 Book 2, Chapter 6, of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, a tale of the McLeod Trail. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kay Hand. Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, Book 2, Chapter 6, a Sabbath day in late August. It was a Sabbath day in late August, and in no month of the year does a Sabbath day so chime with the time. For the Sabbath is a day for rest and holy thought, and the late August is the rest time of the year, when the woods and fields are all asleep in a slumbrous blue haze. The sacred time, too, for in late August Old Mother Earth is breathing her holiest aspirations heavenward, having made offering of her best in the full fruitage of the year. Hence a Sabbath day in late August chimes marvelously well with the time. And this particular Sabbath day was perfect of its kind, a dreamy drowsy day, a day when genial suns and hazy cool airs mingle in excellent harmony, and the tired worker freed from his week's toil, basks and stretches, yawns and revels in rest under the orchard trees, unless indeed he goes to morning church. And to morning church Cameron went as a rule, but today, owing to a dull ache in his head and a general sense of langer pervading his limbs, he had chosen instead as likely to be more healing to his aching head and his languid limbs, the genial sun, tempered with cool and lazy airs under the orchard trees. And hence he lay, watching the Democrat down the lane driven off to church by Perkins, with Mandy beside him in the front seat, the seat of authority and of activity, and Mr. Haley alone in the back seat, the seat of honor and of retirement. Mrs. Haley was too overborn by the heat and rush of the busy week to adventure the heat and dust of the road, and to sustain the somewhat strenuous discourse of the Reverend Harper Freeman to whose flock the Haley's belonged. This, however, was not Mrs. Haley's invariable custom. It was the cooler weather it was her habit to drive on a Sunday morning to church, sitting in the back seat beside her husband, with Tim and Mandy occupying the front seat beside the hired man. But during the heat and hurry of the harvest time she would take advantage of the quietness of the house and of two or three hours respite from the burden of household duties to make up arrears of sleep accumulated during the preceding week, salving her conscience, for she had a conscience in the matter, but she might go in the evening when it was cooler and when she was more rested. This promise, however, having served its term, was never fulfilled. For by the evening the wheels of household toil began once more to turn, and Mrs. Haley found it easier to worship vicariously, sending Mandy and Tim to the evening service. And to this service the young people were by no means loath to go, for it was held on fair evenings in McBurdy's Woods, two miles away by the road, one mile by the path through the woods. On occasion Perkins would hitch up in the single buggy Dexter, the fiery young colt, too fiery for any other to drive, and as a special attention to his employer's daughter would drive her to the service. But since the calming of Cameron Mandy had allowed this custom to fall into disuse. At first somewhat to Perkins' relief, for the colt was restless and fretted against the tyrain. And besides Perkins was not as yet quite prepared to acknowledge any special relationship between himself and the young lady in question before the assembled congregation, preferring to regard himself and to be regarded by others as a freelance. Later, however, as Mandy's preference for a walk through the woods became more marked, Perkins, much to his disgust, found himself reduced to the attitude of a suppliant, urging the superior attraction of a swift drive behind Dexter as against a weary walk to the service. Mandy, however, with the directness of her simple nature, had no compunction in frankly maintaining her preference for a walk with Tim and Cameron through the woods. Indeed, more than once she allowed Perkins to drive off with his fiery colt alone in his glory. But this sabbath morning, as Cameron lay under the orchard trees, he was firmly resolved that he would give the whole day to the nursing of the ache in his head and the painful langer in his body. In so lying, he allowed his mind to wander uncontrolled over the happenings of the past months, troubled by a lazy consciousness of a sore spot somewhere in his life. Gradually, there grew into clearness the realization of the cause of this sore spot. What is the matter with Perkins? he asked of Tim, who had declined to go to church and who had strolled into the orchard to be near his friend. What is the matter with Perkins? Cameron asked a second time, for Tim was apparently too much engaged with a late harvest apple to answer. How? said the boy at length. He is so infertily grumpy with me. Grumpy? He soar, I guess. Soar? You bet, ever since I beat him in the turnips that day. Ever since you beat him, asked Cameron in amazement, why should he be sore against me? He knows it was you done it, said Tim. Nonsense, Tim. Besides Perkins isn't a baby. He surely doesn't hold that against me. Uh-huh, said Tim. Everybody's poking fun at him and he hates that and ever since the picnic, too, he hates you. But why in the world? Oh, shucks, said Tim, impatient at Cameron's density. I guess you know all right. No, not I. Get out. Honor, bright Tim, replied Cameron, sitting up. Now, honestly tell me, Tim, why in the world Perkins should hate me? You put his nose out of joint, I guess, said Tim with a grin. Oh, rot, Tim, how? Every how, said Tim, proceeding to elaborate. First, when you came here you were no good. I mean, Tim checked himself hastily. I know what you mean, Tim. Go on. You are quite right. I couldn't do anything on the farm. Now, continued Tim, you can do anything just as good as him. Except binding, of course. He's a terror at binding. But at pitching and shocking and loading you're just as good. But, Tim, that's all nonsense. Perkins isn't such a fool as to hate me because I can keep up my end. He don't like you, said Tim stubbornly. But why? Why in the name of common sense? Well, said Tim, summing up the situation. Before you come, he used to be the whole thing. Now, he's got to play second fiddle. But Cameron remained unenlightened. Opshaw, continued Tim, making further concessions to his friend's stupidity. At the dances, at the raisins, running, jumping, everything. Perkins used to be the king bee. Now, Tim's silence furnished an impressive close to the contrast. Why, they all think you were just fine, said Tim with a sudden burst of confidence. They? All of the boys? Yes, and the girls too, said Tim, allowing a solemn face, the unusual luxury of a smile. The girls? Ah, you know well enough the Murray girls and the Mackenzie's and the whole lot of them. And then, and then there's Mandy too. Here, Tim shot a keen glance at his friend, who now sat leaning against the trunk of an apple tree with his eyes closed. Now, Tim, you are a shrewd little chap. Here, Cameron sat upright. But how do you know about the girls, and what does this you say about Mandy? Mandy is good to me, very kind in all that, but... She used to like Perkins pretty well, said Tim, with a kind of hesitating shyness. And Perkins? Oh, he thought he just owned her. Guess he ain't so sure now, added Tim. I guess you've changed Mandy all right. It was the one thing Cameron hated to hear, but he made light of it. Oh, nonsense, he exclaimed. But if I did, I would be mighty glad of it. Mandy is too good for a man like Perkins. Why, he isn't safe. He's a terror, replied Tim seriously. They are all scared of him. He's a terror to fight. And as he's raising last year, he just went around foaming like an old boar, and nobody deaths say a word to him. Even Mack Murray was scared to touch him. When he gets like that, he ain't afraid of nothing, and he's awfully quick and strong. Tim proceeded to enlarge upon this theme, which apparently fascinated him, with tales of Perkins' prowess in rough and tumble fighting. But Cameron had lost interest and was lying down again with his eyes closed. Well, he said, when Tim had finished his recital, if he is that kind of a man, Mandy should have nothing to do with him. But Tim was troubled. Dad likes him, he said gloomily. He is a good hand. And Ma likes him too. He taffies her up. And Mandy, inquired Cameron. I don't know, said Tim, still more gloomy. I guess he kind of makes her. I'd just like to take a lump out of him. Tim's eyes blazed into a sudden fire. He runs things on this farm altogether too much. Buck up them, Tim, and beat him, said Cameron, dismissing the subject. And now I must have some sleep. I've got an awful head on. Tim was quick enough to understand the hint, but still he hovered about. Say, I'm awful sorry, he said. Can I get something? You didn't eat no breakfast. Oh, all I want is sleep, Tim. I'll be all right tomorrow, replied Cameron, touched by the tone of sympathy in Tim's voice. You are a fine little chap. Trot along and let me sleep. But no sleep came to Cameron, partly because of the hammer knocking in his head, but chiefly because of the thought set going by Tim. Cameron was not abnormally egotistical, but he was delightedly aware of the new place he held in the community ever since the now-famous Dominion Day picnic. And now that the harvest rush had somewhat slackened, social engagements had begun to crowd upon him. Dances and frolics, coon hunts and raisins were becoming the vogue throughout the community, and no social function was complete without the presence of Cameron. But this sudden popularity had its embarrassments, and among them, and threatening to become annoying, was the hostility of Perkins, veiled as yet, but nonetheless real. Moreover, behind Perkins stood a band of young fellows of whom he was the recognized leader and over whom his ability in the various arts and crafts of the farm, his physical prowess in sports, his gay cheery manner, and, it must be said, the reputation he bore for a certain fierce brute courage in rough-and-tumble fighting gave him a sort of ascendancy. But Perkins' attitude toward him did not after all cause Cameron much concern. There was another and more annoying cause of embarrassment, and that was Mandy. Tim's words kept reiterating themselves in his brain. You've changed Mandy all right. Over this declaration of Tim's, Cameron proceeded to argue with himself. He sat bolt upright that he might face himself on the matter. Now then, he said to himself, let's have this thing out. Most willingly, this girl was on the way to engagement to this young man Perkins. You come on the scene, everything has changed. Well, what of it? It's a mighty good thing for her. But you are the cause of it. The occasion, rather. No, the cause. You have attracted her to you. I can't help that. Besides, it is a mere passing whim. She'll get over all that. And Cameron laughed scornfully in his own face. Do you know that? And how do you know it? Tim thinks differently. He'll confound it all. I see that I shall have to get out of here. A wise decision truly, and the sooner, the better. Do you propose to go at once? At once? Well, I should like to spend the winter here. I have made a number of friends and life is beginning to be pleasant. Exactly. It suits your convenience. But how about Mandy? Oh, rubbish. Must I be governed by the fancies of that silly girl? Besides, the whole thing is absurdly ridiculous. But facts are stubborn, and anyone can see that the girl is... Hang it all. I'll go at the end of the month. Very well. And then leave taking? What? It is pleasant to be appreciated and to carry away with one memories. I will not say tender, but appreciative. I can't act like a bore. I must be decent to the girl. Besides, she isn't altogether a fool. No, but very crude, very primitive, very passionate, and therefore very defenseless. All right, I shall simply shake hands and go. So with a consequent sense of relief that high resolve always brings, Cameron lay down again and fell into slumber and dreams of home. From these dreams of home, Mandy recalled him with a summons to dinner. As his eye, still filled with the visions of his dreams, fell upon her in awe the glorious splendor of her Sunday dress, he was conscious of a strong sense of repulsion. How coarse, how crude, how vulgar she appeared, how horribly out of keeping with those scenes through which he had just been wandering in his dreams. I want no dinner, Mandy, he said shortly. I have a bad head and I am not hungry. No dinner? That a man should not want dinner was to Mandy quite inexplicable unless indeed he were ill. Are you sick? She cried in alarm. No, I have a headache. It will pass away, said Cameron, turning over on his side. Still Mandy lingered. Let me bring you a nice piece of pie and a cup of tea. Cameron shuddered. No, he said. Bring me nothing. I merely wish to sleep. But Mandy refused to be driven away. Say, I'm awful sorry, I know you're sick. Nonsense, said Cameron, impatiently waiting for her to be gone. Still Mandy hesitated. I'm awful sorry, she said again, and her voice, deep, tender, full tone revealed her emotion. Cameron turned impatiently towards her. Look here Mandy, there's nothing wrong with me. I only want a little sleep. I shall be all right tomorrow. But Mandy's fears were not to be allayed. Say, she cried, you look awful bad. Oh get out Mandy, go and get your dinner, don't mind me. Cameron's tone was decidedly cross. Without further remonstrance, Mandy turned silently away. But before she turned, Cameron caught the gleam of tears in the great blue eyes. A swift compunction seized him. I say, Mandy, I don't want to be rude, but... Rude, cried the girl, you? You couldn't be. You were always good to me and I don't know. Hear her voice broke. Oh come Mandy, get away to dinner, you're a good girl. Now leave me alone. The kindness in his voice quite broke down Mandy's all too slight to control. She turned away, audibly sniffing with her apron to her eyes, leaving Cameron in a state of wrathful perplexity. Oh confound it all, he groaned to himself. This is a rotten go. By Jove, this means the West for me. The West. After all that's the place. Here there is no chance anyway. Why did I not go sooner? He rose from the grass, shivering with a sudden chill, went to his bed in the haymow, and covering himself with Tim's blankets and his own, fell again into sleep. Here, late in the afternoon, Tim found him and called him to supper. With Mandy's watchful eye upon him, he went through the form of eating, but Mandy was not to be deceived. You ain't eatin' nothin', she said reproachfully as he rose from the table. Enough for a man who is doing nothing, replied Cameron. When I want his exercise, I think I shall take a walk. Going to church, she inquired, an eager light springing into her eye. To church? I hadn't thought of it, replied Cameron, but catching the gleam of a smile on Perkin's face and noting the utterly wobagon expression on Mandy, she added. Well, I might as well walk to church as anyplace else. You are going, Tim? Uh-huh, replied Tim. I'm going to hitch up deck, Mandy, said Perkin's. Oh, I'm going to walk, said Mandy emphatically. All right, said Perkin's, guess I'll walk too with the crowd. Don't mind me, said Mandy. I don't, laughed Perkin's, you bet, nor anybody else. And that's no lie, sniffed Mandy with a toss of her head. Better drive to church, Mandy suggested to her mother, you know you're just tired out and it'll be late when you get started. Tired? Late, cried Mandy with a lack ready. I'll be through them dishes in a jiffy and be ready in no time. I like to walk through the woods. Depends on the company, laughed Perkin's again. So do I, guess we'll all go together. True to her promise, Mandy was ready within half an hour. Cameron shuddered as he beheld the bewildering variety of color in her attire and the still more bewildering arrangement of hat and hair. You're good and gay, Mandy, said Perkin's, what's the killing? Mandy made no reply, save by a disdainful flirt of her skirts as she set off down the lane, followed by Perkin's, Cameron and Tim, bringing up the rear. The lane was a grassy sward cut with two wagon wheel tracks and with a picturesque snake fence on either side. Beyond the fences lay the fields, some of them with stubble right clean, the next year's clover showing green above the yellow, some with a grain standing still in the shock, and some with a crop, the late oats for instance, still uncut but ready for the reaper. The turnip field was splendidly and luxuriously green with never a sign of the brown earth. The hay meadowed too was green and purple with the second growth of clover. So down the lane and between the shorn fields, yellow and green, between the clover fields and the turnips, they walked in silence. For the spell of the Sabbath evening lay upon the sunny fields, barred with the shadows from the trees that grew along the fence lines everywhere. At the slashing, the wagon ruts faded out and the road narrowed to a single cow path, winding its way between stumps and round log piles, half hidden by a luxuriant growth of foxglove and fireweed and asters, and everywhere the glorious goldenrod. Then through the bars the path led into the woods, a noble remnant of the beach and elm and maple forest from which the farm had been cut some sixty years before. Cool and shadowy they stood, and shot through with bright shafts of gold from the westering sun, full of mysterious silence except for the twittering of the sleepy birds or for the remonstrant call of the sentinel crow from his watchtower, on the dead top of a great elm. Deeper into the shade the path ran until, in the gloom, it faded almost out of sight. Soothed by the cool shade, Cameron loitered along the path, pausing to learn of Tim the names of plants and trees as he went. Ancient never coming, called Mandy from the gloom far in front. What's the rush? replied Tim impatiently, who loved nothing better than a quiet walk with Cameron through the woods. Rush, we'll be late and I hate walking up before the whole crowd. Come on! cried his sister in impatient tone. All right, Mandy, we're nearly through the woods. I begin to see the clearing yonder, said Cameron, pointing to where the light was beginning to show through the treetops before them. But they were late enough, and Mandy was glad of the cover of the opening hymn to allow her to find her way to a group of her girlfriends, the males of the party taking shelter with the neighboring group of their own sex nearby. Upon the sloping sides of the grassy hills and under the beach and maple trees, the vanguard of the retreating woods sat the congregation facing the preacher who stood on the grassy level below. Behind them was the solid wall of thick woods, over them time-spreading boughs, and far above the trees the blue summer sky, all the bluer for the little white clouds that sailed serene like ships upon a sea. At their feet lay the open country, checkered by the snake fences into fields of yellow, green, and brown, and rolling away to meet the woods at the horizon. The Sabbath rest filled the sweet air, breathed from the shady woods, rested upon the checkered fields, and lifted with the hymn to the blue heaven above. A stately cathedral it was, this place of worship, filled with the incense of flowers and fields, arched by the high dome of heaven, and lighted by the glory of the setting sun. Relieved by the walk for a time from the ache in his head, Cameron surrendered himself to the mysterious influences of the place and the hour. He let his eyes wander over the fields below him to the far horizon and beyond, beyond the woods, beyond the intervening leagues of land and sea, and was again gazing upon the sunlit loveliness of the cog o'er. The glen was a brim with golden light this summer evening, the purple was on the hills, and the little lock gleamed sapphire at the bottom. The preacher was reading his text. Unto one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to every man according to his several ability, and straight away took his journey, and so on to the end of that marvelously wise tale, wise with the wisdom of God, confirmed by the wisdom of human experience. The Reverend Harper Freeman's voice could hardly, even by courtesy, be called musical. In fact it was harsh and strident, but this evening the hills and the trees and the wide open spaces, nature's mighty modulator subdued the harshness so that the voice rolled up to the people, clear, full, and sonorous. Nor was the preacher possessed of great learning, nor endued with the gift of eloquence. He had, however, a shrewd knowledge of his people and of their ways and of their needs, and he had a kindly heart, and more than all he had the preacher's gift, the divine capacity for taking fire. For a time his words fell unheeded upon Cameron's outer ear. To every man his own endowments, some great, some small, but mark you, no man left quite poverty-stricken. God gives every man his chance. No man can look God in the face. Not one of you here can say that you have had no chance. Cameron's vagrant mind, suddenly recalled, responded with a quick ascent. Opportunity? Endowment? Yes, surely. His mind flashed back over the years of his education at the academy and the university. Long, lazy years. How little he had made of them. Others had turned them into the gold of success. He wondered how old Dunn was getting on, and Linklater and Little Martin. How far away seemed those days, and yet only some four or five months separated him from them. One was a failure, a dead, flat failure, continued the preacher. Not so much a wicked man, no murderer, no drunkard, no gambler, but a miserable failure. Poor fellow. At the end of life a wretched bankrupt, losing even his original endowment. How would you like to come home after ten, twenty, thirty years of experiment with life and confess to your father that you were dead, broken, no good? Again, Cameron's mind came back from his wandering with a start. Go back to his father a failure. He drew his lip down hard over his teeth. Not while he lived. And yet what was there in prospect for him? His whole soul revolted against the dreary monotony and the narrowness of his present life. And yet what other path lay open? Cameron went straying and fancy over the past or in excursions into the future. While parallel with his rambling, the sermon continued to make its way through its various heads and particulars. Why? The voice of the preacher rose clear, dominant, arresting. Why did he fail so abjectly, so meanly, so despicably? For there is no excuse for a failure. Listen. No man need fail. A man who is a failure is a mean, selfish, lazy chump. Mr. Freeman was colloquial, if anything. Some men pity him. I don't. I have no use for him, and he is the one thing in all the world that God himself has no use for. Again, Cameron's mind was jerked back as a runaway horse by a rain. So far his life had been a failure. Was there then no excuse for failure? What of his upbringing, his education, his environment? He had been indulging the habit during these last weeks of shifting responsibility from himself for what he had become. What was the cause of this young man's failure? Reiterated the preacher. The preacher had a wholesome belief in the value of reiteration. He had a habit of rubbing it in his points. He blamed the boss. Listen to his impudence. I knew thee to be a hard man. He blamed his own temperament and disposition. I was afraid. But the boss brings him up sharp and short. Quit lying, he said. I'll tell you what's wrong with you. You've got a mean heart. You ain't honest and you're too lazy to live. Here, take that money from him and give it to the man that can do most with it. And take this useless loafer out of my sight. And served him right, too, say I, impudent lazy liar. Cameron found his mind rising in wrathful defense of the unhappy wretched failure in the story. But the preacher was utterly relentless and proceeded to enlarge upon the character of the unhappy wretch. Impudent. The way to tell an impudent man is to let him talk. Now listen to this man cheek the boss. I knew you, he said. You skin everybody in sight. I have always noticed, remarked the preacher with a twinkle in his eye, that the hired man who can't keep up his end is the kind that cheeks the boss. And so it is with life. Why some men would cheek Almighty God. They turn right round and face the other way when God is explaining things to them, when he is persuading them, when he is trying to help them. Then they glance back over their shoulders and say, ah, Guan, I know better than you. Think of the impudence of them. That's what many a man does with God. With God, mind you, God. Your Father in heaven, your brother, your savior. God, as you know him, in the man of Galilee, the man you always see with the sick and the outcast and the brokenhearted. It is this God that owns you and all you've got. Be honest and say so. You must begin by getting right with God. God. Once more Cameron went wandering back into the faraway days of childhood. God was very near then and very friendly. How well he remembered when his mother had tucked him in at night and had kissed him and had put out the light. He never felt alone and afraid, for she left him, so she said, with God. It was God who took his mother's place near to his bedside. In those days God seemed very near and very kind. He remembered his mother's look one day when he declared to her that he could hear God breathing just beside him in the dark. How remote God seemed today and how shadowy. And yes, he had to confess it, unfriendly. He heard no more of the sermon. With a curious ache in his heart he allowed his mind to dwell amid those happy memories when his mother and God were the nearest and dearest to him of all he knew. It may have been the ache in his head or the oppressive langer that seemed to possess his body, but throughout the prayer that followed the sermon he was conscious chiefly of a great longing for his mother's touch upon his head and with that a longing for his boyhood's sense of the friendly God in his heart. And so as the preacher led them to God in prayer Cameron bowed his head with the others, thankful that he could still believe that though clouds and darkness might be about him God was not beyond the reach of the soul's cry nor quite unmoved by human need. And for the first time for years he sent forth as a little child his cry of need. God help me. God help me. End of Book 2, Chapter 6 Book 2, Chapter 7 of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police A Tale of the McLeod Trail This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kay Hand Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police Book 2, Chapter 7 The Chivalry There was still light enough to see. The last hymn was announced Cameron was conscious of a deep, poignant emotion. He glanced swiftly about him. The eyes of all were upon the preacher's face while he read in slow, sonorous tones the words of the old Methodist hymn Come thou fount of every blessing tune my heart to sing thy grace. All except the group of young men of whom Perkins was the center who by means of the saccharine medium known as conversation lozenges were seeking to divert the attention of the band of young girls sitting before them. Among these sat Mandy. As his eye rested upon the bill we outlines of her figure, struggling with the limitations of her white blouse, tricked out with pink ribbons, he was conscious of a wave of mingled pity and disgust. Dull, stupid and vulgar she looked. It was at her that Perkins was flipping his conversation lozenges. She then fell upon her hymnbook. With a start she glanced about. Not an eye except Cameron's was turned her way. With a smile and a blush that burned deep under the dull tan of her neck and cheek she took the lozinge, read its inscription, burning a deeper red. The words which she had read she took as Cameron's. She turned her eyes full upon his face. The light of tremulous joy in their lovely depths startled and thrilled a snicker from the group of young men behind roused in him a deep indignation. They were taking their course fun out of this simple-minded girl. Cameron's furious glance at them appeared only to increase their amusement. It did not lessen Cameron's embarrassment enraged that now and then during the reading of the hymn Mandy's eyes were turned upon him as if with new understanding. Enraged with himself and more with the group of hoodlums behind Cameron stood for the closing him with his arms folded across his breast. At the second verse a hand touched his arm. It was Mandy offering him her book. Once more a snicker from the group of delighted observers behind him stirred his indignation on behalf of this awkward and untutored girl. He forced himself to listen to the words of the third verse which rose clear and sonorous in the preacher's voice. Here I raise my ebonyzer by thy help I'm come and I hope by thy good pleasure safely to arrive at home. The serene assurance of the old Methodist hymn rose triumphant in the singing. An assurance born of an experience of past conflict ending in triumph. That note of high and serene competence conjured up with a flash of memory his mother's face. That was her characteristic a serene undismayed courage. In the darkest hours that steady flame of courage never died down. But once more he was recalled to the service of the hour by a voice rich, full, low, yet of wonderful power singing the old words. It took him a moment or two to discover that it was Mandy singing beside him. Her face was turned from him and upwards towards the trees above her through the network of whose leaves the stars were beginning to shine. Amazed, enthralled listened to the flowing melody of her voice. It was like the song of a brook running deep in the forest shade. Full toned yet soft quiet yet thrilling. She seemed to have forgotten her surroundings. Her soul was holding converse with the eternal. He lost sight of the course and fleshly habiliments in this glimpse he caught of the soul that lived within. Pure it seemed to him tender and good. His heart went out to the girl in a new pity. Before the hymn was done she turned her face towards him and whether it was the magic of her voice or the glorious splendor of her eyes or the mystic touch of the fast darkening night her face seemed to have lost much of its coarseness and all of its stupidity. As the congregation dispersed Cameron in silence and with the spell of her voice still upon him walked quietly beside Mandy towards the gap in the fence leading to the high road. Behind him came Perkins with his group of friends chaffing with each other and with the girls walking in front of them. As Cameron was stepping over the rails where the fence had been let down one of the young men following stumbled heavily against him nearly throwing him down and before he could recover himself Perkins had taken his place by Mandy's side and seized her arm. There was a general laugh at what was considered a perfectly fair and not unusual piece of jockeying of young damsels. The proper procedure in such a case was that the discomfited Cavaliers should bide his time and survey like turn upon his rival the young lady meanwhile maintaining an attitude purely passive. But Mandy was not so minded. Releasing herself from Perkins grasp she turned upon the group of young men following exclaiming angrily you ought to be ashamed of yourself Sam Saylor. Then moving to Cameron's side she said in a clear distinct voice Mr. Cameron would you please take my book for me? Come on boys said Perkins with his never failing laugh I guess we're not in this. Take your medicine Perkins laughed one of his friends. Yes I'll take it alright replied Perkins. But the laugh could not conceal the shake of passion in his voice. It will work too you bet. So saying he strode off into the gathering gloom followed by his friends Come along Mr. Cameron said Mandy with a silly giggle I guess we don't need them fellows they can't fool us can they Her manner her speech her laugh rudely dissipated all Cameron's new feeling toward her The whole episode filled him only with disgust and annoyance Come then he said almost roughly we shall need to hurry for there is a storm coming up Mandy glanced to the gathering clouds My goodness she cried it's coming up fast My I hate to get my clothes wet and off she said at a rapid pace keeping abreast of her companion and making gay but elephantine attempts at sprightly conversation Before Cameron's unsympathetic silence however all her sprightly attempts came to abject failure What's the matter with you? At length she asked Don't you want to see me haul? What? Said Cameron abruptly for his thoughts were far away Oh nonsense of course why not but we shall certainly be caught in the storm Let us hurry Here let me take your arm His manner was brusque almost rude Oh I guess I can get along replied Mandy catching off her hats and gathering up her skirt over her shoulders but we'll have to hustle for I hate to have you get wet Her imperturbable good humor and her solicitude for him rebuked Cameron for his abruptness I hope you will not get wet he said Oh you don't need to worry about me I ain't salt nor sugar but I forgot all about your being sick And with labored breath poor Mandy hurried through the growing darkness with Cameron keeping close by her side We won't be long now she panted as they turned from the sideline towards their own gate As if in reply to her words there sounded from behind the fence and close to their side a long loud howl Cameron gave a start Great Caesar What dog is that? he exclaimed Oh said Mandy Cooley Guess it's Mackenzie's Carlo Immediately there rose from the fence on the other side and answering howl followed by a full course of howls and yelps mingled with the bawling of calves and the ringing of cowbells as if it doesn't curse or more were in full cry after a herd of cattle Cameron stood still and bewildered amazement What the deuce are they at? he cried peering through the darkness Huh Grunted Mandy Them's curse all right but they ain't much dog You wait till I see them fellows they'll pay for this you bet Do you mean to say these are not dogs? cried Cameron speaking in her ear so great was the din Dogs answered Mandy with indignant scorn Nah Just ordinary curse Come along She cried catching his arm and let her in Here he cried suddenly wrenching himself free I'm going to see into this No no cried Mandy gripping his arm once more with her strong hands They will hurt you Come on we're just home You can see them again No I won't let you go In vain he struggled Her strong hands held him fast Suddenly there was a succession of short, sharp barks Immediately dead silence fell Not a sound could be heard, not a shape seen Come out into the open you cowardly curse shouted Cameron Come on One, two, three a time if you dare But a silence answered him Come Said Mandy in a low voice Let's hurry It's going to rain Come on Come along Cameron stood ear-resolute Then arose out of the black darkness A long, quavering cat-call With a sudden dash Cameron sprang Towards the fence Instantly there was a sound of running feet Through the plowed field on the other side Then silence Come back you coward Raged Cameron Isn't there a man among you For answer a clod came hurtling through the dark And struck with a thud upon the fence Immediately as if at a signal There fell about Cameron a perfect hail Of clods and even stones Oh, oh, shrieked Mandy rushing toward him And throwing herself between him and the falling missiles Come away, come away, they'll just kill you For answer Cameron put his arms about her And drew her behind him Shielding her as best he could with his body Do you want to kill a woman? He called aloud At once the hail of clods ceased And raging as he was, Mandy dragged him homeward At the door of the house he made to turn back Not much you don't, said Mandy stoutly Or I go with you Oh, all right, said Cameron, let them go They are only a lot of currs, anyway For a few minutes they stood and talked in the kitchen Cameron making light of the incident And making strenuous efforts to disassemble the rage That filled his soul After a few minutes' conversation, Cameron announced His intention of going to bed while Mandy passed upstairs He left the house and stole down the lane toward the road The throbbing pain in his head was forgotten In the blind rage that possessed him He had only one longing to stand within Striking distance of the cowardly currs Only one fear that they should escape him Swiftly, silently, he stole down the lane Every nerve, every muscle tense as a steel spring His throat was hot, his eyes so dazzled That he could scarcely see His breath came in quick gasps His hands were trembling as with a nervous chill The storm had partially blown away It had become so light that he could dimly discern A number of figures at the entrance to the lane Having his quarry in sight Cameron crouched in the fence corner Holding hard by the rail till he should become master of himself He could hear their explosions of suppressed laughter It was some minutes before he had himself in hand Then with a swift, silent run he stood among them So busy were they in recounting the various incidents In the recent chivalry That before they were aware Cameron was upon them At his approach the circle broke and scattered Some flying to the fence But Perkins with some others stood their ground Hello Cameron! Drawed Perkins, did you see our cows? I thought I heard some of them down the line For answer Cameron launched himself at him Like a bolt from a bow There was a single, sharp crack And Perkins was literally lifted clear off his feet And hurled back upon the road where he lay still Fiercely Cameron faced round to the next man But he gave back quickly A third sprang to throw himself upon Cameron But once more Cameron's hand shot forward And his assailant was hurled back heavily Into the arms of his friends Before Cameron could strike again A young giant known as Sam Saylor Flung his arm about him crying Touch touch young fellow This won't do you now Let me take a bit of fun For answer Cameron clinched him savagely Gripping him by the throat And planting two heavy blows upon his ribs Here boys gasped the young fellow He's choking the life out of me From all sides they threw themselves upon him And striking, kicking, fighting, furiously Cameron went down under the struggling mass His hand still gripping the throat it had seized Say, he's a regular bulldog, cried one Get hold of his legs and yank him off Which, with shouts and laughter They proceeded to do and piled themselves upon him Chanting the refrain, more beef, more beef A few minutes more frantic struggling And a wild agonized scream rose From beneath the mass of men Get off boys, get off Words, young giant, I'm afraid he's hurt Flinging them off on either side They stood up and waited for their victim to rise But Cameron lay on his face moaning and writhing on the ground Say, boys, said Sam kneeling down beside him I'm afraid he's hurt and bad In his writhing Cameron lifted one leg It toppled over to one side Jumped Jeremiah, said Sam in an odd voice His legs broke, what in Sam Hill can we do? As he spoke there was a sound of running feet Coming down the lane Shining through the breaking clouds Revealed a figure with floating garments rapidly approaching My cats, cried Sam, in a terrified voice It's Mandy Like leaves before a sudden gust of wind The group scattered and only Sam was left What, what are you doing? Panted Mandy, where is he? Oh, is that him? She flung herself down in the dust beside Cameron And turned him over His face was white, his eyes glazed He looked like death She moaned, have they killed you? Have they killed you? She gathered his head upon her knees, moaning like a wounded animal Good Lord, Mandy, don't go on like that Cried Sam in a horrified voice It's only his leg broke Mandy laid his head gently down, then sprang to her feet Only his leg broke Who done it? Who done it? Tell me, who done it? She panted, her voice rising with her gasping breath What coward done it? Was it you, Sam Saylor? Guess we're all in it, said Sam, stupidly It was just a bit of fun, Mandy For answers she swung her heavy hand hard upon Sam's face Say, Mandy, hold hard, cried Sam Surprised, and the weight of the blow almost knocking him off his feet You cowardly brute, she gasped Get out of my sight Oh, what shall we do? She dropped on her knees and took Cameron's head once more in her arms What shall we do? Guess we'll have to get him in somewhere, said Sam How can we carry him, though, if we had some kind of stretcher? Wait, I know, cried Mandy, flying off up the lane But for many minutes had passed, she had returned, breathing hard It's the milkhouse door, she said, I guess that'll do That'll do, all right, Mandy, now I wish some of them fillers would come Sam pulled off his coat and made of it a pillow, then stood up looking for help His eyes fell upon the prostrate and senseless form of Perkins Say, what'll we do with him, he said, pointing to the silent figure Who is it, inquired Mandy, what's the matter? It's Perkins, replied Sam, he hit him a terrible crack Perkins, said Mandy was scorned, let him lie, the dog Come on, take his head You can't do it, Mandy, no, you's trying, you can't do it Come on, I tell you, she said fiercely, quit your jawn He made to be Diane, for all I know, I'd carry him alone if it wasn't for his broken leg Slowly, painfully, they carried him to the house and to the front door Wait a minute, said Mandy, I'll have to get things fixed a bit We mustn't wake Mother, it would scare her to death She passed quickly into the house and soon Sam saw a light pass from room to room In a few moments Mandy reappeared at the front door Quick, whispered Sam, he's coming too Oh, thank goodness, cried Mandy, let's get him in before he wakes Once more they lifted their burden and with infinite difficulty and much painful maneuvering They got the injured man through the doors and upon the spare room bed And now Sam sailor, cried Mandy, coming close to him You just hitch up deck and hustle for the doctor if you ever did in your life Don't wait for nothing, but go, go She fairly pushed him out of the door running with him towards the sable Oh, Sam, hurry, she pleaded, for if this man should die it will never be the like again Her face was white, her eyes glowing like great stars, her voice was soft and tremulous with tears Sam stood for a moment, gazing as if upon a vision What are you looking at? she cried, stamping her foot and pushing him away Jumping Jeremiah muttered Sam as he ran towards the stable Is that Mandy Haley? Guess we don't know much about her His nimble fingers soon had Dexter hitched to the buggy and speeding down the lane at a pace sufficiently rapid to suit the high pursuit of even that fiery young Colt At the high road he came upon his friends, some of whom were working with Perkins, others conversing in odd and hurried undertones Hello Sam they called, hold up I'm in a hurry boys, don't stop me, I'm scared to death and you better get home, she'll be down on you again How is he? cried a voice Don't know, I'm going for the doctor and the sooner we get the doctor the better for everyone around And Sam disappeared in a whirl of dust Say, who would have thought it? he mused That Mandy Haley? She's a terror, and them eyes Oh get on dick, what are you munking about? Wonder if she's gone on that young fellow I guess she is alright Say it wasn't that a clout he handed Perkins, and didn't she give me one But them eyes, Mandy Haley, by the jump in Jeremiah And the way she looks at a feller Here Deck, what are you fooling about? Go on now, you'll get in trouble Deck, who had been indulging himself in a series of leaps and plunges, shying at even the most familiar objects by the roadside Settled down at length to a business-like trot which brought him to the doctor's door in about 15 minutes from the Haley's gate But to Sam's dismay the doctor had gone to Crams Mill, 6 or 7 miles away, and would not be back till the morning Sam was in a quandary There was another doctor at Brookfield, 5 miles further on, but there was a possibility that he also might be out Say, there ain't no use going back without a doctor She, she, jump in Jeremiah, what would she do? Say, Deck, you've got to get down to business, we're going to the city There are doctors there, thick as hair on a dog, we'll try Dr. Turnbull Say, it'll be great if we could get him, Deck will do it, but you've got to get up in dust And this Deck proceeded to do to such good purpose that in about an hour's time he stood before Dr. Turnbull's door in the city Some will wet it is true, but with his fiery spirit still untamed Here again adverse fate met the unfortunate Sam Dr. Turnbull's know at home, said the maid, smart with Cap and Apron, who opened the door How long will he be gone, inquired Sam, wondering what she had on her head and why There's no telling, an hour or two hours or three Three hours, echoed Sam Say, a feller might kick the bucket in that time The maid smiled, an undisturbed smile Bucket, what bucket eh? What bucket are you talking about? she inquired Say, you're smart ain't ya, but I got a young feller that broke his leg in His leg, said the maid indifferently, well he's got another Yes, you bet he has, but one leg ain't much good without the other How would you like to hop around on one leg? And he's hurt inside too, his lights, I guess, and other things Sam's anatomical knowledge was somewhat vague, and besides his girl's taken on awful Oh, is she indeed? replied the maid, this item apparently being to her of the very slightest importance Say, if you only saw her, said Sam Pretty, I suppose, said the maid with a touch of scorn Pretty? No, ugly as a hedge fence, but say I wish she was here right now She'd bring you to your, to time ya bet Would she now? I'd sort her, and the little maid's black eyes snapped Say, what'll I do? Just got to have a doctor You'll no get him, till tomorrow Tomorrow? How far would are ya? 12 miles 12 miles? You'll no get him, a minute before tomorrow noon Say, that young fellow or croak, sure Away from home too, no friends, all his folks in Scotland Scotland, did you say? Something appeared to wake up in the little maid Look here, why don't you get a doctor instead of Don during your time here Get a doctor, echoed Sam in vast surprise Ain't I trying to get a doctor? Where'll I get a doctor? Go to the hospital, ya gock, and ask for Dr. Turnbull And tell him the young lad is a stranger, and then his folks are in Scotland Who's ya gomer ill be off knew? And the pure lad wantin' ya, come, I'll pitch ya on ya way The maid, by her speech, was obviously excited Sam glanced at the clock as he passed out He had been away an hour and a half Jumpin', Jeremiah, I've got to hurry, she'll take my head off Of course ya have, said the maid sharply Go down two streets there, then take the first turn to your left And go straight on for half a dozen blocks or so Mind ya, tell the doctor the lad's for Scotland She cried to Sam as he drove off At the hospital, Sam was fortunate enough to catch Dr. Turnbull in the hall With one or two others, just as they were about to pass into the consulting room Such was Sam's desperate state of mind that he went straight up to the group I want Dr. Turnbull, he said There he is before you, replied a sharp-faced young doctor pointing to a benevolent looking old gentleman Dr. Turnbull, there's a young fellow hurt dreadful out our way His legs broke, guess he's hurt inside too And he's a stranger, his folks are all in Scotland Guess he's dyin', and I've got a horse and a buggy at the door I can get ya out and back in a jiffy Say, doctor, I'm all ready to start A smile passed over the faces of the group But Dr. Turnbull had too long experience with desperate cases and with desperate men My dear sir, he replied, I cannot go for some hours Doctor, I want you now I got to have somebody right now A broken leg, mused the doctor Yes, and hurt inside How did it happen? said the doctor Eh? I don't know exactly, replied Sam, taking somewhat aback Something fell on him, but he needs you bad I can't go, my man, but we'll find someone What's his name, did you say? His name is Cameron, and he's from Scotland Cameron, said the sharp-faced young doctor What does he look like? Look like, said Sam, in a perplexed voice While all the girls think he looks pretty good He's dark-complected, and he's a mighty smart young fellow Great on jumping and running, say he's a crack-a-jack Why, at the Dominion Day picnic But you must have heard about him He's the chap you know that won the hundred yards Plays the pipes and Plays the pipes, cried Dr. Turnbull And the young doctor together And his name is Cameron, continued the young doctor I wonder now if I say Martin, said Dr. Turnbull I think you had better go, the case may be urgent Cameron, cried Martin again Here, wait till I get my coat, I'll be with you in a jerk Have you got a good horse? He's alright, said Sam, he'll get you there in an hour An hour? How far is it? Twelve miles Great heavens, come on then, and get a move on And so it came that within an hour Cameron, opening in his eyes, looked up Into the face of his friend Martin, by Jove, he said And closed his eyes again Martin, he said again, looking upon the familiar face Say, old boy, is this a dream? I seem to be having lots of them It's no dream, old chap, but what in the mischief Is the matter? What does all this fever mean? Let's look at you A brief examination was enough to show The doctor that the broken leg was the least Of Cameron's troubles A hasty investigation of the resources of the farmhouse Determined the doctor's course This man has typhoid fever A bad case too, he said to Mandy We will take him into the hospital The hospital, cried Mandy fiercely Will you then? He will be a lot of trouble to you, said the doctor Trouble? Trouble, what are you talking about? We're awful busy, Mandy Interposed to the mother who had been roused from her bed Oh, shucks mother Oh, don't send him away, she pleaded I can nurse him just as easy She paused, with quivering lips It will be much better for the patient To be in the hospital He will get constant and systematic care Of my own observation every hour I assure you it will be better for him Said the doctor Better for him? Echoed Mandy in a faint voice Well, let him go In less than an hour's time Such was Dr. Martin's energetic promptness He had his patient comfortably placed In the Democrat on an improvised stretcher And on his way to the city hospital And thus it came about that the problem Of his leave taking, which had vexed Cameron For so many days, was solved End of Book 2, Chapter 7 Book 2, Chapter 8 Of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, a tale of the McLeod trail This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording the Kathleen Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police, Book 2, Chapter 8 In Appletime Another basket of eggs, Mr. Cameron And such delicious cream I am deeply grieved to see you so nearly well Grieved? For you will be leaving us, of course Thanks, that is kind of you And there will be an end to eggs and cream Ah, you are a lucky man And the trim, neat, bright-faced nurse Shook her finger at him So I have often remarked to myself these six weeks A friend is a great discovery These same tokens you have found one Truly they have been more than kind This makes the twelve visit in six weeks, said the nurse In busy harvest and threshing time, too Do you know what that means? To a certain extent, it is awfully good of them But she is shy, shy And I think she is afraid of you Her chief interest appears to be in the kitchen Which she has never failed to visit The blood slowly grows in Cameron's face From which the summer tan Had all been bleached by his six-week spite With fever, but he may know reply to the brisk Sharp-eyed, sharp-minded little nurse And I know she is dying to see you And indeed she chuckled It might do you good, she is truly wonderful And again the nurse laughed Don't you think you could bear a visit? The smile broadened upon her face But unaware she had touched a sensitive spot In her patient, his highland pride I shall be more than pleased to have an opportunity To thank Miss Haley for her great kindness He replied with dignity All right, replied the nurse I shall bring her in Now don't excite yourself That fever is not so far away And only a few minutes When we farmers go calling I am a farmer, remember And know them well When we go calling we take our knitting And spend the afternoon In a few moments she returned with Mandy The difference between the stout Red-faced, coarse-featured Obtrusively healthy country girl Heavy afoot and hand Slow of speech and awkward of manner And the neat, quick, deaf-fingered Bright-faced nurse was so marked That Cameron could hardly control The wave of pity that swept through his heart For he could see that even Mandy herself Was vividly aware of the contrast In vain Cameron tried To put her at her ease She simply sat and stared Now at the walls, now at the floor Refusing for a time to utter More than monosyllables Punctuated with giggles I want to thank you for the eggs and cream They are fine, said Cameron heartily Oh Pasha, that's nothing Lots more where they come from Replied Mandy with a giggle But it's a long way for you to drive And in the busy time too Come in anyway for things Replied Mandy making light of her service You are all well Oh, pretty Midland, my right smart She's too much to do And that's the truth And the boys, Cameron hesitated To be more specific Oh, there's nothing eaten them I don't bother with them much Mandy was desperately twisting her white cotton gloves At this point the nurse with a final warning To the patient not to talk too much And not to excite himself left the room In a moment Mandy's whole manner changed Say, she cried in a hurried voice Perkins is left Left? I couldn't just stand him after After that night Dad wanted him to stay But I couldn't just stand him And so he quit Quit? I just hate him Since Since That night When I think of what he'd done I could kill him My, I was glad to see him lying there In the dust Mandy's words came hot and fast They might have killed you For the first time In the interview She looked fairly into Cameron's eyes My, you do look awful She said With difficulty commanding your voice Nonsense, Mandy You see It wasn't my leg that hurt me It was the fever that pulled me down I'll never forget that night Cried Mandy Struggling to keep her lips from glittering Nor will I ever forget What you did for me that night, Mandy Sam told me all about it I shall always be your friend For a moment longer She held him with her eyes Then her face grew suddenly pale And with voice and hands trembling She said I must go, goodbye He took her great red hand In his long thin fingers Goodbye, Mandy, and thank you My, she said Looking down at the fingers She held in her hand Your hands is awful thin Are you sure going to get better? Of course I am And I'm coming out to see you before I go She sat down quickly Still holding his hand As if he had struck her a heavy blow Before you go, where? Her voice was hardly above a whisper Her face was white Her lips beyond her control Out west to seek my fortune His voice was jaunty and ethane Not to see her distress I shall be walking in a couple of weeks or so, huh, nurse? A couple of weeks Replied the nurse who had just entered Yes, if you are good Mandy hastily rose But if you are not Continued the nurse severely It may be months Stay, Ms. Haley I'm going to bring Mr. Cameron His afternoon tea And you can have some with him Indeed, you look quite done up I am sure all that work you have been telling me about Is too much for you Her kindly tones broke the lash Red of Mandy's self-control She sank into her chair Covered her face with her great red hands And burst into Tempestuous weeping Cameron set up quickly What in the name of goodness is wrong, Mandy? Lie down at once, Mr. Cameron Said the nurse sternly Hush, hush, Ms. Haley You ought to be ashamed of yourself Don't you know that you are hurting him? She could have chosen no better word In an instant, Mandy was on her feet Mopping off her face And choking down her sobs Anti-fool, she cried angrily A bling-fool Well, I won't bother you any longer Guess I'll go now Goodbye, all Without another look at Cameron She was gone Cameron lay back upon his pillows White and nerfless Now can you tell me He panted What's up? Search me Said the nurse gaily But I forbid you To speak a single word For half an hour Here, drink this right off Now, not a word What will Dr. Martin say? Not a word Yes, I shall see her safely Off the place Quiet now She kept up a continuous stream Of sprightly chatter To cover her own anxiety And to turn the current Of her patient's thoughts By the time she had reached The entrance hall, however Mandy had vanished Great silly goose Said the indignant nurse I'd see myself far enough Before I'd give myself away Like that little fool He'll have a temperature Sure, and I will catch it Bah, these girls Next time she sees him It will not be here I hope the doctor will just Give me an hour to get him quiet Again But in this hope She was disappointed For upon a return to her patient She found Dr. Martin in the room His face was grave What's up, nurse? What is the meaning of this rotten pulse? What has he been having to eat? Well, Dr. Martin, I may as well Confess my sins, replied the nurse For there is no use trying To deceive you anyway Mr. Cameron has had a visitor And she has excited him Ah, said the doctor In a relief tone A visitor, a lady visitor A charming, sympathetic, interested And interesting visitor Exactly, said the nurse With a giggle It was Miss Haley, Martin, said Cameron gravely The doctor looked puzzled The daughter of the farmer With whom I was working Explained to Cameron Ah, I remember her, said the doctor And a deuce of a time I had with her, too Getting you away from her If I remember a right I trust there is nothing seriously wrong In that quarter, said Martin With unusual gravity Oh, quitted Martin, said Cameron Impatiently, don't rag She's an awful decent sort Her looks are not the best of her Ah, I am relieved to hear that Said the doctor, earnestly She's very kind indeed, said the nurse For the six weeks She has fed us up with eggs And cream, so that both my patient And myself Have fared sumptuously every day Indeed, if it should continue Much longer, I shall have to ask An additional allowance for a new uniform I have promised that Mr. Cameron Shall visit the farm within two weeks If he behaves well Exactly, replied the doctor In two weeks, if he is good The only question that troubles me is Is it quite safe? You see, in his present Weak condition His susceptibility is decidedly emphasized His resisting power is low And who knows what might happen Especially if she should insist I shall not soon forget the look in her eye When she dared me to lay a finger upon his person Oh, cut it out, Martin, said Cameron You make me weary He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes The nurse threw a signal to the doctor All right, old man, we must stop this chaff Buck up, and in two weeks we will let you go Where you like I have something in mind for you But we won't speak of it today The harvest was safely stored The yellow stubble showed the fields at rest But the vivid green of the new fall wheat Proclaimed the astounding and familiar fact That once more, mother nature Nature had begun her ancient perennial miracle For in those fields of vivid green The harvest of the coming year was already on the way On these green fields The snowy mantle would lie soft And protecting all the long winter through And when the spring suns would shine again The fall wheat would be a month or more On the way towards maturity Somehow the country looked more rested, fresher, cleaner To Cameron than when he had last looked upon it In late August The rain had washed the dust from the earth's face And from the green sward that bordered The gray ribbon of the high road That led out from the city The pastures and the hay meadows And the turnip fields were all in their freshest green And beyond the fields the forest stood glorious In all its autumn splendor The ash trees bright yellow, the oaks rich brown And the maples all the colors of the rainbow In the orchard, the wonder and joy of it Even the bare and bony limbs of the apple trees Only helped to reveal the sumptuous wealth Of their luscious fruit For it was apple time in the land The effanescent harvest apples were long since gone The snows were past their best The pippins were mellowing under the sharp persuasion Of the nippy, frosty nights And the brave gallantry of the sunny days In this ancient warfare between the frosty nights And the gallant sunny days the apples ripened rapidly For the warfare could not be for long Already in the early morning hours The vanguard of winter's fierce hosts Was to be seen flaunting its hoary banners Even in the very face of the gallant sun So bravely making stand against it But it was the time of the year In which men felt it good to be alive For there was in the air that tang That gives speed to the blood Spring to the muscle, edge to the appetite Courage to the soul, and zest to life The apple time of the year It was an apple time that Cameron came back to the farm Under compulsion of Mandy Haley had found it necessary To drive into the city for some things For the women folk and being in the city Yet called for Cameron and had brought him out Under compulsion, not at all Because Haley was indifferent to the prospect Of a visit from his former hired man Not alone because the fall plowing was pressing And the threshing gang was in the neighborhood But chiefly because through the channel of Dr. Martin The little nurse and Mandy It had come to be known in the Haley household And in the countryside that the hired man Was a great swell in the old country And Haley's sturdy independence shrink From anything that savored of second round as well As he graphically put it But Mandy scouted this idea And waited for the coming of the expected guest With no embarrassment from the knowledge That he had been in the old country A great swell, hence when Through a crack beside the window blind She saw him, a poor pale shadow Descending wearily and painfully from the buggy The great mother heart in the girl Welled with pity She could hardly forbear rushing out to carry him Bodily in her strong arms To the spare room and lay him Where she had once helped to lay him The night of the tragedy some eight weeks before But in this matter she had learned her lesson She remembered the little nurse And her indignant scorn of the lack of self-control She had shown on the occasion of her last visit to the hospital So instead of rushing forth She clutched the curtains and forced herself to stand still Whispering to herself a while Oh, he will die sure, he will die sure But when she looked upon him seated comfortably In the kitchen with the steaming glass of ginger and whiskey Her mother's unfailing remedy For anything wrong with the insides She knew he would not die And her joy overflowed in boisterous welcome For five days they all, from Haley to Tim Gave him of their very best Seeking to hold him among them for the winter But they had learned that his mind was set upon the west Till Cameron was ashamed, knowing that he must go The last afternoon they all spent in the orchard The Gravensteins, in which species of apple Haley was a specialist Were being picked, and picked with the greatest care Cameron plucking them from the limbs And dropping them into a basket held by Mandy below It was one of those sunny days when, after weeks of chilly absence Summer comes again and makes the world glow with warmth And kindly life and quickens in the heart the blood's flow Cameron was full of talk and fuller of laughter than his want Indeed he was vexed to find himself struggling to maintain On broke on the flow of laughter and of talk But in Mandy there was neither speech nor laughter Only a quiet dignity that disturbed and rebuked him The last tree of Gravensteins was picked and then there came The time of party, Cameron with a man's selfish desire For some token of a woman's adoration Even although he well knew that he could make no return Lingered in the farewell, hoping for some sign in the plain Quiet face, and the wonderful eyes with their new mystery That when he had gone he would not be forgotten But though the lips quivered pitifully and the heavy face Grew drawn and old, and the eyes glowed with a deeper fire The words, when they came, came quietly and the eyes Looked steadily upon him Accept that for one brief moment a fire Leaved in them and quickly died down But when the buggy, with him driving, had passed down The lane, behind the curtain of the spare room The girl stood looking through the crack beside the blind With both hands pressed upon her bosom Her breath coming in sobs Her blue lips murmuring brokenly Goodbye, goodbye, oh, why did you come at all? But oh, I'm glad you came God help me, I'm glad you came Then when the buggy had turned down the side lane And out of sight, she now beside the bed and kissed Began and again with tender, reverent kisses The pillow where his head had lain End of Book 2, Chapter 8 Book 3, Chapter 1 Of Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police A Tale of the McLeod Trail This is a labor box recording All labor box recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit laborbox.org Recording by Kathleen Corporal Cameron of the Northwest Mounted Police A Tale of the McLeod Trail Book 3, Chapter 1 The Camp by the Gap On the foothills side of the Gap On a grassy plain bounded on three sides By the Bo River and on the other by Wrecked Hills And a broken timber Should surveil Machiva's camp Three white tents Seeming wondrously insignificant In the shadow of the mighty Rockies But cozy enough For on this April day the sun was Riding high in the heavens in all his new spring glory Where a few days ago and for many months Past the storm king with relentless rigor Adraged, searching with pitiless fury These rock-ribbed hills and threatening These white tents and their dwellers With dire destruction But threatened though he might And pinned them though he did Beneath their frail canvas covers He could not make that gang-beat retreat MacIver was one of the kind That takes no back trail In the late fall he had set out To run the line through the Gap And wanderings through the coolies of the foothills And after many vain attempts He had finally made choice of his route And had brought his men burnt black With chinook and frost and sun Hither to the Gap's mouth Every chain-length in those weary marches Was a battleground, every pillar Every picket stood a monument of victory MacIver's advance through the foothill country To the Gap had been one Unbroken succession of fierce fights With nature's most terrifying forces A triumphal march of heroes Who bore on their faces And on their bodies the scars and morals Of the campaign But to MacIver and his gang It was all in the day's work To Cameron the winter had brought An experience of a life hitherto undreamed of But never even in its wildest blizzards Did he cherish anything but gratitude To his friend Martin Who had got him attached To MacIver's survey party For MacIver was a man to tie to As Martin said And to Cameron he was a continual cause Of wonder and admiration He was a big man With a big man's quiet strength Patient fearless of men And things reverent toward nature's forces Which it was his life's business To know, to measure, to control And if need be to fight Careful of his men Whether amid the perils of the march Or amid the more deadly perils Of trading post And railway construction camp Cameron never could forget the thrill Of admiration that swept his soul One night in Taylor's billiard And gambling joint Down at the post where the elbow Joins the bow When MacIver, without bluff Or bluster, took his chain man In his French-Canadian cook The latter frothing mad with to make A ginger and painkiller Out of the hands of the gang of bad men From across the line who had marked Them as lambs for the fleecing It was not the courage of his big chief So much that filled Cameron with a May's respect and admiration As the calm indifference to every Consideration but that of getting His men out of harm's way And cool-headed directness Of the method he employed Come along, boys, MacIver had said Gripping them by their coat collars I don't pay you good money for this sort of thing And so saying had lifted them clear From their seats, upsetting the table Ignoring utterly the roaring oaths Of the discomfited gamblers What would have been the result none could say For one of the gamblers had whipped Out his gun and with sulfurous Oaths was conducting a vigorous Demonstration behind the unconscious Back of MacIver when they're strolled Into the room and through the crowd Of men scattering to cover A tall, slim youngster in the red Jacket and pillbox cap of that World-famous body of military Guardians of law and order The Northwest mounted police Not while he lived could Cameron Forget the scene that followed With an air of lazing on shalons The youngster strode quietly up to Flourishing his gun and asked in a tone That indicated curiosity More than anything else. What are you doing with that thing? I'll show you, ride the man in his face Continuing to pour forth a torrent of oaths Put it down there, said the youngster In a smooth and silky voice Pointing to a table nearby You don't need that in this country The man paused in his demonstration And for a moment or two stood in a maze Silence. The audacity of the youngster Appeared to paralyze his powers Put it down there, my man. Do you hear? The voice was still smooth But through the silky tones There ran a fiber of steel Still the desperado stood gazing at him Quick, do you hear? There was a sudden Sharpering of imperious Of overwhelming authority And, to the amazement of the crowd Of men who stood breathless and silent About, there followed one of those Phenomenal which experts in psychology Delight to explain Of which no man can understand The word the gambler slowly laid upon the table His gun upon whose handle Were many notches, the tally Of human lives it had accounted for In the hands of this same desperado What is this for, continued the young man Gently touching the belt of cartridges Take it off. The belt found Its place beside the gun. Now, listen Gravely continued the youngster I give you 24 hours To leave this post, and if after 24 hours you are found here It will be bad for you. Get out The man, still silent, slunk out From the room. Irresistible Authorities seemed to go with the word That sent him forth, and rightly so For behind that word lay the full weight Of Great Britain's mighty empire. It was Cameron's first experience Of the Northwest Mounted Police That famous core of frontier writers Who for more than a quarter of a century Have ridden the marches of Great Britain's Territories in the far northwest land Keeping intact the Pax Britannica Amid the wild turmoil Of the pioneer days. To the northwest Mounted police, and to the pioneer missionary It is due that Canada has never had Within her borders what is known As a wild and wicked west. It was doubtless owing to the presence Of that slim youngster in a scarlet jacket And pillbox cap that MacGyver Got his men safely away without a hole In his back, and that his gang Were quietly finishing their morning Meal this shiny April day In their camp at the bow river In the shadow of the big white peaks With the gap. Breakfast over MacGyver heaved his great form To the perpendicular. How is the foot, Cameron? He asked, filling his pipe preparatory To the march. Just about fit, replied Cameron. Better take another day, replied The Chief. You can get up Wood and get supper ready. Benoit will be glad enough To go out and take your place For another day on the line. Sure ting, cried Benoit the Jolly French Canadian cook. Good for my help. He's And the cook patted affectionately The little round punch that marred The symmetry of his figure. You ought To get Cameron to swap jobs with you, Benny Said one of the axe men. You would be a dandy in about another month. Benoit let his eye run critically Over the line of his person. Bon, that's true for sure. In three, four months I make the big spark On the girl. Me. You bet, Benny, cried the axe man. You'll break him all up. Sure ting, cried Benny. Catching up a coal for his pipe. Bye-bye, Cameron, Au revoir. I go for a tack. Some more Slice from my Porsche. Goodbye, Benny, cried Cameron. It is your last chance. For tomorrow I give you back your job. I don't want any front Porsche on me. Ho, ho, laughed Benny scornfully As he turned to hurry after his chief. That's not mosh Front Porsche on you. That's one Ralph Fence. Clapboard, and indeed Benoit was right For there was no Porsche Or sign of one on Cameron's lean And muscular frame. The daily battle with winter's fierce frosts And blizzards. The strenuous toil The hard food had done their work On him. Strong, firm They had clean and sound hard fit. He had come through his first Canadian winter. No man in the camp Not even the chief himself Could push him in a day's work. He had gained enormously in strength Slightly. And though the lines Of his frame still ran to angles He had gained in weight as well. Never in the days of his finest training Was he as fit to get the best Out of himself as now. An injured foot had held him in camp For a week. But the injury was now Almost completely repaired. And the week's change of work Only served to replenish a store of snap And vim. An hour or two Suffice to put the camp in the perfect Order that he knew Benoit would consider And to get all in readiness for the evening Meal when the gang should return. He had the day before him and what a day It was. Cameron lay upon a buffalo skin In front of the cooked tent. Content with all the world and for the moment With himself. Six months ago he had engaged As an ax man in the surveyors Gang at thirty dollars per month And found being regarded more In the light of a supernumery And more or less of a burden than anything else Now he was drawing double the wage as Rive men and of all the gang Stood second to none in MacIver's regard In this new venture he had come Dare to making good than ever before In his life. So in full content with Himself he allowed his eyes to roam Over the brown grassy plain that Sloped to the bow in front And over the bow to the successive lines Of hills. Rounded except where The black rocks broke jagged through The turf. And upward over the rounded Hills to the gray sides of the mighty Masses of the mountains. And still Upward to where the white peaks lost Themselves in the shining glue of the sky Behind him Akoli ran back Between hills to a line of temper And beyond the temper more hills and more Valleys. And ever growing higher And deeper till they ran Into the basis of the great Rockies As Cameron lay thus Luxuriating upon his buffalo skin And lazily watching the hills across The river through the curling reefs That gracefully and frequently rose From his briar root. There broke From the line of temper to jumping There. Buck and doe, the latter slow Footed because heavy with young. Behind them in hot pursuit came a pack Of helping coyotes. The doe was Evidently hard pressed. The buck Was running easily. But gallantly Refusing to abandon his mate to her Cowardly foes. Straight for the Ice river they made plunged in and Making the crossing were safe from Their pursuing enemy. Cameron intent Upon fresh meat ran for McIver's Winchester. But air He could buckle round him a Partridge belt and throw on his hunting Jacket. The deer had disappeared over The rounded top of the nearest hill. Up the coolly he ran to the timber And there waited. But there was No sign of his game. Cautiously He made his way through the timber and Dropped into the next valley circling Westward towards the mountains. The deer However had completely vanished. Turning back upon his tracks he once More pierced the thin line of timber When just across the coolly some 300 yards away on the skyline Had up and sniffing the wind. Stood The buck in clear view. Taking He had aimed Cameron fired. The buck Dropped as if dead. Marking the Spot Cameron hurried forward. But To his surprise found only a trail of Blood. He's badly hit though. He said to himself, I must get the Poor chap now at all costs. Swiftly he took up the trail. But Though the blood stains continued Clear and fresh he could get no sight Of the wounded animal. Hour after Hour he kept up the chase. Forgetful But his determination to bring back His game to camp. From the freshness Of the stains he knew that The buck could not be far ahead And from the footprints it was clear That the animal was going on three legs. The beggar is hearing me and So keeps out of sight said Cameron As he paused to listen. He resolved To proceed more slowly and with greater Caution. But though he followed His plan for another half hour It brought him no better success. The day was fast passing and he could No longer continue his pursuit. He became conscious of pain In his injured foot. He sat down To rest and to review his situation. For the first time he observed That the bright sky of the morning Had become overcast. With A film of hazy cloud and That the temperature was rapidly Falling. Prudence suggested That he should at once make his way Back to camp. But with the instinct Of the true hunter he was loath To abandon the poor wounded beast Of unhappy fate. He resolved to make One further attempt. Refreshed By his brief rest. But with an Increasing sense of pain in his foot He climbed this light rising ground Before him. Cautiously pushed his way Through some scrub. And there With uneasy shots stood the buck With dooping head and evidently With strength nearly done. Cameron took careful aim. There must Be no mistake this time and fired. The buck leaped high and the air Dropped and lay still. The first Second had pierced his heart. Cameron Hurryed forward and proceeded to skin The animal. But soon he abandoned this Operation. Will come and get him To moral. He muttered and he is Better with his skin on. Meantime Will have a stake, however. He hung A bit of skin from a pole To keep off the wolves and selected A choice cut for the supper. He We're turdly. For the sudden drop In the temperature was ominous of a Serious disturbance in the weather. But Before he had finished he was startled By a large snowflake lazily fluttered To the ground beside him. He glanced Towards the sky and found that the Filmy clouds were rapidly assuming Definite shape and that the sun Had almost disappeared. Hurriedly Took his bearings and, calculating As best he could the direction of the Camp, set off. Well Satisfied with the outcome of his Expedition and filled with the pleasing Anticipation of a venison, supper For himself and the rest of the gang. The country was for the most part Except for patches of timber here and there. And with the clear sky the difficulty Of maintaining direction would have Been but slight. With the sky overcast However, this difficulty Was sensibly increased. He had Not kept an accurate reckoning of His course, but from the character Of the ground. He knew that he must Be a considerable distance westward Of the line of the camp. This training During the winter and holding a line Of march helped him now to maintain His course steadily in one direction. Temperature was still dropping rapidly. Over the woods hung a dead stillness Except for the lonely call of an Occasional crow or the scream of The impudent whiskey jack. But soon Even these became silent. As he surmounted each hilltop Cameron took his bearings afresh and Anxiously scanned the sky for weather signs. In spite of himself there crept Over him a sense of foreboding Which he impatiently tried to shake Off. I can't be so very far From camp now. He said to himself Looking at his watch, it's just Four. There were three good hours Till dark. A little to the west Of his line of march stood a high hill Which appeared to dominate the surrounding Country and on its top a lofty pine. I'll just shin up that tree, said he. I ought to get a sight of the bow From the top. In a few minutes He had reached the top of the hill. But even in those minutes The atmosphere had thickened. Jove, it's getting dark. He Exclaimed, it can't be near Sun down yet. Did I make a mistake In the time? He looked at his watch Again. It showed a quarter after four. I must get a look at this country. Hurriedly he threw off his jacket And proceeded to climb the big pine Which, fortunately, was Limbed to the ground. From the lofty Top his eye could sweep The country for many miles Around over the great peaks Of the Rockies to the west dark masses Of black cloud shot with Purple and liver-colored bars Hung like a pawl. To the north A line of clear light was still Visible, but over the foothills Towards east and south there lay Almost invisible, a shimmering haze Soft and translucent, and above The haze a heavy curtain. While Over the immediate landscape there Showing a strange weird light Through which there floated Down to earth large white snowflakes Not a breath of air moved across The face of the hills, but still As the dead they lay in solemn Silence. Far to the north Cameron's caught the gleam of water That must be the bow he said to himself I am miles too far toward The mountains. I don't like The look of that haze in that cloud bank There is a blizzard on the move If this winter's experience Teaches me anything. He once had been caught in a Blizzard, but on that occasion He was with MacGyver. He was Conscious now of a little clutch At his heart as he remembered The desperate struggle for breath For life it seemed to him Behind MacGyver's broad back The country was full of stories of men Being overwhelmed by the choking, drifting Whirl of snow. He knew how swift At times the unfall of the Blizzard Could be. How long the storm Could last. How appalling the cold Could become. What should he do? He must think and act swiftly. That gleaming water near which His camp lay was, at the very Best going, two hours distant. The Blizzard might strike at any moment And once it struck all hope of advance Would be cut off. He resolved to seek The best cover available and wait Till the storm should pass. He had His dear meat with him and matches. Could he but make shelter? He doubted Not, but he could weather the storm. Swiftly he swept the landscape For a spot to camp. Half a mile away He spied a little coolly where several Valleys appeared to lose themselves in Thick underbrush. He resolved to Make for that spot. Hurriedly From the tree, dawn-belt and jacket And, picking up gun and venison, Set off at a run for the spot he had Selected. A puff of wind touched His cheek. He glanced up and about him. The flakes of snow were no longer Floating gently down, but were Slanting in long, straight lines Across the landscape. His heart took A quicker beat. It is coming sure Enough, he said to himself between His teeth, and a bad one too at that. He quickened his pace to racing speed Down the hill, across the valley The next slope he ran without pause. But as he reached the top of The slope, a sound arrested him. A deep, muffled, hissing roar And mingled with it the beating of A thousand wings. Beyond the top Of the next hill, there hung from the Sky to earth the curtain, thick, Black, pretentious, and swiftly Making approach, devouring The landscape as it came and Filling his ears with its muffled, Hissing roar. In the coolly beyond That hill was the spot he had marked His shelter. It was still some Three hundred yards away. Could he beat That roaring, hissing, pretentious Cloud mass? It was extremely Doubtful. Down the hill he ran Slipping, skating, pitching Till he struck the bottom, then up The opposite, slow, he struggled Stringing every nerve and muscle. He glanced upward towards the top Of the hill, merciful heaven. There It was, that pretentious cloud mass Roaring down upon him. Could he ever Make that top? He ran a few steps Further, then, dropping his gun, he clutched A small poplar and hung fast. A driving, blinding, choking, whirling Mass of weight as hurled itself At him, buffeting him heavily, Filling eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, Clutching at his arms and legs And body with a thousand Impalpable insistent claws. For a moment or two he lost all Sense of direction, all thought Of advance, one instinct only He obeyed to hold on for dear Life to the swaying, quivering Poplar. The icy cold struck him to The heart. His bare fingers were fast Freezing. A few moments he hung Hoping for a lull in the fury of The blizzard. But lull there was none. Only that choking, blinding, Terrifying thing that clutched And tore at him. His heart sank Within him. This, then, Was to be the end of him. A vision of his own body, stark And stiff, lying under a mound Of drifting snow, swiftly passed Before his mind. He threw it off Fully, not yet, not just yet. He shouted in defiance into The face of the howling storm. Through the tumult and confusion of his Thoughts, one idea dominated. He must make the hilltop. Sliding His hands down the trunk of the little Poplar, he once more found his rifle And, laying it in the hollow of His arm, he hugged it close to his Side, shoved his freezing hands into His pockets and, leaning hard against The driving blizzard, set off Towards the hilltop. A few paces Made, then turning around, leaning back Upon the solid massive force Of the wind till he could get breath. Again a few steps upward And again a rest against the wind. His courage began to come back. Aha, he shouted at the storm. Not yet, not yet. Gradually, and with growing courage, He fought his way to the top. At length, he stood upon. The storm swept, summoned. I say, he cried, heartening Himself with his speech. This is so much to the good, anyway. Now for the Cooley. But exactly where Did it lie? Absolutely nothing Could he see before him but this Blinding, choking mass of whirling snow. He tried to recall the direction In relation to the hill as he had Taken it from the top of the tree. How long ago that seemed? Was it minutes or hours? Downward and up towards the left Layed the Cooley. He could hardly Fail to strike it. Funging head Long into the blizzard. He fought Step by step. It was jolly well Like a scrimmage. He said Grimly to the storm which began In his imagination to assume a kind Of monstrous and savage personality. It heartened him much To remember his sensations In many a desperate struggle against The straining, steaming mass of muscle And bone in the old fierce football Fights. He recalled to A word of his old captain Never say die. The next minute May be better. Never say die. He cried aloud in the face of his enemy. But I wish to heaven I could Get up some of that heat just now. This cold is going to be the death of me. As he spoke he bumped Into a small bushy spruce tree. Hello. Here you are, huh? He cried determined to be Careful. Glad to meet you. Hope there are lots more of you. His hope was realized. A few more Steps and he found himself in the heart Of a spruce thicket. Thank God He exclaimed. Then again, yes, God it is, he steadied his heart Not a little to remember the picture In his mother's Bible that had So often stirred his youthful imagination Of one standing in the fishing boat And bidding the storm be still. In the spruce thicket he stood Some moments to regain his breath And strength. Now what next He asked himself, although the thicket Broke the force of the wind, Something must be done and quickly. Night was coming on and that meant An even intense or cold. His hands Were numb. His hunting jacket was But slight protection against the Driving wind in the bitter cold If he could only light a fire. A difficult business in this Tumultuous whirlwind and snow He had learned something of this art However, from his winter's experience. He began breaking from the spruce Trees the dead tried twigs. Oh, for some birch bark. Like a forgotten dream that came to Him that from the treetop he had seen Above the spruce thicket. The tops of some white birch trees Purpleing under the touch of spring. Let's see. Those birches Must be further to my left. He said, recalling their position. Painfully he forced his way through The scrubby underbrush. His foot struck hard against an obstruction That nearly threw him to the ground. It was a jutting rock, Peering through the white mass Before his eyes. He could make out A great black looming mass Eagerly pushed forward. A towering slab of rock Following it round on the leeside He suddenly halted with a shout Of grateful triumph. A great section had fallen out of the rock Forming a little cave, stormproof and dry. Thank God once more, he said And this time with even deeper reverence Now for a fire if I could only Get some birch bark. He placed his rifle in a corner of the cave And went out on his hunt. By Job I must hurry or my hands will be gone Sure. Looking upwards in the shelter Having snow he saw the bare tops of trees. Birch, too, as I am alive, he cried. And plunging through the bushes Came upon a clump of white birches With fingers that could hardly hold The curling bark he gathered a few bunches And hurried back to the cave. Again he went forth and gathered From the standing trees an armful Of dead dry limbs. Good, he cried aloud in triumph. Were not beaten yet, now for the fire And supper he drew forth his steel Man shaking fingers opened it And stood stricken dumb. There were only three matches in the box. On reasoning terror seized him. Three chances for life. He chose a match, struck it, But in his numb and nervous fingers The match snapped near the head. With a new terror seizing him He took a second match and struck it. The match flared, sputtering. Eagerly he thrust the birch bark at it. Too eagerly, a last for the bark, Rubbed out the tiny flame. He had one match left, one hope of life. He closed his matchbox. His hands were trembling with the cold And more with nervous fear That shook him in every limb. He could not bring himself to make the last attempt. Up and down the cave and out And in he stamped Beating his hands to bring back The blood and fighting hard to get Back his nerve. This is all rotten funk. He cried aloud raging at himself. He shall not be beaten. Summoning all his powers he once more Pulled out his matchbox, rubbed His birch bark fine and, kneeling down, Placed it between his knees Under the shelter of his hunting jacket. Kneeling there with the matchbox In his hand, there fell upon His spirit a great calm. Oh, God, he said quietly And with the conviction in his soul That there was one listening. Help me now. He opened the matchbox, took out the match, Struck it carefully and laid it On the birch bark. For one heart-wracking moment He flickered unsteadily, then clutching A resinous fiber of the bark. It flared up, shot out a tiny Tongue to one of the heavier bunches. Cod holds, sputtered, smoked, Burst into flame. With a prayer still going in his heart God help me now. Cameron fed the flame with bits of Bark and tiny twigs. Adding more and more till the fire began To leap, dance and snap Length, gaining strength It roared its triumph over The grim terror so recently threatened. For the president, at least, The blizzard was beaten. Now God be thanked for that, Said Cameron, for it was past My doing. End of book 3, chapter 1.