SNOWSHOES

Southland Times, Issue 22768, 19 December 1935, Page 14

SNOWSHOES

SPENCER FREER.

(By Spencer Freer. Jim Barr stepped to the cabin door and threw it open, listening. The candle stuck in an empty whisky bottle flickered in the draught and threatened to go out. The growling of the huskies in the shed near the cabin was all he could hear. That, and the roaring of wind high up in the pines. He decided it might have been a cougar or a lynx. It was snowing and blowing out, and a darned good night for a man to be snug beside a tamarack fire. He reached to close the door again, and stopped abruptly in the very action. Through the darkness he heard a cry for help. Jumping into his coat, Barr hurried out into the storm. Not far from his cabin he discovered a dark figure lying prone on the snow in a state of exhaustion. The man had apparently tripped over a fallen tree with his snow-shoes, and was unable to rise.

Barr assisted him to the cabin, and gave him the last of some liquor on the shelf. Presently the stranger revived, and seemed none the worse for his experience. He had been trying to make the next camp, he told Barr, and must have taken the wrong turning and lost the trail. He undoubtedly would have perished in the storm. His thanks were effusive. Barr, who was a very undemonstrative man himself, felt almost embarrassed. “ ’Tain’t nothin’,” he declared, quietly. “No doubt you’d hev done th’ same for me.”

t His visitor assured him he would ■ have, undoubtedly. ; “My name is Barr—Jim Barr,” he ■ said, to cover his feeling of not being !• exactly at ease. “And yours?” ■ To his surprise, the stranger seemed < taken aback. “A name don’t mean ■ nothin’ in th’ woods,” he declared, ■ moodily. Barr cleared his throat, and • poked at the fire. Must be a queer ■ bird when he didn’t care to tell his ' name. > “You kin call me ‘Doc,’” the other '■ broke in suddenly. “Good a name as any other.” “Might be you are a doctor?” Barr asked, leaning forward, and studying him closely. “Used to be,” admitted the other, and lapsed once more into silence. “Roll in when yeh like,” suggested Barr. “You kin take th’ bottom bunk. I alius sleep in th’ top.” He piled more wood in the stove from the corner, and soon both men were sleeping. The next morning Barr’s visitor seemed in much better spirits. He helped with the breakfast, started cleaning up the cabin, made his own bed, and began to do the same with Barr’s. “Never mind that,” said Barr shortly. “I’ll fix my own bunk!” As the “Doc” stooped over- the tin pan and washed his face that morning, Barr noticed the sharp outline of a revolver in his hip pocket. So the fellow was armed, but what of it? Many a man packed a revolver in the lonely North. Barr carried one himself in a convenient holster under his sweater. “Come out and we’ll feed th’ dogs,” suggested Barr after breakfast, and the other followed him. “What do you feed ’em?” inquired the “Doc.” “Mos’ly fish,” rejoined Barr. He opened a little lean-to which showed frozen fish stacked up nearly to the roof, like cordwood. “Winter’s supply here,” he remarked. The huskies did not like the stranger, that was very evident. Pedro, the big lead dog’s dislike was so emphatic that he even refused to eat the half fish Barr gave him until the “Doc” had returned to the cabin. The huskies snarled disapproval when he spoke to them, and held out his hand in a friendly gesture. That didn’t mean a thing, Barr decided, for huskies were always distrustful of strangers. “Nice furs you hev, here, I reckon,” ventured his visitor, when Barr reentered the cabin. The stranger had apparently been intently looking them over. “Worth some money that lot, I should say.” “Yes, quite a tidy sum,” answered Barr. “It’s hard-earned money on the trap line, too.” he added. “Any luck looking for gold?” asked the “Doc” with an air of easy indifference. “Gold,” exclaimed Barr, startled out of his usual calm, “what made you ask ’bout gold?” “Why, every trapper turns to gold minin’ an’ prospectin’ in th’ summer,” returned the “Doc” with a light laugh, “leastways that’s what I’ve alius heard tell.” “I hev’ a lettle,” Barr admitted, “stowed away in a buckshin pouch. Not ' much. Worth mebbe two hundred ! dollars. Not much for a summer’s I' work.”

The dark restless eyes of his visitor roamed back speculatively to the fur rack. There were some beautiful mink and otter furs glistening in the sunlight. Barr felt that perhaps he had been indiscreet in taking a stranger into his confidence this way, even if he had rescued him from perishing in a storm. He changed the subject, and with the eagerness of a lonely man glad to hear I himself talk, told his visitor something i of his plans for the future. “Purty near through with the woods,” said Barr. “This kind of life gets a man after awhile. Pulling out for good in the spring before the break-up. Cash in my furs and gold dust at Snowflake, and going back to England. This Chris’mus in th’ woods, nex’ Chris’mus in England. Holly, mistletoe, plum puddin’ an’ everythin’!” He laughed outright, at the picture he conjured up, and the “Doc” laughed too, in a silent, mirthless way. “Of course,” Barr continued, “you’ll be stayin’ on with me fer th’ present. It’s Chris’mus Day coming Monday, and you’re sure welcome to stay.” His visitor accepted the invitation eagerly. He had nowhere to go for Christmas, he explained, and would be glad to stay. That night Barr could not sleep. He rolled around restlessly on his bunk. Underneath his bunk, the guest slept heartily, snoring in long whistling sounds, but outside all night long the huskies growled and whimpered, as though striving to warn Barr that danger threatened. Next morning in daylight, Barr recalled his vague fears of the night before. What had the huskies been trying to tell him? He slipped out and gave the huskies their allowance of fish, and entering the cabin rather hurriedly, found his visitor examining the upper bunk. “Lost a sock,” the stranger explained in a smooth tend. “but I found it. How’s the dogs?” he added. “They’re pretty fit for the trail,”

answered Barr, and the best dog tearr back of beyond,” he added proudly, “al least so the mounties tell me.” “Mounties!” exclaimed the other, uneasily. “You don’t mean to say thai mounties ever git as far into these parts as your cabin?” ■ “They do pass through here occasionally in the fall or spring,” Bari replied. r After a few days it seemed as though ? the huskies were getting reconciled tc ■ the presence of the stranger. They > would eat the frozen fish when he fed 5 them now, all except Pedro the big lead * dog. The lead dog scorned to touch ' his portion until the “Doc” was back inside the cabin. Both men laughed . over this incident afterwards. “They’re all alike them huskies,” observed Barr, i as he filled his pipe, “no time for a ; stranger, but always loyal to their master . .” , “Buy ’em or raise ’em?” asked his • visitor, helping himself generously to 1 Barr’s tobacco. , “Bought the rest of ’em when full : grown from a fur trader. But Pedro I ; raised from a puppy. Swapped an old i shotgun with a French half-breed for [ Pedro, an’ reckon I made a good deal. ■ Ain’t a better husky lead dog in th’ ■ North.” Barr’s sense of uneasiness gradually [ wore off. After several days of the ■ stranger’s company, they were getting , along very well together, as men usu- . ally do when forced to fall back on each , other’s company in the great solitudes. ■ He was pleased to find his guest handy ; around, insisting on taking over the cooking, and leaving Barr free to give . his attention to replenishing their wood supply. That night he mentioned he was going to Long Lake in the morning, and would be making an early start. “To-morrow’s Chris’mus Eve, and I alius go in fer my mail, and a few ■ extra supplies fer Chris’mus.” Barr rose before daylight in order to make an early start, mushing to Long Lake with the dog team. By making an early start, if all went well he should be back to the cabin before dark. He placed a small bundle of frozen fish on the sled for the huskies, and for himself he would have dinner at the Chinese cafe at Long Lake. He always allowed himself this little treat on Chrismas Eve. A dinner served by a slanteyed young Chinaman, who spoke pidgin-English. There would be napkins, and a real tablecloth that had seen better days, extra courses including apple pie, a menu handed him deferentially by the waiter, and everything done up in style. In fact, a regu-

lar beano! He left his guest to look after th< cabin, and was in Long Lake befon noon. The snow was fairly hard, thi day bright and cold, and the dogs ii fine fettle. Barr fed the huskies, an< left them to guard the sled. Then hi dined in solitary state at the Chinesi cafe, treated himself to a black cigar and proceeded to do his shopping a the one and only supply store. He lef his call at the post-office until las thing. Inside the log cabin that servec as post-office a round stove threw of a cheerful heat. Barr asked at thi wicket for his mail, and the stout beaming postmistress handed him severa letters with English postage stamps and two Christmas parcels. The ladj was evidently Scotch, and proud of it “It’s a locky mon ye air, Meestei Bar-r-r-r,” she assured him, complacently, opening the wicket in _ order tc pass the parcels through to him. “I rr wishin’ ye a richt merrie Christmas!’ Barr thanked her, returning the compliments of the season. He was aboui to leave when his attention was caughl by the posters and notices always or display in every post-office. One notice particularly attracted his attention, anc he paused to read it. The amount of money was so large and displayed in big type at the top of the notice.—One thousand dollars reward! Wanted for attempted bank robbery, and shooting and wounding bank manager.—Then followed a description of the criminal, and where last seen. The notice stated the reward was offered by the Canadian Bankers’ Association for information leading to his arrest. Notify the nearest detatchment of the mounted police at Snowflake. There was a photograph displayed, too. In the photo he was clean shaven, and now he wore stubby whiskers. Barr read it again, scarcely able to believe his eyes. The picture could be none other. It was his Christmas guest! Barr walked out of the post-office in something of a daze. Mushing back on the lonely trail to his cabin, Barr went over the situation again and again. What was he going to do about it? Give the man a break, and let him clear out to safety, or let him stay on as his guest at the cabin. Once or twice the temptation assailed him to give out the required information, and claim the handsome reward. Barr decided he just couldn’t do that. He was no nearer a decision as to what course he should pursue in dealing with his guest, when the lights of the cabin hove in sight. Barr fed his tired huskies, and put them in the shed for the night. Packed his supplies and mail from the sled into the cabin. He found everything as usual in the cabin, and his visitor had a good hot supper waiting for him, to which Barr did ample justice. The Christmas letters he placed on the table, and the parcels with the stickers on, he threw on his bunk. “Not to be opened till Chris’mus!” he explained to his guest, after they had exchanged greetings. “Stickers right on ’em. So I’ll open ’em to-morrow!” His guest grinned and nodded. “Sweater mebbe, or shirts an’ socks,” he suggested. “It’s likely,” affirmed Barr, “although you never can tell ’bout Chris’mus presents, until you open ’em!” “How ’bout a lettle snort of th’ real stuff!” suggested the visitor after supper. “Bein’ as it’s Chris’mus eve an’ a cold night. Happens _ I hev a small flask in my medicine kit, an’ we might hev a drink!” Barr looked up from the letter he was reading, and said he didn’t mind. He recalled now that the Doc had a small bag containing emergency medical supplies with him the night he was found by Barr. In the darkness it had passed unobserved, but in the morning the visitor had gone out and recovered it. From the medicine chest in his bunk :he “Doc” came back to the table with he flask. He held it up to the candleight for approval and inspection. “Good stuff,” he declared heartily. “Jest a ettle mite dark in colour, but some ikes it that way!” He poured a generius measure into each of two glasses le found in the cupboard, and set one n front of Barr. “I’ll just be gettin’ my pipe first,” laid Barr, rising to leave the table. Vhen he returned his guest was smackng his lips and making a wry face over lis own empty glass, the contents of vhich lay soaking in the floor under the able.

“Lots of kick to it,” he observed, sagely. “Do yeh good after 30 miles mushin’ to Long Lake an’ back.” Barr flopped down wearily in his

chair after the day s mush on snowshoes. He held the brimming glass up towards the flame of the flickering candle. “Here’s how,” he said, and swallowed the potent liquor in two gulps. Durned fuitny tasting stuff, he thought. Hot it certainly was, and went right to the spot, but seemed to have a peculiar after taste like drugs. Barr filled his pipe laboriously, but did not light it. The wavering light of the candle stuck in an empty whisky bottle seemed to be mocking him, and the “Doc” had a leer on his face. Anger rose in him, and tugged ineffectually. He strove to rise and seize that mocking face by the throat and choke him. That leering face that watched him from the shadows with dark furtive eyes. His limbs refused to move. He was too tired. Presently Barr’s head sagged down on the table and he slept heavily. No longer could he see the dark furtive eyes of the other watching him from the shadowy candlelight. As the first grey dawn filtered through the frosted windows of the cabin, the “Doc” rose from his bunk and busied himself with preparations for departure. From the upper bunk he gropingly extracted the small buckskin pouch containing Barr’s accumulated savings of a summer’s work. He stripped the rack of the otter and minx furs. These were going to be worth real money. Loading these on the musher’s sled, he then proceeded to strip the cabin of all supplies. Seized the food supplies, extra clothing, both pairs of snowshoes, and the supply of matches. Barr could not follow him without his snowshoes. He would be trapped a prisoner in his own cabin. There seemed to be nothing else that might be worth taking, and the Christmas parcels up on the back of Barr’s bunk, he overlooked in the poor light. Barr still lay across the table in a heavily drugged sleep. His visitor glanced back as he closed the cabin door softly after him. Let him sleep. Barr’s loaded revolver and holster were in the pocket of “Doc’s” reefer. No snowshoes for pursuit, no weapons, no matches for a fire. Now for the huskies. He’d have to bluff them! Striding into the shed with a bold

front he lashed warningly with a heavy whip at the huskies, and they cringed back, teeth bared. Every minute he expected they might attack him, but his need was that of desperation, and he finally succeeded in getting them harnessed and started. There had been a heavy snowfall overnight, and the going was heavy with loaded sled. He drew out the long whip and lashed forth with an oath. The result took him entirely by surprise. As though some secret message ’had passed from husky to husky, the dogs wheeled on the sled, Pedro in the lead, and surrounded him. The man was so taken aback by the suddenness of the attack that he leaped aside, stumbled on the sleigh and fell. The whip had dropped from his mittened hand, and he lay in an awkward position, half crouched and almost down. The huskies ringed around him in their harness. Their attitude was menacing, but they did not offer to attack. Discipline was too strong in them. The instinct of those half savage hearts warned them that the white man —though he might be cruel and heartless—was of the immortals, and must not be touched. Finding the dogs remained motionless, the “Doc” resorted to cajolery. “Good dogs,” he kept repeating, ingratiatingly. “Good dogs.” He was relieved to discover the incantation was apparently working. Gradually the huskies settled down on their haunches and waited. They seemed to ignore him. It was as if the incident had never happened. Not yet would he risk a concerted attack by rising. He called one or two of the dogs by name, but this friendly gesture was ignored. Topaz coloured eyes stared away into the woods, unblinking and unrevealing. Rising, he shook the snow off, and the bully in him came back to the surface. “Mush on an’ git goin’!” he shouted, with a volley of oaths, and obediently the patient huskies once more responded to a command and jogged along the trail. He cracked the whip occasionally on the’ frosty air, but carefully avoided striking the dogs. They might get him next time!

When Barr recovered consciousness it was late in the morning. The sun was shining brightly through the south window of the cabin, and it must be nearly noon. His head ached, and his tongue felt parched and swollen. Groaning, Barr pressed both hands to his aching head, and then rose uncertainly to his feet. Where the devil was the fellow who called himself “Doc”?

Staggering towards the cabin door, he stepped outside. His jaw dropped in utter disbelief. He must still be dreaming. Presently he would wake' up and hear that chap laugh. The huskies were gone, and the shed door left wide open. The musher’s sled was gone from the place where he always housed it, and undoubtedly the “Doc” was gone, also! Hurrying into the cabin, his worst fears were confirmed. Everything was gone, including his snowshoes. Robbed

(Continued from First Column.) slain,” could be attacked only after his foe had seized from the sacred grove he guarded a bough of mistletoe, emblem of the spirit of the forest. If he conquered, the attacker became the new Rex Nemorensis until he in turn succumbed. The mistletoe was deemed to bring fertility. Many ancient writers refer to this property; it was worn as an amulet, or an infusion of the berries was drunk. Down to recent times, if not to the present day, it was given to swine and sheep and cows by rustics who firmly believed in its efficacy. A dim ghost of the superstition survives in the notion that the maid who is not kissed beneath the mistletoe at Christmas will not be married during the year. Mistletoe was excluded not only from the annual decorations of churches, but even from representation in their sculpture and carvings. The solitary exception known is in Bristol Cathedral.

and left to perish by the stranger he had befriended, and offered hospitality for Christmas. Pursuit was impossible without snowshoes. Fie flopped wearily into a chair. Sat up as suddenly. Like a frantic man he dashed around to the far side of the cabin, and shovelled the snow away. Yes, the ends of them jutted out in the snow, and he pulled them out in feverish haste. A pair of snowshoes!

Searching an empty cabin last summer when he was alone, Barr had discovered a useful pair of snowshoes lodged in the ceiling of the roof, and forgotten by some trapper or prospector. They might serve sometime, if he broke one of his own. Snowshoes came in mighty handy, sometimes. They were like the cowboy’s gun, who, when he wanted it —wanted it bad! Returning to camp, for no particular reason he had shoved them under the flooring of the cabin and forgotten all about them. Where was his gun? He felt covertly in the place where it should be. It was gone, too! Cold rage possessed him. Barr dashed inside the cabin and looked round. It was a scene of desolation. He climbed on his bunk. The pouch containing the gold dust was evidently gone. His guest seemed to have overlooked nothing. The Christmas parcels caught his eye, with the stickers covering them. Mechanically he pulled them down. The parcels couldn’t help him, but he’d open them, anyway. In the large one were the usual winter clothing gifts from home. He dropped them on the floor absently, and tore open the small parcel, and as he did so, a gasp of incredulity escaped from Barr. Pressed the trigger and heard it click, as a ray of light flashed on. A pocket flashlight made up in the model of a revolver!

Towards evening Barr found them. Tracked his enemy down to an empty cabin, and made a wide detour. The huskies might unwittingly betray him. If “Doc” discovered him first he was lost. Unarmed he had no chance against a man of that type. But if he could get “the drop” on the thief first, it might be a different story. The huskies had not seen him, but they knew he was approaching. Plumy tails fanned the snow. The master himself was coming. Everything would be all right now, and also they would be fed. Not to-day had the huskies tasted food or fish. Circling warily, Barr reached the protecting wall of the cabin, and edged along it cautiously towards the open cabin door. The rich odour of coffee came floating out on the frosty air, all the savoury smell of meat sizzling in a frying pan on the cabin stove. One of the huskies gave a low and warning bark. To his straining nerves it seemed like a signal to action. Barr jumped for the open door, his pistol levelled. “Stick ’em up!” he shouted, “an’ no monkey work!” The “Doc” had just been in the act of turning from the stove with the coffee pot in his hand. For a space of seconds he hesitated, and his face turned a sickly yellow. It was useless for him to resist, for Bari- had him covered with a revolver. and the nickel polished barrel gleamed very suggestively. He threw

up his hands, and looked furtively at his erstwhile host. Again glanced at the shining revolver barrel, partly concealed by the cuff of Barr’s reefer, and from there to the snowshoes. It was the snowshoes that fascinated him. Without them, even the gun didn’t matter. It was the snowshoes that had defeated him. Where in the name of sense had Barr located the snowshoes? A man who could conjure up a pair of snowshoes out of thin air and snow, would also have no difficulty in producing a revolver by the same black magic! “Turn round, with your back to me!” snapped Barr. The other man obeyed mechanically, as though he had already lost interest in the affair. “Now drop both guns on the floor. Yours and mine, too. And if you make a false move, I’ll plug you same as I would a rattlesnake!” One after the other both revolvers thudded to the floor. Stepping up swiftly behind his former guest Barr gained possession of both guns. The crisis was passed, and he now completely dominated the situation. It was characteristic of the trapper that his first thought was for the hungry dogs. He fed them as best he could from the cabin supplies. The “Doc” had brought no fish on the sled for the huskies! “Take off your snowshoes!” he ordered, returning to the cabin, and the other reluctantly complied. “I’m sharin’ th’ grub supplies,” Barr continued, “and there’s lots of wood here. Mushin’ on to Snowflake. Hear th’ mounties are wantin’ to see me!” He placed the flashlight carefully on the rough table. “I’m leavin’ my Christmas present,” he added, “in casc you should need a gun!” [Copyright in all countries: published by arrangement with Newspaper Features, Ltd.]