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The Barrier - ebook
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The Barrier - ebook
Many men were indebted to the trader in Flambeau, and many considered him a friend. The latter never explained why, other than that he did them a favor, and in the North that matters a lot.
| Kategoria: | Literature |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8292-271-4 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,7 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
Chapter 1. The Last Frontier
Chapter 2. Poleon Doret’s Hand Is Quicker Than His Tongue
Chapter 3. Without Benefit Of Clergy
Chapter 4. The Soldier Finds An Untrodden Valley
Chapter 5. A Story Is Begun
Chapter 6. The Burrell Code
Chapter 7. The Magic Of Ben Stark
Chapter 8. The Knife
Chapter 9. The Awakening
Chapter 10. Meade Burrell Finds A Path In The Moonlight
Chapter 11. Where The Path Led
Chapter 12. A Tangled Skein
Chapter 13. Stark Takes A Hand In The Game
Chapter 14. A Mystery Is Unravelled
Chapter 15. And A Knot Tightened
Chapter 16. John Gale’s Hour
Chapter 17. The Love Of Poleon Doret
Chapter 18. Runnion Finds The Singing People
Chapter 19. The Call Of The OreadsChapter 1. The Last Frontier
Many men were in debt to the trader at Flambeau, and many counted him as a friend. The latter never reasoned why, except that he had done them favors, and in the North that counts for much. Perhaps they built likewise upon the fact that he was ever the same to all, and that, in days of plenty or in times of famine, his store was open to every man, and all received the same measure. Nor did he raise his prices when the boats were late. They recalled one bleak and blustery autumn when the steamer sank at the Lower Ramparts, taking with her all their winter’s food, how he eked out his scanty stock, dealing to each and every one his portion, month by month. They remembered well the bitter winter that followed, when the spectre of famine haunted their cabins, and when for endless periods they cinched their belts, and cursed and went hungry to sleep, accepting, day by day, the rations doled out to them by the grim, gray man at the log store. Some of them had money-belts weighted low with gold washed from the bars at Forty Mile, and there were others who had wandered in from the Koyukuk with the first frosts, foot-sore and dragging, the legs of their skin boots eaten to the ankle, and the taste of dog meat still in their mouths. Broken and dispirited, these had fared as well through that desperate winter as their brothers from up-river, and received pound for pound of musty flour, strip for strip of rusty bacon, lump for lump of precious sugar. Moreover, the price of no single thing had risen throughout the famine.
Some of them, to this day, owed bills at Old Man Gale’s, of which they dared not think; but every fall and every spring they came again and told of their disappointment, and every time they fared back into the hills bearing another outfit, for which he rendered no account, not even when the debts grew year by year, not even to “No Creek” Lee, the most unlucky of them all, who said that a curse lay on him so that when a pay-streak heard him coming it got up and moved away and hid itself.
There were some who had purposely shirked a reckoning, in years past, but these were few, and their finish had been of a nature to discourage a similar practice on the part of others, and of a nature, moreover, to lead good men to care for the trader and for his methods. He mixed in no man’s business, he took and paid his dues unfalteringly. He spoke in a level voice, and he smiled but rarely. He gazed at a stranger once and weighed him carefully, thereafter his eyes sought the distances again, as if in search of some visitor whom he knew or hoped or feared would come. Therefore, men judged he had lived as strong men live, and were glad to call him friend.
This day he stood in the door of his post staring up the sun-lit river, absorbing the warmth of the Arctic afternoon. The Yukon swept down around the great bend beneath the high, cut banks and past the little town, disappearing behind the wooded point below, which masked the up-coming steamers till one heard the sighing labor of their stacks before he saw their smoke. It was a muddy, rushing giant, bearing a burden of sand and silt, so that one might hear it hiss and grind by stooping at its edge to listen; but the slanting sun this afternoon made it appear like a boiling flood of molten gold which issued silently out of a land of mystery and vanished into a valley of forgetfulness. At least so the trader fancied, and found himself wishing that it might carry away on its bosom the heavy trouble which weighed him down, and bring in its place forgetfulness of all that had gone before. Instead, however, it seemed to hurry with news of those strange doings “up-river,” news that every down-coming steamboat verified. For years he had known that some day this thing would happen, that some day this isolation would be broken, that some day great hordes of men would overrun this unknown land, bringing with them that which he feared to meet, that which had made him what he was. And now that the time had come, he was unprepared.
The sound of shouting caused him to turn his head. Down-stream, a thousand yards away, men were raising a flag-staff made from the trunk of a slender fir, from which the bark had been stripped, heaving on their tackle as they sang in unison. They stood well out upon the river’s bank before a group of well-made houses, the peeled timbers of which shone yellow in the sun. He noted the symmetrical arrangement of the buildings, noted the space about them that had been smoothed for a drill-ground, and from which the stumps had been removed; noted that the men wore suits of blue; and noted, in particular, the figure of an officer commanding them.
The lines about the trader’s mouth deepened, and his heavy brows contracted.
“That means the law,” he murmured, half aloud, while in his voice was no trace of pleasure, nor of that interest which good men are wont to show at sight of the flag. “The last frontier is gone. The trail ends here!”
He stood so, meditating sombrely, till the fragment of a song hummed lightly by a girl fell pleasantly on his ears, whereupon the shadows vanished from his face, and he turned expectantly, the edges of his teeth showing beneath his mustache, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with pleasure.
The sight was good to him, for the girl approaching down the trail was like some wood sprite, light-footed, slender, and dark, with twin braids of hair to her waist framing an oval face colored by the wind and sun. She was very beautiful, and a great fever surged up through the old man’s veins, till he gripped the boards at his side and bit sharply at the pipe between his teeth.
“The salmon-berries are ripe,” she announced, “and the hills back of the village are pink with them. I took Constantine’s squaw with me, and we picked quarts and quarts. I ate them all!”
Her laughter was like the tinkle of silver bells. Her head, thrown back as she laughed gayly, displayed a throat rounded and full and smooth, and tanned to the hue of her wind-beaten cheeks. Every move of her graceful body was unrestrained and flowing, with a hint of Indian freedom about it. Beaded and trimmed like a native princess, her garments manifested an ornature that spoke of savagery, yet they were neatly cut and held to the pattern of the whites.
“Constantine was drunk again last night, and I had to give him a talking to when we came back. Oh, but I laid him out! He’s frightened to death of me when I’m angry.”
She furrowed her brow in a scowl–the daintiest, most ridiculous pucker of a brow that ever man saw–and drew her red lips into an angry pout as she recounted her temperance talk till the trader broke in, his voice very soft, his gray-blue eyes as tender as those of a woman:
“It’s good to have you home again, Necia. The old sun don’t shine as bright when you’re away, and when it rains it seems like the moss and the grass and the little trees was crying for you. I reckon everything weeps when you’re gone, girl, everything except your old dad, and sometimes he feels like he’d have to bust out and join the rest of them.”
He seated himself upon the worn spruce-log steps, and the girl settled beside him and snuggled against his knee.
“I missed you dreadfully, daddy,” she said. “It seemed as if those days at the Mission would never end. Father Barnum and the others were very kind, and I studied hard, but there wasn’t any fun in things without you.”
“I reckon you know as much as a priest, now, don’t you?”
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
Chapter 1. The Last Frontier
Chapter 2. Poleon Doret’s Hand Is Quicker Than His Tongue
Chapter 3. Without Benefit Of Clergy
Chapter 4. The Soldier Finds An Untrodden Valley
Chapter 5. A Story Is Begun
Chapter 6. The Burrell Code
Chapter 7. The Magic Of Ben Stark
Chapter 8. The Knife
Chapter 9. The Awakening
Chapter 10. Meade Burrell Finds A Path In The Moonlight
Chapter 11. Where The Path Led
Chapter 12. A Tangled Skein
Chapter 13. Stark Takes A Hand In The Game
Chapter 14. A Mystery Is Unravelled
Chapter 15. And A Knot Tightened
Chapter 16. John Gale’s Hour
Chapter 17. The Love Of Poleon Doret
Chapter 18. Runnion Finds The Singing People
Chapter 19. The Call Of The OreadsChapter 1. The Last Frontier
Many men were in debt to the trader at Flambeau, and many counted him as a friend. The latter never reasoned why, except that he had done them favors, and in the North that counts for much. Perhaps they built likewise upon the fact that he was ever the same to all, and that, in days of plenty or in times of famine, his store was open to every man, and all received the same measure. Nor did he raise his prices when the boats were late. They recalled one bleak and blustery autumn when the steamer sank at the Lower Ramparts, taking with her all their winter’s food, how he eked out his scanty stock, dealing to each and every one his portion, month by month. They remembered well the bitter winter that followed, when the spectre of famine haunted their cabins, and when for endless periods they cinched their belts, and cursed and went hungry to sleep, accepting, day by day, the rations doled out to them by the grim, gray man at the log store. Some of them had money-belts weighted low with gold washed from the bars at Forty Mile, and there were others who had wandered in from the Koyukuk with the first frosts, foot-sore and dragging, the legs of their skin boots eaten to the ankle, and the taste of dog meat still in their mouths. Broken and dispirited, these had fared as well through that desperate winter as their brothers from up-river, and received pound for pound of musty flour, strip for strip of rusty bacon, lump for lump of precious sugar. Moreover, the price of no single thing had risen throughout the famine.
Some of them, to this day, owed bills at Old Man Gale’s, of which they dared not think; but every fall and every spring they came again and told of their disappointment, and every time they fared back into the hills bearing another outfit, for which he rendered no account, not even when the debts grew year by year, not even to “No Creek” Lee, the most unlucky of them all, who said that a curse lay on him so that when a pay-streak heard him coming it got up and moved away and hid itself.
There were some who had purposely shirked a reckoning, in years past, but these were few, and their finish had been of a nature to discourage a similar practice on the part of others, and of a nature, moreover, to lead good men to care for the trader and for his methods. He mixed in no man’s business, he took and paid his dues unfalteringly. He spoke in a level voice, and he smiled but rarely. He gazed at a stranger once and weighed him carefully, thereafter his eyes sought the distances again, as if in search of some visitor whom he knew or hoped or feared would come. Therefore, men judged he had lived as strong men live, and were glad to call him friend.
This day he stood in the door of his post staring up the sun-lit river, absorbing the warmth of the Arctic afternoon. The Yukon swept down around the great bend beneath the high, cut banks and past the little town, disappearing behind the wooded point below, which masked the up-coming steamers till one heard the sighing labor of their stacks before he saw their smoke. It was a muddy, rushing giant, bearing a burden of sand and silt, so that one might hear it hiss and grind by stooping at its edge to listen; but the slanting sun this afternoon made it appear like a boiling flood of molten gold which issued silently out of a land of mystery and vanished into a valley of forgetfulness. At least so the trader fancied, and found himself wishing that it might carry away on its bosom the heavy trouble which weighed him down, and bring in its place forgetfulness of all that had gone before. Instead, however, it seemed to hurry with news of those strange doings “up-river,” news that every down-coming steamboat verified. For years he had known that some day this thing would happen, that some day this isolation would be broken, that some day great hordes of men would overrun this unknown land, bringing with them that which he feared to meet, that which had made him what he was. And now that the time had come, he was unprepared.
The sound of shouting caused him to turn his head. Down-stream, a thousand yards away, men were raising a flag-staff made from the trunk of a slender fir, from which the bark had been stripped, heaving on their tackle as they sang in unison. They stood well out upon the river’s bank before a group of well-made houses, the peeled timbers of which shone yellow in the sun. He noted the symmetrical arrangement of the buildings, noted the space about them that had been smoothed for a drill-ground, and from which the stumps had been removed; noted that the men wore suits of blue; and noted, in particular, the figure of an officer commanding them.
The lines about the trader’s mouth deepened, and his heavy brows contracted.
“That means the law,” he murmured, half aloud, while in his voice was no trace of pleasure, nor of that interest which good men are wont to show at sight of the flag. “The last frontier is gone. The trail ends here!”
He stood so, meditating sombrely, till the fragment of a song hummed lightly by a girl fell pleasantly on his ears, whereupon the shadows vanished from his face, and he turned expectantly, the edges of his teeth showing beneath his mustache, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with pleasure.
The sight was good to him, for the girl approaching down the trail was like some wood sprite, light-footed, slender, and dark, with twin braids of hair to her waist framing an oval face colored by the wind and sun. She was very beautiful, and a great fever surged up through the old man’s veins, till he gripped the boards at his side and bit sharply at the pipe between his teeth.
“The salmon-berries are ripe,” she announced, “and the hills back of the village are pink with them. I took Constantine’s squaw with me, and we picked quarts and quarts. I ate them all!”
Her laughter was like the tinkle of silver bells. Her head, thrown back as she laughed gayly, displayed a throat rounded and full and smooth, and tanned to the hue of her wind-beaten cheeks. Every move of her graceful body was unrestrained and flowing, with a hint of Indian freedom about it. Beaded and trimmed like a native princess, her garments manifested an ornature that spoke of savagery, yet they were neatly cut and held to the pattern of the whites.
“Constantine was drunk again last night, and I had to give him a talking to when we came back. Oh, but I laid him out! He’s frightened to death of me when I’m angry.”
She furrowed her brow in a scowl–the daintiest, most ridiculous pucker of a brow that ever man saw–and drew her red lips into an angry pout as she recounted her temperance talk till the trader broke in, his voice very soft, his gray-blue eyes as tender as those of a woman:
“It’s good to have you home again, Necia. The old sun don’t shine as bright when you’re away, and when it rains it seems like the moss and the grass and the little trees was crying for you. I reckon everything weeps when you’re gone, girl, everything except your old dad, and sometimes he feels like he’d have to bust out and join the rest of them.”
He seated himself upon the worn spruce-log steps, and the girl settled beside him and snuggled against his knee.
“I missed you dreadfully, daddy,” she said. “It seemed as if those days at the Mission would never end. Father Barnum and the others were very kind, and I studied hard, but there wasn’t any fun in things without you.”
“I reckon you know as much as a priest, now, don’t you?”
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
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