating
_loup cervier_, crowded her brain. She must build a fire. She felt
through her pocket for the glass bottle of matches, only to find that
her fingers were too numb to remove the cork. She replaced the vial
and, drawing on her mittens, beat her hands together until the blood
tingled to her finger-tips. How she wished now that she had heeded the
advice of LeFroy, who had cautioned against venturing into the woods
without a light camp ax slung to her belt.
Laboriously she set about gathering bark and light twigs which she
piled in the shelter of a cut-bank, and when at last a feeble flame
flickered weakly among the thin twigs she added larger branches which
she broke and twisted from the limbs of the dead trees. Her camp-fire
assumed a healthy proportion, and the flare of it upon the snow was
encouraging.
At the end of an hour, Chloe removed her rackets and dropped wearily
onto the snow beside the fire-wood which she had piled conveniently
close to the blaze. Never in her life had she been so utterly weary,
but she realized that for her that night there could be no sleep. And
no sooner had the realization forced itself upon her than she fell
sound asleep with her head upon the pile of fire-wood.
She awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, staring in bewilderment
at her fire--and beyond the fire where, only a few feet distant, a
hooded shape stood dimly outlined against the snow. Chloe's garments,
dampened by the exertion of the earlier hours, had chilled her through
while she slept, and as she stared wide-eyed at the apparition beyond
the fire, the figure drew closer and the chill of the dampened garments
seemed to clutch with icy fingers at her heart. She nerved herself for
a supreme effort and arose stiffly to her knees, and then suddenly the
figure resolved itself into the form of a girl--an Indian girl--but a
girl as different from the Indians of her school as day is different
from night.
As the girl advanced she smiled, and Chloe noted that her teeth were
strong and even and white, and that dark eyes glowed softly from a face
as light almost as her own.
"Do not 'fraid," said the girl in a low, rich voice. "I'm not hurt
you. I'm see you fire, I'm com' 'cross to fin'. Den, ver' queek you
com' 'wake, an' I'm see you de one I'm want."
"The one you want!" cried Chloe, edging closer to the fire. "What do
you mean? Who are you? And why should you want me?"
"Me--I'm Mary. I'm com' ver' far. I'm com' from de people of my
modder. De Louchoux on de lower Mackenzie. I'm com' to fin' de
school. I'm hear about dat school."
"The lower Mackenzie!" cried Chloe in astonishment. "I should think
you have come very far."
The girl nodded. "Ver' far," she repeated. "T'irty-two sleep I'm on
de trail."
"Alone!"
"Alone," she assented. "I'm com' for learn de ways of de white women."
Chloe motioned the girl closer, and then, seized by a sudden chill,
shivered violently. The girl noticed the paroxysm, and, dropping to
her knees by Chloe's side, spoke hurriedly.
"You col'," she said. "You got no blanket. You los'."
Without waiting for a reply, she hurried to a light pack-sled which
stood nearby upon the snow. A moment later she returned with a heavy
pair of blankets which she spread at Chloe's side, and then, throwing
more wood upon the fire, began rapidly to remove the girl's clothing.
Within a very short space of time, Chloe found herself lying warm and
comfortable between the blankets, while her damp garments were drying
upon sticks thrust close to the blaze. She watched the Indian girl as
she moved swiftly and capably about her task, and when the last garment
was hung upon its stick she motioned the girl to her side.
"Why did you come so far to my school?" she asked. "Surely you have
been to school. You speak English. You are not a full-blood Indian."
The girl's eyes sought the shadows beyond the firelight, and, as her
lips framed a reply, Chloe marvelled at the weird beauty of her.
"I go to school on de Mission, two years at Fort MacPherson. I learn
to spik de Englis'. My fadder, heem Englis', but I'm never see heem.
Many years ago he com' in de beeg boat dat com' for ketch de whale an'
got lock in de ice in de Bufort Sea. In de spring de boat go 'way, an'
my fadder go 'long, too. He tell my modder he com' back nex' winter.
Dat many years ago--nineteen years. Many boats com' every year, but my
fadder no com' back. My modder she t'ink he com' back som' day, an'
every fall my modder she tak' me 'way from Fort MacPherson and we go up
on de coast an' build de _igloo_. An' every day she set an' watch
while de ships com' in, but my fadder no com' back. My modder t'ink he
sure com' back, he fin' her waitin' when he com'. She say, mebe so he
ketch 'm many whale. Mebe so he get reech so we got plen' money to buy
de grub."
The girl paused and her brows contracted thoughtfully. She threw a
fresh stick upon the fire and shook her head slowly. "I don' know,"
she said softly, "mebe so he com' back--but heem been gone long tam'."
"Where is your mother now?" asked Chloe, when the girl had finished.
"She up on de coast in de little _igloo_. Many ships com' into Bufort
Sea las' fall. She say, sure dis winter my fadder com' back. She got
to wait for heem."
Chloe cleared her throat sharply. "And you?" she asked, "why did you
come clear to the Yellow Knife? Why did you not go back to school at
the Mission?"
A troubled expression crept into the eyes of the Louchoux girl, and she
seemed at a loss to explain. "Eet ees," she answered at length, "dat
my man, too, he not com' back lak' my fadder."
"Your man!" cried Chloe in astonishment. "Do you mean you are married?
Why, you are nothing but a child!"
The girl regarded her gravely. "Yes," she answered, "I'm marry. Two
years ago I git marry, up on de Anderson Reever. My man, heem
free-trader, an' all summer we got plent' to eat. In de fall he tak'
me back to de _igloo_. He say, he mus' got to go to de land of de
white man to buy supplies. I lak' to go, too, to de land of de white
man, but he say no, you Injun, you stay in de Nort', an' by-m-by I com'
back again. Den he go up de reever, an' all winter I stay in de igloo
wit' my modder an' look out over de ice-pack at de boats in de Bufort
Sea. In de spreeng my man he don' com' back, my fadder he don' com'
back neider. We not have got mooch grub to eat dat winter, and den we
go to Fort MacPherson. I go back to de school, and I'm tell de pries'
my man he no com' back. De pries' he ver' angry. He say, I'm not got
marry, but de pries' he ees a man--he don' un'stan'.
"All summer I'm stay on de Mackenzie, an' I'm watch de canoes an' I'm
wait for my man to com' back, but he don' com' back. An' in de fall my
modder she go Nort' again to watch de ships in de Bufort Sea. She say,
com' 'long, but I don' go, so she go 'lone and I'm stay on de
Mackenzie. I'm stay 'til de reever freeze, an' no more canoe can com'.
Den I'm wait for de snow. Mebe so my man com' wit' de dog-team. Den
I'm hear 'bout de school de white woman build on de Yellow Knife.
Always I'm hear 'bout de white women, but I'm never seen none--only de
white men. My man, he mos' white.
"Den I'm say, mebe so my man lak' de white women more dan de Injun. He
not com' back dis winter, an' I'm go on de school and learn de ways of
de white women, an' in de spreeng when my man com' back he lak' me
good, an' nex' winter mebe he tak' me 'long to de land of de white
women. But, eet's a long trail to de Yellow Knife, an' I'm got no
money to buy de grub an' de outfit. I'm go once mor' to de pries' an'
I'm tell heem 'bout dat school. An' I'm say, mebe so I'm learn de ways
of de white women, my man tak' me 'long nex' tam'.
"De pries' he t'ink 'bout dat a long tam'. Den he go over to de Hudson
Bay Pos' an' talk to McTavish, de factor, an' by-m-by he com' back and
tak' me over to de pos' store an' give me de outfit so I'm com' to de
school on de Yellow Knife. Plent' grub an' warm blankets dey give me.
An' t'irty-two sleep I'm travel de snow-trail. Las' night I'm mak' my
camp in de scrub cross de reever. I'm go 'sleep, an' by-m-by I'm wake
up an' see you fire an' I'm com' 'long to fin' out who camp here."
As she listened, Chloe's hand stole from beneath the blankets and
closed softly about the fingers of the Louchoux girl. "And so you have
come to live with me?" she whispered softly.
The girl's face lighted up. "You let me com'?" she asked eagerly, "an'
you teach me de ways of de white women, so I ain't jus' be Injun girl?
So when my man com' back, he lak' me an' I got plent' to eat in de
winter?"
"Yes, dear," answered Chloe, "you shall come to live with me always."
Followed then a long silence which was broken at last by the Indian
girl.
"You don' say lak' de pries'," she asked, "you not marry, you bad?"
"No! No! No! You poor child!" cried Chloe, "of course you are not
bad! You are going to live with me. You will learn many things."
"An' som' tam', we fin' my man?" she asked eagerly.
Chloe's voice sounded suddenly harsh. "Yes, indeed, we will find him!"
she cried. "We will find him and bring him back--" she stopped
suddenly. "We will speak of that later. And now that my clothes are
dry you can help me put them on, and if you have any grub left in your
pack let's eat. I'm starving."
While Chloe finished dressing, the Louchoux girl boiled a pot of tea
and fried some bacon, and an hour later the two girls were fast asleep
in each other's arms, beneath the warm folds of the big Hudson Bay
blankets.
The following morning they had proceeded but a short distance upon the
back-trail when they were met by a searching party from the school.
The return was made without incident, and Chloe, who had taken a great
fancy to the Louchoux girl, immediately established her as a member of
her own household.
During the days which followed, the girl plunged with an intense
eagerness into the task of learning the ways of the white women.
Nothing was too trivial or unimportant to escape her attention. She
learned to copy with almost pathetic exactness each of Chloe's little
acts and mannerisms, even to the arranging of her hair. With the other
two inmates of the cottage the girl became hardly less a favourite than
with Chloe herself.
Her progress in learning to speak English, her skill with the needle
and the rapidity with which she learned to make her own clothing
delighted Harriet Penny. While Big Lena never tired of instructing her
in the mysteries of the culinary department. In return the girl looked
upon the three women with an adoration that bordered upon idolatry.
She would sit by the hour listening to Chloe's accounts of the wondrous
cities of the white men and of the doings of the white men's women.
Chloe never mentioned the girl's secret to either Harriet Penny or Big
Lena, and carefully avoided any allusion to the subject to the girl
herself. Nothing could be done, she reasoned, until the ice went out
of the rivers, and in the meantime she would do all in her power to
instil into the girl's mind an understanding of the white women's
ethics, so that when the time came she would be able to choose
intelligently for herself whether she would return to her free-trader
lover or prosecute him for his treachery.
Chloe knew that the girl had done no wrong, and in her heart she hoped
that she could be brought to a realization of the true character of the
man and repudiate him. If not--if she really loved him, and was
determined to remain his wife--Chloe made up her mind to insist upon a
ceremony which should meet the sanction of Church and State.
Christmas and New Year's passed, and Lapierre did not return to the
school. Chloe was not surprised at this, for he had told her that his
absence would be prolonged; and in her heart of hearts she was really
glad, for the veiled suspicion of the man's sincerity had grown into an
actual distrust of him--a distrust that would have been increased a
thousand-fold could she have known that the quarter-breed was even then
upon Snare Lake at the head of a gang of outlaws who were thawing out
MacNair's gravel and shovelling it into dumps for an early clean-up;
instead of looking after his "neglected interests" upon the rivers.
But she did not know that, nor did she know of his midnight visit to
Tostoff, nor of what happened at Brown's cabin, nor of the release of
MacNair.