University of Missouri College of Engineering - Shamrock Yearbook (Columbia, MO)

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shmoe ee A elif X 1916 to that lonely man in the Great Silent. One night, as he sat alone by his HFC in the chill of September darkness, he took the letter from its sack, and saw that the contents of the bulging en- velope had sprung one end of the flap loose. He had set a pail of water on the fire, and a cloud of steam was rising from it. Those two things-the flap and the steam-sent a thrill through him. What was in the letter? What had she written to that man? In a few seconds the steam would free the rest of the flap. He could read the letter and no one would ever know the difference. Then like a shock came the thought that the few letters she had written to him were always sealed with a red sealing wax, and that this letter was not sealed. She had trusted him. Her faith was implicit. And this was her proof of it. Under his breath he laughedfand his heart grew warm with new happiness and hope. I have faith in you, were her parting words, and now these words came back to him, I have faith in you. So he replaced the letter in its sack. That night had seen the beginning of the struggle with himself. The autumn and the winter came early in this coun- try. It was to be a winter of terrible cold and snow, of famine, and of pesti- lence. The Hrst oppressive gloom of it added to the fear and suspense that be- gan to grow in him. For days there was no sign of the sun. The clouds hung low. Bitter winds came out of the North, and nights these winds wailed desolately through the tops of the trees under which he slept. And day after day and night after night the tempta- tion came upon him more strongly to open that letter. He was convinced that the letter- and the letter alone-held his fate, and that he was actingblindly. He wanted Mary. He wanted her above everything else in the world. Then why Should he not fight for her-in his own way? And to do that he must open the letter and read its contents. If there was nothing in it that would stand between them, he would have done no wrong, for he would still take it to Justice Given. So he argued. But if the letter ruined his chances of possessing her, his knowl- edge of what it contained would give him an opportunity to win her in an- other way. He could even answer it himself and take back to her false Word from Given, for these awful. years in the North would have changed his hand- writing. His treachery, if it could be called that, would never be discovered. And it would give to him the woman that he loved. This was the temptation. The power that resisted it was the spirit of that big, clean, fighting North which makes men out of flesh and bone. Ten years of that life had been drilled into him, and so he hung on. Deep snows fell, and fierce blizzards shot like gun blasts from out of the Arctic. Snow and wind were not what brought the deeper gloom to the coun- try. Smallpox- red death -was gal- loping through the wilderness, and a hundred messengers of the forests were riding swiftly behind their dogs to spread the warning. Hfe traveled very slowly. For three days and nights the air was filled with the Arctic Dustv snow that was as hard as Flint and stung like shot and it was Twontx'-TWG

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SE lick. Wh imd- ill of : aff. Vmg. Jwed WC!! Jrgg. tiled man Feral the time EYES, i no had : un- . the i re :tion veek As Ld as that rn, a at if At :ned rem- enly the two the vere cool on her rhen H1211 vent? ' had laid his heart and his soul at her feet. He had never seen her whiter. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. There was a silence in which he did not breathe. Her answer came so slow and low that he leaned forward to hear. I am sorry, she said. It's my fault -that you love me. I knew. And yet I let you come again and again. I have done wrong. It is not fair now for me to tell you to go-without a chance. You would want me if I did not love you? You would marry me if I did not love you ? Hlis heart pounded. He forgot every- thing but that he loved this woman with a love beyond his power to reason. I don't think I could live without you nowf' he cried in a low voice. And I swear to make you love me. It must come. It is inconceivable that I cannot make you love me-loving you as I do. She looked at him clearly now. She seemed suddenly to become tense -and vibrant with 'a new and wonderful strength. I must be fair with you, she said. You are a man whose love most women would be proud to possess. And yet- it is not my power to accept that love, or give myself to you. There is another that you must go to. And that is-- Justice Given. - It was she that leaned forward now, her eyes burning, her bosom rising and falling with the quickness of her breath. ' You must go to him, she said. You must take a letter to him-from me. And it will be for him-for him-to say T tyO e whether I am to be your wife. You are honorable. You will be fair with me. You will take the letter to him. And I will be fair to youi I will be your wife. I will try hard to care for you- if he-says-- E Her voice broke. She covered her face, and for a moment, too stunned to speak, George looked at her while her slender form trembled with sobs. She had bowed her head, and for the first time he reached out and laid his hand upon 'the soft glory of her hair. Its touch set aflame every fiber in him. Hope swept through him, crushing 'his fears like a juggernaut. It would be a sim- ple task to go to Given! He was tempted to take her in his arms. A moment more and he would have caught her' to him, but the weight-of his hand on her head aroused her, and she raised her face, and drew back her head. Hfis arms were reaching out. She saw what was in his eyes. Not now, she said. Not until you have gone to him. Nothing in the world will be too great a reward for you if you are fair to me, for you are taking a chance. In the end you may receive nothing. For if he says that I cannot be your wife-I cannot. He alone must decide. On those conditions will you go? Yes, I will go, 'said George. ' It was early in August when he reached the Post. From there he took the trail. Day after day he continued steadily northward. He carried the let- ter to Given in his breast pocket, secure- ly tied in a little water-proof bag. It was a thick letter, and time and again he held it in his hand, and wondered what it was that she had so much to say 4

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so cold that he paused frequently and built small fires, over which he filled his lungs with hot air and smoke. He knew what it meant to have the lungs touched It was the morning of the sixth day when he reached the thick fringe of spruce that sheltered Given's cabin. He was half blinded. The snow-filled bliz- zards had cut his face until it was swol- len and purple. Twenty paces from the cabin he stopped, and stared, and rubbed his eyes again-as though that he were not quite sure that his eyes were not playing him a trick. A cry broke from his lips then. Over the door there was nailed auslender sap- ling, and at the end of that sapling there floated a tattered, wind-beaten rag. It was the signal. It was the one common voice to all of the wilderness-a warn- ing to man, woman and child, white or red, that came down through the cen- turies. justice Given was down with the small-pox! For a few moments the discovery stunned him. Then he was filled with a chill, creeping horror. Given was sick with the scourge. Perhaps he was dy- ing. It might be-that he was dead. In spite of the terror of the thing ahead of him, he thought of Mary. If Given was deadi! 'Above the low moaning of the Wind in the tops of the trees he cursed him- self. He had thought a crime, and he clenched his mittened hands as he stared at the one window of the cabin. His eyes shifted upward. In the air was a hlmy, floating gray. It was smoke coming from the chimney. Given was not dead. Something kept him from shouting Given's name,'that he might Twen ty-Three ' 5l Q g S' r iq 2 WEE . come to the door. He went to the win- dow and looked in. For a few moments he could see nothing. And, then, dimly, he made out the cot against the wall. On that cot sat the man that was his friend and the man that held his happi- ness in his Words. With a quick breath George turned to the door, opened it, and walked in. Justice Given staggered to his feet as the door opened. His eyes were wild and filled with fever. You-Lewis! he cried huskily. My God, didn't you see the flag? Yes George's half-frozen features were smiling, and now he was holding out a hand from which he had drawn his mit- ten. Lucky I happened along just now, old man. You've got it, eh? Q Given shrank back from the offered hand. There's time, he cried, point- ing to the door. Don't breathe this air. Get out. I'm not bad yet-but it's the small-poxf' I know it, said George, beginning to throw off hood and coat. I'm not afraid of it. I had a touch of it three years ago, so I guess that I am immune. Besides, I have come two thousand miles to see you-Justice Given-two thousand miles to see you, and bring a letter from Mary Courtleyf, For a few seconds Given stood tense and motionless. Then he swayed for- ward. A letter for me-from Mary? he gasped, and held out his hands. An hour later they sat facing each other. The beginning of the disease be- trayed itself in the red Hush of Given's face, and the fever in his eyes. But he was calm. For many minutes he had