Children of the Frost | Page 3

expression. "Oh, I don't know. At least they're honest folk
and live according to their lights. And then they are amazingly simple. No complexity
about them, no thousand and one subtle ramifications to every single emotion they
experience. They love, fear, hate, are angered, or made happy, in common, ordinary, and
unmistakable terms. It may be a beastly life, but at least it is easy to live. No philandering,
no dallying. If a woman likes you, she'll not be backward in telling you so. If she hates
you, she'll tell you so, and then, if you feel inclined, you can beat her, but the thing is, she
knows precisely what you mean, and you know precisely what she means. No mistakes,
no misunderstandings. It has its charm, after civilization's fitful fever. Comprehend?"
"No, it's a pretty good life," he continued, after a pause; "good enough for me, and I
intend to stay with it."
Van Brunt lowered his head in a musing manner, and an imperceptible smile played on
his mouth. No philandering, no dallying, no misunderstanding. Fairfax also was taking it
hard, he thought, just because Emily Southwaithe had been mistakenly clawed by a bear.
And not a bad sort of a bear, either, was Carlton Southwaithe.
"But you are coming along with me," Van Brunt said deliberately.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"Life's too easy here, I tell you." Fairfax spoke with decision. "I understand everything,

and I am understood. Summer and winter alternate like the sun flashing through the
palings of a fence, the seasons are a blur of light and shade, and time slips by, and life
slips by, and then ... a wailing in the forest, and the dark. Listen!"
He held up his hand, and the silver thread of the woman's sorrow rose through the silence
and the calm. Fairfax joined in softly.
"O-o-o-o-o-o-a-haa-ha-a-ha-aa-a-a, O-o-o-o-o-o-a-ha-a-ha-a," he sang. "Can't you hear it?
Can't you see it? The women mourning? the funeral chant? my hair white-locked and
patriarchal? my skins wrapped in rude splendor about me? my hunting-spear by my side?
And who shall say it is not well?"
Van Brunt looked at him coolly. "Fairfax, you are a damned fool. Five years of this is
enough to knock any man, and you are in an unhealthy, morbid condition. Further,
Carlton Southwaithe is dead."
Van Brunt filled his pipe and lighted it, the while watching slyly and with almost
professional interest. Fairfax's eyes flashed on the instant, his fists clenched, he half rose
up, then his muscles relaxed and he seemed to brood. Michael, the cook, signalled that
the meal was ready, but Van Brunt motioned back to delay. The silence hung heavy, and
he fell to analyzing the forest scents, the odors of mould and rotting vegetation, the resiny
smells of pine cones and needles, the aromatic savors of many camp-smokes. Twice
Fairfax looked up, but said nothing, and then:
"And ... Emily ...?"
"Three years a widow; still a widow."
Another long silence settled down, to be broken by Fairfax finally with a naïve smile. "I
guess you're right, Van Brunt. I'll go along."
"I knew you would." Van Brunt laid his hand on Fairfax's shoulder. "Of course, one
cannot know, but I imagine--for one in her position--she has had offers--"
"When do you start?" Fairfax interrupted.
"After the men have had some sleep. Which reminds me, Michael is getting angry, so
come and eat."
After supper, when the Crees and voyageurs had rolled into their blankets, snoring, the
two men lingered by the dying fire. There was much to talk about,--wars and politics and
explorations, the doings of men and the happening of things, mutual friends, marriages,
deaths,--five years of history for which Fairfax clamored.
"So the Spanish fleet was bottled up in Santiago," Van Brunt was saying, when a young
woman stepped lightly before him and stood by Fairfax's side. She looked swiftly into his
face, then turned a troubled gaze upon Van Brunt.

"Chief Tantlatch's daughter, sort of princess," Fairfax explained, with an honest flush.
"One of the inducements, in short, to make me stay. Thom, this is Van Brunt, friend of
mine."
Van Brunt held out his hand, but the woman maintained a rigid repose quite in keeping
with her general appearance. Not a line of her face softened, not a feature unbent. She
looked him straight in the eyes, her own piercing, questioning, searching.
"Precious lot she understands," Fairfax laughed. "Her first introduction, you know. But as
you were saying, with the Spanish fleet bottled up in Santiago?"
Thom crouched down by her husband's side, motionless as a bronze statue, only her eyes
flashing from face to face in ceaseless search. And Avery Van Brunt, as he talked on and
on, felt a nervousness under the dumb gaze. In the