dollars a month. Also, they make me a present of one thousand
dollars. And that was the year that Sitka Charley gave much money
to the Mission at Holy Cross.”
“But why did they kill the man?” I asked.
Sitka Charley delayed reply until he had lighted his pipe. He
glanced at the POLICE GAZETTE illustration and nodded his head at
it familiarly. Then he said, speaking slowly and ponderingly:
“I have thought much. I do not know. It is something that
happened. It is a picture I remember. It is like looking in at
the window and seeing the man writing a letter. They came into my
life and they went out of my life, and the picture is as I have
said, without beginning, the end without understanding.”
“You have painted many pictures in the telling,” I said.
“Ay,” he nodded his head. “But they were without beginning and
without end.”
“The last picture of all had an end,” I said.
“Ay,” he answered. “But what end?”
“It was a piece of life,” I said.
“Ay,” he answered. “It was a piece of life.”
NEGORE, THE COWARD
HE had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days,
and his pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew
full well were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy
lowlands and over the steep divides, bent on no less than the
extermination of all his people. He was travelling light. A
rabbit-skin sleeping-robe, a muzzle-loading rifle, and a few pounds
of sun-dried salmon constituted his outfit. He would have
marvelled that a whole people – women and children and aged – could
travel so swiftly, had he not known the terror that drove them on.
It was in the old days of the Russian occupancy of Alaska, when the
nineteenth century had run but half its course, that Negore fled
after his fleeing tribe and came upon it this summer night by the
head waters of the Pee-lat. Though near the midnight hour, it was
bright day as he passed through the weary camp. Many saw him, all
knew him, but few and cold were the greetings he received.
“Negore, the Coward,” he heard Illiha, a young woman, laugh, and
Sun-ne, his sister’s daughter, laughed with her.
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Black anger ate at his heart; but he gave no sign, threading his
way among the camp-fires until he came to one where sat an old man.
A young woman was kneading with skilful fingers the tired muscles
of his legs. He raised a sightless face and listened intently as
Negore’s foot crackled a dead twig.
“Who comes?” he queried in a thin, tremulous voice.
“Negore,” said the young woman, scarcely looking up from her task.
Negore’s face was expressionless. For many minutes he stood and
waited. The old man’s head had sunk back upon his chest. The
young woman pressed and prodded the wasted muscles, resting her
body on her knees, her bowed head hidden as in a cloud by her black
wealth of hair. Negore watched the supple body, bending at the
hips as a lynx’s body might bend, pliant as a young willow stalk,
and, withal, strong as only youth is strong. He looked, and was
aware of a great yearning, akin in sensation to physical hunger.
At last he spoke, saying:
“Is there no greeting for Negore, who has been long gone and has
but now come back?”
She looked up at him with cold eyes. The old man chuckled to
himself after the manner of the old.
“Thou art my woman, Oona,” Negore said, his tones dominant and
conveying a hint of menace.
She arose with catlike ease and suddenness to her full height, her
eyes flashing, her nostrils quivering like a deer’s.
“I was thy woman to be, Negore, but thou art a coward; the daughter
of Old Kinoos mates not with a coward!”
She silenced him with an imperious gesture as he strove to speak.
“Old Kinoos and I came among you from a strange land. Thy people
took us in by their fires and made us warm, nor asked whence or why
we wandered. It was their thought that Old Kinoos had lost the
sight of his eyes from age; nor did Old Kinoos say otherwise, nor
did I, his daughter. Old Kinoos is a brave man, but Old Kinoos was
never a boaster. And now, when I tell thee of how his blindness
came to be, thou wilt know, beyond question, that the daughter of
Kinoos cannot mother the children of a coward such as thou art,
Negore.”
Again she silenced the speech that rushed up to his tongue.
“Know, Negore, if journey be added unto journey of all thy
journeyings through this land, thou wouldst not come to the unknown
Sitka on the Great Salt Sea. In that place there be many Russian
folk, and their rule is harsh. And from Sitka, Old Kinoos, who was
Young Kinoos in those days, fled away with me, a babe in his arms,
along the islands in the midst of the sea. My mother dead tells
the tale of his wrong; a Russian, dead with a spear through breast
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90
and back, tells the tale of the vengeance of Kinoos.
“But wherever we fled, and however far we fled, always did we find
the hated Russian folk. Kinoos was unafraid, but the sight of them
was a hurt to his eyes; so we fled on and on, through the seas and
years, till we came to the Great Fog Sea, Negore, of which thou
hast heard, but which thou hast never seen. We lived among many
peoples, and I grew to be a woman; but Kinoos, growing old, took to
him no other woman, nor did I take a man.
“At last we came to Pastolik, which is where the Yukon drowns
itself in the Great Fog Sea. Here we lived long, on the rim of the
sea, among a people by whom the Russians were well hated. But
sometimes they came, these Russians, in great ships, and made the
people of Pastolik show them the way through the islands
uncountable of the many-mouthed Yukon. And sometimes the men they
took to show them the way never came back, till the people became
angry and planned a great plan.
“So, when there came a ship, Old Kinoos stepped forward and said he
would show the way. He was an old man then, and his hair was
white; but he was unafraid. And he was cunning, for he took the
ship to where the sea sucks in to the land and the waves beat white
on the mountain called Romanoff. The sea sucked the ship in to
where the waves beat white, and it ground upon the rocks and broke
open its sides. Then came all the people of Pastolik, (for this
was the plan), with their war-spears, and arrows, and some few
guns. But first the Russians put out the eyes of Old Kinoos that
he might never show the way again, and then they fought, where the
waves beat white, with the people of Pastolik.
“Now the head-man of these Russians was Ivan. He it was, with his
two thumbs, who drove out the eyes of Kinoos. He it was who fought
his way through the white water, with two men left of all his men,
and went away along the rim of the Great Fog Sea into the north.
Kinoos was wise. He could see no more and was helpless as a child.
So he fled away from the sea, up the great, strange Yukon, even to
Nulato, and I fled with him.
“This was the deed my father did, Kinoos, an old man. But how did
the young man, Negore?”
Once again she silenced him.
“With my own eyes I saw, at Nulato, before the gates of the great
fort, and but few days gone. I saw the Russian, Ivan, who thrust
out my father’s eyes, lay the lash of his dog-whip upon thee and
beat thee like a dog. This I saw, and knew thee for a coward. But
I saw thee not, that night, when all thy people – yea, even the
boys not yet hunters – fell upon the Russians and slew them all.”
“Not Ivan,” said Negore, quietly. “Even now is he on our heels,
and with him many Russians fresh up from the sea.”
Oona made no effort to hide her surprise and chagrin that Ivan was
not dead, but went on:
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“In the day I saw thee a coward; in the night, when all men fought,
even the boys not yet hunters, I saw thee not and knew thee doubly
a coward.”
“Thou art done? All done?” Negore asked.
She nodded her head and looked at him askance, as though astonished
that he should have aught to say.