Part 7 (1/2)
”Where is she now?”
”Hunting.”
Father Ambrose laughed: ”And I predict that she will not return until she has brought down her caribou, or her moose. Would your white maiden of nineteen be off hunting alone in the hills with her rifle? No. By our very contentions we have established the dual nature of her. In her the traits of civilization and savagery are not blended, but each in turn dominate and order her thoughts and actions. Hers is what one might term an alternating ego. And it is a thing that troubles me sore. What will happen down there--down at the convent, where they will not understand her, and where there is no hunting? To what end will this marvelous energy exert itself? For, it will not remain pent up within her breast.
It will seek outlet. And then?”
”Who can tell?” answered the Nun, thoughtfully. ”At least, I shall be glad indeed to know that she will be far from the baleful influence of Henri of the White Water. For, devil that he is, there is no gainsaying the fact that there is something attractive about him, with his bold free manner, and his handsome face, and gay clothing. He is a figure that might well attract a more sophisticated woman than our little Snowdrift. As yet, though, I think he has failed to rouse in her more than a pa.s.sing interest. If she cared for him she would not be away hunting while everyone else is eagerly watching for the brigade.”
Father Ambrose shrugged: ”'Tis past understanding--the way of a maid with a man. But see, here she comes, now.” Both watched the lithe form that swung across the clearing from the bush. The girl was hatless, her ma.s.s of black hair, caught up and held in place by an ingenious twist of bark. Her face and full rounded throat that rose gracefully from the open collar of a buckskin hunting s.h.i.+rt showed a rich hazel brown in the slanting rays of the sun. Buckskin gloves protected her hands from the ever present mosquitoes. A knee-length skirt of heavy cloth, a pair of deer skin leggings tanned with the hair on, and Indian moccasins completed her costume.
”What luck?” greeted the priest.
The girl paused before them and flas.h.i.+ng a smile, disclosed a set of teeth that gleamed like wet pearls: ”Good luck,” she answered, ”A young bull caribou, and two wolves that were just closing in on a cow with a young calf. Every bullet went true. I shot three times. Has the brigade pa.s.sed?”
The priest shook his head: ”No, not yet. They will have camped before this for the night.” As he spoke the girl's eyes strayed to the river, and at the extreme reach of glistening water, they held: ”Look!” she cried, ”They are coming, now!” Around the bend into view shot a scow, and another, and another, until the whole surface of the river seemed black with the scows. The playing children had seen them too, and with wild whoops of delight they were racing for the bank, followed by the older Indian girls, and by Father Ambrose. For the annual coming of the brigade is an event in the North, bringing as it does the mail and the supplies for the whole year to these lonely dwellers of the far outlands.
Sister Mercedes remained seated upon her bench and standing her rifle against the wall, Snowdrift sat down beside her, and in silence the two watched the scows swing sh.o.r.eward in response to the strokes of the heavy steering sweeps, and listened to the exchange of shouted greetings.
Of all the rivermen, the bravest figure was that of Henri of the White Water. The two women could see him striding back and forth issuing orders regarding the mooring of scows and the unloading of freight. They saw him pause suddenly in his restless pacing up and down, and eagerly scan the faces of the a.s.sembled group. Then, his glance travelled back from the river and rested upon the two silent figures beside the door, and with a wave of his hand, he tossed the sack of mail to the waiting priest, and stepping past him strode rapidly up the bank in the direction of the mission.
The face of Sister Mercedes hardened as she noted the flaunting air of the approaching man, his stocking cap of brilliant blue, his snow-white _capote_ thrown open to reveal the flannel s.h.i.+rt of vivid red and black checks.
With a royal bow, he swept the blue stocking cap from his head and saluted the two upon the bench: ”Ah-ha, greetings, _ma cheres_! From Henri of the White Water to the fairest flower of the North, and her--ah, guardian angel--_non_?” His lips flashed a smile, and he continued: ”But, there are times when even a guardian angel is not desired to be. Come with me, Snowdrift, and we will walk yonder to the edge of the bank, where we will still be within sight of the ever watching eye of the church, but well out of hearing of its ever listening ear. You see, Sister _religieuse_, I am a respecter of your little laws!” He laughed aloud, ”Ah, yes Henri of the White Water is a great respecter of laws, _voila_!”
Seating themselves upon the high bank of the river the two watched the sun dip slowly behind the scrub timber. And, as the twilight deepened, the man talked rapidly and earnestly, while the girl listened in silence. ”And so,” he concluded, ”When the scows return, in one month from now, you shall leave this place forever. We shall go away and be married, and we will journey far, far up the rivers to the cities of the white men, and only upon occasion will we make flying trips into the North--to the trade.”
”It is said that you trade hooch,” said the girl, ”I will not marry any man who trades hooch. I hate the traders of hooch.”
”Ah-ha! _Ma chere!_ Yes, I have now and then traded hooch. You see, I do not deny. Henri of the White Water must have adventure. But upon my soul, if you do not want me to trade hooch, I shall never trade another drop--_non_.”
”When the scows return in a month, I shall go with them,” answered the girl dispa.s.sionately, ”But, not to be married. I am going to school----”
”To school! _Mon Dieu!_ Have you not had enough of school? It is time you were finished with such foolishness. You, who are old enough to be the mother of children, talking of going to school! Bah! It is to laugh!
And where would you go--to school?”
”To the convent, at Montreal.”
”The devil take these meddlers!” cried the man, rising and pacing rapidly up and down before the girl. Then suddenly he paused and looking down upon her, laughed aloud. ”Ha, ha! You would go to Montreal! And what will you do when you get there? What will you say when they ask you who is your father? Eh, what will you tell them?”
The girl looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. ”Why, what do you mean? I shall tell them the truth--that my father is dead. Why should I not tell them that my father is dead. He was a good man. My mother has told me.”
Again the man laughed, his laugh of cruel derision: ”Such innocence! It is unbelievable! They will have nothing to do with you in the land of the white men. They will scorn you and look down upon you. You never had a father----”
The girl was upon her feet, now, facing him with flas.h.i.+ng eyes: ”It is a lie! I did have a father! And he was a good man. He was not like the father of you, old Boussard, the drunken and thieving old hanger-on about the posts!”
”Aye, I grant you that the old devil is nothing to brag of. I do not point to him with the finger of pride, but he is nevertheless a produceable father. He and my Indian mother were married. I at least am no _enfant natural_--no _batarde_! No one can poke at me the finger of scorn, and draw aside in the pa.s.sing, as from a thing unclean!”
The girl's face flamed red, and tears of rage welled from her eyes: ”I do not know what you mean!” she cried, ”But I do know that I hate you! I will find out what you mean--and then maybe I will kill you.” In her rage she sprang at the man's throat with her bare hands, but he easily thrust her aside, and sobbing she ran toward the mission.
It was long after midnight that Snowdrift emerged from the room of Sister Mercedes. The girl had gone straight to the Nun and asked questions, nor would she be denied their answers. And so explaining, comforting, as best she could, the good Sister talked till far into the night. Snowdrift had gone into the room an unsophisticated girl--she came out from it a woman--but, a woman whose spirit, instead of being crushed and broken by the weight of her shame, rose triumphant and defiant above that shame. For in her heart was bitter hatred against the white men, whose code of ethics brought shame upon the innocent head of one whose very existence was due to the l.u.s.t of a man of their own race.