FullReads

Jaspar Hume saw a form reclining on a great bundle of pine branches, and he knew what Rose Lepage had prayed for was come to pass. By the flickering light of a handful of fire he saw Lepage–rather what was left of him–a shadow of energy, a heap of nerveless bones. His eyes were shut, but as Hume, with a quiver of memory and sympathy at his heart, stood for an instant, and looked at the man whom he had cherished as a friend and found an enemy, Lepage’s lips moved and a weak voice said: “Who is there?”

“A friend.”

“Come-near-me,–friend.”

Hume made a motion to Late Carscallen, who was heating some liquor at the fire, and then he stooped and lifted up the sick man’s head, and took his hand. “You have come–to save me!” whispered the weak voice again.

“Yes; I’ve come to save you.” This voice was strong and clear and true.

“I seem–to have–heard–your voice before–somewhere before–I seem to–have–“

But he had fainted.

Hume poured a little liquor down the sick man’s throat, and Late Carscallen chafed the delicate hand–delicate in health, it was like that of a little child now. When breath came again Hume whispered to his helper “Take Cloud-in-the-Sky and get wood; bring fresh branches. Then clear one of the sleds, and we will start back with him in the early morning.”

Late Carscallen, looking at the skeleton-like figure, said: “He will never get there.”

“Yes, he will get there,” was Hume’s reply.

“But he is dying.”

“He goes with me to Fort Providence.”

“Ay, to Providence he goes, but not with you,” said Late Carscallen, doggedly.

Anger flashed in Hume’s eye, but he said quietly “Get the wood, Carscallen.”

Hume was left alone with the starving Indian, who sat beside the fire eating voraciously, and with the sufferer, who now was taking mechanically a little biscuit sopped in brandy. For a few moments thus, then his sunken eyes opened, and he looked dazedly at the man bending above him. Suddenly there came into them a look of terror. “You–you–are Jaspar Hume,” his voice said in an awed whisper.

“Yes.” The hands of the sub-factor chafed those of the other.

“But you said you were a friend, and come to save me.”

“I have come to save you.”

There was a shiver of the sufferer’s body. This discovery would either make him stronger or kill him. Hume knew this, and said: “Lepage, the past is past and dead to me; let it be so to you.”

There was a pause.

“How–did you know–about me?”

“I was at Fort Providence. There came letters from the Hudson’s Bay Company, and from your wife, saying that you were making this journey, and were six months behind–“

“My wife–Rose!”

“I have a letter for you from her. She is on her way to Canada. We are to take you to her.”

“To take me–to her.” Lepage shook his head sadly, but he pressed to his lips the letter that Hume had given him.

“To take you to her, Lepage.”

“No, I shall never see her again.”

“I tell you, you shall. You can live if you will. You owe that to her–to me–to God.”

“To her–to you–to God. I have been true to none. I have been punished. I shall die here.”

“You shall go to Fort Providence. Do that in payment of your debt to me, Lepage. I demand that.” In this transgressor there was a latent spark of honour, a sense of justice that might have been developed to great causes, if some strong nature, seeing his weaknesses, had not condoned them, but had appealed to the natural chivalry of an impressionable, vain, and weak character. He struggled to meet Hume’s eyes, and doing so, he gained confidence and said: “I will try to live. I will do you justice–yet.”

“Your first duty is to eat and drink. We start for Fort Providence to-morrow.”

The sick man stretched out his hand. “Food! Food!” he said.

In tiny portions food and drink were given to him, and his strength sensibly increased. The cave was soon aglow with the fire kindled by Late Carscallen and Cloud-in-the-Sky. There was little speaking, for the sick man soon fell asleep. Lepage’s Indian told Cloud-in-the-Sky the tale of their march–how the other Indian and the dogs died; how his master became ill as they were starting towards Fort Providence from Manitou Mountain in the summer weather; how they turned back and took refuge in this cave; how month by month they had lived on what would hardly keep a rabbit alive; and how, at last, his master urged him to press on with his papers; but he would not, and stayed until this day, when the last bit of food had been eaten, and they were found.