Chapter XXI—The Wilderness
Dusk was falling and the tired horses plodded slowly past the rows of shadowy trunks when the sound of running water came out of the gloom. Agatha ached from the jolting and felt cramped and sleepy, but she roused herself when a light began to flicker among the trees. The driver urged his team, the light got brighter as the rig lurched down a rough incline, and Agatha saw a man standing in the trail. His figure was indistinct and she could not see his face, but she no longer felt jaded and lonely, for she knew who he was.
"Tired?" he said in a sympathetic voice as he gave her his hand to get down when the rig stopped in an opening. "It's a long ride from the railroad, but after all it was better for you to make it in the day. Besides, we must pull out to-morrow."
Agatha said she was not excessively tired. She liked his matter-of-fact manner and thought he had struck the right note.
"Have you got the tent I recommended?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "It's in the small box."
"Then as the poles are cut, the boys will soon put it up. In the meantime, supper's ready."
He took her across the narrow open space, and when near the fire she stopped and looked about. It was after ten o'clock, but a pale-green glow shone above the pines, whose ragged tops cut against it in a black saw-edge. Below, a river brawled among dark rocks, catching a reflection here and there, and then plunging into shadow. It was not dark; she could see the brush and the wild-berry vines that crawled between the trunks. Then she turned towards the fire that burned at the foot of a ledge. Two or three figures moved about the rocks behind it; sometimes picked out with hard distinctness so that she could see their brown faces and travel-stained overalls, and sometimes fading into gloom.
The smoke went nearly straight up and then spread slowly across the river; the flames leaped among the snapping branches and sank. Strong lights and puzzling shadows played about the camp; there was an aromatic smell, and the air was keen and bracing. The turmoil of the river rather emphasized than disturbed the quietness. It was different from the noisy city where the big arc-lights burned above the hurrying crowds, but Agatha did not find it strange. She felt as if she were revisiting a scene she had known before, and thought this was an inheritance from her father, who had loved the wilds. But perhaps she might go further back; it was, relatively, not long since all Ontario was a wilderness, and she sprang from pioneering stock.
Then Thirlwell indicated a folding chair and she sat down beside two logs, rolled close together to make a cooking hearth. A kettle and two frying-pans stood on the logs, supported by both, and the space between was filled with glowing embers, about which flickered little blue and orange flames. Thirlwell gave her a plate and a tin mug, and she found the fresh trout and hot bannocks appetizing. Then she liked the acid wild-berries he brought on a bark tray, and the strong, smoke-flavored tea. She smiled as she remembered that in Toronto she had been fastidious about her meals and sometimes could not eat food that was roughly-served.
When supper was over Thirlwell sat on one of the hearth-logs and lighted his pipe. Agatha was pleased that he did so. While they were in the bush their relations must be marked by an informal friendliness, as if she were a comrade and partner and not a girl. Anything that hinted at the difference in their sex must be avoided.
"You'll get used to camp-life in a few days," he remarked by and by. "At first I expect you'll find it a change from, the cities. Things are rudimentary in the bush."
"Nothing jars, except the mosquitoes," Agatha replied. "I have no sense of strangeness; in fact, I feel as if I had been here before and belonged to the woods."
"After, all, you do know something about them. I think you said you had camped in the timber."
"That was different. It was a summer camp, organized by the railroad, and supplied with modern comforts. You bought a ticket and a gasolene launch took you up the lake. Then the men wore smart flannels and the girls new summer clothes. In the evenings one sang and played a banjo, another a mandolin."
Thirlwell laughed. "You don't like music?"
"I love it; but not ragtime and modern coon songs in the bush. No doubt the people who went there had earned a holiday, but it would have been different had they gone to fish or hunt. They went to loaf, play noisy games, and flirt. Indeed, I used to think we jarred as much as the horrible dump of old fruit and meat cans among the willows."
"I think I know what you mean. Man makes ugly marks on the wilderness unless he goes to farm. A mine, for example, is remarkably unpicturesque."
"But it stands for endeavor, for something useful done."
"Not all mines. A number stand for wasted money."
"And vanished hopes," said Agatha. "Do you think I shall find the lode? I want you to be frank."
Thirlwell hesitated. "On the whole, I don't think so, but my judgment mayn't be sound and my employer, Scott, does not agree. Anyway, I'll help you all I can."
For a moment or two Agatha studied him. His face was brown and rather thin and had a hint of quiet force; his easy pose was graceful but virile. Somehow he did not clash with the austerity of the woods; nor did the other men, who now sat, smoking, round the larger fire. Agatha liked their quietness, their slow, drawling speech and tranquil movements. She knew she could trust Thirlwell, but remembering a remark of Mabel Farnam's, she asked herself why he had offered his help. She could find no satisfactory answer and thought it better to leave the puzzle alone.
"But you are doubtful," she said. "Confidence is a strong driving force."
"In a way, that's true," he agreed. "Still it sometimes drives you into mistakes, and when you get to work in the right way it doesn't matter much if you're confident or not. Your feelings can't alter Nature's laws. If you know how the vein dips, you can strike the ore; if you sink the shot-hole right, and use enough powder, you split the rock."
"It's obvious that you are a materialist."
"I'm a mining engineer," Thirlwell rejoined with a smile.
Agatha gave him a quiet, friendly look. "It's lucky I have you to help, because I could not have gone far alone. I've studied Nature's laws in the laboratory, but in the bush she works on another scale. There's a difference between a blow-pipe flame and the subterranean fires. Now if I don't find the ore, it will be some comfort to know that I have properly tried." She glanced at her wrist-watch and got up. "It is later than I thought!"
"Your tent is ready," Thirlwell replied.
She turned and saw a light shining through the V-shaped canvas on the edge of the trees, but although she was tired, felt reluctant to leave the fire. It had burned low between the logs, but it gave the lonely spot a comfortable home-like look, and the bush was dark. Thirlwell, sitting where the faint light touched him, somehow added to the charm by a hint of human fellowship. He looked as if he were resting by his hearth, and she had spent a happy hour with him in quiet, half-confidential talk.
"Thank you. Good-night," she said, and went away.
When she reached the tent she looked about with surprise. The earth floor was beaten smooth and sprinkled with pine-sprays that gave out an aromatic smell; a bed had been cleverly made of thin branches and packed twigs. Her blankets were neatly folded and the small canvas bucket was filled. All she was likely to need was ready, and the boxes that had held her outfit were arranged to make a seat and wash-stand. She felt grateful for this thought for her comfort, and putting out the miner's lamp, sat down on the twig-bed and hooked the canvas door back.
Although there was no moon, she could distinguish the black pine-trunks across the river, the lines of foam where the current broke upon the reefs, and the canoes drawn up on the bank. Thirlwell and his Metis packers had gone, and as hers was the only tent she wondered where they slept. The fires were nearly out, and except for the noise of the river a solemn quietness brooded over the camp.
She began to muse. She had liked Thirlwell when she met him at the summer hotel, but she liked him better in the bush. He harmonized with his surroundings; he was, so to speak, natural, but not at all uncouth. The woods had made him quiet, thoughtful, and vigilant. She had noted his quick, searching glance, and although there was nothing aggressive about him, he had force. Yet she did not think him clever; she had met men whose mental powers were much more obvious, but when she tried to contrast them with him, he came out best. After all, character took one further than intellectual subtlety.
Agatha blushed as she admitted that had she wanted a lover she might have been satisfied with a man of Thirlwell's type; but she did not want a lover. She had inherited a duty and must concentrate on finding the silver vein; the task in a manner set her apart from other women, who could follow their bent. Sometimes she envied them their freedom and gave way to bitterness, but her austere sense of duty returned. It was strong just now, but the picture of Thirlwell sitting opposite by the fire had a happy domestic touch that made her dissatisfied.
Then she remembered that if she found the vein she would be rich. So far, she had not dwelt much on this, because it was not a longing for money that animated her. All the same, she saw that success in the search would give her power and freedom to choose the life she would lead. Not long since, she had thought to find happiness in the pursuit of science; and with wealth at her command she could make costly experiments and build laboratories. The thought still pleased her, but it had lost something of its charm. Besides, it was too soon for such speculations and she must be practical.
Suppose she did find the ore? The claim must be recorded and developed as the mining laws required, and she would need a man who understood such matters to help her; but it must be a man she could trust. She could trust Thirlwell and admitted that she had half-consciously allotted him the supposititious post; for one thing, if he were manager, they would not be separated by her success. But this was going too far, and she resolutely pulled herself up. She had not found the vein and was perhaps thinking about Thirlwell oftener than she ought. Feeling for the hooks, she fastened the tent door and soon afterwards went to sleep.
They launched the canoes in the cool of the morning, while the mist drifted among the pines and the sun came up behind the forest. The stream ran fast and as they toiled up river a brawny half-breed waded through the shallows with the tracking line. Thirlwell stood in the stern, using the pole, and Agatha noted the smooth precision of his movements. He wasted no effort and did not seem to be working hard, but he did what he meant and the hint of force was plainer than when he talked. Two Metis were occupied with the canoe behind and as they poled and tracked they sang old songs made by the early French voyageurs. Although the river had shrunk far down the bank, there was water enough for the canoes, and Agatha remarked how skilfully the men avoided the rocks in the channel and drove the craft up angry rapids.
When they nooned upon a gravel bank near the end of a wide lake it was fiercely hot. The calm water, flashed like polished steel, and Agatha could hardly see the flames of the snapping fire; the smoke went up in thin gray wreaths that were almost invisible. A clump of juniper grew among the stones and she sat down in the shade and looked about with dazzled eyes. A line of driftwood, hammered by the ice and bleached white by the sun, marked the subsidence of the water from its high, spring level. Small islands broke the shining surface, some covered with stunted trees and some quite bare. The rocks about the beach were curiously worn, but Agatha knew they had been ground smooth by drifting floes. Behind the beach, the forest rolled back in waves of somber green to a bold ridge that faded into leaden thunder-clouds.
The landscape was wild, and although it had nothing of the savage grandeur Agatha expected, she thought it forbidding. Its influence was insidious; one was not daunted by a glance, but realized by degrees its grimness and desolation. The North was not dramatic, except perhaps when the ice broke up; the forces that molded the rugged land worked with a stern quietness. It looked as if they also molded the character of the men who braved the rigors of the frozen waste. The Metis were not vivacious like the French habitants; they were marked by a certain grave melancholy and their paddling songs had a plaintive undertone. Yet their vigor and stubbornness were obvious, and Agatha thought Thirlwell was like his packers, in a way. He was not melancholy, and indeed, often laughed, but one got a hint of reserve and unobtrusive strength. He did not display his qualities, as some of the professors and business men she knew had done, but she imagined they would be seen if there was need.
"In a sense, the North is disappointing," she remarked. "I expected to feel rather overwhelmed, but I'm not."
"Wait," said Thirlwell, smiling. "After a few hundred miles of lonely trail you'll know the country better. I don't want you to get to love it; but in the wilderness love often goes with fear."
"Once I thought that impossible," Agatha replied. "Now I don't know. I'm beginning to recognize that I'm not as modern as I thought. But have you ever been frankly afraid of the wilds?"
"Often. When you meet the snow on the frozen trail, a hundred miles from shelter, mind and body shrink. Perhaps it's worse when all that stands for warmth and life is loaded on the hand-sledge you haul across the rotten ice. Then it's significant that the Metis are sometimes more afraid than white men. They know the country better."
"They haven't the civilized man's intellect. Ignorance breeds superstition that makes men cowards."
"That's so, to some extent," Thirlwell agreed. "I suppose superstition is man's fear of dangers he can't understand and his wish to propitiate the unknown powers that rule such things. You and I call these powers natural forces, for which we have our weights and measures; but I must own that the measures are often found defective when applied to mining. I've met rock-borers who would sooner trust a mascot than a scientific rule."
"We are a curious people," Agatha remarked with a laugh. "But you passed a smooth beach with good shade where the river runs out. Why did you come on here?"
"The other's the regular camping spot. I remembered that you don't like old provision cans."
Agatha was pleased. He had thought about her and remembered her dislikes. While she wondered how she could tactfully thank him, he went on—
"Besides, I wanted to make another mile or two. A good day's journey is important."
"Would a mile or two make much difference?"
"You would have to take the distance off at the other end. The economy of travel in the North is sternly simple, and transport's the main difficulty. You can travel a fixed distance on a fixed quantity of food, and how much you take depends on the skill and number of your packers. Good men get good wages and money does not go far. I want to save up as many miles as possible for our prospecting."
"I see," said Agatha. "Yet you stated that you didn't think we would find the lode!" Then she gave him a shrewd glance. "Aren't you a little impatient to get on now?"
"I am," he admitted, turning to the south. "There's a threat of thunder and I'd like to cross the lake before the storm comes."
Agatha got up and in a few minutes they launched the canoes. The heat was overwhelming and Agatha felt no movement of the air, but the Metis sweated and panted as they labored at the paddles. The thud of the blades came back in measured echoes from the motionless pines and a fan-shaped wake trailed far across the glassy lake. In the meantime, the cloud bank rolled up the sky like a ragged arch and covered the sun. The glare faded and a thick, blue haze crept out upon the water, until it looked as if the horizon advanced to meet them, but the heat did not get less. At the edge of the haze, an island loomed indistinctly and by and by Thirlwell turned to Agatha.
"There's a good beach behind the point and shelter among the rocks," he said in a breathless voice. "Would you like to stop?"
"How long should we have to stop?"
He looked up at the moving cloud, which was fringed with ragged streamers.
"I imagine we wouldn't get off again to-day."
"Then we'll go on," said Agatha.
Thirlwell signed to the Metis, who had slackened their efforts, and the foam swirled up at the bows as they drove the paddles through the water.