The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1927-07-15

4
Out Of the silent places, this
doomed child of the valiant heart had
come, and now-into the silence had
| gone. What must have been her de-
| spair, he thought, to have left her
people and sought sanctuary among
strangers. But 1t had been friends
she haG found
But what a miracle to have had
that schooner driven on Akimiski with
| the girl who had shared the watch
| with himl What solace and rock
she had been-those fine, straight
gazing dark eyes, and capable hands.
| 1t was because she had understood
had resented his thinking 1t necessary
| to explain the situation at Elkwan
| that he had been able to talk so freely
of Ninda. She had proved her mettle
| she, too, was a soldier. He pictured
| Ethel with her horror of the ugly,
| thrown into the situation which Joan
| Quarter haG calmly met with delicacy
and skill. ..... ~
That afternoon Etienne and Guthrie
erected a spruce cross over the fresh
| grave in the little post cemetery and
on the white wood of the arm,
| Guthrie burned with a hot iron the
inscription: I'm Memory of Ninda-A
| Soldier" which for years was to be
the cause Of much shaking of puzzled
| heads among the whites and the Crees
| who saw it.
At dawn the following morning,
| Guthrie's York boat with a Peterboro
canoe in tow, slowly picked its way
through the river mist of the Elkwan
delta. In the stern, steering with a
sweep hewn from a spruce sapling,
stood the wiry Etienne, who knew the
| channels of the river mouths and the
! depths of the shoal coast from the
Raft TO Albany. To give the craft
steerage way on the first of the ebb,
the sailors of the shipwrecked sckoon-
er manned four long oars. In the
bow, the geolOgist, still smarting from
! his humiliation, talked in low tones TO
his sailing master. Beside the steers
man stood Guthrie, holding a COM
| pass, for the shores were invisible.
the airedale peered into the white wall
| of mist, his black nostrils dilating as
he caught, at intervals, on the moist
air, scents vague, Elusive, enticing.
You are losing valuable time from
| your goose hunt by taking us to Al
bany in your boat" suggested Joan
| Quarter TO Guthrie, who had foiad
seat beside her.
After what you've done, I could
not send you off in that ships boat
| You might have been days making Al
| bany-had serious trouble getting
ashore TO make camp If the wind
| changed. It's a tricky coast. You're
not much like your dignified brother"
he answered, his face lighting in
amusement as he glanced toward the
sulking Quarter. Hes hardly worry
ing about our goose supply for the
winter"
The clean-cut mouth of the man be-
side her curled in the smile she had
come to associate with the factor of
| Elkwan. Then her eyes, shifting to
the dim ribbon of spruce edging the
marshes, saw the face of the girl of
the photograph at the post, and she
wondered what was behind it all.
He studied the profile of Joan Quar-
rier, the musing eyes with the strongly
marked brows, the half-parted lips, the
frame of chestnut hair shot with gold.
| Fine, it was, he thought with the
| beauty of expression; but above its
| comeliness of line and skin-the stamp
of strength, the essence Of character.
The absent look faded from her eyes.
II can understand ON day like
this" she said, what you mean by
this gray coast holding you. It's so
untouched-so primeval. 1t seems al
most as if we were the first to see it."
Its like this for thousand miles
the west coast" he replied, with
| few fur posts at the mouths of the
rivers"
"A thousand miles Of silence-ex-
cept the call of the geese"
You won't be here for the Black
the last to reach the west coast
they and the swans"
"Swans?"
He nodded. You haven't heard the
voice of the raw solitudes If you've
missed the trumpeting of the swans,
high against the October stars"
MAN, you're growing poetic"
1.-The swans and the gray geese" he
went on, "typifying it all-the silence,
| the loneliness, the beauty"
For a space she sat, chin in hand,
heavy brows contracted. Then she
| looked up with Like so many, the
| din and excitement of the war-the
| disillusion of it's aftermath. has left
you with abnormal nerves. This lone
| illness which attracts you now will
| make a hermit of you-a brooding &C.
centric. Go back to Montreal before
it's too late"
Not until I've had it out with
Laughing Mcdonald" he laughed.
But whatever do you do in winter
here? You'll admit it's forlorn enough
then. Is it hard to keep warm in this
terrible cold?"
Gold? Why, it's colder on the
north shore of Superior, and there's
not as much snow. OF course when
the wind blows it's cold on the sea
ice. It's cold anywhere then"
"And so you're actually not lonely"
she persisted, I've heard of men going
| mad"