Part 21 (1/2)
THE MAN WHO HIBERNATED
Next morning, soon after sunrise, while I was breaking trail across a lake, I espied a log house in a little clearing beside a large beaver meadow. As it was about the time we usually stopped for our second breakfast, I turned in the direction of the lonely abode. It was a small, well-built house, and with the exception of the s.p.a.ces at the two windows and the door, was entirely enclosed by neatly stacked firewood suitable for a stove. Beyond, half built in the rising ground, stood a little log stable, and near it a few cattle were eating from haystacks. Going up to the shack, I knocked upon the door, and as a voice bade me enter I slipped off my snowshoes, pulled the latch string, and walked in. Entering from the dazzling sunlight made the room at first seem in darkness. Presently, however, I regained my sight, and then beheld the interior of a comfortable little home--the extreme of neatness and order; and then I saw a human form lying beneath the blankets of a bunk in a far corner. Later I noticed that two black eyes beneath a shock of black hair were smiling a welcome.
”Good morning,” I greeted. ”May I use your stove to cook breakfast?”
”No, sir,” replied the figure, then it sat up in bed, and I saw that it was a white man. ”I'll do the cooking myself, for you're to be my guest.”
”Thanks,” I returned, ”I'm travelling with an Indian and I don't wish to trouble you; but if I may use your stove I'll be much obliged.”
”If I have what you haven't got,” my host smiled, ”will you dine with me?”
”All right,” I agreed.
”Potatoes,” he exclaimed.
”Good,” I laughed.
”Then sit down, please, and rest while I do the cooking.”
Oo-koo-hoo now came in and at the host's bidding, filled his pipe from a tobacco pouch upon the table.
The accent of the stranger suggested that he was an English gentleman, and it seemed strange, indeed, to discover so refined and educated a man living apparently alone and without any special occupation in the very heart of the Great Northern Forest. Curiosity seized me. Then I wondered--was this the man? . . . could he be ”Son-in-law”?
But I refrained from questioning him. So I talked about the woods and the weather, while Oo-koo-hoo brought in a haunch of venison from his sled and presented it to the stranger. But with my host's every action and word the mystery grew.
The stove, which was fireless, stood beside the bed, and reaching for the griddle-lifter, my host removed the lids; then picking up a stick of pine kindling from behind the stove, he whittled some shavings and placed them in the fire-box; and on top of this he laid kindling and birch firewood. Then he replaced the lids, struck a match, and while the fire began to roar, filled the kettle from a keg of water that stood behind the stove, and mind you, he did it without getting out of bed. Next, he leant over the side of the bunk, opened a little trap door in the floor, reached down into his little box-like cellar, and hauled up a bag containing potatoes, which he then put in a pot to boil, in their skins. From the wall he took a long stick with a crook upon the end, and reaching out, hooked the crook round the leg and drew the table toward him. Reaching up to one of the three shelves above his bunk, he took down the necessary dishes and cutlery to set the breakfast table for us three. While the potatoes were boiling he took from another shelf--the one upon which he kept a few well-chosen books--a photograph alb.u.m and suggested that I look it over while he broiled the venison steak and infused the tea.
When I opened the alb.u.m and saw its contents, it not only further excited my curiosity regarding the personal history of my host, but it thrilled me with interest, for never before or since have I seen an alb.u.m that contained photographs of a finer-looking or more distinguished lot of people. Its pages contained photographs of Lord This, General That, Admiral What's-his-name, and also the Bishop of I've-forgotten and many a Sir and Lady, too, as well as the beautiful Countess of Can't-remember.
Breakfast was served. The potatoes were a treat, the steak was excellent, the tea was good, and there we three sat and ate a hearty meal, for not only did we relish the food, but the company, the wit, and the laughter, too. But all the while my healthy, jovial, handsome host remained in bed. I studied the blankets that covered his legs--apparently there was nothing wrong with that part of him. I could not fathom the mystery. It completely nonplussed me.
I glanced round the room; there were many photographs upon the walls, among them Cambridge ”eights” and ”fours”; and sure enough, there he was, rowing in those very crews; and in the football and tennis pictures he also appeared as one of the best of them all. And how neat and clean was his one-room house! Everything was in order. A water keg behind the stove to keep the water from freezing. A big barrel by the door in which to turn snow into water. A woodpile across the end of the room--enough to outlast any blizzard. Then when I glanced at him again, I noticed a crested signet ring upon his left little finger.
Breakfast over, smoking began, and as he washed the dishes, I wiped them--but still I pondered. Then, at last, I grew brave. I would risk it. I would ask him:
”Why do you stay in bed?”
First he responded with a burst of laughter, then with the question:
”Why, what's the use of getting up?” and next with the statement: ”I stay in bed all winter . . . or nearly so. It's the only thing to do.
I used to get up, and go for my mail occasionally . . . at least, I did a few years ago, but too many times I walked the forty miles to the Hudson's Bay Company's Flying Post at Elbow Creek only to find no letters for me . . . so I chucked it all. Then, too, the first few winters I was here I used to do a little shooting, but I get all the game I want from the Indians now, so I have chucked the shooting, too.
Now the only thing that gets me out of bed, or takes me out of doors, is to watch which way the wind blows. Two winters ago, when I was away from here a week, the wind blew steadily from the north for five days or more, and my cattle ate so far into the south sides of the hay stacks that two of the stacks fell over on them and in that way I lost five head--they were smothered.”
Oo-koo-hoo, knocking the ashes from his pipe, began to tie his coat; apparently, he thought it was time we were going. I opened the alb.u.m again, and glanced through it once more as I sat upon the edge of my strange host's bunk. I stopped my turning when I came to a photograph of a charming gentlewoman whose hair was done in an old-fas.h.i.+oned way so becoming to her character and beauty. She must have been twenty-three. He, then, was nearing forty. I thought his hand lingered a little upon the page. And when I commented on her beauty, I fancied his voice tremored slightly--anyway his pipe went out.
But Oo-koo-hoo, getting up, broke the silence.
I invited my still-unknown host to pay me a visit. We shook hands heartily, and as I turned to close the door, I noticed that he had lain down again, and had covered up his head. As a pleasant parting salutation--a cheering one as I thought--I exclaimed: