The North Wind's Malice Page #4

"The North Wind's Malice" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is a gripping adventure novel that unfolds in the rugged wilderness of the North, where survival and human spirit are tested against the backdrop of nature's unforgiving elements. The story follows a cast of characters whose lives intertwine through a series of thrilling events, exploring themes of resilience, betrayal, and the quest for redemption. With vivid imagery and an engaging narrative, Beach captures the essence of the wild and the complexities of human relationships, creating a tale that is both thrilling and thought-provoking.

• Short story

								

clumsy hands inside--these tell a tale to those who know.

The two mail-carriers managed to get into their sleeping-bags, but the
gale, instead of drifting them over with a protective mantle of snow,
scoured the mountain-side bare to the brittle reindeer moss, and they
began to freeze where they lay. Some twenty hours they stood it, then
they rose and plunged ahead of the hurricane like bewildered cattle.
The strongest man gave up first and lay down, babbling of things
to eat. His companion buried him, still alive, and broke down the
surrounding willow-tops for a landmark, then he staggered on. By some
miracle of good luck, or as a result of some unsuspected power of
resistance, he finally came raving into the Crooked River Road-house.
When the wind subsided they hurried him to Nome, but he was
frightfully maimed and as a result of his amputations he lay gabbling
until long after the spring break-up.

Folsom did not write again. In fact, when no word came from Lois, he
bitterly regretted the letters he had written. He heard indirectly
from her; new-comers from Nome told him that she was well, but that
was all. It was enough. He did not wish to learn more.

Spring found him with barely enough money to pay his way back. He was
blue, bitter, disheartened, but despite the certainty that his
wife had forsaken him he still cherished a flickering hope of a
reconciliation. Strangely enough he considered no scheme of vengeance
upon the other man, for he was sane and healthy, and he loved Lois too
well to spoil her attempt at happiness.

It so happened that the Arctic ice opened up later this spring than
for many seasons; therefore the short summer was well under way before
the first steam-schooner anchored off the Kobuk. Folsom turned his
back upon the wreck of his high hopes, his mind solely engaged with
the problem of how to meet Lois and ascertain the truth without undue
embarrassment to her and humiliation to himself. The prospect of
seeing her, of touching her, of hearing her voice, affected him
painfully. He could neither eat nor sleep on the way to Nome, but
paced the deck in restless indecision. He had come to consider himself
wholly to blame for their misunderstanding, and he wished only for a
chance to win back her love, with no questions asked and no favors
granted.

When there were less than fifty miles to go the steamer broke her
shaft. There was no particular reason why that shaft should break,
but break it did, and for eighteen hours--eighteen eternities to
Folsom--the ship lay crippled while its engine-room crew labored
manfully.

Folsom had been so long in the solitudes that Nome looked like a
big city when he finally saw it. There were several ships in the
roadstead, and one of them was just leaving as the Kobuk boat came to
anchor. She made a splendid sight as she gathered way.

The returning miner went ashore in the first dory and as he stepped
out upon the sand a friend greeted him:

"Hello there, old settler! Where you been all winter?"

"I've been to the Kobuk," Folsom told him.

"Kobuk? I hear she's a bum."

"'Bum' is right. Maybe she'll do to dredge some day."

"Too bad you missed the Oregon; there she goes now." The man pointed
seaward.

"Too bad?"

"Sure! Don't you know? Why, Miz Folsom went out on her!"

Folsom halted; after a momentary pause he repeated, vaguely, "Went
out?"

"Exactly. Didn't you know she was going?"

"Oh yes--of course! The Oregon!" Folsom stared at the fading plume
of black smoke; there was a curious brightness in his eyes, his face
was white beneath its tan. "She sailed on the Oregon and I missed
her, by an hour! That broken shaft--" He began to laugh, and turning
his back upon the sea he plodded heavily through the sand toward the
main street.

Folsom found no word from his wife, his house was empty; but he
learned that "the man" had also gone to the States, and he drew his
own conclusions. Since Lois had ordered her life as she saw fit there
was nothing to do but wait and endure--doubtless the divorce would
come in time. Nevertheless, he could not think of that broken shaft
without raving.

Being penniless he looked for work, and his first job came from a
small Jewish merchant, named Guth, who offered him a hundred dollars
to do the assessment work on a tundra claim. For twenty days Folsom
picked holes through frozen muck, wondering why a thrifty person like
Guth would pay good money to hold such unpromising property as this.

The claim was in sight of Nome, and as Folsom finished his last day's
labor he heard bells ringing and whistles blowing and discovered that
the town was ablaze. He hurried in to find that an entire block in
the business center of the city had been destroyed and with it Guth's
little store, including all its contents. He found the Jew in tears.

"What a misfortune!" wailed the merchant. "Ruined, absolutely--and by
a match! It started in my store--my little girl, you understand?
And now, all gone!" He tore his beard and the tears rolled down his
cheeks.

The little man's grief was affecting, and so Folsom inquired more
gently than he intended, "I'm sorry, of course, but how about my money
for the Lulu assessment?"

"Money? There's your money!" Guth pointed sadly into the smoldering
ruins. "Go find it--you're welcome to anything I have left. Gott! What
a country! How can a man get ahead, with no insurance?"

Folsom laughed mirthlessly. His hard luck was becoming amusing and
he wondered how long it would last. He had counted on that hundred
dollars to get away from Nome, hoping to shake misfortune from his
heels, but a match in the hands of a child, like that broken propeller
shaft, had worked havoc with his plans. Well, it was useless to cry.

To the despairing Hebrew he said: "Don't lose your grip, old man. Buck
up and take another start. You have your wife and your little girl, at
least, and you're the sort who makes good."

"You think so?" Guth looked up, grateful for the first word of
encouragement he had heard.

"It's a cinch! Only don't lose your courage."

"I--I'll do what's right by you, Mr. Folsom," declared the other.
"I'll deed you a half interest in the Lulu."

But Folsom shook his head. "I don't want it. There's nothing there
except moss and muck and salmon berries, and it's a mile to bed-rock.
No, you're welcome to my share; maybe you can sell the claim for
enough to make a new start or to buy grub for the wife and the kid.
I'll look for another job."

For a month or more the lonesome husband "stevedored," wrestling
freight on the lighters, then he disappeared. He left secretly, in the
night, for by now he had grown fanciful and he dared to hope that he
could dodge his Nemesis. He turned up in Fairbanks, a thousand miles
away, and straightway lost himself in the hills.
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