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Beginning React and Firebase: Create Four Beginner-Friendly Projects Using React and Firebase Nabendu Biswas download

The document is a guide for beginners on using React and Firebase to create four projects, authored by Nabendu Biswas. It covers setting up Firebase, building a to-do app, a stories app, a storage app, and a career-related social media app, providing step-by-step instructions. Additionally, it includes information about the author and technical reviewer, as well as links to related resources and other eBooks.

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Beginning React and Firebase: Create Four Beginner-Friendly Projects Using React and Firebase Nabendu Biswas download

The document is a guide for beginners on using React and Firebase to create four projects, authored by Nabendu Biswas. It covers setting up Firebase, building a to-do app, a stories app, a storage app, and a career-related social media app, providing step-by-step instructions. Additionally, it includes information about the author and technical reviewer, as well as links to related resources and other eBooks.

Uploaded by

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© © All Rights Reserved
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Beginning
React and
Firebase
Create Four Beginner-Friendly Projects
Using React and Firebase

Nabendu Biswas
Beginning React
and Firebase
Create Four Beginner-Friendly
Projects Using React and Firebase

Nabendu Biswas
Beginning React and Firebase: Create Four Beginner-Friendly Projects Using React
and Firebase
Nabendu Biswas
Bhopal, India

ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-7811-6 ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-7812-3


https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-7812-3

Copyright © 2022 by Nabendu Biswas


This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the
material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation,
broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information
storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with
every occurrence of a trademarked name, logo, or image we use the names, logos, and images only in an
editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with no intention of infringement of the
trademark.
The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks, service marks, and similar terms, even if they are not
identified as such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to whether or not they are subject to
proprietary rights.
While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication,
neither the authors nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any errors or
omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no warranty, express or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein.
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Printed on acid-free paper
Table of Contents
About the Author���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� vii

About the Technical Reviewer��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ix

Chapter 1: Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase�������������������� 1


Introduction to Firebase���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 1
Creating a Firebase Account��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 2
Setting Up Hosting������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 3
Deploying a Simple ReactJS Project from the Terminal�������������������������������������������������������������� 13
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 17

Chapter 2: Building a To-Do App with React and Firebase������������������������������������� 19


Getting Started���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 20
Initial Firebase Setup������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 20
Basic React Setup����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 21
Local To-Do List��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 23
Using Firebase���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 28
Adding Firebase to the App��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 35
Deploying Firebase��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 43
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 44

Chapter 3: Building a Stories App with React and Firebase����������������������������������� 45


Initial Firebase Setup������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 46
Basic React Setup����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 48
Basic Structure of the App���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 50
Showing Short Videos in the App������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 53
Creating the Header Component������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 57

iii
Table of Contents

Creating the Footer Component�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 60


Setting Up the Firebase Database����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 69
Integrating the Firebase Database with React���������������������������������������������������������������������������� 76
Deploying and Hosting Through Firebase����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 79
Summary������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 79

Chapter 4: Building a Storage App with React and Firebase���������������������������������� 81


Getting Started���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 82
Initial Firebase Setup������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 82
Basic React Setup����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 84
Creating a Header����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 86
Creating the Sidebar������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 91
Uploading Files Using Firebase��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 96
Displaying Files with the FileViewer Component���������������������������������������������������������������������� 105
Creating the FileCard Component��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 114
Creating the SideIcons Component������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 117
Adding Google Authentication��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 120
Deploying and Hosting Through Firebase��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 127
Summary���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 128

Chapter 5: Building a Career-­Related Social Media App with React


and Firebase��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 129
Getting Started�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 130
Initial Firebase Setup���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 130
Basic React Setup��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 132
Creating the Header������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 134
Creating the Sidebar����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 138
Creating the Feed Component�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 145
Building the Post Section���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 149
Integrating Firebase with React������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 152
Integrating Redux���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 155

iv
Table of Contents

Building the Login Page������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 157


Adding Email Authentication����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 161
Using User Information������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 169
Building the Widget Section������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 174
Deploying and Hosting Through Firebase��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 178
Summary���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 179

Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 181

v
About the Author
Nabendu Biswas is a full-stack JavaScript developer who has been working in the IT
industry for the past 16 years and has worked for some of the world’s top development
firms and investment banks. He is a popular tech blogger who publishes on dev.to,
medium.com, and thewebdev.tech. He is an all-round nerd, passionate about everything
JavaScript, React, and Gatsby. You can find him on Twitter @nabendu82.  

vii
About the Technical Reviewer
Alexander Nnakwue is a self-taught software engineer with experience in back-end
and full-stack engineering. Nnakwue loves to solve problems at scale. He is currently
interested in startups, open source web development, and distributed systems. In his
spare time, he loves watching soccer and listening to all genres of music.

ix
CHAPTER 1

Setting Up and Deploying


a ReactJS Project
with Firebase
In this chapter, you will learn about Firebase, which is a set of tools provided by Google.
You will also learn how to deploy a simple React app through Firebase hosting.

I ntroduction to Firebase
Firebase is not just a database but a set of tools; it is often called a back-end-as-a-service
(BaaS). Firebase contains a variety of services, as listed here:

• Authentication: User login and identity

• Real-time database: Real-time, cloud-hosted, NoSQL database


• Cloud Firestore: Real-time, cloud-hosted, NoSQL database

• Cloud storage: Massively scalable file storage

• Cloud functions: Serverless, event-driven back-end functions

• Firebase hosting: Global web hosting

• ML Kit: An SDK for common machine learning tasks

Firebase makes it easy for front-end developers to integrate a back end into their
application, without creating any API routes and other back-end code. Figure 1-1 shows
an example of a traditional web app, which does API requests to the server from the

1
© Nabendu Biswas 2022
N. Biswas, Beginning React and Firebase, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-7812-3_1
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

client apps. The rest of the code is handled by the server. As you can see in Figure 1-1,
Firebase eliminates the back-end work, and you communicate directly with Firebase,
hosted on the Google platform with an SDK.

Figure 1-1. Firebase

It’s extremely easy to build a project in the Firebase back end with ReactJS as the
front end. If you made the same project in MERN (meaning MongoDB, Express, ReactJS,
NodeJS), it would take more time and would be far more complicated as you would need
to make the back-end APIs in NodeJS.
The other thing I find easy to do in Firebase is the authentication part.
Authentication used to be one of the most complicated parts of JWT authentication,
but with Firebase you need only a few lines of code. Even better, you get all types of
authentication.
Firebase hosting is also extremely easy to use for your ReactJS apps, and that is what
we are going to look at in this book.

Creating a Firebase Account


To work with Firebase, you just need a Google account. So, go to Firebase site at
https://firebase.google.com/ and click Go to console in the top-right corner. You
need to be logged in with your Google account to do so, as shown in Figure 1-2.

2
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

Figure 1-2. Firebase site

S
 etting Up Hosting
Click the Add project link on the page, as shown in Figure 1-3. Since I have a lot of
projects, the figure shows them on this page. For your first time, you will see only the Add
project link.

3
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

Figure 1-3. Adding a project

On the page that opens, give the project a name like final-space-react and click the
Continue button, as shown in Figure 1-4.

4
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

Figure 1-4. Naming the project

On the next page, click the Create project button after disabling Google Analytics, as
shown in Figure 1-5. We are disabling Google Analytics as we’re creating a demo project
here. If you intend to deploy your app in production, you should keep it enabled.

5
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

Figure 1-5. Creating a project

After some time, you will see the screen shown in Figure 1-6. Here, you need to click
the Continue button.

6
Chapter 1 Setting Up and Deploying a ReactJS Project with Firebase

Figure 1-6. Continuing

Now, click the Settings icon at the top-left corner of the screen, as shown in
Figure 1-7. After that, click Project settings.

7
Other documents randomly have
different content
thing he had just completed. His thought began by searching ahead,
but swiftly it was caught and flung back into the deep channels of
memory such as never fail to claim when the heart of man is deeply
stirred.
A wide panorama of the past swept into his view. It began, as
everything seemed to begin with him now, at that time when he and
his young wife had taken their final decision to move northwards
where their spiritual desires could find expression in the wilderness
of untamed Nature. He remembered, how keenly he remembered,
the surge of thrilling anticipation with which they had embarked on
their mission. The bitter hardships they had had to endure, and the
merciless labours that had been theirs to make even their simple
lives possible here on the Hekor River, which followed so nearly the
course of the Arctic Circle. He remembered the selfless kindness of
Jim McLeod and his gentle wife. How they had helped him with
everything that lay in their power. Yes, it was a happy memory which
eased the strain of the thing besetting him now.
Then had come that first great happiness and finally disaster. Jim
was looking forward now to just the same moment in his life. That
first-born child. It was an ineffaceable landmark in the life of any
man.
He sighed. He was contemplating again the tragedy which had
followed hard in the wake of his overwhelming happiness. Poor little
Jean. Poor, poor little woman.
Her happiness was short enough lived, and his— In his simple,
earnest fashion he prayed God that Jim and Hesther should never
know a similar disaster. He wondered if little Jean knew of the thing
he was doing now. And if she would have approved had she been
there to witness it. Yes. Somehow he felt that her full approval
would have been his. It was for Felice. He desired nothing for
himself but to be permitted to carry on the labours of his Mission.
But for Felice—
He stirred uneasily. The scene of his devastated Mission lit again
before his mental gaze and tortured him. And suddenly he sat up
and carefully folded the annotated map he had prepared. He finally
enclosed it in a piece of American cloth, tied it up securely, and
sealed it with the fragment of wax he had discovered for that
purpose. Then he stood up and gazed about him. His dark eyes took
in every happy detail of the home which had served him so long.
And presently the man of peace found himself contemplating the
cartridge belt, with its two great revolvers protruding from their
holsters, which was hanging from its nail on the log wall.
For some moments he regarded it without any change of
expression. Then of a sudden he stirred and moved quickly over to
it. He removed first one gun from its holster, then the other. He
examined them. They were old-fashioned, and their chambers were
empty. Very deliberately, almost reluctantly, he loaded them in each
chamber. Then with another sigh he returned them to the holsters
where they belonged.
He turned away quickly. It was as though he detested the thing he
had just done and was anxious to rid himself of the memory of it. So
he passed into the room which he had always shared with his wife,
but which now was given up to the atom of humanity which was the
priceless treasure of his life.

The man was sitting on the stool set beside the simple bedcot. It
was the stool which Pri-loo was wont to occupy when watching over
the slumbers of the child she had taken to her mother heart. He was
gazing down upon the sleeping babe as she lay there under the
coloured blankets and patch-work quilt which was the daintiest
covering with which he had been able to provide her.
Fair-haired and sweetly cherubic the child lay breathing in that
calm, almost imperceptible fashion so sure an indication of perfect
health. Her colouring was exquisite. A subtle tracery of blue veins
was plainly visible beneath the delicate, fair skin. She was sweetly
pretty, and her brief four years of life had afforded her a generous
development sufficient to satisfy the most exacting parent.
The man’s dark eyes were infinitely tender as he regarded the
sleeping child. Gold? There was no treasure in the world comparable
with that, which, with her dying effort, his well-loved wife had
presented him. Felice—little Felice. The smiling, prattling creature,
the thought of whose wide blue eyes was unfailing in lightening
even the darkest shadows which the cares of her father’s life
imposed upon him.
He feasted himself now on the beauty which was so like to that of
the mother who had given up her life for his desire. And as he gazed
a surge of deep, tender feeling recalled a hundred happy memories.
And so for awhile he was filled with smiling thought.
But it passed. It passed with a suddenness that left a cold dew of
fear upon his brow for all the warmth of the Arctic summer night.
For even as memory had transported him to the days wherein his life
had known no shadow, so it had brought him again to the
recollection of the scene of mutilation he had witnessed at his
Mission. There he had seen children, younger even than Felice, lying
upon the ground limbless, headless, almost unrecognisable trunks.
An unconscious movement stirred him, and he shook his head as
though in denial of his thought. Then he gazed down upon the
sealed packet he was carrying in his hand. For long moments he
looked at it, and then, of a sudden, his eyes came back to the face
of the sleeping babe, and words came in a low, tender whisper.
“No, kiddie,” he murmured, “not while I have life. My poor Jean
gave you to me, little bit. And you’re just mine. All I am in the world
will defend you from harm such—such as—God! No. Not that. Psha!
No, it couldn’t be.” He wiped his forehead with a hand that was
unsteady. Then he forced a smile to his eyes just as he forced his
fears back and strove to think of the thing he had spent so many
hours preparing. He held up the packet in his hand before the child’s
closed eyes. “This wasn’t sent my way for nothing,” he whispered.
“It’s your luck, little kid. Yours. It’s for you, half of it. And—and if I
should fail—well, there’s others’ll see you get it. My little kiddie. My
little—”
He broke off. The man’s tender admonition died on his lips which
closed almost with a snap. His whole attitude underwent a change.
He sat rigid and listening, and his dark eyes were turned as though
seeking to peer over his shoulder.
It was a sound. A sound that came from beyond the outer room.
It was not from the direction of the kitchen place where Usak might
be returning home. No. It came from beyond the front door of the
shanty which was not the way Usak would come.
The missionary made no movement. Every sense was straining,
every faculty was alert. Sounds came in the night. It was a common
enough thing. But he had that in his mind now which gave to any
sound in the night the possibility of a new interpretation.
The moments passed. The tension eased. And again the fathers
eyes came back to the face of the sleeping child. But it was only for
an instant. Of a sudden he dropped the sealed packet into the child’s
cot and leapt to his feet.
Headlong he ran for the open doorway, and the purpose in his
mind was obvious. He passed it, and ran for the loaded guns
hanging upon the wall of his room. But he failed to reach them. A
shot rang out and he stumbled. Putting forth a superhuman effort he
sought to recover himself. But his legs gave under him and he
crashed to the floor with the first tearful cry of his wakened child
ringing in his ears.
CHAPTER VI
THE EURALIANS

Marty Le Gros lay sprawled on the ground. He had scarcely moved


from the position in which he had fallen. Pri-loo, her handsome eyes
aflame with fierce anger, was standing just within the doorway
leading to the kitchen place. A man stood guard over her, a small
dark-skinned creature whose eyes slanted with a suggestion of
Mongol obliqueness. It was obvious that she was only held silent
under threat of the gun that her guard held ready. Two other dark-
skinned strangers moved about the living room clearly searching,
and a third stood looking on, propped against the table which served
the missionary for writing. Beyond the movements of the searching
men, and such disturbance as the process of their work entailed,
and the insistent cries of the child Felice in the adjoining room, an
ominous silence prevailed.
The expression of the almost yellow eyes of the man at the table
was intense with cold, deliberate purpose. It was without one gleam
of pity for the fallen missionary. It was without concern for the angry
woman held silent in the doorway. He was regarding only the
movements of the men acting under his orders. He, like the man in
charge of Pri-loo, was clad in the ordinary garb customary to
whitemen of the northern trail. But the others, the searchers, had no
such pretensions. They were in the rough clothing native to the
Eskimo when Arctic summer prevails.
After awhile the terrified cries of the suddenly awakened Felice
died down to the intermittent sobs which so surely claim the
sympathies of the mother-heart. Even Pri-loo’s fierce native anger
yielded before their appeal. Distress stirred her, and only the
threatening gun held her from rushing to comfort the helpless babe
who was her treasured charge.
The great prone figure of the missionary on the ground stirred. It
was the preliminary to returning consciousness. Quite abruptly his
head was raised. Then, by a great effort, he propped himself on to
his elbow and gazed about him. Finally his dark, troubled eyes came
to rest on the face of the still figure of the man who stood regarding
him.
There was a searching pause while eye met eye. Then the
missionary sought to moisten his lips with a tongue little less
parched.
“Well?” he demanded in the low, husky voice of a man whose
strength is rapidly waning.
The man at the table turned to the searchers whose task seemed
complete.
“Nothing?” he said. And his tone was almost without question.
One of the searchers offered a negative gesture. There was no
verbal reply.
“So.”
The man at the table inclined his dark, close-cropped head and
turned again to the man on the ground.
“You’re going to tell us of that gold ‘strike,’ Le Gros,” he said
simply, without the slightest sign of foreign or native accent. “You’re
going to tell us right away. Because if you don’t we’ve a way of
making you. Do you get that? You’d better get it. It’ll be easier for
you and for those belonging to you. We’ve come many miles to hear
about that ‘strike,’ and we aren’t returning empty-handed. Do you
fancy handing your story? Or—”
“You’ll get nothing from me.”
Marty Le Gros’ voice had suddenly become harsh and furious. All
his ebbing strength was flung into his retort.
The man with the cold eyes shook his head.
“I shall,” he said, with calm decision. “I’m not here to ask twice.
You’ve seen the—remains—of your Mission, ’way up the river.
Doesn’t that tell you about things? It should—if you have sense.”
The man’s threat was the more deeply sinister for the frigidity of
his tone.
The missionary’s eyes lit. For all his growing weakness, for all the
suffering the wound in his side was causing him, a tinge of hot
colour mounted to his pallid cheeks.
“I tell you you’ll get nothing from me,” he said, and the strength of
his voice had ominously lessened. He raised his body till he was
supporting himself on one hand which rested in the pool of his own
life-blood staining the earthen floor. His dark eyes were fiercely
defiant as they gazed up at the other.
The Euralian leader nodded.
“We’ll see.” Then he pointed at Pri-loo standing in the doorway
watching the pitiful duel, hardly realising the full meaning of what
she beheld. “You see her? Watch!”
There was a sign. It was given on the instant. And the dying man
gasped in horror.
“Your woman, eh?” The Euralian went on. “Well, she won’t be any
longer. Are you going to—speak?”
“She’s not my woman. She’s the wife of Usak. If—if you harm her
it’s—it’s sheer, wanton—”
The words died on the missionary’s lips. There was a sharp report.
It was the gun of the man guarding Pri-loo fired at close range. It
rang out tremendously in the narrow confines of the room. The
foster-mother of Felice was shot through the head, which was
completely shattered. The poor dead creature dropped where she
stood, without a sound, without a cry. To the last moment of her
staunch life her angry eyes had defied her captors.
The dying missionary reeled. He would have fallen again to the
ground. But the searchers were beside him, and they seized and
held him lest he should miss a single detail of that which was
intended for his infliction.
“Are you going to—say about it?”
The Euralian’s eyes lit as he made his taunting demand. The
tearful cries of the terrified Felice were again raised in response to
the deafening report of the gun that had slain her foster-mother.
But Marty Le Gros’ strength was oozing through the wound that
had laid him low. The shock of the hideous massacre of the helpless
Pri-loo was overwhelming. Consciousness was nearing its extremity.
“Not a word.”
The retort was whispered. The missionary had no strength for
more.
The man at the table bestirred himself. Perhaps he realised that
opportunity was slipping away from him. A swift, imperative sign to
the youth who had slain Pri-loo, and the next moment he had
passed into the room whence came the redoubled cries of the
distracted Felice.
The closing eyes of the dying man widened on the instant. A
surge of hopeless terror stared out of their dark depths. His lolling
head was lifted erect and it turned in the direction of the door
through which the Euralian had vanished. In supreme anguish he
realised the thing contemplated. His child! Felice! In a spasm of
recollection he saw again the headless trunks of the children of his
Mission. The man at the table was forgotten. His own sufferings.
Even he had forgotten the thing he was trying to safeguard. Felice!
His babe! They—
“If the woman wasn’t yours, Le Gros, the child is,” the man at the
table taunted. “Well? Will you—talk?”
The terrible yellow eyes were irresistible. There was no escape
from them. And Marty Le Gros forgot everything but the anguish
which the taunt inspired.
“Not her! Not that!” he cried. “Yes,” he went on urgently. “You can
have it. For God’s sake spare—”
He gasped and his head lolled helplessly. But again he rallied.
“The plans? The plans you made to-night? Where are they?
Quick!”
The man at the table had moved. He had approached his victim.
His voice was fiercely urgent for he realised the thing that was
happening.
“They’re—there,” Marty Le Gros gasped. “They’re—in—her—”
It was his supreme effort, and it remained uncompleted. His
words died away in a gasping jumble of sounds that rattled in his
throat. For one brief spasm his arms struggled with the men
supporting him. Then his head lolled forward again, and his body
limpened. A moment later the supporting hands were removed and
Marty Le Gros fell back on the ground—dead.

The yellow eyes of the leader were turned on the young man who
had just re-entered the room bearing in his arms the screaming
Felice.
“Too late,” he said coldly. “You’ve blundered, Sate. It was that
clumsy shot of yours. Maybe you’ll learn someday. Tcha!”
Sate dropped the screaming child roughly to the ground. His black
eyes sparkled. There was triumph as well as resentment in them.
“That so? Oh, yes. Well, here are the plans. He sealed them when
they were finished. We saw that. Eh?”
He held out the packet he had found in Felice’s cot, and the older
man accepted it without a sign. In a moment he withdrew a sheath
knife and severed the fastenings. Flinging off the outer cover he
unfolded the contents. A glance was sufficient and he looked up
without a smile.
“Set fire to the place,” he ordered coldly.
Then he glanced down at the dead man. Felice had crawled up
close to the body of her father. Her baby arms were thrust about his
neck as though clinging to him for protection. Or maybe it was only
in that fond baby fashion she had long since learned. Her cries had
wholly ceased. Even in death the comfort of her father’s presence
and proximity were all sufficient to banish her every terror.
“Take her out,” he ordered, without a shadow of softening. “Set
her somewhere near by in the bluff. Maybe the folk across the river
will come along and find her when they see the fire. If they don’t,
well, maybe the—wolves will.”

Usak gazed about him in a hopeless amazement. He was standing


before the smoking remains of Marty Le Gros’ Mission. He had
hastened home from the farm which lay several miles away to the
east. In the midst of his work amongst his herd of reindeer he had
suddenly observed the smoke cloud lolling heavily upon the near
horizon, and without a moment’s hesitation he had abandoned the
new-born fawn he was attending to ascertain its cause.
He had been filled with alarm at the sight. There was nothing he
knew of in the neighbourhood to fire but the bluff that sheltered the
Mission and the house itself. So he had come at once at a speed that
only he could have achieved.
His worst fears were realised. It was not the sheltering bluff. That
was still standing. It was the house itself, that home which had been
his shelter as well as that of those others.
For some moments he contemplated the scene without any
attempt at active investigation. It almost seemed as if his keen wit
had somehow become dulled under the shock of his discovery. Just
at first it was the fire itself that pre-occupied. Somehow he did not
associate it with disaster to the occupants. That did not occur to
him. Doubtless at the back of his mind lay the conviction that the
missionary, and Pri-loo, and little Felice had crossed the river and
gone to McLeod’s store for shelter. That was at first.
A light breeze drifted the smoke down upon him. For a moment he
was enveloped in it. Then it passed. A fresh current of wind—a cross
current—drifted it back whence it came, and the man which the
passing of the smoke revealed had somehow been transformed.
Amazement was no longer in his black eyes. They were alight and
burning with a passion of anxiety. That cloud of smoke had borne
upon his sensitive nostrils the smell of burning flesh.
Usak moved up to the charred walls. They were hot and smoking.
Most of them were in a state of wreckage, for the roof had fallen
and many of the logs had crashed from the tops of the walls. He
passed round them, a swift-moving, silent figure seeking access
where the smouldering fire would permit. The back door of the
kitchen-place was impossible. Flames were still devouring that which
remained. The windows were surrounded with hot, fiery timbers.
The front door giving on to the sitting room alone seemed possible.
But here again was fire, though it had almost burnt out.
But the man’s mood was not such as to leave him standing before
obstacles. In his half savage heart was a native terror of fire. But
just now all that was completely overborne by emotions that were
irresistible. The smell of burning flesh was strong in his nostrils, he
even fancied he could taste something of it on his lips.
Just for one instant he paused before the doorway measuring the
chances of it all. Then he leapt forward and vanished into the
smoking ruin.

Jim McLeod was standing in the doorway of his store. He had


been roused from sleep by a furious hammering on the door. He had
flung on a heavy skin coat over his night clothes and hastily thrust a
gun in each pocket of it. Then he had cautiously proceeded to
investigate, for the memory of his long talk with Marty Le Gros was
still with him.
But his apprehensions had been swiftly allayed, or at least
changed, for the harsh deep tones of Usak had replied to his
challenge through the barred door.
Now he was listening to the thing the Indian had to say and the
horror of the story he listened to found reflection in his pale blue
eyes.
“They’ve killed ’em an’ burnt ’em out?” he cried incredulously as
the furious man broke off the torrent of the first rush of his story.
Usak’s black eyes were aflame with a light that was bordering on
frenzy. The infant Felice, wrapped in a blanket, was in his arms and
clinging to him with her tiny arms about the man’s trunk-like neck,
silent, wide-eyed, but content with a presence understood and
loved.
“Here I tell you. I tell you quick so no time is lost. I work by the
farm all night. So. It is the season when I work that way. The young
deer need me. Oh, yes. So I work. Then I mak look up in the corral.
There is smoke to the west. Smoke. I look some more, an’ I think
quick. Smoke? Fire? What burns that way? Two things, maybe. The
bluff. The house of Marty Le Gros. So I mak quick getaway. Oh, yes.
Very quick. Then I come by the house. It all burn. Yes. No house.
Only burning logs all break up. So I stand an’ think. An’ while I stand
I smell. So. I smell the cooking of meat. Meat. First I have think
Marty an’ Pri-loo mak big getaway to here. Then, when I smell this
thing, I think—no. Not getaway.”
“They were—burnt?”
Jim’s horror added fuel to the fire of Usak’s surging frenzy. He
nodded.
“Yes. They burn. They burn all up. But not so they die. Oh, no.”
The Indian shook his head, and the brooding light in his black eyes
suddenly blazed up afresh. “Listen,” he cried, in his fierce way. “I tell
you. I—Usak. I see him all. I go mad. Oh, yes. I think of Pri-loo. I
think of little Felice. I think of the good Marty. So I go into the house
just wher’ I can. I go by the door which him burn right out. Then I
find ’em. Then I find ’em all dead. An’ the fire cook ’em lak—meat.”
The great rough creature thrust the greasy fur cap back from his
forehead. There was sweat on his low brow. But it was the sweat
inspired by his fierce emotions.
He turned away in desperation, and so his black eyes were hidden
from the search of the trader’s. A curious feeling of helplessness in
the midst of the storm of rage besetting him threatened
overwhelming. There was a moment even when the soft arms about
his neck seemed to be stifling him. But his weakness passed in a
flash. The next moment the furious onslaught of the savage in him
held sway.
“But the fire not kill him,” he cried, his tone lowered to something
like a snarl of savagery. “I look. I find ’em, Pri-loo. My woman. I find
her, yes, an’ I think I go crazy sure. They kill her—my woman. My
good woman. They shoot her by the head. It all break up. Oh, yes.
My woman. They kill her—dead.” His voice died out and his black
eyes were turned away again to hide that which looked out of them.
But in a moment he went on. “Then I find him. The good boss,
Marty. Him belly all shoot to pieces. Oh, yes. They kill him all up
dead, too. Then I look for Felice. Little Felice.” His arms tightened
about the child nestling against his shoulder. “No Felice. She all
gone. I think maybe they eat her. I think. I look. No. No Felice. So I
go out an’ think some more. I stand by bluff. Then I find ’em. She
mak big cry out. She by the bluff. So I find her. They throw her in
the bush in the blanket of my woman, Pri-loo.”
The man paused again and a deep breath said far more of the
thing he was enduring than his words told. After a moment he
nodded his head, and his lank, black hair brushed the fair face of the
child in his arms.
“So I bring her, an’ you tak her. You, an’ your good whitewoman
tak her like your own. I go. I find this Euralian mans. I know ’em
wher’ they camp. Oh, yes. Usak big hunter. Shoot plenty much good.
I kill ’em all up dead. They kill ’em my woman, Pri-loo. My good
woman. They kill ’em my good boss, Marty. So I kill ’em, too. Now I
go. You tak Felice. Bimeby I come back when all Euralian kill dead.
Then I tak Felice. I raise her like the good boss, by the farm. It for
her. Yes. That farm. Marty love little Felice all the time. He mak all
good thing for Felice. So I mak same all good thing, too. That so.”
Jim McLeod made no attempt to reply. Somehow it seemed
impossible even to offer comment in face of the terrible story the
man had brought to him, and the simple irrevocable purpose in his
spoken determination. He held out his arms to receive the murdered
man’s child, and Usak, with infinite gentleness, released himself from
the clinging arms so reluctant to part from him.
“You tak ’em. Yes,” he said as he passed the babe over. “Bimeby I
come back. Sure.”
Jim folded the child to his broad bosom in clumsy, unaccustomed
fashion. He was hardly conscious of the thing he did. His horrified
imagination was absorbed by the terrible scene he was witnessing
through the eyes of the Indian. Quite suddenly his mind leapt back
to the thing Marty had intended and had been at such pains to
discuss with him, and his question came on the instant.
“Everything? Everything was burnt out? There was nothing left?
Books? Papers?”
“Him all burn up. Oh yes.”
Felice began to cry. In a moment her little chubby hands were
beating her protest against the broad bosom of the trader. The sight
of her rebellion somehow had a softening effect on the coloured
man, and he spoke in a manner and in a tone of gentleness which
must have seemed impossible in him a moment before.
But even his encouragement was without effect. The child’s cries
rose to a fierce, healthly pitch of screaming which promptly called
forth protest from the trail dogs about the camps within the
stockade. For some moments pandemonium reigned, and in the
midst of it the voice of Hesther, who had hurried from her bed,
brought comfort to her helpless husband.
“For goodness’ sake!” she cried at the sight of the terrified child in
her husband’s arms. “Are you crazy, Jim, havin’ that pore baby gal—
Felice? Little Felice? Say, what—? Here, pass her to me.”
The trader made no demur. In a moment the distracted child was
exchanged into his wife’s outstretched arms which tenderly
embraced and snuggled her close to her soft motherly bosom.
The men looked on held silent by Hesther’s presence.
The child’s cries were quickly hushed, and the dogs abandoned
their savage, responsive chorus. Hesther looked searchingly up into
Jim’s troubled face. Then her gentle, inquiring eyes passed on to
scrutinize the face of the Indian.
“Tell me,” she demanded. And her words were addressed to Usak,
as she rocked the child to and fro in her arms.
But Usak was reluctant. He averted his gaze while the whiteman
became pre-occupied with the broad expanse of the river beyond
the gateway of the stockade.
“Something’s happened,” she went on urgently. “What is it? I’ve
got to know. I shall know it later, anyhow, Jim!”
The trader shook his head. But it was different with the Indian. His
eyes came back to the woman’s face and he nodded.
“Sure. You know him bimeby,” he said quietly. “Maybe your man
tell him all now. I tell him. He know this thing. Yes. Now I go. I go
hunt all him Euralian mans. I find ’em. I kill ’em all up dead, same
lak him kill up Pri-loo, an’ my good boss, Marty. I go now. Bimeby I
come back, an’ I mak all good thing for little Felice. I not come back,
then you mak raise ’em Felice lak your child. That so.”
CHAPTER VII
THE VENGEANCE OF USAK

The towering Alaskan hills overshadowed the broad waterway of


the Hekor River. From the level of the water the shores rose up
monstrously. There were precipitate, sterile, encompassing walls of
granite that rose hundreds of feet without a break. And back of
them, mounting by dizzy slopes, the great hills raised their snow-
crowned crests till the misty cloud line enveloped them. The world
was grey, and dark, and something overwhelming towards the
headwaters of the great river. It was a territory barren of everything
but the tattered clothing of scattered primordial forest bluffs clinging
to sheer slopes, or safely engulfed in the shelter of deep, shadowed
ravines. It was a scene of crude grandeur in which Nature had
designed no place for man.
Yet man refused Her denial. Man with his simple skill and profound
daring. No rampart set up by Nature was sufficient to bar the way.
A small kyak was driving against the stream of waters surging at
its prow. It was driven with irresistible skill and power, for the man
at the paddle was consuming with passionate desire and purpose.
For days and days he had driven on up against a stream that was
growing in speed with every passing mile. He knew the thing
confronting him. He knew every inch of the great waterway’s rugged
course. Every shoal, every rapid was an open book to him. So, too,
were the shelters and easements where the stream yielded its
strength. The man behind the paddle faced his task with the
supreme confidence of knowledge and conscious power. And so he
neared the canyon of the Grand Falls without the smallest
perturbation.
A mere speck in the immensity of its surrounding the kyak glided
on. Here it rocked on a ruffled surface, there it passed, perfectly
poised, a ghostly shadow upon a smooth mirror-like surface. The dip
of the man’s paddle was precise and rhythmic. Every ounce of
strength was in every stroke, and every stroke yielded its full of
propulsion. For Usak was a master of river craft, and understood the
needs of the journey that still lay ahead of him.
His goal was still far off. It was less than a day since he had
crossed the unmarked border which opened the gates of Alaska to
him. He knew there must be more than another nightless day pass
before he reached the toilsome portage where stood the mighty Falls
which emptied themselves from the summit of the barrier which he
had yet to scale. The goal he sought lay hidden away up amidst
those high lands where the drainings of the snow-clad hills
foregathered before hurling themselves to feed the river below. But
time mattered nothing to his Indian mind. He asked nothing of the
great world about him. He sought no favours or clemency. The spur
of his savage heart drove him, and death alone could deny him. As
he had already driven throughout the endless Arctic days so he
would continue to drive until his task was accomplished.
The man’s dark face was hard bitten by his mood. Fierce resolve
looked out of eyes that brooded as he gazed alertly over the waters.
The soul of the man was afire with the instincts and desires of
centuries of savage forbears, just as his mental faculties were
similarly keyed for their achievement.
Not a detail of the world about him that might affect his labours
escaped the eagle vision of his wide eyes, and his swift
understanding taught him how to avail himself of every clemency
which the scheme of Nature vouchsafed.
So the kyak progressed seemingly with inadequate speed, but in
reality little less swiftly than the speed of the avenging creature’s
desire. It gained incredible way against the surge of water that split
upon its prow. And as the shadows of the mighty walls enveloped it,
and grew ever more and more threatening, the man at the paddle
laboured on without pause or hesitation, certain of the course,
certain of his powers, certain that no earthly barrier was staunch
enough to seriously obstruct him.

The kyak was hauled out of the water. It lay there on a shelving
foreshore strewn with grey, broken granite, a graceful thing, so small
and light as to look utterly inadequate in face of the terrific race of
troubled waters that was speeding by. It was set ready for the
portage. The man’s simple outfit was securely lashed amidships, and
his precious rifle, long old-fashioned, but well cared for, was made
fast to the struts that held the frail craft to its shape.
The Indian was standing at the water’s edge. He was gazing up-
river where its course was a dead straight canyon several miles in
length. It was wide, tremendously wide. But so high were its sides
that its breadth became dwarfed. It was a gloomy, threatening
passage of black, broken water, whose rushing torrent no canoe
could face.
But the awe of the scene left Usak untouched. It was not the
sheer cliffs that concerned him. It was not the swirling race of water
blackened by the shadows. It was neither the might of the great
river, nor the vastness of the hill country about it that pre-occupied
him. It was the far-off white wall of mist and spray at the head of
the passage, and the dull distant thunder of the Falls, the Grand
Falls, the picture of whose might had lain hidden from the eyes of
man throughout the centuries.
He stood for long contemplating the mysterious far-off. His object
was uncertain. Perhaps the wonder of it had power to stir him.
Perhaps he was not insensible to the might of the things about him
for all the absorbing passion that filled him. Perhaps he was
contemplating with a sense of triumph this last barrier which still
remained to be surmounted.
At last he turned away. He came back to the burden which he
knew he had to shoulder. He measured the little vessel, and the
stowage of his outfit, with a keen eye for the necessity of his work.
And that which had been done left him completely satisfied.
He bent down. He gripped the gunwale of the little craft and tilted
it. Then with a swift, twisting movement he lifted, and, rearing his
great body erect again, the vessel was safely set where his muscular
neck checked it to a perfect balance.

It was the wide smooth waters of a high perched mountain lake.


Its expanse was dwarfed by the great hills on every hand. Its
surface shone like a mirror in the brilliant sunshine, yet it was
without one single grace to temper the fierce austerity of its
tremendous setting. On the hillsides there were dark veins which
suggested the tattered remnants of Nature’s effort to clothe their
naked sides. There were low fringes of attenuated vegetation
marking the line where land and water met. But the main aspect
was one of barren hills crowned about their lofty summits with
eternal snow, and the grey fields of glacial ice that never entirely
yielded up possession of the earth they held prisoned.
Usak’s kyak was hugging the southern shore. Now his paddle
dipped leisurely, for he had no stream with which to battle and his
eyes were searching every yard of the dishevelled scrub which
screened the shore.
Slowly the little craft crept on. There was no uncertainty in its
progress. It was simply that the man sought for the thing he knew
he would find and had no desire to waste a single moment of
precious time through careless oversight.
He was rounding a headland. The fringe of scrub had faded out,
leaving only the grey rock that sank sheer into the depths of the
water. In a moment he flung power into the dip of his paddle and
the kyak shot ahead. There was current here. Swift, crossing current
that strove to head his craft put for the bosom of the lake. The man
counted with prompt skill, and a savage satisfaction shone in his
eyes.
Passing the headland he gazed upon the thing he had been
searching. It was a narrow inlet debouching from a wide rift in the
rampart of hills.
In a moment his vessel shot head on to the current. Then, swiftly,
it passed from view of the open lake between the sheltered banks
which were heavily overgrown by unbroken stretches of dense pine-
wood bluffs.

An amazing transformation left the sterile setting of the mountain


lake forgotten. Farther and farther, deeper and deeper into the hills
the country seemed to change as by magic. East and west of the
valley the hills rose up sheltering the gracious vegetation that looked
to belong to latitudes hundreds of miles to the south, and a heat
prevailed that was even greater than the intemperate Arctic summer.
Usak needed no explanation of the phenomenon. He knew that he
was in the region of the great Fire Hills of the North. Hills that were
always burning, whether in the depths of winter or the height of
summer. And the heat of the earthly fires transformed the
countryside into an oasis of verdant charm, a jewel of Nature set in
the cold iron of the North.

A large habitation stood in the heart of a wide clearing in the


forest. It was deep hidden from the waterway which split up the
length of the valley. Nearly a mile of narrow roadway cut through
the forest alone gave access to the river. And the course of the
roadway was winding, and its debouchment on the river was left
screened with trees. The object of the latter must have been clear to
the simplest mind. A perfect secrecy had been achieved, and the
great house lay hidden within the forest.
It was a remarkable building whose only relation to the country in
which it stood was the material of its construction. Its two lofty
stories were built of lateral, rough-hewn green logs. It was of logs
carefully dovetailed, from the ground to the summit of a central
tower which rose to the height of the forest trees about it. Its walls
rambled over a wide extent of ground, and dotted about its main
building were a number of lesser buildings, both habitations and
accommodation for material. It was rather like a log-built feudal
fortress surrounded by, and protecting, the homes of its workers and
dependents.
A figure was moving cautiously through the woods beyond the
clearing. The moccasined feet gave out no sound as it passed from
tree to tree or sought the shelter of such dense clumps of
undergrowth as presented themselves. The buckskin-clad creature
crouched low as he moved, and the colour of his garments seemed
to merge itself into the general hue about him. Now and again he
paused for long contemplative moments. And in these he searched
closely with keen, purposeful black eyes that nothing escaped.
He was seeking every sign of life the place might afford. And so
far he had discovered none. There were one or two prowling dogs,
great husky, trail dogs, searching leisurely for that offal which seems
to be the sole purpose of their resting moments, but that was all.
He was gazing upon the main frontage of the building which faced
the south with a long, deep, heavily constructed verandah running
its entire length. The several windows which gave on to it, covered
with mosquito netting, were wide open to admit such cooling breeze
as might chance in the heat of the day. But the rich curtains hung
limply over them undisturbed by the slightest movement. It was the
same with the windows of the upper story. They, too, were wide
open, but again the curtains were unmoving. The searcher’s eyes
passed over the lounging chairs on the verandah. None were
occupied, yet each and all looked to be standing ready.
He passed on. Making a wide detour within the shelter of the
woods he passed round to the western side of the building. Here
there were other habitations. Many were mere log shanties, cabins
such as the searcher knew by heart. The cabin of whiteman or
coloured in a country where makeshift ruled.
Again there was no sign of life. There was not even a dog
prowling loose in this direction. Maybe those who peopled these
cabins were resting in the heat. Maybe—but the searching man was
concerned with no such speculation. The thing was largely as he had
expected to find it, but he desired to re-assure himself. He moved on

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