Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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How they thought in quitetude and dreamt into the tme, and saw the picture which he painted there beyond the coals! Then someone coughed, another laughed a nervous, frightened laugh and cursed. What knew they of any home? They were never meant to mate; one swore, they were but like the wolf pack—wild and free and quick with life. Someone proffered “hootch”; again they cursed their fortune and slapped each other’s back, and filled the room with careless laughter to forget. And so they jeered and wrangled over trifles, and told weird tales about the wild, while the snow-wind roared and howled without. Around the eaves and against the mud- chucked walls of logs it raged and tore—it, too, was strong and wild and free; a thing born of the north. So, all unheeding of a mightier or a weaker puff, on they talked into the night. The rusty clock of old Malue’s which hung above the hearth, its clumsy hands at twelve, feebly tolled midnight, and still they shared their “hootch” and yarns and fags. Then suddenly, as if expectant, all were silent. “la-ho-o-o!” “Ya-ho-o-o!” And faintly above the raging storm came a voice, calling through the night. “Ya-ho-o-o!” and it came again. “Hommes, eet eez ' une femme!” cried French Le Due, leaping suddenly from his chair and to the door. “Eet eez une femme—Le Due, he know—he hear dat call befo’,” and dashed into the darkness. Leave it to French,” laughed Spike-eye of Ludenbec, “he knows. Us ol’ roosters hev a hard enoukh time recognizin’ em by their looks let alone by ear. Say, Hell,” he continued after a time, “wuz yuh ever in love?” Those about the fireside rolled with laughter and poked each other’s arms and ribs in derision, and all the while Delane looked steadily into the coals nor moved a muscle as though he heard. “Maybe,” he drawled in an icy voice when all had quieted and were awaiting his reply. “No, perhaps not.” And then half to himself he said sadly, “La Fontaine,—I wonder, did I Ik ve ? ’ ’ Just then the big door at Malue’s flew open and two fi°’- ures stumbled in amid a gust of sleet and snow. The first was Plench Le Due; the other no one seemed to know, nor did they 22

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how could we value life? It would be too great a certainty, ,and it is only that which cannot be retained for ever and eter¬ nity that we really treasure. I spoke of death and that we were born to die. I meant it. I have survived the Death Wind many times, and the Death Wind many times has favored me. I was the fittest, the strongest, fiercest and wildest—therefore I remained above the weaker—but some day Death Wind will deal with me; it will be the strongest and then, too, I must go. I live today and get all I can from life today—tomorrow, per¬ haps, to be gone. I alone, Hobart,’’ he concluded, “with my greater strength and, though I do say it, my greater fearless¬ ness, have created, reared and named that which lies before us—La Fontaine!” With this last boast he lashed the dogs in¬ to a yelping, dashing run down the long, snow-covered slope leading down to the village of La Fontaine. When those long shadows of the great Arctic night spread silently over the wild country, the lynx cat, otter, wolf and bear return to their long, long haunt of the lifeless winter. And so with the people, who through the summer hunt and seek in the great vast wilnerness,—they, too, have their haunts of the winter. And there all the congregated life of the north holds sway; and so it was with the little village of La Fontaine. Winter had retrieved t and revived the life and the soul of the great wild north. The wild storm winds, blowing from the death-stalked trails, howled and shrieked around the corners and beneath eaves of old Maine’s. It was evening, and beside the roaring logs of the open fire sat men, big, ho t ary, husky; bearded men who laughed and talked and shared their “hootch” to pass the time away. Old Spike-eye Mike of Ludenbec was planning of the spring and of a home at Kiskanook along the Kiani Ways. And French Le Due, too, counted on a shanty far down near Hudson Bay, when lie would have a home like old Maule’s with curtains on the windows and his guns upon the walls, and where the kettles on the open hearth would boil and bubble merrily at eve—where trophies of the chase, the skins of bear and wolf and minx and cat and the great antlers of the caribou would hang while he sat back in his chair and recounted to— why to the little French Le Dues, the history of each and why. And ah, yes, the femme—the petite spirit of the house—she would reign above them while he, the watchful mate, provided. 21

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care, for no one moved or offered up his chair. Delane and Spike-eye shared a fag and threw a log upon the fire. “Hommes, eet ezz ma femme—she come fer me, Le Due,” stated French to get their notice. ‘‘Make way ’long side the fire fer she eez col’.” ‘‘Dis way, Fontaine,” he cautioned, ‘‘Fontaine—” “Who in hell are you calling Fontaine, Le Due!” burst out Hell Delane, leaping from his seat. “Ma femme, my woman, Monsieur!” answered French Le Due in cool, even tones, looking the other squarely in the eye. “She ezz my woman—La Fontaine!” “The hell she is,” sneered Delane. “You low-down, lousy whelp of a French wolf—you mean to say that she is yours? Damn you, you sneaking coward, you would cut my throat the while I slept! I see it now. You’re the one that played that stunt on me at Berger’s place the other night. You thought, perhaps, that I might well forget in time—but no, I don’t for¬ get. I blamed Fontaine at the time, but since I’ve forgiven her.” Delane paused and, looking his man in the eye, he stared an even steady glare. How like a great brute he seemed, his lean thong-like muscles quivering along his half-bare arms while the features of his face stood in bold relief, cold, forbid¬ ding as though chiseled from steel; the one men feared as the Death Wind of the north. “You poor devil you, Le Due!” he said, almost piteously. “You said I couldn’t lift eight hundred weight at Berger’s place that night. And at the man’s own game I did. You failed, and tried me for revenge. Ha! ha ! you, though weaker, think you’re greater, eh? And that you’d blackmail me to La Fontaine? Ha-ha-ha,” and he laught’ed a hard, fanatical laugh that made the others shift from foot to foot uncannily. “Well, we’ll play the cat anr rat, will you and me! We’ll make a hell room of this place!” He leapt out for the other. Le Due waylaid his aim—and a knife spun on the floor, its handle downward—and then he fell. For a time he lay there silent and the others watched Le Due, who grinned a fiendish grin and watched the other where he fell “Ha-ha-ha!” Delane rolled over on his side and looked and laughed at him, the blood running from his lips, as he held the handle of the knife that stuck to the hilt just beneath his 23