The Smart Set/Volume 22/Issue 4/Locked Horns

by Arthur Stringer

 

LOCKED HORNS

By Arthur Stringer

“Now they two were alone, yet could not speak;
But heard the beating of each other's hearts.
He knew himself a traitor but to stay,
Yet could not stir: she pale and yet more pale
Grew till she could no more, but smiled on him
Then when he saw that wished smile, he came
Near to her and still near....”

—Paolo and Francesca.

THE two Indian axe-men went first, blazing a narrow trail as they went. Then came the guides, in a long line, with the dunnage and canoes on their shoulders. Next to them came Gabriel Matane, the forest-ranger, and next to him again Frisby, the deputy commissioner of crown lands. I brought up the rear, and at my side walked old Antoine, the guide.

The air was quite windless there in the heart of the woods, and it was unspeakably hot. The axe blows of the Indians far ahead echoed and reëchoed in strangely musical cadences through the leaf-filtered gloom. Yet in the world without we knew it was high noon.

The engulfing leafage, of a sudden, stunted down and came to a stop. Before us stood a sheer wall of rock, sixty feet in height. Along its base flashed and rippled a little stream, and between the stream and us a wild-plum thicket, in full bloom, filled the pale Canadian air with an almost oriental intoxication of perfume.

Matane, stalking about under the shadow of that grim wall for a place to pitch camp, stumbled and fell across a pair of moose horns. Once on his feet again, he kicked the horns into the open, It was then that Antoine pointed out to me that it was not one pair, but two pair of great antlers, inextricably tangled and locked, that lay at our feet.

“They came over the cliff, together,” he said, as he turned the horns over, slowly, wonderingly. Then he tried to shake them loose; but it was impossible. There were no other signs, no bones, just the twin pair of mysteriously locked horns remaining. A sense of tragedy long past and sublimated by time, such as may come to one in ruined cities and dead countries, crept over me. The isolation of the place, where, in all likelihood, the foot of man had never before pressed, together, perhaps, with the silence of the forest, and that unbetraying granite background against which our very whispers now echoed, made the impression of mystery a more tangible one.

“They met and fought, m'sieu',” said old Antoine, in his gentle French-Canadian patois, “it must have been many years ago. Neither won, m'sieu', as you see, for together they fell over the cliff, and this is all that is left. It was for love, of course, m'sieu'. That is the thing they all fight for, and fight the blindest!”

And in the murmurous and odorous shade of the far Northern wild-plum thicket old Antoine told me the story of Emmeline Belair and Phinee Lavoie, while the axe-men chopped wood for the campfire, and the locked horns and their locked history lay at our feet.

“That story, m'sieu', begins away back, I don't know how many years. But this Emmeline Belair was the daughter of old Belair the lock-tender. And one day Phinee Lavoie was pushing his boat out through the sluice-gates, when he happened to look up. Emmeline was above, and she was looking down. She was a young girl, with red lips and very big eyes. He was a brave young garçon, with a red sash and brown hair. They turned toward each other, and their eyes met. And I think, m'sieu', when they met that way something locked together, fast, forever, just like these horns.

“But nothing happened then. Phinee rowed away in his boat. Emmeline went back to the lock. It was two years later, when old Belair was crushed by the sluice-gate, and had made a pilgrimage to Ste. Anne de Beaupré, that the good saint might effect a cure. There he fell down in a fit, at the very foot of the shrine, dead, and was buried on the hill, between the St. Lawrence and the Laurentians. Then Xiste Barbette, the notary public, took little Emmeline to his house and gave her a home. But he was a poor man, and he thought that maybe a fine girl like Emmeline would find a better home, before very long, or that maybe he could arrange for a marriage. But Emmeline had grown up like a wild thing, m'sieu', living alone, and never learning to work, like the other girls along the River. So old Barbette he waited to see what he could do about that Emmeline, and she waited and said nothing. Only she knew the kind little notary public would not be altogether sad when she had gone. For he had many to feed and very little money.

“Well, big Sebastien Sauriol—Black Sauriol, the men in the bush-gangs always called him—he heard about Emmeline having no home, and all day long when he was working with his gang at the head of the River, he kept thinking about her. He remembered her when she was a little girl, on the lock, looking down at him with her solemn eyes, as he poled his boom-logs through. Then all of a sudden he dropped his cant-hook, m'sieu', and he said out loud, 'By God, I'll marry that girl—and I'll marry her right away, too!' He was the boss of that Little Saint Justin lumber camp. So none of the boys said anything, when they heard that. They knew old Barbette could not keep Emmeline all the time. And they knew Black Sauriol had plenty of money and a good house at Saint Angele. He was a pretty old man, they think, to marry a young girl like that. And maybe, m'sieu', you would never call him the most handsome man in the province. But he was the boss. And when he hit the shanty table with his big fist and said he would send down for that girl right away the boys looked at one another, and said nothing. They just waited, m'sieu', for what would happen—and they all felt sorry for Emmeline.

“The second day after that Black Sauriol called young Phinee Lavoie over to where he was reading a letter. 'Phinee,' he said, 'you are the best boy in this camp! We have always been good friends, eh? You are not too old. You have a good face, and you are honest. I want you to help me out in this thing. Old Barbette has written back to me, and he says he has talked it over with Emmeline, and she says she will marry me, tomorrow, the next day, any time they like. I have worked on this bush-gang, Phinee, a good many years. And maybe that has made me seem hard. And maybe I look a little old,' he said to the boy. 'But I have lived an honest life, and I have saved my money; I can make a good home for that little girl. So I want you to go down to Barbette's, Phinee, and bring that little woman back with you. Take the best team in all the camp. When you get here I will have the curé from Saint Angele, and the cabin on the North Gap ready. And you explain everything the best you can, so it will not be too hard on the little woman!'

“Then Phinee he stepped back and said, 'Sebastien, I'd rather you got somebody else to do this for you!' And Black Sauriol he looked at Phinee and said, 'Boy, is this the way you are going to act with the man who has been your friend, from the day you first came into his camp? I am the boss. Phinee, I say you must go!' And Phinee he looked at the fire for a long time, and then he said, 'All right, I'll go.' And Black Sauriol he said, 'Good,' and he looked at the fire, too, and sat there and thought and thought and thought.

“So Phinee fixed himself up, the way the French boys in the bush do, m'sieu', with red sash and toque and all his best clothes, as though he was getting ready for veiller himself. Then he took the team and the sleigh, and started out for Emmeline. First she asked him to wait just one day more, before he started back with her. Then she asked him to wait two, three, four days, until she got used to the thought of it all. Then she cried a little, and Phinee he did the best he could to make her feel better in her mind. Then, m'sieu', she would sit and look and look at him, and then she cried a little more. Then she went in, m'sieu', and said good-bye to her little white bed, and to the little white room, and came back to Phinee very pale, and said she was all ready.

“I think, m'sieu', that Phinee made that drive back to the camp longer than it might have been. For when he saw the shanty lights through the bush, and Emmeline started to tell him how good he had been with her, he turned away, quick, and told her not to touch him like that. 'This is the end,' he said, as he saw the curé at the shanty door. 'Yes, it's the end,' Emmeline she said, too. She leaned on his arm, as if she wanted to hold him back. Then they drove up to the shanty, and Phinee he opened the door, and Emmeline she took two, three, four steps inside. There was Sebastien, standing close by the fire, and all the boys standing and waiting round, and the curé from Saint Angele who had come to make the marriage. Phinee he pretended to be busy stamping the snow from his feet. All the boys they didn't know what to say or what to do. The curé he waited for Sebastien to speak up. But Sebastien he stood there and waited, too.

“So Emmeline she stood there by the door, two, three, four minutes, and never said one word, while she looked from one man to the other, her face white, her eyes big, her hand up this way on her breast, so, m'sieu'. Then she turned and called out to Phinee, 'Where is he?' and her face was as white as the snow on her capote. Then the curé he said, as Sebastien had asked him, 'Can you not find your husband, my child, among all these men?' And she looked from one to the other, and shook her head and said nothing. And Black Sauriol, I think, he felt bad about that, and shut his teeth. Then Phinee saw that Emmeline was more and more frightened. So he took her by the hand and led her over to the fire where Sebastien was waiting so long for her. M'sieu', I never saw a woman look in a man's face like that before. It seemed as though she was looking into a river-fog where she could hear rapids, or into a grave. Then she fell back two or three steps and said, 'No, no, not him!' and staggered over to Phinee and hung on his arm, and said that she would be all right in just one little minute.

“Then she seemed to come awake, m'sieu', for when Phinee pulled her hands off him she turned round and crept over to where Sebastien was still waiting. She stood there and they say she whispered,'What must I do, m'sieu'!' Sebastien, he saw her hands shake and he looked at her and said, 'Maybe you are afraid of me?' Then she said, very quiet, 'No, m'sieu'!' Then he said, 'I don't want to make you do this thing if you will be afraid of me all the time.' 'I have come, m'sieu',' was all she said. Then he looked at her again. She was standing in the light from the fire. Her mouth was red, and her face was white, and her eyes were big. They glowed like lamps, m'sieu'. And while he studied her face he got white, and then he turned red. He shut his hands two or three times, so. 'The sooner the better,' was all he said, as he made the sign for the curé. And most all that night young Phinee walked up and down outside in the snow, they say, while the boys had their dance in the cook-shanty, and the grand fête where Black Sauriol had given them twenty gallons of whisky, to make that the happiest wedding in the province.

“That is all there is to tell, m'sieu', until Black Sauriol was called down to the mills at Ottawa. But before he left he went to Phinee Lavoie. 'Phinee,' he said, 'you are the most honest man I know. I want you to help me out the second time!' And when he told Phinee to see that Emmeline was not lonely when he was away Phinee he said, 'Sebastien, I think I will go up with the river drivers this Spring.' Sebastien felt hurt when he heard that. 'Phinee,' he said, 'I thought you were the best friend I had!' 'That is just it!' Phinee answered. But Sebastien couldn't see what he meant. And Phinee stayed.

“That was early in the Spring. Emmeline she tried very hard to look happy in those days. And Phinee he tried very hard, I think, to do what was right. But you can see how it was, m'sieu'! It was no good. It all happened too late, for the trouble began that time she looked down from the sluice-gate, and he looked back at her again, a long time before Black Sauriol ever went away to the mills at Ottawa.

“And old Courteau, he told me what happened when Black Sauriol got homesick and came back at the end of the second week. He found no one in the house. So he walked down the little path that led to the river. Then he saw Phinee and Emmeline there, listening to the singing of a little oiseau across the water. And something made Emmeline say, 'Phinee! Oh, Phinee!' like her heart would break, when she heard that little bird sing. It was getting dark. Then Phinee held out his arms for her, and the bird stopped singing across the River, and the night got dark. And still they never moved. They just sat there and said nothing And Black Sauriol he understood. 'I got to kill that boy,' he said. And he waited and waited, two, three months. 'I'll make him as ugly as I am, when my time comes!' was all he said.

“His time never came, m'sieu', until Phinee was at work in his gang on the skidway above the Devil's Décharge Phinee was standing with his back to one of the loaded skids. He was listening to a little oiseau singing across the water. Black Sauriol watched him for a minute, from one end of the skid. Then he took his cant-hook and gave the lowest log a twist off the skid. That started them all. Two dozen, three dozen, four dozen of those big timbers went rolling down. And they took the boy with them, and under them, just like the rapids would take a birch-bark. And he was dead, m'sieu', a long time before they could get him out.

“When they told Emmeline about what had happened at the skid she begged to see the bey, and Sauriol said, 'Yes, let her see him!' But all the boys said no, it would not be right—he was crushed so badly, m'sieu'. But every day she looked at her husband with such big eyes and such a white face, and so many times when he came in he found her sitting alone, just thinking and thinking, m'sieu', that he lost his head. Then he caught her by the wrist and swung her round. 'You were in love with that young Phinee, by God!' he said to her. And she said nothing. She just looked at him with her white face. And he went out of the house, and shut his teeth and said, 'Sacredam, I will make that woman like me yet!'

“So before the bush-gang went to the head waters of the Titagami Black Sauriol he sent for old Dr. Bisnette, and explained to him that he wanted to know what made his young wife so thin and triste. And old Dr. Bisnette he talked with Emmeline. Then he talked with Black Sauriol, and told him that Emmeline's heart was not good. But Sebastien he watched her all the time, and put off using his bush-gang up the Titagami, month after month. And one day when he came home drunk and found Emmeline rocking her body from side to side, so, just saying, 'Phinee! Phinee!' over and over again, he choked her with his big hands, and shook her like a dog would shake a rat, and threw her against the wall. She stayed in bed for two days. Then she got up to cook his breakfast, like she used to. When he saw her do that he tried to tell her that he was sorry for what happened. But she just looked at him with her white face and said nothing. Then he hit the table with his big fist and said, 'My God, woman, I will not have you look at me like I was a dog!' Then she said, 'Very well,' and she turned away to make his tea, while he watched her, all the time, with his teeth shut. And he saw her put something in his tea. Then he caught her by the shoulder and dragged her to the table, and smelt his tea, and cried out, 'Baptême, you are trying to poison me, are you!' But she only laughed with a quiet little laugh and said he must be crazy.

“So she took up the spoon, m'sieu', and tasted that tea, just to show him that he was wrong. So he drank the tea, and looked at her all the time. And she looked at him all the time. Then, m'sieu', all of a sudden he jumped up from his chair, and staggered to the window and called for help. And when the neighbors ran in they found him on the floor. And when old Dr. Bisnette came and worked over him and looked at that tea-cup, he shook his head, and told him the name of the poison, and asked where Emmeline was.

“And they all began to hunt for Emmeline. They found her on her bed, with Phinee Lavoie's red sash under her. And when they found her, m'sieu', she was dead. Then they looked at Black Sauriol and shook their heads. But old Dr. Bisnette he told them that when the woman took the little taste of that poison in the spoon it was neither too much nor too little. It was just the amount, m'sieu', to kill a person. But with Black Sauriol it had been different. 'I think that little woman wanted to kill you pretty bad, Sauriol,' the old doctor said, 'for she gave you enough to poison every man and woman in this village—and that was the lucky thing for you, I think!' And Black Sauriol, he looked out of the open window, past where we all stood and watched him, and he listened to a little oiseau singing, across the River. And he said, 'I don't call it lucky!' ... And two years later, m'sieu', when he was killed in the log-jam above Doré Décharge, they brought him home and buried him next to Emmeline. But Phinee Lavoie he was buried away down the River where his old mother lived at Valiquette Mills!”