Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (win 10 ebook reader .TXT) 📖

And We Have Them Beaten In The Air At

Last. You Know What That Means If You've Been Across."

 

"Don't I Know It," The Man Responded Feelingly. "By The Lord,  It's Me

That Does Know It. I Was There When The Shoe Was On The Other Foot. I

Was A Gunner In The Sixty-Eighth Battery,  And You Can Believe Me There

Was Times When It Made Us Sick To See German Planes Overhead. Well,  I

Hope They Give Fritz Hell. He Gave It To Us."

 

"They Will," Thompson Answered Simply,  And On That Word Their Talk Of

The War Ended. They Spoke Of Vancouver,  And Of The Coast Generally.

 

"By The Way,  Do You Happen To Know Whereabouts In Toba Inlet A Man Named

Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 156

Carr Is Located?" Thompson Bethought Him Of His Quest. "Sam Carr. He Is

Operating Some Sort Of Settlement For Returned Men,  I've Been Told."

 

"Sam Carr? Sure. The _Squalla_ Here Belongs To Him--Or To The

Company--And Carr Is Just About The Company Himself."

 

A Voice From The Interior Abaft The Wheelhouse Bellowed "Grub-Pi-L-E."

 

"That's Breakfast," The Man Said. "I See You Ain't Lighted Your Fire

Yet. Come And Have A Bite With Us. Here,  Make This Line Fast And Lay

Alongside."

 

The Wind Had Died With The Dawn,  And The Sea Was Abating. The _Squalla_

Went Her Way Within The Hour,  And So Did Thompson. There Was Still A

Small Air Out Of The Southeast,  Sufficient To Give Him Steerageway In

The Swell That Ran For Hours After The Storm. Between Sail And Power He

Made The Redonda Islands And Passed Between Them Far Up The Narrow Gut

Of Waddington Channel,  Lying In A Nook Near The Northern End Of That

Deep Pass When Night Came On. And By Late Afternoon The Following Day He

Had Traversed The Mountain-Walled Length Of Toba Inlet And Moored His

Yawl Beside A Great Boom Of New-Cut Logs At The Mouth Of Toba River.

 

Thanks To Meeting The _Squalla_ He Knew His Ground. Also He Knew

Something Of Sam Carr's Undertaking. The Main Camp Was Four Miles Up The

Stream. The Deep Fin-Keel Of The Yawl Barred Him From Crossing The

Shoals At The River Mouth Except On A Twelve-Foot Tide. So He Lay At The

Boom,  Planning To Go Up The River Next Morning In The Canoe He Towed

Astern In Lieu Of A Dinghy.

 

He Sat On His Cushions In The Cockpit That Evening Looking Up At A Calm,

Star-Speckled Sky. On Either Side Of Him Mountain Ranges Lifted Like

Quiescent Saurians,  Heads Resting On The Summit Of The Coast Range,

Tails Sweeping Away In A Fifty-Mile Curve To A Lesser Elevation And The

Open Waters Of The Gulf. The Watery Floor Of Toba Inlet Lay Hushed

Between,  Silvered By A Moon-Path,  Shimmering Under The Same Pale Rays

That Struck Bluish-White Reflections From A Glacier High On The Northern

Side. It Was Ghostly Still At The Mouth Of The Valley Whence The Toba

River Stole Down To Salt Water,  With Somber Forests Lining The Beach And

Clinging Darkly On The Steep Slopes. A Lone Light Peeped From The Window

Of A Cabin On Shore. The Silence Was Thick,  Uncanny. But It Was A

Comforting Silence To Thompson. He Felt No Loneliness,  He Whom The

Lonely Places Had Once Appalled. But That Was A Long Time Ago. Sitting

There Thinking Of That,  He Smiled.

 

No Man Lives By,  For,  Or Because Of Love Alone. Nor Does A Woman,

Although The Poets And Romancers Have Very Nearly Led Us To Believe A

Woman Does. Yet It Is A Vital Factor Upon Some Occasions,  In Many

Natures. There Had Been Times In Thompson's Life When The Passion Sophie

Carr Kindled In Him Seemed A Conflagration That Must Either Transfigure

Or Destroy Him. It Was Like A Volcano That Slept,  And Woke Betimes.

 

The Last Two Years Had Rather Blotted Out Those Periods Of Eruption. He

Had Given Her Up,  And In Giving Up All Hope Of Her,  Sophie And

Everything That Linked Her With Him From Lone Moose To The Last Time He

Saw Her Had Grown Dim,  Like A Book Read Long Ago And Put By On The

Shelf. In The Fierce Usages Of Aerial Warfare Distracted Thought,  Any

Relaxing From An Eagle-Like Alertness Upon The Business In Hand,  Meant

Death Swift And Certain. And No Man,  Even A Man Whose Heart Is Sore

Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 157

Wishes To Die. The Will-To-Live Is Too Strong In Him. Pride Spurs Him.

To Come Off Victorious Over A Concrete Enemy,  To Uphold The Traditions

Of His Race,  To Be Of Service--These Things Will Carry Any Man Over

Desperate Places Without Faltering,  If He Feels Them.

 

And Wes Thompson Had Experienced That Sort Of Vision Rather Keenly. It

Had Driven Him,  A Man Of Peaceful Tendency,  To Blood-Drenched Fields.

For Two Years He Had Been In Another World,  In A Service That Demanded

Of A Man All That Was In Him. He Was Just Beginning To Be Conscious

That For So Long He Had Been Detached From Life That Flowed In Natural,

Normal Channels.

 

He Was Conscious Too,  Of A Queer,  Impersonal Manner Of Thinking About

Things And People,  Now That He Was Back. He Wondered About Himself. What

Particular Motive,  For Instance,  Had Driven Him Up Here? To Be Sure

There Was The Very Plausible One Of Obeying A Physician's Order About

Living In The Open,  Of Keeping Decent Hours,  Of Avoiding Crowds And

Excitement Until He Was Quite Himself Again. But He Could Have Done That

Without Coming To Toba Inlet.

 

Of Course He Wanted To See Sam Carr Again. Also He Wanted To See Sophie.

_Why_ He Wished To See Her Was Not So Readily Answered. He Wanted To See

Her Again,  That Was All--Just As He Had Wanted To See Canada And His

Aunts,  And The Green Slopes Of The Pacific Again. Because All These

Things And People Were Links With A Past That Was Good And Kindly By

Comparison With The Too-Vivid Recent Days. Yes,  Surely,  He Would Be Glad

To See Sam Carr--And Sophie. When He Recalled The Last Time He Spoke

With Her He Could Smile A Little Wryly. It Had Been Almost A Tragedy

Then. It Did Not Seem Much Now. The Man Who Had Piloted A Battle-Plane

Over Swaying Armies In France Could Smile Reminiscently At Being Called

A Rabbit By An Angry Girl.

 

It Was Queer Sophie Had Never Married. His Thought Took That Turn

Presently. She Was--He Checked The Years On His Fingers--Oh,  Well,  She

Was Only Twenty-Four. Still,  She Was No Frail,  Bloodless Creature,  But A

Woman Destined By Nature For Mating,  A Beautiful Woman Well Fit To

Mother Beautiful Daughters And Strong Sons,  To Fill A Lover With Joy And

A Husband With Pride.

 

A Queer Warmth Flushed Thompson's Cheek When He Thought Of Sophie This

Wise. A Jealous Feeling Stabbed At Him. The Virus Was Still In His

Blood,  He Became Suddenly Aware. And Then He Laughed Out Loud,  At His

Own Camouflaging. He Had Known It All The Time. And This Trip It Would

Be Kill Or Cure,  He Said To Himself Whimsically.

 

Still It _Was_ Odd,  Now He Came To Think Of It,  That Sophie Had Never In

Those Years Found A Man Quite To Her Liking. She Had Had Choice Enough,

Thompson Knew. But It Was No More Strange,  After All,  Than For Himself

Never To Have Looked With Tender Eyes On Any One Of The Women He Had

Known. He Had Liked Them,  But He Hadn't Ever Got Past The Stage Of

Comparing Them With Sophie Carr. She Had Always Been The Standard He Set

To Judge The Others. Thompson Realized That He Was Quite A Hopeless Case

In This Respect.

 

"I Must Be A Sort Of A Freak," He Muttered To Himself When He Was Stowed

Chapter 23 (Fair Winds) Pg 158

Away In His Blankets. "I Wonder If I _Could_ Like Another Woman,  As

Well,  If I Tried? Well,  We'll See,  We'll See."

 

 

Chapter 24 (Two Men And A Woman) Pg 159

Thompson Drove His Canoe Around A Jutting Point And Came Upon A White

Cruiser Swinging At Anchor In An Eddy. Her Lines Were Familiar Though He

Had Not Seen Her In Two Years. In Any Case The Name _Alert_ In Gold Leaf

On Her Bows Would Have Enlightened Him. He Was Not Particularly

Surprised To Find Tommy's Motor Boat There. He Had Half-Expected To Find

Tommy Ashe Hereabouts.

 

A Man's Head Rose Above The After Companion-Hatch As The Canoe Glided

Abreast.

 

"Is Mr. Ashe Aboard?" Thompson Asked.

 

The Man Shook His Head.

 

"Went Up To Carr's Camp A While Ago."

 

"When Did You Get In?" Thompson Inquired Further.

 

"Last Night. Lost A Day Laying Up At Blind Bay For A Southeaster. Gee,

She Did Blow."

 

Thompson Smiled And Passed On. Blind Bay Was Only Two Miles From Cape

Coburn. Just A Narrow Neck Of Land Had Separated Them That Blustery

Night. It Was Almost Like A Race. Tommy Would Not Be Pleased To See Him

Treading So Close On His Heels. Thompson Felt That Intuitively. All Was

Fair In Love And War. Still,  Even In Aerial Rst

Visit Of Thackeray Had Wrought Many Changes. Thackeray,  Too,  Came To New

York From Boston,  But In His Case It Was The Matter Of One Unbroken

Train Journey,  In The Course Of Which He Reread The "Shabby Genteel

Story" Of A Dozen Years Before. Dickens's Transatlantic Trip Had

Consumed Nineteen Days. The "Canada," Which Carried Thackeray,  Made The

Crossing In Thirteen. In New York Thackeray Stayed At The Clarendon

Hotel,  On The Corner Of Fourth Avenue And Eighteenth Street; But His

Favourite Haunt In The City Was The Third Home Of The Century,  In

Clinton Place.