Philip Steele of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police

by James Oliver Curwood

New York 1911




Philip Steele



Chapter I. The Hyacinth Letter

Philip Steele's pencil drove steadily over the paper, as if the mere
writing of a letter he might never mail in some way lessened the
loneliness.

The wind is blowing a furious gale outside. From off the lake come
volleys of sleet, like shot from guns, and all the wild demons of this
black night in the wilderness seem bent on tearing apart the huge
end-locked logs that form my cabin home. In truth, it is a terrible
night to be afar from human companionship, with naught but this roaring
desolation about and the air above filled with screeching terrors. Even
through thick log walls I can hear the surf roaring among the rocks and
beating the white driftwood like a thousand battering-rams, almost at my
door. It is a night to make one shiver, and in the lulls of the storm
the tall pines above me whistle and wail mournfully as they straighten
their twisted heads after the blasts.