The keenest pleasure which ever money gave me came when Billy and I helped in the drafting of a cable order from the Hudson's Bay Company in London to that bland magnifico who manages their branch palace at Vancouver. One always feels that if one happened to want a Paris hat, a bag of nuts, and a monkey, this Vancouver potentate would make a parcel of them without the slightest fear of their getting mixed. As to surprising the company, one might as well tickle the Alps. So here is the telegram:—
"Provide three sleighs, each with two horses; engage two reliable bush teamsters; six months' guaranteed bonus for secrecy and fidelity.
"Referring to previous requirements of Jesse Smith, load No. 1 sleigh to capacity with provisions, luxuries, ammunition, books, consigned to him via bush trail from 59 Mile House, Cariboo Road. Referring to Captain Taylor's past requirements and present sickness, load No. 2 sleigh with stores invalid comforts, consigned 100 Mile House. Each driver to present load, rig and team, with personal services, and to forward consignee's receipt.
"Hire third sleigh with team one month, furnish furs on approval, equipment, comforts suitable to bush travel and residence of a lady. Place in charge of young competent civil engineer, bringing instruments and assistant to report to Madame Scotson, arriving Ashcroft Pacific Limited 20 inst.
"Absolute secrecy required. Charge Scotson."
So far the impulse had moved me to be quick before I repented, and the journey gave time for that. Leaving the sweet majesty and serene order of the English landscape, I made the usual passage by S.S. Charon across the Styx to New York, where I caught a stuffy train for the transit of an untidy continent. And so, in the starry middle of a night, I was met at Ashcroft.
The civil engineer sent by the Hudson's Bay Company was Mr. Sacrifice T. Eure. He stood uncovered, and while his ears froze, spelled his name to me, explaining that there were two syllables in "Eure" with accent on the first. He seemed to convey an offer of protection, to claim my friendship, to take charge of my affairs, and with perfect modesty to let me know that he was competent. Mud-colored hair hung dank over a fine bloodless face with eyes like steel, jaws like iron, accounting, perhaps, for the magnetic charm of his smile. His English was that spoken by gentlefolk, which has the clearness of water, the sparkle of champagne. His accent? How puzzling that is in a stranger's voice! Except when we play Shakespearean drama, we all speak with an accent, American say, or British. This gentleman lacked the primitive manliness which stamps the men of the Dominions. Afterward Mr. Eure confessed himself a native of New England.
He presented his assistant, led me to the sleigh, showed Billy where to stow the luggage, tucked me into some warm furs, congratulated me on escaping the local hotels, then bidding my man and his own to jump in, took the reins and asked which way we were going. I served as pilot along a trail of poignant memories. Once as we climbed the great steeps northward, I caught the scent of the bull pines, and would have cried but for the cold, which made it much wiser to sniff. Tears freeze.
We slept that night at Hat Creek station, where Tearful George proved a most kindly host. He told me of a loaded sleigh which had passed last week on the way to Jesse's ranch. The teamster was Iron Dale. So far I had wondered whether my name was changing letter by letter from Madame Scotson into Mrs. Grumble, but now the scent of the pines brought ease of mind, and in the great calm of the wilderness one is ashamed to fret.
Our next march brought us rather late for the midday dinner to Fifty-Nine Mile House, which marks the summit of the long climb from Ashcroft to the edge of the black pines. The light was beginning to wane when we set out into that land of silent menace, where black forests cast blue shadows over deathly snow, and the cold was that of the space between the stars. Once we had to pull up to adjust a trace, and in that instant the trees seemed suddenly to have paused from dreadful motion. A snow-covered boulder faced us as though in challenge: "You think I moved?" A deadfall log seemed to ask us: "Did I moan?" A hollow tree became rigid as though it had been swaying, a gaunt pine leaned as though stopped in the act of falling upon our sleigh. All of them, alert and full of menace, watched us. The trees were dead, the water was all frozen, the snow was but a shroud which seemed to lift and creep. What were we doing here in the land of the dead? The shadows closed upon us, a mist rose, flooding over us, and far off the cold split a tree asunder with loud report as of some minute gun.
We drove on, freezing, and right glad I was to be welcomed with all the ruddy warmth and kindly cheer of Eighty Mile House. There we had tea, and secured fresh horses for the last stage of our journey. I learned also that the driver intrusted by the Hudson's Bay Company with provisions for Hundred Mile House had gone off with the team, leaving his sleigh still loaded in Captain Taylor's yard.
The malign bush seemed cowed by sheer immensity of glittering starlight as we drove on. Only once I ventured to speak, asking Mr. Eure to look out for Ninety-Nine Mile House. Horses accustomed to bait there would try to stop. I did not want to stop.
He nodded assent, and, crouched down beside him, I waited until a brave red warmth shone out across the snow from all the lighted windows of Spite House. Mr. Eure lashed his horses, and in a moment more we had passed into the night again. Presently we crossed the little shaky bridge over Hundred Mile Creek, then swung to the left into Captain Taylor's yard. I could see on the right the loom of the old barns, on the left the low house, and at the end one window dimly lighted, which told me my friend still lived. While Tom, the assistant, stabled the team, Mr. Eure and Billy got snow shovels from the barn, and hewed out a way to the deep drifted door at the near end of the building. Presently the Chinese servant let us in, and I made my way through the barroom and dining-hall to that far door on the right. How changed was the grand old Hundred since the days, only five years ago, of pompous assizes, banquets, dances, when these rooms overflowed with light, warmth, and comfort, now dark, in Arctic cold, in haunted silence! I crept into the captain's room, where, in an arm-chair beside the stove, the old man lay. I knelt beside him, taking his dreadfully swollen hand.