HE last week of May has finally come, and with it real spring weather. The children play out in the sand heap on the south side of the house for hours together, enjoying the warm sunshine and pleasant air, the little girl clothed from head to foot in furs. Never has a springtime been so welcome to me, perhaps because in striking contrast to the long, cold winter through which we have just passed. From the hillside behind the Mission, the snow is slowly disappearing, first from the most exposed spots and rocks, the gullies keeping their drifts and ice longer. Mosses are everywhere peeping cheerfully up at me in all their tints of gorgeous green, some that I found recently being tipped with the daintiest of little red cups. This, with other treasures, I brought in my basket to Jennie when I returned from my daily walk upon the hill, and together we studied them closely under the magnifying glass.
To examine the treasures brought in by Mollie, however, we needed no glass. They are sand-pipers, ptarmigan, squirrels, and occasionally a wild goose, shot, perhaps, in the act of flying over the hunter's head, as these birds are now often seen and heard going north. In the evening I see from my window the neighboring Eskimo children playing with their sleds, and sometimes they light a bonfire, shouting and chattering in their own unique way. All "mushers" now travel at night when the trail is frozen, as it is too soft in the daytime, and the glare of the sun often causes snow-blindness. Then, too, there is water on the ice in places, which we are glad to see, and pools of the same are standing around the Mission and schoolhouse. I can no longer go out in my muckluks, but must wear my long rubber boots and short skirts.
Today I went out for an hour, walking to Chinik Creek over the tundra, from which the snow has almost disappeared, and returned by the hill-top path. The tundra was beautiful with mosses, birds were singing, and the rushing and roaring of the creek waters fairly made my head swim, they were such unusual sounds. The water was cutting a channel in the sands where it empties into the bay. Here it was flowing over the ice, helping to loosen the edge and allow it to drift out to sea.
There is little change in the manners and dispositions of the rough men in camp. There are the same things with which to contend day after day, the same annoyances and trials to endure, with new ones in addition quite frequently.
June has come at last, and all the world should be happy, but, alas, there is always some worm in the bud to do the blasting. This morning about three o'clock I was wakened by the sound of drunken voices outside my window, followed by stones hurled against the side of the house. Quickly rising, I cautiously peeped out from behind the curtain, but was not surprised at what I saw. There, about a hundred feet away, were four men, all well known to me as members of the gang, and all in the most advanced stages of intoxication. On the step of a neighboring cabin sat the murderer, Ford, hugging in a maudlin way a big black bottle.
On the ground, in the dirt, there rolled two young men, the Englishman underneath, and Big Bub over him. Sim, the leader, had aimed four stones at my window, but missed it, and felt the need of more stimulant, so he took the bottle from Ford, carried it to the lumber pile, a few feet away, sat down, put it to his lips and drank heavily. Again and again he tipped up the bottle while he drank, but finally threw it away empty. Then, with much exertion, he stooped to pick up a stone.
He was aiming at my window. I dodged into a corner, but the box washstand stood partly in my way. Would he hit his mark? I did not believe it. He was too drunk. Crack! came the stone against the house.
I waited. Another followed. In the meantime the other men had paid no attention to him, as Ford was watching the two tumblers, the lumber pile being between them and Sim; and the three started for the front door around the south side of the house. Sim followed them. I now hoped he would forget his stone throwing. When they were all out of sight I breathed more freely. Surely now the trouble was over, I thought, and I threw off my fur coat which I had hastily pulled on over my wrapper, crept into bed and covered my head with the blankets.
I now thought quickly. Even if Sim should forget to throw more stones, would he not soon come upstairs and perhaps give me more trouble? Would it not be better to dress myself and be prepared for any emergency? I was hurriedly deliberating upon the matter—my head still covered with the blankets—when there was a loud crash and shivered glass covered the floor and the bed clothes. Instantly throwing the latter back, I looked around me. I could see no stone, and I had heard none fall upon the floor, but it must be there somewhere.