HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1932-01-28, Page 2THE EXETER TIMES-ADVOCATE
“The Silver Hawk J?
BY WILJUAM BYRON MOWERY
SYNOPSIS
jjAmes Dorn, aerial map maker, as
signed to a territory in the north
ern Canadian Rockies lives alone
IU his camp on Titan Island.
Kansas Eby, his friend for the
: past six years was stationed at
‘ Eagle Nest, two hundred miles
1 east. Kansas came over one
night to a dance that the Indians
t were having on the station
? platform.. When the midnight
train pulled in he seen a girl
come out and glance hurriedly
• .around and then disappear into
Kansas followed
failed to find any
He told his friend
and the same night
a trusty metis ar-
, the darkness.
\ hurriedly but
’ trace
'■ Dorn
. Sere
Tived
The girl, Aurore McNain, asks
Dorn to go to a lonely lake in
‘ search of her father and she wish
es to accompany him.
'When they arrive at the cabin
. there is no sign of habitation.
The girl, Aurore McNain, asks
I Dorn to take her to a lonely lake
1 in search of. her father. When
‘ they arrive there is no sign of
• habitation but she tells Dorn she
is going to live there alone.
Dorn goes to Edmonton for
supplies for Aurore and is inter
viewed by a private detective and
the police in his room.
Carter-Snowdon arrives in search
■of Aurore.
of her.
about it
Bergelot.
with the girl
hair out loose after their swim and
tied it at the back, with cord ribbon
from one of the packages. He
thought it made her look younger,
more girlish. As one wants . to
stroke the satiny breast of a wax
wing, lie wanted to reach out and
run his hand over the silken waves
of it. Her lips were slightly parted
her eyelashes heavy and brooding,
and she would not look at him.
While the storm lashed the pine-
tops and the rain came down in
wave-like inundations, they listen
ed to the terrific thunder-crashes
that struck against the mountains
and rolled bellowing across the
lake; and they had little to say un
til the worst of the storm had pass
ed and the rain settled into a steady
downpour,
“Jim”—Aurora’s voice broke the
silence of half an hour—“you’re
heard, I know you’ve heard, of Ro
ger McNain.”
Though he had been out of touch
with his native province for many
years, Dorn had "heard the name
and knew the reputation of the fa
mous engineer, A man of broad
interests, he had risen out of his
profession and became leader of a
powerful reform party. Guiding
spirit in a dozen huge enterprises,
he had stood like a rock in a
rent, blocking pol'iti'cal graft
exposing scandals and -waste;
he had won the trust and the
of tb.at tribunal whom the politic
ian calls “my dear people.”
“Roger McNain. was my ’ father,
Jim,” she said quietly.
Her revelation came as a .surprise;
Dorn had never connected her name
with McNain,
scientist and
scarcely gave it a second thought
then, for he knew Aurore had
told him that for its own sake,
as preparation for something
come.
“He was more than a father,”
CHAPTER XVII
■“He wasn’t mapping. I-Ie came two
•hundred miles-a four-hundred-mile
trip—for one hour with me.” She
repeated the words, “For an hour
with me,” and her eyes were fright
ened. There on the pontoon of his
plane Aurore came to her decision.
“I’ve got to tell him—before he
leaves. I’ve get to—got to ... ”
She glanced fearfully at the cabin
■under the great pines, and she ex
perienced a sudden wild impulse to
run away and hide.
Aurore could swim like a young
otter and floated so easily that Dorn
half believed she could curl up on
the water and go to sleep like an
she dived so far that
an eye always alert for
hold his breath waiting
break surface. In a
the cabin he dressed quickly,
taking the rifle he had left
Aurore, he paddled around to
A band of
otter; and
Dorn, with
her, would,
fcr her to
straightaway race she could lead
him, her arms flashing overhead,
J-or fifty or sixty yards, but then his
sturdy breast-stroke overhauled her,
and in a hundred yards she invar
iably called off the race.
The lake water was too chill for
comfort, and a cloud came over the
sun. Dorn said, “Shall we go in?
I noticed a storm coming. If you’ll
Set me be the first'to change my
■clothes . . . I’ve got a chore I must
•do.”
In
and
with
one of the tiny islets,
grizzly caribou, tame as all unliunt-
<ed wilderness animals are tame, had
•iieen staring fixedly at Aurore and
him from a thicke of devil’s-cliiib.
He .shot a yearling, and brought
hack, the choice portions.
He was looking out for Aurore in
case of some “accident” to himself.
From the clamp, felt-lined box
where she kept her tackle, Aurore
selected trout lures to match the
colour of the shad and mayfly she
lied seen on the water that morn
ing, and for half an hour she and
Dorn fished in a drifting canoe.
Rather, Aurore fished. ‘Standing
.an the prow of the clumsy craft, she
Whipped the water in and out of
the flag lanes, placing her fly to
the inch, while Dorn was content to
■use landing net and watch her and
wonder at her magic power over his
blue devils and his worries.
On their way back to the cove he
doubly anchored
And covered the
was.
Twilight came
when, over the western range,
inky masses reared i
with incessant white
mantle of purple shadow fell across
the lake. As Dorn and Aurore
■Walked up the path, under the pines;
the golden-crowned sparrows were
fiinging their evening song—five
low silvery notes of an exquisite,
unforgettable cadence.
The
A treat
burned
knew 1
,slabs.
erseping raspberry,
Asparagus.
found a bed of bracken fern, whose
root-bulbs were quite like potatoes.
There was white bread baked in
dohes. and a tart bf Arctic cranberr
ies, and coffee with cream in tablet
fdrm, ■ *
Afterwards they drew chairs up
the fireplace and Dorn blanketed
■jUiio her Aurore. She had taken her
the Silver :
cockpit with
an hour
Hawk
i can
early
huge
up, streaked
; flashes. A
supper Aurore prepared was
to Born, who was about
out on his own cooking. .She
to plank trout on cedar
Across on the mainland
lathered six-incli shoots of
succulent
Somewhere she
she
the
ns
had
detectives within call if he needs
them, Forty or fifty men against
Luke and me.” He reflected, “In
any bush-work those breeds are go
ing to he dangerous men. They're
mountain-bred; they’re bush-wise;
they’ll have courage in a fight,” He
asked: “Do you know them, Luke?"
Five of them, the Indian said,
were strangers—strapping, power
ful ’breeds who looked like French-
Babines. The sixth was Joe Yoro
slaf, a vicious bush-sneak who hung
about Titan Bass and who had
picked a quarrel with Kansas the
night Aurore came. Yoroslaf was a
quarter Bella Coola Siwasli, a quar
ter Chinese; the rest of liis blood
harked back to the
Sack promyshjenih
fur-hunters), when
northwest coast of
cause he habitually played wolver
ine to other men’s trap-lines in
ter, the Indians called him
Carcajou” or
never shaved,
known another
reason for letting no man see his
features.
The big heavy biplane, Luke
said, had returned a couple of hours
after Dorn had shaken it off; and
at the enemy camp Yoroslaf and
Soft-Shoe had had a long talk, with
Carter-Snowdon listening. When
they finished, Carter-Bnowdon had
slapped his men on the back and
passed out a small flask of whiskey.
That council was the news which
alarmed Dorn. After he had spik*
ed their plan to dog him in an air
plane, lie had been convinced that
their next move would be to get him
into their hands and torture him un
til lie revealed where lie had taken
Aurore, But now, after this men
tion of Yoroslaf and the long talk,
he was.not so sure about that,
Yoroslaf was bush-wise as a weasel
and well acquainted with that wild
erness strecliing northward; and he
was pine of the few living men who
knew
trail,
that
ore’s
Dawn, and the enemy plan after
might be a scheme • to capture
white man or the Indian who
know where she was; but Dorn was
suspicious of Yoroslaf and keenly
uneasy. He thought^
“There’s only one chance in a
hundred that Yoroslaf has picked
up any information, but I don’t
risk that chance. One thing I do
know: they’ve got some scheme
afoot, and Carter-Snowdon with his
whiskey and back-slapping is confi
dent of it. I’ve got to spike it, and
to do that I’ve got to find, out what
it is/*
That sam^ thought must have
been running in old Luke’s mind,
for he said to Horn. “S'pose J go
now during dark, belly up dose to
enemy camp, make ears long* Meh--
be X hear what they wawa about.”
Dorn ached to go instead. The
trip bristled with peril; lie felt it
was his place, not Luke’s, to take
the gamble, And he dreaded the
prospect of being alone there in the
darkness of his island with nothing
to busy him, with those thoughts
creeping back. But sternly he die*
cided, “I’ll stay here; Luke is bet
ter in the hush than I am,” Xie
said: ‘'All right, Luke, you go. But
remember: they know you’re friend
of mine, they know you kiimtm?
where Aurore is; they’d just as
soon capture you, Luke, as me, You
must keep out of their hands,”
(Continued next week)
ore’s clasp was cold and unrespoii’
sive, and she would not look at
hut kept her eyes averted.
“I didn’t mean to come to
that first night, Jim. J wanted
Bergelot to find old Luke:
Luke would bring me north
he said your airplane was a quicker,
safer way to escape. I was fright
ened at the thought of coming to a
stranger, for I’d be in his power;
but Dad Bergelot persuaded me. He
said you were ... he didn’t use
the word ‘Victorian,’ but that is
what he meant. And I’ve found
you so, Jim—in the noblest mean
ing of the word. You do have
ideals that aren’t common or even
fashionable just now. I believe, I
know, you’d play the game square.
If you’d ever come to love a girl
and your sense of honour said you
couldn’t have her, you’d never turn
to any ignoble way.”
Dorn stiffened, suddenly aware
that here as what Aurore had
meant to tell him. Here she was
implying that old Bergelot’s “Can
never” was true.
Doggedly he fought against the
conviction.
what
“If I
He
clasp,
face and tangled in her hair,
words, when she spoke again, were
still beneath the surface, but the
import of them was cataclysmic to
Dorn, for he knew Aurore was
speaking pointedly of herself and
of him. She said:
“I mean, Jim, if she were some
thing or had done something which
voilated your sense of honour. I
mean, if a barrier stood between
you and her—a barrier as immut
able and deep as life.” Aurore paus
ed there while a thunder-phrase,
gathering and rumbling for many
moments in the heavens,
bolt crasliin.
pine -on
echoes of
whispers,
calmness:
have her only by degrading
self and her—which you
never do and which she would never
allow you if you would.”
Before Dorn would release her
clasp, he asked/ one question, so
there" would be no chance of mis
take :
“Aurore, does that barrier stand
between you and me?”
And Aurore, in a whisper, ans
wered him:
“Yes, between you and me, Jim.”
In the whippoorwill dusk Aurore
went with him dowp td the cove,
along the sodden path ayd through
the rain-wet bushes. Nothing more
was spoken between them.
The harsh cry of a loon jarred on
Dorn’s nerves,
down from the
chill and bitter
golden-crowned
ped their singing;
peak the crescendo mourn -cf a
quavered down upon the lake.
At the water’s edge, where Dorn
had upturned his canoe, Aurore ask
ed, “Have you told Mr. Eby about
me being here, Jim?”’.
“No.”
“But you’ll tell him now.”
Dorn guessed his thoughts,
voice was husky; it sounded
his own ears:
“You mean
That I’ll send
won’t, Aurore.
of it, I’ll come.
him
you
Dad
I knew
But
days of the Cos-
;i (professional
Russia ruled the
America. Be-
‘Skunk-Bear,”
Dorn had
’breed who
win-
“tlie
He
once
had
i
tor-
and
and
love
the engineer and
fighter. But lie
not
but
to
she
went on. “More than just the cause
of my being. Everywhere on all
his work he took me with him. I
never went to school a day till I
was seventeen. He wouldn’t let
anybody else teach me, but tried
to make me his own personal handi
work. I think he disliked the idea
of turning his child over to strang
ers to be taught. He made me
study books, and study hard, but
he also guided me into the know
ledge a person gets out of doors.
“He was a builder, Jim. And I
think he tried, with the patience
and loving care of an artist, to make
me his best piece of work. But
there’s a danger—looking back now
I can see it—a danger in what he
tried. If he had lived, he might
have completed his work. Rut he
died. He’d ‘been my whole world;
I was lost and had no one to turn
to. I wasn’t altogether to blame
for what—what I fell into later. I
was young and pliable. My mother
meant to do well, according to her
ideals ...”
“Your mother?” Dorn echoed. “I
thought—you didn’t mention her—
I thought he whs dead.” .
‘‘She’s Still living. In Victoria.
But I hardly saw her once a season
during those seventeen years. She
didn’t lik,e the bush, she never went
with Dad on his locations; her life
was in the city—clubs and social
affairs. It was Dad and me for it.
They didn’t separate, because Dad
abhorred divorce, and Mother—it’s
a cruel thing to say, but it's the
truth—Mother needed the money he
made. So they kept up appearances.
“I went to live with her after he
died. She didn’t like the way he’d
fashioned me. In her eyes I was a
young barbarian. Looking back on
it, I can see she tried to take down
piece by piece what he’d built, and
put it together again—according to
her ideals. The consequences for
me . . . Jim, it’.s a terrible power
a parent has; a power to shipwreck
or to build beautifully; and, Jim, I
—I was shipwrecked,”
tShe flung out the words in a pas
sionate, heartstricken cry. Dorn
was Kst in a blind whirl of ques
tions. What did she mean by say
ing her life was shipwrecked? What
had happened to her in those four
dark
father died?
tionship
.Wliy was
his life
her ?
Aurore
voice with visible effort
this lake,
spent five summers, I think I found
myself. That night Dad Bergelot
brought me over to your tent, I was
lost and blind and merely groping
toward the right thing, the honest
and (courageous thing.”
there Aurore paused again, and
Dorn knew that still she had. not
told him everything she intended,
but was fighting desparately for the
courage to go on. In desire* to com
fort, to reassure her, Dorn leaned
closer and took her hand, but Aur-
i
unfathomable years since her
What was her rela-
with. Carter-Snowdon and
he hounding her as though
depended upon capturing
spoke again, steadying her
Here at
Jim, where Dad and I
about the ancient Carried
Of course this did not mean
lie knew anything about Anr-
beipg at the Lake of the
all
the
did
JOHN S. REDFORD
A well-known citizen of Gederich.
in the person of John S. Redford,
who had conducted a hotel for sev-
eral years. Deceased was born In
Goderich sixty-four years ago anct
for a number of years he sailed the
Great Lakes. His wife predeceased
him by three years. He is survived!
by two’sons and one daughter.
He asked, “Aurore,
did you mean when you said
could never have her’?”
felt the fingers tremble in his
The fire-glow was on her
Her
sent its
g down upon a great
the island. When
it had died away to
Aurore added, with
:“I mean, if you
the
sullen
ready
could
your-
would
The wind flowing
snowfields had
edge to it.
sparrows had
frQni some
a
The
stop-
lone
wolf
His
odd to
agaiu?
No, I
I won’t come
him—here?
When there’s need
I’ll see after you
—till you go away.”
Aurore would not deny him that.
She gave him her hand in good-bye
and it 'seemed to Dorn that they
clasped hands across an abysm.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Pack' Takes .Prey
hour after dusk that evening
reached home, and there in
An
Dorn
the dark of the landing Luke Ille-
wahwacet was waiting for him with
a report >c‘f that day’s scouting trip.
Dorn was weary from long flight
and heavy-hearted from .remember
ing what Aurore had told him be
side the fireplace of her cabin, but
as he listened to old Luke's alarm
ing story, he forgot all weariness,
and in a measure this present news
drove out of his mind what had
happened two hours ago when the
rain drummed upon the cabin roof
and the wind mourned through the
pine-tops.
In his report old Luke said that
Carter-Snowdon’s camp was located
two miles west of Titan Bass at Lac
des Eaitx Mortes, The party there
consisted of Carter-Snowden, the
detective chief, an aviator, and six
’breeds* They were making a pre
tence of hunting and fishing,
Ono meti, stationed as a iookrout
up along the moutaiii, kept watch
on Dorn’s camp and by sun-flash
signals reported every move he
made, Five white men, plainly op
eratives, were living at the chalet,
Dorn thought: “Besides all these,
Carter-Snowdon has a whole corps of
That s the reason for
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