The Luck of the Kid

by Ridgwell Cullum

He knew that an encounter with Usak would mean a battle to the death of one or perhaps all of them. He knew that, embarrassed by these helpless creatures, a sudden final onslaught of the Arctic winter night might well mean the end of all things. But he had not hesitated. No. He had calculated closely. His knowledge of the northern world had told him that there was time—even time to spare. The daylight had not yet passed, and, unless the season was one of unusual severity, the dreaded freeze-up was not due for several weeks more. No. The cold was steadily increasing. There would be more snow yet. But there would be relapses of temperature, and the final sealing of the great river was still a long way off. So he had refused to be turned aside from his purpose.

He had laboured on with a mind steadily poised and with nerves in perfect tune. His greatest apprehension was the possible encountering of the Indian, Usak. And even on this his resolve was clear and as merciless as anything the savage, himself, might have contemplated. He was armed and ready, and no interference would be tolerated even if his necessity drove him to slaughter.

The daylight had been spent in disgorging the two canoes of their freight. He and the little Japanese woman had spent the time preparing his packs. They were not vast, but the whole portage would mean three laborious trips over the rough territory of the great gorge down to the landing below.

The first trip was to be his own canoe. The second was to be the camp outfit of his passengers. The blind-man and the woman would accompany him on that trip and help with the packs. Then, with these folk safely encamped below the gorge, he would return alone to bring down their canoe.

Yes. It was all clearly planned with a view to the simplest and best advantage, and the preliminary work had gone on rapidly under his energetic guidance. There was not one moment’s unnecessary delay, for he understood, only too well, the value of every precious hour he could steal on his human and elemental adversaries.

The last pack had been made up of the things that could be dispensed with. His canoe was hauled up empty, ready to be shouldered. And now, with the last flash of daylight shining in the south-west, he stood low down on the foreshore gazing out over the water in the direction of the misty falls. Mid-day was only two hours gone and the daylight was already collapsing with the falling sun.

The peace of this far-off world was a little awesome, the silence was something threatening. The dull roar of the Grand Falls alone robbed it of utter, complete soundlessness. The snow was a soft virgin carpet in every direction. The hardy, dark woods were weighted down with its burden. For all there was shore ice against the river bank the whole breadth of the waters of the river were silently, heavily flowing on to the tremendous precipitation far beyond. But it was not of these things that Wilder was thinking. In the emergency besetting he was concerned only for the signs which, out of his experience, he was striving to interpret.

They were very definite. The sun had fallen below the horizon, accompanied by two pale sundogs that strove but failed to display an angry glare. The horizon was clear of all cloud, a vault of wonderful colour. Such breath of wind as was stirring was coming up out of the south-east. It was good. It was all good. The sundogs suggested possible, ultimate change, but not yet. The breeze was almost mild. But above all there was not a single cloud to shut out the light of the moon that would presently rise, and the brilliant starlight, and the beneficent northern lights. No. It would be a perfect night.

He turned back to the couple hugging the tiny fire they had ventured to light in the shelter of an attenuated bluff of woods.

“Just get this clear,” he said thrusting his hands out to the warmth. “I’m setting out right away. It’ll take me six hours to make back here. Six hours good. I’d have been glad to cache your boat back there in the woods, an’ hide up our tracks right. But the snow on the ground beats us on that play. Any pair of eyes happening along could follow us anywhere. No. If Usak’s around I give him credit for being able to read our tracks anyway, and with the snow, why they’re just shriekin’ at him. We got to take a big chance. But ther’s one play we can make.”