All this is to illustrate the emotions of Falls-in-two, Wags-his-tail, and Last-one-to-swim-home-with-fodder, the three best canoe men of the Kutenais.
They did not like the white man Storms-all-of-a-sudden, who kept two of them at the paddles, one resting, and worked without sleep himself for seventy hours on end. When he caught them trying to cook a meal, he kicked the fire out. Of course, they could kill him easily, but when they rejoined the tribe Two Bits would have a few words to say about that. Brave they were to a fault, but when old Two Bits "turned her wolf loose," naught could avail but absence.
A white man wears a hat and can work without rest or food, such being his sun-power; but an over-strained Indian's nerve breaks, and, though he may seem to get well, he will not live long afterwards. So, at the cataract from which he had his name, Falls-in-two explained this mystery to Storms-all-of-a-sudden. It made Storm worse than ever.
At the upper portage the three Indians prayed that the sun would burn him and powder him up for black face-paint. Most certainly the prayer had some effect, for the heat became extreme, and in the late afternoon when they reached the place where the city of Nelson stands, the white man, so said Wags-his-tail, just fell down dead. They were too tired to help. They let him stay dead until midnight.
* * * * * * *
Storm had lost himself among heaps of clinkers and beds of cinders. There were drifts of ashes flung by an icy wind in the gray gloom, a gale of ashes blowing through his body, cold which wrenched his heart, clutched his throat, strangled him. He could not find Rain's enemy, the man who had ruined his wife, and robbed her of her honor. The plain reached away forever without shelter or refuge or any hope. There was no hope. There was no life in him or warmth except from the burning of murderous hatred for Rain's enemy.
"I have a soul," he shouted, "to offer in exchange if I may have my enemy. Give me my enemy!"
There was no answer to his cry, no echo from the desert, only more furious wind, and deepening of gray darkness, drift in which he floundered, sinking, cold beyond endurance.
Again he shouted, offering his soul for help in the finding of Rain's enemy.
That time he heard the echo, derisive, hollow, flung by unseen cliffs, crashing from wall to wall, from height to height, far up to summits remote, and empty silence. Presently his knee struck a chain suspended in the ash drift. Its cold tore the skin from his hands, but he could not lower it to climb over or lift it to get under. He hauled himself along by the chain as though it were a life line, knowing that the name of it was Despair. And by the chain of Despair he came at last to the foot of the cliffs, just where a pathway went up, broad, of easy gradient, quartering the precipice. He knew that the name of that path was Hope, but he could not tell whither it led. Only it saved him from the gale of drifting ashes, and it seemed to lead him away from Hate, wherein there is no shelter, or succor, or deliverance. He went on a long way, but always the path narrowed, shrinking against the cliffs; and whereas it had been easy, it was now steep, aye, and perilous, for it shelved to the edge, of slippery loose flakes which slithered over and fell. He stood breathless, listening for the stones to reach the bottom to reassure him, but they fell, and fell without end. Now he dared go no farther upon that narrow shelving way lest he should miss a foothold in the dark, to slither as the stones did, and go suddenly mad, to leap, turning over and over in Space, falling into the Silence. He would have gone down the path, but that he dared not turn round. He went on, clinging to the wall, peering into the gloom, looking for footholds.