Prev | Current Page 108 | Next

Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"

He heard Mukoki's short, sharp, and unnecessary commands,
his _hi-yi's_ and his _ki-yi's_, as though he were crying out for no
other reason than from sheer physical exuberance. He saw Father Roland's
face turned backward for a moment, and it was smiling. They were
happy--now! Men and beasts were happy. And he could see no reason for
their happiness except that their blood was pounding through their
veins, even as it was pounding through his own. That was it--the blood.
The heart. The lungs. The brain. All were clear--clear and unfettered in
that marvellous air and sunlight, washed clean by the swift pulse of
life. It was a wonderful world! A glorious world! He was almost on the
point of crying aloud his discovery.
The thrill grew in him as he found time now to look about. Under him the
broad, steel runners of the sledge made a cold, creaking sound as they
slipped over the snow that lay on the ice of the lake; he heard the
swift _tap_, _tap_, _tap_ of the dogs' feet, their panting breath that
was almost like laughter, low throat whines, and the steady swish of the
snow shoes ahead. Beyond those sounds a vast silence encompassed him. He
looked out into it, east and west to the dark rims of forest, north and
south over the distance of that diamond-sprinkled _tundra_ of unbroken
white.


Pages:
96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120