There was a little silence, then Oscar spoke in a voice husky with excitement.
“It means the road,” he said; “they are clearing the way to build it at last.”
They watched another tree fall and another, as they stood there in the breathless cold, while Oscar told his story. His return with John Edmonds and his news that Jake had been unable to prevent the establishing of a claim, had stirred the people to belief in his plan at last. First a few and then more and more had agreed to help him, until now nearly all the men of Rudolm were at work in the forest, clearing the way, and hauling out the logs over the frozen ground, preparatory to building the road in the spring.
“Now that they know the land is mine, safe in spite of Jake, there are a hundred more who are ready to dare the same thing. Ingmarsson and my sister Linda will come first, others will follow; they will be here soon enough to break the ground and plant it in wheat this spring. The road will be slower; it has many hills and valleys to cross, but by summer when the harvest is ripe, it will be ready to carry the grain away. Some day we will be able to fill one of those great ships whose sailing once so nearly broke my heart.”
“And that man there?” questioned Hugh, motioning upward toward the cabin that lowered at them from above on Jasper Peak.
“We can carry him out to Rudolm, now that the way is cleared,” Oscar answered. “I think he may live a little time longer, but his power to do harm is gone forever. Yet when he tried to burn the cottage he came, but for you, very near to beating us at last.”
They walked down the hill to the edge of the lake so that Hugh might catch a glimpse, around an intervening spur, of the line of cleared ground that wound across the valleys. They sat down upon a snowy log and talked long and earnestly of what had passed and of what was to come. Suddenly Hugh looked down and recognized the big tree trunk upon which they sat.
“Look,” he said, “it is the very tree that made a bridge for us to cross the creek when it was in flood. Here are even the marks where the bullets cut the bark.”
It had been washed ashore and lay now, one end frozen in the ice, one high and dry upon the bank. Here it would lie for years to come, peaceful and undisturbed, the sun hot upon it, fishes darting about its outer end, the turtles climbing up to bask in the noonday summer heat. So it would lie, unmindful of the part it had played in the events of that stirring night, lie until the valley of the Promised Land was settled, until Oscar’s road, white and travel-worn, lay slanting across the hills to bear the gifts of the new country to the old. It would fall slowly into decay and the sharp hoof of the last of the wild deer or giant moose, coming down to drink, would stamp it into powder in the end. For the close of the struggle had come and peace had settled over the domain of the Pirate of Jasper Peak.
“You will stay to help us?” Oscar was saying. “You will see the fields planted and watch the harvest come in.”