And the traffic went on, to the depletion of the Indian
forests and the degradation of the Indian souls.
Then the Canadian Government appointed young Mansion special forest
warden, gave him a "V. R." hammer, with which he was to stamp
each and every stick of timber he could catch being hauled off
the Reserve by white men; licensed him to carry firearms for
self-protection, and told him to "go ahead." He "went ahead." Night
after night he lay, concealing himself in the marshes, the forests,
the trails, the concession lines, the river road, the Queen's
highway, seizing all the timber he could, destroying all the
whisky, turning the white liquor traders off Indian lands, and
fighting as only a young, earnest and inspired man can fight. These
hours and conditions began to tell on his physique. The marshes
breathed their miasma into his blood--the dreaded fever had him in
its claws. Lydia was a born nurse. She knew little of thermometers,
of charts, of technical terms, but her ability and instincts in the
sick-room were unerring; and, when her husband succumbed to a
raging fever, love lent her hands an inspiration and her brain a
clarity that would have shamed many a professional nurse.
For hours, days, weeks, she waited, tended, watched, administered,
labored and loved beside the sick man's bed.
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