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Page 28
"But it is fun--fun, zis," he shouted to me from his canoe. "And
_lequel_, m'sieur, which is Rafael?"
Rafael, in the bow of my boat, missed a beat of his paddle. It seemed to
me he looked older than two years back, when I last saw him. His
shoulders were bent, and his merry and stately personality was less in
evidence. He appeared subdued. He did not turn with a smile or a grave
glance of inquiry at the question, as I had expected. I nodded toward
him.
"_Mais oui_," cried out the colonel. "One has heard of you, _mon ami_.
One will talk to you later of shooting."
Rafael, not lifting his head, answered quietly, "_C'est bien, m'sieur._"
Just then the canoes slipped past a sandy bar decorated with a fresh
moose track; the excitement of the colonel set us laughing. This man was
certainly a joy! And with that, after a long paddle down the winding
river and across two breezy lakes, we were at the club-house. We
lunched, and in short order--for we wanted to make camp that night--I
dug into my _pacquetons_ and transformed my officer into a sportsman,
his huge delight in Abernethy & Flitch's creations being a part of the
game. Then we were off.
One has small chance for associating with guides while travelling in the
woods. One sits in a canoe between two, but if there is a wind and the
boat is _charg�_ their hands are full with the small craft and its heavy
load; when the landing is made and the "messieurs" are _d�barqu�s_,
instantly the men are busy lifting canoes on their heads and packs on
their backs in bizarre, piled-up masses to be carried from a leather
tump-line, a strap of two inches wide going around the forehead. The
whole length of the spine helps in the carrying. My colonel watched
Delphise, a husky specimen, load. With a grunt he swung up a canvas U.S.
mailbag stuffed with _butin_, which includes clothes and books and shoes
and tobacco and cartridges and more. With a half-syllable Delphise
indicated to Laurent a bag of potatoes weighing eighty pounds, a box of
tinned biscuit, a wooden package of cans of condensed milk, a rod case,
and a raincoat. These Laurent added to the spine of Delphise.
"How many pounds?" I asked, as the dark head bent forward to equalize
the strain.
Delphise shifted weight with another grunt to gauge the pull. "About a
hundred and eighty pounds, m'sieur--quite heavy--_assez pesant_." Off he
trotted uphill, head bent forward.
The colonel was entranced. "Hardy fellows--the making of fine soldiers,"
he commented, tossing his cigarette away to stare.
That night after dinner--but it was called supper--the colonel and I
went into the big, airy log kitchen with the lake looking in at three
windows and the forest at two doors. We gunned over with the men plans
for the next day, for the most must be made of every minute of this
precious military holiday. I explained how precious it was, and then I
spoke a few words about the honor of having as our guest a soldier who
had come from the front, and who was going back to the front. For the
life of me I could not resist a sentence more about the two crosses
they had seen on his uniform that day. The Cross of War, the Legion of
Honor! I could not let my men miss that! Rafael had been quiet and
colorless, and I was disappointed in the show qualities of my show
guide. But the colonel beamed with satisfaction, in everything and
everybody, and received my small introduction with a bow and a flourish
worthy of Carnegie Hall.
"I am happy to be in this so charming camp, in this forest magnificent,
on these ancient mountains," orated the colonel floridly. "I am most
pleased of all to have Huron Indians as my guides, because between
Hurons and me there are memories." The men were listening spell-bound.
"But yes. I had Huron soldiers serving in my regiment, just now at the
western front, of whom I thought highly. They were all that there is,
those Hurons of mine, of most fearless, most skilful. One among them was
pre-eminent. Some of you may have known him. I regret to say that I
never knew his real name, but among his comrades he went by the name of
l'Hirondelle. From that name one guesses his qualities--swift as a
swallow, untamable, gay, brave to foolishness, moving in dashes not to
be followed--such was my Hirondelle. And yet this swift bird was in the
end shot down."
At this point in the colonel's speech. I happened to look at Rafael,
back in the shadows of the half-lighted big room. His eyes glittered out
of the dimness like disks of fire, his face was strained, and his figure
bent forward. "He must have known this chap, the Swallow," I thought to
myself. "Just possibly a son or brother or nephew of his." The colonel
was going on, telling in fluent, beautiful French the story of how
Hirondelle, wrapped in a sheet, had rescued him. The men drank it in.
"When those guides are old, old fellows, they'll talk about this night
and the colonel's speech to their great-grandchildren," I considered,
and again the colonel went on.
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