Chapter 10 THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS

Strange to say, at about the time Curlie and Jerry spoke of the pigeon that seemed so out of place in this frozen land, others in the cabin on the shore of far-off Great Slave Lake were speaking of this same bird. This did not come to pass, however, until a certain mysterious individual, seated beside the fire in Johnny Thompson's cabin, had maintained complete silence for the space of two full hours.

This person, who had the straight black hair of an Indian and the sharp, hawk-like features of a certain type of white man, was known far and wide as "The Voice of the Wilderness," or more briefly as "The Voice." The Voice spoke only when the Spirit moved him. And woe be to that one who attempted to break in upon his periods of silence.

Johnny knew him. Sandy MacDonald knew him. They knew his ways; knew, too, that at times he was able to render valuable service to those who respected his silence.

When, therefore, as the twilight faded, he appeared at their door, they greeted him with a hearty "B'Jo" (a corruption of the French bon jour), made a place for him by the fire, poured him a cup of black coffee, and left him to his silence.

That did not mean, however, that the others might not speak. On this night it was Sandy MacDonald who talked. And when Sandy elected to speak something was said, for Sandy was wise in many lores and was no mean philosopher besides.

Appearing to sense the fact that The Voice there in the corner would maintain a long silence, he drew on his fur parka and invited Johnny to join him in a stroll in the moonlight along the shore before the cabin. As they walked along the snow-whitened shores at a spot where, other than themselves, no one lived, he said as a look of contentment overspread his face:

"Johnny, for me this is the place of peace."

"This place?" Johnny looked at him in surprise.

"Yes. I have been here before. Must have been ten years back. I was prospecting then with a pack on my back. No, I didn't build the cabin. Some other dreamer had been here before me.

"It was late winter when I arrived. I lingered through spring and summer. Why? I couldn't tell you that. Perhaps I was getting acquainted with nature and with God.

"You know, Johnny," his voice was low and mellow, "for each of us there is a place of peace. Once there was a man who was asked to define peace. He led the one who asked to a waterfall. There in bubbling, tumbling confusion a tumultuous cataract made its way to the rocks below.

"'Peace!' his friend cried. 'Do you call this peace?'

"'No,' replied the philosopher, 'Not this. But look! Above the falls, poised over that rushing confusion, swaying there on a slender branch, is a tiny bird. And if you will watch closely, though because of the thundering waters you cannot hear him, you will see that he is singing his little song to the tune of the rushing water. He has found peace.'

"And so it was for him," the aged prospector added, after looking away at the stars. "There are men like that, thousands of them. Go into some great steel mill where is constant din and confusion. Look far up to a narrow cage. A man stands manipulating levers. Climb up there and ask him: 'Where is your place of peace?'

"If he knows the answer it will be: 'Here.'

"You'll find the same thing in a great city, Johnny. Go into some department store where the rush is greatest; in the wheat pit where men are shouting loudest; it's all the same. You'll find men there who'll say: 'This is the place of peace.'

"But for me-" His tone dropped once more. "As for me, this is the place of peace. Do you know that at the back of the cabin only a few low trees grow?"

Johnny nodded.

"It's no clearing. No axe has been put to any tree. When God and the birds planted these low forests they left this place for me.

"Spring and summer," he mused, "they are marvelous here. The wild ducks come to lay their eggs and rear their young. There's an egg or two extra for me. There are ptarmigan in the low hills and fish aplenty. A light rifle and a gill-net, that's all you need for living well.

"At night you hear the bull moose calling to his mate. One stormy day you see the caribou passing by your cabin, a line many miles long, straking away toward the north.

"When the notion seizes you, you drop into your canoe and paddle away. You enter a broad bay and you say to yourself, 'There must be a prosperous village deep in the heart of this bay. There the saw mills are humming and the merchants are measuring out goods over the counter. There I will find a bed and a meal such as only good Molly McGregor can provide.'

"But you are deceiving yourself. There is no village, no saw mill, no store, no bed save that of spruce boughs, and no meal save that which nature will provide.

"In all this broad bay there is no village, nor even an inhabited cabin. This is God's country and His alone.

"His and mine!" he added reverently. "That is why I love it. That is why, for me, it is the place of peace.

"And, Johnny," he went on after a time, "sometimes I'd leave the lake and go wandering away into the heart of the forest, following a trail not made by man but by wild creatures of the North; moose, caribou, deer and bear had been there. And then I, smaller than them all, walked there unafraid. It made me feel strong, Johnny; made me think I was truly a child of the Great Father.

"The path was soft under my feet, all padded with moss, Johnny. The air was cool and damp. And such a stillness as there was, until some little bird began his faint, melodious song.

"And then a noisy old raven who was raising his black brood in a tree near-by would spy me. And, ah! how he would tear the air into shreds with his senseless warning!

"I'd hide myself away and squawk like a young raven who'd been captured. Then I'd throw myself on my back and look up as the angry black-coated one would come over shouting at me. I'd shout back and laugh, laugh at him and at the sun and everything that is good and clean and new. I'd imagine I was a boy again, Johnny, just a boy. Yes, Johnny, this is the place of peace, the place I can call home.

"But come!" He shook himself as if to bring himself back to the present. "Come, let us go inside. The silence may be broken. The Voice may speak. It will pay well to listen. Indeed it will." And once again he told the truth.