08-an odyssey of the north-第1部分

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　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　AN　ODYSSEY　OF　THE　NORTH。




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　　THE　SLEDS　WERE　SINGING　their　eternal　lament　to　the　creaking　of　the

harness　and　the　tinkling　bells　of　the　leaders；　but　the　men　and　dogs

were　tired　and　made　no　sound。　The　trail　was　heavy　with　new…fallen

snow；　and　they　had　come　far；　and　the　runners；　burdened　with　flint…like

quarters　of　frozen　moose；　clung　tenaciously　to　the　unpacked　surface

and　held　back　with　a　stubbornness　almost　human。　Darkness　was　coming

on；　but　there　was　no　camp　to　pitch　that　night。　The　snow　fell　gently

through　the　pulseless　air；　not　in　flakes；　but　in　tiny　frost　crystals

of　delicate　design。　It　was　very　warm…　barely　ten　below　zero…　and　the

men　did　not　mind。　Meyers　and　Bettles　had　raised　their　ear　flaps；　while

Malemute　Kid　had　even　taken　off　his　mittens。

　　The　dogs　had　been　fagged　out　early　in　the　after　noon；　but　they　now

began　to　show　new　vigor。　Among　the　more　astute　there　was　a　certain

restlessness…　an　impatience　at　the　restraint　of　the　traces；　an

indecisive　quickness　of　movement；　a　sniffing　of　snouts　and　pricking　of

ears。　These　became　incensed　at　their　more　phlegmatic　brothers；

urging　them　on　with　numerous　sly　nips　on　their　hinder　quarters。　Those；

thus　chidden；　also　contracted　and　helped　spread　the　contagion。　At　last

the　leader　of　the　foremost　sled　uttered　a　sharp　whine　of　satisfaction；

crouching　lower　in　the　snow　and　throwing　himself　against　the　collar。

The　rest　followed　suit。　There　was　an　ingathering　of　back　hands；　a

tightening　of　traces；　the　sleds　leaped　forward；　and　the　men　clung　to

the　gee　poles；　violently　accelerating　the　uplift　of　their　feet　that

they　might　escape　going　under　the　runners。　The　weariness　of　the　day

fell　from　them；　and　they　whooped　encouragement　to　the　dogs。　The

animals　responded　with　joyous　yelps。　They　were　swinging　through　the

gathering　darkness　at　a　rattling　gallop。

　　'Gee！　Gee！'　the　men　cried；　each　in　turn；　as　their　sleds　abruptly

left　the　main　trail；　heeling　over　on　single　runners　like　luggers　on

the　wind。

　　Then　came　a　hundred　yards'　dash　to　the　lighted　parchment　window；

which　told　its　own　story　of　the　home　cabin；　the　roaring　Yukon　stove；

and　the　steaming　pots　of　tea。　But　the　home　cabin　had　been　invaded。

Threescore　huskies　chorused　defiance；　and　as　many　furry　forms

precipitated　themselves　upon　the　dogs　which　drew　the　first　sled。　The

door　was　flung　open；　and　a　man；　clad　in　the　scarlet　tunic　of　the

Northwest　Police；　waded　knee…deep　among　the　furious　brutes；　calmly　and

impartially　dispensing　soothing　justice　with　the　butt　end　of　a　dog

whip。　After　that　the　men　shook　hands；　and　in　this　wise　was　Malemute

Kid　welcomed　to　his　own　cabin　by　a　stranger。

　　Stanley　Prince；　who　should　have　welcomed　him；　and　who　was

responsible　for　the　Yukon　stove　and　hot　tea　aforementioned；　was　busy

with　his　guests。　There　were　a　dozen　or　so　of　them；　as　nondescript　a

crowd　as　ever　served　the　Queen　in　the　enforcement　of　her　laws　or　the

delivery　of　her　mails。　They　were　of　many　breeds；　but　their　common　life

had　formed　of　them　a　certain　type…　a　lean　and　wiry　type；　with

trail…hardened　muscles；　and　sun…browned　faces；　and　untroubled　souls

which　gazed　frankly　forth；　clear…eyed　and　steady。　They　drove　the

dogs　of　the　Queen；　wrought　fear　in　the　hearts　of　her　enemies；　ate　of

her　meager　fare；　and　were　happy。　They　had　seen　life；　and　done　deeds；

and　lived　romances；　but　they　did　not　know　it。

　　And　they　were　very　much　at　home。　Two　of　them　were　sprawled　upon

Malemute　Kid's　bunk；　singing　chansons　which　their　French　forebears

sang　in　the　days　when　first　they　entered　the　Northwest　land　and

mated　with　its　Indian　women。　Bettles'　bunk　had　suffered　a　similar

invasion；　and　three　or　four　lusty　voyageurs　worked　their　toes　among

its　blankets　as　they　listened　to　the　tale　of　one　who　had　served　on　the

boat　brigade　with　Wolseley　when　he　fought　his　way　to　Khartoum。　And

when　he　tired；　a　cowboy　told　of　courts　and　kings　and　lords　and

ladies　he　had　seen　when　Buffalo　Bill　toured　the　capitals　of　Europe。　In

a　corner　two　half…breeds；　ancient　comrades　in　a　lost　campaign；

mended　harnesses　and　talked　of　the　days　when　the　Northwest　flamed　with

insurrection　and　Louis　Riel　was　king。

　　Rough　jests　and　rougher　jokes　went　up　and　down；　and　great　hazards　by

trail　and　river　were　spoken　of　in　the　light　of　commonplaces；　only　to

be　recalled　by　virtue　of　some　grain　of　humor　or　ludicrous　happening。

Prince　was　led　away　by　these　uncrowned　heroes　who　had　seen　history

made；　who　regarded　the　great　and　the　romantic　as　but　the　ordinary

and　the　incidental　in　the　routine　of　life。　He　passed　his　precious

tobacco　among　them　with　lavish　disregard；　and　rusty　chains　of

reminiscence　were　loosened；　and　forgotten　odysseys　resurrected　for　his

especial　benefit。

　　When　conversation　dropped　and　the　travelers　filled　the　last　pipes

and　lashed　their　tight…rolled　sleeping　furs。　Prince　fell　back　upon　his

comrade　for　further　information。

　　'Well；　you　know　what　the　cowboy　is；'　Malemute　Kid　answered；

beginning　to　unlace　his　moccasins；　'and　it's　not　hard　to　guess　the

British　blood　in　his　bed　partner。　As　for　the　rest；　they're　all

children　of　the　coureurs　du　bois；　mingled　with　God　knows　how　many

other　bloods。　The　two　turning　in　by　the　door　are　the　regulation

'breeds'　or　Boisbrules。　That　lad　with　the　worsted　breech　scarf…　notice

his　eyebrows　and　the　turn　of　his　jaw…　shows　a　Scotchman　wept　in　his

mother's　smoky　tepee。　And　that　handsome　looking　fellow　putting　the

capote　under　his　head　is　a　French　half…breed…　you　heard　him　talking；

he　doesn't　like　the　two　Indians　turning　in　next　to　him。　You　see；

when　the　'breeds'　rose　under　the　Riel　the　full…bloods　kept　the

peace；　and　they've　not　lost　much　love　for　one　another　since。'

　　'But　I　say；　what's　that　glum…looking　fellow　by　the　stove？　I'll　swear

he　can't　talk　English。　He　hasn't　opened　his　mouth　all　night。'

　　'You're　wrong。　He　knows　English　well　enough。　Did　you　follow　his　eyes

when　he　listened？　I　did。　But　he's　neither　kith　nor　kin　to　the

others。　When　they　talked　their　own　patois　you　could　see　he　didn't

understand。　I've　been　wondering　myself　what　he　is。　Let's　find　out。'

　　'Fire　a　couple　of　sticks　into　the　stove！'　Malemute　Kid　commanded；

raising　his　voice　and　looking　squarely　at　the　man　in　question。

　　He　obeyed　at　once。

　　'Had　discipline　knocked　into　him　somewhere。'　Prince　commented　in　a

low　tone。

　　Malemute　Kid　nodded；　took　off　his　socks；　and　picked　his　way　among

recumbent　men　to　the　stove。　There　he　hung　his　damp　footgear　among　a

score　or　so　of　mates。

　　'When　do　you　expect　to　get　to　Dawson？'　he　asked　tentatively。

　　The　man　studied　him　a　moment　before　replying。　'They　say　seventy…five

mile。　So？　Maybe　two　days。'

　　The　very　slightest　accent　was　perceptible；　while　there　was　no

awkward　hesitancy　or　groping　for　words。

　　'Been　in　the　country　before？'

　　'No。'

　　'Northwest　Territory？'

　　'Yes。'

　　'Born　there？'

　　'No。'

　　'Well；　where　the　devil　were　you　born？　You're　none　of　these。'

Malemute　Kid　swept　his　hand　over　the　dog　drivers；　even　including　the

two　policemen　who　had　turned　into　Prince's　bunk。　'Where　did　you　come

from？　I've　seen　faces　like　yours　before；　though　I　can't　remember

just　where。'

　　'I　know　you；'　he　irrelevantly　replied；　at　once　turning　the　drift

of　Malemute　Kid's　questions。

　　'Where？　Ever　see　me？'

　　'No；　your　partner；　him　priest；　Pastilik；　long　time　ago。　Him　ask　me

if　I　see　you；　Malemute　Kid。　Him　give　me　grub。　I　no　stop　long。　You　hear

him　speak　'bout　me？'

　　'Oh！　you're　the　fellow　that　traded　the　otter　skins　for　the　dogs？'

　　The　man　nodded；　knocked　out　his　pipe；　and　signified　his

disinclination　for　conversation　by　rolling　up　in　his　furs。　Malemute

Kid　blew　out　the　slush　lamp　and　crawled　under　the　blankets　with

Prince。

　　'Well；　what　is　he？'

　　'Don't　know…　turned　me　off；　somehow；　and　then　shut　up　like　a　clam。

But　he's　a　fellow　to　whet　your　curiosity。　I've　heard　of　him。　All　the

coast　wondered　about　him　eight　years　ago。　Sort　of　mysterious；　you

know。　He　came　down　out　of　the　North　in　the　dead　of　winter；　many　a

thousand　miles　from　here；　skirting　Bering　Sea　and　traveling　as

though　the　devil　were　after　him。　No　one　ever　learned　where　he　came

from；　but　he　must　have　come　far。　He　was　badly　travel…worn　when　he

got　food　from　the　Swedish　missionary　on　Golovin　Bay　and　asked　the

way　south。　We　heard　of　all　this　afterward。　Then　he　abandoned　the　shore

line；　heading　right　across　Norton　Sound。　Terrible　weather；

snowstorms　and　high　winds；　but　he　pulled　through　where　a　thousand

other　men　would　have　died；　missing　St。　Michaels　and　making　the　land　at

Pastilik。　He'd　lost　all　but　two　dogs；　and　was　nearly　gone　with

starvation。

　　'He　was　so　anxious　to　go　on　that　Father　Roubeau　fitted　him　out

with　grub；　but　he　couldn't　let　him　have　any　dogs；　for　he　was　only

waiting　my　arrival；　to　go　on　a　trip　himself。　Mr。　Ulysses　knew　too　much

to　start　on　without　animals；　and　fretted　around　for　several　days。　He

had　on　his　sled　a　bunch　of　beautifully　cured　otter　skins；　sea

otters；　you　know；　worth　their　weight　in　gold。　There　was　also　at

Pastilik　an　old　Shylock　of　a　Russian　trader；　who　had　dogs　to　kill。

Well；　they　didn't　dicker　very　long；　but　when　the　Strange　One　headed

south　again；　it　was　in　the　rear　of　a　spanking　dog　team。　Mr。　Shylock；

by　the　way；　had　the　otter　skins。　I　saw　them；　and　they　were

magnificent。　We　figured　it　up　and　found　the　dogs　brought　him　at

least　five　hundred　apiece。　And　it　wasn't　as　if　the　Strange　One

didn't　know　the　value　of　sea　otter；　he　was　an　Indian　of　some　sort；　and

what　little　he　talked　showed　he'd　been　among　white　men。

　　'After　the　ice　passed　out　of　the　sea；　word　came　up　from　Nunivak

Island　that　he'd　gone　in　there　for　grub。　Then　he　dropped　from　sight；

and　this　is　the　first　heard　of　him　in　eight　years。　Now　where　did　he

come　from？　and　what　was　he　doing　there？　and　why　did　he　come　from

there？　He's　Indian；　he's　been　nobody　knows　where；　and　he's　had

discipline；　which　is　unusual　for　an　I