Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1914-11-12

W1lt tl4U no might never m21i III
some way lessened the loneliness.
"The wind is blowing furious gale
outside. From off the lake come vol
leys OF sleet, like shot from guns and
all the wild demons of this black
night in the wilderness seem bent on
tearing apart the huge end-locked
logs that form my cabin home. In
truth, 1t Is a terrible night to be afar
from human companionship, with
nRught but this roaring desolation
about and the air above filled with
soreeching terrors. Even through
thick log walls ] can hear the surf
among the rocks and beating the
white driftwood like thousand bat
tering rams, almost at my door. II
is q night to make one shiver, and In
the lulls of the storm the tall pines
above me whistle and wall monrnfullv
as they straighten their twisted heads
after the blasts.
Tomorrow this will be desola-
tion of snow. There will be snow
from here to Hudson's Bay, from the
Bay to the Arctic, and where now
there is all this fury and strife of
wind and sleet there will be unending
quiet-the stiffness which breeds our
tongueless people Of the North. But
this Is small comfort for tonight.
Yesterday l caught little mouse in
my -four and killed him. am sorry
nD- fnr a,,rolu oil tbia and
thunder In the night would have
driven him out from his home in the
wall to keep me company.
''1t would not be 30 bad II 1t were
not for the skull. Three times in the
last haif-hour I have started to take
It down from its shelf over my crude
stone fireplace, where pine logs are
blazing. But each time have fallen
sick, shivering. into the bedlike chair
have made for myself out Of sap
skull. Only short time ago 1t was
q living man, with a voice, and eyes,
and brain--and that Is what makes
me uncomfortable. II 1t were an old
skull, 1t would be different. But 1t is
a new skull. Almost fancy at times
that there is life lurking in the eye
less sockets, where the red freight
from the pitch weighted logs plays in
grewsome flashes; and fancy. too.
that in the brainless cavities of the
skull there must still be some of the
old passion, stirred into spirit life by
the very madness OF this night. A
hundred times have been sorry that
kept the thing, but never more so
than now" .,-..'-'. '. ..-.,-...-..-
Thus far had Steele written. when
with a nervous laugh he sprang from
his chair, and with something that
sounded very near to an oath, in the
wild tumult OF the storm. crumpled
the paper in his hand and flung 1t
among the blazing logs he had de-
scribed but few moments before.
~Confound it. this will never do!"
he exclaimed, falling into his own pc
culiar habit of communing with him
self. 81 say it don't do. Phil Steele;
deuce take it IL 1t will! You're get
ting nervous. sentimental, almost
homesick. Ugh, what beast of a
night"
He turned to the rude stone fire
place again as another blast of snow
plunged down the chimney.
"Wish I'd built fire in the stove
instead OF. there" he went on, filing
his pipe. Thought it would be lit
tie more cheerful you know. Lord
preserve US, listen to that"
He began walking UP and down the
hewn log floor of the cabin. his hands
deep in his pockets, putting out vol
luminous clouds of smoke. 1t was not
often that Philip Steele's face was
unpleasant to look upon, but tonight
It wore anything but its natural good
humor II was strong, thin face.
set of by square jaw, and with
clear, steel-gray eyes in which Just
now there shone a strange glitter, as
they rested for a moment upon the
white skull over the fire. From his
scrutiny OF the skull Steele turned to
. rough board table, lighted by a
twisted bit OF cotton cloth, three
quarters submerged in a shallow tin
Of caribou grease. In the dim light
of this improvised lamp there were
two letters. opened and soiled, which
an Indian had brought up to him
from Nelson House the day before
One of them was short and to the
point II was an official note from
headquarters ordering him to join
certain Buck Nome, Northwest
mounted policeman, at Lac Balm, one
hundred miles farther north
II was the second letter which
Bteele took in his hands for the
twentieth time since 1t had come to
him here, three hundred miles in the
wilderness. There were half-a dozen
pages of 1t, written in woman's
hand, and from 1t there rose to hie
nostrils the faint, sweet perfume of
hyacinth. 1t was this odor that
troubled him-that had troubled him
since yesterday. and that made him
and almost homesick tonight.
II took him back to things-to the