Burned Bridges

Christmas had come and gone before Thompson finished his job at

Porcupine Lake, some ninety-odd miles, as the crow flies, north of Fort

Pachugan. The Porcupine was a marshy stretch of water, the home of

muskrat and beaver, a paradise for waterfowl when the heavy hand of

winter was lifted, a sheet of ice now, a white oval in the dusky green

of the forest. Here the free trader had built a fair-sized structure of

logs with goods piled in the front and the rearward end given over to a

stove, a table, and two bunks. In this place Thompson and Joe Lamont

plied their traffic. MacLeod sent them Indian and half-breed trappers

bearing orders for so much flour, so much tea, so many traps, so much

powder and ball and percussion caps for their nigh obsolete guns. They

took their "debt" and departed into the wilderness, to repay in the

spring with furs.

So, by degrees, the free-trader's stock approached depletion, until

there remained no more than two good dog teams could haul. With that on

sleds, and a few bundles of furs traded in by trappers whose lines

radiated from the Porcupine, Thompson and Joe Lamont came back to Fort

Pachugan.

The factor seemed well pleased with the undertaking. He checked up the

goods and opined that the deal would show a rare profit for the Company.

"Ye have a hundred an' twenty-six dollars due, over an' above a charge

or two against ye," he said to Thompson when they went over the

accounts. "How will ye have it? In cash? If ye purpose to winter at Lone

Moose a credit maybe'll serve as well. Or, if ye go out, ye can have a

cheque on the Company at Edmonton."

"Give me the hundred in cash," Thompson decided. "I'll take the twenty

odd in grub. I'm going to Lone Moose, but I don't know how long I'll

stay there. There's some stuff of mine there that I want to get. After

that--I'm a bit undecided."

In those long nights at the Porcupine he had done a good deal of

pondering over his next move. He had not yet come to a fixed decision.

In a general way he knew that he was going out into the world from

whence he had come, with an altogether different point of view, to work

out his future along altogether different lines. But he had not made up

his mind to do this at once. He was clearly conscious of one imperative

craving. That was for a sight of Sophie Carr and a chance to talk to her

again. His heart quickened when he thought of their parting. He knew she

was anything but indifferent. He was not an egotist, but he knew she

harbored a feeling akin to his own, and he built hopes on that, despite

her blunt refusal, the logical reasons she had set forth. He hoped

again. He saw himself in the way of becoming competent--as the North,

which is a keen judge, appraises competence. He had chucked some of his

illusions about relative values. He conceived that in time he might

approximate to Sophie Carr's idea of a man.