Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-12-02
CHAPTER II.
Mukee's Story.

For many minutes after the last gentle
breath had passed from the woman's
lips. Jan Thoreau played softly upon his
violin. 1t was the great heart-broken
sob of John Cummins that stopped him.
AS tenderly as If she had fallen into a
sweet sleep from which he feared to
awaken her, the man unclasped his arms
and lowered his wife's head to the pillow;
and with staring black eyes Jan crushed
his violin against his ragged breast and
watched him as he smoothed back the
shimmering hair and looked long and
hungrily into the still, white face.
Cummins turned to him, and, in the
dim light of the cabin, their eyes met.
1t was then that Jan Thoreau knew what
had happened. He forgot his starvation.
He crushed his violin closer and wlis-
pered to himself:
1.-The white angel ees-gone!''
Cummins rose from the bedside, slowly.
like man who had suddenly grown old.
His moccasined feet dragged as he went
to the door. They stumbled when he went
out into the pale star-glow of the night.
Jan followed, swaying weakly. for the
last of his strength had gone in the play
ing of the violin. Midway in the cabin
he paused, and his eyes glowed with a
wild, strange grief as he gazed down
upon the still face of Cummins' wife,
beautiful in death as 1t had been in life,
and with the sweet softness OF life still
lingering there. Some time, ages and
ages ago. he had known such face and
had felt the great clutching love of it.
Something drew him to where John
Cummins had knelt. and he fell upon his
knees and gazed hungrily and longingly
where John Cummins had gaZed. His
of seven days starvation blurred his eyes.
and unconsciously he sank over the bed
and one of his thin hands touched the
soft sweep of the woman's hair. A stihed
cry fell from him as he jerked himself
rigidly erect; and as If for the desecra-
of forgiveness, he drew his violin half to
his shoulder, and for few moments
played so softly that none but the spirit
of the woman and himself could hear
Cummins had partly closed the door
after him: but watchers had seen the
opening of 1t. door opened here and
another there, and paths Of yellow light
flashed over the nard-trodden snow as
shadowy life came forth to greet what
message he brought from the little cabin.
Beyond those flashes Of light there was
no other movement and no sound. Dark
figures stood motionless. The lonely
howl Of a sledge dog ended in wall OF
pain as some one kicked it into terrified
silence. The hollow cough of Mukees
father was smothered in the thick fur OF
his cap as he thrust his head from his
little shack in the edge Of the forest. A
score of eyes watched Cummfns as ne
came out into the snow. and the rough,
loyal hearts of those who looked throbbed
in fearful anticipation OF the word he
might be bringing to them.
Sometimes a nation ceases to breathe
in the last moments of its dying chief.
and the black wings of calamity gather
over it's people, enshrouding them In
strange gloom and a stranger fear: and
so. because the greatest Of all tragedies
had come into their little world. Cum
Minis people were speechless in their
grief and their waiting for the final word.
And when the word came to them at last.
and passed from lip to lip, and from
one grim, tense face to another, the
doors closed again and the lights went
out one by one, until there remained
only the yellow eye of the factors office
and the faint glow from the little cabin
i'm which John Cumnins knelt with his
sobbing face crushed close to that OF. his
dead.
There was no one who noticed Jan
Thoreau when he came through the door
of the factors office. His coat Of caribou
skin was in tatters. His feet thrust
themselves from the toes Of his mecca
sins His face was so thin and white
that It shone with the pallor of death
from its frame of straight dark hair. His
eyes cleaned like black diamonds. The
madness Of hunger was In him.
An hour before death had been gripping
at his throat when he stumbled upon the
lights of the post. That night he would
have died in the deep SHOWS. Wrapped
In its thick coat Of bearskin he clutched
his violin to his breast and sank down
I'm Q ragged heap beside the hot stove.