breathed the air of it, and lay down at night and slept! It was
beautiful, all this that she saw, and it pleased her; but she felt,
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also, the wisdom and mastery behind. It was the concrete
expression of power in terms of beauty, and it was the power that
she unerringly divined.
And then came a woman, queenly tall, crowned with a glory of hair
that was like a golden sun. She seemed to come toward Jees Uck as
a ripple of music across still water; her sweeping garment itself a
song, her body playing rhythmically beneath. Jees Uck herself was
a man compeller. There were Oche Ish and Imego and Hah Yo and Wy
Nooch, to say nothing of Neil Bonner and John Thompson and other
white men that had looked upon her and felt her power. But she
gazed upon the wide blue eyes and rose-white skin of this woman
that advanced to meet her, and she measured her with woman’s eyes
looking through man’s eyes; and as a man compeller she felt herself
diminish and grow insignificant before this radiant and flashing
creature.
“You wish to see my husband?” the woman asked; and Jees Uck gasped
at the liquid silver of a voice that had never sounded harsh cries
at snarling wolf-dogs, nor moulded itself to a guttural speech, nor
toughened in storm and frost and camp smoke.
“No,” Jees Uck answered slowly and gropingly, in order that she
might do justice to her English. “I come to see Neil Bonner.”
“He is my husband,” the woman laughed.
Then it was true! John Thompson had not lied that bleak February
day, when she laughed pridefully and shut the door in his face. As
once she had thrown Amos Pentley across her knee and ripped her
knife into the air, so now she felt impelled to spring upon this
woman and bear her back and down, and tear the life out of her fair
body. But Jees Uck was thinking quickly and gave no sign, and
Kitty Bonner little dreamed how intimately she had for an instant
been related with sudden death.
Jees Uck nodded her head that she understood, and Kitty Bonner
explained that Neil was expected at any moment. Then they sat down
on ridiculously comfortable chairs, and Kitty sought to entertain
her strange visitor, and Jees Uck strove to help her.
“You knew my husband in the North?” Kitty asked, once.
“Sure. I wash um clothes,” Jees Uck had answered, her English
abruptly beginning to grow atrocious.
“And this is your boy? I have a little girl.”
Kitty caused her daughter to be brought, and while the children,
after their manner, struck an acquaintance, the mothers indulged in
the talk of mothers and drank tea from cups so fragile that Jees
Uck feared lest hers should crumble to pieces beneath her fingers.
Never had she seen such cups, so delicate and dainty. In her mind
she compared them with the woman who poured the tea, and there
uprose in contrast the gourds and pannikins of the Toyaat village
and the clumsy mugs of Twenty Mile, to which she likened herself.
And in such fashion and such terms the problem presented itself.
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She was beaten. There was a woman other than herself better fitted
to bear and upbring Neil Bonner’s children. Just as his people
exceeded her people, so did his womankind exceed her. They were
the man compellers, as their men were the world compellers. She
looked at the rose-white tenderness of Kitty Bonner’s skin and
remembered the sun-beat on her own face. Likewise she looked from
brown hand to white–the one, work-worn and hardened by whip-handle
and paddle, the other as guiltless of toil and soft as a newborn
babe’s. And, for all the obvious softness and apparent weakness,
Jees Uck looked into the blue eyes and saw the mastery she had seen
in Neil Bonner’s eyes and in the eyes of Neil Bonner’s people.
“Why, it’s Jees Uck!” Neil Bonner said, when he entered. He said
it calmly, with even a ring of joyful cordiality, coming over to
her and shaking both her hands, but looking into her eyes with a
worry in his own that she understood.
“Hello, Neil!” she said. “You look much good.”
“Fine, fine, Jees Uck,” he answered heartily, though secretly
studying Kitty for some sign of what had passed between the two.
Yet he knew his wife too well to expect, even though the worst had
passed, such a sign.
“Well, I can’t say how glad I am to see you,” he went on. “What’s
happened? Did you strike a mine? And when did you get in?”
“Oo-a, I get in to-day,” she replied, her voice instinctively
seeking its guttural parts. “I no strike it, Neil. You known
Cap’n Markheim, Unalaska? I cook, his house, long time. No spend
money. Bime-by, plenty. Pretty good, I think, go down and see
White Man’s Land. Very fine, White Man’s Land, very fine,” she
added. Her English puzzled him, for Sandy and he had sought,
constantly, to better her speech, and she had proved an apt pupil.
Now it seemed that she had sunk back into her race. Her face was
guileless, stolidly guileless, giving no cue. Kitty’s untroubled
brow likewise baffled him. What had happened? How much had been
said? and how much guessed?
While he wrestled with these questions and while Jees Uck wrestled
with her problem–never had he looked so wonderful and great–a
silence fell.
“To think that you knew my husband in Alaska!” Kitty said softly.
K
new him! Jees Uck could not forbear a glance at the boy she had
borne him, and his eyes followed hers mechanically to the window
where played the two children. An iron hand seemed to tighten
across his forehead. His knees went weak and his heart leaped up
and pounded like a fist against his breast. His boy! He had never
dreamed it!
Little Kitty Bonner, fairylike in gauzy lawn, with pinkest of
cheeks and bluest of dancing eyes, arms outstretched and lips
puckered in invitation, was striving to kiss the boy. And the boy,
lean and lithe, sunbeaten and browned, skin-clad and in hair-
fringed and hair-tufted MUCLUCS that showed the wear of the sea and
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rough work, coolly withstood her advances, his body straight and
stiff with the peculiar erectness common to children of savage
people. A stranger in a strange land, unabashed and unafraid, he
appeared more like an untamed animal, silent and watchful, his
black eyes flashing from face to face, quiet so long as quiet
endured, but prepared to spring and fight and tear and scratch for
life, at the first sign of danger.
The contrast between boy and girl was striking, but not pitiful.
There was too much strength in the boy for that, waif that he was
of the generations of Shpack, Spike O’Brien, and Bonner. In his
features, clean cut as a cameo and almost classic in their
severity, there were the power and achievement of his father, and
his grandfather, and the one known as the Big Fat, who was captured
by the Sea people and escaped to Kamchatka.
Neil Bonner fought his emotion down, swallowed it down, and choked
over it, though his face smiled with good-humour and the joy with
which one meets a friend.
“Your boy, eh, Jees Uck?” he said. And then turning to Kitty:
“Handsome fellow! He’ll do something with those two hands of his
in this our world.”
Kitty nodded concurrence. “What is your name?” she asked.
The young savage flashed his quick eyes upon her and dwelt over her
for a space, seeking out, as it were, the motive beneath the
question.
“Neil,” he answered deliberately when the scrutiny had satisfied
him.
“Injun talk,” Jees Uck interposed, glibly manufacturing languages
on the spur of the moment. “Him Injun talk, NEE-AL all the same
‘cracker.’ Him baby, him like cracker; him cry for cracker. Him
say, ‘NEE-AL, NEE-AL,’ all time him say, ‘NEE-AL.’ Then I say that
um name. So um name all time Nee-al.”
Never did sound more blessed fall upon Neil Bonner’s ear than that
lie from Jees Uck’s lips. It was the cue, and he knew there was
reason for Kitty’s untroubled brow.
“And his father?” Kitty asked. “He must be a fine man.”
“Oo-a, yes,” was the reply. “Um father fine man. Sure!”
“Did you know him, Neil?” queried Kitty.
“Know him? Most intimately,” Neil answered, and harked back to
dreary Twenty Mile and the man alone in the silence with his
thoughts.
And here might well end the story of Jees Uck but for the crown she
put upon her renunciation. When she returned to the North to dwell
in her grand log-house, John Thompson found that the P. C. Company
could make a shift somehow to carry on its business without his
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aid. Also, the new agent and the succeeding agents received