The Magnetic North. Elizabeth Robins

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СКАЧАТЬ meet you."

      Nicholas shook his head, and went on gathering up the furs. As he and Mac came out, Andrew was undoing the last fastening that held the canvas to the stakes. In ten minutes they were on the trail, Andrew leading, with Father Wills' dogs, Kaviak lying in the sled muffled to the eyes, still looking round out of the corners—no, strangely enough, the Kaviak eye had no corners, but fixedly he stared sideways at Mac. "Farva," seeming not to take the smallest notice, trudged along on one side of him, the priest on the other, and behind came Nicholas and the other Indians with the second sled. It was too windy to talk much even had they been inclined.

      The only sounds were the Mush! Mush! of the drivers, the grate and swish of the runners over the ice, and Kaviak's coughing.

      Mac turned once and frowned at him. It was curious that the child seemed not to mind these menacing looks, not in the smallest degree.

      By-and-by the order of march was disturbed.

      Kaviak's right runner, catching at some obstacle, swerved and sent the sled bumping along on its side, the small head of the passenger narrowly escaping the ice. Mac caught hold of the single-tree and brought the racing dogs to an abrupt halt. The priest and he righted the sled, and Mac straddling it, tucked in a loosened end of fur. When all was again in running order, Mac was on the same side as Father Wills. He still wore that look of dour ill-temper, and especially did he glower at the unfortunate Kaviak, seized with a fresh fit of coughing that filled the round eyes with tears.

      "Don't you get kind o' tired listenin' to that noise? Suppose I was to carry—just for a bit—. This is the roughest place on the trail. Hi! Stop!" he called to Andrew. The priest had said nothing; but divining what Mac would be at, he helped him to undo the raw-hide lashing, and when Kaviak was withdrawn he wrapped one of the lighter fur things round him.

      It was only when Mac had marched off, glowering still, and sternly refusing to meet Kaviak's tearful but grateful eyes—it was only then, bending over the sled and making fast the furs, that Father Wills, all to himself, smiled a little.

      It wasn't until they were in sight of the smoke from the Little Cabin that Mac slackened his pace. He had never for a moment found the trail so smooth that he could return his burden to the sled. Now, however, he allowed Nicholas and the priest to catch up with him.

      "You carry him the rest of the way," he commanded, and set his burden in Nicholas's arms. Kaviak was ill-pleased, but Mac, falling behind with the priest, stalked on with eyes upon the ground.

      "I've got a boy of my own," he jerked out presently, with the air of a man who accounts confidentially for some weakness.

      "Really!" returned the priest; "they didn't tell me."

      "I haven't told them yet."

      "Oh, all right."

      "Why is he called that heathen name?"

      "Kaviak? Oh, it's the name of his tribe. His people belong to that branch of the Innuits known as Kaviaks."

      "Humph! Then he's only Kaviak as I'm MacCann. I suppose you've christened him?"

      "Well, not yet—no. What shall we call him? What's your boy's name?" "Robert Bruce." They went on in silence till Mac said, "It's on account of my boy I came up here."

      "Oh!"

      "It didn't use to matter if a man was poor and self-taught, but in these days of competition it's different. A boy must have chances if he's going to fight the battle on equal terms. Of course, some boys ain't worth botherin' about. But my boy—well, he seems to have something in him."

      The priest listened silently, but with that look of brotherliness on his face that made it so easy to talk to him.

      "It doesn't really matter to those other fellows." Mac jerked his hand towards the camp. "It's never so important to men—who stand alone—but I've got to strike it rich over yonder." He lifted his head, and frowned defiantly in the general direction of the Klondyke, thirteen hundred miles away. "It's my one chance," he added half to himself. "It means everything to Bob and me. Education, scientific education, costs like thunder."

      "In the United States?"

      "Oh, I mean to send my boy to the old country. I want Bob to be thorough."

      The priest smiled, but almost imperceptibly.

      "How old is he?"

      "Oh, 'bout as old as this youngster." Mac spoke with calculated indifference.

      "Six or thereabouts?"

      "No; four and a half. But he's bigger—"

      "Of course."

      "And you can see already—he's got a lot in him."

      Father Wills nodded with a conviction that brought Mac nearer confession than he had ever been in his life.

      "You see," he said quite low, and as if the words were dragged out with pincers, "the fact is—my married life—didn't pan out very well. And I—ran away from home as a little chap—after a lickin'—and never went back. But there's one thing I mean to make a success of—that's my boy."

      "Well, I believe you will, if you feel like that."

      "Why, they've gone clean past the camp trail," said Mac sharply, "all but Nicholas—and what in thunder?—he's put the kid back on the sled—"

      "Yes, I told my men we'd be getting on. But they were told to leave you the venison—"

      "What! You goin' straight on? Nonsense!" Mac interrupted, and began to shout to the Indians.

      "No; I meant to stop; just tell your friends so," said the unsuspecting Father; "but with a sick child—"

      "What can you do for him that we can't? And to break the journey may make a big difference. We've got some condensed milk left—and—"

      "Ah yes, but we are more accustomed to—it's hardly fair to burden a neighbour. No, we'll be getting on."

      "If those fellers up there make a row about your bringing in a youngster"—he thrust out his jaw—"they can settle the account with me. I've got to do something for that cough before the kid goes on."

      "Well," said the priest; and so wily are these Jesuits that he never once mentioned that he was himself a qualified doctor in full and regular practice. He kept his eyes on the finished stockade and the great chimney, wearing majestically its floating plume of smoke.

      "Hi!" Mac called between his hands to the Indians, who had gone some distance ahead. "Hi!" He motioned them back up the hill trail.

      O'Flynn had come out of the Little Cabin, and seemed to be laboriously trundling something along the footpath. He got so excited when he heard the noise and saw the party that, inadvertently, he let his burden slide down the icy slope, bumping and bouncing clumsily from one impediment to another.

      "Faith, look at 'im! Sure, that fossle can't resthrain his j'y at seein' ye back. Mac, it's yer elephunt. I was takin' him in to the sate of honour be the foir. We thought it 'ud be a pleasant surprise fur ye. Sure, ye'r more surprised СКАЧАТЬ