Part 35 (1/2)

The frontier breeds fierce women, with narrow venomous enmities toward the foes of the house. Even if Pete suffered, Brooke should not prosper, or the boss who had failed her man. Mother dragged two five-gallon cans of petroleum from the lean-to, and staggering under their weight, poured the oil over all Brooke's harness. Breathing heavily with her labor, she carried loads of swampy hay, and cord-wood, until the _aparejos_ were but part of a bonfire. Then with a brand from the stove she set the hay alight. There should be no public shame to break Pete's heart, there should be no pack-train unless he were cargador.

Pete stood beside the ashes, searching mother's face with his slow brooding eyes. Her burning rage was gone, and she was afraid, for now she thought too late of all his loving pride in the work, the greatness of the thing which his knowledge and skill had made. _That_ she had burned. Understanding how love had made this blunder, Pete said no word.

He only knew that Bolt had paid him seven hundred dollars in cash and kind, which must be returned. In silence he turned away, and once more faced the terrible hill which led to the Hundred Mile House.

The spring was in my blood, and I could not sleep. Can any creature sleep when the spring's sweet restless air calls to all nature? The bears were about again after their winter sleep, busy with last year's berries. The deer were feasting on new gra.s.s down in the lowlands, the wolverines and cougar were sneaking homeward after the night's hunting.

Even the little birds were coming back to the north, for now and again as I strolled along the road I would hear a sleepy twitter. ”Isn't it dawn yet?” ”Not yet, have another nap.” So I came to the brow of the great hill whence I should see the dawn.

Down in the lower country, on every pool the water-fowl lay abed, each, from the biggest goose to the littlest teal, with its head tucked under cover of a wing, and one quaint eye c.o.c.ked up to catch the glint of dawn. A wan light was spreading in the northeastern sky, and presently the snowy brow of the hill revealed its wrinkled front, its frozen runnels. The sentinels of the wild fowl saw that first gleam of coming day, called the reveille along from pool to pool, roused thunder of innumerable wings, marshaled their echelons in soaring hosts, and broke away in the northward flight of spring. Far in the east a lone moose trumpeted.

I was turning back refreshed toward my duty, when I heard something moan. The sound came from underneath a pine tree, the one at the very top of the long climb which Pete had blazed with his inscription, ”Got thar.” With my heart in my mouth I went to find out what was the matter, and so discovered the old cargador crouched down against the trunk.

”Pete,” I asked in a very shaky voice, ”what on earth's the matter?”

”Dying, mum.”

”But it's too damp here. Why, you'll catch your death of cold.”

”That would never do. Say, mum, how's Bolt?”

”Oh, ever so much better.”

”Can't do it,” said Pete, ”if I died first he'd have the joke on me.”

”Wouldn't you like a hot rum?”

Pete staggered to his feet. ”I'd go for that,” he sighed, ”just like one man.”

So he took my arm, and I helped him along the road.

”She burned them riggings,” he said.

”Mother?”

”Yes. Brooke came inspecting them riggings, so mother burned 'em.”

”Won't that be rather awkward?”

”Some. You see, mum, Bolt paid me four hundred and five dollars cash, so I come to return him the money.”

I didn't quite understand. ”You see, Pete,” I suggested, ”you and Brooke are the owners. Don't you owe half to yourself and half to Brooke?”

”Well, if that's so, I'll pay myself and owe the rest to Brooke. But then he claims the whole Star _atajo_.”

”In that case you owe the whole of the money to Brooke.”

”I don't mind owing Brooke.” Pete felt so much better that he was able to walk without help. ”Brooke's gone on to inspect mules. I wonder how he'll get on with them mules?”