The Wisdom of the Trail
Sitka Charley had achieved theimpossible. Other Indians might have known as much of the wisdomof the trail as he did; but he alone knew the white man's wisdom,the honor of the trail, and the law. But these things had notcome to him in a day. The aboriginal mind is slow to generalize,and many facts, repeated often, are required to compass anunderstanding. Sitka Charley, from boyhood, had been throwncontinually with white men, and as a man he had elected to casthis fortunes with them, expatriating himself, once and for all,from his own people. Even then, respecting, almost veneratingtheir power, and pondering over it, he had yet to divine itssecret essence--the honor and the law. And it was only by thecumulative evidence of years that he had finally come tounderstand. Being an alien, when he did know, he knew it betterthan the white man himself; being an Indian, he had achieved theimpossible.And of these things had been bred a certain contempt for his ownpeople--a contempt which he had made it a custom to conceal, butwhich now burst forth in a polyglot whirlwind of curses upon theheads of Kah-Chucte and Gowhee. They cringed before him like abrace of snarling wolf dogs, too cowardly to spring, too wolfishto cover their fangs. They were not handsome creatures. Neitherwas Sitka Charley. All three were frightful-looking. There was noflesh to their faces; their cheekbones were massed with hideousscabs which had cracked and frozen alternately under the intensefrost; while their eyes burned luridly with the light which isborn of desperation and hunger. Men so situated, beyond the paleof the honor and the law, are not to be trusted. Sitka Charleyknew this; and this was why he had forced them to abandon theirrifles with the rest of the camp outfit ten days before. Hisrifle and Captain Eppingwell's were the only ones that remained.'Come, get a fire started,' he commanded, drawing out theprecious matchbox with its attendant strips of dry birchbark.The two Indians fell sullenly to the task of gathering deadbranches and underwood. They were weak and paused often, catchingthemselves, in the act of stooping, with giddy motions, orstaggering to the center of operations with their knees shakinglike castanets.After each trip they rested for a moment, as though sick anddeadly weary. At times their eyes took on the patient stoicism ofdumb suffering; and again the ego seemed almost burst forth withits wild cry, 'I, I, I want to exist!'--the dominant note of thewhole living universe.A light breath of air blew from the south, nipping the exposedportions of their bodies and driving the frost, in needles offire, through fur and flesh to the bones. So, when the fire hadgrown lusty and thawed a damp circle in the snow about it, SitkaCharley forced his reluctant comrades to lend a hand in pitchinga fly. It was a primitive affair, merely a blanket stretchedparallel with the fire and to windward of it, at an angle ofperhaps forty- five degrees. This shut out the chill wind andthrew the heat backward and down upon those who were to huddle inits shelter. Then a layer of green spruce boughs were spread,that their bodies might not come in contact with the snow. Whenthis task was completed, Kah-Chucte and Gowhee proceeded to takecare of their feet. Their icebound mocassins were sadly worn bymuch travel, and the sharp ice of the river jams had cut them torags.Their Siwash socks were similarly conditioned, and when these hadbeen thawed and removed, the dead-white tips of the toes, in thevarious stages of mortification, told their simple tale of thetrail.Leaving the two to the drying of their footgear, Sitka Charleyturned back over the course he had come. He, too, had a mightylonging to sit by the fire and tend his complaining flesh, butthe honor and the law forbade. He toiled painfully over thefrozen field, each step a protest, every muscle in revolt.Several times, where the open water between the jams had recentlycrusted, he was forced to miserably accelerate his movements asthe fragile footing swayed and threatened beneath him. In suchplaces death was quick and easy; but it was not his desire toendure no more.His deepening anxiety vanished as two Indians dragged into viewround a bend in the river. They staggered and panted like menunder heavy burdens; yet the packs on their backs were a matterof but a few pounds. He questioned them eagerly, and theirreplies seemed to relieve him. He hurried on. Next came two whitemen, supporting between them a woman. They also behaved as thoughdrunken, and their limbs shook with weakness. But the womanleaned lightly upon them, choosing to carry herself forward withher own strength. At the sight of her a flash of joy cast itsfleeting light across Sitka Charley's face. He cherished a verygreat regard for Mrs. Eppingwell. He had seen many white women,but this was the first to travel the trail with him. When CaptainEppingwell proposed the hazardous undertaking and made him anoffer for his services, he had shaken his head gravely; for itwas an unknown journey through the dismal vastnesses of theNorthland, and he knew it to be of the kind that try to theuttermost the souls of men.But when he learned that the captain's wife was to accompanythem, he had refused flatly to have anything further to do withit. Had it been a woman of his own race he would have harbored noobjections; but these women of the Southland--no, no, they weretoo soft, too tender, for such enterprises.Sitka Charley did not know this kind of woman. Five minutesbefore, he did not even dream of taking charge of theexpedition; but when she came to him with her wonderful smile andher straight clean English, and talked to the point, withoutpleading or persuading, he had incontinently yielded. Had therebeen a softness and appeal to mercy in the eyes, a tremble to thevoice, a taking advantage of sex, he would have stiffened tosteel; instead her clear-searching eyes and clear-ringing voice,her utter frankness and tacit assumption of equality, had robbedhim of his reason. He felt, then, that this was a new breed ofwoman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days he knewwhy the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and whythe sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them.Tender and soft! Day after day he watched her, muscle-weary,exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in aperennial refrain. Tender and soft! He knew her feet had beenborn to easy paths and sunny lands, strangers to the moccasinedpain of the North, unkissed by the chill lips of the frost, andhe watched and marveled at them twinkling ever through the wearyday.She had always a smile and a word of cheer, from which not eventhe meanest packer was excluded. As the way grew darker sheseemed to stiffen and gather greater strength, and whenKah-Chucte and Gowhee, who had bragged that they knew everylandmark of the way as a child did the skin bails of the tepee,acknowledged that they knew not where they were, it was she whoraised a forgiving voice amid the curses of the men. She hadsung to them that night till they felt the weariness fall fromthem and were ready to face the future with fresh hope. And whenthe food failed and each scant stint was measured jealously, sheit was who rebelled against the machinations of her husband andSitka Charley, and demanded and received a share neither greaternor less than that of the others.Sitka Charley was proud to know this woman. A new richness, agreater breadth, had come into his life with her presence.Hitherto he had been his own mentor, had turned to right or leftat no man's beck; he had moulded himself according to his owndictates, nourished his manhood regardless of all save his ownopinion. For the first time he had felt a call from without forthe best that was in him. just a glance of appreciation from theclear-searching eyes, a word of thanks from the clear-ringingvoice, just a slight wreathing of the lips in the wonderfulsmile, and he walked with the gods for hours to come. It was anew stimulant to his manhood; for the first time he thrilled witha conscious pride in his wisdom of the trail; and between thetwain they ever lifted the sinking hearts of their comrades. Thefaces of the two men and the woman brightened as they saw him,for after all he was the staff they leaned upon. But SitkaCharley, rigid as was his wont, concealing pain and pleasureimpartially beneath an iron exterior, asked them the welfare ofthe rest, told the distance to the fire, and continued on theback-trip.Next he met a single Indian, unburdened, limping, lipscompressed, and eyes set with the pain of a foot in which thequick fought a losing battle with the dead. All possible care hadbeen taken of him, but in the last extremity the weak andunfortunate must perish, and Sitka Charley deemed his days to befew. The man could not keep up for long, so he gave him roughcheering words. After that came two more Indians, to whom he hadallotted the task of helping along Joe, the third white man ofthe party. They had deserted him. Sitka Charley saw at a glancethe lurking spring in their bodies, and knew they had at lastcast off his mastery. So he was not taken unawares when heordered them back in quest of their abandoned charge, and saw thegleam of the hunting knives that they drew from the sheaths. Apitiful spectacle, three weak men lifting their puny strength inthe face of the mighty vastness; but the two recoiled under thefierce rifle blows of the one and returned like beaten dogs tothe leash. Two hours later, with Joe reeling between them andSitka Charley bringing up the rear, they came to the fire, wherethe remainder of the expedition crouched in the shelter of thefly.'A few words, my comrades, before we sleep,' Sitka Charley saidafter they had devoured their slim rations of unleavened bread.He was speaking to the Indians in their own tongue, havingalready given the import to the whites. 'A few words, mycomrades, for your own good, that ye may yet perchance live. Ishall give you the law; on his own head by the death of him thatbreaks it. We have passed the Hills of Silence, and we now travelthe head reaches of the Stuart. It may be one sleep, it may beseveral, it may be many sleeps, but in time we shall come amongthe men of the Yukon, who have much grub. It were well that welook to the law. Today Kah-Chucte and Gowhee, whom I commanded tobreak trail, forgot they were men, and like frightened childrenran away.True, they forgot; so let us forget. But hereafter, let themremember. If it should happen they do not...' He touched hisrifle carelessly, grimly. 'Tomorrow they shall carry the flourand see that the white man Joe lies not down by the trail. Thecups of flour are counted; should so much as an ounce be wantingat nightfall... Do ye understand? Today there were others thatforgot. Moose Head and Three Salmon left the white man Joe to liein the snow. Let them forget no more. With the light of day shallthey go forth and break trail. Ye have heard the law. Look well,lest ye break it.' Sitka Charley found it beyond him to keep theline close up. From Moose Head and Three Salmon, who broke trailin advance, to Kah-Chucte, Gowhee, and Joe, it straggled out overa mile. Each staggered, fell or rested as he saw fit.The line of march was a progression through a chain of irregularhalts. Each drew upon the last remnant of his strength andstumbled onward till it was expended, but in some miraculous waythere was always another last remnant. Each time a man fell itwas with the firm belief that he would rise no more; yet he didrise, and again and again. The flesh yielded, the will conquered;but each triumph was a tragedy. The Indian with the frozen foot,no longer erect, crawled forward on hand and knee. He rarelyrested, for he knew the penalty exacted by the frost.Even Mrs. Eppingwell's lips were at last set in a stony smile,and her eyes, seeing, saw not. Often she stopped, pressing amittened hand to her heart, gasping and dizzy.Joe, the white man, had passed beyond the stage of suffering. Heno longer begged to be let alone, prayed to die; but was soothedand content under the anodyne of delirium. Kah- Chucte and Gowheedragged him on roughly, venting upon him many a savage glance orblow. To them it was the acme of injustice.Their hearts were bitter with hate, heavy with fear. Why shouldthey cumber their strength with his weakness? To do so meantdeath; not to do so--and they remembered the law of SitkaCharley, and the rifle.Joe fell with greater frequency as the daylight waned, and sohard was he to raise that they dropped farther and fartherbehind. Sometimes all three pitched into the snow, so weak hadthe Indians become. Yet on their backs was life, and strength,and warmth.Within the flour sacks were all the potentialities of existence.They could not but think of this, and it was not strange, thatwhich came to pass. They had fallen by the side of a great timberjam where a thousand cords of firewood waited the match. Near bywas an air hole through the ice. Kah-Chucte looked on the woodand the water, as did Gowhee; then they looked at each other.Never a word was spoken. Gowhee struck a fire; Kah-Chucte filleda tin cup with water and heated it; Joe babbled of things inanother land, in a tongue they did not understand.They mixed flour with the warm water till it was a thin paste,and of this they drank many cups. They did not offer any to Joe;but he did not mind. He did not mind anything, not even hismoccasins, which scorched and smoked among the coals.A crystal mist of snow fell about them, softly, caressingly,wrapping them in clinging robes of white. And their feet wouldhave yet trod many trails had not destiny brushed the cloudsaside and cleared the air. Nay, ten minutes' delay would havebeen salvation.Sitka Charley, looking back, saw the pillared smoke of theirfire, and guessed. And he looked ahead at those who werefaithful, and at Mrs. Eppingwell. 'So, my good comrades, ye haveagain forgotten that you were men? Good! Very good. There will befewer bellies to feed.' Sitka Charley retied the flour as hespoke, strapping the pack to the one on his own back. He kickedJoe till the pain broke through the poor devil's bliss andbrought him doddering to his feet. Then he shoved him out uponthe trail and started him on his way. The two Indians attemptedto slip off.'Hold, Gowhee! And thou, too, Kah-Chucte! Hath the flour givensuch strength to thy legs that they may outrun the swift-wingedlead? Think not to cheat the law. Be men for the last time, andbe content that ye die full-stomached.Come, step up, back to the timber, shoulder to shoulder. Come!'The two men obeyed, quietly, without fear; for it is the futurewhich pressed upon the man, not the present.'Thou, Gowhee, hast a wife and children and a deerskin lodge inthe Chipewyan. What is thy will in the matter?' 'Give thou her ofthe goods which are mine by the word of the captain--theblankets, the beads, the tobacco, the box which makes strangesounds after the manner of the white men. Say that I did die onthe trail, but say not how.' 'And thou, Kah-Chucte, who hast norwife nor child?' 'Mine is a sister, the wife of the factor atKoshim. He beats her, and she is not happy. Give thou her thegoods which are mine by the contract, and tell her it were wellshe go back to her own people. Shouldst thou meet the man, and beso minded, it were a good deed that he should die. He beats her,and she is afraid.' 'Are ye content to die by the law?' 'We are.''Then good-bye, my good comrades. May ye sit by the well-filledpot, in warm lodges, ere the day is done.' As he spoke he raisedhis rifle, and many echoes broke the silence. Hardly had theydied away when other rifles spoke in the distance. Sitka Charleystarted.There had been more than one shot, yet there was but one otherrifle in the party.He gave a fleeting glance at the men who lay so quietly, smiledviciously at the wisdom of the trail, and hurried on to meet themen of the Yukon.
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