Besides himself and his guide, Hank Davis, there was young Simpson, his nephew, a divinity student destined7 for the "Wee Kirk" (then on his first visit to Canadian backwoods), and the latter's guide, Défago. Joseph Défago was a French "Canuck," who had strayed from his native Province of Quebec years before, and had got caught in Rat Portage when the Canadian Pacific Railway was a-building; a man who, in addition to his unparalleled knowledge of wood-craft and bush-lore, could also sing the old voyageur songs and tell a capital hunting yarn8 into the bargain. He was deeply susceptible9, moreover, to that singular spell which the wilderness10 lays upon certain lonely natures, and he loved the wild solitudes11 with a kind of romantic passion that amounted almost to an obsession12. The life of the backwoods fascinated him—whence, doubtless, his surpassing efficiency in dealing13 with their mysteries.
On this particular expedition he was Hank's choice. Hank knew him and swore by him. He also swore at him, "jest as a pal14 might," and since he had a vocabulary of picturesque15, if utterly16 meaningless, oaths, the conversation between the two stalwart and hardy17 woodsmen was often of a rather lively description. This river of expletives, however, Hank agreed to dam a little out of respect for his old "hunting boss," Dr. Cathcart, whom of course he addressed after the fashion of the country as "Doc," and also because he understood that young Simpson was already a "bit of a parson." He had, however, one objection to Défago, and one only—which was, that the French Canadian sometimes exhibited what Hank described as "the output of a cursed and dismal18 mind," meaning apparently19 that he sometimes was true to type, Latin type, and suffered fits of a kind of silent moroseness20 when nothing could induce him to utter speech. Défago, that is to say, was imaginative and melancholy21. And, as a rule, it was too long a spell of "civilization" that induced the attacks, for a few days of the wilderness invariably cured them.
This, then, was the party of four that found themselves in camp the last week in October of that "shy moose year" 'way up in the wilderness north of Rat Portage—a forsaken22 and desolate23 country. There was also Punk, an Indian, who had accompanied Dr. Cathcart and Hank on their hunting trips in previous years, and who acted as cook. His duty was merely to stay in camp, catch fish, and prepare venison steaks and coffee at a few minutes' notice. He dressed in the worn-out clothes bequeathed to him by former patrons, and, except for his coarse black hair and dark skin, he looked in these city garments no more like a real redskin than a stage Negro looks like a real African. For all that, however, Punk had in him still the instincts of his dying race; his taciturn silence and his endurance survived; also his superstition24.
The party round the blazing fire that night were despondent25, for a week had passed without a single sign of recent moose discovering itself. Défago had sung his song and plunged26 into a story, but Hank, in bad humor, reminded him so often that "he kep' mussing-up the fac's so, that it was 'most all nothin' but a petered-out lie," that the Frenchman had finally subsided27 into a sulky silence which nothing seemed likely to break. Dr. Cathcart and his nephew were fairly done after an exhausting day. Punk was washing up the dishes, grunting28 to himself under the lean-to of branches, where he later also slept. No one troubled to stir the slowly dying fire. Overhead the stars were brilliant in a sky quite wintry, and there was so little wind that ice was already forming stealthily along the shores of the still lake behind them. The silence of the vast listening forest stole forward and enveloped29 them.
Hank broke in suddenly with his nasal voice.
"I'm in favor of breaking new ground tomorrow, Doc," he observed with energy, looking across at his employer. "We don't stand a dead Dago's chance around here."
"Agreed," said Cathcart, always a man of few words. "Think the idea's good."
"Sure pop, it's good," Hank resumed with confidence. "S'pose, now, you and I strike west, up Garden Lake way for a change! None of us ain't touched that quiet bit o' land yet—"
"I'm with you."
"And you, Défago, take Mr. Simpson along in the small canoe, skip across the lake, portage over into Fifty Island Water, and take a good squint30 down that thar southern shore. The moose 'yarded' there like hell last year, and for all we know they may be doin' it agin this year jest to spite us."
Défago, keeping his eyes on the fire, said nothing by way of reply. He was still offended, possibly, about his interrupted story.
"No one's been up that way this year, an' I'll lay my bottom dollar on that!" Hank added with emphasis, as though he had a reason for knowing. He looked over at his partner sharply. "Better take the little silk tent and stay away a couple o' nights," he concluded, as though the matter were definitely settled. For Hank was recognized as general organizer of the hunt, and in charge of the party.
It was obvious to anyone that Défago did not jump at the plan, but his silence seemed to convey something more than ordinary disapproval31, and across his sensitive dark face there passed a curious expression like a flash of firelight—not so quickly, however, that the three men had not time to catch it.
"He funked for some reason, I thought," Simpson said afterwards in the tent he shared with his uncle. Dr. Cathcart made no immediate32 reply, although the look had interested him enough at the time for him to make a mental note of it. The expression had caused him a passing uneasiness he could not quite account for at the moment.
But Hank, of course, had been the first to notice it, and the odd thing was that instead of becoming explosive or angry over the other's reluctance33, he at once began to humor him a bit.
"But there ain't no speshul reason why no one's been up there this year," he said with a perceptible hush34 in his tone; "not the reason you mean, anyway! Las' year it was the fires that kep' folks out, and this year I guess—I guess it jest happened so, that's all!" His manner was clearly meant to be encouraging.
Joseph Défago raised his eyes a moment, then dropped them again. A breath of wind stole out of the forest and stirred the embers into a passing blaze. Dr. Cathcart again noticed the expression in the guide's face, and again he did not like it. But this time the nature of the look betrayed itself. In those eyes, for an instant, he caught the gleam of a man scared in his very soul. It disquieted35 him more than he cared to admit.
"Bad Indians up that way?" he asked, with a laugh to ease matters a little, while Simpson, too sleepy to notice this subtle by-play, moved off to bed with a prodigious36 yawn; "or—or anything wrong with the country?" he added, when his nephew was out of hearing.
Hank met his eye with something less than his usual frankness.
"He's jest skeered," he replied good-humouredly. "Skeered stiff about some ole feery tale! That's all, ain't it, ole pard?" And he gave Défago a friendly kick on the moccasined foot that lay nearest the fire.
Défago looked up quickly, as from an interrupted reverie, a reverie, however, that had not prevented his seeing all that went on about him.
"Skeered—nuthin'!" he answered, with a flush of defiance37. "There's nuthin' in the Bush that can skeer Joseph Défago, and don't you forget it!" And the natural energy with which he spoke38 made it impossible to know whether he told the whole truth or only a part of it.
Hank turned towards the doctor. He was just going to add something when he stopped abruptly39 and looked round. A sound close behind them in the darkness made all three start. It was old Punk, who had moved up from his lean-to while they talked and now stood there just beyond the circle of firelight—listening.
"'Nother time, Doc!" Hank whispered, with a wink40, "when the gallery ain't stepped down into the stalls!" And, springing to his feet, he slapped the Indian on the back and cried noisily, "Come up t' the fire an' warm yer dirty red skin a bit." He dragged him towards the blaze and threw more wood on. "That was a mighty41 good feed you give us an hour or two back," he continued heartily42, as though to set the man's thoughts on another scent43, "and it ain't Christian44 to let you stand out there freezin' yer ole soul to hell while we're gettin' all good an' toasted!" Punk moved in and warmed his feet, smiling darkly at the other's volubility which he only half understood, but saying nothing. And presently Dr. Cathcart, seeing that further conversation was impossible, followed his nephew's example and moved off to the tent, leaving the three men smoking over the now blazing fire.
It is not easy to undress in a small tent without waking one's companion, and Cathcart, hardened and warm-blooded as he was in spite of his fifty odd years, did what Hank would have described as "considerable of his twilight45" in the open. He noticed, during the process, that Punk had meanwhile gone back to his lean-to, and that Hank and Défago were at it hammer and tongs46, or, rather, hammer and anvil47, the little French Canadian being the anvil. It was all very like the conventional stage picture of Western melodrama48: the fire lighting49 up their faces with patches of alternate red and black; Défago, in slouch hat and moccasins in the part of the "badlands" villain50; Hank, open-faced and hatless, with that reckless fling of his shoulders, the honest and deceived hero; and old Punk, eavesdropping51 in the background, supplying the atmosphere of mystery. The doctor smiled as he noticed the details; but at the same time something deep within him—he hardly knew what—shrank a little, as though an almost imperceptible breath of warning had touched the surface of his soul and was gone again before he could seize it. Probably it was traceable to that "scared expression" he had seen in the eyes of Défago; "probably"—for this hint of fugitive52 emotion otherwise escaped his usually so keen analysis. Défago, he was vaguely53 aware, might cause trouble somehow ...He was not as steady a guide as Hank, for instance ... Further than that he could not get ...
He watched the men a moment longer before diving into the stuffy54 tent where Simpson already slept soundly. Hank, he saw, was swearing like a mad African in a New York nigger saloon; but it was the swearing of "affection." The ridiculous oaths flew freely now that the cause of their obstruction55 was asleep. Presently he put his arm almost tenderly upon his comrade's shoulder, and they moved off together into the shadows where their tent stood faintly glimmering56. Punk, too, a moment later followed their example and disappeared between his odorous blankets in the opposite direction.
Dr. Cathcart then likewise turned in, weariness and sleep still fighting in his mind with an obscure curiosity to know what it was that had scared Défago about the country up Fifty Island Water way,—wondering, too, why Punk's presence had prevented the completion of what Hank had to say. Then sleep overtook him. He would know tomorrow. Hank would tell him the story while they trudged57 after the elusive58 moose.
Deep silence fell about the little camp, planted there so audaciously in the jaws59 of the wilderness. The lake gleamed like a sheet of black glass beneath the stars. The cold air pricked60. In the draughts61 of night that poured their silent tide from the depths of the forest, with messages from distant ridges62 and from lakes just beginning to freeze, there lay already the faint, bleak63 odors of coming winter. White men, with their dull scent, might never have divined them; the fragrance64 of the wood fire would have concealed65 from them these almost electrical hints of moss66 and bark and hardening swamp a hundred miles away. Even Hank and Défago, subtly in league with the soul of the woods as they were, would probably have spread their delicate nostrils67 in vain....
But an hour later, when all slept like the dead, old Punk crept from his blankets and went down to the shore of the lake like a shadow—silently, as only Indian blood can move. He raised his head and looked about him. The thick darkness rendered sight of small avail, but, like the animals, he possessed68 other senses that darkness could not mute. He listened—then sniffed69 the air. Motionless as a hemlock70 stem he stood there. After five minutes again he lifted his head and sniffed, and yet once again. A tingling71 of the wonderful nerves that betrayed itself by no outer sign, ran through him as he tasted the keen air. Then, merging72 his figure into the surrounding blackness in a way that only wild men and animals understand, he turned, still moving like a shadow, and went stealthily back to his lean-to and his bed.
And soon after he slept, the change of wind he had divined stirred gently the reflection of the stars within the lake. Rising among the far ridges of the country beyond Fifty Island Water, it came from the direction in which he had stared, and it passed over the sleeping camp with a faint and sighing murmur73 through the tops of the big trees that was almost too delicate to be audible. With it, down the desert paths of night, though too faint, too high even for the Indian's hair-like nerves, there passed a curious, thin odor, strangely disquieting74, an odor of something that seemed unfamiliar—utterly unknown.
The French Canadian and the man of Indian blood each stirred uneasily in his sleep just about this time, though neither of them woke. Then the ghost of that unforgettably strange odor passed away and was lost among the leagues of tenantless75 forest beyond.
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1
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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2
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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3
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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7
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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10
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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11
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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12
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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13
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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14
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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15
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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16
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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17
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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18
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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19
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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20
moroseness
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21
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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22
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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23
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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24
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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25
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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26
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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27
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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28
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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29
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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31
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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32
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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33
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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34
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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35
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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37
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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38
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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39
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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40
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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41
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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42
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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43
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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44
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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45
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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46
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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47
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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48
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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49
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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50
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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51
eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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52
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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53
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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54
stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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55
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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56
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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57
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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58
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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59
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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60
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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61
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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62
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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63
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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64
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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65
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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66
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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67
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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68
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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69
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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70
hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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71
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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72
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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73
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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74
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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