But her displeasure had in nowise concerned. A landmark in life had been set up, a radiant beacon which would shine in the minds of each and every one of these children of the North so long as memory remained to them.
Somehow the order of return home to the homestead had become changed. Neither Wilder nor the Kid realised the thing that had taken place until it had been accomplished. It seemed likely that it was the deliberate work of Chilcoot, who, for all his roughness, was not without a world of kindly sentiment somewhere stowed away deep down in his heart. Perhaps it had been the arrangement of the less demonstrative Mary Justicia, who was so nearly approaching her own years of womanhood. However it had come to pass Chilcoot had carried off the bulk of the visitors, with Mary and Perse and Clarence for his freight, leaving Bill and the Kid to their own company in following his lead.
It was the ultimate crowning of the night’s episodes for the Kid. Bill had demanded that she become his passenger; that the sole work of paddling should be his. And he had had his way. The Kid was in the mood for yielding to his lightest wish. If he had desired to walk to the homestead she would not have demurred. So she lounged on skin rugs amidships in the little canoe, with her shoulders propped against the forward strut, and yielded herself to the delight with which the talk and presence of this great, strong, youthful man filled her. The shadow of Usak still haunted her silent moments, but even that, in this wonderful presence, had less power to disturb.
The impulse of the man had been to abandon all caution, and bask in the delight and happiness with which this child of nature filled him. Her beauty and sweet womanhood compelled him utterly, while her innocence was beyond words in the sense of tender responsibility it inspired in him. He loved her with all the strength of his own simple being. And the sordid world in which he dwelt so long only the more surely left him headlong in his great desire.
But out of his wisdom he restrained the impulse. Time was with him and he feared to frighten her. He realised that for all her courage, for all her wonderful spirit in the fierce northern battle, the woman’s crown of life must be as yet something little more than a hazy vision, a nebulous thing whose reality would only come to her, stealing softly upon her as the budding soul expanded. Yes, he could afford to wait. And so he held guard over himself, and the journey was made while he told her all those details of the thing that had brought him to Caribou.
His mind was very clear on the things he desired to tell, and the things he did not. And he confined himself to a sufficient outline of the reasons of the thing he was doing with his discovery on Caribou, and the things he contemplated before the opening after the coming winter.
The journey down the river sufficed for this outline of his purpose, and the distance was covered almost before they were aware of it. At the landing they looked for the others. But they only discovered Chilcoot’s empty boat, which left them no alternative but to walk up to the homestead.
As they approached the clearing the girl held out a hand. “Will I take that—bag?” she asked. “I—I’d like to show it to Mum with my own hands. You know, Bill, I can’t get it all yet. All it means. It’s a sort of dream yet, an’ all the time I sort of feel I’ll wake right up an’ set out for Placer to make our winter trade.”
She laughed. But her laugh was cut short. And as the man passed her the bag of dust he had been carrying a spasm of renewed fear gripped her.
“Yes. I’d forgotten,” she went on. “I’d forgotten Usak. This thing’s kind of beaten everything out of my fool head. You’re going to tell him, Bill? When?” They had reached the clearing and halted a few yards from the home the Kid had always known. The sound of voices came to them from within. There was laughter and excitement reigning, when, usually, the whole household should have been wrapped in slumber.