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second, and up through the bight of the
first, forming the walL

" Now you try," he said, and, undoing
the knot, passed the rope to her.

In a moment she held it up trium-
phantly.

" What do you do next ? " she asked.

" Now we will put on the double crown."

"It is hard," she said after a moment
more. "It looked simple enough while you
were doing it" She held the rope in her
hand and looked at him in smiling despair.
" I shall never learn."

" Yes, you will," he assured her. " You
only need a little patience."

" Vou will need the patience," she said.

" Have n't I always had it with you ? "
he asked in a low voice.

" Is that right ? " she demanded, hold-
ing up the knot

" Yes ; now run the end— no, this end —
through the bight. That 's right ; now pull
it taut. You have n't answered my ques-
tion, Hetty."

" You have n't asked any," she replied
quickly ; and then added : " What next ? "

" Pull it tighter," he answered, and,
leaning forward, drew it taut, for an instant
covering her hands with his own.

She drew hers away quickly and dropped
them in her lap.

" It 's no use," she told him ; " I shall
never learn."

" Try ! " he urged.

"No; I cannot even try." She looked
about- her with restless eyes. Something
in her face stirred his foreboding.

" Do you mean, Hetty—"

" Oh, I mean nothing," she cried. " I
wish the sea would go down. It's dreadful."

She sprang to her feet, and, moving to
the rigging, leaned against the sheer-pole
and watched the blue sea rise almost to the



line of the deck, then fall away with ap-
palling swiftness. Medbury followed her
there.

" What 's the matter? " he demanded.

" Why don't you whistle for a wind ? "
she asked him. " Why don't you ? I think
I '11 go below until you do."

"Is n't it pleasanter here?" he said.
"You would call it a beautiful day at
home."

"Yes, I should," she acknowledged.
" It seems like April— April at home. I
can shut my eyes " — she shut than—" and
see just how it looks: the big willow by
our gate growing green in a night, and the
grass, and the surilight on everything— or
rain ; only that makes the grass greener,
and you don't mind the rain at all, as you
do at other times."

He had watched her while she stood
with eyes closed, but when she opened
them suddenly and looked at him with a
smile, he turned away in confusion, as if
he had been caught watching her when he
knew she would not care to be seen.

" That 's the way your face always looks
to me," he said with the boldness of em-
barrassment.

" What do you mean ? " she asked. Her
lips parted as if to smile, but closed again
in a neutral line that was neither smile nor
frown, but might easily become either when
she had beard his explanation.

. " Like April — your face is like that It's
always changing. I like it always, but best
when you smile, of course."

" I cannot smile at that speech," she
said, and turned a serious face from him.

For five minutes he kept his eyes turned
from her, and then looked to see if her
April face had changed again. It had not,
and a sigh escaped him.

At the sigh her face had become severe,
but almost immediately he saw her lips
twitch, close firmly together, then part in
a laugh.

" There ! " he cried triumphantly, and
laughed with her.

"Oh, Tom, you 're ridic\ilousI" she
cried, and struggled against her laughter.
But her face became serious again at once,
and she added: "I do not like such
speeches. They sound silly,"

" All right," he replied, but not in the
tone of one cast down.

Captain March's keen eyes, as he walked
the deck, looking aloft, saw a slightly



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UNDER ROCKING SKIES



217



frayed spot in the maintopsail-halyard.
Crossing the deck, he stopped by the side
of his mate.

"Looks as if that halyard would n't
stand much strain," he said. " Better look
at it before long, Mr. Medbury." He
pointed to the place as Medbury looked up.

" I will, sir," answered Medbury.

" Hawkins never did look after the little
things," the captain went on, with gentle
grumbling. ** Good man, but did n't seem
to have any eyes sometimes. Still, I was
sorry to have him go ashore sick. He
can't afford to lay idle long. Same with
John Davis. I thought he 'd jump at the
chance to take Hawkins's place. I did n't
dunk it so strange in Bob Markham's back-
ing out: he 'd promised his wife to stay
ashore. But Davis— I don't understand
about him. I never knew folks to act so.
Davis seemed pleased when I asked him,
and hurried right off to get his things ; but
before I 'd hardly turned my head, back
he galloped and said he 'd changed his
mind. It made me a little provoked ; and
when I asked him why, he just winked.
Well ! " He walked away, still grumbling.

Medbury had not lifted his eyes from
his work as the captain had talked, but
now he glanced up, to find Hetty's eyes
watching him keenly. Something in the
intensity of her look stirred his foreboding.
He was not wholly unacquainted with the
intuitive divination with which women
often flash upon the secrets men would
withhold from them, and now he braced
himself for the question that he knew was
coming.

" Do you know why they would not
come ? " she asked. Her voice was tense.

He tried to show surprise at the ques-
tion, but knew that he failed.

" I suppose they did n't want to," he
answered.

" Don't you hunv f " she demanded.

He heatated, and she sprang to her feet.

"You need n't tell me," she cried with
suppressed passion. " I know. I know
you got them to. They *d do it for you.
You seem to have obliging friends. Oh ! "
She turned away, but came back imme-
diately. **And now I suppose everybody
in Blackwater is laughing over the story.
And laughing 2X me i I did n't want you
to come; but if I 'd known this, do you
think 1 would have set foot on this vessel



while you were aboard ? I 'd have died
first." She walked to the rail, but came
restlessly back. " Well, it 's over now. Do
you think I could go back home and have
people know that your — your trick had
succeeded ? There have been times when
I have thought that I could care for you
in the way you wish, but I could n't be
stu-e. If my face is like April, as you
say, I think my mind is, too. I cannot be
sure. Sometimes I think I do not care for
anything ; I think I have no heart. And
thrti, when I see you watching me, and I
know what you are thinking, I almost hate
you, and want to go away from everything
I *ve ever known. But now, after this, it
is ended. Oh, you make me ashamed! "

He had heard her in a tumult of con-
tending emotions— shame and sorrow for
hiuting her, pity, remorse. Heartsick, he
rose to his feet

" I did n't mean to hurt you, Hetty.
Good Lord! you know that! You must
know it ! " he exclaimed. " And no one
will know. You need n't care."

** Oh, need n't care ! " she cried in scorn.

Then, manlike, because he was sorry,
but had no answer, he became angry.

" You arc a hard woman," he said in a
sudden letting-go of all self-control— ** a
hard and heartless woman."

She shrank from him as if he had struck
her, and her face grew white.

*" I wish you would n't," she whispered
passionately— *" would n't speak to me.
You hurt me."

He did not understand, and his face
hardened, and his eyes grew hot with im-
j>otent anger. It was as if all the conven-
tions had dropped away from him, and he
had become the primitive man. He could
crush her with one hand, he blindly told
himself; yet she mocked him and his
strength. All his life he had loved her,
followed her in devoted service, but to
what end? To be shunned, eluded,
mocked, and scorned. He gripped his
hands tightly together in his revolt against
his enforced inaction because she was weak
and a woman. But for once he would
speak.

"You 've hurt me for many a long
year," he answered hotly, " but you '11 .hurt
me no more." With that he walked away
as Cromwell must have gone from the
Long Parliament.



(To be continued)



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A TRAGEDY OF THE SNOW

(STORIES OF JULES OF THE GREAT HEART)
BY LAWRENCE MOTT



Herewith begins a group of stories giving incidents in the life of Jules, a "free"
trapper in the Hudson Bay region in the- early days. Jules's outlawry is somewhat
of the Robin Hood type, he looking upon the " Company's " servants as the real in-
truders, and waging a fierce warfare with them, a price resting on his head. His ex-
pertness, his prowess, and his magnanimity are traits that give cumulative interest to
these fresh studies of the wild by a young writer who since childhood has been thor-
oughly familiar with the ground.— The Editor.



JANOU stopped on a snow hill,

M^M and looked back over the way
M he had come; then, steadying
himself against the heavy north-
west wind, he took off his snow-shoes. The
little steel-like particles of crust, eddying
about with the force of the gale, stung and
bit him, and his six " huskies " crept under
the lee of the sledge and huddled together.
He chafed and pounded his aching feet,
untying the thongs that bound the mocca-
sins, his face drawn with pain ; then he sat
down beside the dogs and shoved his feet
among their warm furry bodies. They
growled and snarled, as if resenting this
attempt to take some of their precious heat
from them, but he paid no attention. Con-
tinually his head turned to the back trail,
and he watched eagerly in that direction.
Nothing but snowy wastes met his eye,
undulating on and on into the distance;
not a sound could his ears catch but the
crisp rustle-rustle of the frozen snow as it
scurried over the ice-boimd surface. The
cold was metallic in its fierceness ; drops
of ice clustered under the edges of his fur
cap, where sweat had congealed as fast as
it appeared, and his breath froze on his
lips as it came into contact with the bitter
wind. He looked again at the back trail.
" Ah-h-h ! " he muttered. A black dot was
coming over a distant ice ridge ; it seemed
strangely distorted in the snow haze, now



looming up to the full figure of a man,
now dwindling to a dark speck against the
whiteness of everything.

He drew on his over-moccasins and fas-
tened his snow-shoes. " Mush ! Mush ! *'
he shouted to the dogs, cracking the long
whip with pistol-like effect. Away they
went, the bone runners of the sledge creak-
ing sharply over the uneven surface as he
strode beside it. He did not stop to look
back now, but urged his team to top speed
with whip and voice: "Musha! Ar-r-rr!
Musha ! " Obediently the leader swung
into an ice ravine. It was downhill, so
the man threw himself on the sledge. His
weight added to its momentum, and the
dogs seemed not to touch the ground as
they raced ahead, striving to keep the
traces taut. "Musha! Ar-T-hal" The
leader turned sharply to the left, and the
man hung far out on the flying sledge to
keep it from upsetting. At a steep decline
now, he used the braking-stick, as the hind
feet of the nearest dogs were rattling on
the curved runners, though they were doing
their best.

Back on the hill where Manou had
rested was another man, keenly examining
the scratches of the dog's nails on the
crust. He was tall and gaunt, but with
sinuous strength showing in every limb.
At his feet were three dogs and a hght
sledge. He stood up, and, shading his



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A TRAGEDY OF THE SNOW



319



eyes from the sun-glare, looked ahead and
saw Manon hunying onward.

" Ah-h-h I " he growled, " seex dog. hcin ?
Sacr6 dam' ! He t'ink he goin' get mes
^dns sauf to de compagnie, an' dat me,
Jules Verbaax, let heem do heet sans
batailk? We see! Mnsh! Allcz!'' The
dogs leaped to ti^ir work, and he followed
swiftly after, his snow-shoes sliding in long,
easy strides.

Jules Verbaux was a *'free" trapper in
the Hudson Bay Company's territory. He
was a thorn in the factor's side, as he stole
fur from the traps of the Company's In-
dians, and they could never catch him to
send him over the " long trail." Manou, a
half-l^eed Indian, had heard of Jules's
cache, where there was a lot of fur, and
he had taken his dogs and sneaked off,
hoping, for his own profit, to break the
cache and get into one of the Company's
posts, where he would be safe to sell the
skins,

Jules came up on a drift and saw Manou
going, going. " Ah, diable," he muttered ;
"he goin' win avec seex dog! Vat you
fink me do? Jules, Ah have vooe leet'
plan ; dat miserab' he not know exacte-
ment la place; Ah goin' fooi heem!
Musfaa ! ai-i-i-ii ! " His voice trailed off in
a nasal whine, and the dogs whirled about
to the right and raced on.

Manou was so far ahead that he thought
it safe to stop again ; he put his dogs under
the shelter of an ice clump while he
climbed up on it. He could not iind his
pursuer on the back trail, and he chuckled
for a moment. **Toi, Verbiux! Manou
goin' show to toi *ow to mush." Then he
caught sight of Jules working off to the
right. "Qu'est 9a?" he muttered, and
after fumbling about in his pockets he
brought out a soiled and crumpled piece
of paper. " Nor'ouest to xe hoi' trail, den
directement nor* to ligne two, den sud'cst ;
cache marrke, cross hon piece of wood.
V'y for he go dat chemin?" he asked
himself, and looked again.

Sure enough, Jules was now far off to
the right, and going on fast "Zat dam'
fenmiel She no tell to Manou correcte-
ment! Ah go now cut heem hoff zis
chemin." He ^id and tumbled down the
clump. "Mush! ai-i-i-i!" and away he
went in the direction calculated to bring
him across the other's trail. As he traveled
he pulled out an oki pistol and examined



the cartridges carefnily. ''Ah feex dat
Verbaux, den le fadeur he mak* me vooe
big gif'— mabbe five doUaires— eef Ah
bf^eng hees head cut hoff to la poste ! "

Meanwhile Jules passed over the snow-
barrens with tireless speed. Regularly his
snow-shoes clicked as he lifted them, and
unceasingly he plied the lash. ''Aliex —
allez ! Ho-o-o-p ! " He shook his fist at
the other when he saw that Manou had
fallen into the trap and was trying to head
him off. " Viens, sc616iati Ah goin' lead
3rou in la territoire du diable I " He
shouted aloud. The sound of his voice
was whisked away even as his lips moved ;
he shook his fist again. " You know, gar-
9on, zat Jules he have no gun ; mats he
have somme t'ing for you, Manou ! " And
he felt for the knife that rested in his belt.
" Now, Ah go fas' et leeve xe beeg trail.
You come, Manou, hein ? You come ! "
And he darted on at even greater speed.

An hour later Mauiou came to Verbaux's
traiL " C'est bien 9a. Ah go fas' now ; an'
to-night, v'en he stop, Ah get heem." He
caressed the pistoL "Mush! mush!" he
screamed to the dogs, and twined the la^
about their heads. " Musha ! "

Manou had forgotten his aching feet,
forgotten his direction, forgotten every-
thing but the lust of gain and his hatred
of the man he was now pursuing.

On and on he went, c\u:sing the dogs,
and lashing them till the blood ooxed
through their fur. Over ridges and across
drifts, down gullies, and through ice ra-
vines, following Jules's broad trail, like a
bloodhound he flew, now and again get-
ting a glimpse of his man ahead. Some-
times Jules slowed up and breathed his
dogs, and Manou's eyes would snap when
he saw him so close at hand ; again Jules
would put on an extra burst of speed, and
Manou would curse horribly as he appre-
ciated that the distance between them had
increased.

The arctic day began to wane ; the sun
was pale and orange- colored as it sank
toward the snow-bound horizon. Jules
sped on through the long twilight ; finally
he stopped. *' Now, Ah goin' feenesh you,
diable ! Ah, Jules Verbaux, goin' do it ! "

He took off the dogs' harness and lashed
the biggest of the team firmly about the
body with the broad back-thongs; this
done, he fastened the light sledge strongly
on his own back, and then slung the wrig-



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220



THE CENTURY MAGAZINE



gling, snarling animal between the run-
ners ; he took off his snow-shoes and hung
them over his shoulder, and then pounded
the remaining two dogs into a semblance
of docility and picked one up under each
arm. "Viens done, Manou! Ah see you
to-morrow, mabbe." Shod only in his light
moccasins, he turned to the left and dis-
appeared like a shadow, leaving not the
slightest track on the hard crust.

Manou came to the end of Jules's trail ;
it was almost dark, but he got down on his
hands and knees, and, with his face close
to the snow, searched for the continuation
of it. Finally he stood up.

" Night— damM— she protec' you, Jules
Verbaux ; but to-mor* Ah fin' ze track, an'
den Ah come ! " And he cursed again.

His dogs were nearly finished; they
stood with drooping heads and half-closed
eyes before the sledge, their hollow sides
working like bellows as they panted
hoarsely. Manou kicked and dragged
them into a semicircle, then he turned the
sledge sidewise for a wind-break, and, pull-
ing out a blanket, curled up among the
tired brutes. He was too frenzied by dis-
appointment to eat anything, nor did he
give the dogs any food. The sleep of utter
exhaustion soon stopped his mutterings,
and the huskies lay inert about him.

The stars twinkled and blinked in the
dark-blue heavens; the wind had died
away; everything was still. Manou slept,
and the dogs did not move. The stars
suddenly seemed to lose their luster; a
little breeze sprang up, eddied about, and
sank again. Another came— this time a
stronger one ; it ruffled the bushy tails of
the huskies ; it stirred the fur on the blan-
ket ; then it, too, sank. The stars seemed
to recede into the farthest heavens, grow
dim there and disappear. The breeze grew
into a steady wind, the snow particles
rustled again on the crust, and still neither
the man nor the dogs moved.

The wind strengthened into a strong
blow, and the particles began to huddle
about the sleeping forms, covering them
with a thin white sheet. One of the hus-
kies lifted its head, sniffed a moment, and
then whined— a long-drawn whine. Manou
slept on. The blow increased to a gale,
droning over the sharp ice-edges on the
hills; the drift came fast and thick, threat-
ening to cover man and dogs completely.
Another husky awoke, sprang to its feet.



and howled dismally; Manou stirred,
cursed the brute, and went to sleep again.

The gale grew into the awful Northern
hurricane ; it shrieked through the ravines,
and hissed away among the sharp peaks ;
it grew wilder and stronger, and, dragging
the fur blanket from the sleeping man.
drew it to itself and carried it over the
snow hills out of sight. The dogs were
huddled in a solid mass, yelping and howl-
ing. Manou felt the cold and heard the
raging of the wind. " Dieu ! la temp^te du
Nord ! " he cried in terror, and groped for
the blanket ; and, when he could not find
it, began to sob and to scream curses at
God and the storm.

He rose to his feet ; the wind upset him ;
he rose again, and again the gale threw
him. Then he started on his hands and
knees to find the blanket. He crawled up
the slope of the hill near by, thinking that
it would have lodged on the side, but it
was not there. He crawled farther on to
the top. Here the wind was doubly strong ;
it seemed to shriek : " I got the blanket
out of the valley! I have you here! " It
buffeted and beat him along ahead of it,
turning him over and over, Manou fighting
and cursing all the way. He could not get
back to the dogs ; he dug his fingers into
the crust until the blood ran and their ends
were split. In vain ! Inch by inch, foot by
foot, yard by yard, the wind pushed and
hurtled him along. The frightful cold ate
into his heart, his liver, the nerve-centers
of his spine ; he gave up fighting, and the
wind rolled his body to a little precipice.
He fell over its edge, down, down, imtil,
with a soft thud, he struck a deep drift,
and sank in. The white mass closed over
his body Hke water, and filled his nose
and his ears, choking him into insensi-
bility.

Overhead the storm raged on for hours,
until finally it sank as gradually as it had
come, the gale d5ang to a strong blow, the
strong blow into a steady wind, the steady
wind into a breeze, and the breeze into little
drafts that also died away. The sun rose
from the snow-haze, and marveled not ; it
was used to these things— used to going
down at night and, on rising the next
morning, to seeing the barrens changed, a
hill here where it was flat yesterday, a
ravine there, where yesterday stood a hill.

About noon a figure appeared in the
distance ; it grew, and as it approached



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Drawn Uy I-, !•.. Schotjno\cr, II.il(-toiic pl.itc c-ii^'raxed t > C. W. Ch.ul\%iLk

"HE SHOOK HIS FIST AT THE FOUR gi'ARTKkS OF THE HORIZON"



LXX. 28

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222



THE CENTURY MAGAZINE



the tall, gaunt form of Jules Verbaux was
recognizable. He came directly, unerringly
to the spot where he had broken his trail
the night before, and he laughed as he
looked on the changes that had been
wrought.

" Ma foi, gar9on ! La temp^te du Nord
she get you, hein ? "

He prodded about in the drifts with his
sledge-stick, and struck something hard;
he dug in, and found Manou's sledge. He
prodded farther, and found the bodies of
the dogs buried deep.

" Seex chiens, poor beas* ! Mais Manou,
Ah vondaire vere ees he ? "

He searched round, and dug in several



places, but with no success. " Ah ben, he
ees feenesh. Ah no have to faire dis ! " and
he drew out the long knife that glittered
in the sunHght. He pried the bone runners
from the other's sledge, and fastened them
to his own, on top of the load of fur it
now carried, where yesterday it had been
empty.

" Mush ! Allez ! Mush ! " and the dogs
scampered on.

" Manou ! *'— and he shook his fist at the
four quarters of the horizon, — "you took
my wife, you vant steal my skins, and now
le diable he have you ! Ah 'm satisfy ! "

And he followed on after the sledge
with the same old easy stride.



VICTORIA FALLS



BY THEODORE F. VAN WAGENEN




|T was on the 2 2d of November,
1855, that the friendly natives
with whom he was traveling
brought Dr. David Livingstone
for the first time within sight and sound of
the wonderful cataract on the Zambesi
River now known as the Victoria Falls.
Before finding it, the good missionary had
journeyed for nearly two years, and from
his point of departure at Kuruman in Cape
Colony had traversed quite four thousand
miles of hitherto'unknown country.

To-day, one takes the train at Cape Town
on Wednesday, passes through Kimberley
on Thursday, reaches Buluwayo on Satur-
day, and late in the afternoon of Sunday
begins to see in the distance the rising pillar
of mist from the great cataract.

The natives call it " Mosi-oa-tuni,"
meaning "the roaring smoke.'* Twenty
miles away the spray thrown back from
the depths of the tremendous cavern into
which the river tumbles appears like a
coliunn of smoke rising from a burning
village, and dining the last mile of the
railway journey the roar of the falling
water becomes noticeable. Finally, when
the edge of the chasm is reached, if the



river is in flood, the eye and ear are as-
sailed by a combination of phenomena that
probably cannot be duplicated as marvels
anywhere else on the planet.

The first question that is asked of an
American who has seen this African
wonder generally is, " How does it com-
pare with Niagara ? " There is no possi-
bility of comparison. The two are as dif-
ferent as day and night. Niagara is a per-
fect picture in a lovely natural framework.
Every point and line and curve of motion-
less rock, trembling verdure, and gliding
water is a touch of majestic beauty. Vic-
toria is simply a phenomenon, a terrific
gash in the floor of an apparently unend-
ing plain, which, as one gazes, simply
swallows a river in a manner that produces
almost a thrill of horror.

After one sees Niagara it is a tempta-
tion to conclude that nothing more perfect
in the way of a scenic panorama can exist,
that by no possibility could any finer sen-
sations of eye and ear and nerve be ex-
cited than by it. But to the traveler who
has seen both falls there comes the cer-
tainty that life would have been quite in-
complete without the double experience,



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From a photot;raph by L. I'edrotti

VICTORIA FALLS

The photograph was taken in August, 1904, with a wide-angle lens, from a p<jint on the eastern edge of the chasm just



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