The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1910-10-06

land entered the little old Windsor
hotel. The big room. through the
windows of which he could look
out on the street and across the
frozen Saskatchewan, was almost
empty. The clerk had locked his
cigar case and had gone to bed. In
one corner, partly shrouded In
gloom, sat a half-breed trapper
who had come in that day from the
Lac la Ronge country, and at his
feet crouched one of his wolfish
sledge dogs. Both were wide-awke
and stared curiously at Rowland
as he came in. In front of the two
large windows sat half a dozen
men, as silent as the half-breed,
clad in moccasins and thick carl
bou skin coats. One of them was
the face factor from a Hudson Bay
post at Lac Balm who had not been
down to the edge of civilization for
three years; the others, including
two Crees and Chippewayan,
were hunters and post men who
had driven in their furs from a
hundred miles to the north.
For a moment Rowland paused
in the middle of the room and
looked about him. Ordinarily he
would have liked this kuiet, and
would have gone to one of the two
rude tables to write letter or
work out problem of some sort,
for he always carried pocketful
of problems about with him. His
fifteen years of study and unceas-
ing slavery to his ambition had
made him naturally as taciturn as
these grim men of the north, who
were born to silence. But tonight
there had come change over him.
He wanted totalk. He wanted to
ask questions. He longed for hui
man companionship, for some kind
of mental exhilaration beyond that
furnished by his own thoughts.
Feeling in his pocket for cigar
he seated himself before one OF
the windows and proffered it to the
factor from Lac Balm.
You smoker" he asked compan-
ionably.
Il was born in wigwam," said
the factor slowly, taking the cigar.
Thank you"
"Deuced polite for a man who
hasn't seen civilization for three
years." thought Rowland, seating
himself comfortably, with his feet
on the window-sill Aloud he said,
The clerk tells me you are from
Lac Balm. That's good distance
north, isn't it,"
-Four hundred miles," replied
the factor with quiet terseness.
We're on the edge OF the Barren
Lands"
"Whew!" Rowland shrugged his
shoulders. Then he volunteered,
| I'm going north myself tomor-
| row."
post man."
mo; engineer I'm putting
through the Hudson Bay railroad"
He spoke the words quite clearly
and as they fell from his lips the
half-breed, partly concealed in the
gloom behind him, Strengthened
with the alert quickness of a cat.
He leaned forward eagerly, his
black eyes cleaning, and then rose
softly from his seat. His mecca
sined feet made no sound as he
came up behind Rowland. 1t was
the big huskie who first gave a
sign of his presence. For a mo-
ment the upturned eyes of the
young engineer met those of the
half-breed That loo kgave How
land glimpse of face which he
could never forget-a thin, dark,
sensitive face framed in shining,
jet-black hair, and pair Of eyes
that were the most beautiful he had
ever seen in man. Sometimes a
look decides great friendship or
bitter hatred between men. And
something, nameless, unaccount-
able, passed between these two.
Not until the half-breed had turned
and was walking swiftly away did
Rowland realize that he wanted to
speak to him, to grip him by the
hand, to know him by name. He
watched the slender form of the
northerner, as 1.-THE and as grace
full in it's movement as a wild thing
of the forests, until it passed from
the door out into the night.
who was that?" he asked, turn
ing to the factor
His name Is Crisset. He comes
from the Wholdaia country, beyond
Lac la Ronge."
FRENCH"
Half French, half Cree"
The factor resumed his steady
gaze out int othe white distance of
the night, and Rowland gave up his
effort at conversation. After a
little his companion showed back
his chair and babe him good night.
The Crees and Chippewayan fol-
lowed him, and few minutes later