Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1918 — Page 2

The White Silence

A Cold and Mute Witness to Human Heroism, Devotion and Tragedy

z z x—ARMEN won’t last more * 1 than a couple of days.” 1 . Mason spat out a chunk >■—of ice and surveyed the poor enima>ruefully, then put her foot in his mouth and proceeded to bite out the ice which clustered cruelly between the toes. “I never saw a dog with a highfalutin’ name that ever was worth a rap,” he said as he concluded his task and shoved her aside. ‘‘They just fade away and die under the responsibility. Did ye ever see one go wrong wit h a sensible name like Cassiar, Siwash or Husky? No, sir! Take a look at Shookum here, he’s” — Snap! The lean brute flashed up, the white teeth just missing Mason’s throat, “Ye will, will ye?” A shrewd clout behind the ear with the butt*of the dog whip stretched the animal in the snow, quivering softly, a yellow slaver dripping from its fangs. “As I was saying, just look at Shookum here. He’s got the spirit Bet ye he eats Carmen before the week’s out.” “I’ll bank another proposition against that” replied Malemute Kid, reversing the frozen bread placed before the fire to thaw. “We’ll eat Shookum before the trip is over. What d’ ye say, Ruth?”

The Indian woman settled the coffee with a piece of ice, glanced from Malemiite Kid to her husband, then at the dogs, but vouchsafed no reply. It was such a palpable truism that none was necessary. Two hundred miles of unbroken trail in prospect, with a scant six days* grub for themselves and none for the dogs, could admit no other alternative. The two men and the woman grouped about the fire and began their meager meal. The dogs lay in their harnesses, for it was a: midday halt, afid watched each mouthful enviously. “No more lunches after today,” said Malemute Kid. “And we’ve got to keep a close eye on the dogs. They’re getting vicious. They’d just as soon pull a fellow down as not if they get a chance.”

“And I was president of an Epworth once and taught in the Sunday school.” Having irrelevantly delivered himself of this, Mason fell into a dreamy contemplation of his steaming moccasins, but was aroused by Ruth filling his cup. “Thank God, we’ve got slathers of tea! I’ve seen it growing down in Tennessee. What wouldn’t I give for a hot com pone just now! Never mind, Ruth. You won’t starve much longer, nor wear moccasins either.”

The woman threw off her gloom at this, and in her eyes welled up a great love for het white lord, the first white man she had ever seen, the first man whom she had known to treat a woman as something better than a mere

Stretched the Animal in the Snow, Quivering Softly.

animal or common beast of burden. “Yes, Ruth,” continued her husband, having recourse to the macaronic jargon in which it was alone possible for them to understand each other, “wait till we clean up and pull for the Outside. We’ll take the white man’s canoe and go to the salt water. Yes, bad water, rough water—great mountains dance up and down all the time. And so big,, so far, so far away—you travel ten sleep, twenty sleep, forty sleep”— he graphically enumerated the days on his fingers—“all the time water, bad water. Then you come to great village, plenty people, just the same mosquitoes next summer. Wigyams, oh, so high—ten, twenty pines. Hi-yu skookum!” He paused impotently, cast an appealing glance at Malemute Kid, then laboriously placed the twenty pines end on end by sign language. Malemute Kid smiled with cheery cynicisfi, but Ruth’s eyes were wide with wonder and with pleasure, for she half believed he was joking, and such condescension pleased her poor woman’s heart

“And then you step into a—a box, and pouf! up you go.” He tossed his empty cup in the air by way of illustration and as he deftly caught it cried: “And biff! down you come. Oh, great 'medicine men! You go Fort Yukon; I go Arctic City—twenty-five sleep—big string, all tUte time—l catch him string. I say: ‘Hello, 'Ruth! How are ye?’ And you say. ‘ls that my good husband?’ And I say, ‘Yes.’ And you say, ‘No can bake good bread; no more soda.’ Then I say: ‘Look in cache, under flour. Goodby.’ You look and catch plenty soda. All the time you Fort Yukon, me Arctic «ity. Hi-yu medicine man!”

Ruth smiled so Ingenuously at the fairy story that both men burst into laughter. A row among the dogs cut short the wonders of tne Outside, and by the time the snarling combatants were separated she had lashed the sleds and all was ready for the trail. “Mush! Baldy! Hi! Mush on!” Mason worked his whip smartly and as the dogs whined low in the traces broke out the sled with the gee pole.. Ruth followed with the second team, leaving Malemute Kid, who.had helped her start, to bring up the rear. Strong man, brute that he was, capable of felling, an ox at a blow, he could not bear to beat the poor animals, but humored them aS a dog driver rarely does —nay, almost wep£ with them in their misery.

“Come, mush on there, you poor, sore footed brutes!’’ he murmured after several ineffectual attempts to start the load. But his patience was at last rewarded*, and, though whimpering with pain, they hastened to join their fellows.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN'. RENSSELAER. TNT).

No more conversation. The toil of the trail will not permit'such extravagance. And of all deadening labors that of the northland trail is the worst. Happy is the man who can weather a day’s travel at the price of silence, and that on a beaten track. And of all heart breaking labors that nf breaking traiL is w-orst. At "every step the great webbed shoe sinks till the snow is level with the knee. Then up, straight up, the deviation of a fraction of an inch beinfc a certain precursor of disaster* the snowshoe must be lifted till the surface is cleared; then forward, down, and the other foot is raised perpendicularly for the matter of half a yard. He who tries this for the first time* if haply he avoids bringing' his shoes in dangerous propinquity and measures not his length on the treacherous footing, will give up exhausted at the end of a hundred yards. He who can keep out of the way of the dogs for a whole day may well crawl into his sleeping bag with a clear conscience and a pride which passeth all understanding, and he who travels twenty sleeps on the long trail is a man yhom the gods may envy. The afternoon wore on, and with the awe born of the white silence the voiceless travelers bent to their work. Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his flnity—the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven’s artillery—but „ the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the white silence. All move-* ment ceases; the sky clears; the heavens are as brass. The slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice. Sole speck of life journeying across the ghostly wastes of a dead world, he trembles at his audacity, realizes that his is a maggot’s life, nothing more. Strange thoughts arise unsummoned, and the mystery of all things strives for utterance. And the fear of death, of God, of the universe, comes over him—the hope of the resurrection and the life, the yearning for immortality, the wain striving of the imprisoned essence. It is then, if ever, man walks alone with God.

So wore the day away. The river took a great bend, and Mason headed his team for the cut-off across the narrow neck of land. But the dogs balked at the high bank. Again and again, though Ruth and Malemute Kid were shoving on {the sled, they slipped back. Then came the concerted effort. The miserable creatures, weak from hunger, exerted their last strength. Up, up, the sled poised on the. top of the bank, but the leader swung the string of dogs behind him to the right, fouling Mason’s snowshoes. The result was grievous. Mason was whipped off his feet. One of the dogs fell in the traces, and the sled toppled back, dragging everything to th 6 bottom again. Slash! The whip fell among the dogs savagely, especially upon the one which had fallen. “Don’t, Mason,” entreated Malemute Kid. “The. poor devil’s on its last legs. Wait and we’ll put nay team on.” Mason deliberately withheld the whip till the last word had fallen, then out flashed the long lash, completely curling about the offending creature s" body. Carmen—for it was Carmen—cowered in the snow, cried piteously, then rolled over on her side. ,

It was a tragic moment, a pitiful incident of the trail—a dying dog, two comrades hi anger. Ruth glanced solicitously from man to man, but Male mute Kid restrained himself, though there was a world of reproach in his eyes, and, bending over the dog, cut the traces. No word w’as spoken. The teams ware double spanned and the difficulty overcome; the sleds were under way again, the dying dog dragging herself along in the rear. As long as an animal can travel it is not shot, and t£is last chance is accorded it—the crawling into camp, if it can, in the hope of a moose being killed. Already penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends, Mason toiled on at the l)ead of the cavalcade, little dreaming that danger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the sheltered bottom, and' through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or more from the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stood there, and for generations destiny had had this one end in view. Perhaps the same had been decreed Mason.

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds came to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. The stillness was weird. Not a breath rustled the frost encrusted forest. The cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the trembling lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the .air. They did not seem to actually hear it, but, rather, felt it, like the premonition of movement in a motionless void. Then the gi;eat tree burdened with its weight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life. Mason heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up, but. almost erect, caught the blow squarely on the shoulder. The sudden danger, the quick death —how often had Malemute Kid faced it! The pine needlfes were still quivering as he gave bis commands and sprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order she threw her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing the pressure and listening to* her husband’s groans, while Mhlemute’ Kid' attacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit into the frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible respiration, the “Huh! Huh!” of the woodsman. At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the snow. ,

He Stooped to' Fasten the Loosened Throng.

But worse than his comrade’s pain Was the dumb anguish in the woman’s face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little was said. Those of the northland are early taught the futility of words and the inestimable value of deeds. With the temperature at 65 below zero a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So the sled lashings were cut and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a couch of boughs. Before him roared a fire, built of the very wood which wrought the mishap. Behind and partially over him was Stretched the primitive fly—a piece of canvas which caught the radiating beat and threw it back and dqwn upon him, a trick which men mav’ know who study physics at the fount. • » -

And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is sounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examination revealed it. His right arm, leg and back were broken, his limbs were paralyzed from the. hips, and the likellhQodl.gX internal injuries was large. An occasional moan was his only sign of life. No hope. Nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by, Ruth’s portion the despairing- stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid ydding new lines to his face of bronze. In fact, Mason suffered lease of all, for he spent his time in. eastern Tennessee, in the Great Smoky mountains, living over the scenes of his childhood. And most pathetic was the melody of his long forgotten southern vernacular as he raved of swimming holes and coon huiits and watermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood and felt—felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that civilization means. Morning brought consciousness to the stricken man, and Malemute Kid Bent closer to catch his whispers. “You remember wbfen we foregathered on {he Tanana, four years come next ice run? I didn’t care so much for her then. It was more like she was pretty, and there was a smack of excitement about it, I think. But, d’ ye know, I’ve come to think a heap of her. She’s been a good wife to me, alw r ays at my shoulder in the«. pinch. And when it comes to trading you know there isn’t her equal. D’ ye recollect the time she shot the Moosehorn rapids to pull you and me off ‘that rock, the bullets whipping the water like hailstones, and the time of the famine at Nuklukyeto, or when she raced the ice run to bring the news? Yes, she’s been a good wife to me, better’n that other one. Didn’t know I’d been there? Never told you, eh? Wfill, I tried it once down in the States. That’s why I’m here. Been raised together too. I came away to give her a chance for divorce. She got it. “But that’s got nothing to do with Ruth. I had thought of cleaning up qnd pulling for the Outside next year, her and I—but it’s too late. ‘. Don’t send her back to her people; Jtid. It’s beastly hard for a woman to go back. Think of it—nearly four years on our bacon and beans and flour and dried fruit, and then to go back to her fish and cariboo! It’s not good for her to have tried our ways, to come to know they’re better’n her people’s, and then return to them. Take care of her, Kid. Why don’t-you—but no; you always

fought Shy of them, and you never told me why you came to this country. Be kind to her and send her back to the States as soon as you can.- But fix it so as she can come back.. Liable to get homesick, you know. “And the youngster—it’s drawn us closer, Kid. I bnly hope it is a boy. Think of it—flesh of my flesh, Kid! He mustn’t stdp in this country. And if it’s a girl, why,, she can’t. Sell my furs. They’ll fetch at least five thousand. And I’ve got as much more with the company. And handle my interests with yours. I think that bench' claim will show up. See that he gets a good schooling, and, Kid, above, all, don’t let him come back. This country was not made for white men. “I’m a gone man, Kid. Three or four sleeps at the best. You’ve got to go on. You must go on! Remember, it’s my wife, it’s my boy-0 God, I hope it’s a boy! You can’t stay by me, and I charge you, a dying man, to pull on.” “Give me three days,” pleaded Malemute Kid. “You may change for the better. Something may turn up.” “No.” “Just three days." “You must pull on.” ‘■‘Two days.” ' “It’s my wife* and my boy, Kid. You would not ask it.” ' “One day.” “No, no! I charge”— “Only one day. We can shave it through on the grub, and I might knock over a moose.” ■ “No—all right—ohe day, but not a minute more. And, Kid, don’t —don’t leave me to face it alonA Just a shot, one pull on the trigger. You understand. Think of ‘ it! Thina of it! Flesh of my flesh, and I’ll never live to see him!

“Send Ruth here. I want to say goodby and tell her that she must think of the boy and not wait till I’m dead. She might refuse to go with you if I didn’t. Goodby, old man. “Kid, I say—a—sink a hole above the pup, next, to the slide. I panned out 40 cents on my shovel there. “And Kid”—he stooped lower to catch the last faint words, the dying man’s surrender of his pride—“l’m sorry—for —you know—Carmen.” Leaving the girl crying softly’ over her man, Malemute Kid slipped into his parka and snowshoes, tucked his rifle under his arm and crept away into the forest. He was no tyro in the stern sorrows of the northland, but never had he faced so stiff a problem as this. In the abstract it was a plain, mathematical proposition—three possible lives as against one doomed one. But now he hesitated. For five years, shoulder to shoulder, on the rivers and trails, in the camps, and mines, facing death by field and flood and famine, had they knitted the bonds of their comradeship. So close was the tie that he had often been conscious of a vague jealousy of Ruth*from the first time she had come betweefh. And now it muss be severed by his own hand.

Though he prayed for a moose, just one moose, all game seemed to have deserted the land, and hightfill found the exhausted man crawling into camp light handed, heavy hearted. An uproar from the dogs and shrill cries from Ruth hastened him. Bursting into,the camp, be saw the girl in the midst of the snarling pack, laying about her with an ax. The dogs had broken the iron rule of their mas-

The White Silence Seamed to Sneer.

ters and were rushing the grub. He joined the issue with his rifle reversed, and the hoary game jof natural selection was played out with all the ruthlessness of its primeval environment. Rifle and ax went up and down, hit or missed with monotonous regularity. Lithe bodies flashed with wild eyes and dripping fangs, and man and beast fought for supremacy to the bibterest conclusion. Then, the beatett brutes crept to the edge of the firelight, licking their wounds, voicing their misery to the stars. ■ The whole stock of dried salmon had been devoured, and perhaps five pounds of flour remained to tide them over 200 miles of wilderness. Ruth turned to her-husband, while Malemjne Kid cut up the warm body of one of the dogs, the skull of whiehj had been crushed by the ax. Every portion was carefully put away, save the hide and offal, which were cast to his fellows of the moment before. ; Morning brought fresh trouble. The animals were turning on each other. Carmen, who still clung to her slender thread of life, was downed by the pack. The lash fell among them unheeded. They cringed and cried under the blows, but refused to scatter till the last wretched bit had disappeared —bones, hide, hair, everything. Malemute Kid went about his work listening to Mason, who was back • in Tennessee, delivering tangled discourses and wild exhortations to his brethren of other days, ,1_ ——

Taking advantage of neighboring pines, he worked rapidly, and Ruth watched him make a cache similar to those sometimes used by hunters to preserve their meat from the wolverines and dogs. One after the other he bent the tops of two small pines toward each other and nearly to the ground, making them fast with thongs of moosehide. Ruth had received her husband’s last wishes and made no struggle. Poor girl! She had learned the lesson of obedience well. From a child she had bowed and seen all women bow to the lords of creation, and it did not seem in the nature of things for woman to resist The Kid permitted her one outburst of grief as she kissed her husband—her own people had no such cus-tom-then led her to the foremost sled and helped her into her snowshoes. Blindly, instinctively she took the geepole and whip and “mushed” the dogs out on the trail. Then the Kid returned to Mason, who had fallen into a Coma, and long after .she was out of sight crouched by the fire, waiting, hoping, praying for his comrade to die. It is not pleasant to be alone with painful thoughts in the white silence. The silence of gloom is merciful, shrouding one as with protection and breatfiihg a thousand intangible sympathies, but the bright white silence, clear and cold, under steely skies, is pitiless. An hour passed, two hours, but the man would not die. At high noon the sun, without raising its rim above the southern horizon, threw a suggestion of fire athwart the heavens, then quickly drew it back. Malemute Kid roused and dragged himself to his comrade’s side. He cast one glance about him. The white silence seeded to sneer, and a great fear came upon him. There was a sharp report, Mason swung into ills aerial sepulchre, and Malemute Kid lashed the dogs into a wild gallop as he fled across the snow. *