"Certainly," he said, casually2 enough. "Fasten the flaps and make yourself comfortable." And thereat returned to his borean task.
"Hospitable3, to say the least," she commented to herself, obeying his command and coming up to the stove.
A heap of dwarfed4 spruce, gnarled and wet and cut to proper stove-length, lay to one side. Frona knew it well, creeping and crawling and twisting itself among the rocks of the shallow alluvial5 deposit, unlike its arboreal6 prototype, rarely lifting its head more than a foot from the earth. She looked into the oven, found it empty, and filled it with the wet wood. The man arose to his feet, coughing from the smoke which had been driven into his lungs, and nodding approval.
When he had recovered his breath, "Sit down and dry your skirts. I'll get supper."
He put a coffee-pot on the front lid of the stove, emptied the bucket into it, and went out of the tent after more water. As his back disappeared, Frona dived for her satchel7, and when he returned a moment later he found her with a dry skirt on and wringing8 the wet one out. While he fished about in the grub-box for dishes and eating utensils9, she stretched a spare bit of rope between the tent-poles and hung the skirt on it to dry. The dishes were dirty, and, as he bent10 over and washed them, she turned her back and deftly11 changed her stockings. Her childhood had taught her the value of well-cared feet for the trail. She put her wet shoes on a pile of wood at the back of the stove, substituting for them a pair of soft and dainty house-moccasins of Indian make. The fire had now grown strong, and she was content to let her under-garments dry on her body.
During all this time neither had spoken a word. Not only had the man remained silent, but he went about his work in so preoccupied12 a way that it seemed to Frona that he turned a deaf ear to the words of explanation she would have liked to utter. His whole bearing conveyed the impression that it was the most ordinary thing under the sun for a young woman to come in out of the storm and night and partake of his hospitality. In one way, she liked this; but in so far as she did not comprehend it, she was troubled. She had a perception of a something being taken for granted which she did not understand. Once or twice she moistened her lips to speak, but he appeared so oblivious13 of her presence that she withheld14.
After opening a can of corned beef with the axe15, he fried half a dozen thick slices of bacon, set the frying-pan back, and boiled the coffee. From the grub-box he resurrected the half of a cold heavy flapjack. He looked at it dubiously16, and shot a quick glance at her. Then he threw the sodden17 thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit bag upon a camp cloth. The sea-biscuit had been crumbled18 into chips and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a mushy, pulpy19 mass of dirty white.
"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and we will make the best of it."
"One moment—" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon. To this she added a couple of cups of water and stirred briskly over the fire. When it had sobbed20 and sighed with the heat for some few minutes, she sliced up the corned beef and mixed it in with the rest. And by the time she had seasoned it heavily with salt and black pepper, a savory21 steam was rising from the concoction22.
"Must say it's pretty good stuff," he said, balancing his plate on his knee and sampling the mess avidiously. "What do you happen to call it?"
Frona helped him to the coffee, studying him intently the while. And not only was it not an unpleasant face, she decided24, but it was strong. Strong, she amended25, potentially rather than actually. A student, she added, for she had seen many students' eyes and knew the lasting26 impress of the midnight oil long continued; and his eyes bore the impress. Brown eyes, she concluded, and handsome as the male's should be handsome; but she noted27 with surprise, when she refilled his plate with slumgullion, that they were not at all brown in the ordinary sense, but hazel-brown. In the daylight, she felt certain, and in times of best health, they would seem gray, and almost blue-gray. She knew it well; her one girl chum and dearest friend had had such an eye.
His hair was chestnut-brown, glinting in the candle-light to gold, and the hint of waviness28 in it explained the perceptible droop29 to his tawny30 moustache. For the rest, his face was clean-shaven and cut on a good masculine pattern. At first she found fault with the more than slight cheek-hollows under the cheek-bones, but when she measured his well-knit, slenderly muscular figure, with its deep chest and heavy shoulders, she discovered that she preferred the hollows; at least they did not imply lack of nutrition. The body gave the lie to that; while they themselves denied the vice31 of over-feeding. Height, five feet, nine, she summed up from out of her gymnasium experience; and age anywhere between twenty-five and thirty, though nearer the former most likely.
"Haven't many blankets," he said abruptly32, pausing to drain his cup and set it over on the grub-box. "I don't expect my Indians back from Lake Linderman till morning, and the beggars have packed over everything except a few sacks of flour and the bare camp outfit33. However, I've a couple of heavy ulsters which will serve just as well."
He turned his back, as though he did not expect a reply, and untied34 a rubber-covered roll of blankets. Then he drew the two ulsters from a clothes-bag and threw them down on the bedding.
"Vaudeville35 artist, I suppose?"
He asked the question seemingly without interest, as though to keep the conversation going, and, in fact, as if he knew the stereotyped36 answer beforehand. But to Frona the question was like a blow in the face. She remembered Neepoosa's philippic against the white women who were coming into the land, and realized the falseness of her position and the way in which he looked upon her.
But he went on before she could speak. "Last night I had two vaudeville queens, and three the night before. Only there was more bedding then. It's unfortunate, isn't it, the aptitude37 they display in getting lost from their outfits38? Yet somehow I have failed to find any lost outfits so far. And they are all queens, it seems. No under-studies or minor39 turns about them,—no, no. And I presume you are a queen, too?"
The too-ready blood sprayed her cheek, and this made her angrier than did he; for whereas she was sure of the steady grip she had on herself, her flushed face betokened40 a confusion which did not really possess her.
"No," she answered, coolly; "I am not a vaudeville artist."
He tossed several sacks of flour to one side of the stove, without replying, and made of them the foundation of a bed; and with the remaining sacks he duplicated the operation on the opposite side of the stove.
"But you are some kind of an artist, then," he insisted when he had finished, with an open contempt on the "artist."
"Unfortunately, I am not any kind of an artist at all."
He dropped the blanket he was folding and straightened his back. Hitherto he had no more than glanced at her; but now he scrutinized41 her carefully, every inch of her, from head to heel and back again, the cut of her garments and the very way she did her hair. And he took his time about it.
"Oh! I beg pardon," was his verdict, followed by another stare. "Then you are a very foolish woman dreaming of fortune and shutting your eyes to the dangers of the pilgrimage. It is only meet that two kinds of women come into this country. Those who by virtue42 of wifehood and daughterhood are respectable, and those who are not respectable. Vaudeville stars and artists, they call themselves for the sake of decency43; and out of courtesy we countenance44 it. Yes, yes, I know. But remember, the women who come over the trail must be one or the other. There is no middle course, and those who attempt it are bound to fail. So you are a very, very foolish girl, and you had better turn back while there is yet a chance. If you will view it in the light of a loan from a stranger, I will advance your passage back to the States, and start an Indian over the trail with you to-morrow for Dyea."
Once or twice Frona had attempted to interrupt him, but he had waved her imperatively45 to silence with his hand.
"I thank you," she began; but he broke in,—
"Oh, not at all, not at all."
"I thank you," she repeated; but it happens that—a—that you are mistaken. I have just come over the trail from Dyea and expect to meet my outfit already in camp here at Happy Camp. They started hours ahead of me, and I can't understand how I passed them—yes I do, too! A boat was blown over to the west shore of Crater46 Lake this afternoon, and they must have been in it. That is where I missed them and came on. As for my turning back, I appreciate your motive47 for suggesting it, but my father is in Dawson, and I have not seen him for three years. Also, I have come through from Dyea this day, and am tired, and I would like to get some rest. So, if you still extend your hospitality, I'll go to bed."
"Impossible!" He kicked the blankets to one side, sat down on the flour sacks, and directed a blank look upon her.
"Are—are there any women in the other tents?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"I did not see any, but I may have overlooked."
"A man and his wife were, but they pulled stakes this morning. No; there are no other women except—except two or three in a tent, which—er—which will not do for you."
"Do you think I am afraid of their hospitality?" she demanded, hotly.
"As you said, they are women."
"But I said it would not do," he answered, absently, staring at the straining canvas and listening to the roar of the storm. "A man would die in the open on a night like this.
"And the other tents are crowded to the walls," he mused48. "I happen to know. They have stored all their caches inside because of the water, and they haven't room to turn around. Besides, a dozen other strangers are storm-bound with them. Two or three asked to spread their beds in here to-night if they couldn't pinch room elsewhere. Evidently they have; but that does not argue that there is any surplus space left. And anyway—"
He broke off helplessly. The inevitableness of the situation was growing.
"Can I make Deep Lake to-night?" Frona asked, forgetting herself to sympathize with him, then becoming conscious of what she was doing and bursting into laughter.
"But you couldn't ford49 the river in the dark." He frowned at her levity50. "And there are no camps between."
"Not for myself."
"Well, then, I think I'll go to bed."
"I might sit up and keep the fire going," he suggested after a pause.
"Fiddlesticks!" she cried. "As though your foolish little code were saved in the least! We are not in civilization. This is the trail to the Pole. Go to bed."
He elevated his shoulders in token of surrender. "Agreed. What shall
I do then?"
"Help me make my bed, of course. Sacks laid crosswise! Thank you, sir, but I have bones and muscles that rebel. Here— Pull them around this way."
Under her direction he laid the sacks lengthwise in a double row. This left an uncomfortable hollow with lumpy sack-corners down the middle; but she smote52 them flat with the side of the axe, and in the same manner lessened53 the slope to the walls of the hollow. Then she made a triple longitudinal fold in a blanket and spread it along the bottom of the long depression.
"Hum!" he soliloquized. "Now I see why I sleep so badly. Here goes!"
And he speedily flung his own sacks into shape.
"It is plain you are unused to the trail," she informed him, spreading the topmost blanket and sitting down.
"Perhaps so," he made answer. "But what do you know about this trail life?" he growled54 a little later.
"Enough to conform," she rejoined equivocally, pulling out the dried wood from the oven and replacing it with wet.
"Listen to it! How it storms!" he exclaimed. "It's growing worse, if worse be possible."
The tent reeled under the blows of the wind, the canvas booming hollowly at every shock, while the sleet55 and rain rattled56 overhead like skirmish-fire grown into a battle. In the lulls57 they could hear the water streaming off at the side-walls with the noise of small cataracts58. He reached up curiously59 and touched the wet roof. A burst of water followed instantly at the point of contact and coursed down upon the grub-box.
"You mustn't do that!" Frona cried, springing to her feet. She put her finger on the spot, and, pressing tightly against the canvas, ran it down to the side-wall. The leak at once stopped. "You mustn't do it, you know," she reproved.
"Jove!" was his reply. "And you came through from Dyea to-day! Aren't you stiff?"
"Good-night," she called to him several minutes later, stretching her body luxuriously61 in the warm blankets. And a quarter of an hour after that, "Oh, I say! Are you awake?"
"Have you the shavings cut?"
"For the fire in the morning, of course. So get up and cut them."
He obeyed without a word; but ere he was done she had ceased to hear him.
The ubiquitous bacon was abroad on the air when she opened her eyes. Day had broken, and with it the storm. The wet sun was shining cheerily over the drenched64 landscape and in at the wide-spread flaps. Already work had begun, and groups of men were filing past under their packs. Frona turned over on her side. Breakfast was cooked. Her host had just put the bacon and fried potatoes in the oven, and was engaged in propping65 the door ajar with two sticks of firewood.
"Good-morning," she greeted.
"And good-morning to you," he responded, rising to his feet and picking up the water-bucket. "I don't hope that you slept well, for I know you did."
Frona laughed.
"I'm going out after some water," he vouchsafed66. "And when I return I shall expect you ready for breakfast."
After breakfast, basking67 herself in the sun, Frona descried68 a familiar bunch of men rounding the tail of the glacier69 in the direction of Crater Lake. She clapped her hands.
"There comes my outfit, and Del Bishop70 as shame-faced as can be, I'm sure, at his failure to connect." Turning to the man, and at the same time slinging71 camera and satchel over her shoulder, "So I must say good-by, not forgetting to thank you for your kindness."
"Oh, not at all, not at all. Pray don't mention it. I'd do the same for any—"
"Vaudeville artist!"
He looked his reproach, but went on. "I don't know your name, nor do I wish to know it."
"Well, I shall not be so harsh, for I do know your name, MISTER VANCE
"And I want you to come and see me when you get to Dawson. My name is
Frona Welse. Good-by."
"Your father is not Jacob Welse?" he called after her as she ran lightly down towards the trail.
She turned her head and nodded.
But Del Bishop was not shamefaced, nor even worried. "Trust a Welse to land on their feet on a soft spot," he had consoled himself as he dropped off to sleep the night before. But he was angry—"madder 'n hops," in his own vernacular73.
"Good-mornin'," he saluted74. "And it's plain by your face you had a comfortable night of it, and no thanks to me."
"You weren't worried, were you?" she asked.
"Worried? About a Welse? Who? Me? Not on your life. I was too busy tellin' Crater Lake what I thought of it. I don't like the water. I told you so. And it's always playin' me scurvy—not that I'm afraid of it, though."
"Hey, you Pete!" turning to the Indians. "Hit 'er up! Got to make
Linderman by noon!"
"Frona Welse?" Vance Corliss was repeating to himself.
The whole thing seemed a dream, and he reassured75 himself by turning and looking after her retreating form. Del Bishop and the Indians were already out of sight behind a wall of rock. Frona was just rounding the base. The sun was full upon her, and she stood out radiantly against the black shadow of the wall beyond. She waved her alpenstock, and as he doffed76 his cap, rounded the brink77 and disappeared.
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1
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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alluvial
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| adj.冲积的；淤积的 | |
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arboreal
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| adj.树栖的；树的 | |
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satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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pulpy
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| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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waviness
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| n.起浪，成波浪形，动摇；波度 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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52
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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53
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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54
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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lulls
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| n.间歇期（lull的复数形式）vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的第三人称单数形式） | |
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58
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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59
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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64
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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65
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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66
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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67
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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68
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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69
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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70
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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71
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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72
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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73
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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74
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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75
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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76
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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