Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 94, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 February 1919 — North of Fifty-Three [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

North of Fifty-Three

by Bertrand W.SInclair

Ccpmdht LITHE, <1 Ga,

SYNOPSIS. t CHAPTER I—The story opens !n the town of Granville, Ontario, where Miss Hasel Weir Is employed as a stenographer in the office of Harrington and Bush. She 1b engaged to Jack Barrow, a young real estate agent, and the wedding day Is set. While walking with him one Sunday they tneet Mr. Bush, Hazel's euaployer, who for the first time seems to’notfce her attractiveness. Shortly afterward, at his request, she becomes his private stenographer. After three months Mr. Bush proposes marriage, which Hazel declines, and after a stormy scene in the office Hazel leaves her employment, Mr. Bush warning her he would make her sorry for refusing him. CHAPTER ll—Bush makes an effort, by a gift of flowers, to compromise Hazel In ’the minds of her friends. She them. The next day Bush Is thrown from his horse and fatally hurt. He sends for 'Hazel, who refuses to see him before ne dies. Three days afterward ft Is announced that he left a legacy of $5,000 to Hazel, “in reparation for any wrong I may have done her." Hazel recognizes at once what construction will be put upon the words. Bush had his revenge. CHAPTER lll—Jack Barrow, In a fit of Jealous rage, demands from Hazel an explanation of Bush’s action. Hazel’s pride Is hurt, and she refuses. The engagement Is broken and Hazel determines to leave Granville. She sees an advertisement for a school teacher at Cariboo Meadows, British/Columbia, and secures the situation. CHAPTER IV—Cariboo Meadows Is In a wild part of British Columbia and*Hazel, shortly after her arrival, loses her way while walking in the woods. She wanders until night, when, attracted by the light of a campfire, she turns to it, hoping to find somebody who will guide her home. At the fire she recognites a character known to Cariboo Meadows as "Roaring Bill Wagstaff," who had seen her at her boarding house there. He firomises to take her home in the mornng, but she Is compelled to spend the night In the woods. CHAPTER V-r-They start next day, Hazel supposes, for Cariboo Meadows, but Wagstaff finally admits he IB taking her to his cabin in the mountains. He is respectful and considerate, and Hazel, though protesting indignantly, Is helpless and has to accompany him.

CHAPTER VI. A Little Personal History. Hazel discarded the wet coat, and, drawing a chair up to the fire, took off her sopping footgear and toasted her bare feet at the blaze. Her clothing was also wet, and she wondered pettishly how in the world she was going to manage with only the garments on her back —and dirty and torn from hacking through the brush for a matter of two weeks. According to her standards, that was roughing it with a vengeance. But f presently she gave over thinking of her plight. The fire warmed her, and, with the chill gone from her body, she bestowed a curious glance on her surroundings. There was furniture of a sort unknown to her, tables and chairs fashioned by hand with infinite labor and rude skill, massive in structure, upholstered with the skins of wild beasts common to the region. Upon the walls bung pictures, dainty black-and-white prints, and a water color or two. And between the pictures were nailed heads of mountain sheep and goat, the antlers of deer and caribou/ Above the fireplace spread the huge shovel horns of a moose, bearing across the prongs a shotgun and fishing rods. The center of the floor —itself, as she could see, of hand-smoothed logs —was lightened with a great black and red and yellow rug of curious weave. Covering up the bare surface surrounding it were bearskins, black and brown. Her Xeet rested in the fur of a monster slivertip, fur thicker dnd softer than the pile of any carpet ever fabricated by man. All around the walls ran shelves filled with books. A guitar stood in one corner, a mandolin in another. Except for the dust that had gathered lightly in its owner’s absence, the place was as neat and clean as If the housemaid had but-gone over it. Hazel shrugged her shoulders. Roaring Bill Wagstaff became, If anything, more of an enigma than ever, in the light of his

dwelling. She recollected that Cariboo Meadows had regarded him askance and wondered why. i- He came in while her gaze was still roving from one object to another, and threw his wet outer clothing, boy fashion, on the nearest chair. I “Well,” he said, “we’re here.” i “Please don’t forget, Mr. Wagstaff,” she replied coldly, “that I would much prefer not to be here.” He stood a moment regarding her with his odd smile. Then he went into the adjoining room. Out of this he presently emerged, dragging a small steamer trunk. He opened it, got down on his knees, and pawed over the contents. Hazel, looking over her shoulder, saw that the trunk was filled with woman’s .garments, and sat amazed. * “Say, little person,” Bill finally remarked, “it looks to me as if you could outfit yourself completely right here." I “I don’t know that I care to deck myself another woman’s finery, thank you,” she returned perversely. “Now, see here,” Roaring Bill turned reproachfully; “See here — j He grinned to himself then, and went figaln into the other room, returning with a small, square mirror. He planted himself squarely in front of her, 'and held up the glass. Hazel took one 'look at her. reflection, and she could have struck Roaring Bill for his au’daclty. She had not realized what 'an altogether disreputable appearance 'a normally good-looking young-woman ' could acquire in two weeks on the trail, with no toilet accessories and only the clothes on her back. She tried to snatch the mirror f?om him, but Bill eluded her reach, and laid the

glass on the table. “You’ll feel a whole lot better able to cope with the situation,” he told her smilingly, “when you get some decent clothes on and your hair fixed. That's a woman. And you don’t need to feel squeamish about these things. This trunk’s got a history, let me tell you. A bunch of simon-pure tenderfeet strayed into the mountains west of here a couple of summers ago. There were two women in the bunch. The youngest one, who was about your age and size, must have had more than her share of vanity. I guess she figured on charming the bear and the moose, or the simple aborigines who dwell in this neck of the woods. Anyhow, she had all kinds of unnecessary fixings along, that trunkful of stuff in the lot. You can imagine what a nice time their guides had packing that

on a horse, eh?* They got into a deuce of a pickle finally, and had to abandon a lot of their stuff, among other things the steamer trunk. I lent them a hand, and they told me to help myself to the stuff. So I did after they were out of the country. That’s how you come to have a wardrobe all ready to your hand. Now, you’d be awful foolish to act like a mean and stiff-necked female person. You’re not going to, -are you?” he wheedled. “Because I want to make you comfortable. What's the use of getting on your dignity over a little thing like clothes?” “I don’t Intend to,” Hazel suddenly changed front. “I’ll make myself as comfortable as I can —particularly if it will put you to any trouble.” “You’re bound to scrap, eh?” he grinned. “But it takes two to build a fight, and I positively refuse to fight with you.” He dragged the trunk back into the room, and came out carrying a great armful of masculine belongings. T wo such trips he made, piling all his things onto a chair.

“There!” he said at last. “That end of the house belongs to you, little person. Now, get those wet things off before you catch a cold. Oh, wait a minute !” He disappeared into the kitchen end of the house, and came back with a wash-basin and a pail of water. “Your room is now ready, madam, an’ if please you.” He bowed with mock dignity, and went back into the kitchen. Hazel heard him rattling pots and dishes, whistling cheerfully the while. She closed the door, and busied herself with an inventory of the tenderfoot lady’s trunk. In It she found everything needful for complete change, and a variety of garments to boot. Folded in the bottom of the trunk was a gray cloth skirt and a short blue silk kimono. There was a coat and skirt, too, of brown corduroy. But the feminine instinct asserted Itself, and she laid out the skirt and the kimono. For a dresser Roaring Bill had fashioned a wide shelf, and on it she found a toilet set complete—hand mirror, military brushes, and sundry articles, backed with silver and engraved with his initials. Perhaps with a spice of malice, she put on a few extra touches. There would be some small satisfaction In tantillzlng Bill Wagstaff—even if she could not help feeling that it might be a dangerous game. And, thus arrayed In the weapons of her sex, she slipped on the kimono, and went into the living room to the cheerful glow of the flrd.

Bill remained busy in the kitchen. Dusk fell. The gleam of a light showed through a crack in the door. In the big room only the fire gave battle to the shadows, throwing a ruddy glow into the far corners. Presently Bill came in with a pair of candles which he set on the mantel above the fireplace. “By Jove!” he said, looking down at her. “You look good enough to eat! I’m not a cannibal, however,” he continued hastily, when Hazel flushed. She was not used to sucji plain speaking. “And supper’s ready. Come on!” The table was set. Moreover, to her surprise—and ‘yet not so greatly to her surprise, for she was beginning to expect almost anything from this paradoxical young man —it was spread with linon, and the cutlery was silver, the dishes china, in contradistinction to

the tinware of hia camp outfit . As a cook Roaring Bill Wagstaff had no cause to be ashamed of himself, and Hasel enjoyed the meal, particularly since she had eaten nothing since six in the morning. After a time, when her appetite was partially satisfied, she took to glancing over his kttchen. There seemed to be some adjunct of a kitchen missing. A fire burned on a hearth similar to the one in the living room. Pots stood about the edge of yie fire. But there was no sign of a stove. Bill finished eating, and resorted to cigarette, material Instead of his pipe. “Well, little person,” he said at last, “what do you think of this joint of mine, anyway?" “I’ve Just been wondering,” she replied. “I don’t see any stove, yet you have food here that looks as if it were baked, and biscuits that must have been cooked in an oven." “You see no stove for the good and sufficient reason," Ke returned, “that you can’t pack a stove on a horse —and we’re three hundred odd miles from the end of any wagon road. With a Dutch oven or two —that heavy, round iron thing you see there—l can guarantee to cctok almost anything you can cook on a stove. Anybody can if they know how. Besides, I like things better this way. If I didn’t, I suppose I’d have a stove —and maybe a hot-wa-ter supply, and modern plumbing. As it is, it affords me a sort of prideful satisfaction, which you may or may not be able to understand, that this cabin and everything in it is the work of my hands —or stuff I’ve packed in here with all sorts of effort from the outside. Maybe I’m a freak. But I’m proud of this place. Barring the inevitable lonesomeness»that comes now and then, I can be happier here than any place I’ve ever struck yet. This country grows on onejj/ “Yes —on one’s nerves,” Hazel retorted. Bill smiled, and, rising, began to clear away the dishes. _ Hazel resisted an impulse to help. She would not work; she would not lift her finger to any task, she reminded herself. He had put her in her present position, and he could wait on her. So she rested an elbow on the table and watched him. In the midst of his work he stopped suddenly. “There’s oceans of time to do this,” he observed. “I’m just a wee bit tired, if anybody should ask you. Let’s camp in the other room. It’s a heap more comfy.” He put more wood on the kitchen fire, and set a pot of water to heat. Out in the living room Hazel drew her chair to one side of the hearth. Bill sprawled on the bearskin robe with another dgarette in his fingers. “No,” he began, after a long silence, “this country doesn’t get on one’s nerves —not if one is a normal human being. You’ll find that. When I first came up here I thought so, too? it seemed so big and empty and forbidding. But the more I see of it the better it compares with the outer world, where the extremes of luxury and want are always in evidence. It began to seem like home to me when I first looked down into this little basin. I had a partner then. I said to him •' ‘Here’s a dandy, fine place to winter.’ So we wintered —in a log shack sixteen foot square that Silk and Satin and Nigger have for a stable now. When summer came my partner wanted to move on, so I stayed—stayed and began to build for the next winter. And I’ve been working at it ever since, making little things like chairs and tables and shelves, and fixing up game heads whenever I got an extra good one. And maybe two or three times a year I’d go out. Got restless, you know. I’m not really a hermit by nature. Lord, the things I’ve packed in here from the outside! Books —I hired a whole pack train at Ashcroft once to bring in just books; they thought I was crazy, I guess. I’ve quit this place once or twice, butT always come back. It’s got that home feel that I can’t find anywhere else. Only if has always lacked one important home qualification,” he finished softly. “Do you eVer build air castles?”

“No,” Hazel answered untruthfully, uneasy at the trend of bls talk. She was learning that Bill Wagstaff, for all his gentleness and patience with her, was a persistent mortal. “Well, I do,” he continued, unperturbed. “Lots of ’em. But mostly around one thing—a woman—a dream woman —because I never saw one that seemed to fit in until I ran across you.” “Mr. ‘Wagstaff,” Hazel pleaded, “won’t you please stop talking like that? It isn’t—it isn’t—” “Isn’t proper, I suppose,” Bill supplied dryly, “Now, that’s merely an error, and a fundamental error on your

part, little person. Our emotion and instincts are perfectly proper when you get down to fundamentals. Yotl’ve got an artificial standard to judge by, that’s all. And I don’t suppose you have the least idea how many lives are spoiled one way and another by the operation of those same artificial standards in this little old world. Now, I may seem to you a lawless, unprincipled Individual Indeed, because I’ve acted contrary to your idea of the accepted order of things. But here’s my side of it: Tm in search of happiness. We all are. I have a few ideals —and very few illusions. I don’t quite believe tn this thing called love at first sight. That presupposes a volatility of emotion that people of any strength of character are not likely to Indulge in. But—for instance, a man can have a very definite ideal of the kind of woman he would like for a mate, the kind of woman he could be happy with and could make happy. And whenever he finds a woman who corresponds to that ideal he’s apt to make a strenuous attempt to get her. That’s pretty much how I felt about “You had no right to kidnap me,” Hazel began. “You had no business getting lost and making It possible for me to carry you off," BUI replied. “Isn’t that logic?” “I’ll never forgive you," Hazel flushed. “It was treacherous and unmanly. There are other ways of winning a woman.” “There wasn’t any other way open to me.” Bill grew suddenly moody. “Not with you in Cariboo Meadows. Tm taboo there. Why, I’d have been at your elbow when you left the supper table at Jim Briggs’ that night if I hadn’t known how it would be. I went there out of sheer curiosity to take a look at you—maybe out of a spirit of defiance, too, because I knew that I was certainly not welcome even if tljey were willing to take my money sot a meal. And I came away all up in the air. There was something about you—the tone of your voice, the way your .proud little head ts set on your shoulders, your makeup in general—that sent me away with a large-sized grouch at myself, .at Cariboo Meadows, and at

you for coming in my way.” “Why?” she asked iu wonder. “Because you’d have believed what they told you* and Cariboo Meadows can’t tell anything about me that isn’t bad,” he said quietly. “My record there makes me entirely unfit to associate with—that would have been your conclusion. And I wanted to be with you, to talk to you, to take you by storm and make you like me as I felt I could care for you. You can’t have grown up, little person, without realizing that you do attract men very strongly. All women do, but some far more than others.” “Perhaps,” she admitted coldly. “Men have arinoyed me with their unwelcome attentions. But none of them ever dared go the length of carrying me away against my will. You can't explain or excuse that.” “I’m not. attempting excuses,” Bill made answer. “There are two things I never do—apologize or bully. I dare say that's one reason the Meadows gives me such a black eye. If they weren’t a good deal afraid of me, and always laying for a chance to do me up, they wouldn’t let me stay in the town overnight. So you can see what a handicap I was under when it came to making your acquaintance and courting you in the orthodox manner.” “You’ve made a great mistake,” she said bitterly, “if you think you’ve removed the .handicap. I've suffered a great deal at the hands of men in the past six months. I'm beginning to believe that all men are brutes at heart.” Roaring Bill sat up and clasped his hands over his knees and stared fixedly into the fire.

“No,” he said slowly, “all men are not brutes—any more than all women are angels. I’ll convince you of that.” “Take me home, then,” she cried forlornly. “That’s the only way you can convince ri»e or make amends.” “No,” Bill murmured, “that Isn’t the way. Walt till you know me better. Besides, I couldn’t take you out,now If I wanted to without exposing you to greater hardships than you’ll have to endure here. Do you realize that it’s fall, and we*re In the high latitudes? This snow may not go off at all. Even If It does it will storm again before a week. You couldn’t wallow through snow to your waist in forty-below-zero weather.” “People will pass here, and PH get word out,” Hazel asserted desperately. “What good would that do you? You’ve got too much conventional regard for what you term your reputation to send word to Cariboo Meadows that you’re living back here with Roaring Bill Wagstaff, and won’t some one please come and rescue you.” He paused to let that sink In, then continued : “Besides, you won’t see a white face before spring; then only by accident. No one In the North, outside of a few Indians, has ever seen this cabin or knows where it stands.” She sat dumb, raging Inwardly. For the minute she could have killed Roaring Bill. She who had been so sure in her independence carried, whether or no, into the heart of the wilderness at the whim of a man who stood a selfconfessed rowdy, in ill repute among his own kind. There was a slumbering devil in Miss Hazel Weir, and it took little to wake her temper. She looked at Bill Wagstaff, and her breast heaved. He was responsible, and he could sit coolly talking about it. The Resentment that had smoldered against Andrew Bush and Jack Barrow concentrated on Roaring Bill as the arch offender of them all. And lest she yield to a savage Impulse to scream at him, she got up and ran Into the bedroom, slammed the door shut behind her, and threw herself across the bed to muffle the sound of her crying In a pillow. After a time she lifted her head.

Outside, the wind whistled gustily around the cabin corners. In the hushed intervals she heard a steady pad, pad, sounding sometimes close by her door, again faintly at the far end of the room. A beam of light shone through the generous latchstring hole in the door. Stealing softly over, she peeped through this hole. From end to end of the big room and back again Roaring Bill paced slowly, looking straight ahead of him with a fixed, absent stare, his teeth closed on his nether lip. Hazel blinked wonderlngly. Many an hour in the last three months she had walked the floor like that, biting her lip in mental agony. And then, while she was looking. Bill abruptly extinguished the candles. In the red gleam from the hearth she saw him go Into the kitchen, closing the door softly. After that there was no sound but the swirl of the storm brushing at her window. • * • • ♦ • Tn line with Roaring Bill’s forecast, the weather cleared for a brief span, and then winter shut down in earnest. Daily the cold increased, till a halfinch layer of frost stood on the cabin panes. But within the cabin they were snug and warm. Bill’s ax kept the woodpile high. The two fireplaces shone red the twenty-four hours through. Of flour, tea, coffee, sugar, beans and such stuff as could only be gotten from the

outside he had a plentiful supply. Potatoes and certain vegetables that he had grown in a cultivated patch behind the cabin were stored in a deep cellar. He could always sally forth and get meat. And the ice was no bar to fishing, for he would cut a hole, sink a small net, and secure overnight a week’s supply of trout and whitefish. Thus thelr-materlal wants were provided for. As time passed Hazel gradually shook off a measure of her depression, thrust her uneasiness and resentment into the background. As a matter of fact, she resigned herself to getting through the winter, since that was inevitable. She fell into the way of doing little things about the house, finding speedily that time flew when she busied herself at some task in the intervals of delving in. Roaring Bill’s library. On one of these days Hazel came into the kitchen and found Bill piling towels, napkins, and a great quantity of other soiled articles on an outspread tablecloth)

“Well," she Inquired, “what are you going to do with those?” "Take ’em to the laundry,” he laughed. "Collect your dirty duds, and bring them forth." “Laundry!” Hpzel echoed. It seemed rather a far-fetched joke. “Surp! You don’t suppose we can get along fdrever without having things washed, do you?” he replied. "I don’t mind housework, but I do draw the line at a laundry job when I don’t have to do it. Go on—get your clothes.” So she brought out her accumulation of garments, and laid them on the pile. Bill tied up the four corners of the tablecloth. “Now,” said he, “let’s see If we can’t fit you out for a more or less extended walk. You stay in the house altogether too much these days. That’s bad business. Nothing like exercise in the fresh air.” Thus In a few minutes Hazel fared forth, wrapped in Bill's fur coat, a flapeared cap on her head, and on her feet several pairs of stockings inside moccasins that Bill had procured from some mysterious source a day or two The day was sunny, "Ibelt the air was hazy with multitudes of floating frost particles, and the tramp through the forest speedily brought the roses back to her cheeks.

Bill carried the bundle of linen on his baek, and trudged steadily through the woods. But the riddle of his destination was soon read to her, for a twomile walk brought them out on the shore of a fair-sized lake, on the farther side of which loomed the conical lodges of an Indian camp. “You sabe now?” said he as they crossed the ice. “This bunch generally comes in -here about this time, and stays till spring. T get the squaws to wash for me. Ever see Mr. Indian on his native heath?” Hazel never had, and she was duly Interested, even if a trifle shy of the red brother who stared so fixedly. She entered a lodge with Bill, and listened to him make laundry arrangements in broken English with a withered old beldame whose features resembled a ham that had hung overlong in the smokehouse. Two or three blanketed bucks squatted by the fire that sent Its

bine smoke streaming out the apex the lodge. “Heap fine squaw I” one suddenly addressed Bill. “Where you ketchum?” Bill laughed at Hazel’s confusion. “Away off.” He' gestured southward* and the Indian grunted some unintelligible remark in hia own tongue —at which Roaring Bill laughed again. Before they started home Bill succeeded in purchasing, after much talk* a Tulr of moccasins that Hazel conceded to be a work of art, what with the dainty pattern of beads and the ornamentation of colored porcupine quills. Her feminine soul could not cavil when Bill thrust them in the pocket of her coat, even if her mind was set against accepting any peace tokens a* hands. In the nearing sunset they went home through the frost-bitten woods, whore the snow crunched and squeaked under their feet, and the branches broke off with pistol-like snap when they were bent aside. A hundred yards from the cabin BUI challenged her. for a race. She refused to run, and he picked her up bodily, and ran with her to the very door. Ha held her a second before he set her down, nnd Hazel’s face whitened. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and she could feel his arms quiver, and the rapid beat of his heart. For an instant she thought Roaring Bill Wagstaff was about to make the colossal mistake of trying to kiss her. But he set her gently on her feet and opened the door. And by the time he had his outer clothes off and the fires started up he was talking whimsically about their Indian neighbors, and Hazel breathed more freely. The clearest Impression that she had, aside from her brief panic, was of his strength. He had run with her as easily as if she had been a child, After that they went out many times together. Bill took her hunting, initiated her into the mysteries of rifle shooting, and the manipulation of a six-shooter. He taught her to walk on snowshoes, lightly over the surface of the crusted snow, through which otherwise she floundered. A sort of truce arose between them, nnd the days drifted by without untoward Incident. Bill tended to hip horses, chopped wood, carried water. She took upon herself the care of the house. And through the long evenings. In default of conversation, they would sit with a book on either side of the fireplace that roared defiance to the storm gods without. And sometimes Hazel would find her* self wondering why Roaring Bill Wagstaff could not have come Into her life in ajilfferent manner. As it was—shg never, never would forgive him, _ (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Hazel saw That the Trunk Was Filled With Woman’s Garments.

Bill’s Ax Kept the Woodpile High.