The making of a man

by W. D. Flatt

After supper Robert made his prisoner as comfortable as possible. While the chains were still left upon his ankles, they were loosened so that he could take short steps and yet could not walk at all rapidly. Then Robert heaped up the fire and, following a decision made earlier in the day, thought it would not be safe for him to go to sleep, but sat by the fire and after a little time assumed the attitude of sleep. At the same time he watched the prisoner from the corner of his eye. After a little time he saw the man glance at him carefully and slyly, and then noted that he was working himself into an upright position. A moment later the chains on the man’s ankles rattled and like a flash the villain was on his feet and moving toward the fire. It was well for Robert that he had been watching, for it was evident from the man’s eyes that he intended to give no mercy. When the man was almost on him Robert jumped up with his gun in his hand and faced the surprised villain.

“Get back!” he cried. “I have tried to treat you decently, but I see you do not appreciate it. You won’t have another chance either at me or to escape while you are in my charge. It will be a grind and a fight from here on.”

Following this policy Robert watched his prisoner continually. During the day he loosened his bonds sufficiently to let him get the necessary exercise, but took good care that he had a weapon at hand conveniently while he was doing so. At night he chained him more closely so that he could not rise alone. In this condition he was placed by the fire so that he would not freeze. For the first night or two Robert had gone without sleep and intended to do so, knowing that his prisoner must be carefully watched, so long as he could.

With the hardships of the trail, however, he soon learned that he must have the requisite sleep to make him fit for travel the next day. He was careful, however, to keep some of the dogs between the prisoner and himself. By this time the huskies had begun to respond to his kind treatment and he knew that he was not likely to be disturbed.

Robert thought he had learned something about snow and cold in the North-West, but as the days passed by and he began to journey along the north shore of Lake Superior he found an unusual situation. For several days the sun seemed scarcely to show its face and snow fell day after day without let-up. The cold, too, increased in severity, and with all this the travelling was becoming very hard, and as they came into heavier wooded sections another danger appeared. Occasionally during the day Robert had seen skulking wolves following the party at a little distance, and as these increased he knew that the packs were hovering about in considerable numbers. At night, while they were resting, the young man had little fear, for it was easy to build huge fires, which he knew would keep the animals at bay. Again, he was little troubled for himself or his dogs, but he was disturbed for his helpless prisoner, whom he intended to deliver, according to instructions, at Little York.

With this came another trouble. While the dogs had been going splendidly, the continual travelling in the deep snow had been very trying, and with the added weight of the prisoner this condition was accentuated. Finally the dogs refused to go further. Robert did his best with the splendid old leader, who in his turn tried to pull the team through the huge drifts, but his efforts were without avail. The idea occurred to him of reasoning with the prisoner, but he concluded that such attempts were useless, since the villain continued to return only oaths for his kindness and had apparently made up his mind to make his escape if the opportunity ever offered itself. There was apparently little of the human in this man. He would not respond to kindness in any form.

Robert prepared camp for the night, hoping that a rest would fit the dogs for another day’s travel, and this time the animals were given special care. As he measured out their food his thoughts flew back to his old collie dog in his Orkney home, and he remembered how anxious that animal had been to serve him. He realized that not only did the success of his expedition, but also that his own life depended on the dogs and that it was almost more than could be expected that the animals could cope with conditions such as they had met with the last few days for very much longer.

Another morning came, still without the sun. The sky was heavy and black and snow continued to fall. Around the little band every twig, every branch, was carrying its burden of white crystals. The cedars, balsam and spruce, as well as the larger pines, were dressed in robes of white purity, and the less sturdy of these were bending low under the weight of their mantle. Another day of struggle brought them somewhat nearer their goal, but again the dogs became excited, and when the expedition stopped for the night Robert noticed that the wolves were nearer than they had been before. The next morning when the time came to start out it was found that two of the dogs were unable to go further. They had done their best and more could not be expected from them. Robert then had to perform a painful duty, for it was necessary to put these faithful brutes out of their misery. To somewhat counterbalance the loss of this pulling power everything that could possibly be gotten along without was taken from the pack and left behind. They travelled slowly, but kept moving on and on through the deep, newly-fallen snow.

In this northern region at this season of the year the days were exceedingly short, and since it was impossible to travel after dark the hours of struggle were comparatively brief. After another day or two Robert was convinced of the necessity of still further care in regard to rations, and the prisoner was informed that his allowance would be cut in two. His only answer to this came in curses, surely an evidence that there was little of tenderness in his make-up. At nights the dogs were buried deep in the snow, asleep. The prisoner could sleep well, but while the sternness of the struggle made some sleep necessary for Robert, the difficult situation bothered him a good deal and made his sleep anything but regular. He was worried, for instance, over the outlook, wondering whether it was at all probable that the duty he had undertaken would be fulfilled. He was worried by the constant aloofness and sullenness on the part of his prisoner, and he was worried again by apprehensions as to his powers of dealing single-handed with the wolf pack, which he knew was daily becoming bolder.

One afternoon, as he stood by the huge fire of burning logs which he had gotten together to keep the wolves away during the hours of darkness and which it was necessary for him to replenish from time to time, his thoughts drifted away from the troublesome ones which usually impressed him and involuntarily, it seemed, he began to plan for the future. Then, in a moment, as he stood looking into the flickering flames, an attractive face, of a type which he thought would be ideal as a companion in life, as a loving helpmate who would make life worth while, appeared to him. Perhaps it was not surprising that thoughts of this kind gave him new determination, and he decided at the moment that if he was given the strength to reach Little York with his prisoner he would resign from the Company’s employ, would build a cabin for himself and look for a sweetheart, one whom he could love and help through life’s journey and who would love him and help him in return.