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Catharine Of The "Crow’s Nest"
by
After finding it almost dead in its dead mother’s arms on the shore, the Indians had given it to Catharine for the reason that she could speak some English. They were only a passing band of Kootenays, and as they journeyed on and on, week in and week out, they finally came to Crow’s Nest Mountain. Here the child fell ill, so they built Catharine a log shack, and left her with plenty of food, sufficient to last until the railway gang had worked that far up the Pass, when more food would be available. When she had finished the strange history, Wingate looked at her long and lovingly.
“Catharine,” he said, “you were almost going to fight me once to-day. You stood between the couch and me like a panther. What changed you so that you led me to my baby girl yourself?”
“I make one last fight to keep her,” she said, haltingly. “She mine so long, I want her; I want her till I die. Then I think many times I see your face at camp. It look like sky when sun does not shine–all cloud, no smile, no laugh. I know you think of your baby then. Then I watch you many times. Then after while my heart is sick for you, like you are my own boy, like I am your own mother. I hate see no sun in your face. I think I not good mother to you; if I was good mother I would give you your child; make the sun come in your face. To-day I make last fight to keep the child. She’s mine so long, I want her till I die. Then somet’ing in my heart say, ‘He’s like son to you, as if he your own boy; make him glad–happy. Oh, ver’ glad! Be like his own mother. Find him his baby.'”
“Bless the mother heart of her!” growled the big foreman, frowning to keep his face from twitching.
It was twilight when they mounted the horses one of the men had brought up for them to ride home on, Wingate with his treasure-child hugged tightly in his arms. Words were powerless to thank the woman who had saved half his world for him. His voice choked when he tried, but she understood, and her woman’s heart was very, very full.
Just as they reached the rim of the canyon Wingate turned and looked back. His arms tightened about little Margie as his eyes rested on Catharine–as once before she was standing in the doorway, alone; alone, and above and about her were the purple shadows, the awful solitude of Crow’s Nest Mountain.
“Brown!” he called. “Hold on, Brown! I can’t do it! I can’t leave her like that!”
He wheeled his horse about and, plunging back through the snow, rode again to her door. Her eyes radiated as she looked at him. Years had been wiped from his face since the morning. He was a laughing boy once more.
“You are right,” he said, “I cannot keep my little girl in that rough camp. You said it was no place for a girl child. You are right. I will send her into Calgary until my survey is over. Catharine, will you go with her, take care of her, nurse her, guard her for me? You said I was as your own son; will you be that good mother to me that you want to be? Will you do this for your white boy?”
He had never seen her smile before. A moment ago her heart had been breaking, but now she knew with a great gladness that she was not only going to keep and care for Margie, but that this laughing boy would be as a son to her for all time. No wonder Catharine of the Crow’s Nest smiled!