naught

To Hugh.

sought

130

(How often is the seeker

By what he seeks-a blind, heart-breaking game!)

For always had the answer been the same From roving trapper and at trading-post: Aye, one who seemed to stare upon a ghost

And followed willy-nilly where it led, Had gone that way in search of Hugh, they said

A haggard, blue-eyed, yellow-headed chap. And often had the old man thought, "Mayhap

He'll be at Henry's Post and we shall meet;

140

And to forgive and to forget were sweet: 'Tis for its nurse that Vengeance whets the tooth!

And oh the golden time of Jamie's youth, That it should darken for a graybeard's whim!"

So Hugh had brooded, till there came on him

The pity of a slow rain after drouth.

But at the crossing of the Rosebud's mouth

I the Heart's mouth. In North Dakota (now the site of Bismarck).

2 Mandans, Villages of the Mandan Indians, on the Missouri River, near the mouth of the Knife. 3 Powder's bar. Again in Montana.

A shadow fell upon his growing dream. A band of Henry's traders, bound down stream,

Who paused to traffic in the latest wordDown-river news for matters seen and heard 151

In higher waters-had not met the lad, Nor yet encountered anyone who had. Alas, the journey back to yesterwhiles! How tangled are trails! The stubborn miles,

How wearily they stretch! And if one win

The long way back in search of what has been,

Shall he find aught that is not strange and new?

Thus wrought the melancholy news in Hugh,

As he turned back with those who brought the news; 160 For more and more he dreaded now to lose

What doubtful seeking rendered doubly

So leave the heartsick graybeard. Otherwhere

The final curtain rises on the play. 170 'Tis dead of winter now. For day on day The blizzard wind has thundered, sweeping wide

From Mississippi to the Great Divide Out of the North beyond Saskatchewan. Brief evening glimmers like an inverse dawn

After a long white night. The tempest dies;

The snow-haze lifts. Now let the curtain rise

Upon Milk River valley, and reveal The stars like broken glass on frosted steel

4 the Poplar. That is, the junction of the Poplar and the Missouri; Hugh returns with the trappers to (what is now) northeastern Montana.

I saw he came-I know I hadn't slept! Amid a light like rainy dawn, he crept Out of the dark upon his hands and knees. 320

The wound he got that day among the Rees

Was like red fire. A snarl of bloody hair Hung round the eyes that had a pleading stare,

And down the ruined face and gory beard Big tear-drops rolled. He went as he appeared,

Trailing a fog of light that died away.
And I grew old before I saw the day.
O Father, I had paid too much for breath!
The Devil traffics in the fear of death,
And may God pity anyone who buys 330
What I have bought with treachery and
lies-

This rat-like gnawing in my breast!-I knew

I couldn't rest until I buried Hugh;
And so I told the Major I would go
To Atkinson with letters, ere the snow
Had choked the trails. Jules wouldn't
come along;

He didn't seem to realize the wrong;
He called me foolish, couldn't understand.
I rode alone-not south, but to the Grand.
Daylong my horse beat thunder from the
sod,

340 Accusing me; and all my prayers to God Seemed flung in vain at bolted gates of brass.

And in the night the wind among the grass
Hissed endlessly the story of my shame.
I do not know how long I rode: I came
Upon the Grand at last, and found the
place,

And it was empty! Not a sign or trace
Was left to show what end had come to

Hugh.

And oh that grave! It gaped upon the blue,

A death-wound pleading dumbly for the

slain!

350

I filled it up, and fled across the plain, And somehow came to Atkinson at last. And there I heard the living Hugh had passed

Along the river northward in the fall! O Father, he had found the strength to crawl

That long, heart-breaking distance back to life,

Though Jules had taken blanket, steel and knife,

And I, his trusted comrade, had his gun!
They said I'd better stay at Atkinson,
Because old Hugh was surely hunting_me,
White-hot to kill. I did not want to flee,
Or hide from him. I even wished to die,
If so this aching cancer of a lie 363
Might be torn out forever. So I went,
As eager as the homesick homeward bent,
In search of him and peace. But I was
cursed.

For even when this stolen rifle burst
And spewed upon me this eternal night,
I might not die as any other might;
But God so willed that friendly Piegans