 Chapter 17 of THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS Yann was glad when the evening came and was gone. Not until Jean and Iawaka had said good night with Closet and his wife, and both Cummins and Melyce had gone to their rooms, did he find himself relieved of the tension under which he had struggled during all of that night's merry-making in the cabin. From the first he knew that his nerves were strung by some strange and indefinable sensation that was growing within him, something which he could hardly have explained at first, but which swiftly took form and meaning, and oppressed him more as the hours flew by. Almost fiercely he strove to fight back the signs of it from his face and voice. Never had he played, as on this night, his violin leaped with life, his voice rose high in the wild forest songs of Jean de Gravois and Crassé. He sprang aloft in the caribou dance until the tips of his fingers touched the log-beams overhead. And yet there was none of the flush of excitement in his face, no joyous fire flashing from his eyes upon Melyce. She saw this and wondered. A dozen times her eyes encountered his, straight and questioning, when the others were not looking. She saw, in response, only a dull, lusterless glow that was not like the yarn who had pursued her that day on the mountaintop. Yon was unaware of what was lacking in him. He smiled when she gave him these glances. Deep down in him his heart trembled at the beauty of her flushed cheeks, the luster of her coiled hair, the swimming depths of her clear eyes, but the mask of the thing at which she wondered still remained. After the others had gone, Cummins sat up to smoke a pipe. When he had finished he went to his room. Yon was now sleeping in a room at the company's store, and after a time he rose silently to take down his cap and coat. He opened the outer door quietly so as not to arouse Melyce, who had gone to bed half an hour before. As he was about to go out there came a sound, a low, gentle, whispered word. Yon! he turned. Melyce stood in her door. She had not undressed, and her hair was still done up in its soft coils, with the crimson buck knee shining in it. She came to him hesitatingly, until she stood with her two hands upon his arm, gazing into his tense face with that same question in her eyes. Yon! you were not pleased with me to-night, she whispered. Tell me, why? I was pleased with you, Melyce, he replied. He took one of the hands that was clinging to his arm and turned his face to the open night. Countless stars gleamed in the sky as they had shown on another night fifteen years ago. From where they stood they saw the pale flicker of the aurora, sending its shivering arrows out over the dome of the earth, with the same lonely song that it had played when the woman died. Gont and solitary, the tall spruce loomed up against the silver glow, its thick head sighing faintly in the night wind, as if in wailing answer to that faraway music in the skies. Suddenly there leaped up from Yon! to Rose Breast, a breath that burst from his lips in a low cry. Melyce, Melyce, it was just fifteen years ago that I came in through that forest out there, starved and dying, and played my violin when your mother died. You were a little baby, then, and since that night you have never pleased me more than now. She dropped her hand and turned squarely to the door to hide what he knew had come into his face. He heard a soft, heartbroken little sob behind him, and something fell rustling upon his arm. Yon! dear Yon! Melyce crowded herself into his arms, her hair torn down and tumbling about her shoulders. In her eyes there were the old pride and the old love, the love and pride of what seemed to Yon to be, years ago, the old, childish pleading for his comradeship, for the fun of his strong arms, the frolic of his laugh. Irresistibly they called to him, and in the old glad way he tightened his arms about her shoulders, his eyes glowing, and life leaping back, flushed and full into his face. She laughed, happy and trembling, her lips held up to him. I didn't please you today, she whispered. I will never do up my hair again. He kissed her and his arms dropped from her shoulders. Never, never again, until you have forgotten to love me, she repeated. Good night, brother Yon! Across the open, through the thinned edge of the black spruce, deeper and deeper into the cold, unquivering lifelessness of the forest, Yon went from the door that closed between him and Melyce, her last words still whispering in his ears, the warm touch of her hair on his cheeks, and the knowledge of what this day had meant for him, swiftly surging upon him, bringing with it a torment which wracked him to the soul. Fifteen years ago he stopped and looked up, the starlight whitening his face. There was no change in this night from that other one of ages and ages ago. There were the same stars, like fierce eyes of pale fire, robbed of softness by the polar cold. There were the same cloudless blue space, the same hissing flashes of the aurora leaping through its infinity, the same trees that had listened to his moaning prayers on that night when he had staggered into Lakhban. He went on until he came to where the beaten trail swept up and away from a swamp. As vividly as if it had happened but yesterday he remembered how he had dragged himself through the swamp, bleeding and starving, his violin clutched to his breast, guided by the barking of dogs which seemed to come from a million miles away. He plunged into it now, picking his tangled way until he stood upon a giant ridge from which he looked out through the white night into the limitless barrens to the north. Along the edge of those barrens he had come, daring the hundred deaths between Hunter's Cabin and Indian Wigwam, starving at times, almost dying of cold, building fires to keep the wolves back and playing, always playing to keep up his courage until he found Melyse. Fifteen years had passed since then and the cumulative force of the things that had grown out of those years had fallen upon him this day. He had felt at first when Melyse turned upon him at the foot of the mountain and after that in the cabin, in every breath he drew, in every look that he gave her. For him she had changed for all time. She was no longer the little Melyse, his sister, and yet he was almost saying her last words aloud. Good night, Brother Yan. She had come to him that day to let him kiss her, as she had come to him a thousand times before. But he had not kissed her in the old way. It was a different love that his lips had given, and even now the hot blood surged again into his face as he thought of what he had done. His was a different idea of honor from that held by men born to the ways of passion. In that which had stirred his blood, thrilling him with strange joy as he held her in his arms, he saw more than the shadow of sin, sacrilege against a thing which was more precious to him than life. Melyse came to him still as his sister, abiding in her glorious faith in him, unaware of his temptation, while he, Yan Taro, he thrust a hand inside his coat and clutched at the papers that Jean de Gravois had read. Then he drew them forth slowly and held them crumpled in his fingers, while for many minutes he stared straight out into the gray gloom of the treeless plain. His eyes shifted. Searchingly they traveled up the face of the crags behind them. They hunted where the starlight made deep pits of gloom in the twisting edge of the mountains. They went from rock to rock and from tree to tree, until at last they rested upon a giant spruce which hung out over the precipitous wall of the ridge, its thick top beckoning and sighing to the black rocks that shot up out of the snow five hundred feet below. It was a strange tree, weird and black, free of stub or bow for a hundred feet, and from far out on the barrens those who traveled their solitary ways east and west knew that it was a monument shaped by men. Mookie had told Yan its story. In the first autumn of the woman's life at Lac Banhe, he and Paris had climbed the old spruce, lopping off its branches until only the black cap remained, and after that it was known far and wide as the lob-stick of Cummins' wife. It was a voiceless cenotaph which signified that all the honour and love known to the wilderness people had been given to her. To it went Yan, the paper still held in his hand. He had seen a pair of whiskey jacks storing food in the butt of the tree two or three summers before, and now his fingers groped for the hole. When he found it he thrust in the papers, crowded them down, and filled the hole with chunks of bark. Always my sister, and never anything more to Yan Tirol, he said gently in French as if he were speaking to a spirit in the old tree. It is the honour of these snows. It is what the great God means us to be. The strife had gone from his voice. It rose strong and clear as he stretched his arms high up along the shorn side of the spruce, his eyes upon the silent plume that heard his oath. I swear that Yan Tirol will never do wrong to the little melise. With a face white and set in its determination he turned slowly away from the tree. Far away from the lonely depths of the swamp there came the wailing howl of a wolf, a cry of hungerful savageness that died away in echoes of infinite sadness. It was like the howling of a dog at the door of a cabin in which his master lay dead, and the sound of it swept a flood of loneliness into Yan's heart. It was the death-whale of his own last hope which had gone out of him for ever that night. He listened and it came again, but in the middle of it when the long moaning grief of the voice was rising to its full despair there broke in a sharp interruption, a shrieking, yelping cry such as a dog makes when it is suddenly struck. In another moment the forest thrilled with the deep-throated pack-call of the wolf who had started a fresh kill. Hardly had its echoes died away when from deeper in the swamp there came another cry, and still another from the mountain, and up and out of the desolation rose the calls of others of the scattered pack in quick response to the comrade who had first found meat. All the cries were alike, filled with that first wailing grief except that of the swelling throat which was sending forth the call to food. A few minutes and another of the mournful howls changed into the fierce hunt cry, then a second, a third, and a fourth, and the sound of the chase swept swiftly from the swamp to the mountain, up the mountain and down into the barrens. "'A caribou!' cried Yon softly. "'A caribou! and he is going into the barrens. There is no water, and he is lost!' He ran and leaned over beside the old tree so that the great plain stretched out below him. Into the west turned the pack, the hunt cry growing fainter until it almost died away. Then slowly it grew again in volume, swinging into the north, then to the east, approaching nearer and nearer until Yon saw a dark, swiftly moving blot in the white gloom. The caribou passed by within half a rifle-shot of him, another half-rifle-shot behind followed the wolves, flung out, fan-shape, their gray bodies moving like specters in a half-moon cordon, their leaders almost abreast the caribou a dozen rods to each side. There was no sound now. Below him Yon could see the pale glimmer of ice and snow, where in summer there was a small lake. Desperately the caribou made an effort to reach this lake. The wolves drew in. The moon-shape of their bodies shrunk until it was nearer a circle. On the plain side the leading wolf closed until he was running at the caribou's forelegs. The mountain wolf responded on the opposite side. Then came the end, quick, decisive, and without sound. After a few moments there came faintly the snapping of jaws and the crunching of bones. Torn and bleeding, and yet quivering with life, the caribou was given up to the feast. Yon turned away from the scene. Torn and bleeding at his own heart he went back to Lac-Ben. End of Chapter 17. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 18 of The Honor of the Big Snows. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Honor of the Big Snows by James Oliver Curwood. Chapter 18. Brother Yon. When he came into the cabin for breakfast that morning, Yon's face showed signs of the struggle through which he had gone. Cummins had already finished, and he found Melisa alone. Her hair was brushed back in its old smooth way, and when she heard him she flung her long braid over her shoulder so that it fell down in front of her. He saw the movement and smiled his thanks without speaking. "'You don't look well, Yon,' she said anxiously. "'You are pale, and your eyes are bloodshot.' "'I am not feeling right,' he admitted, trying to appear cheerful. "'But this coffee will make a new man of me. You make the best coffee in the world, Melisa.' "'How do you know, brother?' she asked. "'Have you drunk any other than mine since years ago at Churchill and Fjord factory?' "'Only Iowakas. But I know that yours is best, from what I remember of the coffee at the bay.' "'It was a long time ago, wasn't it?' she asked gently, looking at him across the table. I dreamed of those days last night, Yon, though I don't remember anything about your going to Churchill. I must have been too young. But I remember when you went to Nelson-house and how lonely I was. Last night I dreamed that we both went and that we stood together, looking out over the bay, where the tides are washing away the gun-case coffins. I saw the ship that you described to me, too, and thought that we wanted to go out to it, but couldn't. Do you suppose we'll ever go to Churchill together, Yon, and ride on a wonderful ship like that? It may be, Melisa. And then I dreamed that you were gone, and I was alone, and someone else came to me whom I didn't like at all, and tried to make me go to the ship. Wasn't that strange?' She laughed softly as she rose to give him another cup of coffee. What did you mean, Yon-tero, by running away from me like that? To get even with you for running away from me on the mountain, he replied quickly. She paused, the cup half filled, and Yon, looking up, caught her eyes full of mock astonishment. And were you sorry I ran away from you? Right himself his pale cheeks flushed. "'Do you think I was?' he replied equivocally. "'I don't know,' she answered slowly, filling his cup. "'What are you going to do today, Yon? Drive out on the Churchill Trail. Le Dauquan supplies, and he's too busy with his traplines to come in. "'Will you take me?' "'I'm afraid not, Melys. It's a twelve-mile run, and a heavy load. "'Very well. I'll get ready immediately.' She jumped up from the table, darting fun at him with her eyes, and ran to her room. "'It's too far, Melys,' he called after her. "'It's too far, and I have a heavy load. Didn't I take that twenty-mile run with you over to—' "'Oh, dear! Yon, have you seen my new link-skin cap?' "'It's out here, hanging on the wall,' replied Yon, falling into her humor despite himself. "'But I say, Melys, are the dogs ready?' she called. "'If they're not, I'll be dressed before you can harness them, Yon.' "'They'll be here within fifteen minutes,' he replied, surrendering to her. Her merry face, laughing triumph at him through the partly-open door, destroyed the last vestige of his opposition, and he left her with something of the old cheeriness of manner, whistling a gay forest tune as he hurried toward the store. When he returned with the team, Melys was waiting for him, a grey thing of silvery links fur, with her cheeks, lips, and eyes aglow. Her trim little feet clad in soft caribou boots that came to her knees, and with a bunch of the brilliant buck-niche fastened yantily in her cap. "'I've made room for you,' he said in greeting, pointing to the sledge. "'Which I'm not going to fill for five miles at least,' declared Melys. "'Isn't it a glorious morning, Yon? I feel as if I can run from here to lay docks.' With a crack of his whip and a shout, Yon swung the dogs across the open, with Melys running lightly at his side. From their cabin Jean and Iawaka called out shrill adieu. "'The day is not far off when they, too, will be as you and I, my Iawaka,' said Jean in his poetic creed. "'I wager you that it will be before her next birthday.' And Melys was saying, "'I wonder if there are many people as happy as Jean and Iawaka.' She caught her breath, and Yon cracked on the dogs in a spurt that left her panting, a full dozen rods behind him. With a wild hello he stopped the team and waited. "'That's unfair, Yon. You'll have to put me on the sledge.' He tucked her in among the furs and the dogs strained at their traces, with Yon's whip curling and snapping over their backs, until they were leaping swiftly and with unbroken rhythm of motion over the smooth trail. Then Yon gathered in his whip and ran close to the leader, his moccasin feet taking the short, quick, light steps of the trained forest-runner, his chest thrown a little out, his eyes upon the twisting trail ahead. It was a glorious ride, and Melys's eyes danced with joy, her blood thrilled to the tireless effort of the grayish-yellow pack of magnificent brutes ahead of her. She watched the muscular play of their backs and legs, the eager outreaching of their wolfish heads and their half-gaping jaws, and from them she looked to Yon. There was no effort in his running. His pale cheeks were flushed, his black hair swept back from the gray of his cap, gleaming in the sun. Like the dogs there was music in his movement, there was the beauty of strength, of endurance, of manhood born to the forests. Her eyes shone proudly, the color deepened in her cheeks as she looked at him, wondering if there was another man in the world like Yon Tarot. Mile after mile slipped behind, and not until they reached the mountain on which he had fought the missionary did Yon bring his dogs to a walk. Melys jumped from the sledge and ran quickly to his side. "'I can beat you to the top now,' she cried. If you catch me,' there was the old witching challenge in her eyes. She sped up the side of the ridge. Panting and breathless, Yon pursued with the dogs. Her advantage was too great for him to overcome this time, and she stood laughing down at him when he came to the top of the ridge. "'You're as pretty as a fairy, Melys,' he exclaimed, his eyes shining with admiration. "'Prettier than the fairy in the book!' "'Thank you, brother, the one with golden hair?' "'Yes, all of them. "'I can't imagine how a girl would look with golden hair. Can you, Yon?' Before he could answer, she added mischievously. "'Did you see any fairies at Churchill or York Factory?' "'None that could compare with you, Melys.' "'Thank you again, brother, mine. I believe you do still love me a little.' "'More than ever in my life,' replied Yon quickly, though he tried to hold his tongue. As they went on to Ledox, he found that the joyousness of the morning was giving away again to the old gloom and heartache. "'Brother, Yon, brother, Yon, brother, Yon!' The words pounded themselves incessantly in his brain until they seemed to keep time with his steps beside the sledge. They drove him back into his thoughts of the preceding night, and he felt a sense of relief when they reached the trappers. Ledox was stripping the hair-fat from a fox-skin when the team pulled up in front of his cabin. When he saw the daughter of the Factor at Lac-Ben with Yon, he jumped bristly to his feet, flung his cap through the door of the shack, and began bowing and scraping to her with all his might. It was well known in the province of Lac-Ben that many years before Jean de Gravois had lost a little brother who had disappeared one day in the woods. And there were those who hinted that Ledox was that brother. For Jean and he were as like two peas in the ready use of their tongues, and were of the same build and the same bristness. Melyce laughed merrily as Ledox continued to bow before her, rattling away in a delighted torrent of French. Ah, this is one great complima, ma muselle Melyce! He finished at last, breaking for an instant into English. He straightened like a spring and turned to Yon. Did you meet the strange team? We met no team. Ledox looked puzzled. Half a mile away the top of a snow-covered ridge was visible from the cabin. He pointed to it. An hour ago I saw it going westward along the mountain, three men and six dogs. Whom have you out from Lac-Ben? No one, replied Yon. It must have been the new agent from Churchill. We expect him early this winter. Shall we hurry back, Melyce, and see if he has brought our books and violin strings? You must have dinner with me, objected Ledox. Yon caught a quick signal from Melyce. Not today, Ledox. It's early and we have a lunch for the trail. What do you say, Melyce? If you're not tired, Yon? Tired! He tossed the last package from the sledge and cracked his long whip over the dog's backs as they both cried out their farewell to the little Frenchman. Tired! he repeated, running close beside her as the team swung lightly back into the trail and laughing down into her face. How could I ever get tired with you watching me run, Melyce? I wouldn't mind if you did, just a little, Yon. Isn't there room for two? She gave a coquettish little shrug of her shoulders, and Yon leaped upon the moving sledge, kneeling close beside her. Always, always, I have to ask you, she pouted. You needn't get too near, you know, if you don't want to. The old sweet challenge in her voice was irresistible, and for a moment Yon felt himself surrendering to it. He leaned forward until his chin was buried in the silken lynx fur of her coat, and for a single breath he felt the soft touch of her cheek against his own. Then he gave a sudden shout to the dogs, so loud that it startled her, and his whip writhed and snapped twenty feet above their heads like a thing filled with life. He sprang from the sledge and again ran with the team, urging them on faster and faster until they dropped into a panting walk when they came to the ridge, along which Le Dawk, two hours before, had seen the strangers hurrying toward Lac Ban. Stop! cried Mélise, taking this first opportunity to scramble from the sledge. You're cruel to the dogs, Yon. Look at their jaws. See them pant. Yon Tiro, I've never seen you drive like that since the night we were chased in front of the barons by the wolves. And did you ever see me run any faster? He struggled, dropping exhausted upon the ledge. I remember only one other time. He took a long breath, flinging back his arms to bring greater volume of air into his lungs. Wasn't that the night we heard the wolves howling behind us? Mélise asked. No, it was many years ago when I heard, far to the south, that my little Mélise was dying of the plague. Mélise sat down upon the sledge beside him without speaking, and nestled one of her hands a little timidly in one of his big, brown palms. Tell me about it, Yon. That was all. I ran. You wouldn't run as fast for me now, would you? He looked at her boldly and saw that there was not half of the brilliant flush in her cheeks. I ran for you just now, and you didn't like it, he replied. I don't mean that. She looked up at him and her fingers tightened round his own. Away back, years and years and years ago, Yon, you went out to fight the plague and nearly died in it for me. Would you do that much again? I would do more, Mélise. She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes searching him as if in quest of something in his face which he scarce believed in his words. Slowly he rose to his feet, lifting her with him, and when he had done this he took her face between his two hands and looked straight into her eyes. Someday I will do a great deal more for you than that, Mélise, and then— What! she questioned as he hesitated. Then you will know whether I love you as much now as I did years and years and years ago, he finished, gently repeating her words. There was something in his voice that held Mélise silent as he turned to straighten out the dogs. But when he came back, making her comfortable on the sledge, she whispered, I wish you would do it soon, brother Yon. End of chapter 18, recording by Roger Maline CHAPTER XIX OF THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. THE HONOR OF THE BIG SNOWS BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD CHAPTER XIX THE NEW AGENT AND HIS SON THEY DID NOT LUNCH ON THE TRAIL, BUT DROVE INTO THE POST IN TIME FOR DINNER Jean de Gravois and Corset came forth from the store to meet them. You have company, my dear, cried Jean to Mélise. Two gentlemen fresh from London on the last boat, and one of them younger and handsomer than your own Yon Taro. They are waiting for you in the cabin, where Montpere is getting them dinner, and telling them how beautifully you would have made the coffee if you were there. Two, said Yon, as Mélise left them, who are they? The new agent, M. Timothy Dixon, is red as the plague, and fatter than a spawning fish. And his son, who has come along for fun, he says, and I believe he will get what he's after if he remains here very long, Yon Taro, for he looked a little too boldly at my Iowaka when she came into the store just now. MON DIE, laughed Yon, as Gravois took in the four quarters of the earth with a terrible gesture. Can you blame him, Jean? I tell you that I look at Iowaka whenever I get the chance. Is she not worth it? cried Jean in rapture. You are welcome to every look that you can get, Yon Taro. But the foreigner, I will skin him alive and spit him with devil thorn if he so much as peeps at her out of the wrong way of his eye. Cosset spoke. There was once a foreigner who came. You remember? I remember, said Yon. He looked to the white cross which marked Mookie's grave in the edge of the forest, where the shadow of the big spruce fell across it at the end of summer evenings. And he died, said Jean de Gravois, his dark hands clenched. God forgive me, but I hate these red-necked men from across the sea. Cosset shrugged his shoulders. Breeders of two-legged carrion-eaters, he exclaimed fiercely. La Charonne! There are two at Nelson House, and two on the Oldaya, and one. A sharp cry fell from Yon's lips. When Cosset whirled toward him, he stood among his dogs, as white as death, his black eyes blazing as if just beyond him he saw something which filled him with terror. As the man turned, startled by the look, Jean sprang to his side. Saints preserve us, but that was an ugly twist of the hand! he cried shrilly. Next time, turn your sledge by the rib instead of the nose when your dogs are still in the traces. Under his breath he whispered, as he made pretense of looking at Yon's hand. La Diable! Do you want to tell him? Yon tried to laugh as Cosset came to see what had happened. Will you care for the dogs, Henri? asked Jean. It's only a trifling sprain of the wrist which Iawaka can cure with one dose of her liniment. As they walked away, Yon's face still as pallid as the grey snow under their feet, Guavois added. You're a fool, Yon-terreau. There's a crowd at your cabin and you'll have dinner with me. La Charonne! muttered Yon. Les bêtes de Charonne! Jean gripped him by the arm. I tell you that it means nothing, nothing, he said, repeating his words of the previous day in the cabin. You are a man. You must fight it down and forget. No one knows but you and me. You will never tell what you read in the papers, cried Yon quickly. You swear it? By the blessed virgin I swear it. Then, said Yon softly, Mélisse will never know. Never, said Jean. His dark face flashed joyously as Iawaka's sweet voice came to them, singing her Cree lullaby in the little home. Some day Mélisse will be singing that same way over there, and it will be for you, Yon-terreau, as my Iawaka is now singing for me. An hour later Yon went slowly across the open to Cummins' cabin. As he paused for an instant at the door he heard a laugh that was strange to him, and when he opened it to enter he stood perplexed and undecided. Mélisse had risen from the table at the sound of his approach, and his eyes quickly passed from her flushed face to the young man who was sitting opposite her. He caught a nervous tremble in her voice when she said, Mr. Dixon, this is my brother, Yon. The stranger jumped to his feet and held out a hand. I'm glad to know you, Cummins. Terreau corrected Yon quietly as he took the extended hand. Yon, Terreau. Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought—he turned inquiringly to Mélisse. The flush deepened in her cheeks as she began to gather up the dishes. We are of no relation, continued Yon, something impelling him to speak the words with cool precision. Only we have lived under the same roof since she was a baby, and so we have come to be like brother and sister. Miss Mélisse has been telling me about your wonderful run this morning, exclaimed the young Englishman, his face reddening slightly as he detected the girl's embarrassment. I wish I had seen it. There will be plenty of it very soon, replied Yon, caught by the frankness of the other's manner. Our runners will be going out among the trappers within a fortnight. And will they take me? You may go with me, if you can run. I leave the day after tomorrow. Thanks, said Dixon, moving toward the door. Mélisse did not lift her head as he went out. Faintly, she said, I've kept your dinner for you, Yon. Why didn't you come sooner? I had dinner with Gravois, he replied. Jean said that you would hardly be prepared for five, Mélisse, so I accepted his invitation. He took down from the wall a fur sledgecoat, in which Mélisse had mended a rent a day or two before, and throwing it over his arm turned to leave. Yon! he faced her slowly, knowing that in spite of himself there was a strangeness in his manner which she would not understand. Why are you going away the day after tomorrow, two weeks before the others? You didn't tell me. I'm going a hundred miles into the south, he answered. Over the Nelson House trail? Yes. Oh! Her lips curled slightly as she looked at him. Then she laughed, and a bright spot leaped into either cheek. I understand, brother, she said softly. Pardon me for questioning you so. I had forgotten that the McVeigh girl lives on the Nelson trail. Iowaka says that she is as sweet as a wildflower. I wish you would have her come up and visit us some time, Yon. Yon's face went red, then white, but Mélisse saw only the first effect of her random shot, and was briskly gathering up the dishes. I turn off into the Cree Lake country before I reach McVeigh's, he was on the point of saying, but the words hung upon his lips, and he remained silent. A few minutes later he was talking with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman's face was ominously dark, and he puffed furiously upon his pipe when Yon told him why he was leaving it once for the south. Running away, he repeated for the tenth time in French, his thin lips curling in a sneer. I am sorry that I gave you my oath, Yon-terot, else I would go myself and tell Mélisse what I read in the papers. Pish, why can't you forget? I may, some day, said Yon, that is why I am going into the south two weeks early, and I shall be gone until after the big roast. If I remain here another week, I shall tell Mélisse, and then he shrugged his shoulders despairingly. And then what? I should go away forever. Jean snapped his fingers with a low laugh. Then remain another week, Yon-terot, and if it turns out as you say, I swear I will abandon my two Iowakas and little Jean to the wolves. I am going the day after tomorrow. The next morning Iowaka complained to Mélisse that Gravois was as surly as a bear. A wonderful change has come over him, she said. He does nothing but shrug his shoulders and say, Le diable, and the fool. Last night I could hardly sleep because of his growling. I wonder what bad spirit has come into my Jean. Mélisse was wondering the same of Yon. She saw little of him during the day. At noon Dixon told her that he had made up his mind not to accompany Taro on the trip south. The following morning, before she was up, Yon had gone. She was deeply hurt. Never before had he left on one of his long trips without spending his last moments with her. She had purposely told her father to entertain the agent and his son at the store that evening so that Yon might have an opportunity of bidding her good-bye alone. Outside of her thoughts of Yon the days and evenings that followed were pleasant ones for her. The new agent was as jolly as he was fat and took an immense liking to Mélisse. Young Dixon was good-looking and brimming with life and spent a great deal of his time in her company. For hours at a time she listened to his stories of the wonderful world across the sea. As MacDonald had described that life to Yon at Fort Churchill, so he told of it to Mélisse, filling her with visions of great cities, painting picture after picture until her imagination was riot with the beauty and the marvel of it all, and she listened with flaming cheeks and glowing eyes. One day, a week after Yon had gone, he told her about the women in the world which had come to be a fairyland to Mélisse. They are all beautiful over there, she asked wonderingly when he had finished. Many of them are beautiful, but none so beautiful as you, Mélisse, he replied, leaning near to her, his eyes shining. Do you know that you are beautiful? His words frightened her so much that she bowed her head to hide the signs of it in her face. Yon had often spoken those same words a thousand times he had told her that she was beautiful, but there had never been this fluttering of her heart before. There were few things which Iawaka and she did not hold in secret between them, and a day or two later Mélisse told her friend what Dixon had said. For the first time Iawaka abused the confidence placed in her and told Jean. The Diable! gritted Jean, his face blackening. He said no more until night when the children were asleep. Then he drew Iawaka close beside him on a bench near the stove and asked carelessly, Monge, if one makes an oath to the Blessed Virgin and breaks it, what happens? He evaded the startled look in his wife's big black eyes. It means that one will forever be damned unless he confesses to a priest soon after, doesn't it, Marcherie? And if there is no priest nearer than four hundred miles it is a dangerous thing to do, is it not? But he did not wait for an answer. If one might have the oath broken and not do it himself, what then? I don't know, said Iawaka simply, staring at him in amazed questioning. Nor do I, said Jean, lighting his pipe. But there is enough of the devil in Jean de Gravois to make him break a thousand oaths if it was for you, my Iawaka. Her eyes glowed upon him softly. A maiden's soul leaves her body when she becomes the wife of the man she loves. She whispered tenderly in Cree, resting her dark head on Jean's shoulder. That is what my people believe, Jean. And if I have given my soul to you, why should I not break oath for you? For me alone, Iawaka? For you alone? And not for a friend? For no one else in the world, Jean. You are the only one to whom the God of my people bids me make all sacrifice. But you do not believe in that God, Iawaka? Sometimes it is better to believe in the God of my people than in yours, she replied gently. I believed in him fifteen years ago at Churchill. Do you wish me to take back what I gave to you then? In a low cry of happiness, Jean crushed his face against her soft cheek. Believe in him always, my Iawaka, and Jean de Gravois will cut the throat of any missioner who says you will not go to paradise. But this other, you are sure that you would break oath for none but me? And the children, they are a part of you, Jean. A fierce snarling and barking of dogs brought Gravois to the door. They could hear Quassé's raucous voice and the loud cracking of his big whip. I'll be back soon, said Jean, closing the door after him. But instead of approaching Quassé and the fighting dogs, he went in the direction of Cummins' cabin. Devil, take an oath, he growled under his breath. For one God nor the other will let me break it, and Iawaka, least of all. He gritted his teeth as young Dixon's laugh sounded loudly in the cabin. Two fools, he went on communing with himself. Cummins, yantaro, both fools. After twenty. A kiss and the consequences. During the week that followed, Jean's little black eyes were never far distant from Cummins' cabin. Without being observed, he watched Melisse and Dixon, and not even to Iawaka did he give hint of his growing suspicions. Dixon was a man whom most other men liked. There were a fascinating frankness in his voice and manner, strength in his broad shoulders, and a general air of comrade-ship about him, which won all but Jean. The trapline-runners began leaving the post at the end of the second week, and after this Melisse and the young Englishmen were more together than ever. Dixon showed no inclination to accompany the sledges, and when they were gone he and Melisse began taking walks in the forest, when the sun was high and warm. It was on one of these days that Jean had gone along the edge of the caribou swamp that lay between the barrens and the higher forest. As he stopped to examine a fresh lynx trail that cut across the path beaten down by dog and sledge, he heard the sound of voices ahead of him, and a moment later he recognized them as those of Melisse and Dixon. His face clouded, and his eyes snapped fire. Ah, if I was only Yantaro, a Yantaro with the heart of Jean de Gravois, what a surprise I'd give that foreigner, he said to himself, leaping quickly from the trail into the thicket. He peered forth from the bushes, his loyal heart beating a wrathful tattoo when he saw that Dixon dared put his hand on Melisse's arm. They were coming very slowly, the Englishman bending low over the girl's bowed head, talking to her with strange earnestness. Suddenly he stopped, and before Jean could comprehend what had happened he had bent down and kissed her. With a low cry Melisse tore herself free. For an instant she faced Dixon, who stood laughing into her blazing eyes. Then she turned and ran swiftly down the trail. A second cry fell from her startled lips when she found herself face to face with Jean de Gravois. The little Frenchman was smiling. His eyes glittered like black diamonds. Jean! Jean! she sobbed, running to him. He has insulted you, he said softly, smiling into her white face. Run along to the post, ma belle Melisse. He watched her, half turned from the astonished Englishman, until she disappeared in a twist of the trail a hundred yards away. Then he faced Dixon. It is the first time that our Melisse has ever suffered insult, he said, speaking as coolly as if to a child. If Jean Toreau were here he would kill you. He is gone, and I will kill you in his place. He advanced, his white teeth still gleaming in a smile, and not until he launched himself like a cat at Dixon's throat was the Englishman convinced that he meant attack. In a flash Dixon stepped a little to one side and sent out a crashing blow that caught Jean on the side of the head and sent him flat upon his back in the trail. Half stunned, Gravois came to his feet. He did not hear the shrill cry of terror from the twist in the trail. He did not look back to see Melisse standing there. But Dixon both saw and heard, and he laughed tauntingly over Jean's head as the little Frenchman came toward him again, more cautiously than before. It was the first time that Jean had ever come into contact with science. He darted in again, in his quick cat-like way, and received a blow that dazed him. This time he held to his feet. Bah! this is like striking a baby! explained Dixon. What are you fighting about, Gravois? Is it a crime up here to kiss a pretty girl? I am going to kill you! said Jean as coolly as before. There was something terribly calm and decisive in his voice. He was not excited. He was not afraid. His fingers did not go near the long knife in his belt. Slowly the laugh faded from Dixon's face, and tense lines gathered around his mouth as Jean circled about him. Come! we don't want trouble like this, he urged. I'm sorry if Melisse didn't like it. I am going to kill you! repeated Jean. There was an appalling confidence in his eyes. From those eyes Dixon found himself retreating, rather than from the man. They followed him, never taking themselves from his face. The fire in them grew deeper. Two dull red spots began to glow in Jean's cheeks, and he laughed softly when he suddenly leaped in so that the Englishman struck at him and missed. It was the science of the forest man pitted against that of another world. For sport Jean had played with wounded links. This was the quickness of sight, of instinct, without the other science. The quickness of the great loon that had often played the same game with his rifle-fire, of the sledge-dog whose ripping fangs carried death so quickly that eyes could not follow. A third and a fourth time he came within striking distance and escaped. He half drew his knife, and at the movement Dixon sprang back until his shoulders touched the brush. Smilingly Gravois unsheathed the blade and tossed it behind him in the trail. His eyes were like a serpent's in their steadiness, and the muscles of his body were drawn as tight as steel springs, ready to loose themselves when the chance came. There were tricks in his fighting, as well as in the others, and a dawning of it began to grow upon Dixon. He dropped his arms to his side, inviting Jean within reach. Suddenly the little Frenchman straightened. His glittering eyes shot from the Englishman's face to the brush behind him, and a piercing yell burst from his lips. Involuntarily Dixon started, half turning his face, and before he had come to his guard Gravois flung himself under his arms, breaking with the full force of his body against his antagonist's knees. Together they went down in the trail. There was only one science now, that of the forest man. The lithe brown figures that could have crushed the life of a lynx fastened themselves around the Englishman's throat, and there came one gasping, quickly throttled cry as they tightened in their neck-breaking grip. "'I will kill you!' said Jean again. Dixon's arms fell limply to his side. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His mouth was agape, but Jean did not see. His face was buried on the other shoulder, the whole life of him in the grip. He would not have raised his head for a full minute longer had there not come a sudden interruption, the terrified voice of Mélis, the frantic tearing of her hands at his hands. "'He is dead!' she shrieked. "'You have killed him, Jean!' he loosed his fingers and sat up. Mélis staggered back, clutching with her hands at her breast, her face as white as the snow. "'You have killed him!' Jean looked into Dixon's eyes. "'He is not dead,' he said, rising and going to her side. "'Come, machère, run home to Iawaka. I will not kill him.' Her slender form shook with agonized sobs as he led her to the turn in the trail. "'Run home to Iawaka!' he repeated gently. "'I will not kill him, Mélis.' He went back to Dixon and rubbed snow over the man's face. "'Monteur, but it was near to it,' he exclaimed, as there came a flicker of life into the eyes. A little more, and he would have been with the missioner.' He dragged the Englishman to the side of the trail and set his back to a tree. When he saw that fallen foeman's breath was coming more strongly, he followed slowly after Mélis. When observed he went into the store and washed the blood from his face, chuckling with huge satisfaction when he looked at himself in the little glass which hung over the wash basin. "'Ah, my sweet Iawaka! But would you guess now that Jean de Gravois had received two clouts on the side of the head that almost sent him into the Blessed hereafter? I would not have had you see it for all the gold in this world.' A little later he went to the cabin. Iawaka and the children were at Quassé's and he sat down to smoke a pipe. Scarce had he begun sending up blue clouds of smoke when the door opened and Mélis came in. "'Hello, ma cher,' he cried gaily, laughing at her with a wave of his pipe. In an instant she had flung the shawl from her head and was upon her knees at his feet. Her white face turned up to him pleadingly, her breath falling upon him in panting, sobbing excitement. "'Jean, Jean,' she whispered, stretching up her hands to his face. "'Please tell me that you will never tell Jan. Please tell me that you never will, Jean. Never, never, never.' "'I will say nothing, Mélis.' "'Never, Jean?' "'Never.' For a sobbing breath she dropped her head upon his knees. Then suddenly she drew down his face and kissed him. "'Thank you, Jean, for what you have done?' "'Montier,' gasped Jean when she had gone. "'What if Iawaka had been here then?' END OF CHAPTER XX THE DAY FOLLOWING THE FIGHT IN THE FOREST, Dixon found Jean de Gravois alone and came up to him. "'Gravois, will you shake hands with me?' he said. "'I want to thank you for what you did to me yesterday. I deserved it. I have asked Miss Mélis to forgive me, and I want to shake hands with you.' Jean was thunderstruck. He had never met this kind of man. "'Could the entre?' he ejaculated, when he had come to his senses. "'Yes, I will shake hands.' For several days after this Jean could see that Mélis made an effort to evade him. She did not visit Iawaka when he was in the cabin. Neither did she and Dixon go again into the forest. The young Englishman spent more of his time at the store, and just before the trappers began coming in he went on a three-day sledge trip with Quassé. The change delighted Jean. The first time he met Mélis after the fight his eyes flashed pleasure. "'Jan will surely be coming home soon,' he greeted her. "'What if the birds tell him what happened out there on the trail?' She flushed Scarlet. "'Perhaps the same birds will tell us what has happened down in the Nelson House trail, Jean,' she retorted. "'Poof! Yantaro doesn't give a snap of his small finger for the McVeigh girl,' Jean replied, warm, in defense of his friend. "'She is pretty,' laughed Mélis. "'And I have just learned that is why men like to—like them, I mean.' Jean strutted before her like a peacock. "'Am I pretty, Mélis?' "'No.' "'Then why?' he shrugged his shoulder suggestively. "'In the cabin.' "'Because you are brave, Jean. I love brave men.' "'You were glad that I pummeled the stranger, then?' Mélis did not answer, but he caught a laughing sparkle in the corner of her eye as she left him. "'Come home, Yantaro,' he hummed softly as he went to the store. "'Come home, come home, come home, for the little Mélis has grown into a woman, and is learning to use her eyes.' Among the first of the trappers to come in with his furs was McVeigh. He brought word that Yant had gone south to spend the annual holiday at Nelson House, and Cummins told Mélis whence the message came. He did not observe the slight change that came into her face, and went on, "'I don't understand this in Yant. He is needed here for the carnival. Did you know that he was going to Nelson House?' Mélis shook her head. "'McVeigh says they have made him an offer to go down there as chief man,' continued the factor. "'It is strange that he has sent no explanation to me.' It was a week after the big caribou roast before Yant returned to Lac-Bain. Mélis saw him drive in from the Churchill Trail, but while her heart fluttered excitedly, she steeled herself to meet him with at least an equal show of the common difference with which he had left her six weeks before. The coolness of his leave-taking still wrangled bitterly in her bosom. He had not kissed her. He had not even passed his last evening with her. But she was not prepared for the changed Yantoreau who came slowly through the cabin door. His hair and beard had grown, covering the smooth cheeks which he had always kept closely shaven. His eyes glowed with dull pleasure as she stood waiting for him, but there was none of the old flash and fire in them. There was a strangeness in his manner, an uneasiness in the shifting of his eyes, which caused the half-defiant flush to fade slowly from her cheeks before either had spoken. She had never known this Yant before, and her fortitude left her as she approached him, wonderingly, silent, her hands reaching out to him. "'Yant!' she said. Her voice trembled, her lips quivered. There was the old glorious pleading in her eyes, and before it Yant bowed his unkempt head and crushed her hands tightly in his own. For a half-minute there was silence, and in that half-minute there came a century between them. At last Yant spoke. "'I'm glad to see you again, Mélis. It has seemed like a very long time.' He lifted his eyes. Before them the girl involuntarily shrank back, and Yant freed her hands. In them she saw none of the old love-glow, nothing of their old comradeship. Inscrutable, reflecting no visible emotion, they passed from her to the violin hanging on the wall. "'I have not played in so long,' he said, turning from her, "'that I believe I have forgotten.' He took down the instrument, and his fingers traveled clumsily over the strings. His teeth gleamed at her from out his half-inch growth of beard, as he said, "'Ah! you must play for me now, Mélis. It has surely gone from Yant at all.' He held out the violin to her. "'Not now, Yant,' she said tremulously, "'I will play for you to-night.' He went to the door of her room, hesitating for a moment, with her back to him. "'You will come to supper, Yant?' "'Surely, Mélis, if you are prepared.' He hung up the violin as she closed the door and went from the cabin. Jean de Gravois and Iowaka were watching for him, and Jean hurried across the open to meet him. "'I am coming to offer you the loan of my razor,' he cried gaily. "'Iowaka says that you will be taken for a bear if the trappers see you.' "'A beard is good to keep off the black flies,' replied Yant. "'It is approaching summer, and the black flies love to feast upon me. "'Let us go down the trail, Jean. I want to speak with you.' Where there had been wood-cutting in the deep spruce, they sat down, facing each other. Yant spoke in French. "'I have traveled far since leaving Lac-Bain,' he said. I went first to Nelson-House, and from there to the Holdaya. I found them at Nelson-House, but not in the Holdaya.' "'What?' asked Jean, though he knew well what the other meant. "'My brother's, Jean de Gravois,' answered Yant, drawing his lips until his teeth gleamed in a sneering smile. "'My brother's, Les Bêtes de Charonne.' "'Devil te croissait for telling you where they were,' muttered Jean under his breath. "'I saw the two at Nelson-House,' continued Yant. "'One of them is a half-wit, and the other,' he hunched his shoulders. "'Is worse.' "'Pétro, one of the two who were at Holdaya, was killed by a creed father last winter for dishonoring his daughter. The other disappeared. "'Jean was silent,' his head leaning forward, his face resting in his hands. "'So you see, Jean de Gravois, what sort of creature is your friend, Yant de Role?' Jean raised his head until his eyes were on a level with those of his companion. "'I see that you are a bigger fool than ever,' he said quietly. "'Yant de Role, what if I should break my oath and tell me lease?' Unflinching the men's eyes met. A dull glare came into Yant's. Slowly he unsheathed his long knife and placed it upon the snow between his feet, with the gleaming end of the blade pointing toward Gravois. With a low cry Jean sprang to his feet. "'Do you mean that, Yant de Role? Do you mean to give the knife challenge to one who has staked his life for you, and who loves you as a brother?' "'Yes,' said Yant deliberately. "'I love you, Jean, more than any other man in the world. And yet I will kill you if you betray me to me lease.' He rose to his feet and stretched out his hands to the little Frenchman. "'Jean, wouldn't you do as I am doing? Wouldn't you have done as much for Iowaka?' For a moment Gravois was silent. "'I would not have taken her love without telling her,' he said then. "'That is not what you and I know as honour, Yant de Role. But I would have gone to her, as you should now go to me lease. And she would have opened her arms to me, as me lease would open hers to you. That is what I would have done.' "'And that is what I shall never do,' said Yant decisively, turning toward the post. "'I could kill myself more easily. That is what I wanted to tell you, Jean. No one but you and I must ever know.' "'I would like to choke that fool of a croisset for sending you to hunt up those people at Nelson House and Ordaya,' grumbled Jean. "'It was best for me.' They saw me lease leaving Iowaka's home when they came from the forest. Both waved their hands to her and Yant cut across the open to the store. Jean went to the Cummins' cabin as soon as he was sure that he was not observed. There was a little of the old vivacity in his manner, as he greeted me lease. He noted too that the girl was not her natural self. There was a redness under her eyes which told him that she had been crying. "'Me lease!' he said at last, speaking to her with his eyes fixed on the cap he was twisting in his fingers. There has come a great change over Yant. "'A very great change, Jean. If I were to guess, I should say that his heart has been broken down on the Nelson Trail.' Gravois caught the sharp meaning in her voice, which trembled a little as she spoke. He was before her in an instant. His cap fallen to the floor, his eyes blazing as he caught her by the arms. "'Yes, the heart of Yantaro is broken,' he cried. "'But it has been broken by nothing that lives in the Nelson House Trail. It is broken because of you.' "'I,' me lease, drew back from him with a breathless cry. "'I? I have broken.' "'I did not say that,' interrupted Jean. "'I say that it is broken because of you.' "'Monteur, if only I might tell you.' "'Do, do, Jean. Please tell me,' she put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes implored him. "'Tell me what I have done, what I can do, Jean.' "'I can say that much to you and no more,' he said quietly. "'Only know this, Marchere, that there is a great grief eating at the soul of Yantaro, and that because of this grief he is changed. I know what this grief is, but I am pledged never to reveal it. It is for you to find out, and to do this, above all else, let him know that you love him.' The color had faded from her startled face, but now it came back again in a swift flood. "'That I love him?' "'Yes. Not as a sister any longer may lease, but as a woman.' End of Chapter 21. Recording by Roger Maline. Chapter 22 of The Honor of the Big Snows. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline. The Honor of the Big Snows by James Oliver Kerwood. Chapter 22. Her Promise. Gravois did not stay to see the effect of his last words. Only he knew, as he went through the door, that her eyes were following him, and that if he looked at her she would call him back. So he shut the door quickly behind him, fearing that he had already said too much. James and Yon came in together at supper time. The factor was in high humor. An Indian from the porcupine had brought in two Silver Fox that morning, and he was immensely pleased at Yon's return, a combination of incidents which put him in the best of moods. May lease sat opposite Yon at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red buck niche into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her throat. But Yon gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor, which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the old familiarity on her part. Has McVeigh put in his new trapline? Cummins inquired, after asking Yon many questions about his trip. I don't know, replied Yon. I didn't go to McVeigh's. Obviously he held his eyes from May lease. She understood his effort, and a quick flush gathered in her cheeks. It was McVeigh who brought in word of you, persisted the factor, oblivious of the effect of his questions. I met him in the Cread Lake country, but he said nothing of his traplines. He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from the cabin. Peace came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his arm. You are going to stay with me, Yon! She smiled. I want your help with the dishes, and then we're going to play in the violin. She pulled him into a chair, as Cummins left, and tied an apron about his shoulders. Close your eyes, and don't move, she commanded, laughing into his surprised face as she ran into her room. A moment later she returned with one hand held behind her back. The hut blood surged through Yon's veins when he felt her fingers running gently through his long hair. There came the snip of scissors, a little nervous laugh close to his head, and then again the snip, snip, snip of the scissors. It's terribly long, Yon! Her soft hand brushed his bearded cheek. Oh! she shuddered. You must take that off your face. If you don't. Why, he asked, through lack of anything else to say. She lowered her head until her cheek pressed against his own. Because it feels like bristles, she whispered. She reddened fiercely when he remained silent, and the scissors snipped more rapidly between her fingers. I'm going to prospect a big swamp along the edge of the barrens this summer," he explained soon, laughing to relieve the tension. A beard will protect me from the black flies. You can grow another. She took the apron from about his shoulders and held it so that he could see the result of her work. He looked up, smiling. Thank you, Mellise. Do you remember when you last cut my hair? Yes, it was over on the mountain. We had taken the scissors along for cutting bach niche, and you looked so like a wild Indian that I made you sit on a rock and let me trim it. And you cut my ear, he reminded. For which you made me pay, she retorted quickly, almost under her breath. She went to the cupboard behind the stove and brought out her father's shaving mug and razor. I insist that you shall use them, she said, stirring the soap into a lather and noting the indecision on his face. I am afraid of you. Afraid of me? He stood for a moment in front of the little mirror, turning his face from side to side. Mellise handed him the razor and cup. You don't seem like the yarn that I used to know once upon a time. There's been a great change in you since—since—she hesitated. Since when, Mellise? Since the day we came in from the mountain and I put up my hair. With timid sweetness, she added, I haven't had it up again, yarn. She caught a glimpse of his lathered face in the glass, staring at her with big, seeking eyes. He turned them quickly away when he saw that she was looking and Mellise set to work at the dishes. She had washed them before he finished shaving. Then she took down the old violin from the wall and began to play, her low, sweet voice accompanying the instrument in a creme melody which Iowaka had taught her during yarn's absence at Nelson House and the Quedaya. Surprised he faced her, his eyes glowing as there fell from her lips the gentle love-song of a heartbroken Indian maiden, filled with its infinite sadness and despair. He knew the song. It was a lyric of the Crees. He had heard it before, but never as it came to him now, sobbing its grief in the low notes of the violin, speaking to him with immeasurable pathos from the trembling throat of Mellise. He stood silent until she had finished, staring down upon her bowed head. When she lifted her eyes to him, he saw that her long lashes were wet and glistening in the lamp-glow. It is wonderful, Mellise. You have made beautiful music for it. Thank you, yarn. She played again, her voice humming with exquisite sweetness the wordless music which he had taught her. At last she gave him the violin. Now you must play for me. I have forgotten a great deal, Mellise. She was astonished to see how clumsily his brown fingers traveled over the strings. As she watched him, her heart thrilled uneasily. It was not the old yarn who was playing for her now, but a new yarn, whose eyes shone dull and passionless, in whom there was no stir of the old spirit of the violin. He wandered listlessly from one thing to another, and after a few minutes gave her the instrument again. Without speaking she rose from her chair and hung the violin upon the wall. You must practice a great deal, she said quietly. At her movement he too rose from his seat, and when she turned to him again he had his cap in his hand. A flash of surprise shot into her eyes. Are you going so soon, yarn? I am tired, he said, in excuse. It has been two days since I have slept, Mellise. Good night! He smiled at her from the door, but the good night which fell from her lips was lifeless and unmeaning. Yon shivered when he went out. Under the cold stars he clenched his hands, knowing that he had come from the cabin none too soon. Choking back the grief of this last meeting with Mellise, he crossed to the company store. It was late when Cummins returned home. Mellise was still up. He looked at her sharply over his shoulder as he hung up his coat and hat. Has anything come between you and Yon? he asked suddenly. Why have you been crying? Sometimes the tears come when I am playing the violin, father. I know of nothing that has come between Yon and me, only I don't understand. She stopped, struggling hard to keep back the sobs that were trembling in her throat. Neither do I understand, exclaimed the factor going to the stove to light his pipe. He gave me his resignation as a paid servant of the company tonight. He is not going to leave the post, breathed Mellise. He is leaving the service, reiterated her father. That means he cannot long live at Lac Ban. He says he is going into the woods, perhaps into Jean's country of the Athabasca. Has he told you more? Nothing, said Mellise. She was upon her knees in front of the little bookcase. A blinding film burned in her eyes. She caught her breath, struggling hard to master herself before she faced her father again. For a moment the factor went into his room and she took this opportunity of slipping into her own, calling good night to him from the partly closed door. The next day it was Quassé who went along the edge of the barons for meat. Gravois found Yon filling a new shoulder-pack with supplies. It was their first encounter since he had learned that Yon had given up the service. Diable, he fairly hissed, standing over him as he packed his flour and salt in a rubber bag. Diable, I say, Monsieur Yon-terreau. Yon looked up, smiling, to see the little Frenchman fairly quivering with rage. Bonjour, Monsieur Jean de Gravois, he laughed back. You see, I am going out among the foxes. The devils snapped Jean. No, the foxes, my dear Jean. I am tired of the post. I can make better wage for my time in the swamps to the west. Think of it, Jean. It has been many years since you have trapped there, and the foxes must be eating up the country. Jean's thin lips were almost snarling. Blessed saints! And it was I who— He spun upon his heels without another word and went straight to Mélis. Yon-terreau is going to leave the post, he announced fiercely, throwing out his chest and glaring at her accusingly. So father has told me, said Mélis. Her cheeks were colorless, and there were purplish lines under her eyes, but she spoke with exceeding calmness. Mondeur! exclaimed Jean, whirling again. You take it so coolly! A little later Mélis saw Yon coming from the store. When he entered the cabin his dark face betrayed the strain under which he was laboring, but his voice was unnaturally calm. I have come to say good-bye, Mélis, he said. I am going to prospect for a good trapline among the barons. I hope you will have good luck, Yon. In her voice too was a firmness almost metallic. For the first time in his life Yon held out his hand to her. She started, and for an instant the blood surged from her heart to her face. Then she gave him her own and looked him squarely and unflinchingly in the eyes. "'Will you wait a moment?' she asked. She hurried into her room and scarcely had she gone before she reappeared again, this time with a flush burning in her cheeks and her eyes shining brightly. She had unbraided her hair and it lay coiled upon the crown of her head, glistening with crimson sprigs of bachniche. She came to him a second time and once more gave him her hand. "'I don't suppose you care now,' she said coldly and yet laughing in his face. I have not broken my promise. It was silly, wasn't it?' He felt as if his blood had been suddenly chilled to water and he fought to choke back the thick throbbing in his throat. "'You promised?' he could not go further. "'I promised that I would not do up my hair again until you had forgotten to love me,' she finished for him. "'I will do it up now.' He bowed his head and she could see his shoulders quiver under their thick caribou coat. Her tense lips parted and she raised her arms as if on the point of stretching them out to him, but his voice came evenly, without a quiver, yet filled with the dispassionate truth of what he spoke. "'I have not forgotten to love you, Mellies. I shall never cease to love my little sister. But you are older now and it is time for you to do up your hair.' He turned, without looking at her again, leaving her standing with her arms still half stretched out to him and went from the cabin. "'Good-bye, Yann!' The words fell in a sobbing whisper from her, but he had gone too far to hear. Through the window she saw him shake hands with Cummins in front of the company's store. She watched him as he went to the cabin of Iowaka and Jean. Then she saw him shoulder his pack, and with bowed head disappears slowly into the depths of the black spruce forest. CHAPTER XXIII All that spring and summer Yann spent in the thick caribou swamps and low ridge mountains along the barrens. It was two months before he appeared at the post again, and then he remained only long enough to patch himself up and secure fresh supplies. Mellies had suffered quietly during these two months, a grief and loneliness filling her heart which none knew but herself. Even from Iowaka she kept her unhappiness a secret, and yet when the gloom had settled heaviest upon her she was still buoyed up by a persistent hope. Until Yann's last visit to Lac-Ben this hope never quite went out. The first evening after his arrival from the swamps to the west he came to the cabin. His beard had grown again. His hair was long and shaggy and fell in shining dishevelment upon his shoulders. The sensitive beauty of his great eyes, once responsive to every passing humor in Mellies, flashing fun at her laughter, glowing softly in their devotion, was gone. His face was filled with the age-old silence of the forest man. Only and yet gently it repelled whatever of the old things she might have said and done, holding her away from him as if by power of a strong hand. This time Mellies knew that there was left not even the last comforting spark of hope within her bosom. Yann had gone out of her life forever, leaving to her, as a haunting ghost of what they too had once been to each other, the old violin on the cabin wall. After he went away again the violin became more and more to her what it had once been to him. She played it as he had played it, sobbing her loneliness and her heartbreak through its strings, in lone hours clasping it to her breast and speaking to it as Yann had talked to it in years gone by. If you could only tell me, if you only could, she whispered to it one day when the autumn was drawing near, if you could tell me about him and what I might do, dear old violin. Once during the autumn Yann came in for supplies and traps and his dogs and sledge. He was planning to spend the winter two hundred miles to the west in the country of the Athabasca. He was at Lac-Ben for a week and during this time a mail-runner came in from Fort Churchill. The runner brought a new experience into the life of Mellise, her first letter. It was from Young Dixon, twenty or more closely written pages of it in which he informed her that he was going to spend a part of the approaching winter at Lac-Ben. He was reading the last page when Yann came into the cabin. Her cheeks were slightly flushed by this new excitement which was reflected in her eyes as she looked at Yann. A letter, she cried, holding out her two hands filled with the pages. A letter to me, Yann, all the way from Fort Churchill. Who in the world, he began smiling at her and stopped. It's from Mr. Dixon, she said, the flush deepening in her cheeks. He's going to spend part of the winter with us. I'm glad of that, Mellise, said Yann quietly. I like him and would like to know him better. I hope he will bring you some more books and strings, he glanced at the old violin. Do you play much? A great deal, she replied. Won't you play for me, Yann? My hands are too rough and besides I've forgotten all that I ever knew. Even the things you played when I was a baby? I think I have, Mellise, but you must never forget them. I shall remember them, always, she answered softly. Some day it may be that I will teach them to you again. He did not see her again until six months later when he came into the caribou roast with his furs. Then he learned that another letter had come to me, Mellise, and that Dixon had gone to London instead of coming to Lac Ban. The day after the carnival he went back into the country of the Athabasca. Spring did not see him at Lac Ban. Early summer brought no news of him. In the floods Jean went by the waterway to the Athabasca and found Thoreau's cabin abandoned. There had not been life in it for a long time. The Indians said that since the melting snows they had not seen Yann. A half-breed whom Jean met at Fond du Lac said that he had found the bones of a white man on the beaver with the Hudson's Bay gun and a horn-handled knife beside them. Jean came back to Lac Ban heavy at heart. There is no doubt but that he is dead, he told Iawaka. I do not believe that it will hurt very much if you tell Mellise. One day early in September a lone figure came into the post at noon when the company's people were at dinner. He carried a pack and six dogs trailed at his heels. It was Yann Thoreau. I have been down to civilization, was his explanation. I have returned to spend this winter at Lac Ban.