Sweetapple Cove Part 21

"We must count the points," he proposed.

He went over them several times, with the greatest care.

"There are thirty-nine good ones," he said, "besides one or two little ones that will hardly come up to the mark. It is a big beamy head with broad flat horns. You will seldom see a better one, Miss Jelliffe."

We sat there for a moment, and presently heard some one coming through the woods. It was the two men who were hurrying towards us.

"Camp ain't a quarter mile away," shouted Sammy. "Us heered the shot an'

come down. My, but that be a shockin' monstrous big stag. He's lucky, ma'am, doctor is. I mistrust he don't miss often."

"Miss Jelliffe fired that shot, Sammy," announced the doctor.

"Well, now! It do beat all! So yer done it yerself, did yer, ma'am? I'll fix him up now and bring th' head in by an' by. Don't yer be feared, I knows how ter take a scalp off fine fer stuffin'. To-morrer we'll take the meat. He's not long out of the velvet. Go right over ter the camp an'

s.h.i.+ft yer wet boots. Frenchy he'll show yer. Kittle's bilin' an'

everything ready. It do be a fine day's work."

They all looked so happy that the last doubt left my mind. Frenchy was positively beaming with delight, and I had to show them just where I stood when I shot, and to explain everything. Then we trudged cheerfully towards camp, keeping for a while by the edge of the brook, which we had to cross again. We came to a tiny waterfall, and above it was the outlet of a little lake, deep and placid-looking. Some black ducks were swimming on it, not very far away, and I was shown a beaver's house.

"That's the real, wild outdoors that I love," I declared, stopping for a moment. "How calm and still it all is. Look at the feathery smoke drifting away over there. I suppose it is the camp."

For a moment there was a bit of bad going, over some wind-fallen trees, and the doctor held out his hand for me.

"Thank you," I said. "It seems to me that I am all the time having to thank you, you are always so kind. I must say that you are a perfectly stunning guide."

So we got to the camp, laughing, and Susie had to be told the story all over again, while I changed shoes and stockings in the little tent, where there was the thickest possible bed of fragrant balsam, covered with blankets.

It is getting late, Aunt Jennie, and I'll have to tell you the rest of it another time. It was perfectly glorious.

Really I think it is a pity that Dr. Grant should bury himself in such a place. He ought to live in our atmosphere, for he is entirely fitted for it.

So good night, Aunt Jennie, with best love from your HELEN.

CHAPTER XIII

_From John Grant's Diary_

During the years that I spent abroad, in study, there were times when a tremendous longing would come over me, so great that I was sorely tempted to run away, even if for a few weeks only, and revel in the satisfaction of my desire. It would seize upon me during long evenings, when I was sometimes a little wearied with hard work. I hungered at such times for the smoke of a camp-fire, for its resinous smells, for the distant calls of night birds, for the crackling flames that cast strange lights upon friendly faces.

All this was ours on the evening we spent after our little caribou hunt.

Miss Jelliffe, who had had some slight experience with small target rifles, made a good shot at a fine stag, and we were all very cheerful.

The fire burned brightly before the tent she shared with Susie, and the dry dead pine with logs of long-burning birch crackled merrily. Over the little lake, behind the dark conifers and the distant hills, the sun had gone down in a glory of incandescent gold and crimson.

After we had finished our supper we all sat around the blaze and the tales began, of big caribou and mighty salmon. Yet after a time, as one always must in this country, we drifted off to stories of the never-ending fight against mighty powers.

Very simply, in brief sentences, with short intervals to permit of more accurate recollection, good old Sammy opened to us vistas of unending fields of ice whereupon men slew the harp-seals, and pictured to us the manner in which the toll of death sometimes turns against the slayers. He also spoke of fis.h.i.+ng schooners tossed by fierce gales, drifting by the side of mountainous bergs of ice rimmed with foam from the billows lashed in fury, and of seams that had opened as the s.h.i.+p spewed off its creeping oak.u.m. I am sure we could all see the men at the pumps, working until their stiffened arms and frozen hands refused the bidding of brains benumbed by cold and hunger.

"Yes, ma'am, it's hard, mighty hard, times and times, but when yer gets through wid it ye'll still be there, if yer has luck, and them as doesn't get ketched gets back ter th' wife an' young, 'uns, an' is thankful they kin start all over again."

I saw how interested Miss Jelliffe was, and did my best to draw the man out. Like most real fighters he was little inclined to live his own combats over again, yet when he was once started it took little effort to keep him going. After this I questioned Frenchy, very carefully, for he is even less inclined than the other fishermen to talk about himself. I have never known the secret, if there be one, in the life of this man, alone of his people on this sh.o.r.e, with that child of his. He is always ever so friendly, and looks at one with big, dog-like, trusting eyes, but I have never sought to obtain a confidence he does not seem to be willing to bestow on any one. For this reason I merely asked him whether he had traveled much in foreign lands, as a sailor.

Then, as he puffed quietly at his pipe, the man gradually expanded just a little, though never speaking of anything he had personally accomplished.

His tales, contrasting with Sammy's, took us to hot countries, with names that were rather vague to us.

He led us up some rivers tenanted by strange beasts wallowing in fetid mud which, when disturbed, sent forth bubbles that burst with foul odors, and made more unbearable the tepid moisture one had to breathe. Hostile, yellow people in strange garb slunk along the banks, hiding behind bamboos and watching the boats rowed by white men nearly succ.u.mbing to the torpor of the misty heat, while pulling with arms enfeebled by the fevers of what he called _La Riviere Rouge_. There had been fighting, nights and days of it, and once he had forgotten everything and awakened on board a s.h.i.+p that was out of sight of land. Now the trade winds were blowing, and many of the sick and wounded felt better, yet the great sharks kept on following because of the long bundles that were daily dropped overboard, done up in sail cloth and weighted at the feet. And when one arrived in port there were poor old women who called for Jean-Marie and for Joseph, and who sank fainting on the docks. But others were happy.

I could see that Miss Jelliffe was deeply interested in these tales of things related very simply, very naturally, as if the sailor had spoken of catching squid or under-running trawls. She wondered, as I did, why this man who had sailed so many seas should have drifted here and taken up his life in a strange land with the little yellow-haired boy in which his heart was enwrapped.

Sammy and Susie listened open-mouthed to those tales of things they could not realize or understand, for they could make little out of them, since the man was often hard pushed for words, using a good many from his own tongue.

"Why don't you go back to your own country?" asked Miss Jelliffe, very softly.

But he made no answer, pretending not to have heard her question. For an instant she looked at him, then turned her head away. I also saw that a strange moisture had gathered in the big man's eyes, lighted as they were by the flames into which he peered, as if seeking in them lost things that were past redeeming.

For some time we all remained very silent, as if oppressed by the awe of these tales, and I had to take a desperate measure to change the trend of thought. In a low voice I began to sing a lilting Irish melody with a sweet refrain in which Miss Jelliffe joined, soon followed by Sammy's deep tones and Susie's shrill ones, while Frenchy began to keep time with a blackened pot-stick.

So it was only a few minutes before cheerful thoughts returned to us, as the darkness deepened and the stars glittered, clear and close at hand.

Then we finally said good-night and Miss Jelliffe sought her tent, attended by Susie.

We men went away to our lean-to, and talked a little longer before stretching out for a sound night's sleep. And it seemed but a few instants before we were up again, with the sunlight beginning to stream over the distant hillocks towards the sea that was now hidden from us. I took my rod to the outlet, where trout were rising, and returned soon to find that coffee was being made while the men were cutting bacon and chopping more wood.

Then Susie came to us, wanting some hot water and hurriedly returning to the tent. Finally the flaps were turned aside and the young woman came out, rosy of cheek and bright-eyed. Susie had a small fire before her tent, and Miss Jelliffe held her hands before it for a moment. When she came towards us I was kneeling on a small rock at the water's edge, cleaning trout, while Frenchy was sc.r.a.ping away at the caribou head, the scalp of which hung over a pole, to dry a little after a good salting.

Sammy was smiting away at an old pine log for more firewood.

"Good morning," she cried. "It is a perfect shame that you allowed me to sleep so long. Oh! The beautiful trout! Where did you get them?"

I explained my capture, and told her that a few moments had been enough to secure all that were needed for all hands. The two men grinned at her delightedly, as she went up to them, happy and smiling, and she had to inform them that she had spent a wonderful night of such sleep as no one could possibly get outside of the wilderness.

"Isn't it all lovely and cheerful!" she exclaimed. "Now I insist on being useful too. Won't you let me fry the trout?"

She knelt by the fire, holding a frying pan whose hollow handle had been fitted with a long stick. The big dab of b.u.t.ter soon melted, and in a moment the trout were crepitating and curling up in the pan, sending forth heavenly odors.

"We can take our time," I told her, "for we will not look for another stag to-day. All that meat is going to make a heavy load to take back."

"But it is a shame," she said, contritely. "You were going for a hunt, and now that I have killed the stag you won't have any sport at all."

"I have had as good sport as any man has the right to expect," I said.

"Please don't believe that it all lies in pulling a trigger. It is just this sort of thing that makes hunting glorious; the cheery fire and the flapping tent doors, the breeze ruffling the lake, the sitting at night by the fire and the tales we heard there. I will agree never to kill a caribou again if you will only furnish me with such sport as this from time to time."

"I was just thinking," she said, "that I am a law-breaker. I have no license to kill caribou."

"I have no doubt that you may be forgiven if you will send the money to St. John's and apply for a license. Then you can shoot two more, with an easy conscience."

"I will certainly send it," she replied, "but you ought to keep that head, you know."

"No indeed, it is yours, and you must take it back with you to be mounted. If I should ever return to New York I will ask you to allow me to have a look at it."