As the cross-cut saw with its rasping clang ate its way slowly through the tough fibre of the great titan, Connie made inarticulate sounds in her throat and for a moment covered her eyes. As the wedge was applied, a great shudder passed through the tree. Connie held her breath. The tower of dark branches at the top nodded as if in fond farewell. There was a pause, then with a rending and tearing crash it fell to earth with a thunder of sound that filled the valley with a wild tumult of echoes. A whistle blew shrilly, and the men picked up their coats and walked toward their camp.
For a short space Connie stood motionless. Then, with a last long look at the fallen monarch, she sighed deeply and turned to the trail.
That night at dusk she came again. Donald came upon her as she crouched, a forlorn figure, by the prostrate tree. Pointing to her fallen friend, whose top was torn and splintered, she told Donald in halting sentences of the day’s disaster. As he noted the grave face and trembling lips, he wondered at the depth of feeling in one so young. His soft words of sympathy brought unseen tears to her eyes, and she dared not trust her voice in answer. He spoke to her cheerily on other subjects, but could not shake her melancholy mood.
Even the night calm was ravaged by the thunder of blasts. A lurid wall of flame shot high in the air as a rocky portion of the shoreline was rent asunder, and huge boulders plunged into the calm lake, sending up pyramids of water to break in noisy waves on the shore.
Donald enjoyed the unusual experience of witnessing the construction of a railroad, but he understood now why the old trapper had wagged his grey head sadly when he heard the clamour of striving men and machinery creeping up from the south.
The night work had ceased, and a welcome silence settled over the shattered forest. Lambent stars sparkled and twinkled in the high, clear air, with colours that changed from orange to blue and back again. The eastern sky brightened, the glow gradually spread through the heavens, then the moon came slowly over the towering snow-peaks, flooding the valley with light. The fallen tree took on a ghost-like appearance in the moon’s radiance.
Then an uncanny thing happened. Suddenly from a clear sky, without a moment’s warning, a dark and ominous cloud obscured the moon’s light. Connie came quickly to her feet and gazed with startled eyes at this strange phenomenon. The air took on a sudden chill. A quick, strong wind swept up the hill. From the swaying tree-tops there came a moaning like a wailing requiem for the dead—so much like the human voice that Donald shivered.
To Donald the darkening moon and the sighing trees were a coincidence, but to this child of nature, who had been reared in loneliness where rivers roared and mountains loomed, and who understood so intimately the wild things of the forest, it was a manifestation of sorrow by the God of Nature. With her breast heaving tumultuously, she leaned against the mammoth tree and pressed her cheek to its rough bark. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she whispered brokenly.
As if in answer to her words of compassion, the veil suddenly lifted from the moon and the wind ceased. Donald shook himself. “Rather weird,” he said, with a quick, nervous laugh. He turned to find that he was alone.