Floria Howe Bruess

“ When Hardy recovers, he will take up the trail. And yet, my God, to run like a coward! To leave suffering, dying humanity, when I can prevent many deaths, when I can help check the spread of this epidemic. ”

“ The white world glittered and sparkled like a sea of flashing jewels.
“I’m strong enough now. If I had dogs I should have left a week ago.”
Hardy stood in the open door of the cabin gazing across the country. Far down the trail came several dark specks. Gradually the specks took on shape and substance, became a moving team of dogs, with sled, and a man at the gee-pole. ”

“ Grimly Sergeant Hardy slipped his gun in its holster. “The winner of the opening hand does not always win the game,” he thought, dispassionately.
“I want the mail bag,” the unseen speaker went on. “Put the bag on that rock shelf on the right, and be quick.”
Intently the officer listened to that voice. So carefully did he memorize every inflection in it, he would recognize it immediately, anywhere.
“Keep cool, King. He has the advantage now.” Sergeant Hardy’s voice was low, reassuring, but his eyes, hard, vigilant swept the rocks above him carefully. ”

“ The snow was crushed into a circular basin where the man had sat to don his snow shoes.
At a little distance ahead came the shrill scolding voices of a pair of chickadees. Hardy nodded in satisfaction. He knew some passing creature had startled the birds. It was their custom to give warning thus from their lofty perches.
The trail led from the rocky plateau through a narrow ravine to the open ground beyond. Keeping a sharp lookout, Hardy paused in this ravine to don his webs, then took up the trail.
“The man is a bird; he doesn’t web, he flies!” the officer muttered. ”

“ Migisi’s moccasined footfalls were noiseless as he prepared the supper.
“Migisi care for your eyes now,” the Indian grunted. For an hour he watched Morely apply the snow applications on pieces of flour-sacking which he had made sterile by long boiling.
With the dawn Morely left, made his way to the Post.
“He will not leave the cabin until his eyes are thoroughly freed of the inflammation. He realizes it would be too dangerous to his sight, and no matter how impatient he may be, he knows a blind man is out of the Service.” ”

“ Hardy had been on the trail several days when he began to notice his blurred vision. “Eyes are weak. Smallpox often leaves a weakened condition of sight,” he reassured himself.
Yet the following morning when he awakened he found his lids glued together with a thick sticky substance. By feel only he built his fire, melted a small pail of snow. ”

“ Hardy raised heavy-lidded eyes and started to rise, but the effort was too much for him. He sank back like a sack of meal.
Keith Morely kicked the door shut.
Hardy’s nerveless hand reached for the gun in his holster, but it was strangely fumbling and uncertain. The two men stared at each other.
“So we both chanced across the same cabin. Put up your hands!” Hardy’s voice was thick. The gun wavered in his hand. It seemed intolerably heavy.
Morely stared curiously at that unsteady hand, at the swollen, flushed face of the officer. ”

“ Keith Morely came to his feet.
“I am ready, sergeant. And by the way, your uniform is at my cabin. No doubt you want to wear it? It has been fumigated and aired. We shall stop at the store and get a pair of very dark goggles for your eyes. You must be careful.”
Hardy glowed with admiration. Dammit but he liked this man. No cringing, no begging for quarter. Voice cool and steady.
Morely turned. Silently the hands of the priest gripped his.
“When you are shut away between dark walls, have courage, my son. Always my prayers are with you an’ I shall be waiting for your return.” ”

“ The Indian spoke with impassive bronze face, but his eyes were deep with melancholy. Morely waited, a great fear in his heart.
“The Crees are wailing their death dirges as they seek the bones of their dead from beneath the charred cabins, for the white men are burning all cabins wherein the pest has been. Our dogs are howling mournfully for masters whose voices are still. ”

“ He led the officer into the warm candle-lit room.
The fragrant odor of broiling deer steak lay in the air.
“Ha, this feels and smells good,” Hardy exclaimed.
Beckoning to Migisi, Morely left the cabin, the Indian following.
Lowering his voice cautiously, he told the Indian:
“I have brought this man to you. He is snowblind. I found him on the shore trail. But I do not want him to hear my voice. He thinks an Indian found him, for I spoke to him in Cree. Let him think no one is in the cabin save himself and you. Migisi understands?”
The Indian nodded.
“Watch me, how I care for his eyes. ”

“ Morely paused a moment.
“I knew the letter went out on that mail. I determined to get it. And I did.”
Involuntarily McKenzie nodded. Did a memory of his own hot-blooded youth return to him? Youth that will dare much for the loved one?
“I intended returning immediately to the Post. My short absence would not have been noticed, for I often go in the woods where sickness has been reported. Within a week or so, I intended going to Quebec, and urge Alice to marry me there. I think she would have—for we love each other. Then we would have returned to the Post. ”

“ The trapper lifted a scarred and pitted face to Hardy.
“Dese ees my cabin. I was away in a line-cabin when ze sickness took me. Many weeks ’ave I been gone, but now I, Le Massan, am well, and ’ave come home.
“Eh bien, eet ees good to be home.” He loosed the dogs from their harness, stepped into the cabin, shut the door behind him.
Rapidly Hardy explained his presence in the man’s cabin; told of the fugitive he pursued.
“Many strange things ’appen in de time of de pest. Zis man, he save your life,” Le Massan said thoughtfully, “an’ now you go to catch heem an’ imprison heem? Zat ees strange.” ”

“ She is a type of girl who believes absolutely in her father. Thinks he can do no wrong, that he’s never mistaken. She is loyal and devoted to him. He insisted on my reading his letter, doubtless to convince me that Alice was lost to me, irrevocably. ”

“ The men of the Post were busily felling logs, erecting new cabins, making new tables, chairs and bunks. The Post was emerging from her weeks of horror.
The morning of the third day since his finding of Hardy, Migisi came to the Post, sought out Morely.
“The white man’s eyes have been pierced by the light. ”

“ They will either be returned to you, or I will send payment. Write your name on a slip of paper. Then step outside. Put my pack in the sled. Have you any cooked meat on hand?”
“Oui, m’sieu” Jacques responded with glowing eyes. He had warmed instantly to this man.
“Put all you have in the sled. Also what fish you can spare, for the dogs.”
He addressed English, as Jacques sprang to do his bidding.
“If you darken that doorway until I am out of gunshot, I’ll shoot. And there’s no better shot in the north than myself.”
Slowly, he backed to the door, picked up his parka, backed across the threshold. ”

“ To be locked in prison, while the pest still raged! When he was so badly needed! And Alice, alone in her bereavement—he groaned aloud.
Hardy’s face was moody as he watched McKenzie.
“The law recognizes extenuating circumstances.” McKenzie was speaking. “I feel that I am justified in dismissing this case. You are free, Dr. Morely.”
He rose, held out his hand. Inspector McKenzie’s eyes twinkled as he looked at his sergeant.
THE END
This story appeared in the October 20, 1928 issue of Argosy All-Story Weekly magazine. ”