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XXII
THE BURNING TILT

DAVID and Andy were made as comfortable as ever they could be in a wigwam. Sa-peesh and his family, but particularly A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se, were well pleased to have them there. They had seen none save the members of their own family since the previous autumn, and A-mish-ku, after the manner of boys the world over, craved the companionship of other boys, and he and Ni-pit-se were glad to see new faces and hear new voices.

Ni-pit-se was shy at first, but her timidity passed away quickly enough. And she took it upon herself to minister to David’s and Andy’s needs, and she found a vast deal of pleasure in nursing them. Their coming, and these new duties, made a welcome break in the monotony of the days, for even an Indian maiden wearies sometimes of the changeless solitary routine of her wilderness life.

And so, despite the pain and discomfort of their temporary affliction, David and Andy were well content, and recovered so rapidly from their attack of snowblindness that they might have returned to their trail at the end of a week but for the fact that Andy’s feet were frostbitten, and still too sore to walk so far. And so, of necessity, they tarried another week in the wigwam of Sa-peesh, much to the satisfaction of the A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se.

During this fortnight the days were rapidly lengthening and the sun was growing stronger, though as yet there was no softening of the snow even at midday and the nights and mornings were crisp and frosty enough. With every day, as the sun grew brighter, the glare on the snow increased until the world was a dazzling expanse of scintillating, blinding light. No longer was it safe to go abroad, even for an hour, with naked eyes, save in dull and cloudy weather.

David and Andy had learned their lesson. They had no intention of becoming snowblind again if it could be avoided. And so, while they waited for Andy’s feet to heal, they fashioned, each for himself, a pair of goggles, after the manner of those worn by Sa-peesh and his family.

These goggles were made from round pieces of wood, hollowed out like shells and large enough to cover the eyes comfortably, with the hollows whittled deep enough to permit the eyelids to open and close within them. Two of these were fastened together the proper distance apart to fit the eyes, with a piece of buckskin. In the bottom of each hollow a narrow slit was cut lengthwise of the goggle. Through this slit the wearer was to look. The interior of the hollow was blacked with charcoal from the fire. A buckskin thong fastened to the outer edge of each of the goggles, and tied behind the head, kept them in place.

At length Andy declared that his feet were well enough healed to permit him to return to the trails. Both he and David were anxious to resume their work, for the trapping season was nearing its close. They wished, also, to satisfy Indian Jake’s anxiety as to their safety, for they had no doubt he was anxious, and possibly much troubled and mystified at their long absence.

There was much regret in the wigwam of Sa-peesh, and loudly did Sa-peesh and Mrs. Sa-peesh, and especially A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se lament that the visit should have been so short. It is the custom of Indian women to bestow gifts upon friends setting out upon a journey. This is a pleasant and profitable custom for the friends, and the women believe that the spirits will bless the giver with much good fortune, and thus they are themselves amply recompensed.

Accordingly, when David and Andy made ready for departure on a bright April morning, Mrs. Sa-peesh presented each with a bladder filled with marrow fat, and a quantity of jerked venison, while each received from Ni-pit-se a beautiful pair of bead-embroidered moccasins which she had made with her own hands.

And when they thanked Sa-peesh and everybody for all the kindness that had been shown them, and said farewell, the whole family came out before the wigwam to shout good wishes after them and to wave their hands to them, until the boys were quite out of their sight.

“We’ll soon be findin’ out, now, what Indian Jake thought when we didn’t get t’ th’ Narrows, and ’twill be three weeks when we gets there Saturday,” remarked David.

“I wonders, now, what he thinks about un!” suggested Andy.

“He thinks we perished,” said David, “and he’s likely been up t’ Namaycush lookin’ for us. ’Twill be a fine surprise to he when he comes back Saturday.”

“’Tis fine t’ be alive!” exclaimed Andy, breathing the good pure air.

“’Tis that!” said David, “and t’ have such a fine hunt t’ take home. Pop’ll be wonderful pleased!”

“Won’t he now!” Andy agreed. “It won’t be much over a month, whatever, will it, Davy, before th’ break up, and we can start for home?”

“No, th’ last of May, whatever,” said David, “and won’t it be fine, Andy, t’ go home with all th’ furs? They’s plenty, I knows, now, t’ pay for Jamie goin’ t’ have th’ great doctor cure his eyes. Indian Jake said so, and he’s a wonderful good judge. There’s our share of his fur, too. And won’t it be fine t’ have Jamie see again as well as ever he did!”

“Won’t it, now!” exclaimed Andy. “’Tis hard t’ wait till th’ time comes t’ go!”

They were a long distance from the tilt. Walking as fast as ever they could, favoring Andy’s sore feet, and with a stop only to boil the kettle at noon, it was near sundown when they saw the little log building scarcely visible above the drifts.

“There’s no tracks about,” said Andy, as they approached the door.

“If Indian Jake came up ’twas a week ago, whatever,” suggested David. “Th’ snow since then covered his tracks. He was sure t’ be lookin’ for us when we didn’t go t’ th’ Narrows.”

This surmise was confirmed upon entering the tilt. The frying pan used by Indian Jake in cooking his dinner sat unwashed upon the stove, and there were other evidences of his visit. And the boys immediately missed the two marten skins which they had left there, and which the half-breed had taken.

“He were thinkin’, now, we had perished, and so he took th’ fur,” David explained. “He were thinkin’ t’ take all our fur home t’ Pop when he takes his, and he’s feelin’ dreadful bad about our bein’ dead.”

“And won’t he be glad when we gets t’ th’ Narrows!” exclaimed Andy.

“That he will!” said David. “’Twill be a fine surprise for he!”

The following morning, with light, expectant hearts, they set out for the Narrows, attending to their snow-clogged traps in the usual manner, and on Friday evening, highly excited at the expected surprise and pleasure of Indian Jake when they appeared, crossed the river ice opposite the tilt.

“He hasn’t come yet,” said David as they neared the tilt. “Th’ snow fell since he left Monday, and there’s no tracks where he’s come back.”

“We’ll have a fire, and supper cookin’ when he comes, an’ won’t he be surprised and glad t’ see us!” exclaimed Andy.

And so, their hearts filled with the pleasure they anticipated giving Indian Jake, they pushed open the door and entered the tilt. Then they stood aghast, and almost terror stricken.

The place gave unmistakable evidence of having been looted and abandoned. The furs were gone. The tent was not there, nor was the extra tent stove.

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Andy, presently, a frightened look on his face.

“Gone!” echoed David. “And he’s took all our furs!”

“What—will—Jamie do now?” and Andy was making a manly effort to restrain the tears.

“He’ll go—blind!” and David, too, was on the point of tears. “And—we—worked so hard t’—get th’ furs t’—save his eyes!”

Neither of them felt like eating, but, by force of habit they lighted a fire in the stove, filled the kettle from the water hole at the lake, and prepared to cook their supper.

“They’s no tea! And no flour! And no pork!” announced David after a search. “Indian Jake took all th’ grub!”

“Took all th’ grub!” exclaimed Andy.

“Aye, all th’ grub!” David repeated.

“Whatever will we do now?” asked Andy in consternation.

“They’s a bit of tea in our pack on th’ toboggan. Unlash un and bring th’ things right in, Andy,” said David. “We have th’ bladders of fat, and most of th’ dried deer’s meat th’ Injuns gave us, and some hard bread left in th’ bag too. We’ll make out.”

There were also three ptarmigans that Andy had shot during the day, and a rabbit they had taken from one of the traps. An inventory assured him that, so far as provisions were concerned, they would do very well indeed for the present.

“Indian Jake didn’t take any grub out o’ th’ Halfway tilt or th’ Namaycush Lake tilt, either,” said David, as the two stood contemplating their small stock of provisions. “What we has in th’ other tilts ain’t much, but ’twill have t’ do us till th’ break up.”

“’Twon’t last till then!” objected Andy. “And even if it does we won’t have any grub left t’ eat on th’ way home after th’ break up.”

“We’ll have t’ make out somehow,” insisted David. “We’ll fix un this way, Andy. Whilst I tends th’ traps you’ll hunt for pa’tridges and snare rabbits. With what you kills we’ll make out, and save what’s in th’ tilts t’ use goin’ home.”

“Th’ huntin’s about over, why can’t we strike up and go now?” asked Andy.

“We can’t do that,” David objected. “We has t’ wait for th’ break up t’ take th’ boat out. We can’t take un out till th’ lake and th’ river gets free of ice. We’ll have t’ take un, whatever, because Pop’ll need un t’ bring in his outfit when he comes back in th’ fall t’ hunt.”

“We’ll have t’ take th’ tilt stove, too, to use in th’ tent goin’ out,” suggested Andy. “Indian Jake took th’ tent stove.”

“We won’t need un,” said David. “We won’t have any tent. Indian Jake took un. We’ll make out though. ’Twill be warm enough then, but ’tis a rainy time of year, and we’ll have t’ sleep wet of nights, without a tent or stove.”

Supper of boiled ptarmigan, hardtack, marrow fat for butter, and tea was as good a meal as any could wish, and quite as good as any to which David and Andy were accustomed on the trail. But there was the future to be provided for.

“’Tis good Indian Jake didn’t take th’ grub from th’ other tilts,” Andy observed, as they made the tilt tidy, for Indian Jake had left it in a state of confusion.

“He took ’most everything else except th’ tilts,” said David a little bitterly. “With havin’ t’ keep most of th’ flour and pork that’s in th’ other tilts to use goin’ home, it’ll take all our spare time huntin’ a livin’, and we’ll have t’ make out that way till we goes.”

“We might catch some whitefish and namaycush,” suggested Andy. “We caught a rare fine lot when we went fishin’ with Indian Jake.”

“We can now!” agreed David enthusiastically. “Oh, we’ll make out fine with th’ birds and rabbits we gets, if we can get whitefish and namaycush too. We won’t have bread, but th’ Injuns mostly does without bread. They make out with what they get huntin’ and fishin’.”

“We’ll try for th’ fish tomorrow whatever!” said Andy.

“Th’ first thing in th’ mornin’,” seconded David.

A search, however, for Indian Jake’s fishing tackle disclosed the fact that he had taken it with him, as he had taken nearly everything else of value. No cod line and not a fish hook could be found, though every nook and cranny of the tilt was inspected.

“We’ll have t’ give fishin’ up,” said David, when they had satisfied themselves that no tackle was to be found. “We can’t fish without hooks and line.”

“No,” admitted Andy dejectedly, “we can’t fish.”

“But we’ll make out, whatever,” said David confidently. “We’ll get birds and rabbits enough, though they’re wonderful tiresome eatin’, without bread or pork. And goin’ out we’ll be like t’ kill a porcupine or two.”

“We’ll make out,” agreed Andy.

“It’s—it’s th’ fur makes me feel bad,” said David after a moment’s silence.

“Aye; th’ fur,” repeated Andy.

“And Jamie,” added David, sadly. “I can’t get he off my mind. I’d rather be dead myself than have he go blind. ’Tis bein’ dead t’ go blind, but worse. ’Tisn’t natural t’ be blind, and folks has t’ die some time.”

“Th’ thought of un makes me feel almost—sick,” said Andy.

They fell silent, and for nearly half an hour neither spoke. Then David remarked, a more cheerful note in his voice:

“I been thinkin’, now, that we may be misjudgin’ Indian Jake. I been thinkin’ that maybe when Indian Jake makes up his mind we perished, he has no heart t’ keep on trappin’ here alone, and he takes th’ furs and starts right out with un t’ give un t’ Pop, and t’ tell Pop what he thinks happened to us.”

“Do you think that, now?” asked Andy hopefully.

“That’s what I thinks,” said David, reluctant to abandon faith in Indian Jake even now.

“’Twill be—a terrible worry for Pop—and all of un,” suggested Andy.

“Aye,” agreed David, “but think how glad they’ll be when we comes home safe; and it won’t be long, now. Week after next we’ll strike up, and th’ break-up’ll come by th’ last of May, whatever, and we’ll start for home.”

“Suppose, now—suppose Indian Jake does as Uncle Ben said he would,” Andy suggested apprehensively. “Suppose he don’t take th’ furs t’ Pop, but goes off with un, th’ way he did before?”

“I’m—I’m thinkin’ he won’t do that,” solaced David, though his voice was not as convincing as Andy would have wished.

“Maybe—there’s nothin’ t’ worry over,” agreed Andy.

“That makes me think o’ Doctor Joe’s song,” said David. “Let’s sing un, Andy. She’s a wonderful cheerin’ song.”

“Let’s do,” said Andy, and together they sang, loud and lustily:

 
“Old Worry’s my foe, and he always brings woe,
And he follows about wherever I go.
He’s always on hand, and he makes the world blue,
And all about troubles that never come true.”
 

After all, what do any of us gain from worry, though all of us have reason enough for it sometimes. David and Andy resolved to believe that Indian Jake had really gone to The Jug. They were the better and more efficient for believing it. And they resolved to smile and be cheerful, too, and not fret and worry and stew about troubles that might not be troubles at all. But it required grit a-plenty, for often enough a suspicion of Indian Jake forced itself upon them.

On Saturday morning the boys devoted themselves to setting snares for rabbits. A dozen short pieces of stout twine found about the cabin were utilized for this purpose.

Building a snare is a simple process. A sapling is cut and laid across a rabbit run, and about a foot above it. One end of a piece of twine is tied to the sapling directly over the run, while the other end is formed into a noose, and with the bottom of the noose resting on the run, the top reaching to the sapling, it is held in position by upright sticks on each side. Brush is piled so high upon the sapling as to discourage passing rabbits from jumping over. Other brush filled in around both sides of the runway, prevents its going around, and it is thus forced to make a wide detour, which rabbits are not likely to do, or to pass through the noose. In the latter case it can scarcely escape being caught and choked by the noose.

It was interesting work for the boys. It occupied their attention and kept their thoughts free from surmises as to Indian Jake.

“They’ll get us some grub, whatever,” remarked David when the last snare was set. “I wish we could have fished, though. ’Twould have been surer, and rabbits gets t’ be such tiresome eatin’.”

“But they’re better than no eatin’,” Andy sagely observed.

“If we gets rabbits enough I’ll not be complainin’,” said David.

On Sunday morning two rabbits were found in the snares, and one more on Monday morning before the boys set out upon their journey to Lake Namaycush. David attended to the traps, while Andy devoted his attention to hunting, and on Tuesday evening when they reached the Lake Namaycush tilt he had added five spruce partridges, two ptarmigans and a porcupine to their store of provisions in excess of their daily requirements.

“You’re doin’ wonderful well, Andy,” David complimented, as he prepared supper. “You’re knockin’ over more birds than we can eat.”

“I’m thinkin’ we are, now,” agreed Andy with some pride. “We’ll not be goin’ hungry, whatever.”

“I got one marten to-day,” continued David. “He’s a poor one. Th’ fur is all like t’ be poor now, I’m thinkin’, so we may as well strike up. ’Tis a pity t’ kill th’ fur when it’s too poor t’ sell. If we leaves un now we’ll get un next year when they’re prime. What we gets now won’t help out any for Jamie, either.”

“Will we strike up before we goes back?” asked Andy.

“We’ll have t’ come in next week, whatever,” David explained. “We didn’t strike up on th’ way in. I’ll strike up on th’ big mesh tomorrow, and we’ll take everything down t’ th’ Narrows tilt that we’ll want t’ take down from here and th’ Halfway tilt. Next week finish strikin’ up, and take care o’ th’ traps, and our flat sled’ll be heavy enough.”

Accordingly the following day David struck up, and cached in convenient places the traps on the big marsh trail, and on the return to the Narrows the small remaining stock of flour and pork and tea was taken from the other two tilts to the Narrows tilt, to await the day of their departure for The Jug, and to be kept as a reserve in case of need.

Andy’s gun and the snares continued to keep them well supplied so far as their immediate needs were concerned, though they sorely missed the bread and pork to which they were accustomed, and which even in this brief time they learned to look upon as luxuries. However, adhering to their resolution to deny themselves, they set out upon their final journey to Lake Namaycush with no other provisions than rabbits and partridges, and a small amount of tea.

“I’m glad t’ be gettin’ ready t’ go home,” remarked Andy as they sat at supper on the evening they reached the Namaycush Lake tilt. “But it gives me a wonderful sorry feelin’ that th’ trappin’ is all over, and when we leaves here tomorrow we won’t come back again t’ Namaycush Lake this year.”

“That’s th’ way I feels, too,” admitted David. “I’ve been feelin’ that way all th’ time I’ve been strikin’ up. I’ve been thinkin’ how much we were expectin’ from th’ traps when we comes in th’ fall, and how we worked for a good hunt; and how—it’s all over with now.”

“And—not knowin’ for sure what Indian Jake does with th’ fur,” suggested Andy.

“If we only could be sure he took un t’ Pop,” said David, “and Jamie could go t’ th’ great doctor t’ have his eyes cured—then I’d feel wonderful happy.”

“He must have gone t’ Th’ Jug,” Andy said hopefully. “’Tis hard t’ think he didn’t. And, Davy, we said we’d just keep thinkin’ he did.”

“Aye, we’ll just keep thinkin’ he did, and we won’t trouble about un,” asserted David. “And we’ll pray th’ Lard ’tis th’ way we hopes.”

Their thoughts were full of the hopes and aspirations of the first evening when they came to the Namaycush Lake tilt. How dear to us are old aspirations and old hopes, dead, perhaps, with the dead weeks or years that have gone, but still living in our memory like the features of departed friends. Our aspirations may never be attained, our fondest hopes never be fulfilled, but once they encouraged and buoyed us, and made life appear a glorious field of attainment, as indeed it is. If life were never flavored by day dreams, how dull and dreary it would sometimes be.

Great deeds are born in imagination. Imagination prompts us to attainment. It lifts us to higher levels. In the proportion in which we possess it, imagination urges us to apply our ambitions and our efforts to gain the things we dream of. Because of it we climb higher and travel farther, and become so much bigger and nobler men than ever we could have been had we never dreamed.

But, O, the bitter disappointment of shattered hopes! ’Tis a brave man that rises above failure, and tries again. This is the test of a man’s mettle. This is God’s way, I sometimes think, of sifting the grain from the chaff. The men who are worth while never give up. They stick and stick, and try again and again, until they win out in the end. The others surrender hope at the first reverse, and like chaff are blown away by the wind of oblivion.

David and Andy were silent for a long while. They were living over those early days of the winter when they came upon the trail dreaming of success and determined to attain it. Now the winter was past and the hunting was at an end. Was all their effort lost? Was Jamie, after all, to go blind because one day they neglected the simple precaution of wearing their snow glasses?

“We were expectin’ to do so much when we came in th’ fall,” remarked Andy, sorrowfully, when they had finally filled the stove with wood, and settled in their sleeping bags. “We made a grand hunt, even if Indian Jake stole th’ fur. But if he stole un ’twon’t do Jamie any good and it’s too late now t’ catch any more.”

“I were thinkin’, Andy,” said David, clinging to a forlorn hope, “that maybe Doctor Joe were makin’ a mistake about Jamie’s eyes. Maybe Jamie won’t go blind so soon, and next year’ll be in time for he t’ go t’ th’ great doctor—if Indian Jake stole th’ fur.”

“Do you think so, now, Davy?” Andy asked expectantly.

“I’m just sayin’ maybe,” said David, cautiously. “If ’tis so, when Pop’ll come next year t’ hunt th’ Seal Lake trail maybe he’ll let me hunt this trail, and we’ll be sure then t’ get fur enough t’ pay for th’ cure.”

“I’d have t’ stay home with Margaret, and I’d like t’ be here and help hunt th’ trail—and—get th’ fur t’ cure Jamie,” said Andy regretfully.

“You’ll be helpin’, Andy, by stayin’ home th’ way Pop had t’ do this year,” comforted David.

And so, in the face of supposed defeat, they planned for the future, and, planning, fell asleep.

It was an hour later when David awoke half suffocated with smoke. His ears at the same time caught the crackling of burning wood. He sprang from his bed, and seizing Andy, shouted:

“Andy! The tilt’s afire! Andy, get up!”

In an instant Andy, too, was out of bed.

“Grab your clothes and sleepin’ bag,” cried David excitedly.

“I’m chokin’!” coughed Andy.

“Hurry!” shouted David. “Hurry, or we’ll be caught here!”

There was scarce a moment to spare. The tilt had taken fire from the overheated stove, and one side was already in flames. Fortunately the doorway was clear, and the lads, gaining it, had barely time to pitch their clothing and sleeping bags out into the snow, and themselves escape into the cold night.