A map of Western Canada
showing the physical features of the
country lying between the mountains on the one side and the Bay and
the Lakes on the other, presents the appearance of a vast rolling
plain scarred and seamed and pitted like an ancient face. These
scars and seams and pits are great lazy rivers, meandering streams,
lakes, sleughs and marshes which form one vast system of waters
that wind and curve through the rolls of the prairie and nestle in
its sunlit hollows, laying, draining, blessing where they go and
where they stay.
By these, the countless
herds of buffalo and deer quenched their
thirst in the days when they, with their rival claimants for the
land, the Black Feet and the Crees, roamed undisturbed over these
mighty plains. These waterways in later days when The Honourable
the Hudson's Bay Company ruled the West, formed the great highways
of barter. By these teeming lakes and sleughs and marshes hunted
and trapped Indians and half-breeds. Down these streams and rivers
floated the great fur brigades in canoe and Hudson's Bay pointer
with priceless bales of pelts to the Bay in the north or the Lakes
in the south, on their way to that centre of the world's trade, old
London. And up these streams and rivers went the great loads of
supplies and merchandise for the faraway posts that were at once
the seats of government and the emporiums of trade in this wide
land.
Following the canoe and
Hudson's Bay boat, came the river barge and
side-wheeler, and with these, competing for trade, the overland
freighter with ox train and pack pony, with Red River cart and
shagginappi.
Still later, up these
same waterways and along these trails came
settlers singly or in groups, the daring vanguard of an advancing
civilization, and planted themselves as pleased their fancy in
choice spots, in sunny nooks sheltered by bluffs, by gemlike lakes
or flowing streams, but mostly on the banks of the great rivers,
the highways for their trade, the shining links that held them to
their kind. Some there were among those hardy souls who, severing
all bonds behind them, sought only escape from their fellow men and
from their past. These left the great riverways and freighting
trails, and pressing up the streams to distant head waters, there
pitched their camp and there, in lonely, lordly independence, took
rich toll of prairie, lake and stream as they needed for their
living.
Such a man was Jack
French, and such a spot was Night Hawk Lake,
whose shining waters found a tortuous escape four miles away by
Night Hawk Creek into the South Saskatchewan, king of rivers.
The two brothers, Jack
and Herbert French, of good old English
stock, finding life in the trim downs of Devon too confined and
wearisome for their adventurous spirits, fell to walking seaward
over the high head lands, and to listening and gazing, the soft
spray dashing wet upon their faces, till they found eyes and ears
filled with the sights and sounds of far, wide plains across the
sea that called and beckoned, till in the middle seventies, with
their mother's kiss trembling on their brows and on their lips, and
their father's almost stern benediction stiffening their backs,
they fared forth to the far West, and found themselves on the black
trail that wound up the Red River of the North and reached the
straggling hamlet of Winnipeg.
There, in one of
Winnipeg's homes, they found generous welcome and
a maiden, guarded by a stern old timer for a father and four
stalwart plain-riding brothers, but guarded all in vain, for
laughing at all such guarding, the two brothers with the hot
selfishness of young love, each unaware of the other's intent,
sought to rifle that house of its chief treasure.
To Herbert, the
younger, that ardent pirate of her heart, the
maiden struck her flaming flag, and on the same night, with fearful
dismay, she sought pardon of the elder brother that she could not
yield him like surrender. With pale appealing face and kind blue
eyes, she sought forgiveness for her poverty.
"Oh, Mr. French," she
cried, "if I only could! But I cannot give
you what is Herbert's now."
"Herbert!" gasped Jack
with parched lips.
"And oh, Jack," she
cried again with sweet selfishness, "you will
love Herbert still, and me?"
And Jack, having had a
moment in which to summon up the reserves of
his courage and his command, smiled into her appealing eyes, kissed
her pale face, and still smiling, took his way, unseeing and
unheeding all but those appealing, tearful eyes and that pleading
voice asking with sweet selfishness only his life.
Three months he roamed
the plains alone, finding at length one
sunny day, Night Hawk Lake, whose fair and lonely wildness seemed
to suit his mood, and there he pitched his camp. Thence back to
Winnipeg a month later to his brother's wedding, and that over,
still smiling, to take his way again to Night Hawk Lake, where ever
since he spent his life.
He passed his days at
first in building house and stables from the
poplar bluffs at hand, and later in growing with little toil from
the rich black land and taking from prairie, lake and creek with
rifle and with net, what was necessary for himself and his man, the
Scotch half-breed Mackenzie, all the while forgetting till he could
forget no longer, and then with Mackenzie drinking deep and long
till remembering and forgetting were the same.
After five years he
returned to Winnipeg to stand by her side whose
image lived ever in his heart, while they closed down the coffin
lid upon the face dearest to her, dearest but one to him of all
faces in the world. Then when he had comforted her with what
comfort he had to give, he set face again toward Night Hawk Lake,
leaving her, because she so desired it, alone but for her aged
mother, bereft of all, husband, brothers, father, who might guard
her from the world's harm.
"I am safe, dear Jack,"
she said, "God will let nothing harm me."
And Jack, smiling
bravely still, went on his way and for a whole
year lived for the monthly letter that advancing civilization had
come to make possible to him.
The last letter of the
year brought him the word that she was
alone. That night Jack French packed his buckboard with grub for
his six-hundred-mile journey, and at the end of the third week, for
the trail was heavy on the Portage Plains, he drove his limping
broncho up the muddy Main Street of Winnipeg.
When the barber had
finished with him, he set forth to find his
brother's wife, who, seeing him, turned deadly pale and stood
looking sadly at him, her hand pressed hard upon her heart.
"Oh, Jack!" she said at
length, with a great pity in her voice,--
"poor Jack! why did you come?"
"To make you a home
with me," said Jack, looking at her with eyes
full of longing, "and wherever you choose, here or yonder at the
Night Hawk Ranch, which is much better,"--at which her tears began
to flow.
"Poor Jack! Dear Jack!"
she cried, "why did you come?"
"You know why," he
said. "Can you not learn to love me?"
"Love you, Jack? I
could not love you more."
"Can you not come to
me?"
"Dear Jack! Poor Jack!"
she said again, and fell to sobbing
bitterly till he forgot his own grief in hers. "I love my husband
still."
"And I too," said Jack,
looking pitifully at her.
"And I must keep my
heart for him till I see him again." Her voice
sank to a whisper, but she stood bravely looking into his eyes, her
two hands holding down her fluttering heart as if in fear that it
might escape.
"And is that the last
word?" said Jack wearily.
"Yes, Jack, my brother,
my dear, dear brother," she said, "it is
the last. And oh, Jack, I have had much sorrow, but none more
bitter than this!" And sobbing uncontrollably, she laid herself on
his breast.
He held her to him,
stroking her beautiful hair, his brown hand
trembling and his strong face twisting strangely.
"Don't cry, dear
Margaret. Don't cry like that. I won't make you
weep. Never mind. You could not help it. And--I'll--get--over
it--somehow. Only don't cry."
Then when she grew
quiet again he kissed her and went out, smiling
back at her as he went, and for fifteen years never saw her face
again.
But month by month
there came a letter telling him of her and her
work, and this helped him to forget his pain. But more and more
often as the years went on, Jack French and his man Mackenzie sat
long nights in the bare ranch house with a bottle between them,
till Mackenzie fell under the table and Jack with his hard head and
his lonely heart was left by himself, staring at the fire if in
winter, or out of the window at the lake if in summer, till the
light on the water grew red, to his great hurt in body and in soul.
One spring day in the
sixteenth year, in the middle of the month
of May, when Jack had driven to the Crossing for supplies, an
unexpected letter met him, which gave him much concern and changed
forever the even current of his life. And this was the letter:
'MY DEAR JACK,--You
have not yet answered my last, you bad boy, but
you know I do not wait for answers, or you would seldom hear from
me.' "And that's true enough," murmured Jack. 'But this is a
special letter, and is to ask you to do a great thing for me, a
very great thing. Indeed, you may not be able to do it at all.'
"Indeed!" said Jack. 'And if you cannot do it, I trust you to tell
me so.' "Trust me! well rather," said Jack again.
'You know something of
my work among the Galicians, but you do not
know just how sad it often is. They are poor ignorant creatures,
but really they have kind hearts and have many nice things.' "By
Jove! She'd find good points in the very devil himself!" 'And I
know you would pity them if you knew them, especially the women and
the children. The women have to work so hard, and the children are
growing up wild, learning little of the good and much of the bad
that Winnipeg streets can teach them.' "Heaven help them of their
school!" cried Jack.
'Well, I must tell you
what I want. You remember seeing in the
papers that I sent you some years ago, the account of that terrible
murder by a Russian Nihilist named Kalmar, and you remember perhaps
how he nearly killed a horrid man who had treated him badly, very
badly, named Rosenblatt. Well, perhaps you remember that Kalmar
escaped from the penitentiary, and has not been heard of since.
His wife and children have somehow come under the power of this
Rosenblatt again. He has got a mortgage on her house and forces
the woman to do his will. The woman is a poor stupid creature, and
she has just slaved away for this man. The boy is different. He
is a fine handsome little fellow, thirteen or fourteen years old,
who makes his living selling newspapers and, I am afraid, is
learning a great many things that he would be better without.'
"Which is true of more than him," growled Jack. 'Of course, he
does not like Rosenblatt. A little while ago there was a dance
and, as always at the dances, that awful beer! The men got drunk
and a good deal of fighting took place. Rosenblatt and a friend of
his got abusing the girl. The boy flew at him and wounded him with
a knife.' "And served him jolly well right," said Jack with an
oath. 'And then Rosenblatt nearly killed him and threw him out in
the snow. There he would have certainly died, had not Dr. Wright
happened along and carried him to the hospital, where he has been
ever since. The doctor had Rosenblatt up before the Court, but he
brought a dozen men to swear that the boy was a bad and dangerous
boy and that he was only defending himself. Fancy a great big man
against a boy thirteen! Well, would you believe it, Rosenblatt
escaped and laid a charge against the boy, and would actually have
had him sent to jail, but I went to the magistrate and offered to
take him and find a home for him outside of the city.' "Good brave
little lady! I'know you well," cried Jack.
'I thought of you,
Jack.' "Bless your kind little heart," said
Jack. 'And I knew that if you could get him you would make a man
of him.' "Aha! You did!" exclaimed Jack. 'Here he is getting
worse and worse every day. He is so quick and so clever, he has
never been to school, but he reads and speaks English well. He is
very popular with his own people, for he is a wonderful singer, and
they like him at their feasts. And I have heard that he is as fond
of beer as any of them. He was terribly battered, but he is all
right again, and has been living with his sister and his step-
mother in the house of a friend of his father's. But I have
promised to get him out of the city, and if I do not, I know
Rosenblatt will be after him. Besides this, I am afraid something
will happen if he remains. The boy says quite quietly, but you
can't help feeling that he means it, that he will kill Rosenblatt
some day. It is terribly sad, for he is such a nice boy.' "Seems
considerable of an angel," agreed Jack. 'I am afraid you will have
to teach him a good many things, Jack, for he has some bad habits.
But if he is with you and away from the bad people he meets with
here, I am sure he will soon forget the bad things he has learned.'
"Dear lady, God grant you may never know," said Jack ruefully.
'This is a long letter,
dear Jack. How I should like to go up to
Night Hawk Ranch and see you, for I know you will not come to
Winnipeg, and we do not see enough of each other. We ought to, for
my sake and for Herbert's too.' "Ah God! and what of me?" groaned
Jack. 'I cannot begin to thank you for all your kindness. And,
Jack, you must stop sending me money, for I do not need it and I
will not use it, and I just keep putting what you send me in the
bank for you. The Lord has given me many friends, and He never has
allowed me to want.
'I shall wait two
weeks, and then send you Kalman--that is his
name, Kalman Kalmar, a nice name, isn't it? And he is a dear good
boy; that is, be might be.' "Good heart, so might we all," cried
Jack. 'But I love him just as he is.' "Happy boy." 'Wouldn't it
be fine if you could make him a good man? How much he might do for
his peoples! And if he stays here he will get to be terrible, for
his father was terrible, although, poor man, it was hardly his
fault.' "I surely believe in God's mercy," said poor Jack.
'This is a long
rambling letter, dear Jack, but you will forgive
me. I sometimes get pretty tired.' And Jack's brown lean hand
closed swiftly. 'There is so much to do. But I am pretty well and
I have many kind friends. So much to do, so many sick and poor and
lonely. They need a friend. The Winnipeg people are very kind,
but they are very busy.
'Now, my dear Jack,
will you do for Kalman all you can? And--may
I say it?--remember, he is just a boy. I do not want to preach to
you, but he needs to be under the care of a good man, and that is
why I send him to you.
'Your loving sister,
'MARGARET.'
There was a grim look
on Jack French's face as he finished reading
the letter the second time.
"You're a good one," he
said, "and you have a wise little head as
well as a tender heart. Don't want to preach to me, eh? But you
get your work in all the same. Two weeks! Let's see, this letter
has been four weeks on the way--up to Edmonton and back! By Jove!
That boy ought to be along with Macmillan's outfit. I say, Jimmy,"
this to Jimmy Green, who, besides representing Her Majesty in the
office of Postmaster, was general store keeper and trader to the
community, "when will Macmillan be in?"
"Couple of days, Jack."
"Well, I guess I'll
have to wait."
And this turned out an
unhappy necessity for Jack French, for when
the Macmillan outfit drove up to the Crossing he was lying
incapable and dead to all around, in Jimmy Green's back store. |