| It
was a still night. Long clouds, pervaded with a peculiar
moony lustre, lay above the horizon; higher in the sky
hung patches of diaphanous vapor, with a vast and steady
outline, pierced here and there with stars. The very
air had the seeming consciousness that awaits some event
expected since the framing of the world. Even the black
hill shrouded with pines, at whose base the river swept,
seemed to wait. Over its crest, at first twinkling in
the pines and then swinging clear above, the stars rose.
Even the rapids seemed controlled, and their contemplative
murmur was withdrawn and sounded afar off. Through the
dense shadows of the forest, climbing a steep road cut
into the bank high above the river, two figures were
toiling. The man, with a canoe on his shoulders, was
of gigantic stature, and carried this burden as lightly
as a feather. Behind him walked a young girl, who paused
now and then in the ascent to gaze through the gaps
in the trees, over the river to the hill, which covered
the horizon with its shadow. After the steep there was
a level piece of road, and then a descent, almost to
the river. As they reached the foot of this hill, the
man under the canoe gave a long whoop, and a few moments
after a turn in the road brought them in view of a log-house,
set back from the road. The door was open, and there
was a light within.
“Is that you,
Donald?” asked a voice.
“It is,” shouted
the man under the canoe, “and Maggie.”
“Why Maggie; what did
she come for?”
“Came to see her father,
I guess; besides, she may be of some use.”
“She wasn’t asked,
and besides she may be in the way.”
This last remark was almost
whispered to the giant, as he swung the canoe off his
shoulder. Maggie, without speaking, went into the house;
the man followed.
There was only one room in this
house; in the middle of the floor stood a stove, on
a raised square of hard clay; around three sides ran
two rows of bunks, one above the other; on the fourth
side was built a sort of loft, [Page 41]
reached by a small ladder; there was one window; the
walls were discolored with smoke, and a smoky odor pervaded
the place.
Before Maggie O’Mara fell
asleep that night, she heard her father and Black Donald
talk over their plans.
“Is it the phosphates?”
said Donald.
“It is, you’re right,
Donald, it’s the phosphates.”
“Is it a good show now?”
“It is, you’re right,
it’s a fine show. You know, knowing the phosphates
as I do, I would call it a damn fine show, and there’s
no use talking but it is.”
“If it turns out well
now, how would it show up?”
“That’s rather hard
to tell, Donald; you know enough about the phosphates
to know that; it’s as hard to tell as how a woman
is going to behave after she’s married; but if
a capitalist was to plank down ten thousand dollars
on this here stove for that there show, I’d tell
him to shove it in the fire.”
Donald whistled softly to himself.
“But there’s somebody
on it?”
“There is; that is, there’s
a Frenchman.”
“Well, what’s the
good of our bothering over it; I guess he’ll hang
on, won’t he?”
“Perhaps he will, and
perhaps he won’t; perhaps he could be coaxed off,
and perhaps he could be scared off. You see, he don’t
know anything more about them phosphates being there
than that girl Mag does; and he’s only a Frenchman.
He’s got a young thing for a wife there, and a
little kid; and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, and what are you
going to do?”
“I’m going to coax
him, and you’re going to scare him, but Frenchy’s
got to go. We’ll go over the the ‘show’
in the morning and put in a shot, if you like.”
“Is it far?”
“No, it’s back of
the lake, under a little hill like.”
The next morning a dense mist
had shrouded the world; it filled in the gaps in the
trees and hung close to the river; everything was dripping
with moisture. It was so dark that Marie Laviolette
had to light a candle to get the breakfast. Going about
her work, singing softly to herself, she heard a sound
a little heavier than the discharge of a gun. She listened,
but it did not come again; and when her husband came
in from his morning work she said, “Gabriel, what
was that firing back in the woods?” [Page
42]
“Some prospectors letting
off a blast, I suppose. I saw the little man they call
The Tim O’Mara around here last week.”
“Perhaps they’re
finding phosphates on our land.”
“Never a bit; no such
good luck; I’ve been over the whole place, and
there isn’t a dollar’s worth on it.”
But whether this was so or not,
there was not a happier home on the Lievres than Gabriel
Laviolette’s. He had built his log-house about
a stone’s throw from the river; it was as white
without and within as whitewash could make it. A group
of sunflowers blazed against the shining wall, and scarlet
runners covered the windows. The floor was as clean
as the walls; just under the ceiling there was a row
of saints’ pictures; there was the good St. Anne,
and St. Nicholas with the children in the tub, and one
of the Christ, with His wounded heart upon His breast.
On a very high chest of drawers, that Marie had brought
from her own home when she was married, was a clock,
and when it struck a rooster came out and crowed. Her
little baby boy, Desiré, watched every hour for
this rooster to crow. Gabriel had the whole of fifty
acres of land of his own, but most of it was covered
with timber. He had cleared some new land, and had a
fine crop of oats, which he was going to sell to the
lumbermen for their horses.
A few days after Marie had heard
the shot in the woods, she took Desiré in her
arms and went back to where Gabriel was working. He
was where she had expected to find him, but as two men
were talking to him, she put Desiré down and
let him play about in the long grass. By and by the
men went away.
“Who were they?”
asked Marie.
“The little man was The
Tim O’Mara; the great big man was Black Donald
McDonald.”
“I don’t like them;
they look very bad.”
“And they’re just
as bad as they look; that Black Donald is the worst
man on the river. I have heard tell how he has smashed
a man’s jaw with one blow.”
“Oh, Gabriel, I hope he’ll
never be angry with you.”
“I’m not afraid
of him. They’re over at the old shanty.”
“And what did they want?”
“They want us to sell
the place; they say they will give us a thousand dollars
for it.”
“And what do they want
it for?”
“I don’t know; I
didn’t ask them, and they didn’t tell me.”
“Gabriel, they’ve
found something on our land.”
“Never, there’s
nothing on it; but—“he hesitated.
[Page 43]
“But we won’t give
it up, will we?” said Marie.
Gabriel shook his head.
Day after day Tim O’Mara
came to talk it over with him. Gabriel asked him what
he wanted the land for. “I don’t mind telling
you,” said Tim; “I have found the phosphates
back here about two miles, not anywhere near your land,
but I want to get a clear road to the river, and your
place is on the line. We’re going to work that
mine, and we want all this land for a farm, and for
horses and such.”
Gabriel told Marie this. “And
where will we go if we leave here?” she asked.
“Well, there are plenty
of places.”
“But this is our home,
and besides, if they want our land for all that, it
is worth more.”
Gabriel was wavering. The next
time he saw Tim that speculator offered him twice as
much. He had hard work to keep from saying yes, but
he said “Well, I’ll see.” “He’s
just about done,” said Tim to Black Donald, “if
that little wife of his doesn’t talk him over.”
When Gabriel told Marie of this
last offer she said, “Gabriel, don’t give
in; I’m sure they don’t want it for that;
they could get out to the river in other places; say
No, and we’ll wait and see what comes of it.”
“It’s always the
way with you women,” said Gabriel. “You’re
afraid to make a move.”
He was angry and went out on
the river in his canoe; but Marie had won her point.
“It’s no use,”
said Tim, “The Frenchman won’t budge.”
“He will,” said
Black Donald, with an oath.
“I don’t see why
you can’t leave him alone, there’s plenty
of phosphates lying around,” said Maggie, who
was leaning against the door looking across the river.
“What do you know about
phosphates?”
“I was back and looked
at the show.”
Her father jumped up and came
over to her. “Will you give the thing away?”
he said.
“Let go of me, I’ll
do as I please,” she said, sullenly, shaking him
off.
“That girl’s taken
a shine to Frenchy,” he said.
“Can’t you leave
her alone,” said Black Donald, with a scowl. So
they all fought and did not speak for three days.
One day when Marie was working
outside, she took Desiré and put him on the grass
to play. He had a pink blossom of hollyhock and a wooden
horse, which divided his attention. He would throw the
flower as far as he [Page 44] could,
and then crawl after it and come back and present it
to the horse, which stood stolidly observing the proceedings.
Marie kept her eye on him, and called to him not to
get too near the edge of the bank, and once she had
to go and lift him back to safety. Then she left him
and went into the house. When she came back, after a
moment, he was nowhere to be seen. There stood the wooden
horse headed to the river; but Desiré was not
by. She ran to the edge of the bank and looked over;
he was not there; he could not have crept as far as
the bushes, she had only been away a moment. She rushed
into the house and gave one hurried glance at the cradle.
She felt faint; “Desiré,” she cried,
“Desiré!” and listened. There was
no cry in answer; she ran into the bushes and then back,
crying out all the time “Desiré, Desiré!”
Then she rushed down to the landing and looked along
the shore. There was nothing; he was not there. But
something caught her eye in the water; her heart stopped;
slowly in the turn of an eddy rose the pink hollyhock
blossom. She darted into the water with a scream, and
holding on by a bush waded in up to her waist, and leaned
far enough out to catch it as it rounded with the swirl.
Then her one thought was for Gabriel; he could swim
and dive, and she could do nothing. So she ran back
through the garden and into the clearance, shouting—“Gabriel,
Gabriel!” She knew he was back at the lake nearly
a mile away. On she went, struggling over the uneven
ground, calling out as she caught her breath, and almost
falling with terror and fatigue, until at last her voice
reached him where he was working.
Before Marie had returned to
the river, Gabriel had dived time and again, and was
standing up in his canoe paddling slowly with the current.
Down he went; and Marie climbed the point and sank there
to watch him. He went right into the head of the rapid,
until she thought he would go over; but he turned and
came back. Then he paddled about the shores until almost
dark, Marie watching him in a sort of dream. Suddenly
he called out “Desiré,” with a loud,
choking cry. Marie answered him from the bank, and crying
“Desiré, Gabriel!” ran along the
shore to the landing.
The summer days passed; but
how heavily without Desiré. Marie could not bear
to look at the river; she tried not to think of it,
and would shut her eyes when she went out, and not open
them until she had turned away. She had pressed the
hollyhock in her prayer-book; the wooden horse and the
cradle she kept by themselves, until Gabriel would not
let her have them, she cried so much, and hid them away
and would not tell her where.
Black Donald and Tim were seldom
seen; they made no overtures for the place, and seemed
to have forgotten they had a desire for it. Maggie was
the only one who seemed to pay any attention to her
neighbors. Twice, [Page 45] when Gabriel
was mowing, she rose almost from under his eyes, as
he paused to whet his scythe, and went trailing through
the grass, giving him a look over her shoulder. Then
she would sit watching coolly from the bush as Marie
and he turned the hay. This enraged Black Donald. “The
girl’s daft on the Frenchman,” he said one
night to Tim. That gentleman was mending a pair of shoe
packs beside a smoky coal-oil lamp. “Maggie’s
a fine girl,” said he.
“And what for do you say
that?”
“Because you are too coarse,
Donald; if you were educated, now, you might carry on
the negotiations in French with Frenchy; and there’s
no telling what would come of it.”
“Come of it—I’ll
French him. I’ll talk to him a language he can
understand. I’ll fire his hay for him, and see
how he likes that.”
There was a silence, broken
only by the pulling of Tim’s threads, and Donald’s
hard breathing. “That mightn’t be a bad
idea,” said the former, quietly; “to warm
him up a bit.” But no more was said about it,
and Black Donald went off to Paltimore in a rage with
Maggie.
Gabriel had built his stack
in the field and was cutting his last hay; when he had
circled round a charred stump and had cut the hay clean
away from it, he noticed a piece of paper pinned there.
He pulled it off; there was writing on it; English writing.
Gabriel put it in his hat and showed it to Marie. She
read it to him. “Look out, Mr. Laviolette, watch
that hay, that’s wat’s the matter, it may
get skorched.”
“It means that they’ll
burn the stack. Oh, Gabriel!”
“They’ll burn the
stack, will they; well, let them try, that’s all.
I can’t sit out there and watch it all night,
but if they burn my hay—” and here he brought
his fist down on the table, thinking of all the work
he had had with it; but he did not finish his threat.
Every morning at gray daylight he walked out to his
field; but two weeks passed and no sign of fire was
on the stack.
Marie used to go out and help
Gabriel with his work; she was so lonely.
“I wish you’d sing
a bit,” he said.
“Gabriel, I couldn’t
sing.”
“Sing now “Sur le
pont d’Avignon.’” He tried to start
it himself; she joined in and he let her finish it alone.
“That’s good,” he smiled; but Marie
commenced to cry. Gabriel went on with his work bitterly.
When Marie went home to get
supper, she found a scrap of paper pinned to the door.
She read it with her hand on the latch. “Missus,
your little kid ant drown, that’s all; if you
go of that land that’s all right, but if you don’t
go he’s safe enuf, but you won’t hav him.”
[Page 46]
Marie hung to the door for support;
then she went in and had to sit down, trembling all
over. She went about her work wildly. Now she was all
for giving up the land. “I’ll have him back,”
her heart cried, “my little boy; I’ll have
him back again.” She let Gabriel sit at his supper
for a minute as if nothing had happened, then she cried
out—“He’s alive, Desiré isn’t
drowned!” He thought she had gone crazy. She went
on, leaving her place and going over to him. “There,
this paper says so; I can have him back if we only leave
the land and let them have it.”
“The land?” cried
Gabriel with an angry accent.
“Oh, Gabriel, what’s
the good of the land to us without Desiré! Let
them have it.”
“The land? Let who have
it?”
“The Black Donald and
the little man.”
“Never, I’ll never
let them have it.”
Marie tried to coax him, but
he would not hear. He was angry, and struck the table,
and broke his dish. “You women are always talking,”
he said; and then he was silent.
He did not eat a thing, but
Marie sat and watched him thinking. He walked up and
down for a while, and then went out. As it was getting
quite dark, Marie lit a candle. It threw a light on
Gabriel, who came in carrying Desiré’s
cradle and the wooden horse. Marie flung her arms around
his neck and commenced to cry softly; she thought “He
has made up his mind to sell the land.” When she
asked him that, he said, “No, I am going to have
Desiré, and I am not going to sell the land.”
Then a terrible look came into his eyes, and he walked
to and fro and then stood and glared at the floor, with
his hands in his pockets. Marie was frightened when
she saw him take up his hat; she put herself against
the door.
“I am going to get Desiré,”
he said. She could not keep him, but she snatched her
shawl, threw it over her head, and followed. It was
bright starlight; a whippoorwill in the dark woods gave
his notes boldly; his call was answered from the black
hill, rebounding across the rapids. Marie kept close
to Gabriel, who walked fast; she wanted to say something
to him about being careful, but she wanted to get Desiré
and she did not know what to say. Just as they got to
the door she touched him on the shoulder. He did not
feel her; he struck the door with his fist and shoved
it open.
The room was dimly lighted;
by the stove, in which a little fire was burning, Tim
sat hunched together smoking; Black Donald was smoothing
a whip-handle; Maggie was hidden in the shadow.
“I want my boy,”
said Gabriel. [Page 47]
No one spoke for a moment; then
Tim glanced up at Black Donald. “He wants his
boy, you know!”
“What have I got to do
with his boy?”
“One of you devils has
got my little boy, Desiré, and I have come to
have him or I want to know the reason.”
“Your little boy ain’t
here, mister.”
“He is, or you’ve
got him somewhere, and I’m going to have him,
or else I’ll kill somebody before I move out of
here.”
“I guess,” said
Black Donald, putting down the stick and rising slowly
to his full height, “you’d better kill me.”
Marie, standing by the door,
gave a little moan, and hid her face in her shawl. Gabriel
stood with his hands by his side as Black Donald came
on.
“You’d better go
away, Mr. Lavilet,” he said, reaching out one
big hand for his shoulder. Gabriel tossed it aside and
stepped back. Black Donald hit down on him and broke
through his guard. Gabriel staggered, but recovered
himself, and gathering all his force, sprang and struck
at the same time. Black Donald flew off his feet and
fell crashing into the stove, knocking it off its legs;
the pipes came down with a clatter. He did not move.
Maggie was down over him, holding up his head; her hand
showed some blood.
“You’d better get
away before you kill me,” said Tim, who was bringing
some water in a dish.
Gabriel strode out past Marie;
she followed him, but just on the threshold she turned
about and called “Desiré! Desiré!”
very clearly; but there was no answer. She cast a glance
at the group by the dismantled stove; a thin smoke from
the fire was ascending into the room and travelling
along the rafters; the wounded man lay immovable.
The night was as clear as before,
only the whippoorwill had come over the river and was
in the woods, and the two birds moved about, singing
monotonously. The rapids roared below the black hill,
with no sound beyond.
Gabriel owned he had spoiled
everything by fighting. “Now we’ll never
get him back,” he said, moodily. Marie turned
white; she could not blame him, because she had let
him go without trying to hold him.
One night, just a week after
his fight with Black Donald, Gabriel woke up to see
a glow on the wall. He sprang out of bed and looked
from the window; there was a glare in the sky. Marie
sprang up and lit a candle.
“That’s the hay,
sure,” said Gabriel, as he struggled into his
clothes. He snatched his gun and ran out. Marie bolted
the door and put out the candle; then she sat and cried;
and the fire on the wall swelled and wavered [Page
48] through her tears. When Gabriel got to
the stack it was burning up straight into the air. He
could do nothing; he stood and watched it blaze. Gradually
it smouldered down, and in a transport of rage, he fired
his gun into the woods. An owl commenced to hoot, and
he went home, half blinded, through the dark.
Black Donald had set fire to
the hay; Tim did not try to prevent him, and Maggie
could not. He went about with his head tied up in a
red handkerchief, and he swore, as deep as he knew,
not to take it off until he had his revenge. But the
burning of the stack did not satisfy him.
“I must have a shot at
him,” he growled to himself. He was still angry
at Maggie. One night she went out and did not come back
until late; this time he was furious and commenced to
break things like a child. Tim got up on one of the
highest bunks and kept perfectly still, while Donald
raged underneath. When the girl came in, he sat down
still for a while, then he said, quietly enough: “Where
have you been?”
“That’s none of
your business,” she said.
He leaped up and caught her
around the neck. Tim raised a doleful howl from the
bunk, and, as Donald was near enough, he threw a blanket
over his head. He let Maggie go and threw off the blanket;
then he pulled Tim down, threw him on the floor, and
stood over him for a minute. Then he went out and did
not come back that night.
Marie could neither sleep nor
eat; she thought of Desiré all the time. Gabriel,
too, had become morose; he walked about with a frown,
looking at the ground. He found that a bear had come
into his oats one night, and he had built a little stand
by a stump, and for two or three nights had sat there
watching for him, and thinking all the time how he could
get Desiré back. Black Donald knew he was watching
for the bear. He said to Tim, when he thought that Maggie
was nowhere about:
“I must have a shot at
him; there’s no use. He’s down there every
night watching his oats. I must have a shot at him,
that’s all there is to it.” His eyes were
bloodshot, and he broke his pipe-stem in his teeth.
Gabriel had been half wild all
that day because Marie would do nothing but cry, and
his fighting mood came over him again. “To-night,”
he said to himself, “I’ll leave the bear
alone, but I’ll have Desiré back.”
“I’m going out to
watch the oats,” he said to Marie, and when it
was darker he slipped away. When he had been gone some
time she noticed he had not taken his gun. She was frightened
when she thought the bear might come in when Gabriel
had no gun; so she took it up and went off to the oat-field.
[Page 49]
So soon as it had got dark,
Maggie had stolen away from the shanty, and had gone
down to the place where Gabriel had waited for the bear.
She laid down on the stand and waited, but Gabriel did
not come. After an hour she heard things breaking in
the woods.
“That’s Donald,”
she thought. But he had been watching her for a long
while. The moon was shining dimly behind a cloud. He
leaned against a tree, and every little while he would
raise his gun and take aim; but he did not shoot. “That
thing’s too white for the Frenchman,” he
thought. The crashing in the bush grew louder, and then
ceased altogether. Suddenly a huge black bear came swinging
down into the oats. He rolled about and pulled them
down with his paws. Maggie watched him and drew a knife
she had with her. Suddenly the bear rose up and came
by just beside the stand. Maggie leaned over and struck
down on him. The knife went in between his shoulder-blades,
but her blow was not strong enough, and she had lost
her balance, and fell almost over on the bear. He gave
a growl, and as she tried to recover herself he rose
and pulled her off the stand. She tried to cry out,
and struggled with him. Just then Marie came up with
the gun; she thought it was Gabriel struggling with
the bear. “Gabriel!” she screamed: “Gabriel!”
and she thought it was all over with him. But she put
the muzzle up to the bear and fired. He swayed for a
moment, and then fell over, and commenced to struggle
about in the oats.
Maggie was badly torn, but she
tried to sit up. Marie shredded her apron into strips
and bound up her arm. Then Black Donald appeared above
them, looking like a demon in the half light. Maggie
made him take the handkerchief off his head to bind
her wrist; he looked about for Gabriel and then pulled
it off.
“I won’t forget
you, missis,” said Maggie, as she walked away
holding to Black Donald.
Marie waited until they had
gone a little way, then she left the gun and the bear
and fled.
When Black Donald and Maggie
got home they found Tim tied to his chair and the room
in disorder. He was going go say: “Frenchy’s
been here, and he’s gone crazy;” but he
saw how pale Maggie was and the blood on her dress.
Gabriel had tied him in his chair, and had ransacked
the room; but he did not find Desiré.
Marie was sure now they would
never get him back; but Gabriel was curing the bear’s
skin. “It will make a coat for Desiré,”
he said.
“I believe he’s
drowned all the time,” moaned Marie, “and
they just said he was alive to make us give up the land.”
[Page 50]
Gabriel commenced to take in
the oats; it was a fine crop, close and strong, and
stood above the lake on the clear land. From a distance
it looked like a wedge of gold driven into the forest.
Marie worked with him, binding it and loading it on
the cart. She could not sing, although Gabriel wanted
her to, and would say: “Come now, ‘Sur le
Pont d’Avignon.’” But when she would
not, he would go on working as though he was never going
to leave off, until the sweat ran into his eyes. Marie
always went home early to get the meals. One evening
she went back to get supper. It was raining across the
river, and a great rainbow sprang up, hardly touching
the plain with one of its delicate wavering feet, curving
grandly with deepened and gorgeous colors against the
black cloud, until the hill cut it off. Marie looked
at it, with a hand on the latch, and then she pushed
the door; but there was something against it. Desiré
had taken to his feet, had pushed a chair all across
the room, and was holding it against the door. When
his mother overcame the soft resistance, he laughed
up in her face. There he was in his little pink dress,
the same as the day she lost him, only bigger and stronger.
When Gabriel came home supper was not ready; but Marie,
when she heard him coming, put Desiré in his
cradle and threw the bear-skin over him, and when Gabriel
came in he stood up just as if he had been told, and
his father had to catch him to keep him from falling
out of the cradle.
That night when Marie undressed
Desiré she found a piece of paper pinned to his
dress. She read there, printed with a pencil, these
words:
“Dear
Missis: What did I tell you? You safed my lif’.
I g’e’s your lit’le kid is al’
rite. There’s fosfates on your place, that’s
the reason why. My dad ses it’s worth a pot.
Tel’ your man to go back by the old road and
by the end of the lak’. The show is there. That’s
all. We’re going to get out.
Maggie
O’Mara.”
The
next day Gabriel went back to see the “show,”
and Marie went with him, and carried Desiré all
the way; but his father had to bring him back, he had
grown so heavy.
A week after this, a curious
procession took its way down the steep road; first came
Black Donald, carrying a canoe on his back; then came
a wagon drawn by an ox and a horse; in the centre of
the wagon a table was turned with its legs in the air;
between these sat Maggie on a feather-bed and some brightly-colored
quilts. She had her eyes half closed, her arm was bandaged,
her face was rather pale and wore a contemptuous expression
as she leaned back against one of the table-legs. Tim
brought up the rear, with a pipe in his mouth, his hands
in his pockets, and a whip under [Page 51]
his arm, the lash of which trailed on the ground. It
had been raining all day and the road was muddy; water
lay in the ruts. Gradually the clouds rolled off, and
the night came, still and very clear, with many stars
over the black hill, and the rapids roaring loudly through
the dark. [Page 52]
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