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Updated: June 23, 2025
The furnishing of the room was simple enough. But it was of the manufacture of civilization, and he could only guess at the haulage it had required to bring it to the heart of Unaga. Then there was distinct taste in the arrangement of the room.
So, without a word of protest, he passed for the last time into the twilight of the woods. The Heart of Unaga By Ridgwell Cullum Author of "The Way of the Strong," etc. Many a stalwart deed has been done and many a brave tale told of the forbidding but romantic North-land, but seldom has an author so combined a tale of love, adventure, and strong swift action with mystery.
Years ago before his terrible journey across Unaga, when he, too, had defied the very things Marcel now spurned. But the awe in Keeko's eyes only deepened. "Maybe you're right," she said doubtfully. "But sometimes it scares me. Scares me to death." She drew a long breath as she made the admission. Marcel's quick answer came with a laugh of amusement.
And as he gazed he became aware of a strange phenomenon. Each lily was slightly inclining its gaping mouth towards the distant heart of Unaga, which inspired its life. To him it suggested an attitude of the devoutest worship.
Him say Indian man come by the big water. What you call him?" "Hudson's Bay?" "No, no. Not so big water." "Chesterfield Inlet?" The woman's eyes cleared of their perplexity. "So. Chest-fiel' Inlet. Him big water. Indian man come with much seal. Him mak camp. Bimeby him mak big trail for Unaga. Then him find him trail. Cy an' Marcel. Him follow him trail, an' bimeby him come big, deep place.
His dark, questioning eyes were turned enquiringly upon his boss, and he searched the smiling face that looked back at him out of its framing of heavy fur. He feared to be laughed at. He pointed at the northern horizon. "Him Unaga," was all he said. Steve followed the direction of the mitted hand pointing northward, and the smile died out of his eyes.
But always and everywhere he had run upon the blank wall of failure. Now now, at a time when he had learned in Seal Bay disquieting news suggesting jeopardy for his whole enterprise, a flash of imagination had stirred in him an inspiration, which, against all reason, had changed the whole outlook of the future. Unaga! Could it be? Was that the secret hiding-place of Nature? Could he make it?
Unaga buried her secrets deeply, and only was there the perfume in the air which she could not conceal. This was the key with which Steve meant to open the door of her treasure house. He raised his face and drew a deep breath through sensitive nostrils. Then he exhaled slowly, deliberately, and his lips moved. Now there was taste in the air as well as perfume.
But in the fourteen years that had elapsed since his return to Unaga the raw muscle and the powerful frame of his youthful body had only gained in mass and left him the more capable of withstanding the demands which his life on the merciless plateau made upon his endurance. Julyman, too, was much the Julyman of bygone years.
Marcel knew those streaks of red and gold, those rosy tints in contrast against the threatening cloud. They were the lights of Unaga. The lights from the Heart of Unaga, the dread Heart that haunted the Indian mind, and the secret of which Uncle Steve had so recently disclosed to him. What could he say to this girl to whom he could not lie? Doubt and hesitancy passed.
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