LORDS

OF THE

NORTH

BY

A. C. LAUT

TORONTOWILLIAM BRIGGS

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year onethousand nine hundred, by WILLIAM BRIGGS, at the Department ofAgriculture. 

[Illustration:

 LORDS of the NORTH

by A. C. LAUT]

TO THE

Pioneers and their Descendants

WHOSE

HEROISM WON THE LAND, THIS WORK

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

The author desires to express thanks to pioneers and fur traders of theWest for information, details and anecdotes bearing on the old life, which are herein embodied; and would also acknowledge the assistance ofthe history of the North-West Company and manuscripts of the_Bourgeois_, compiled by Senator L. R. Masson; and the value of suchearly works as those of Dr. George Bryce, Gunn, Hargraves, Ross andothers. 

THE TRAPPER'S DEFIANCE. 

"The adventurous spirits, who haunted the forest and plain, grew fond oftheir wild life and affected a great contempt for civilization. "

 You boxed-up, mewed-up artificials, Pent in your piles of mortar and stone, Hugging your finely spun judicials, Adorning externals, externals alone, Vaunting in prideful ostentation Of the Juggernaut car, called Civilization-- What know ye of freedom and life and God?

 Monkeys, that follow a showman's string, Know more of freedom and less of care, Cage birds, that flutter from perch to ring, Have less of worry and surer fare. Cursing the burdens, yourselves have bound, In a maze of wants, running round and round-- Are ye free men, or manniken slaves?

 Costly patches, adorning your walls, Are all of earth's beauty ye care to know; But ye strut about in soul-stifled halls To play moth-life by a candle-glow-- What soul has space for upward fling, What manhood room for shoulder-swing, Coffined and cramped from the vasts of God?

 The Spirit of Life, O atrophied soul, In trappings of ease is not confined; That touch from Infinite Will 'neath the Whole In Nature's temple, not man's, is shrined! From hovel-shed come out and be strong! Be ye free! Be redeemed from the wrong, Of soul-guilt, I charge you as sons of God!

INTRODUCTION. 

I, Rufus Gillespie, trader and clerk for the North-West Company, whichruled over an empire broader than Europe in the beginning of thiscentury, and with Indian allies and its own riotous _Bois-Brulés_, carried war into the very heart of the vast territory claimed by itsrivals, the Honorable Hudson's Bay Company, have briefly related a fewstirring events of those boisterous days. Should the account here setdown be questioned, I appeal for confirmation to that missionary amongnorthern tribes, the famous priest, who is the son of the ill-fated girlstolen by the wandering Iroquois. Lord Selkirk's narration of lawlessconflict with the Nor'-Westers and the verbal testimony of Red Riversettlers, who are still living, will also substantiate what I havestated; though allowance must be made for the violent partisan leaningof witnesses, and from that, I--as a Nor'-Wester--do not claim to befree. 

On the charges and counter-charges of cruelty bandied between white menand red, I have nothing to say. Remembering how white soldiers fromeastern cities took the skin of a native chief for a trophy of victory, and recalling the fiendish glee of Mandanes over a victim, I can onlyconclude that neither race may blamelessly point the finger of reproachat the other. 

Any variations in detail from actual occurrences as seen by my own eyesare solely for the purpose of screening living descendants of thosewhose lives are here portrayed from prying curiosity; but, in truth, many experiences during the thrilling days of the fur companies were fartoo harrowing for recital. I would fain have tempered some of theincidents herein related to suit the sentiments of a milk-and-water age;but that could be done only at the cost of truth. 

There is no French strain in my blood, so I have not that passionatedevotion to the wild daring of _l'ancien régime_, in which many of myrugged companions under _Les Bourgeois de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest_gloried; but he would be very sluggish, indeed, who could not look backwith some degree of enthusiasm to the days of gentlemen adventurers inno-man's-land, in a word, to the workings of the great fur tradingcompanies. Theirs were the trappers and runners, the _Coureurs des Bois_and _Bois-Brulés_, who traversed the immense solitudes of the pathlesswest; theirs, the brigades of gay _voyageurs_ chanting hilariousrefrains in unison with the rhythmic sweep of paddle blades andfollowing unknown streams until they had explored from St. Lawrence toMacKenzie River; and theirs, the merry lads of the north, blazing atrack through the wilderness and leaving from Atlantic to Pacific lonelystockaded fur posts--footprints for the pioneers' guidance. Thewhitewashed palisades of many little settlements on the rivers and lakesof the far north are poor relics of the fur companies' ancient grandeur. That broad domain stretching from Hudson Bay to the Pacific Ocean, reclaimed from savagery for civilization, is the best monument to theunheralded forerunners of empire. 

RUFUS GILLESPIE. 

WINNIPEG--ONE TIME FORT GARRY FORMERLY RED RIVER SETTLEMENT, _19th June, 18--_

Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected. 

CONTENTS

 PAGECHAPTER I. WHEREIN A LAD SEES MAKERS OF HISTORY 9

CHAPTER II. A STRONG MAN IS BOWED 23

CHAPTER III. NOVICE AND EXPERT 38

CHAPTER IV. LAUNCHED INTO THE UNKNOWN 55

CHAPTER V. CIVILIZATION'S VENEER RUBS OFF 70

CHAPTER VI. A GIRDLE OF AGATES RECALLED 92

CHAPTER VII. THE LORDS OF THE NORTH IN COUNCIL 99

CHAPTER VIII. THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE 118

CHAPTER IX. DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY 131

CHAPTER X. MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY 144

CHAPTER XI. A SHUFFLING OF ALLEGIANCE 163

CHAPTER XII. HOW A YOUTH BECAME A KING 181

CHAPTER XIII. THE BUFFALO HUNT 200

CHAPTER XIV. IN SLIPPERY PLACES 220

CHAPTER XV. THE GOOD WHITE FATHER 234

CHAPTER XVI. LE GRAND DIABLE SENDS BACK OUR MESSENGER 246

CHAPTER XVII. THE PRICE OF BLOOD 253

CHAPTER XVIII. LAPLANTE AND I RENEW ACQUAINTANCE 266

CHAPTER XIX. WHEREIN LOUIS INTRIGUES 281

CHAPTER XX. PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS 297

CHAPTER XXI. LOUIS PAYS ME BACK 313

CHAPTER XXII. A DAY OF RECKONING 327

CHAPTER XXIII. THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD 341

CHAPTER XXIV. FORT DOUGLAS CHANGES MASTERS 350

CHAPTER XXV. HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE 368

CHAPTER XXVI. FATHER HOLLAND AND I IN THE TOILS 378

CHAPTER XXVII. UNDER ONE ROOF 389

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE LAST OF LOUIS' ADVENTURES 409

CHAPTER XXIX. THE PRIEST JOURNEYS TO A FAR COUNTRY 433

LORDS OF THE NORTH

CHAPTER I

WHEREIN A LAD SEES MAKERS OF HISTORY

"Has any one seen Eric Hamilton?" I asked. 

For an hour, or more, I had been lounging about the sitting-room of aclub in Quebec City, waiting for my friend, who had promised to join meat dinner that night. I threw aside a news-sheet, which I had exhausteddown to minutest advertisements, stretched myself and strolled across toa group of old fur-traders, retired partners of the North-West Company, who were engaged in heated discussion with some officers from theCitadel. 

"Has any one seen Eric Hamilton?" I repeated, indifferent to the meritsof their dispute. 

"That's the tenth time you've asked that question, " said my Uncle JackMacKenzie, looking up sharply, "the tenth time, Sir, by actual count, "and he puckered his brows at the interruption, just as he used to when Iwas a little lad on his knee and chanced to break into one of hishunting stories with a question at the wrong place. 

"Hang it, " drawled Colonel Adderly, a squatty man with an over-fed lookon his bulging, red cheeks, "hang it, you don't expect Hamilton? Thebaby must be teething, " and he added more chaff at the expense of myfriend, who had been the subject of good-natured banter among clubmembers for devotion to his first-born. 

I saw Adderly's object was more to get away from the traders' argumentsthan to answer me; and I returned the insolent challenge of hisunconcealed yawn in the faces of the elder men by drawing a chair up tothe company of McTavishes and Frobishers and McGillivrays and MacKenziesand other retired veterans of the north country. 

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen, " said I, "what were you saying to ColonelAdderly?"

"Talk of your military conquests, Sir, " my uncle continued, "Why, Sir, our men have transformed a wilderness into an empire. They have blazed apath from Labrador on the Atlantic to that rock on the Pacific, where myesteemed kinsman, Sir Alexander MacKenzie, left his inscription ofdiscovery. Mark my words, Sir, the day will come when the names of DavidThompson and Simon Fraser and Sir Alexander MacKenzie will rank higherin English annals than Braddock's and----"

"Egad!" laughed the officer, amused at my uncle, who had been a leadingspirit in the North-West Company and whose enthusiasm knew no bounds, "Egad! You gentlemen adventurers wouldn't need to have accomplished muchto eclipse Braddock. " And he paused with a questioning supercilioussmile. "Sir Alexander was a first cousin of yours, was he not?"

My uncle flushed hotly. That slighting reference to gentlemenadventurers, with just a perceptible emphasis of the _adventurers_, wasnot to his taste. 

"Pardon me, Sir, " said he stiffly, "you forget that by the terms oftheir charter, the Ancient and Honorable Hudson's Bay Company have theprivilege of being known as gentlemen adventurers. And by the Lord, Sir, 'tis a gentleman adventurer and nothing else, that stock-jobbingscoundrel of a Selkirk has proved himself! And he, sir, was neitherNor'-Wester, nor Canadian, but an Englishman, like the commander of theCitadel. " My uncle puffed out these last words in the nature of adefiance to the English officer, whose cheeks took on a deeper purplishshade; but he returned the charge good-humoredly enough. 

"Nonsense, MacKenzie, my good friend, " laughed he patronizingly, "if theRight Honorable, the Earl of Selkirk, were such an adventurer, why thedeuce did the Beaver Club down at Montreal receive him with open mouthsand open arms and----"

"And open hearts, Sir, you may say, " interrupted my Uncle MacKenzie. "And I'd thank you not to 'good-friend' me, " he added tartly. 

Now, the Beaver Club was an organization at Nor'-Westers renowned forits hospitality. Founded in 1785, originally composed of but nineteenmembers and afterwards extended only to men who had served in the _Paysd'En Haut_, it soon acquired a reputation for entertaining in regalstyle. Why the vertebrae of colonial gentlemen should sometimes lose theindependent, upright rigidity of self-respect on contact with old worldnobility, I know not. But instantly, Colonel Adderly's reference to LordSelkirk and the Beaver Club called up the picture of a banquet inMontreal, when I was a lad of seven, or thereabouts. I had been trickedout in some Highland costume especially pleasing to the Earl--cap, kilts, dirk and all--and was taken by my Uncle Jack MacKenzie to theBeaver Club. Here, in a room, that glittered with lights, was a tablesteaming with things, which caught and held my boyish eyes; and allabout were crowds of guests, gentlemen, who had been invited in thequaint language of the club, "To discuss the merits of bear, beaver andvenison. " The great Sir Alexander MacKenzie, with his title fresh fromthe king, and his feat of exploring the river now known by his name andpushing through the mountain fastnesses to the Pacific on all men'slips--was to my Uncle Jack's right. Simon Fraser and David Thompson andother famous explorers, who were heroes to my imagination, were theretoo. In these men and what they said of their wonderful voyages I wasfar more interested than in the young, keen-faced man with a tie, thatcame up in ruffles to his ears, and with an imperial decoration on hisbreast, which told me he was Lord Selkirk. 

I remember when the huge salvers and platters were cleared away, I wasplaced on the table to execute the sword dance. I must have acquittedmyself with some credit; for the gentlemen set up a prodigious clapping, though I recall nothing but a snapping of my fingers, a wave of my capand a whirl of lights and faces around my dizzy head. Then my uncle tookme between his knees, promising to let me sit up to the end if I weregood, and more wine was passed. 

"That's enough for you, you young cub, " says my kinsman, promptlyinverting the wine-glass before me. 

"O Uncle MacKenzie, " said I with a wry face, "do you measure your ownwine so?"

Whereat, the noble Earl shouted, "Bravo! here's for you, Mr. MacKenzie. "

And all the gentlemen set up a laugh and my uncle smiled and called tothe butler, "Here, Johnson, toddy for one, glass of hot water, pure, forother. "

But when Johnson brought back the glasses, I observed Uncle MacKenziekept the toddy. "There, my boy, there's Adam's ale for you, " said he, and into the glass of hot water he popped a peppermint lozenge. 

"Fie!" laughed Sir Alexander to my uncle's right, "Fie to cheat thelittle man!"

"His is the best wine of the cellar, " vowed His Lordship; and I drank mypeppermint with as much gusto and self-importance as any man of them. 

Then followed toasts, such a list of toasts as only men inured to testsof strength could take. Ironical toasts to the North-West Passage, whosemyth Sir Alexander had dispelled; toasts to the discoverer of theMacKenzie River, which brought storms of applause that shook the house;toasts to "our distinguished guest, " whose suave response disarmed allsuspicion; toasts to the "Northern winterers, " poor devils, who wereserving the cause by undergoing a life-long term of Arctic exile; toaststo "the merry lads of the north, " who only served in the ranks withoutattaining to the honor of partnership; toasts enough, in all conscience, to drown the memory of every man present. Thanks to my Uncle JackMacKenzie, all my toasts were taken in peppermint, and the picture in mymind of that banquet is as clear to-day as it was when I sat at thetable. What would I not give to be back at the Beaver Club, living itall over again and hearing Sir Alexander MacKenzie with his flashinghero-eyes and quick, passionate gestures, recounting that wonderfulvoyage of his with a sulky crew into a region of hostiles; telling ofthose long interminable winters of Arctic night, when the great explorersounded the depths of utter despair in service for the company and knewnot whether he faced madness or starvation; and thrilling the wholeassembly with a description of his first glimpse of the Pacific! Perhapsit was what I heard that night--who can tell--that drew me to the wildlife of after years. But I was too young, then, to recognize fully thegreatness of those men. Indeed, my country was then and is yet tooyoung; for if their greatness be recognized, it is forgotten andunhonored. 

I think I must have fallen asleep on my uncle's knee; for I nextremember sleepily looking about and noticing that many of the gentlemenhad slid down in their chairs and with closed eyes were breathingheavily. Others had slipped to the floor and were sound asleep. Thisshocked me and I was at once wide awake. My uncle was sitting very erectand his arm around my waist had the tight grasp that usually precededsome sharp rebuke. I looked up and found his face grown suddenly so hardand stern, I was all affright lest my sleeping had offended him. Hiseyes were fastened on Lord Selkirk with a piercing, angry gaze. HisLordship was not nodding, not a bit of it. How brilliant he seemed to mychildish fancy! He was leaning forward, questioning those Nor'-Westers, who had received him with open arms, and open hearts. And the wine hadmounted to the head of the good Nor'-Westers and they were now alsoreceiving the strange nobleman with open mouths, pouring out to him afull account of their profits, the extent of the vast, unknown gamepreserve, and how their methods so far surpassed those of the Hudson'sBay, their rival's stock had fallen in value from 250 to 50 per cent. 

The more information they gave, the more His Lordship plied them withquestions. 

"I must say, " whispered Uncle Jack to Sir Alexander MacKenzie, "if anyHudson's Bay man asked such pointed questions on North-West business, I'd give myself the pleasure of ejecting him from this room. "

Then, I knew his anger was against Lord Selkirk and not against me forsleeping. 

"Nonsense, " retorted Sir Alexander, who had cut active connection withthe Nor'-Westers some years before, "there's no ground for suspicion. "But he seemed uneasy at the turn things had taken. 

"Has your Lordship some colonization scheme that you ask such pointedquestions?" demanded my uncle, addressing the Earl. The nobleman turnedquickly to him and said something about the Highlanders and PrinceEdward's Island, which I did not understand. The rest of that eveningfades from my thoughts; for I was carried home in Mr. Jack MacKenzie'sarms. 

And all these things happened some ten or twelve years before that wordysword-play between this same uncle of mine and the English colonel fromthe Citadel. 

"We erred, Sir, through too great hospitality, " my uncle was saying tothe colonel. "How could we know that Selkirk would purchase controllinginterest in Hudson's Bay stock? How could we know he'd secure a landgrant in the very heart of our domain?"

"I don't object to his land, nor to his colonists, nor to his dower ofponies and muskets and bayonets to every mother's son of them, " broke inanother of the retired traders, "but I do object to his drilling thosesame colonists, to his importing a field battery and bringing out thatlittle ram of a McDonell from the Army to egg the settlers on! It's badenough to pillage our fort; but this proclamation to expel Nor'-Westersfrom what is claimed as Hudson's Bay Territory----"

"Just listen to this, " cries my uncle pulling out a copy of theobnoxious proclamation and reading aloud an order for the expulsion ofall rivals to the Hudson's Bay Company from the northern territory. 

"Where can Hamilton be?" said I, losing interest in the traders' quarrelas soon as they went into details. 

"Home with his wifie, " half sneered the officer in a nagging way, thatirritated me, though the remark was, doubtless, true. "Home with hiswifie, " he repeated in a sing-song, paying no attention to theelucidation of a subject he had raised. "Good old man, Hamilton, butsince marriage, utterly gone to the bad!"

"To the what?" I queried, taking him up short. This officer, with thepudding cheeks and patronizing insolence, had a provoking trick ofalways keeping just inside the bounds of what one might resent. "To thewhat, did you say Hamilton had gone?"

"To the domestics, " says he laughing, then to the others, as if he hadlistened to every word of the explanations, "and if His LittleExcellency, Governor MacDonell, by the grace of Lord Selkirk, ruler overgentlemen adventurers in no-man's-land, expels the good Nor'-Westersfrom nowhere to somewhere else, what do the good Nor'-Westers intenddoing to the Little Tyrant?"

"Charles the First him, " responds a wag of the club. 

"Where's your Cromwell?" laughs the colonel. 

"Our Cromwell's a Cameron, temper of a Lucifer, oaths before action, "answers the wag. 

"Tuts!" exclaims Uncle Jack testily. "We'll settle His Lordship's littlemartinet of the plains. Warrant for his arrest! Fetch him out!"

"Warrant 43rd King George III. Will do it, " added one of the partnerswho had looked the matter up. 

"43rd King George III. Doesn't give jurisdiction for trial in LowerCanada, if offense be committed elsewhere, " interjects a lawyer withshow of importance. 

"A Daniel come to judgment, " laughs the colonel, winking as my uncle'swrath rose. 

"Pah!" says Mr. Jack MacKenzie in disgust, stamping on the floor withboth feet. "You lawyers needn't think you'll have your pickings when furcompanies quarrel. We'll ship him out, that's all. Neither of thecompanies wants to advertise its profits--"

"Or its methods--ahem!" interjects the colonel. 

"And its private business, " adds my uncle, looking daggers at Adderly, "by going to court. "

Then they all rose to go to the dining-room; and as I stepped out tohave a look down the street for Hamilton, I heard Colonel Adderly's lastfling--"Pretty rascals, you gentlemen adventurers are, so shy and coyabout law courts. "

It was a dark night, with a few lonely stars in mid-heaven, a sicklemoon cutting the horizon cloud-rim and a noisy March wind that bodedsnow from The Labrador, or sleet from the Gulf. 

When Eric Hamilton left the Hudson's Bay Company's service at YorkFactory on Hudson Bay and came to live in Quebec, I was but a student atLaval. It was at my Uncle MacKenzie's that I met the tall, dark, sinewy, taciturn man, whose influence was to play such a strange part in mylife; and when these two talked of their adventures in the far, loneland of the north, I could no more conceal my awe-struck admiration thana girl could on first discovering her own charms in a looking-glass. Ithink he must have noticed my boyish reverence, for once he condescendedto ask about the velvet cap and green sash and long blue coat which madeup the Laval costume, and in a moment I was talking to him as volubly asif he were the boy and I, the great Hudson's Bay trader. 

"It makes me feel quite like a boy again, " he had said on resumingconversation with Mr. MacKenzie. "By Jove! Sir, I can hardly realize Iwent into that country a lad of fifteen, like your nephew, and here Iam, out of it, an old man. "

"Pah, Eric man, " says my uncle, "you'll be finding a wife one of thesedays and renewing your youth. "

"Uncle, " I broke out when the Hudson's Bay man had gone home, "how oldis Mr. Hamilton?"

"Fifteen years older than you are, boy, and I pray Heaven you may havehalf as much of the man in you at thirty as he has, " returns my unclementally measuring me with that stern eye of his. At that information, my heart gave a curious, jubilant thud. Henceforth, I no longer lookedupon Mr. Hamilton with the same awe that a choir boy entertains for abishop. Something of comradeship sprang up between us, and before thatyear had passed we were as boon companions as man and boy could be. ButHamilton presently spoiled it all by fulfilling my uncle's predictionand finding a wife, a beautiful, fair-haired, frail slip of a girl, nearenough the twenties to patronize me and too much of the young lady tofind pleasure in an awkward lad. That meant an end to our rides andwalks and sails down the St. Lawrence and long evening talks; but I tookmy revenge by assuming the airs of a man of forty, at which Hamiltonquizzed me not a little and his wife, Miriam, laughed. When I surprisedthem all by jumping suddenly from boyhood to manhood--"like a tadpoleinto a mosquito, " as my Uncle Jack facetiously remarked. Meanwhile, ason and heir came to my friend's home and I had to be thankful for ahumble third place. 

And so it came that I was waiting for Eric's arrival at the Quebec Clubthat night, peering from the porch for sight of him and calculating howlong it would take to ride from the Chateau Bigot above Charlesbourg, where he was staying. Stepping outside, I was surprised to see the formof a horse beneath the lantern of the arched gateway; and my surpriseincreased on nearer inspection. As I walked up, the creature gave awhinny and I recognized Hamilton's horse, lathered with sweat, unblanketed and shivering. The possibility of an accident hardlysuggested itself before I observed the bridle-rein had been slung overthe hitching-post and heard steps hurrying to the side door of theclub-house. 

"Is that you, Eric?" I called. 

There was no answer; so I led the horse to the stable boy and hurriedback to see if Hamilton were inside. The sitting room was deserted; butEric's well-known, tall figure was entering the dining-room. And acurious figure he presented to the questioning looks of the club men. Inone hand was his riding whip, in the other, his gloves. He wore thebuckskin coat of a trapper and in the belt were two pistols. One sleevewas torn from wrist to elbow and his boots were scratched as if they hadbeen combed by an iron rake. His broad-brimmed hat was still on, slouched down over his eyes like that of a scout. 

"Gad! Hamilton, " exclaimed Uncle Jack MacKenzie, who was facing Eric asI came up behind, "have you been in a race or a fight?" and he gave himthe look of suspicion one might give an intoxicated man. 

"Is it a cold night?" asked the colonel punctiliously, gazing hard atthe still-strapped hat. 

Not a word came from Hamilton. 

"How's the cold in your head?" continued Adderly, pompously trying tostare Hamilton's hat off. 

"Here I am, old man! What's kept you?" and I rushed forward but quicklychecked myself; for Hamilton turned slowly towards me and instead oferect bearing, clear glance, firm mouth, I saw a head that was bowed, eyes that burned like fire, and parched, parted, wordless lips. 

If the colonel had not been stuffing himself like the turkey guzzlerthat he was, he would have seen something unspeakably terrible writtenon Hamilton's silent face. 

"Did the little wifie let him off for a night's play?" sneered Adderly. 

Barely were the words out, when Hamilton's teeth clenched behind theopen lips, giving him an ugly, furious expression, strange to his face. He took a quick stride towards the officer, raised his whip and broughtit down with the full strength of his shoulder in one cutting blowacross the baggy, purplish cheeks of the insolent speaker. 

CHAPTER II

A STRONG MAN IS BOWED

The whole thing was so unexpected that for one moment not a man in theroom drew breath. Then the colonel sprang up with the bellow of anenraged bull, overturning the table in his rush, and a dozen clubmembers were pulling him back from Eric. 

"Eric Hamilton, are you mad?" I cried. "What do you mean?"

But Hamilton stood motionless as if he saw none of us. Except that hisbreath was labored, he wore precisely the same strange, distracted airhe had on entering the club. 

"Hold back!" I implored; for Adderly was striking right and left to getfree from the men. "Hold back! There's a mistake! Something's wrong!"

"Reptile!" roared the colonel. "Cowardly reptile, you shall pay forthis!"

"There's a mistake, " I shouted, above the clamor of exclamations. 

"Glad the mistake landed where it did, all the same, " whispered UncleJack MacKenzie in my ear, "but get him out of this. Drunk--or ascandal, " says my uncle, who always expressed himself in explosiveswhen excited. "Side room--here--lead him in--drunk--by Jove--drunk!"

"Never, " I returned passionately. I knew both Hamilton and his wife toowell to tolerate either insinuation. But we led him like a dazed beinginto a side office, where Mr. Jack MacKenzie promptly turned the key andtook up a posture with his back against the door. 

"Now, Sir, " he broke out sternly, "if it's neither drink, nor ascandal----" There, he stopped; for Hamilton, utterly unconscious of us, moved, rather than walked, automatically across the room. Throwing hishat down, he bowed his head over both arms above the mantel-piece. 

My uncle and I looked from the silent man to each other. Raising hisbrows in question, Mr. Jack MacKenzie touched his forehead and whisperedacross to me--"Mad?"

At that, though the word was spoken barely above a breath, Eric turnedslowly round and faced us with blood-shot, gleaming eyes. He made asthough he would speak, sank into the armchair before the grate andpressed both hands against his forehead. 

"Mad, " he repeated in a voice low as a moan, framing his words slowlyand with great effort. "By Jove, men, you should know me better than tomouth such rot under your breath. To-night, I'd sell my soul, sell mysoul to be mad, really mad, to know that all I think has happened, hadn't happened at all--" and his speech was broken by a sharp intake ofbreath. 

"Out with it, man, for the Lord's sake, " shouted my uncle, now convincedthat Eric was not drunk and jumping to conclusions--as he was wont to dowhen excited--regarding a possible scandal. 

"Out with it, man! We'll stand by you! Has that blasted red-facedturkey----"

"Pray, spare your histrionics, for the present, " Eric cut in with theicy self-possession bred by a lifetime's danger, dispelling my uncle'ssecond suspicion with a quiet scorn that revealed nothing. 

"What the----" began my kinsman, "what did you strike him for?"

"Did I strike somebody?" asked Hamilton absently. 

Again my uncle flashed a questioning look at me, but this time his faceshowed his conviction so plainly no word was needed. 

"Did I strike somebody? Wish you'd apologize----"

"Apologize!" thundered my uncle. "I'll do nothing of the kind. Servedhim right. 'Twas a pretty way, a pretty way, indeed, to speak of anyman's wife----" But the word "wife" had not been uttered before Ericthrew out his hands in an imploring gesture. 

"Don't!" he cried out sharply in the suffering tone of a man under theoperating knife. "Don't! It all comes back! It is true! It is true! Ican't get away from it! It is no nightmare. My God, men, how can I tellyou? There's no way of saying it! It is impossible--preposterous--somemonstrous joke--it's quite impossible I tell you--it couldn't havehappened--such things don't happen--couldn't happen--to her--of allwomen! But she's gone--she's gone----"

"See here, Hamilton, " cried my uncle, utterly beside himself withexcitement, "are we to understand you are talking of your wife, or--orsome other woman?"

"See here, Hamilton, " I reiterated, quite heedless of the brutality ofour questions and with a thousand wild suspicions flashing into my mind. "Is it your wife, Miriam, and your boy?"

But he heard neither of us. 

"They were there--they waved to me from the garden at the edge of thewoods as I entered the forest. Only this morning, both waving to me as Irode away--and when I returned from the city at noon, they were gone! Ilooked to the window as I came back. The curtain moved and I thought myboy was hiding, but it was only the wind. We've searched every nook fromcellar to attic. His toys were littered about and I fancied I heard hisvoice everywhere, but no! No--no--and we've been hunting house andgarden for hours----"

"And the forest?" questioned Uncle Jack, the trapper instinct of formerdays suddenly re-awakening. 

"The forest is waist-deep with snow! Besides we beat through the busheverywhere, and there wasn't a track, nor broken twig, where they couldhave passed. " His torn clothes bore evidence to the thoroughness of thatsearch. 

"Nonsense, " my uncle burst out, beginning to bluster. "They've beendriven to town without leaving word!"

"No sleigh was at Chateau Bigot this morning, " returned Hamilton. 

"But the road, Eric?" I questioned, recalling how the old manor-housestood well back in the center of a cleared plateau in the forest. "Couldn't they have gone down the road to those Indian encampments?"

"The road is impassable for sleighs, let alone walking, and their winterwraps are all in the house. For Heaven's sake, men, suggest something!Don't madden me with these useless questions!"

But in spite of Eric's entreaty my excitable kinsman subjected thefrenzied man to such a fire of questions as might have sublimatedpre-natal knowledge. And I stood back listening and pieced thedistracted, broken answers into some sort of coherency till the wholetragic scene at the Chateau on that spring day of the year 1815, becameineffaceably stamped on my memory. 

Causeless, with neither warning nor the slightest premonition of danger, the greatest curse which can befall a man came upon my friend EricHamilton. However fond a husband may be, there are things worse for hiswife than death which he may well dread, and it was one of thesetragedies which almost drove poor Hamilton out of his reason and changedthe whole course of my own life. In broad daylight, his young wife andinfant son disappeared as suddenly and completely as if blotted out ofexistence. 

That morning, Eric light-heartedly kissed wife and child good-by andwaved them a farewell that was to be the last. He rode down the windingforest path to Quebec and they stood where the Chateau garden mergedinto the forest of Charlesbourg Mountain. At noon, when he returned, forhim there existed neither wife nor child. For any trace of them thatcould be found, both might have been supernaturally spirited away. Thegreat house, that had re-echoed to the boy's prattle, was deathly still;and neither wife, nor child, answered his call. The nurse was summoned. She was positive _Madame_ was amusing the boy across the hall, andreassuringly bustled off to find mother and son in the next room, andthe next, and yet the next; to discover each in succession empty. 

Alarm spread to the Chateau servants. The simple _habitant_ maids werequestioned, but their only response was white-faced, blank amazement. 

_Madame_ not returned!

_Madame_ not back!

Mon Dieu! What had happened? And all the superstition of hillside loreadded to the fear on each anxious face. Shortly after Monsieur went tothe city, _Madame_ had taken her little son out as usual for a morningairing, and had been seen walking up and down the paths tracked throughthe garden snow. Had _Monsieur_ examined the clearing between the houseand the forest? _Monsieur_ could see for himself the snow was too deepand crusty among the trees for _Madame_ to go twenty paces into thewoods. Besides, foot-marks could be traced from the garden to the bush. He need not fear wild animals. They were receding into the mountains asspring advanced. Let him take another look about the open; and Hamiltontore out-doors, followed by the whole household; but from the Chateau inthe center of the glade to the encircling border of snow-ladenevergreens there was no trace of wife or child. 

Then Eric laughed at his own growing fears. Miriam must be in the house. So the search of the old hall, that had once resounded to the drunkentread of gay French grandees, began again. From hidden chamber in thevaulted cellar to attic rooms above, not a corner of the Chateau wasleft unexplored. Had any one come and driven her to the city? But thatwas impossible. The roads were drifted the height of a horse and therewere no marks of sleigh runners on either side of the riding path. Couldshe possibly have ventured a few yards down the main road to anencampment of Indians, whose squaws after Indian custom made much of thewhite baby? Neither did that suggestion bring relief; for the Indianshad broken camp early in the morning and there was only a dirty patch oflittered snow, where the wigwams had been. 

The alarm now became a panic. Hamilton, half-crazed and unable tobelieve his own senses, began wondering whether he had nightmare. Hethought he might waken up presently and find the dead weight smotheringhis chest had been the boy snuggling close. He was vaguely conscious itwas strange of him to continue sleeping with that noise of shouting menand whining hounds and snapping branches going on in the forest. Thechild's lightest cry generally broke the spell of a nightmare; but thedin of terrified searchers rushing through the woods and of echoesrolling eerily back from the white hills convinced him this was nodream-land. Then, the distinct crackle of trampled brushwood and thescratch of spines across his face called him back to an unendurablereality. 

"The thing is utterly impossible, Hamilton, " I cried, when in shortjerky sentences, as if afraid to give thought rein, he had answered myuncle's questioning. "Impossible! Utterly impossible!"

"I would to God it were!" he moaned. 

"It was daylight, Eric?" asked Mr. Jack MacKenzie. 

He nodded moodily. 

"And she couldn't be lost in Charlesbourg forest?" I added, taking upthe interrogations where my uncle left off. 

"No trace--not a footprint!"

"And you're quite sure she isn't in the house?" replied my relative. 

"Quite!" he answered passionately. 

"And there was an Indian encampment a few yards down the road?"continued Mr. MacKenzie, undeterred. 

"Oh! What has that to do with it?" he asked petulantly, springing to hisfeet. "They'd moved off long before I went back. Besides, Indians don'trun off with white women. Haven't I spent my life among them? I shouldknow their ways!"

"But my dear fellow!" responded the elder trader, "so do I know theirways. If she isn't in the Chateau and isn't in the woods and isn't inthe garden, can't you see, the Indian encampment is the only possibleexplanation?"

The lines on his face deepened. Fire flashed from his gleaming eyes, andif ever I have seen murder written on the countenance of man, it was onHamilton's. 

"What tribe were they, anyway?" I asked, trying to speak indifferently, for every question was knife-play on a wound. 

"Mongrel curs, neither one thing nor the other, Iroquois canoemen, French half-breeds intermarried with Sioux squaws! They're all connectedwith the North-West Company's crews. The Nor'-Westers leave here forFort William when the ice breaks up. This riff-raff will follow in theirown dug-outs!"

"Know any of them?" persisted my uncle. 

"No, I don't think I--Let me see! By Jove! Yes, Gillespie!" he shouted, "Le Grand Diable was among them!"

"What about Diable?" I asked, pinning him down to the subject, for hismind was lost in angry memories. 

"What about him? He's my one enemy among the Indians, " he answered intones thick and ominously low. "I thrashed him within an inch of hislife at Isle à la Crosse. Being a Nor'-Wester, he thought it fine gameto pillage the kit of a Hudson's Bay; so he stole a silver-mountedfowling-piece which my grandfather had at Culloden. By Jove, Gillespie!The Nor'-Westers have a deal of blood to answer for, stirring up thoseIndians against traders; and if they've brought this on me----"

"Did you get it back?" I interrupted, referring to the fowling-piece, neither my uncle, nor I, offering any defense for the Nor'-Westers. Iknew there were two sides to this complaint from a Hudson's Bay man. 

"No! That's why I nearly finished him; but the more I clubbed, the morehe jabbered impertinence, '_Cooloo! cooloo! qu' importe!_ It doesn'tmatter!' By Jove! I made it matter!"

"Is that all about Diable, Eric?" continued my uncle. 

He ran his fingers distractedly back through his long, black hair, rose, and, coming over to me, laid a trembling hand on each shoulder. 

"Gillespie!" he muttered through hard-set teeth. "It isn't all. I didn'tthink at the time, but the morning after the row with that red devil Ifound a dagger stuck on the outside of my hut-door. The point wasthrough a fresh sprouted leaflet. A withered twig hung over the blade. "

"Man! Are you mad?" cried Jack MacKenzie. "He must be the very devilhimself. You weren't married then--He couldn't mean----"

"I thought it was an Indian threat, " interjected Hamilton, "that if Ihad downed him in the fall, when the branches were bare, he meant tohave his revenge in spring when the leaves were green; but you know Ileft the country that fall. "

"You were wrong, Eric!" I blurted out impetuously, the terriblesignificance of that threat dawning upon me. "That wasn't the meaning atall. "

Then I stopped; for Hamilton was like a palsied man, and no one askedwhat those tokens of a leaflet pierced by a dagger and an old branchhanging to the knife might mean. 

Mr. Jack MacKenzie was the first to pull himself together. 

"Come, " he shouted. "Gather up your wits! To the camping ground!" and hethrew open the door. 

Thereupon, we three flung through the club-room to the astonishment ofthe gossips, who had been waiting outside for developments in thequarrel with Colonel Adderly. At the outer porch, Hamilton laid a handon Mr. MacKenzie's shoulder. 

"Don't come, " he begged hurriedly. "There's a storm blowing. It's roughweather, and a rough road, full of drifts! Make my peace with the man Istruck. "

Then Eric and I whisked out into the blackness of a boisterous, windynight. A moment later, our horses were dashing over iced cobble-stoneswith the clatter of pistol-shots. 

"It will snow, " said I, feeling a few flakes driven through the darknessagainst my face; but to this remark Hamilton was heedless. 

"It will snow, Eric, " I repeated. "The wind's veered north. We must getout to the camp before all traces are covered. How far by the Beauportroad?"

"Five miles, " said he, and I knew by the sudden scream and plunge of hishorse that spurs were dug into raw sides. We turned down that steep, break-neck, tortuous street leading from Upper Town to the valley of theSt. Charles. The wet thaw of mid-day had frozen and the road wasslippery as a toboggan slide. We reined our horses in tightly, toprevent a perilous stumbling of fore-feet, and by zigzagging from sideto side managed to reach the foot of the hill without a single fall. Here, we again gave them the bit; and we were presently thunderingacross the bridge in a way that brought the keeper out cursing andyelling for his toll. I tossed a coin over my shoulder and we gallopedup the elm-lined avenue leading to that Charlesbourg retreat, whereFrench Bacchanalians caroused before the British conquest, passed thethatch-roofed cots of _habitants_ and, turning suddenly to the right, followed a seldom frequented road, where snow was drifted heavily. Herewe had to slacken pace, our beasts sinking to their haunches andsnorting through the white billows like a modern snow-plow. 

Hamilton had spoken not a word. 

Clouds were massing on the north. Overhead a few stars glittered againstthe black, and the angry wind had the most mournful wail I have everheard. How the weird undertones came like the cries of a tortured child, and the loud gusts with the shriek of demons!

"Gillespie, " called Eric's voice tremulous with anguish, "listen--Rufus--listen! Do you hear anything? Do you hear any onecalling for help? Is that a child crying?"

"No, Eric, old man, " said I, shivering in my saddle. "I hear--I hearnothing at all but the wind. "

But my hesitancy belied the truth of that answer; for we both heardsounds, which no one can interpret but he whose well beloved is lost inthe storm. 

And the wind burst upon us again, catching my empty denial and tossingthe words to upper air with eldritch laughter. Then there was a lull, and I felt rather than heard the choking back of stifled moans and knewthat the man by my side, who had held iron grip of himself before othereyes, was now giving vent to grief in the blackness of night. 

At last a red light gleamed from the window of a low cot. That was thesignal for us to turn abruptly to the left, entering the forest by anarrow bridle-path that twisted among the cedars. As if to look down inpity, the moon shone for a moment above the ragged edge of a stormcloud, and all the snow-laden evergreens stood out stately, shadowy andspectral, like mourners for the dead. 

Again the road took to right-about at a sharp angle and the broadChateau, with its noble portico and numerous windows all alight, suddenly loomed up in the center of a forest-clearing on the mountainside. Where the path to the garden crossed a frozen stream was a smallopen space. Here the Indians had been encamped. We hallooed for servantsand by lantern light examined every square inch of the smoked snow andrubbish heaps. Bits of tin in profusion, stones for the fire, tentcanvas, ends of ropes and tattered rags lay everywhere over the blackpatch. Snow was beginning to fall heavily in great flakes that obscuredearth and air. Not a thing had we found to indicate any trace of thelost woman and child, until I caught sight of a tiny, blue stringbeneath a piece of rusty metal. Kicking the tin aside, I caught theribbon up. When I saw on the lower end a child's finely beaded moccasin, I confess I had rather felt the point of Le Grand Diable's dagger at myown heart than have shown that simple thing to Hamilton. 

Then the snow-storm broke upon us in white billows blotting outeverything. We spread a sheet on the ground to preserve any marks ofthe campers, but the drifting wind drove us indoors and we werecompelled to cease searching. All night long Eric and I sat before theroaring grate fire of the hunting-room, he leaning forward with chin inhis palms and saying few words, I offering futile suggestions anduttering mad threats, but both utterly at a loss what to do. We knewenough of Indian character to know what not to do. That was, raise anoutcry, which might hasten the cruelty of Le Grand Diable. 

CHAPTER III. 

NOVICE AND EXPERT. 

Though many years have passed since that dismal storm in the spring of1815, when Hamilton and I spent a long disconsolate night of enforcedwaiting, I still hear the roaring of the northern gale, driving roundthe house-corners as if it would wrench all eaves from the roof. Itshrieked across the garden like malignant furies, rushed with the boomof a sea through the cedars and pines, and tore up the mountain slopetill all the many voices of the forest were echoing back a thousandtumultuous discords. Again, I see Hamilton gazing at the leaping flamesof the log fire, as if their frenzied motion reflected something of hisown burning grief. Then, the agony of our utter helplessness, as long asthe storm raged, would prove too great for his self-control. Rising, hewould pace back and forward the full length of the hunting-room till hiseye would be caught by some object with which the boy had played. Hewould put this carefully away, as one lays aside the belongings of thedead. Afterwards, lanterns, which we had placed on the oak center tableon coming in, began to smoke and give out a pungent, burning smell, andeach of us involuntarily walked across to a window and drew aside thecurtains to see how daylight was coming on. The white glare of earlymorning flooded the room, but the snow-storm had changed to drivingsleet and the panes were iced from corner to corner with frozenrain-drift. How we dragged through two more days, while the gale ravedwith unabated fury, I do not know. Poor Eric was for rushing into theblinding whirl, that turned earth and air into one white tornado; but hecould not see twice the length of his own arm, and we prevailed on himto come back. On the third night, the wind fell like a thing that hadfretted out its strength. Morning revealed an ocean of billowy drifts, crusted over by the frozen sleet and reflecting a white dazzle that madeone's eyes blink. Great icicles hung from the naked branches of thesheeted pines and snow was wreathed in fantastic forms among the cedars. 

We had laid our plans while we waited. After lifting the canvas from thecamping-ground and seeking in vain for more trace of the fugitives, wedespatched a dozen different search-parties that very morning, Ericleading those who were to go on the river-side of the Chateau, and Isome well-trained bushrangers picked from the _habitants_ of thehillside, who could track the forest to every Indian haunt within aweek's march of the city. After putting my men on a trail withinstructions to send back an Indian courier to report each night, Ihunted up an old _habitant_ guide, named Paul Larocque, who had oftenhelped me to thread the woods of Quebec after big game. Now Paul washabitually as silent as a dumb animal, and sportsmen had nicknamed himThe Mute; but what he lacked in speech he made up like other wildcreatures in a wonderful acuteness of eye and ear. Indeed, it wascommonly believed among trappers that Paul possessed some nameless senseby which he could actually _feel_ the presence of an enemy beforeordinary men could either see, or hear. For my part, I would be willingto pit that "feel" of Paul's against the nose of any hound thatdog-fanciers could back. 

"Paul, " said I, as the _habitant_ stood before me licking the short stemof an inverted clay pipe, "there's an Indian, a bad Indian, an Iroquois, Paul, "--I was particular in describing the Indian as an Iroquois, forPaul's wife was a Huron from Lorette--"An Iroquois, who stole a whitewoman and a little boy from the Chateau three days ago, in the morning. "

There, I paused to let the facts soak in; for The Mute digestedinformation in small morsels. Grizzled, stunted and chunky, he was notat all the picturesque figure which fancy has painted of his class. Instead of the red toque, which artists place on the heads of_habitants_, he wore a cloth cap with ear flaps coming down to be tiedunder his chin. His jacket was an ill-fitting garment, the cast-off coatof some well-to-do man, and his trousers slouched in ample folds abovebrightly beaded moccasins. When I paused, Paul fixed his eyes on aninvisible spot in the snow and ruminated. Then he hitched the baggytrousers up, pulled the red scarf, that held them to his waist, tighter, and, taking his eyes off the snow, looked up for me to go on. 

"That Iroquois, who belongs to the North-West trappers----"

"_Pays d'En Haut?_" asks Paul, speaking for the first time. 

"Yes, " I answered, "and they all disappeared with the woman and thechild the day before the storm. "

The Mute's eyes were back on the snow. 

"Now, " said I, "I'll make you a rich man if you take me straight to theplace where he's hiding. "

Paul's eyes looked up with the question of how much. 

"Five pounds a day. " This was four more than we paid for the cariboohunts. 

Again he stood thinking, then darted off into the forest like a hare;but I knew his strange, silent ways, and confidently awaited his return. How he could get two pair of snow-shoes and two poles inside of fiveminutes, I do not attempt to explain, unless some of his numeroushalf-breed youngsters were at hand in the woods; but he was back againall equipped for a long tramp, and as soon as I had laced on theracquets, we were skimming over the drift like a boat on billows. In themazy confusion of snow and underbrush, no one but Paul would have foundand kept that tangled, forest path. Where great trunks had fallen acrossthe way, Paul planted his pole and took the barrier at a bound. Then heraced on at a gait which was neither a run nor a walk, but an easy trotcommon to the _coureurs-des-bois_. The encased branches snapped likeglass when we brushed past, and so heavily were snow and icicles frozento the trees we might have been in some grotesque crystal-walled cavern. The _habitant_ spoke not a word, but on we pressed over the brushwood, now so packed with snow and crusted ice, our snow-shoes were not oncetripped by loose branches, and we glided from drift to drift. In vain Itried to discern a trail by the broken thicket on either side, and Inoticed that my guide was keeping his course by following the marksblazed on trees. At one place we came to a steep, clear slope, where theearth had fallen sheer away from the hillside and snow had filled theincline. First prodding forward to feel if the snow-bank were solid, Paul promptly sat down on the rear end of his snow-shoes, and, quickerthan I can tell it, tobogganed down to the valley. I came leapingclumsily from point to point with my pole, like a ski-jumping Norwegian, risking my neck at every bound. Then we coursed along the valley, the_habitant's_ eyes still on the trees, and once he stopped to emit agurgling laugh at a badly hacked trunk, beneath which was a snowed-upsap trough; but I could not divine whether Paul's mirth were over aprospect of sugaring-off in the maple-woods, or at some foolish_habitant_ who had tapped the maple too early. How often had I known myguide to exhaust city athletes in these swift marches of his! But I hadbeen schooled to his pace from boyhood and kept up with him at everystep, though we were going so fast I lost all track of my bearings. 

"Where to, Paul?" I asked with a vague suspicion that we were headingfor the Huron village at Lorette. "To Lorette, Paul?"

But Paul condescended only a grunt and whisked suddenly round a headlandup a narrow gorge, which seemed to lead to the very heart of themountains and might have sheltered any number of fugitives. In the gorgewe stopped to take a light meal of gingerbread horses--a cake that isthe peculiar glory of the _habitant_--dried herrings and sea biscuits. By the sun, I knew it was long past noon and that we had been travelingnorthwest. I also vaguely guessed that Paul's object was to interceptthe North-West trappers, if they had planned to slip away from the St. Lawrence through the bush to the Upper Ottawa, where they could meetnorth-bound boats. But not one syllable had my taciturn guide uttered. Clambering up the steep, snowy banks of the gorge, we found ourselves inthe upper reaches of a mountain, where the trees fell away in scraggyclumps and the snow stretched up clear and unbroken to the hill-crest. Paul grunted, licked his pipe-stem significantly and pointed his pole tothe hill-top. The dark peak of a solitary wigwam appeared above thesnow. He pointed again to the fringe of woods below us. A dozen wigwamswere visible among the trees and smoke curled up from a centralcamp-fire. 

"_Voilà, Monsieur?_" said the _habitant_, which made four words for thatday. 

The Mute then fell to my rear and we first approached the general camp. The campers were evidently thieves as well as hunters; for frozen porkhung with venison from the branches of several trees. The sap troughmight also have belonged to them, which would explain Paul's laugh, asthe whole paraphernalia of a sugaring-off was on the outskirts of theencampment. 

"Not the Indians we're after, " said I, noting the signs of permanency;but Paul Larocque shoved me forward with the end of his pole and acurious, almost intelligent, expression came on the dull, pock-pittedface. Strangely enough, as I looked over my shoulder to the guide, Icaught sight of an Indian figure climbing up the bank in our verytracks. The significance of this incident was to reveal itself later. 

As usual, a pack of savage dogs flew out to announce our coming withfurious barking. But I declare the _habitant_ was so much like anyragged Indian, the creatures recognized him and left off their vicioussnarl. Only the shrill-voiced children, who rushed from the wigwams;evinced either surprise or interest in our arrival. Men and women werehaunched about the fire, above which simmered several pots with thesavory odor of cooking meat. I do not think a soul of the company asmuch as turned a head on our approach. Though they saw us plainly, theysat stolid and imperturbable, after the manner of their race, waitingfor us to announce ourselves. Some of the squaws and half-breed womenwere heaping bark on the fire. Indians sat straight-backed round thecircle. White men, vagabond trappers from anywhere and everywhere, layin all variety of lazy attitudes on buffalo robes and caribou skins. 

I had known, as every one familiar with Quebec's family histories mustknow, that the sons of old seigneurs sometimes inherited the adventurousspirit, which led their ancestors of three centuries ago to exchange thegayeties of the French court for the wild life of the new world. I was aware this spirit frequently transformed seigneursinto bush-rangers and descendants of the royal blood into_coureurs-des-bois_. But it is one thing to know a fact, another to seethat fact in living embodiment; and in this case, the living embodimentwas Louis Laplante, a school-fellow of Laval, whom, to my amazement, Inow saw, with a beard of some months' growth and clad in buckskin, lyingat full length on his back among that villainous band of nondescripttrappers. Something of the surprise I felt must have shown on my face, for as Louis recognized me he uttered a shout of laughter. 

"Hullo, Gillespie!" he called with the saucy nonchalance which made himboth a favorite and a torment at the seminary. "Are you among theprophets?" and he sat up making room for me on his buffalo robe. 

"I'll wager, Louis, " said I, shaking his hand heartily and accepting theproffered seat, "I'll wager it's prophets spelt with an 'f' brings youhere. " For the young rake had been one of the most notorious borrowersat the seminary. 

"Good boy!" laughed he, giving my shoulder a clap. "I see your time wasnot wasted with me. Now, what the devil, " he asked as I surveyed themotley throng of fat, coarse-faced squaws and hard-looking men whosurrounded him, "now, what the devil's brought you here?"

"What's the same, to yourself, Louis lad?" said I. He laughed the merry, heedless laugh that had been the distraction of the class-room. 

"Do you need to ask with such a galaxy of nut-brown maidens?" and Louislooked with the assurance of privileged impudence straight across thefire into the hideous, angry face of a big squaw, who was glaring at me. The creature was one to command attention. She might have been a great, bronze statue, a type of some ancient goddess, a symbol of fury, orcruelty. Her eyes fastened themselves on mine and held me, whether Iwould or no, while her whole face darkened. 

"The lady evidently objects to having her place usurped, Louis, " Iremarked, for he was watching the silent duel between the native woman'squestioning eyes and mine. 

"The gentleman wants to know if the lady objects to having her placeusurped?" called Louis to the squaw. 

At that the woman flinched and looked to Laplante. Of course, she didnot understand our words; but I think she was suspicious we werelaughing at her. There was a vindictive flash across her face, then theusual impenetrable expression of the Indian came over her features. Inoticed that her cheeks and forehead were scarred, and a cut had laidopen her upper lip from nose to teeth. 

"You must know that the lady is the daughter of a chief and a fighter, "whispered Louis in my ear. 

I might have known she was above common rank from the extraordinarynumber of trinkets she wore. Pendants hung from her ears like thependulum of a clock. She had a double necklace of polished bear's clawsand around her waist was a girdle of agates, which to me proclaimed thatshe was of a far-western tribe. In the girdle was an ivory-handledknife, which had doubtless given as many scars as its owner displayed. 

"What tribe, Louis?" I asked. 

"I'll be hanged, now, if I'm not jealous, " he began. "You'll stare thelady out of countenance----" But at this moment the Indian who had comeup the bank behind us came round and interrupted Laplante's merriment bytossing a piece of bethumbed paper between my comrade's knees. 

"The deuce!" exclaimed Louis, bulging his tongue into one cheek andglancing at me with a queer, quizzical look as he unfolded and read thepaper. 

If he had not spoken I might not have turned; but having turned I couldnot but notice two things. Louis jerked back from me, as if I might tryto read the soiled note in his hand, and in raising the paper displayedon the back the stamp of the commissariat department from QuebecCitadel. 

Neither Laplante's suppressed surprise, nor my observations of hismovement, escaped the big squaw. She came quickly round the fire to usboth. 

"Give me that, " she commanded, holding out her hand to the French youth. 

"The deuce I will, " he returned, twisting the paper up in his clenchedfist. Half in jest, half in earnest, just as Louis used to be punishedat the seminary, she gave him a prompt box on the ear. He took it inperfect good-nature. And the whole encampment laughed. The squaw wentback to the other side of the fire. Laplante leaned forward and threwthe paper towards the flames; but without his knowledge, he overshot themark; and when the trader was looking elsewhere the big squaw stooped, picked up the coveted note and slipped it into her skirt pocket. 

"Now, Louis, nonsense aside, " I began. 

"With all my soul, if I have one, " said he, lying back languidly with aperceptible cooling of the cordiality he had first evinced. 

I told him my errand, and that I wished to search every wigwam for traceof the lost woman and child. He listened with shut eyes. 

"It isn't, " I explained in a low voice, eager to arouse his interest, "it isn't in the least, Laplante, that we suspect these people; but youknow the kidnappers might have traded the clothing to your people----"

"Oh! Go ahead!" he interjected impatiently. "Don't beat round the bush!What do you want of me?"

"To go through the tents with me and help me. By Jove! Laplante! Ithought at least a spark of the man would suggest that without myspeaking, " I broke out hotly. 

He was on his feet with an alacrity that brought old Paul Larocque roundto my side and the squaw to his. 

"Curse you, " he cried out roughly, shoving the squaw back. For a momentI was uncertain whether he were addressing the woman or myself. "Youmind your own business and go to your Indian! Here, Gillespie, I'll dothe tents with you. Get off with you, " he muttered at the squaw, rumbling out a lingo of persuasive expletives; and he led the way to thefirst wigwam. 

But the squaw was not to be dismissed; for when I followed theFrenchman, she closed in behind looking thunder, not at her abuser, butat me; and The Mute, fearing foul play and pole in hand, loyally broughtup the rear of our strange procession. I shall not retail that searchthrough robes and skins and blankets and boxes, in foul-smelling, vermin-infested wigwams. It was fruitless. I only recall the loweringface of the big squaw looking over my shoulder at every turn, withheavy brows contracted and gashed lips grinning an evil, maliciouschallenge. I thought she kept her hands uncomfortably near the ivoryhandle in the agate belt; but Larocque, good fellow, never took hisbeady eyes off those same hands and kept a grip of the leaping pole. 

Thus we examined the tents and made a circuit of the people round thefire, but found nothing to reveal the whereabouts of Miriam and thechild. Laplante and I were on one side of the robe, Larocque and thesquaw on the other. 

"And why is that tent apart from the rest and who is in it?" I askedLaplante, pointing to the lone tepee on the crest of the hill. 

The fire cracked so loudly I became aware there was ominous silenceamong the loungers of the camp. They were listening as well as watching. Up to this time I had not thought they were paying the slightestattention to us. Laplante was not answering, and when I faced himsuddenly I found the squaw's eyes fastened on his, holding them whetherhe would or no, just as she had mine. 

"Eh! man?" I cried, seizing him fiercely, a nameless suspicion gettingpossession of me. "Why don't you answer?"

The spell was broken. He turned to me nonchalantly, as he used to faceaccusers in the school-days of long ago, and spoke almost gently, withdowncast eyes, and a quiet, deprecating smile. 

"You know, Rufus, " he answered, using the schoolboy name. "We shouldhave told you before. But remember we didn't invite you here. We didn'tlead you into it. "

"Well?" I demanded. 

"Well, " he replied in a voice too low for any of the listeners but thesquaw to hear, "there's a very bad case of smallpox up in that tent andwe're keeping the man apart till he gets better. That, in fact, is whywe're all here. You must go. It is not safe. "

"Thanks, Laplante, " said I. "Good-by. " But he did not offer me his handwhen I made to take leave. 

"Come, " he said. "I'll go as far as the gorge with you;" and he stood onthe embankment and waved as we passed into the lengthening shadows ofthe valley. 

Now, in these days of health officers and vaccination, people can haveno idea of the terrors of a smallpox scourge at the beginning of thiscentury. The _habitant_ is as indifferent to smallpox as to measles, andaccepts both as dispensations of Providence by exposing his children tothe contagion as early as possible; but I was not so minded, and hurrieddown the gorge as fast as my snow-shoes would carry me. Then Iremembered that the Indian population of the north had been reduced to askeleton of its former numbers by the pestilence in 1780, and recalledthat my Uncle Jack had said the native's superstitious dread of thisdisease knew no bounds. That recollection checked my sudden flight. Ifthe Indians had such fear, why had this band camped within a mile ofthe pest tent? It would be more like Indian character to reverseSamaritan practises and leave the victim to die. This man might, ofcourse, be a French-Canadian trapper, but I would take no risks of atrick, so I ordered Paul to lead me back to that tepee. 

The Mute seemed to understand I had no wish to be seen by the campers. He skirted round the base of the hill till we were on the side remotefrom the tribe. Then he motioned me to remain in the gorge while hescrambled up the cliff to reconnoitre. I knew he received a surprise assoon as his head was on a level with the top of the bank; for he curledhimself up behind a snow-pile and gave a low whistle for me. I wasbeside him with one bound. We were not twenty pole-lengths from thewigwam. There was no appearance of life. The tent flaps had been lacedup and a solitary watch-dog was tied to a stake before the entrance. Down the valley the setting sun shone through the naked trees like awall of fire, and dyed all the glistening snow-drifts primrose and opal. At one place in the forest the red light burst through and struckagainst the tent on the hill-top, giving the skins a peculiar appearanceof being streaked with blood. The faintest breath of wind, a mere sighof moving air-currents peculiar to snow-padded areas, came up from thewoods with far-away echoes of the trappers' voices. Perhaps this washeard by the watch-dog, or it may have felt the disturbing presence ofmy half-wild _habitant_ guide; for it sat back on its haunches andthrowing up its head, let out the most doleful howlings imaginable. 

"Oh! _Monsieur_, " shuddered out the superstitious habitant shiveringlike an aspen leaf, "sick man moan, --moan, --moan hard! He die, _Monsieur_, he die, he die now when dog cry lak dat, " and full of fearhe scrambled down into the gorge, making silent gestures for me tofollow. 

For a time--but not long, I must acknowledge--I lay there alone, watching and listening. Paul's ears might hear the moans of a sick man, mine could not: nor would I return to the Chateau without ascertainingfor a certainty what was in that wigwam. Slipping off the snow-shoes, Irose and tip-toed over the snow with the full intention of silencing thedog with my pole; but I was suddenly arrested by the distinct sound ofpain-racked groaning. Then the brute of a dog detected my approach andwith a furious leaping that almost hung him with his own rope set up avicious barking. Suddenly the black head of an Indian, or trapper, popped through the tent flaps and a voice shouted in perfectEnglish--"Go away! Go away! The pest! The pest!"

"Who has smallpox?" I bawled back. 

"A trader, a Nor'-Wester, " said he. "If you have anything for him lay iton the snow and I'll come for it. "

As honor pledged me to serve Hamilton until he found his wife, I was notparticularly anxious to exchange civilities at close range with a manfrom a smallpox tent; so I quickly retraced my way to the gorge andhurried homeward with The Mute. My old school-fellow's sudden changetowards me when he received the letter written on Citadel paper, and thebig squaw's suspicion of my every movement, now came back to me with asignificance I had not felt when I was at the camp. Either intuitionslike those of my _habitant_ guide, which instinctively put out feelerswith the caution of an insect's antennæ for the presence of vague, unknown evil, lay dormant in my own nature and had been aroused by theincidents at the camp, or else the mind, by the mere fact of holdinginformation in solution, widens its own knowledge. For now, in additionto the letter from the Citadel and the squaw's animosity, came the onemissing factor--Adderly. I felt, rather than knew, that Louis Laplantehad deceived me. Had he lied? A lie is the clumsy invention of thenovice. An expert accomplishes his deceit without anything so grosslyand tangibly honest as a lie; and Louis was an expert. Though I had nota vestige of proof, I could have sworn that Adderly and the squaw andLouis were leagued against me for some dark purpose. I was indeedlearning the first lessons of the trapper's life: never to open my lipson my own affairs to another man, and never to believe another man whenhe opened his lips to me. 

CHAPTER IV

LAUNCHED INTO THE UNKNOWN

"You should have knocked that blasted quarantine's head off, " ejaculatedMr. Jack MacKenzie, with ferocious emphasis. I had been relating myexperience with the campers; and was recounting how the man put his headout of the tent and warned me of smallpox. But my uncle was a gentlemanof the old school and had a fine contempt for quarantine. 

"Knocked his head off, knocked his head off, Sir, " he continued, explosively. "Make it a point to knock the head off anything that standsin your way, Sir----"

"But you don't suppose, " I expostulated, about to voice my ownsuspicions. 

"_Suppose!_" he roared out. "I make it a point never to _suppose_anything. I act on facts, Sir! You wanted to go into that wigwam; didn'tyou? Well then, why the deuce didn't you go, and knock the head offanything that opposed you?"

Being highly successful in all his own dealings, Mr. Jack MacKenziecould not tolerate failure in other people. A month of vigilantsearching had yielded not the slightest inkling of Miriam and the child;and this fact ignited all the gunpowder of my uncle's fierytemperament. We had felt so sure Le Grand Diable's band of vagabondswould hang about till the brigades of the North-West Company's tripmenset out for the north, all our efforts were spent in a vain search forsome trace of the rascals in the vicinity of Quebec. His gypsynondescripts would hardly dare to keep the things taken from Miriam andthe child. These would be traded to other tribes; so day and night, Mr. MacKenzie, Eric and I, with hired spies, dogged the footsteps oftrappers, who were awaiting the breaking up of the ice; shadowed_voyageurs_, who passed idle days in the dram-shops of Lower Town, andscrutinized every native who crossed our path, ever on the alert for aglimpse of Diable, or his associates. Diligently we tracked all Indiantrails through Charlesbourg forest and examined every wigwam within aweek's march of the city. Le Grand Diable was not likely to be among hisancestral enemies at Lorette, but his half-breed followers might havetraded with the Hurons; and the lodges at Lorette were also searched. Watches were set along the St. Lawrence, so no one could approach anopening before the ice broke up, or launch a canoe after the water hadcleared, without our knowledge. But Le Grand Diable and his band hadvanished as mysteriously as Miriam. It was as impossible to learn wherethe Iroquois had gone as to follow the wind. His disappearance wasaltogether as unaccountable as the lost woman's, and this, of itself, confirmed our suspicions. Had he sold, or slain his captives, he wouldnot have remained in hiding; and the very fruitlessness of the searchredoubled our zeal. 

The conviction that Louis Laplante had, somehow or other, played mefalse, stuck in my mind like the depression of a bad dream. Again andagain, I related the circumstances to my uncle; but he "pished, " and"tushed, " and "pooh-poohed, " the very idea of any kidnappers remainingso near the city and giving me free run of their wigwams. My reasonlesspersistence was beginning to irritate him. Indeed, on one occasion, heinformed me that I had as many vagaries in my head as a "bed-riddenhag, " and with great fervor he "wished to the Lord there was a law inthis land for the ham-stringing of such fool idiots, as that _habitant_Mute, who led me such a wild-goose chase. "

In spite of this and many other jeremiades, I once more donnedsnow-shoes and with Paul for guide paid a second visit to the campers ofthe gorge. And a second time, I was welcomed by Louis and taken throughthe wigwams. The smallpox tent was no longer on the crest of the hill;and when I asked after the patient, Louis without a word pointedsolemnly to a snow-mound, where the man lay buried. But I did not seethe big squaw, nor the face that had emerged from the tent flaps to waveme off; and when I also inquired after these, Louis' face darkened. Hetold me bluntly I was asking too many questions and began to swear in amongrel jargon of French and English that my conduct was an insult hewould take from no man. But Louis was ever short of temper. I rememberedthat of old. Presently his little flare-up died down, and he told methat the woman and her husband had gone north through the woods to joinsome crews on the Upper Ottawa. From the talk of the others, I gatheredthat, having disposed of their hunt to the commissariat department atthe Citadel, they intended to follow the same trail within a few days. Itried without questioning to learn what crews they were to join; butwhether with purpose, or by chance, the conversation drifted from mylead and I had to return to the city without satisfaction on that point. 

Meanwhile, Hamilton rested neither night nor day. In the morning with afew hurried words he would outline the plan for the day. At night herode back to the Chateau with such eager questioning in his eyes whenthey met mine, I knew he had nothing better to report to me, than I tohim. After a silent meal, he would ride through the dark forest on afresh mount. How and where he passed those sleepless nights, I do notknow. Thus had a month slipped away; and we had done everything andaccomplished nothing. Baffled, I had gone to confer with Mr. JackMacKenzie and had, as usual, exasperated him with the reiteratedconviction that Adderly and the Citadel writing paper and Louis Laplantehad some connection with the malign influence that was balking ourefforts. 

"Fudge!" exclaims my uncle, stamping about his study and puffing withindignation. "You should have knocked that blasted quarantine's headoff!"

"You've said that several times already, Mr. MacKenzie, " I put in, having a touch of his own peppery temper from my mother's side. "Whatabout Adderly's rage?"

"Adderly's been in Montreal since the night of the row. For the Lord'ssake, boy, do you expect to find the woman by believing in that bloatedbugaboo?"

"But the Citadel paper?" I persisted. 

"Of course you've never been told, Rufus Gillespie, " he began, chokingdown his impatience with the magnitude of my stupidity, "that thecommissariat buys supplies from hunters?"

"That doesn't explain the big squaw's suspicions and Louis' ownconduct. "

"That Louis!" says my uncle. "Pah! That son of an inflated old seigneur!A fig for the buck! Not enough brains in his pate to fill a peanut!"

"But there might be enough evil in his heart to wreck a life, " and thatwas the first argument to pierce my uncle's scepticism. The keen eyesglanced out at me as if there might be some hope for my intelligence, and he took several turns about the room. 

"Hm! If you're of that mind, you'd better go out and excavate thesmallpox, " was his sententious conclusion. "And if it's a hoax, you'dbetter----" and he puckered his brows in thought. 

"What?" I asked eagerly. 

"Join the traders' crews and track the villains west, " he answered withthe promptitude of one who decides quickly and without vacillation. "OLord! If I were only young! But to think of a man too stout and old tobuckle on his own snow-shoes hankering for that life again!" And myuncle heaved a deep sigh. 

Now, no one, who has not lived the wild, free life of the northerntrader, can understand the strange fascinations which for the momenteclipsed in this courteous and chivalrous old gentleman's mind allthought of the poor woman, with whom my own fate was interwoven. But I, who have lived in the lonely fastnesses of the splendid freedom, knowfull well what surging recollections of danger and daring, of successand defeat, of action in which one faces and laughs at death, and calmin which one sounds the unutterable depths of very infinity--throngedthe old trader's soul. Indeed, when he spoke, it was as if the sentenceof my own life had been pronounced; and my whole being rose up to salutedestiny. I take it, there is in every one some secret and cherisheddesire for a chosen vocation to which each looks forward with hope up tothe meridian of life, and to which many look back with regret after themeridian. Of prophetic instincts and intuitions and impressions andfeelings and much more of the same kind going under a different name, Isay nothing, I only set down as a fact, to be explained how it may, that all the way out to the gorge, with Paul, The Mute leading for athird time, I could have sworn there would be no corpse in thatsnow-covered grave. For was it not written in my inner consciousnessthat destiny had appointed me to the wild, free life of the north? So Iwas not surprised when Paul Larocque's spade struck sharply on a box. Indians sleep their last sleep in the skins of the chase. Nor was I inthe least amazed when that same spade pried up the lid of cachedprovisions instead of a coffin. Then I had ocular proof of what I knewbefore, that Louis in word and conduct--but chiefly in conduct, which isthe way of the expert had--lied outrageously to me. 

When the ice broke up at the end of April, hunters were off for theirsummer retreats and _voyageurs_ set out on the annual trip to the _Paysd'En Haut_. This year the Hudson's Bay Company had organized a strongfleet of canoemen under Mr. Colin Robertson, a former Nor'-Wester, toproceed to Red River settlement by way of the Ottawa and the Saultinstead of entering the fur preserve by the usual route of Hudson Bayand York Factory. From Le Grand Diable's former association with theNorth-West Company it was probable he would be in Robertson's brigade. Among the _voyageurs_ of both companies there was not a more expertcanoeman than this treacherous, thievish Iroquois. As steersman, hecould take a crew safely through knife-edge rocks with the swiftcertainty of arrow flight. In spite of a reputation for embodying thevices of white man and red--which gave him his unsavory title--it seemedunlikely that the Hudson's Bay Company, now in the thick of anaggressive campaign against its great rival, and about to despatch animportant flotilla from Montreal to Athabasca by way of theNor'-Westers' route, would dispense with the services of this dexterous_voyageur_. On the other hand, the Nor'-Westers might bribe the Iroquoisto stay with them. 

Acting on these alternative possibilities, Hamilton and I determined totrack the fugitives north. We could leave hirelings to shadow themovements of Indian bands about Quebec. Eric could re-engage with theHudson's Bay and get passage north with Colin Robertson's brigade, whichwas to leave Lachine in a few weeks. My uncle had been a famous_Bourgeois_ of the great North-West Company in his younger days, andcould secure me an immediate commission in the North-West Company. Thuswe could accompany the _voyageurs_ and runners of both companies. 

Hamilton's arrangements were easily made; and my uncle not only obtainedthe commission for me, but, with a hearty clap on my back and a "Bravo, boy! I knew the fur trader's fever would break out in you yet!" pinnedto the breast of my inner waistcoat the showy gold medallion which the_Bourgeois_ wore on festive occasions. In very truth I oft had need ofits inspiriting motto: _Fortitude in Distress_. 

Feudal lords of the middle ages never waged more ruthless war on eachother than the two great fur trading companies of the north at thebeginning of the nineteenth century. Pierre de Raddison and Grosselier, gentlemen adventurers of New France, first followed the waters of theOutawa (Ottawa) northward, and passed from Lake Superior (the _kelchegamme_ of Indian lore) to the great unknown fur preserve between HudsonBay and the Pacific Ocean; but the fur monopolists of the French courtin Quebec jealously obstructed the explorers' efforts to open up thevast territory. De Raddison was compelled to carry his project to theEnglish court, and the English court, with a liberality not unusual inthose days, promptly deeded over the whole domain, the extent, localityand wealth of which there was utter ignorance, to a fur tradingorganization, --the newly formed "Company of Adventurers of England, trading into Hudson's Bay, " incorporated in 1670 with Prince Rupertnamed as first governor. If monopolists of New France, through envy, sacrificed Quebec's first claim to the unknown land, Frontenac madehaste to repair the loss. Father Albanel, a Jesuit, and othermissionaries led the way westward to the _Pays d'En Haut_. De Raddisontwice changed his allegiance, and when Quebec fell into the hands of theBritish nearly a century later, the French traders were as active in thenorthern fur preserve as their great rivals, the Ancient and HonorableHudson's Bay Company; but the Englishmen kept near the bay and theFrenchmen with their _coureurs-des-bois_ pushed westward along thechain of water-ays leading from Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg to theSaskatchewan and Athabasca. Then came the Conquest, with the downfall ofFrench trade in the north country. But there remained the_coureurs-des-bois_, or wood-rangers, the _Metis_, or Frenchhalf-breeds, the _Bois-Brulés_, or plain runners--so called, it issupposed, from the trapper's custom of blazing his path through theforest. And on the ruins of French barter grew up a thriving Englishtrade, organized for the most part by enterprising citizens of Quebecand Montreal, and absorbing within itself all the cast-off servants ofthe old French companies. Such was the origin of the X. Y. AndNorth-West Companies towards the beginning of the nineteenth century. Ofthese the most energetic and powerful--and therefore the most to befeared by the Ancient and Honorable Hudson's Bay Company--was theNorth-West Company, "_Les Bourgeois de la Compagnie du Nord-Ouest_, " asthe partners designated themselves. 

From the time that the North-Westers gratuitously poured their secretsinto the ears of Lord Selkirk, and Lord Selkirk shrewdly got control ofthe Hudson's Bay Company and began to infuse Nor'-Westers' zeal into thestagnant workings of the older company, there arose such a feud amongthese lords of the north as may be likened only to the pillaging ofrobber barons in the middle ages. And this feud was at its height when Icast in my lot with the North-West Fur Company, Nor'-Westers had reapeda harvest of profits by leaving the beaten track of trade and pushingboldly northward into the remote MacKenzie River region. This year theHudson's Bay had determined to enter the same area and employed a formerNor'-Wester, Mr. Colin Robertson, to conduct a flotilla of canoes fromLachine, Montreal, by way of the Nor'-Westers' route up the Ottawa tothe Saskatchewan and Athabasca. But while the Hudson's Bay Company couldship their peltries directly to England from the bay, the Nor'-Westerslabored under the disadvantage of many delays and trans-shipments beforetheir goods reached seaboard at Montreal. Indeed, I have heard my uncletell of orders which he sent from the north to England in October. Thethings ordered in October would be sent from London in March to reachMontreal in mid-summer. There they would be re-packed in smallquantities for portaging and despatched from Montreal with theNor'-Western _voyageurs_ the following May, and if destined for the farnorth would not reach the end of their long trip until October--twoyears from the time of the order. Yet, under such conditions had theNor'-Westers increased in prosperity, while the Hudson's Bay, with itsannual ships at York Factory and Churchill, declined. 

When Lord Selkirk took hold of the Hudson's Bay there was a change. Oncea feud has begun, I know very well it is impossible to apportion theblame each side deserves. Whether Selkirk timed his acts of aggressionduring the American war of 1812-1814, when the route of theNor'-Westers was rendered unsafe--who can say? Whether he broughtcolonists into the very heart of the disputed territory for the sake ofthe colonists, or to be drilled into an army of defense for The Hudson'sBay Company--who can say? Whether he induced his company to grant him avast area of land at the junction of the Red and Assiniboinerivers--against which a minority of stockholders protested--for the sakeof these same colonists, or to hold a strategical point past whichNorth-Westers' cargoes must go--who can say? On these subjects, whichhave been so hotly discussed both inside and outside law courts, withoutany definite decision that I have ever heard, I refuse to pass judgment. I can but relate events as I saw them and leave to each the right of apersonal decision. 

In 1815, Nor'-Westers' canoes were to leave Ste. Anne de Beaupré, twentymiles east of Quebec, instead of Ste. Anne on the Ottawa, the usualpoint of departure. We had not our full complement of men. Some of theIndians and half-breeds had gone northwest overland through the bush toa point on the Ottawa River north of Chaudière Falls, where they wereawaiting us, and Hamilton, through the courtesy of my uncle, was able tocome with us in our boats as far as Lachine. 

I was never a grasping trader, but I provided myself before setting outwith every worthless gew-gaw and flashy trifle that could tempt thenative to betray Indian secrets. Lest these should fail, I added to mystock a dozen as fine new flint-locks as could corrupt the soul of anIndian, and without consideration for the enemy's scalp also equippedmyself with a box of wicked-looking hunting-knives. These things Iplaced in square cases and sat upon them when we were in barges, orpillowed my head upon them at night, never losing sight of them excepton long portages where Indians conveyed our cargo on their backs. 

A man on a less venturesome quest than mine could hardly have set outwith the brigades of canoemen for the north country and not have beenthrilled like a lad on first escape from school's leading strings. Therewe were, twenty craft strong, with clerks, traders, one steersman andeight willowy, copper-skin paddlers in each long birch canoe. Nooriental prince could be more gorgeously appareled than these gay_voyageurs_. Flaunting red handkerchiefs banded their foreheads and heldback the lank, black hair. Buckskin smocks, fringed with leather downthe sleeves and beaded lavishly in bright colors, were drawn tight atthe waist by sashes of flaming crimson, green and blue. In addition tothe fringe of leather down the trouser seams, some in our company hadlittle bells fastened from knee to ankle. It was a strange sight to seeeach of these reckless denizens of forest and plain pause reverentlybefore the chapel of _La Bonne Sainte Anne_, cross himself, invoke herprotection on the voyage and drop some offering in the treasury boxbefore hurrying to his place in the canoe. One Indian left the miniatureof a carved boat in the hands of the priest at the porch. It was hisvotive gift to the saint and may be seen there to this day. 

As we were embarking I noticed Eric had not come down and the canoeswere already gliding about the wharf awaiting the head steersman'ssignal. I had last seen him on the church steps and ran back from theriver to learn the cause of his delay. Now Hamilton is not a Catholic;neither is he a Protestant; but I would not have good people ascribe hismisfortunes to this lack of creed, for a trader in the far north losesdenominational distinctions and a better man I have never known. What, then, was my surprise to meet him face to face coming out of the chapelwith tears coursing down his cheeks and floor-dust thick upon his knees?Women know what to do and say in such a case. A man must be dumb, orblunder; so I could but link my arm through his and lead him silentlydown to my own canoe. 

A single wave of the chief steersman's hand, and out swept the paddlesin a perfect harmony of motion. Then someone struck up a _voyageurs'_ballad and the canoemen unconsciously kept time with the beat of thesong. The valley seemed filled with the voices of those deep-chested, strong singers, and the chimes of Ste. Anne clashed out a last sweetfarewell. 

"Cheer up, old man!" said I to Eric, who was sitting with face buried inhis hands. "Cheer up! Do you hear the bells? It's a God-speed for you!"

CHAPTER V

CIVILIZATION'S VENEER RUBS OFF

My uncle accompanied our flotilla as far as Lachine and occupied a placein my division of canoes. Many were the admonitions he launched out likethunderbolts whenever his craft and mine chanced to glide abreast. 

"If you lay hands on that skunk, " he had said, the malodorous epithetbeing his designation for Louis Laplante, "If you lay hands on thatskunk, don't be a simpleton. Skin him, Sir, by the Lord, skin him! Lethim play the ostrich act! Keep your own counsel and work him for allyou're worth! Let him play his deceitful game! By Jove! Give the villainrope enough to hang himself! Gain your end! Afterwards forget andforgive if you like; but, by the Lord, remember and don't ignore thefact, that repentance can't turn a skunk into an innocent, pussy cat!"

And so Mr. Jack MacKenzie continued to warn me all the way from Quebecto Montreal, mixing his metaphors as topers mix drinks. But I had longsince learned not to remonstrate against these outbursts of explosiveeloquence--not though all the canons of Laval literati should beoutraged. "What, Sir?" he had roared out when I, in full conceit of newknowledge, had audaciously ventured to pull him up, once in my studentdays. "What, Sir? Don't talk to me of your book-fangled balderdash! Islanguage for the use of man, or man for the use of language?" and hequoted from Hamlet's soliloquy in a way that set me packing my pedantlore in the unused lumber-room of brain lobes. And so, I say, Mr. JackMacKenzie continued to pour instructions into my ear for the venturesomelife on which I had entered. "The lad's a fool, only a fool, " he said, still harping on Louis, "and mind you answer the fool according to hisfolly!"

"Most men are fools first, and then knaves, knaves because they havebeen fools, " I returned to my uncle, "and I fancy Laplante has graduatedfrom the fool stage by this time, and is a full diploma knave!"

"That's all true, " he retorted, "but don't you forget there's alwaysfool enough left in the knave to give you your opportunity, if you'renot a fool. Joint in the armor, lad! Use your cutlass there. "

Apart from the peppery discourses of my kinsman, I remember very littleof the trip up the St. Lawrence from Ste. Anne to Lachine with Ericsitting dazed and silent opposite me. We, of course, followed the riverchannel between the Island of Orleans and the north shore; and wheneverour boats drew near the mainland, came whiffs of crisp, frosty air fromthe dank ravines, where snow patches yet lay in the shadow. Then thefleet would sidle towards the island and there would be the fresh, spring odor of damp, uncovered mold, with a vague suggestiveness ofviolets and May-flowers and ferns bursting with a rush through the blackclods. The purple folds of the mountains, with their wavy outlinesfading in the haze of distance, lay on the north as they lie to-day; andeverywhere on the hills were the white cots of _habitant_ hamlets withchapel spires pointing above tree-tops. At the western end of theisland, where boats sheer out into mid-current, came the dull, heavyroar of the cataract and above the north shore rose great, billowyclouds of foam. With a sweep of our paddles, we were opposite a cleft inthe vertical rock and saw the shimmering, fleecy waters of Montmorencyleap over the dizzy precipice churning up from their own whirling depthsand bound out to the river like a panther after prey. 

Now the Isle of Orleans was vanishing on our rear and the bold heightsof Point Levis had loomed up to the fore; and now we had poked our prowsto the right and the sluggish, muddy tide of the St. Charles lapped ourcanoes, while a forest of masts and yard-arms and flapping sails arosefrom the harbor of Quebec City. The great walls of modern Quebec did notthen exist; but the rude fortifications, that sloped down from the loftyCitadel on Cape Diamond and engirt the whole city on the hillside, seemed imposing enough to us in those days. 

It was late in the afternoon when we passed. The sunlight struck acrossthe St. Charles, brightening the dull, gray stone of walls andcathedrals and convents, turning every window on the west to fire andtransforming a multitude of towers and turrets and minarets toglittering gold. Small wonder, indeed, that all our rough tripmenstopped paddling and with eyes on the spire of Notre Dame des Victoiresmuttered prayers for a prosperous voyage. For some reason or other, Ifound my own hat off. So was Mr. Jack MacKenzie's, so was EricHamilton's. Then the _voyageurs_ fell to work again. The canoes spreadout. We rounded Cape Diamond and the lengthening shadow of the high peakdarkened the river before us. Always the broad St. Lawrence seemed to bewinding from headland to headland among the purple hills, in sunlight amirror between shadowy, forest banks, at night, molten silver in themoon-track. Afternoon slipped into night and night to morning, and eachhour of daylight presented some new panorama of forests and hills andtorrents. Here the river widened into a lake. There the lake narrowed torapids; and so we came to Lachine--La Chine, named in ridicule of thegallant explorer, La Salle, who thought these vast waterways wouldsurely lead him to China. 

At Lachine, Mr. Jack MacKenzie, with much brusque bluster to conceal hislongings for the life he was too old to follow and many cynicalinjunctions about "skinning the skunk" and "knocking the head offanything that stood in my way" and "always profiting from the folliesof other men"--"mind, have none yourself, "--parted from us. Here, too, Eric gripped my hand a tense, wordless farewell and left our party forthe Hudson's Bay brigade under Colin Robertson. 

It has always been a mystery to me why our rivals sent that brigade toAthabasca by way of Lachine instead of Hudson Bay, which would have beentwo thousand miles nearer. We Nor'-Westers went all the way to and fromMontreal, solely because that was our only point of access to the sea;but the Hudson's Bay people had their own Hudson Bay for a startingplace. Why, in their slavish imitation of the methods, which brought ussuccess, they also adopted our disadvantages, I could never understand. Birch canoes and good tripmen could, of course, as the Hudson's Bay mensay, be most easily obtained in Quebec; but with a good organizer, thesame could have been gathered up two thousand miles nearer York Factory, on Hudson Bay. Indeed, I have often thought the sole purpose of thatexpedition was to get Nor'-Westers' methods by employing discardedNor'-Westers as trappers and _voyageurs_. Colin Robertson, the leader, had himself been a Nor'-Wester; and all the men with him except EricHamilton were renegades, "turn-coat traders, " as we called them. But Imust not be unjust; for neither company could possibly exceed the otherin its zeal to entice away old trappers, who would reveal opponents'secrets. Acting on my uncle's advice, I made shift to pick up a fewcrumbs of valuable information. Had the Hudson's Bay known, I supposethey would have called me a spy. That was the name I gave any of themwho might try such tricks with me. The General Assembly of theNorth-West partners was to meet at Fort William, at the head of LakeSuperior. I learned that Robertson's brigade were anxious to slip pastour headquarters at Fort William before the meeting and would set outthat very day. I also heard they had sent forward a messenger to notifythe Hudson's Bay governor at Fort Douglas of their brigade's coming. 

Almost before I realized it, we were speeding up the Ottawa, past asecond and third and fourth Ste. Anne's; for she is the _voyageurs'_patron saint and her name dots Canada's map like ink-blots on a boy'scopybook. Wherever a Ste. Anne's is now found, there has the _voyageur_of long ago passed and repassed. In places the surface of the river, gliding to meet us, became oily, almost glassy, as if the wave-currentran too fast to ripple out to the banks. Then little eddies beganwhirling in the corrugated water and our paddlers with labored breathbent hard to their task. By such signs I learned to know when we werestemming the tide of some raging waterfall, or swift rapid. There wouldfollow quick disembarking, hurried portages over land through a tangleof forest, or up slippery, damp rocks, a noisy launching far above thetorrent and swifter progress when the birch canoes touched water again. Such was the tireless pace, which made North-West _voyageurs_ famous. Such was the work the great _Bourgeois_ exacted of their men. A liberalsupply of rum, when stoppages were made, and of bread and meat for eachmeal--better fare than was usually given by the trading companies--didmuch to encourage the tripmen. Each man was doing his utmost toout-distance the bold rivals following by our route. The _Bourgeois_were to meet at Fort William early in June. At all hazards we weredetermined to notify our company of the enemy's invading flotilla; andwithout margin for accidents we had but a month to cross half acontinent. 

At nightfall the fourth day from the shrine, after a tiresome nine-miletraverse past the Chaudière Falls of the Ottawa, glittering camp-fireson the river bank ahead showed where a fresh relay of canoemen awaitedus. They were immediately taken into the different crews andnight-shifts of paddlers put to work. It was quite dark, when the newhands joined us; but in the moonlight, as the chief steersman told offthe men by name, I watched each tawny figure step quickly to his placein the canoes, with that gliding Indian motion, which scarcely rockedthe light craft. There came to my crew Little Fellow, a short, thick-setman, with a grinning, good-natured face, who--despite his size--wouldsolemnly assure people he was equal in force to the sun. With him was LaRobe Noire, of grave aspect and few words, mighty in stature andshoulder power. There were five or six others, whose names in theclangor of voices I did not hear. Of these, one was a tall, lithe, swift-moving man, whose cunning eyes seemed to gleam with the malice ofa serpent. This canoeman silently twisted into sleeping posture directlybehind me. 

The signal was given, and we were in mid-stream again. Wrapping myblanket about me, half propped by a bale of stuff and breathing deep ofthe clear air with frequent resinous whiffs from the forest I drowsedoff. The swish of waters rushing past and the roar of torrents, which Ihad seen and heard during the day, still sounded in my ears. The sigh ofthe night-wind through the forest came like the lonely moan of afar-distant sea, and I was sleepily half conscious that cedars, pinesand cliffs were engaged in a mad race past the sides of the canoe. A bedin which one may not stretch at random is not comfortable. Certainly mycramped limbs must have caused bad dreams. A dozen times I could havesworn the Indian behind me had turned into a snake and was winding roundmy chest in tight, smothering coils. Starting up, I would shake theweight off. Once I suddenly opened my eyes to find blanket thrown asideand pistol belt unstrapped. Lying back eased, I was dozing again when Idistinctly felt a hand crawl stealthily round the pack on which I waspillowed and steal towards the dagger handle in the loosened belt. Istruck at it viciously only to bruise my fist on my dagger. Now wideawake, I turned angrily towards the Indian. Not a muscle of the stillfigure had changed from the attitude taken when he came into the canoe. The man was not asleep, but reclined in stolid oblivion of my existence. His head was thrown back and the steely, unflinching eyes were fixed onthe stars. 

"It may not have been you, my scowling sachem, " said I to myself, "butsnakes have fangs. Henceforth I'll take good care you're not at myback. "

I slept no more that night. Next day I asked the fellow his name and hepoured out such a jumbled mouthful of quick-spoken, Indian syllables, Iwas not a whit the wiser. I told him sharply he was to be Tom Jones onmy boat, at which he gave an evil leer. 

Without stay we still pushed forward. The arrowy pace was merciless tored men and white; but that was the kind of service the great North-WestCompany always demanded. Some ten miles from the outlet of LakeNipissangue (Nipissing) foul weather threatened delay. The _Bourgeois_were for proceeding at any risk; but as the thunder-clouds grew blackerand the wind more violent, the head steersman lost his temper andgrounded his canoe on the sands at _Point à la Croix_. Springing ashorehe flung down his pole and refused to go on. 

"Sacredie!" he screamed, first pointing to the gathering storm and thento the crosses that marked the fate of other foolhardy _voyageurs_, "Allez si vous voulez! Pour moi je n'irai pas; ne voyez pas le danger!"

A hurricane of wind, snapping the great oaks as a chopper breakskindling wood, enforced his words. Canoes were at once beached andtarpaulins drawn over the bales of provisions. The men struggled tohoist a tent; but gusts of wind tossed the canvas above their heads, andbefore the pegs were driven a great wall of rain-drift drenched everyone to the skin. By sundown the storm had gone southeast and weunrighteously consoled ourselves that it would probably disorganize theHudson's Bay brigade as much as it had ours. Plainly, we were there forthe night. _Point à la Croix_ is too dangerous a spot for navigationafter dark. With much patience we kindled the soaked underbrush andfinally got a pile of logs roaring in the woods and gathered round thefire. 

The glare in the sky attracted the lake tribes from their lodges. Indians, half-breeds and shaggy-haired whites--degenerate traders, whohad lost all taste for civilization and retired with their native wivesafter the fashion of the north country--came from the Nipissangueencampments and joined our motley throng. Presently the natives drew offto a fire by themselves, where there would be no white-man's restraint. They had either begged or stolen traders' rum, and after the hard tripfrom Ste. Anne, were eager for one of their mad _boissons_--adrinking-bout interspersed with jigs and fights. 

Stretched before our camp, I watched the grotesque figures leaping anddancing between the firelight and the dusky woods like forest demons. With the leaves rustling overhead, the water laving the pebbles on theshore, and the washed pine air stimulating one's blood like anintoxicant, I began wondering how many years of solitary life it wouldtake to wear through civilization's veneer and leave one content in thelodges of forest wilds. Gradually I became aware of my sulky canoeman'spresence on the other side of the camp-fire. The man had not joined therevels of the other _voyageurs_ but sat on his feet, oriental style, gazing as intently at the flames as if spellbound by some fire-spirit. 

"What's wrong with that fellow, anyhow?" I asked a veteran trader, whowas taking last pulls at a smoked-out pipe. 

"Sick--home-sick, " was the laconic reply. 

"You'd think he was near enough nature here to feel at home! Where's histribe?"

"It ain't his tribe he wants, " explained the trader. 

"What, then?" I inquired. 

"His wife, he's mad after her, " and the trader took the pipe from histeeth. 

"Faugh!" I laughed. "The idea of an Indian sentimental and love-sick forsome fat lump of a squaw! Come! Come! Am I to believe that?"

"Don't matter whether you do, or not, " returned the trader. "It's afact. His wife's a Sioux chief's daughter. She went north with a gang ofhalf-breeds and hunters last month; and he's been fractious crazy eversince. "

"What's his name?" I called, as my informant vanished behind the tentflaps. 

Again that mouthful of Indian syllables, unintelligible and unspeakablefor me was tumbled forth. Then I turned to the fantastic figurescarousing around the other camp fire. One form, in particular, I seemedto distinguish from the others. He was gathering the Indians in line forsome native dance and had an easy, rakish sort of grace, quite differentfrom the serpentine motions of the redskins. By a sudden turn, hisprofile was thrown against the fire and I saw that he wore a pointedbeard. He was no Indian; and like a flash came one of those strange, reasonless intuitions, which precede, or proceed from, the slow motionsof the mind. Was this the _avant-courier_ of the Hudson's Bay, delayed, like ourselves, by the storm? I had hardly spelled out my own suspicion, when to the measured beatings of the tom-tom, gradually becoming faster, and with a low, weird, tuneless chant, like the voices of the forest, the Indians began to tread a mazy, winding pace, which my slow eyescould not follow, but which in a strange way brought up memories ofsnaky convolutions about the naked body of some Egyptianserpent-charmer. The drums beat faster. The suppressed voices werebreaking in shrill, wild, exultant strains, and the measured tread hadquickened from a walk to a run and from a swaying run to a swift, labyrinthine pace, which has no name in English, and which I can onlyliken to the wiggling of a green thing under leafy covert. The coilingand circling and winding of the dancers became bewildering, and in thecentre, laughing, shouting, tossing up his arms and gesticulating like amaniac, was the white man with the pointed beard. Then the performersbroke from their places and gave themselves with utter abandon to thewild impulses of wild natures in a wild world; and there was such ascene of uncurbed, animal hilarity as I never dreamed possible. Savage, furious, almost ferocious like the frisking of a pack of wolves, that atany time may fall upon and destroy a weaker one, the boisterous anticsof these children of the forest fascinated me. Filled with the curiositythat lures many a trader to his undoing, I rose and went across to thethronging, shouting, shadowy figures. A man darted out of the woods fulltilt against me. 'Twas he of the pointed beard, my _suspect_ of theHudson's Bay Company. Quick as thought I thrust out my foot and trippedhim full length on the ground. The light fell on his upturned face. Itwas Louis Laplante, that past-master in the art of diplomatic deception. He snarled out something angrily and came to himself in sitting posture. Then he recognized me. 

"_Mon Dieu!_" he muttered beneath his breath, momentarily surprised intoa betrayal of astonishment. "You, Gillespie?" he called out, at onceregaining himself and assuming his usual nonchalance. "Pardon, mysolemncholy! I took you for a tree. "

"Granted, your impudence, " said I, ignoring the slight but paying himback in kind. I was determined to follow my uncle's advice and play therascal at his own game. "Help you up?" said I, as pleasantly as I could, extending my hand to give him a lift; and I felt his palm hot and hisarm tremble. Then, I knew that Louis was drunk and this was the fool'sjoint in the knave's armor, on which Mr. Jack MacKenzie bade me use myweapons. 

"Tra-la!" he answered with mincing insult. "Tra-la, old tombstone!Good-by, my mausoleum! Au revoir, old death's-head! Adieu, grave skull!"With an absurdly elaborate bow, he reeled back among the dancers. 

"Get up, comrade, " I urged, rushing into the tent, where the old traderI had questioned about my canoeman was now snoring. "Get up, man, " and Ishook him. "There's a Hudson's Bay spy!"

"Spy, " he shouted, throwing aside the moose-skin coverlet. "Spy! Who?"

"It's Louis Laplante, of Quebec. "

"Louis Laplante!" reiterated the trader. "A Frenchman employed by theHudson's Bay! Laplante, a trapper, with them! The scoundrel!" And heground out oaths that boded ill for Louis. 

"Hold on!" I exclaimed, jerking him back. He was for dashing on Laplantewith a cudgel. "He's playing the trapper game with the lake tribes. "

"I'll trapper him, " vowed the trader. "How do you know he's a spy?"

"I don't _know_, really know, " I began, clumsily conscious that I had noproof for my suspicions, "but it strikes me we'd better not examine thissort of suspect at too long range. If we're wrong, we can let him go. "

"Bag him, eh?" queried the trader. 

"That's it, " I assented. 

"He's a hard one to bag. "

"But he's drunk. "

"Drunk, Oh! Drunk is he?" laughed the man. "He'll be drunker, " and thetrader began rummaging through bales of stuff with a noise of bottlesknocking together. He was humming in a low tone, like a grimalkinpurring after a full meal of mice--

 "Rum for Indians, when they come, Rum for the beggars, when they go, That's the trick my grizzled lads To catch the cash and snare the foe. "

"What's your plan?" I asked with a vague feeling the trader had someshady purpose in mind. 

"Squeamish? Eh? You'll get over that, boy. I'll trap your trapper andspy your spy, and Nor'-Wester your H. B. C. ! You come down to the sandbetween the forest and the beach in about an hour and I'll have news foryou, " and he brushed past me with his arms full of something I could notsee in the half-light. 

Then, as a trader, began my first compromise with conscience, and theenmity which I thereby aroused afterwards punished me for that night'swork. I knew very well my comrade, with the rough-and-ready methods oftraders, had gone out to do what was not right; and I hung back in thetent, balancing the end against the means, our deeds against Louis'perfidy, and Nor'-Westers' interests against those of the Hudson's Bay. It is not pleasant to recall what was done between the cedars and theshore. I do not attempt to justify our conduct. Does the physicianjustify medical experiments on the criminal, or the sacrificial priestthe driving of the scape-goat into the wilderness? Suffice it to say, when I went down to the shore, Louis Laplante was sitting in the midstof empty drinking-flasks, and the wily, old Nor'-Wester was tempting thesilly boy to take more by drinking his health with fresh bottles. Butwhile Louis Laplante gulped down his rum, becoming drunker and morecommunicative, the tempter threw glass after glass over his shoulder andremained sober. The Nor'-Wester motioned me to keep behind the Frenchmanand I heard his drunken lips mumbling my own name. 

"Rufush--prig--stuck-up prig--serve him tam right!Hamilton's--sh--sh--prig too--sho's his wife. Serve 'em all tam right!"

"Ask him where she is, " I whispered over his head. 

"Where's the gal?" demanded the trader, shoving more liquor over toLouis. 

"Shioux squaw--Devil's wife--how you say it in English? Lah GrawndDeeahble, " and he mouthed over our mispronunciation of his own tongue"Joke, isn't it?" he went on. "That wax-face prig--slave to ShiouxSquaw. Rufush--a fool. Stuffed him to hish--neck. Made him believeshmall-pox was Hamilton's wife. I mean, Hamilton's wife was shmall-pox. Calf bellowed with fright--ran home--came back--'tamme, ' I say, 'therehe come again' 'shmall-pox in that grave, ' say I. Joke--ain't it?" andhe stopped to drain off another pint of rum. 

"Biggest joke out of jail, " said the Nor'-Wester dryly, with meaningwhich Louis did not grasp. 

"Ask him where she is, " I whispered, "quick! He's going to sleep. " ForLouis wiped his beard on his sleeve and lay back hopelessly drunk. 

"Here you, waken up, " commanded the Nor'-Wester, kicking him and shakinghim roughly. "Where's the gal?"

"Shioux--_Pays d'En Haut_, " drawled the youth. "Take off your boots!Don't wear boots. _Pays d'En Haut_--moccasins--softer, " and he rolledover in a sodden sleep, which defied all our efforts to shake him intoconsciousness. 

"Is that true?" asked the Nor'-Wester, standing above the drunk man andspeaking across to me. "Is that true about the Indian kidnapping awoman?"

"True--too terribly true, " I whispered back. 

"I'd like to boot him into the next world, " said the trader, lookingdown at Louis in a manner that might have alarmed that youth for hissafety. "I've bagged H. B. Dispatches anyway, " he added withsatisfaction. 

"What'll we do with him?" I asked aimlessly. "If he had anything to dowith the stealing of Hamilton's wife----"

"He hadn't, " interrupted the trader. "'Twas Diable did that, so Laplantesays. "

"Then what shall we do with him?"

"Do--with--him, " slowly repeated the Nor'-Wester in a low, vibratingvoice. "Do--with--him?" and again I felt a vague shudder of apprehensionat this silent, uncompromising man's purpose. 

The camp fires were dead. Not a sound came from the men in the woods andthere was a gray light on the water with a vague stirring of birdsthrough the foliage overhead. Now I would not have any man judge us bythe canons of civilization. Under the ancient rule of the fur companiesover the wilds of the north, 'twas bullets and blades put the fear ofthe Lord in evil hearts. As we stooped to gather up the tell-taleflasks, the drunken knave, who had lightly allowed an innocent whitewoman to go into Indian captivity, lay with bared chest not a hand'slength from a knife he had thrown down. Did the Nor'-Wester and Ihesitate, and look from the man to the dagger, and from the dagger tothe man; or is this an evil dream from a black past? Miriam, theguiltless, was suffering at his hands; should not he, the guilty, sufferat ours? Surely Sisera was not more unmistakably delivered into thepower of his enemies by the Lord than this man; and Sisera wasdiscomfited by Barak and Jael. Heber's wife--says the Book--drove a tentnail--through the temples--of the sleeping man--and slew him! Day waswhen I thought the Old Volume recorded too many deeds of bloodshed inthe wilderness for the instruction of our refined generation; but I, too, have since lived in the wilderness and learned that soft speech isnot the weapon of strong men overmastering savagery. 

I know the trader and I were thinking the same thoughts and reading eachother's thoughts; for we stood silent above the drunk man, neithermoving, neither uttering a word. 

"Well?" I finally questioned in a whisper. 

"Well, " said he, and he knelt down and picked up the knife. "'Twouldserve him right. " He was speaking in the low, gentle, purring voice hehad used in the tent. "'Twould serve him jolly right, " and he knelt overLouis hesitating. 

My eyes followed his slow, deliberate motions with horror. Terror seemedto rob me of the power of speech. I felt my blood freeze with the fearof some impending crime. There was the faintest perceptible flutteringof leaves; and we both started up as if we had been assassins, glancingfearfully into the gloom of the forest. All the woods seemed alive withhorrified eyes and whisperings. 

"Stop!" I gasped, "This is madness, the madness of the murderer. Whatwould you do?" And I was trying to knock the knife out of his hand, when among the shadowy green of the foliage, an open space suddenlyresolved itself into a human face and there looked out upon us gleamingeyes like those of a crouching panther. 

"Squeamish fool!" muttered the Nor'-Wester, raising his arm. 

"Stop!" I implored. "We are watched. See!" and I pointed to the face, that as suddenly vanished into blackness. 

We both leaped into the thicket, pistol in hand, to wreak punishment onthe interloper. There was only an indistinct sound as of somethingreceding into the darkness. 

"Don't fire, " said I, "'twill alarm the camp. "

At imminent risk to our own lives, we poked sticks through the thicketand felt for our unseen enemy, but found nothing. 

"Let's go back and peg him out on the sand, where the Hudson's Bay willsee him when they come this way, " suggested the Nor'-Wester, referringto Laplante. 

"Yes, or hand-cuff him and take him along prisoner, " I added, thinkingLouis might have more information. 

But when we stepped back to the beach, there was no Louis Laplante. 

"He was too drunk to go himself, " said I, aghast at the certainty, whichnow came home to me, that we had been watched. 

"I wash my hands of the whole affair, " declared the trader, in a stateof high indignation, and he strode off to his tent, I, following, withuncomfortable reflections trooping into my mind. Compunctions rankled inself-respect. How near we had been to a brutal murder, to crime whichmakes men shun the perpetrators. Civilization's veneer was rubbing offat an alarming rate. This thought stuck, but for obvious reasons was notpursued. Also I had learned that the worst and best of outlawseasily justify their acts at the time they commit them; butafterwards--afterwards is a different matter, for the thing is pastundoing. 

I heard the trader snorting out inarticulate disgust as he tumbled intohis tent; but I stood above the embers of the camp fire thinking. AgainI felt with a creepiness, that set all my flesh quaking, felt, ratherthan saw, those maddening, tiger eyes of the dark foliage watching me. Looking up, I found my morose canoeman on the other side of the fire, leaning so close to a tree, he was barely visible in the shadows. Thinking himself unseen by me, he wore such an insolent, amused, malicious expression, I knew in an instant, who the interloper had been, and who had carried Louis off. Before I realized that such an actentails life-long enmity with an Indian, I had bounded over the fire andstruck him with all my strength full in the face. At that, instead ofknifing me as an Indian ordinarily would, he broke into hyena shrieks oflaughter. He, who has heard that sound, need hear it only once to havethe echo ring forever in his ears; and I have heard it oft and know itwell. 

"Spy! Sneak!" I muttered, rushing upon him. But he sprang back into theforest and vanished. In dodging me, he let fall his fowling-piece, whichwent off with a bang into the fire. 

"Hulloo! What's wrong out there?" bawled the trader's voice from thetent. 

"Nothing--false alarm!" I called reassuringly. Then there caught my eyeswhat startled me out of all presence of mind. There, reflecting theglare of the firelight was the Indian's fowling-piece, richly mounted inburnished silver and chased in the rare design of Eric Hamilton's familycrest. The morose canoeman was Le Grand Diable. 

 * * * * *

A few hours later, I was in the thick of a confused re-embarking. LeGrand Diable took a place in another boat; and a fresh hand was assignedto my canoe. Of that I was glad; I could sleep sounder and he, safer. The _Bourgeois_ complained that too much rum had been given out. 

"Keep a stiffer hand on your men, boy, or they'll ride over your head, "one of the chief traders remarked to me. 

CHAPTER VI

A GIRDLE OF AGATES RECALLED

To unravel a ball of yarn, with which kittens have been making cobwebs, has always seemed to me a much easier task than to unknot the tangledskein of confused influences, that trip up our feet at every step inlife's path. Here was I, who but a month ago had a supreme contempt forguile and a lofty confidence in uprightness and downrightness, transformed into a crafty trader with all the villainous tricks of thebargain-maker at my finger-tips. We had befooled Louis into a betrayalof his associates but how much reliance could be placed on thatbetrayal? Had he incriminated Diable to save himself? Then, why hadDiable rescued his betrayer? Where was Louis in hiding? Was the Siouxwife with her white slave really in the north country, or was she near, and did that explain my morose Iroquois' all-night vigils? We hadcheated Laplante; but had he in turn cheated us? Would I be justified intaking Diable prisoner, and would my company consent to thedemoralization of their crews by such a step? Ah, if life were only madeup of simple right and simple wrong, instead of half rights and halfwrongs indistinguishably mingled, we could all be righteous! If thepath to the goal of our chosen desire were only as straight as it isnarrow, instead of being dark, mysterious and tortuous, how easily couldwe attain high ends! I was launched on the life for which I had longed, but strange, shadowy forms like the storm-fiends of sailors' lore, drunkenness, deceit and crime--on whose presence I had notcounted--flitted about my ship's masthead. And there was not one guidingstar, not one redeeming influence, except the utter freedom to be a man. I was learning, what I suppose everyone learns, that there are thingswhich sap success of its sweets. 

Such were my thoughts, as our canoes sped across the northern end ofLake Huron, heading for the Sault. The Nor'-Westers had a wonderful wayof arousing enthusiastic loyalty among their men. Danger fanned thisfealty to white-heat. In the face of powerful opposition, the greatcompany frequently accomplished the impossible. With half as large astaff in the service as its rivals boasted, it invaded thehunting-ground of the Hudson's Bay Company, and outrunning allcompetition, extended fur posts from the heart of the continent to thefoot-hills to the Rockies, and from the international boundary to theArctic Circle. I had thought no crews could make quicker progress thanours from Lachine to _Point à la Croix_; but the short delay during thestorm occasioned faster work. More _voyageurs_ were engaged from theNipissangue tribes. As soon as one lot fagged fresh shifts came to therelief. Paddles shot out at the rate of modern piston rods, and thewaters whirled back like wave-wash in the wake of a clipper. Except forbriefest stoppages, speed was not relaxed across the whole northern endof those inland seas called the Great Lakes. With ample space on thelakes, the brigades could spread out and the canoes separated, nothalting long enough to come together again till we reached the Sault. Here, orders were issued for the maintenance of rigid discipline. Wecamped at a distance from the lodges of local tribes. No grog was givenout. Camp-fire conviviality was forbidden, and each man kept with hisown crew. We remained in camp but one night; and though I searched everytent, I could not find Le Grand Diable. This worried and puzzled me. Allnight, I lay awake, stretching conscience with doubtful plans to entrapthe knave. 

Rising with first dawn-streak, I was surprised to find Little Fellow andLa Robe Noire, two of my canoemen, setting off for the woods. They hadlaid a snare--so they explained--and were going to examine it. Of late Ihad grown distrustful of all natives. I suspected these two might beplanning desertion; so I went with them. The way led through a densethicket of ferns half the height of a man. Only dim light penetrated themaze of foliage; and I might easily have lost myself, or beendecoyed--though these possibilities did not occur to me till we were atleast a mile from the beach. Little Fellow was trotting ahead, La RobeNoire jogging behind, and both glided through the brake withoutdisturbing a fern branch, while I--after the manner of my race--crunchedflags underfoot and stamped down stalks enough to be tracked bykeen-eyed Indians for a week afterwards. Twice I saw Little Fellow pullup abruptly and look warily through the cedars on one side. Once hestooped down and peered among the fern stems. Then he silently signaledback to La Robe Noire, pointed through the undergrowth and ran aheadagain without explanation. At first I could see nothing, and regrettedbeing led so far into the woods. I was about to order both Indians backto the tent, when Little Fellow, with face pricked forward and footraised, as if he feared to set it down--for the fourth time came to adead stand. Now, I, too, heard a rustle, and saw a vague sinuousmovement distinctly running abreast of us among the ferns. For a moment, when we stopped, it ceased, then wiggled forward like beast, or serpentin the underbrush. Little Fellow placed his forefinger on his lips, andwe stood noiseless till by the ripple of the green it seemed to scurryaway. 

"What is it, Little Fellow, a cat?" I asked; but the Indian shook hishead dubiously and turned to the open where the trap had been set. 

Bending over the snare he uttered an Indian word, that I did notunderstand, but have since heard traders use, so conclude it was one ofthose exclamations, alien races learn quickest from one another, butwhich, nevertheless, are not found in dictionaries. The trap had beenrifled of game and completely smashed. 

"Wolverine!" muttered the Indian, making a sweep of his dagger blade atan imaginary foe. "No wolverine! Bad Indians!"

Scarcely had he spoken when La Robe Noire leaped into the air like awounded rabbit. An arrow whizzed past my face and glanced within ahair's-breadth of the Indian's head. Both men were dumb with amazement. Such treachery would have been surprising among the barbarous tribes ofthe Athabasca. The Sault was the dividing line between Canada and theWilderness, between the east and the west, and there were no hostileswithin a thousand miles of us. Little Fellow would have dragged mepell-mell back to the beach, but I needed no persuasion. La Robe Noiretore ahead with the springs of a hunted lynx. Little Fellow loyally keptbetween me and a possible pursuer, and we set off at a hard run. Thatcreature, I fancied, was again coursing along beneath the undergrowth;for the foliage bent and rose as we ran. Whether it were man or beast, we were three against one, and could drive it out of hiding. 

"See here, Little Fellow!" I cried, "Let's hunt that thing out!" and Iwheeled about so sharply the chunky little man crashed forward, knockingme off my feet and sending me a man's length farther on. 

That fall saved my life. A flat spear point hissed through the airabove my head and stuck fast in the bark of an elm tree. Scrambling up, I promptly let go two or three shots into the fern brake. We scrutinizedthe underbrush, but there was no sign of human being, except the fernstems broken by my shots. I wrenched the stone spear-head from the tree. It was curiously ornamented with such a multitude of intricate carvingsI could not decipher any design. Then I discovered that the medley ofcolors was produced by inlaying the flint with small bits of a brightstone; and the bright stones had been carved into a rude likeness ofsome birds. 

"What are these birds, Little Fellow?" I asked. 

He fingered them closely, and with bulging eyes muttered back, "L'Aigle!L'Aigle!"

"Eagles, are they?" I returned, stupidly missing the possible meaning ofhis suppressed excitement. "And the stone?"

"Agate, _Monsieur_. "

Agate! Agate! What picture did agate call back to my mind? A big squaw, with malicious eyes and gaping upper lip and girdle of agates, watchingLouis Laplante and myself at the encampment in the gorge. 

"Little Fellow!" I shouted, not suppressing my excitement. "Who is LeGrand Diable's wife?"

And the Indian answered in a low voice, with a face that showed me hehad already penetrated my discovery, "The daughter of L'Aigle, chief ofthe Sioux. "

Then I knew for whom those missiles had been intended and from whom theyhad come. It was a clever piece of rascality. Had the assassinsucceeded, punishment would have fallen on my Indians. 

CHAPTER VII

THE LORDS OF THE NORTH IN COUNCIL

Beyond the Sault, the fascinations of the west beckoned like a siren. Vast waterways, where a dozen European kingdoms could be dropped intoone lake without raising a sand-bar, seemed to sweep on forever and callwith the voice of enchantress to the very ends of the earth. With thepurple recesses of the shore on one side and the ocean-expanse of LakeSuperior on the other, all the charms of clean, fresh freedom wereunveiling themselves to me and my blood began to quicken with thatfevered delight, which old lands are pleased to call western enthusiasm. Lake Huron, with its greenish-blue, shallow, placid waters and calm, sloping shores, seemed typical of the even, easy life I had left in theeast. How those choppy, blustering, little waves resembled thejealousies and bickerings and bargainings of the east; but when one cameto Lake Superior, with its great ocean billows and slumbering, giantrocks and cold, dark, fathomless depths, there was a new life in a hard, rugged, roomy, new world. We hugged close to the north coast; and thenumerous rocky islands to our left stood guard like a wall of adamantbetween us and the heavy surf that flung against the barrier. We wererapidly approaching the headquarters of our company. When south-boundbrigades, with prisoners in hand-cuffs, began to meet us, I judged wewere near the habitation of man. 

"Bad men?" I asked Little Fellow, pointing to the prisoners, as ourcrews exchanged rousing cheers with the Nor'-Westers now bound forMontreal. 

"_Non, Monsieur!_ Not all bad men, " and the Indian gave his shoulders anexpressive shrug, "_Les traitres anglais_. "

To the French _voyageur_, English meant the Hudson's Bay people. Theanswer set me wondering to what pass things had come between the twogreat companies that they were shipping each other's tradersgratuitously out of the country. I recalled the talk at the Quebec Clubabout Governor McDonell of the Hudson's Bay trying to expel Nor'-Westersand concluded our people could play their own game against the commanderof Red River. 

We arrived in Fort William at sundown, and a flag was flying above thecourtyard. 

"Is that in our honor?" I asked a clerk of the party. 

"Not much it is, " he laughed. "We under-strappers aren't oppressed withhonors! It warns the Indians there's no trade one day out of seven. "

"Is this Sunday?"

I suddenly recollected as far as we were concerned the past month hadbeen entirely composed of week-days. 

"Out of your reckoning already?" asked the clerk with surprise. "Wonderhow you'll feel when you've had ten years of it. "

Situated on the river bank, near the site of an old French post, FortWilliam was a typical traders' stronghold. Wooden palisades twenty feethigh ran round the whole fort and the inner court enclosed at least twohundred square yards. Heavily built block-houses with guns pokingthrough window slits gave a military air to the trading post. Theblock-houses were apparently to repel attack from the rear and the faceof the fort commanded the river. Stores, halls, warehouses and livingapartments for an army of clerks, were banked against the walls, and themain building with its spacious assembly-room stood conspicuous in thecentre of the enclosure. As we entered the courtyard, one of the chieftraders was perched on a mortar in the gate. The little magnatecondescended never a smile of welcome till the _Bourgeois_ came up. Thenhe fawned loudly over the chiefs and conducted them with noisyostentation to the main hall. Indians and half-breed _voyageurs_ quicklydispersed among the wigwams outside the pickets, while clerks andtraders hurried to the broad-raftered dining-hall. Fatigued from thetrip, I took little notice of the vociferous interchange of news inpassage-way and over door-steps. I remember, after supper I wasstrolling about the courtyard, surveying the buildings, when at thedoor of a sort of barracks where residents of the fort lived, I caughtsight of the most grateful object my eye had lighted upon since leavingQuebec. It was a tin basin with a large bar of soap--actual soap. Theremust still have been some vestige of civilization in my nature, forafter a delightful half-hour's intimate acquaintance with that soap, Icame round to the groups of men rehabilitated in self-respect. 

"Athabasca, Rocky Mountain and Saskatchewan brigades here to-morrow, "remarked a boyish looking Nor'-Wester, with a mannish beard on his face. Involuntarily I put my hand to my chin and found a bristling growththere. That was a land where young men could become suddenly very old;and many a trader has discovered other signs of age than a beard on hisface when he first looked at a mirror after life in the _Pays d'EnHaut_. 

"I say, " blurted out another young clerk. "There's a man here from RedRiver, one of the Selkirk settlers. He's come with word if we'll supplythe boats, lots of the colonists are ready to dig out. GeneralAssembly's going to consider that to-morrow. "

"Oh! Hang the old Assembly if it ships that man out! He's got a prettydaughter, perfect beauty, and she's here with him!" exclaimed the ladwith the mannish beard. 

"Go to, thou light-head!" declared the other youth, with the air of anelder in Israel. "Go to! You paraded beneath her window for an hourto-day and she never once laid eyes on you. "

All the men laughed. 

"Hang it!" said the first speaker. "We don't display our littleamours----"

"No, " broke in the other, "we just display our little contours and getsnubbed, eh?"

The bearded youth flushed at the sally of laughter. 

"Hang it!" he answered, pulling fiercely at his moustache. "She is a bitof statuary, so she is, as cold as marble. But there is no law againstlooking at a pretty bit of statuary, when it frames itself in a windowin this wilderness. "

To which, every man of the crowd said a hearty amen; and I walked off tostretch myself full length on a bench, resolving to have out a mirrorfrom my packing case and get rid of those bristles that offended mychin. The men began to disperse to their quarters. The tardy twilight ofthe long summer evenings, peculiar to the far north, was gathering inthe courtyard. As the night-wind sighed past, I felt the velvet caressof warm June air on my face and memory reverted to the innocent boyhooddays of Laval. How far away those days seemed! Yet it was not so longago. Surely it is knowledge, not time, that ages one, knowledge, thattakes away the trusting innocence resulting from ignorance and gives inits place the distrustful innocence resulting from wisdom. I thought ofthe temptations that had come to me in the few short weeks I had beenadrift, and how feebly I had resisted them. I asked myself if there werenot in the moral compass of men, who wander by land, some guiding star, as there is for those who wander over sea. I gazed high above thesloping roofs for some sign of moon, or star. The sky was darkling andovercast; but in lowering my eyes from heaven to earth, I saw what I hadmissed before--a fair, white face framed in a window above the stoopdirectly opposite my bench. The face seemed to have a background ofgold; for a wonderful mass of wavy hair clustered down from theblue-veined brow to the bit of white throat visible, where a gauzy pieceof neck wear had been loosened. Evidently, this was the statuarydescribed by the whiskered youth. But the statuary breathed. A bloom ofliving apple-blossoms was on the cheeks. The brows were black andarched. The very pose of the head was arch, and in the lips was asuggestion of archery, too, --Cupid's archery, though the upper lip wasdrawn almost too tight for the bow beneath to discharge the little god'sshaft. Why did I do it? I do not know. Ask the young Nor'-Wester, whohad worn a path beneath the selfsame window that very day, or the hostsof young men, who are still wearing paths beneath windows to this veryday. I coughed and sat bolt upright on the bench with unnecessarily loudintimations of my presence. The fringe of black lashes did not evenlift. I rose and with great show of indifference paraded solemnly fivetimes past that window; but, in spite of my pompous indifference, by asort of side-signalling, I learned that the owner of the heavy lasheswas unaware of my existence. Thereupon, I sat down again. It _was_ a bitof statuary and a very pretty bit of statuary. As the youth said, therewas no law against looking at a bit of statuary in this wilderness, andas the statuary did not know I was looking at it, I sat back to take myfill of that vision framed in the open window. The statuary, unknown toitself, had full meed of revenge; for it presently brought such a floodof longing to my heart, longings, not for this face, but for what thisface represented--the innocence and love and purity of home, that Ibowed dejectedly forward with moist eyes gazing at the ground. 

"Hullo!" whispered a deep voice in my ear. "Are you mooning after theLittle Statue already?"

When I looked up, the man had passed, but the head in the window wasleaning out and a pair of swimming, lustrous, gray eyes were gazingforward in a way that made me dizzy. "Ah, " they said in a language thatneeded no speaking, "there are two of us, very, very home-sick. "

"The guiding star for my moral compass, " said I, under my breath. 

Then the statue in a live fashion suddenly drew back into the dark room. The window-shutter flung to, with a bang, and my vision was gone. I leftthe bench, made a shake-down on one of the store counters, and knewnothing more till the noise of brigades from the far north aroused thefort at an early hour Monday morning. The arrival of the Athabascatraders was the signal for tremendous activity. An army returning fromvictory could not have been received with greater acclaim. _Bourgeois_and clerks tumbled promiscuously from every nook in the fort and rushinghalf-dressed towards the gates shouted welcome to the men, who had comefrom the outposts of the known world. They were a shaggy, ragged-lookingrabble, those traders from mountain fastnesses and the Arctic circle. With long white hair, hatless some of them, with beards like orientalpatriarchs, and dressed entirely in skins of the chase, from fringedcoats to gorgeous moccasins, the unkempt monarchs of northern realms hadthe imperious bearing of princes. 

"Is it you, really you, looking as old as your great grandfather? ByGad! So it is, " came from one quondam friend. 

"Powers above!" ejaculated another onlooker, "See that old FatherAbraham! It's Tait! As you live, it's Tait! And he only went to theAthabasca ten years ago. He was thirty then, and now he's a hundred!"

"That's Wilson, " says another. "Looks thin, doesn't he? Slim fare! He'sthe only man from Great Slave Lake that escaped being a meal for theCrees, --year of the famine; and they hadn't time to pick his bones!"

A running fire of such comments went along the spectators lining eachside of the path. There was a sad side to the clamorous welcomes andhandshakes and surprised recognitions. Had not these men gone northyoung and full of hope, as I was going? Now, news of the feud with theHudson's Bay brought them out old before their time and more like thenatives with whom they had traded than the white race they had left. Here and there, strong men would fall in each other's arms and embracelike school-girls, covering their emotion with rounded oaths instead ofterms of endearment. 

All day the confusion of unloading boats continued. The dull tread ofmoccasined feet as Indians carried pack after pack from river bank tothe fort, was ceaseless. Faster than the clerks could sort the fursgreat bundles were heaped on the floor. By noon, warehouses were crammedfrom basement to attic. Ermine taken in mid-winter, when the fur wasspotlessly white, but for the jet tail-tip, otter cut so deftly scarcelya tuft of fur had been wasted along the opened seam, silver fox, whichhad made the fortune of some lucky hunter--these and other rare furs, that were to minister to the luxury of kings, passed from tawny carriersto sorters. Elsewhere, coarse furs, obtained at greater risk, but owingto the abundance of big game, less valuable for the hunter, were sortedand valued. With a reckless underestimate of the beaver-skin, their unitof currency, Indians hung over counters bartering away the season'shunt. I frankly acknowledge the Company's clerks on such occasions coulddo a rushing business selling tawdry stuff at fabulous prices. 

Meanwhile, in the main hall, the _Bourgeois_, or partners, of the greatNorth-West Company were holding their annual General Assembly behindclosed doors. Clerks lowered their voices when they passed that room, and well they might; for the rulers inside held despotic sway over adomain as large as Europe. And what were they decreeing? Who can tell?The archives of the great fur companies are as jealously guarded asdiplomatic documents, and more remarkable for what they omit than whatthey state. Was the policy, that ended so tragically a year afterwards, adopted at this meeting? Great corporations have a fashion of keepingtheir mouths and their council doors tight shut and of leaving thepublic to infer that catastrophes come causeless. However that may be, Iknow that Duncan Cameron, a fiery Highlander and one of the keenest menin the North-West service, suddenly flung out of the Assembly room witha pleased, determined look on his ruddy face. 

"Are ye Rufus Gillespie?" he asked. 

"That's my name, Sir. "

"Then buckle on y'r armor, lad; for ye'll see the thick of the fight. You're appointed to my department at Red River. " And he left us. 

"Lucky dog! I envy you! There'll be rare sport between Cameron andMcDonell, when the two forts up in Red River begin to talk back to eachother, " exclaimed a Fort William man to me. 

"Are you Gillespie?" asked a low, mellow, musical voice by my side. Iturned to face a tall, dark, wiry man, with the swarthy complexion andintensely black eyes of one having strains of native blood. Among the_voyageurs_, I had become accustomed to the soft-spoken, melodiousspeech that betrays Indian parentage; and I believe if I were toencounter a descendant of the red race in China, or among the Latinpeoples of Southern Europe, I could recognize Indian blood by thatrhythmic trick of the native tongue. 

"I'm Gillespie, " I answered my keen-eyed questioner. "Who are you?"

"Cuthbert Grant, warden of the plains and leader of the _Bois-Brulés_, "was his terse response. "You're coming to our department at FortGibraltar, and I want you to give Father Holland a place in your canoesto come north with us. He's on his way to the Missouri. "

At that instant Duncan Cameron came up to Grant and muttered something. Both men at once went back to the council hall of the General Assembly. I heard the courtyard gossips vowing that the Hudson's Bay would ceaseits aggressions, now that Cameron and Cuthbert Grant were to lead theNor'-Westers; but I made no inquiry. Next to keeping his own counsel andgiving credence to no man, the fur trader learns to gain informationonly with ears and eyes, and to ask no questions. The scurrying turmoilin the fort lasted all day. At dusk, natives were expelled from thestockades and work stopped. 

Grand was the foregathering around the supper table of the great dininghall that night. _Bourgeois_, clerks and traders from afar, explorers, from the four corners of the earth--assembled four hundred strong, buoyant and unrestrained, enthusiastically loyal to the company, andtingling with hilarious fellowship over this, the first reunion fortwenty years. Though their manner and clothing be uncouth, men who havepassed a lifetime exploring northern wilds have that to say, which isworth hearing. So the feast was prolonged till candles sputtered low andpitch-pine fagots flared out. Indeed, before the gathering broke up, flagons as well as candles had to be renewed. Lanterns swung from theblack rafters of the ceiling. Tallow candles stood in solemn rows downthe centre of each table, showing that men, not women, had prepared thebanquet. Stuck in iron brackets against the walls were pine torches, that had been dipped in some resinous mixture and now flamed brightlywith a smell not unlike incense. Tables lined the four walls of the halland ran in the form of a cross athwart the middle of the room. Backlessbenches were on both sides of every table. At the end, chairs wereplaced, the seats of honor for famous _Bourgeois_. British flags hadbeen draped across windows and colored bunting hung from rafter torafter. 

"Ah, mon! Is no this fine? This is worth living for! This is the companyto serve!" Duncan Cameron exclaimed as he sank into one of the chairs atthe head of the centre table. The Scotchman's heart softened beforethose platters of venison and wild fowl, and he almost broke intogeniality. "Here, Gillespie, to my right, " he called, motioning me tothe edge of the bench at his elbow. "Here, Grant, opposite Gillespie!Aye! an' is that you, Father Holland?" he cried to the stout, jovialpriest, with shining brow and cheeks wrinkling in laughter, who followedGrant. "There's a place o' honor for men like you, Sir. Here!" and hegave the priest a chair beside himself. 

The _Bourgeois_ seated, there was a scramble for the benches. Then thewhole company with great zest and much noisy talk fell upon the viandswith a will. 

"Why, Cameron, " began a northern winterer a few places below me, "it'staken me three months fast travelling to come from McKenzie River toFort William. By Jove! Sir, 'twas cold enough to freeze your words solidas you spoke them, when we left Great Slave Lake. I'll bet if you menwere up there now, you'd hear my voice thawing out and yelling get-eppto my huskies, and my huskies yelping back! Used a dog train, whole ofMarch. Tied myself up in bag of buffalo robes at night and made thehuskies lie across it to keep me from freezing. Got so hot, every porein my body was a spouting fountain, and in the morning that moisturewould freeze my buckskin stiff. Couldn't stand that; so I tried sleepingwith my head out of the bag and froze my nose six nights out of seven. "

The unfortunate nose corroborated his evidence. 

"Ice was sloppy on the Saskatchewan, and I had to use pack-horses andtake the trail. I was trusting to get provisions at Souris. You canimagine, then, how we felt towards the Hudson's Bays when we foundthey'd plundered our fort. We were without a bite for two days. Why, wetook half a dozen Hudson's Bays in our quarters up north last winter, and saved them from starvation; and here we were, starving, that theymight plunder and rob. I'm with you, Sir! I'm with you to the hiltagainst the thieves! There's a time for peace and there's a time forwar, and I say this is a very good time for war!"

"Here's confusion to the old H. B. C's! Confusion, short life, noprosperity, and death to the Hudson's Bay!" yelled the young whiskeredNor'-Wester, springing to his feet on the bench and waving adrinking-cup round his head. Some of the youthful clerks were disposedto take their cue from this fire-eater and began strumming the table andapplauding; but the _Bourgeois_ frowned on forward conduct. 

"Check him, Grant!" growled Cameron in disapproval. 

"Sit down, bumptious babe!" said the priest, tugging the lad's coat. 

"Here, you young show-off, " whispered Grant, leaning across the priest, and he knocked the boy's feet from under him bringing him down to thebench with a thud. 

"He needs more outdoor life, that young one! It goes to his head mightyfast, " remarked Cameron. "What were you saying about your hard luck?"and he turned to the northern winterer again. 

"Call that hard luck?" broke in a mountaineer, laughing as if heconsidered hardships a joke. "We lived a month last winter on two mealsa day; soup, out of snow-shoe thongs, first course; fried skins, secondgo; teaspoonful shredded fish, by way of an entrée!"

The man wore a beaded buckskin suit, and his mellow intonation of wordsin the manner of the Indian tongue showed that he had almost lostEnglish speech along with English customs. His recital caused nosurprise. 

"Been on short, rations myself, " returned the northerner. "Don't likeit! Isn't safe! Rips a man's nerves to the raw when Indians glare at himwith hungry eyes eighteen hours out of the twenty-four. "

"What was the matter?" drawled the mountaineer. "Hudson's Bay beentampering with your Indians? Now if you had a good Indian wife as Ihave, you could defy the beggars to turn trade away----"

"Aye, that's so, " agreed the winterer, "I heard of a fellow on theAthabasca who had to marry a squaw before he could get a pair ofracquets made; but that wasn't my trouble. Game was scarce. "

"Game scarce on MacKenzie River?" A chorus of voices vented theirsurprise. To the outside world game is always scarce, reported scarce onMacKenzie River and everywhere else by the jealous fur traders; butthese deceptions are not kept up among hunters fraternizing at the samebanquet board. 

"Mighty scarce. Some of the tribe died out from starvation. The Hudson'sBay in our district were in bad plight. We took six of them in--Hadn'theard of the Souris plunder, you may be sure. "

"More fools they to go into the Athabasca, " declared the mountaineer. 

"Bigger fools to send another brigade there this year when they needn'texpect help from us, " interjected a third trader. 

"You don't say they're sending another lot of men to the Athabasca!"exclaimed the winterer. 

"Yes I do--under Colin Robertson, " affirmed the third man. 

"Colin Robertson--the Nor'-Wester?"

"Robertson who used to be a Nor'-Wester! It's Selkirk's work since hegot control of the H. B. "

"Robertson should know better, " said the northerner. "He had experiencewith us before he resigned. I'll wager he doesn't undertake that sort ofventure! Surely it's a yarn!"

"You lose your bet, " cried the irrepressible Fort William lad. "A runnercame in at six o'clock and reported that the Hudson's Bay brigade fromLachine would pass here before midnight. They're sooners, they are, arethe H. B. C's. , " and the clerk enjoyed the sensation of rolling a bigoath from his boyish lips. 

"Eric Hamilton passing within a stone's throw of the fort!" Inastonishment I leaned forward to catch every word the Fort William ladmight say. 

"To Athabasca by our route--past this fort!" Such temerity amazed thewinterer beyond coherent expression. 

"Good thing for them they're passing in the night, " continued the clerk. "The half-breeds are hot about that Souris affair. There'll be acollision yet!" The young fellow's importance increased in proportion tothe surprise of the elder men. 

"There'll be a collision anyway when Cameron and Grant reach RedRiver--eh, Cuthbert?" and the mountaineer turned to the dark, sharp-featured warden of the plains. Cuthbert Grant laughed pleasantly. 

"Oh, I hope not--for their sakes!" he said, and went on with the storyof a buffalo hunt. 

The story I missed, for I was deep in my own thoughts. I must see Ericand let him know what I had learned; but how communicate with theHudson's Bay brigade without bringing suspicion of double dealing onmyself? I was turning things over in my mind in a stupid sort of waylike one new at intrigue, when I heard a talker, vowing by all that washoly that he had seen the rarest of hunter's rarities--a pure whitebuffalo. The wonder had appeared in Qu'Appelle Valley. 

"I can cap that story, man, " cried the portly Irish priest who was to gonorth in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" Hepaused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if Ihad been struck. 

"What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows upnorth see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our ownvoices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"--he wavedtowards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of theuniverse--"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad. "

I sat down abashed. 

"Yes, a white squaw, " repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, whiteladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make amistake. "

"There's a difference between squaws and white ladies, " persisted thejolly father, all unconscious that he was emphasizing a difference whichmany of the traders were spelling out in hard years of experience. 

"I've seen papooses that were white for a day or two after they wereborn----"

"Effect of the christening, " interrupted the youth, whose head, betweenflattered vanity and the emptied contents of his drinking cup, was verylight indeed. 

"Take that idiot out and put him to bed, somebody, " commanded Cameron. 

"For a day or two after they were born, " reiterated the priest; "but Inever saw such a white-skinned squaw!"

"Where did you see her?" I inquired in a voice which was not my own. 

"On Lake Winnipeg. Coming down two weeks ago we camped near a band ofSioux, and I declare, as I passed a tepee, I saw a woman's face thatlooked as white as snow. She was sleeping, and the curtain had blown up. Her child was in her arms, and I tell you her bare arms were as white assnow. "

"Must have been the effect of the moonlight, " explained some one. 

"Moonlight didn't give the other Indians that complexion, " insisted thepriest. 

It was my turn to feel my head suddenly turn giddy, though liquor hadnot passed my lips. This information could have only one meaning. I wasclose on the track of Miriam, and Eric was near; yet the slightestblunder on my part might ruin all chance of meeting him and rescuingher. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE

The men began arguing about the degrees of whiteness in a squaw's skin. Those, married to native women, averred that differences of complexionwere purely matters of temperament and compared their dusky wives toSpanish belles. The priest was now talking across the table to DuncanCameron, advocating a renewal of North-West trade with the Mandanes onthe Missouri, whither he was bound on his missionary tour. To ventureout of the fort through the Indian encampments, where natives andoutlaws were holding high carnival, and my sleepless foe could have afree hand, would be to risk all chance of using the information that hadcome to me. 

I did not fear death--fear of death was left east of the Sault in thosedays. On my preservation depended Miriam's rescue. Besides, if either LeGrand Diable or myself had to die, I came to the conclusion of other mensimilarly situated--that my enemy was the one who should go. 

Violins, flutes and bag-pipes were striking up in different parts of thehall. Simple ballads, smacking of old delights in an older land, songs, with which home-sick white men comforted themselves in far-offlodges--were roared out in strident tones. Feet were beating time to therasp of the fiddles. Men rose and danced wild jigs, or deftly executedsome intricate Indian step; and uproarious applause greeted everyperformer. The hall throbbed with confused sounds and the din deadenedmy thinking faculties. Even now, Eric might be slipping past. In thatdeafening tumult I could decide nothing, and when I tried to leave thetable, all the lights swam dizzily. 

"Excuse me, Sir!" I whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "You'reFather Holland and are to go north in my boats. Come out with me for amoment. "

Thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'Pon my soul! Strappingfellows like you shouldn't need last rites----"

"Please say nothing! Come quickly!" and I gripped his arm. 

"Bless us! It's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose andfollowed me from the hall. 

In the fresh air, dizziness left me. Sitting down on the bench, where Ihad lain the night before, I told him my perplexing mission. At first, Iam sure he was convinced that I was drunk or raving, but my story hadthe directness of truth. He saw at once how easily he could leave thefort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offeredto come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept Hamilton. 

"But we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart outwhenever the brigade appears, " declared the priest, casting about in hismind for means to forward our object. 

"The canoes are all locked up. Can't you borrow one from the Indians?Don't you know any of them?" I asked with a sudden sinking of heart. 

"And have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? No--no--that won'tdo. Where are your wits, boy! Arrah! Me hearty, but what was that?"

We both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, butdarkness hid anyone who might have been listening. 

"Hm!" said the priest. "Overheard! Fine conspirators we are! Someeavesdropper!"

"Hush!" and remembering whose window it was, I held him; for he wouldhave stalked away. 

"Are you there?" came a clear, gentle voice, that fell from the windowin the breaking ripples of a fountain plash. 

The bit of statuary had become suddenly animate and was not somarble-cold to mankind as it looked. Thinking we had been taken for anexpected lover, I, too, was moving off, when the voice, that soundedlike the dropping golden notes of a cremona, called out in tones ofvibrating alarm:

"Don't--don't go! Priest! Priest! Father! It's you I'm speaking to. I'veheard every word!"

Father Holland and I were too much amazed to do aught but gape from eachother to the dark window. We could now see the outlines of a white facethere. 

"If you'd please put one bench on top of another, and balance a bucketon that, I think I could get down, " pleaded the low, thrilling voice. 

"An' in the name of the seven wonders of creation, what for would you begetting down?" asked the astonished priest. 

"Oh! Hurry! Are you getting the bench?" coaxed the voice. 

"Faith an' we're not! And we have no thought of doing such a thing!"began the good man with severity. 

"Then, I'll jump, " threatened the voice. 

"And break your pretty neck, " answered the ungallant father withindignation. 

There was a rustling of skirts being gathered across the window sill andoutlines of a white face gave place to the figure of a frail girlpreparing for a leap. 

"Don't!" I cried, genuinely alarmed, with a mental vision of shatteredstatuary on the ground. "Don't! I'm getting the benches, " and I piledthem up, with a rickety bucket on top. "Wait!" I implored, stepping upon the bottom bench. "Give me your hand, " and as I caught her hands, sheleaped from the window to the bucket, and the bucket to the ground, witha daintiness, which I thought savored of experience in such escapades. 

"What do you mean, young woman?" demanded Father Holland in anger. "I'llhave none of your frisky nonsense! Do you know, you baggage, that youare delaying this young man in a matter that is of life-and-deathimportance? Tell me this instant, what do you want?"

"I want to save that woman, Miriam! You're both so slow and stupid!Come, quick!" and she caught us by the arms. "There's a skiff down amongthe rushes in the flats. I can guide you to it. Cross the river in it!Oh! Quick! Quick! Some of the Hudson's Bay brigades have alreadypassed!"

"How do you know?" we both demanded as in one breath. 

"I'm Frances Sutherland. My father is one of the Selkirk settlers and hehad word that they would pass to-night! Oh! Come! Come!"

This girl, the daughter of a man who was playing double to bothcompanies! And her service to me would compel me to be loyal to him!Truly, I was becoming involved in a way that complicated simple duty. But the girl had darted ahead of us, we following by the flutter of thewhite gown, and she led us out of the courtyard by a sally-port to therear of a block-house. She paused in the shadow of some shrubbery. 

"Get fagots from the Indians to light us across the flats, " shewhispered to Father Holland. "They'll think nothing of your coming. You're always among them!"

"Mistress Sutherland!" I began, as the priest hurried forward to theIndian camp-fires, "I hate to think of you risking yourself in this wayfor----"

"Stop thinking, then, " she interrupted abruptly in a voice that somehowreminded me of my first vision of statuary. 

"I beg your pardon, " I blundered on. "Father Holland and I have bothforgotten to apologize for our rudeness about helping you down. "

"Pray don't apologize, " answered the marble voice. Then the girllaughed. "Really you're worse than I thought, when I heard you bunglingover a boat. I didn't mind your rudeness. It was funny. "

"Oh!" said I, abashed. There are situations in which conversation isimpossible. 

"I didn't mind your rudeness, " she repeated, "and--and--you mustn't mindmine. Homesick people aren't--aren't--responsible, you know. Ah! Hereare the torches! Give me one. I thank you--Father Holland--is it not?Please smother them down till we reach the river, or we'll be followed. "

She was off in a flash, leading us through a high growth of rushesacross the flats. So I was both recognized and remembered from theprevious night. The thought was not displeasing. The wind moaneddismally through the reeds. I did not know that I had been glancingnervously behind at every step, with uncomfortable recollections ofarrows and spear-heads, till Father Holland exclaimed:

"Why, boy! You're timid! What are you scared of?"

"The devil!" and I spoke truthfully. 

"Faith! There's more than yourself runs from His Majesty; but resist thedevil and he will flee from you. "

"Not the kind of devil that's my enemy, " I explained. I told him of thearrow-shot and spear-head, and all mirth left his manner. 

"I know him, I know him well. There's no greater scoundrel betweenQuebec and Athabasca. "

"My devil, or yours?"

"Yours, lad. Let your laughter be turned to mourning! Beware of him!I've known more than one murder of his doing. Eh! But he's cunning, socunning! We can't trip him up with proofs; and his body's as slippery asan eel or we might----"

But a loon flapped up from the rushes, brushing the priest's face withits wings. 

"Holy Mary save us!" he ejaculated panting to keep up with our guide. "Faith! I thought 'twas the devil himself!"

"Do you really mean it? Would it be right to get hold of Le GrandDiable?" I asked. Frances Sutherland had slackened her pace and we wereall three walking abreast. A dry cane crushed noisily under foot and myhead ducked down as if more arrows had hissed past. 

"Mane it?" he cried, "mane it? If ye knew all the evil he's done ye'dknow whether I mane it. " It was his custom when in banter to drop fromEnglish to his native brogue like a merry-andrew. 

"But, Father Holland, I had him in my power. I struck him, but I didn'tkill him, more's the pity!"

"An' who's talking of killin', ye young cut-throat? I say get howld ofhis body and when ye've got howld of his body, I'd further advisegettin' howld of the butt end of a saplin'----"

"But, Father, he was my canoeman. I had him in my power. "

Instantly he squared round throwing the torchlight on my face. 

"Had him in your power--knew what he'd done--and--and--didn't?"

"And didn't, " said I. "But you almost make me wish I had. What do youtake traders for?"

"You're young, " said he, "and I take traders for what they are----"

"But I'm a trader and I didn't----" Though a beginner, I wore the airsof a veteran. 

"Benedicite!" he cried. "The Lord shall be your avenger! He shalldeliver that evil one into the power of the punisher!"

"Benedicite!" he repeated. "May ye keep as clean a conscience in thisland as you've brought to it. "

"Amen, Father!" said I. 

"Here we are, " exclaimed Frances Sutherland as we emerged from thereeds to the brink of the river, where a skiff was moored. "Go, bequick! I'll stay here! 'Twill be better without me. The Hudson's Bay arekeeping close to the far shore!"

"You can't stay alone, " objected Father Holland. 

"I shall stay alone, and I've had my way once already to-night. "

"But we don't wish to lose one woman in finding another, " I protested. 

"Go, " she commanded with a furious little stamp. "You lose time!Stupids! Do you think I stay here for nothing? We may have been followedand I shall stay here and watch! I'll hide in the rushes! Go!" And therewas a second stamp. 

That stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong menand sent us rowing meekly across the river. 

"Did ye ever--did ever ye see such a little termagant, such apersuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priestalmost breathless with surprise. 

"Queen of courage!" I answered back. 

"Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!"

She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among thereeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening betweenoar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was nosound but the lashing of water against the pebbled shore and we lay ina little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boatsshould come abreast. 

We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headlandcoming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across itspath and Father Holland waved the torches overhead. 

"Hist! Hold back there--have a care!" I called. 

"Clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear--or we fire!"

"Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would notalarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat. 

"Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded. 

"A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who areyou?" growled the voice. 

"Answer--quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respectholy orders; and I succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe. 

"Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyondreach. 

"Give 'im a bullet!" called another. 

"For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torchaloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot amissionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur'sEric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and hecaught the edge of their craft in his right hand. 

"Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shonesteel-shod. 

"Let go--is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in atowering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'rimp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute, or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an'ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give politequestions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? Forshame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?"

Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passedfrom man to man. 

"Hamilton's far ahead--above the falls now, " answered the steersman. 

"Then, as ye hope to save your soul, " warned Father Holland not yetappeased, "deliver this young man's message!"

"Tell Hamilton, " I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by aband of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that andhe'll reward you well!"

"Vary by one word from the message, " added the priest, "and my curses'lltrack your soul to the furnace. "

Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoewas lost in the darkness. 

More than once I thought that a shadowy thing like an Indian's boat hadhung on our rear and the craft seemed to be dogging us back to theflats. Father Holland raised his torch and could see nothing on thewater but the glassy reflection of our own forms. He said it was aphantom boat I had seen; and, truly, visions of Le Grande Diable hadhaunted me so persistently of late, I could scarcely trust my senses. Frances Sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. Iput muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out--

"An Indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. Did you see it?"

"No, " returned Father Holland. 

"I think we did, " said I. 

 * * * * *

"How can I thank you for what you have done?" I was saying to FrancesSutherland as we entered the fort by the same sally-port. 

"Do you really want to know how?"

"Do I?" I was prepared to offer dramatic sacrifice. 

"Then never think of it again, nor speak of it again, nor know me anymore than if it hadn't happened----"

"The conditions are hard. "

"And----"

"And what?" I asked eagerly. 

"And help me back the way I came down. For if my father--oh! if myfather knew--he would kill me!"

"Faith! So he ought!" ejaculated the priest. "Risking such precioustreasure among vandals!"

Again I piled up the benches. From the bench, she stepped to the bucket, and from the bucket to my shoulder, and as the light weight left myshoulder for the window sill, unknown to her, I caught the fluffy skirt, now bedraggled with the night dew, and kissed it gratefully. 

"Oh--ho--and oh-ho and oh-ho, " hummed the priest. "Do _I_ scentmatrimony?"

"Not unless it's in your nose, " I returned huffily. "Show me a man ofall the hundreds inside, Father Holland, that wouldn't go on hismarrow-bones to a woman who risks life and reputation, which is dearerthan life, to save another woman!"

"Bless you, me hearty, if he wouldn't, he'd be a villain, " said thepriest. 

CHAPTER IX

DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY

I frequently passed that window above the stoop next day. Once I saw aface looking down on me with such withering scorn, I wondered if thedisgraceful scene with Louis Laplante had become noised about, and Ihastened to take my exercise in another part of the courtyard. Thereupon, others paid silent homage to the window, but they likewisesoon tired of that parade ground. 

Eastern notions of propriety still clung to me. Of this I had immediateproof. When our rough crews were preparing to re-embark for the north, Iwas shocked beyond measure to see this frail girl come down with herfather to travel in our company. Not counting her father, the priest, Duncan Cameron, Cuthbert Grant and myself, there were in our partythree-score reckless, uncurbed adventurers, who feared neither God norman. I thought it strange of a father to expose his daughter to the boldgaze, coarse remarks, and perhaps insults of such men. Before the end ofthat trip, I was to learn a lesson in western chivalry, which is noteasily explained, or forgotten. As father and daughter were waiting totake their places in a boat, a shapeless, flat-footed woman, wearingmoccasins--probably the half-breed wife of some trader in the fort--ranto the water's edge with a parcel of dainties, and kissing the girl onboth cheeks, wished her a fervent God-speed. 

"Oh!" growled the young Nor'-Wester, who had been carried from thebanquet hall, and now wore the sour expression that is the aftermath ofbanquets. "Look at that fat lump of a bumblebee distilling honey fromthe rose! There are others who would appreciate that sort of thing! This_is_ the wilderness of lost opportunities!"

The girl seated herself in a canoe, where the only men were DuncanCameron, her father and the native _voyageurs_; and I dare vouch a scoreof young traders groaned at the sight of this second lost opportunity. 

"Look, Gillespie! Look!" muttered my comrade of the banquet hall. "TheLittle Statue set up at the prow of yon canoe! I'll wager you doreverence to graven images all the way to Red River!"

"I'll wager we all do, " said I. 

And we did. To change the metaphor--after the style of Mr. JackMacKenzie's eloquence--I warrant there was not a young man of the eightcrews, who did not regard that marble-cold face at the prow of theleading canoe, as his own particular guiding star. And the white facebeneath the broad-brimmed hat, tied down at each side in the fashion ofthose days, was as serenely unconscious of us as any star of theheavenly constellations. If she saw there were objects behind her canoe, and that the objects were living beings, and the living beings men, shegave no evidence of it. Nor was the Little Statue--as we had got in thehabit of calling her--heartless. In spite of the fears which sheentertained for her stern father, her filial affection was a thing toturn the lads of the crews quite mad. Scarcely were we ashore at thedifferent encampments before father and daughter would stroll off arm inarm, leaving the whole brigade envious and disconsolate. Was it theinfluence of this slip of a girl, I wonder, that a curious change cameover our crews? The men still swore; but they did it under their breath. Fewer yarns of a quality, which need not be specified, were told; andcertain kinds of jokes were no longer greeted with a loud guffaw. Stillwe all thought ourselves mightily ill-used by that diminutive bundle ofindependence, and some took to turning the backs of their heads in herdirection when she chanced to come their way. One young spark saidsomething about the Little Statue being a prig, which we all invited himto repeat, but he declined. Had she played the coquette under theinnocent mask of sympathy and all other guiles with which gentle slayersambush strong hearts, I dare affirm there would have been trouble enoughand to spare. Suicides, fights, insults and worse, I have witnessed whensome fool woman with a fair face came among such men. "Fool" woman, Isay, rather than "false"; for to my mind falsity in a woman may not becompared to folly for the utter be-deviling of men. 

With our guiding star at the prow of the fore canoe, we continued towind among countless islands, through narrow, rocky channels and alongthose endless water-ways, that stretch like a tangled, silver chain withemerald jewels, all the way from the Great Lakes to the plains. Somewhere along Rainy River, where there is an oasis of rolling, woodedmeadows in a desert of iron rock, we pitched our tents for the night. The evening air was fragrant with the odor of summer's early flowers. Icould not but marvel at the almost magical growth in these far northernlatitudes. Barely a month had passed since snow enveloped the earth in awinding sheet, and I have heard old residents say that the winter'sfrost penetrated the ground for a depth of four feet. Yet here we werein a very tropic of growth run riot and the frost, which still laybeneath the upper soil, was thawing and moistening the succulent rootsof a wilderness of green. The meadow grass, swaying off to the forestmargin in billowy ripples, was already knee-high. The woods were animpenetrable mass of foliage from the forest of ferns about the broadtrunks to the high tree-tops, nodding and fanning in the night breezelike coquettish dames in an eastern ball-room. Everywhere--at the riverbank, where our tents stood, above the long grass, and in theforest--clear, faint and delicate, like the bloom of a fair woman'scheek, or the pensive theme of some dream fugue, or the sweet notes ofsome far-off, floating harmonies, was an odor of hidden flowers. Atrader's nature is, of necessity, rough in the grain, but it is notcorrupt with the fevered joys of the gilded cities. Even we could feelthe call of the wilds to come and seek. It was not surprising, therefore, that after supper father and daughter should stroll away fromthe encampment, arm in arm, as usual. As their figures passed into thewoods, the girl broke away from her father's arm and stooped to theground. 

"Pickin' flowers, " was the laconic remark of the trader, who had helpedme with Louis Laplante on the beach; and the man lay back full lengthagainst a rising knoll to drink in the delicious freshness of the night. Every man of us watched the vanishing forms. 

"Smell violets?" asked a heterogeneous combination of sun-brown andbuckskin. 

"This ground's a perfect wheat-field of violets, " exclaimed thewhiskered youngster. 

"Lots o' Mayflowers and night-shades in the bush, " declared a raggedman, who was one of the worst gamblers in camp, and was now aimlesslyshuffling a greasy, bethumbed pack of cards. 

"Oh!" came simultaneously from half a dozen. Personally, it struck meone might pick flowers for a certain purpose in the bush without beingobserved. 

"Mayflowers in June!" scoffed the boy. 

"Aye, babe! Mayflowers in June! May is June in these here regions, "asserted the man. "Ladies-and-gentlemen, too, many's you could pick inthe bush!"

"Ladies-and-gentlemen! Sounds funny in this desert, don't it?" asked thelad. "What _are_ ladies-and-gentlemen?"

"Don't you know?" continued the gambler, unfolding a curious lore offlowers. "Those little potty, white things, split up the middle with agreen head on top--grow under ferns. Come on. Cards are ready! Who'sgoing to play?"

"Durn it! Them's Dutchman's breeches!" exclaimed the sun-brownedtrapper. "O Goll! If that Little Stature finds any Dutchman's breeches, she that's so scared of us men! O Goll! Won't she blush? Say, babe, whydon't y'r fill y'r hat with 'em and put 'em in her tent?" and the bigtrapper set up a hoarse guffaw which led a general chorus. Then the mengathered round, to play. 

"Faith, lads!" interrupted the voice of the Irish priest, who had comeupon the group so quietly the gambler scarcely had time to tuck thetell-tale cards under his buckskin smock, "I'm thinking ye've alldeveloped a mighty sudden interest in botany. Are there any bleedinghearts in the bush?"

"There may be here, " suggested the boy. 

"It all comes of the Little Statute!" declared the big trapper. 

"Oh! You and your Stature and Statute! Why can't you say Statue?" askedthe lad with the pompous scorn of youthful knowledge. 

"Because, oh, babe with the chicken-down, " answered the man, giving hiscorrector a thud with his broad palm and sticking heroically by his slipof the tongue, "I says the words I means and don't play no prig. Shedon't pay more attention to you than if you wuz a stump, that's whyshe's a statue, ain't it? And the fellows've got to stretch their necksto come up to her ideas of what's proper, that's why she's a stature, ain't it? And not a man of us, if His Reverence'll excuse me for sayingso, dare let out a cuss afore her. That's why she's a statute, ain'tit?"

And when I walked off to the bush with as great a show of indifferenceas I could muster, I heard the priest crying "Bravo!" to the man'sdefence. How came it that I was in the woods slushing through damp moldup to my ankles in black ooze? I no longer had any fear of an ambushedenemy; for Le Grand Diable, the knave, had forfeited his wages anddeserted at Fort William. He was not seen after the night of the meetingwith the Hudson's Bay canoe off the flats. I drew Father Holland'sattention to this, and the priest was no longer so sceptical about thatphantom boat. But it was not of these things I thought, as I tore agreat strip of bark from the trunk of a birch tree and twisted the pieceinto a huge cornucopia. Nor had I the slightest expectation ofencountering father and daughter in the woods. That marble face was toomuch in earnest for the vainest of men to suppose its indifferenceassumed; and no matter how fair the eyes, no man likes to be looked at, by eyes that do not see him, or see him only as a blur on the landscape. Still that marble face stood for much that is dear to the roughest ofhearts and about which men do not talk. So I went on packing damp mossinto the bottom of the bark horn, arranging frail lilies and nightshades about the rim and laying a solid pyramid of violets in thecentre. The mold, through which I was floundering, seemed to merge intoa bog; but the lower reaches were hidden by a thicket of alder bushesand scrub willows. I mounted a fallen tree and tried to get cautiouslydown to some tempting lily-pads. Evidently some one else on the otherside of the brush was after those same bulbs; for I heard the suckingsound of steps plunging through the mire of water and mud. 

"Why, Gillespie, " called a voice, "what in the world are you doinghere?" and the boy emerged through the willows gaping at me inastonishment. 

"Just what I want to know of you, " said I. 

He presented a comical figure. His socks and moccasins had been tied andslung round his neck. With trousers rolled to his knees, a hatful ofwater-lilies in one hand and a sheaf of ferns in the other, he waswading through the swamp. 

"You see, " he began sheepishly. "I thought she couldn't--couldn'tconveniently get these for herself, and it would be kind of nice--kindof nice--you know--to get some for her----"

"Don't explain, " I blurted out. "I was trying that same racket myself. "

"You know, Gillespie, " he continued quite confidentially, "when a man'sbeen away from his mother and sisters for years and years and years----"

"Yes, I know, babe; you're an octogenarian, " I interrupted. 

"And feels himself going utterly to the bow-wows without any stop-gearto keep him from bowling clean to the bottom, a person feels like doingsomething decent for a girl like the Little Statue, " and the youthplucked half a dozen yellow flowers as well as the coveted white ones. "Have some for your basket, " said he. His face was puckered intopathetic gravity. "It's so hanged easy to go to the bow-wows out here, "he added. 

"Not so easy as in the towns, " I interjected. 

"Ah! but I've been there, gone all through 'em in the towns, " heexplained. "That's why the pater packed me off to this wilderness. "

And that, thought I, is why the west gets all the credit for the wildoats gathered in old lands and sown in the new world. I pulled him up tothe log on which I was balanced, and seating himself he dangled his feetdown and began to souse the mud off his toes. 

"Say!" he exclaimed. "How are you going to get 'em to her?"

"Take them to the tent. "

"Well, Gillespie, when you take yours up, take mine along, too, willyou? There's a good fellow! Do!" He was drawing on his socks. 

"Not much I will. If there's any proxy, you can take mine, " I returned. 

"Say! Do you think Father Holland would take 'em up?" He had tied hismoccasins and was standing. 

"Can't say I think he would. "

"He'd let you hear about it to all eternity, too, wouldn't he?"reflected the lad. "Come on, then; but you go first. " And he followed meup the log, both of us feeling like shame-faced schoolboys. We stoleinto the tent, the one tent of all others that had interest for us thatnight, and deposited our burden of flowers on the couch of buffalorobes. 

"Hurry, " whispered my companion. "Stack these ferns round somewhere!Hurry! She'll be back. " And leaving me to do the arranging he bolted forthe tent flaps. "Oh! Open earth and swallow me!" he almost screamed, andI heard the sound of two persons coming in violent collision at theentrance. 

"The babe, as I live! The rascally young broth of a babe! Ye rogue, ye!"burred the deep bass tones of the trader whom I had met over LouisLaplante. "What are ye doin' here?"

"Oh, is it only you? Thank fortune!" ejaculated the boy, dodging back. "What are you doing yourself? Great guns! You scared the wits out ofme! Ho! Here's a lark! Gillespie, my pal, look here!" I turned to seethe sheepish, guilty, smirking faces of the trader, the rough-tongued, sunburned trapper and the ragged gambler grouped at the entrance, andeach man's arms were full of flowers. 

"Well, I'm durned!" began the rough man. 

"As she's jack-spotted us all, " drawled the gentle, liquid tones of thegambler, "we'd better go ahead and----"

"And decorate a bit of statuary, " shouted the lad with a laugh. 

It was a long tent, like the booth of a fair, with supports at each end, and we were festooning it from pole to pole with moss and ferns whensomebody rasped at the door. "Mon alive! What's goin' on here?" Westarted from our work with the guilty alacrity of burglars. There stoodFrances Sutherland's father, much aghast at the proceedings, and by hisside was a face with cheeks flaming poppy red and lips twitching inmerriment. There was a sudden snow-storm of flowers being tossed down, and five men brushed past the two spectators and dashed into the hidingof gathering dusk. At the foot of the knoll I ran against the priest. 

"That, " roared Father Holland, shaking with laughter. "That's what Icall good stuff in the rough! Faith, but ye'll give me good stuff in therough. I want none o' yer gilded chivalry from the tinsel towns!"

There was a wreath of night-shades in the Little Statue's hat when thecanoes set out next morning. Mayflowers were at her throat, violets inher girdle and I know not what in a basket at her feet. The face wasunconscious of us as ever, but about the downcast eyelids played atender gentleness which was not there before. Once I caught her glancingback among us as if she would pick out the culprits; and when her eyesfor a moment rested on me, my heart set up a silly thumping. But shelooked just as pointedly at the others, and I know every man's heart ofthem responded; for the boy began such a floundering I thought he wouldspill his canoe. A quick trip brought us to the mouth of Red River, where the Hudson's Bay _voyageurs_ under Colin Robertson were resting. Here I was surprised to learn that Eric Hamilton had not waited but hadhastened up Red River to Fort Douglas. I could not but connect thissouthward move of his with the sudden flight of Le Grand Diable fromFort William. 

After brief pause at the foot of Lake Winnipeg, our brigade turnedsouthward and made speed up the Red through the rush-grown sedgy swampswhich over-flood the river bed. Farther south the banks towered high andsmoke curled up from the huts of Lord Selkirk's settlers. Women withnets in their hands to scare off myriad blackbirds that clouded the air, and men from the cornfields ran to the river edge and cheered us as wepassed. Here the Sutherlands landed. Some of the traders thought it agood omen, that Hudson's Bay settlers cheered Nor'-Wester brigades; butin one bend of the muddy Red, the bastions of Fort Douglas, whereGovernor McDonell of the rival company ruled, loomed up and the gunspointing across the river wore anything but a welcome look. 

We passed Fort Douglas unmolested, followed the Red a mile farther toits junction with the Assiniboine and here disembarked at FortGibraltar, the headquarters of the Nor'-Westers in Red River. 

CHAPTER X

MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY

"So he laughs at our warrant?" exclaimed Duncan Cameron. "Hut-tut! We'llteach him to respect warrants issued under authority of 43d King GeorgeIII. , " and the dictator of Fort Gibraltar fussed angrily among thepapers of his desk and beat a threatening tattoo with knuckles andheels. 

The Assiniboine enters the Red at something like a right angle and inthis angle was the Nor'-Westers' fort, named after an old-worldstronghold, because we imagined our position gave us the same command ofthe two waterways by which the _voyageurs_ entered and left the northcountry as Gibraltar has of the Mediterranean. Governor McDonell hadthought to outwit us by building the Hudson's Bay fort a mile furtherdown the current of the Red. It was a sharp trick, for Fort Douglascould intercept Nor'-West brigades bound from Montreal to FortGibraltar, or from Fort Gibraltar to the Athabasca. Two days after ourarrival, Cuthbert Grant, with a band of _Bois-Brulés_, had gone to FortDouglas to arrest Captain Miles McDonell for plundering Nor'-West posts. The doughty governor took Grant's warrant as a joke and scornfullyturned the whole North-West party out of Fort Douglas. On the stockadesoutside were proclamations commanding settlers to take up arms indefense of the Hudson's Bay traders and forbidding natives to sell fursto any but our rivals. These things added fuel to the hot anger of thechafing _Bois-Brulés_. A curious race were these mongrel plain-rangers, with all the savage instincts of the wild beast and few of the brutalimpulses of the beastly man. The descendants of French fathers andIndian mothers, they inherited all the quick, fiery daring of theFrenchman, all the endurance, craft and courage of the Indian, and allthe indolence of both white man and red. One might cut his enemy'sthroat and wash his hands in the life blood, or spend years inaccomplishing revenge; but it is a question if there is a singleinstance on record of a _Bois-Brulé_ molesting an enemy's family. Whenthe Frenchman married a native woman, he cast off civilization like anill-fitting coat and virtually became an Indian. When the Scotch settlermarried a native woman, he educated her up to his own level and if shedid not become entirely civilized, her children did. One was the wildman, the Ishmaelite of the desert, the other, the tiller of the soil, the Israelite of the plain. Such were the tameless men, of whom CuthbertGrant was the leader, the leader solely from his fitness to lead. 

It was late in the afternoon when the warden returned from Fort Douglas. I was busy over my desk. Father Holland was still with us awaiting thedeparture of traders to the south, and Duncan Cameron was stamping aboutthe room like a caged lion. There came a quick, angry tramp from thehall. 

"That's Grant back, and there's no one with him, " muttered Cameron withsuppressed anger; and in burst the warden himself, his heavy brows darkwith fury and his eyes flashing like the fire at a pistol point. Involuntarily I stopped work and the priest glanced across at me with alook which bespoke expectation of an explosion. Grant did not storm. That was not his way. He took several turns about the room, masteredhimself, and speaking through his teeth said quietly, "There be somefools that enjoy playing with gunpowder. I'm not one of them! There besome idiots that like teasing tigers. 'Tis not sport to my fancy! Therebe some pot-valiant braggarts that defy the law. Let them enjoy thebreaking of the law!"

"What--what--what?" sputtered the Highland governor, springing first onone side of Grant and then on the other, all the while rumbling outmaledictions on Lord Selkirk, and Governor McDonell and Fort Douglas. "What do ye say, mon? Do I understand ye clearly, there's no prisonerswith ye?"

"Laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_. The fool laughs at the _Bois-Brulés_! I'veseen gophers cock their eye at a wolf, before that same wolf made abreakfast of gophers! The fool laughs at your warrant, Sir! Scouted it, Sir! Bundled us out of Fort Douglas like cattle!" The warden went on ina bitter strain to tell of the effect of the posted proclamations on hisfollowers. 

"So the lordly Captain Miles McDonell of the Queen's Rangers, generalissimo of all creation, defies us, does he?" demanded Cameron ingreat dudgeon, scarcely crediting his ears. 

"Aye!" answered Grant, "but he can ill afford to be so high and mighty. We went through the settlement and half the people are with us----"

"That's good! That's good!" responded Cameron with keen relish. 

"They're heartily sick of the country, " continued the warden, "and wouldleave to-morrow if we'd supply the boats. Last winter they nearlystarved. The company's generous supply was rancid grease and wormyflour. "

"Fine way o' colonizing a country, " stormed Cameron, "bring men out assettlers and arm them to fight! We'll spike his guns by shipping a scoremore away. "

"We've spiked his guns in a better way, " said Grant dryly. "Some of thefriendlies are so afraid he'll take their guns away and leave themdefenceless unless they fight us, they've sent their arms here forsafekeeping. We'll keep them safe, I'll warrant. " Grant smiled, showinghis white teeth in a way that was not pleasant to see, and somehowreminded me of a dog's snarl. 

"Good! Good! Excellent, Grant. " Such strategy pleased Cameron. "Seehere, mon, Cuthbert, we've the law on our side--we've the warrants toback the law! We'd better give yon dour fool a lesson. He's broken thepeace. We haven't. Come out, an' I'll talk it over with ye!"

The two went out, Grant saying as they passed the window--"Let himtamper with the fur trade among the Indians and I'll not answer for it!That last order not to sell----" The rest of the remark I lost. 

"'Twould serve him well right if they did, " returned Cameron, and bothmen walked beyond hearing. 

Father Holland and I were left alone. The fort became ominously still. There was a distant clatter of receding hoofs; but we were on the southside of the warehouse and could not see which way the horses weregalloping. 

"I'm afraid--I'm afraid both sides will be rash, " observed the priest. 

The sun-dial indicated six o'clock. I closed and locked the officedesks. We had supper in the deserted dining-hall. Afterwards we strolledto the northeast gate, and looking in the direction of Fort Douglas, wondered what scheme could be afoot. Here my testimony need not be takenfor, or against, either side. All I saw was Duncan Cameron with theother white men of the fort standing on a knoll some distance from FortGibraltar, evidently gazing towards Fort Douglas. Against the sky, abovethe settlement, there were clouds of rising smoke. 

"Burning hay-ricks?" I questioned. 

"Aye, and houses! 'Tis shameless work leaving the people exposed to theblasts of next winter! Shameless, shameless work! Y'r company'll gainnothing by it, Rufus!"

Across the night came faint, short snappings like a fusillade of shots. 

"Looting the neutrals, " said the priest. "God grant there be no blood onthe plains this night! These fool traders don't realize what it means torouse blood in an Indian! They'll get a lesson yet! Give the red devilsa taste of blood and there won't be a white unscalped to the Rockies!I've seen y'r fine, clever rascals play the Indian against rivals, andthe game always ends the same way. The Indian is a weapon that's quickto cut the hand of the user. "

Little did I realize my part in the terrible fulfilment of thatprophecy. 

"Look alive, lad! Where are y'r wits? What's that?" he cried, suddenlypointing to the river bank. 

Up from the cliff sprang a form as if by magic. It came leaping straightto the fort gate. 

"Some frightened half-breed wench, " surmised the priest. 

I saw it was a woman with a shawl over her head like a native. 

"_Bon soir!_" said I after the manner of traders with Indian women; butshe rushed blindly on to the gate. 

The fort was deserted. Suspicion of treachery flashed on me. How manymore half-breeds were beneath that cliff?

"Stop, huzzie!" I ordered, springing forward and catching her so tightlyby the wrist that she swung half-way round before she could checkherself. She wrenched vigorously to get free. "Stop! Be still, youhuzzie!"

"Be still--you what?" asked a low, amazed voice that broke in ripplesand froze my blood. A shawl fluttered to the ground, and there stoodbefore us the apparition of a marble face. 

"The Little Statue!" I gasped in sheer horror at what I had done. 

"The little--what?" asked the rippling voice, that sounded like coldwater flowing under ice, and a pair of eyes looked angrily down at thehand with which I was still unconsciously gripping her arm. 

"I'd thank you, Sir, " she began, with a mock courtesy to the priest, "I'd thank you, Sir, to call off your mastiff. "

"Let her go, boy!" roared the priest with a hammering blow across myforearm that brought me to my senses and convinced me she was no wraith. 

Mastiff! That epithet stung to the quick. I flung her wrist from me asif it had been hot coals. Now, a woman may tread upon a man--also stampupon him if she has a mind to--but she must trip it daintily. Otherwiseeven a worm may turn against its tormentor. To have idolized that marblecreature by day and night, to have laid our votive offerings on itsshrine, to have hungered for the sound of a woman's lips for weeks, andto hear those lips cuttingly call me a dog--were more than I couldstand. 

"Ten thousand pardons, Mistress Sutherland!" I said with a pompousstiffness which I intended should be mighty crushing. "But when ladiesdeck themselves out as squaws and climb in and out of windows, "--thatwas brutal of me; she had done it for Miriam and me--"and announcethemselves in unexpected ways, they need not hope to be recognized. "

And did she flare back at me? Not at all. 

"You waste time with your long speeches, " she said, turning from me toFather Holland. 

Thereupon I strode off angrily to the river bank. 

"Oh, Father Holland, " I heard her say as I walked away, "I must go toPembina! I'm in such trouble! There's a Frenchman----"

Trouble, thought I; she is in trouble and I have been thinking only ofmy own dignity. And I stood above the river, torn between desire to rushback and wounded pride, that bade me stick it out. Over the plains camethe shout of returning plunderers. I could hear the throb, throb ofgalloping hoofs beating nearer and nearer over the turf, and reflectedthat I might make the danger from returning _Bois-Brulés_ the occasionof a reconciliation. 

"Come here, lad!" called Father Holland. I needed no urging. "Ye mustrig up in tam-o'-shanter and tartan, like a Highland settler, and takeMistress Sutherland back to Fort Douglas. She's going to Pembina to meether father, lad, when I go south to the Missouri. And, lad, " the priesthesitated, glancing doubtfully from Miss Sutherland to me, "I'm thinkingthere's a service ye might do her. "

The Little Statue was looking straight at me now, and there weretear-marks about the heavy lashes. Now, I do not pretend to explain thepower, or witchery, a gentle slip of a girl can wield with a pair ofgray eyes; but when I met the furtive glance and saw the white, veinedforehead, the arched brows, the tremulous lips, the rounded chin, andthe whole face glorified by that wonderful mass of hair, I only know, without weapon or design, she dealt me a wound which I bear to this day. What a ruffian I had been! I was ashamed, and my eyes fell before hers. If a libation of blushes could appease an offended goddess, I was lividevidence of repentance. I felt myself flooded in a sudden heat of shame. She must have read my confusion, for she turned away her head to hidemantling forgiveness. 

"There's a crafty Frenchman in the fort has been troubling the lassie. I'm thinking, if ye worked off some o' your anger on him, it moight befor the young man's edification. Be quick! I hear the breeds returning!"

"But I have a message, " she said in choking tones. 

"From whom?" I asked aimlessly enough. 

"Eric Hamilton!" she answered. 

"Eric Hamilton!" both the priest and I shouted. 

"Yes--why? What--what--is it? He's wounded, and he wants a RufusGillespie, who's with the Nor'-Westers. The _Bois-Brulés_ fired on thefort. Where _is_ Rufus Gillespie?"

"Bless you, lassie! Here--here--here he is!" The holy father thumped myback at every word. "Here he is, crazy as a March hare for news ofHamilton!"

"You--Rufus--Gillespie!" So she did not even know my name. Evidently, ifshe troubled my thoughts, I did not trouble hers. 

"He's told me so much about you, " she went on, with a little pant ofastonishment. "How brave and good----"

"Pshaw!" I interrupted roughly. "What's the message?"

"Mr. Hamilton wishes to see you at once, " she answered coldly. 

"Then kill two birds with one stone! Take her home and see Hamilton--andhurry!" urged the priest. 

The half-breeds were now very near. 

"Put it over your head!" and Father Holland clapped the shawl aboutFrances Sutherland after the fashion of the half-breed women. 

She stood demurely behind him while I ran up-stairs in the warehouse todisguise myself in tartan plaid. When I came out, Duncan Cameron was inthe gateway welcoming Cuthbert Grant and the _Bois-Brulés_, as ifpillaging defenceless settlers were heroic. Victors from war may beinspiring, but a half-breed rabble, red-handed from deeds of violence, is not a sight to edify any man. 

"What's this ye have, Father?" bawled one impudent fellow, and hepointed sneeringly at the figure in the folds of the shawl. 

"Let the wench be!" was the priest's reply, and the half-breed loungedpast with a laugh. 

I was about to offer Frances Sutherland my arm to escort her from themob, when I felt Father Holland's hard knuckles dig viciously into myribs. 

"Ye fool ye! Ye blundering idiot!" he whispered, "she's a half-breed. Och! But's time y'r eastern greenness was tannin' a good western russet!Let her follow with bowed head, or you'll have the whole pack on y'rheels!"

With that admonition I strode boldly out, she behind, humble, withdowncast eyes like a half-breed girl. 

We ran down the river path through the willows and jumping into a canoeswiftly rounded the forks of the Assiniboine and Red. There we left thecanoe and fled along a trail beneath the cliff till the shouting of thehalf-breeds could be no longer heard. At once I turned to offer her myarm. She must have bruised her feet through the thin moccasins, for theway was very rough. I saw that she was trembling from fatigue. 

"Permit me, " I said, offering my arm as formally as if she had beensome grand lady in an eastern drawing-room. 

"Thank you--I'm afraid I must, " and she reluctantly placed a light handon my sleeve. 

I did not like that condescending compulsion, and now out of danger, Ibecame strangely embarrassed and angry in her presence. The "mastiff"epithet stuck like a barb in my boyish chivalry. Was it the wind, or alow sigh, or a silent weeping, that I heard? I longed to know, but wouldnot turn my head, and my companion was lagging just a step behind. Islackened speed, so did she. Then a voice so low and soft and golden itmight have melted a heart of stone--but what is a heart of stonecompared to the wounded pride of a young man?--said, "Do you know, Ithink I rather like mastiffs?"

"Indeed, " said I icily, in no mood for raillery. 

"Like _them_ for friends, not enemies, to be protected by _them_, not--not bitten, " the voice continued with a provoking emphasis of theplural "_them_. "

"Yes, " said I, with equal emphasis of the obnoxious plural. "Ladies find_them_ useful at times. "

That fling silenced her and I felt a shiver run down the arm on mysleeve. 

"Why, you're shivering, " I blundered out. "You must let me put thisround you, " and I pulled off the plaid and would have placed it on hershoulders, but she resisted. 

"I am not in the least cold, " she answered frigidly--which is the onlyuntruth I ever heard her tell--"and you shall not say '_must_' to me, "and she took her hand from my arm. She spoke with a tremor that warnedme not to insist. Then I knew why she had shivered. 

"Please forgive, Miss Sutherland, " I begged. "I'm such a maladroitanimal. "

"I quite agree with you, a maladroit mastiff with teeth!"

Mastiff! That insult again! I did not reproffer my arm. We strodeforward once more, she with her face turned sideways remote from me, Iwith my face sideways remote from her, and the plaid trailing from myhand by way of showing her she could have it if she wished. We must havepaced along in this amiable, post-matrimonial fashion for quite aquarter of the mile we had to go, and I was awkwardly conscious ofsuppressed laughing from her side. It was the rippling voice, thatalways seemed to me like fountain splash in the sunshine, which brokesilence again. 

"Really, " said the low, thrilling, musical witchery by my side, "really, it's the most wonderful story I have ever heard!"

"Story?" I queried, stopping stock still and gaping at her. 

"Perfectly wonderful! So intensely interesting and delightful. "

"Interesting and delightful?" I interrogated in sheer amazement. Thisgirl utterly dumfounded me, and in the conceit of youth I thought itstrange that any girl could dumfound me. 

"What an interesting life you have had, to be sure!"

"I have had?"

"Yes, don't you know you've been talking in torrents for the past tenminutes? No? Do you forget?" and she laughed tremulously either fromembarrassment, or cold. 

"Well!" said I, befooled into good-humor and laughing back. "If you giveme a day's warning, I'll try to keep up with you. "

"Ah! There! I've put you through the ice at last! It's been such hardwork!"

"And I come up badly doused!"

"Stimulated too! You're doing well already!"

"My thanks to my instructor, " and catching the spirit of her mockery, Iswept her a courtly bow. 

"There! There!" she cried, dropping raillery as soon as I took it up. "You were cross at the window. I was cross on the flats. You nearlywrenched my hand off----"

"Can you blame me?" I asked. "And to pay me back you turned my head andstole my heart----"

"Hush!" she interrupted. "Let's clean the slate and begin again. "

"With all my heart, if you'll wear this tartan and stop shivering. " Iwas not ready to consent to an unconditional surrender. 

"I hate your 'ifs' and 'buts' and so-much-given-for-so-much-got, " sheexclaimed with an impatient, little stamp, "but--but--" she addedinconsistently, "if--if--you'll keep one end of the plaid for yourself, I'll take the other. "

"Ho--ho! I like 'ifs' and 'buts. ' Have you more of that kind?" Ilaughed, whisking the fold about us both. Drawing her hand into mine, Ikept it there. 

"It isn't so cold as--as that, is it?" asked the voice under the plaid. 

"Quite, " I returned valiantly, tightening my clasp. She laughed a low, mellow laugh that set my heart beating to the tune of a trip-hammer. Ifelt a great intoxication of strength that might have razed Fort Douglasto the ground and conquered the whole world, which, I dare say, otheryoung men have felt when the same kind of weight hung upon theirprotection. 

"Oh! Little Statue! Why have you been so hard on us?" I began. 

"_Us?_" she asked. 

"Me--then, " and I gulped down my embarrassment. 

"Because----"

"Because what?"

"No _what_. Just because!" She was astonished that her decisive reasondid not satisfy. 

"Because! A woman's reason!" I scoffed. 

"Because! It's the best and wisest and most wholesome reason everinvented. Think what it avoids saying and what wisdom may be behindit!"

"Only wisdom?"

"You be careful! There'll be another cold plunge! Tell me about yourfriend's wife, Miriam, " she answered, changing the subject. 

And when I related my strange mission and she murmured, "Hownoble, " I became a very Samson of strength, ready to vanquishan army of Philistine admirers with the jawbone of my inflatedself-confidence--provided, always, one queen of the combat were lookingon. 

"Are you cold, now?" I asked, though the trembling had ceased. 

No, she was not cold. She was quite comfortable, and the answer came invibrant tones which were as wine to a young man's heart. 

"Are you tired, Frances?" and the "No" was accompanied by a littlelaugh, which spurred more questioning for no other purpose than to hearthe music of her voice. Now, what was there in those replies to causehappiness? Why have inane answers to inane, timorous questionstransformed earth into paradise and mortals into angels?

"Do you find the way very far--Frances?" The flavor of some names temptsrepeated tasting. 

"Very far?" came the response in an amused voice, "find it very far? YesI do, quite far--oh! No--I don't. Oh! I don't know!" She broke into ajoyous laugh at her own confusion, gaining more self-possession as Ilost mine; and out she slipped from the plaid. 

"I wish it were a thousand times farther, " and I gazed ruefully at thefolds that trailed empty. 

What other absurd things I might have said, I cannot tell; but we wereat the fort and I had to wrap the tartan disguise about myself. Stooping, I picked a bunch of dog-roses growing by the path, then feltfoolish, for I had not the courage to give them to her, and dropped themwithout her knowledge. She gave the password at the gate. I was takenfor a Selkirk Highlander and we easily gained entrance. 

A man brushed past us in the gloom of the courtyard. He lookedimpudently down into her face. It was Laplante, and my whole framefilled with a furious resentment which I had not guessed could bepossible with me. 

"That Frenchman, " she whispered, but his figure vanished among thebuildings. She showed me the council hall where Eric could be found. 

"And where do you go?" I asked stupidly. 

She indicated the quarters where the settlers had taken refuge. I ledher to the door. 

"Are you sure you'll be safe?"

"Oh! Yes, quite, as long as the settlers are here; and you, you will letme know when the priest sets out for Pembina?"

I vowed more emphatically than the case required that she should know. 

"Are there no dark halls in there, unsafe for you?" I questioned. 

"None, " and she went up the first step of the doorway. 

"Are you sure you're safe?" I also mounted a step. 

"Yes, quite, thank you, " and she retreated farther, "and you, have youforgotten you came to see Mr. Hamilton?"

"Why--so I did, " I stammered out absently. 

She was on the top step, pulling the latch-string of the great door. 

"Stop! Frances--dear!" I cried. 

She stood motionless and I felt that this last rashness of an unrulytongue--too frank by far--had finished me. 

"What? Can I do anything to repay you for your trouble in bringing mehere?"

"I've been repaid, " I answered, "but indeed, indeed, long live theQueen! May it please Her Majesty to grant a token to her leal anddevoted knight----"

"What is thy request?" she asked laughingly. "What token doth the knightcovet?"

"The token that goes with _good-nights_, " and I ventured a pace up thestairs. 

"There, Sir Knight, " she returned, hastily putting out her hand, whichwas not what I wanted, but to which I gratefully paid my devoir. "Artsatisfied?" she asked. 

"Till the Queen deigns more, " and I paused for a reply. 

She lingered on the threshold as if she meant to come down to me, thenwith a quick turn vanished behind the gloomy doors, taking all thelight of my world with her; but I heard a voice, as of some happy birdin springtime, trilling from the hall where she had gone, and a new songmade music in my own heart. 

CHAPTER XI

A SHUFFLING OF ALLEGIANCE

Time was when Fort Douglas rang as loudly with mirth of assembledtraders as ever Fort William's council hall. Often have I heard veteransof the Hudson's Bay service relate how the master of revels used to fillan ample jar with corn and quaff a beaker of liquor for every grain inthe drinker's hour-glass. 

"How stands the hour-glass?" the governor of the feast, who wasfrequently also the governor of the company, would roar out instentorian tones, that made themselves heard above the drunken brawl. 

"High, Your Honor, high, " some flunkey of the drinking bout would bawlback. 

Thereupon, another grain was picked from the jar, another flagon tosseddown and the revel went on. This was a usual occurrence before and afterthe conflict with the Nor'-Westers. But the night that I climbed thestairs of the main warehouse and, mustering up assurance, stepped intothe hall as if I belonged to the fort, or the fort belonged to me, therewas a different scene. A wounded man lay on a litter at the end of thelong, low room; and the traders sitting on the benches against thewalls, or standing aimlessly about, were talking in suppressed tones. Scotchmen, driven from their farms by the _Bois-Brulés_, hung around inanxious groups. The lanterns, suspended on iron hooks from mid-rafter, gave but a dusky light, and I vainly scanned many faces for EricHamilton. That he was wounded, I knew. I was stealing stealthily towardsthe stretcher at the far end of the place, when a deep voice burredrough salutation in my ear. 

"Hoo are ye, gillie?" It was a shaggy-browed, bluff Scotchman, whoevidently took me in my tartan disguise for a Highland lad. Whether hemeant, "How are you, " or "Who are you, " I was not certain. Afraid mytongue might betray me, I muttered back an indistinct response. The Scotwas either suspicious, or offended by my churlishness. I slipped offquickly to a dark corner, but I saw him eying me closely. A youthbrushed past humming a ditty, which seemed strangely out of place inthose surroundings. He stood an elbow's length from me and kickedmoccasined heels against the floor in the way of light-headed lads. Boththe air and figure of the young fellow vaguely recalled somebody, buthis back was towards me. I was measuring my comrade, wondering if Imight inquire where Hamilton could be found, when the lad turned, and Iwas face to face with the whiskered babe of Fort William. He gave along, low whistle. 

"Gad!" he gasped. "Do my eyes tell lies? As I live, 'tis your very self!Hang it, now, I thought you were one of those solid bodies wouldn't doany turn-coating----"

"Turn-coating!" I repeated in amazement. 

"One of those dray-horse, old reliables, wouldn't kick over the traces, not if the boss pumped his arms off licking you! Hang it! I'm not thatsort! By gad, I'm not! I've got too many oats! I can't stand being jawedand gee-hawed by Dunc. Cameron; so when the old Gov. Threatened to dockme for being full, I just kicked up my heels and came. But say! I didn'tthink you would, Gillespie!"

"No?" said I, keeping my own counsel and waiting for the Nor'-Westdeserter to proceed. 

"What 'd y' do it for, Gillespie? You're as sober as cold water! Was itold Cameron?"

"You're not talking straight, babe, " said I. "You know Cameron doesn'tnag his men. What did _you_ do it for?"

"Eh?" and the lad gave a laugh over my challenge of his veracity. "Seehere, old pal, I'll tell you if you tell me. "

"Go ahead with your end of the contract!"

"Well, then, look here. We're not in this wilderness for glory. I knockdown to the highest bidder----"

"Hudson's Bay is _not_ the highest bidder. "

"Not unless you happen to have information they want. "

"Oh! That's the way of it, is it?" So the boy was selling Nor'-Westers'secrets. 

"You can bet your last beaver-skin it is! Do you think I was oldCam's private secretary for nothin'? Not I! I say--get your waresas you may and sell 'em to the highest bidder. So here I am, snuglyberthed, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, all throughjudicious--distribution--of--information. " And the boy gurgled withpleasure over his own cleverness. "And say, Gillespie, I'm in regularclover! The Little Statue's here, all alone! Dad's gone to Pembina tothe buffalo hunt. I've got ahead of all you fellows. I'm going tointroduce a French-chap, a friend of mine. "

"You'd much better break his bones, " was my advice. It needed no greatspeculation to guess who the Frenchman was; and in the hands of thatcrafty rake this prattling babe would be as putty. 

"Pah! You're jealous, Gillespie! We're right on the inside track!"

"Lots of confidential talks with her, I suppose?"

"Talks! Pah! You gross fatty! Why, Gillespie, what do you know of suchthings? Laplante can win a girl by just looking at her--French way, youknow--he can pose better than a poem!"

"Blockhead, " I ground out between my teeth, a feeling taking possessionof me, which is designated "indignation" in the first person butjealousy in the second and third. "You stupid simpleton, that Laplanteis a villain who will turn your addled pate and work you as an old wifekneads dough. "

"What do you know about Laplante?" he demanded hotly. 

"I know he is an accomplished blackguard, " I answered quietly, "and ifyou want to spoil your chances with the Little Statue, just prance roundin his company. "

The lad was too much surprised to speak. 

"Where's Hamilton?" I asked. 

"Find him for yourself, " said he, going off in a huff. 

I edged cautiously near enough the wounded man to see that he was notHamilton. Near the litter was a group of clerks. 

"They're fools, " one clerk was informing the others. "Cameron sent wordhe'd have McDonell dead or alive. If he doesn't give himself up, thisfort'll go and the whole settlement be massacred. "

"Been altogether too high-handed anyway, " answered another. "I'm loyalto my company; but Lord Selkirk can't set up a military despotism here. Been altogether better if we'd left the Nor'-Westers alone. "

"It's all the fault of that cocky little martinet, " declared a third. 

"I say, " exclaimed a man joining the group, "d' y' hear the news? Allthe chiefs in there--" jerking his thumb towards a side door--"areadvising Captain McDonell to give himself up and save the fort. "

"Good thing. Who'll miss him? He'll only get a free trip to Montreal, "remarked one of the aggressives in this group. "I tell you, men, bothcompanies have gone a deal too far in this little slap-back game to bekeen for legal investigation. Why, at Souris, everybody knows----"

He lowered his voice and I unconsciously moved from my dark corner tohear the rest. 

"Hoo are ye, gillie?" said the burly Scot in my ear. 

Turning, I found the canny swain had followed me on an investigatingtour. Again I gave him an inarticulate reply and lost myself among othercoteries. Was the man spying on me? I reflected that if "the chiefs"--asthe Hudson's Bay man had called them--were in the side room, EricHamilton would be among these conferring with the governor. As Iapproached the door, I noticed my Scotch friend had taken some one intohis confidence and two men were now on my tracks. Lifting the latch, Igave a gentle, cautious push and the hinges swung so quietly I hadslipped into the room before those inside or out could prevent me. Ifound myself in the middle of a long apartment with low, slopingceiling, and deep window recesses. It had evidently been partitioned offfrom the main hall; for the wall, ceiling and floor made an exacttriangle. At one end of the place was a table. Round this was a group ofmen deeply engrossed in some sort of conference. Sitting on the windowsills and lounging round the box stove behind the table were others ofour rival's service. I saw at once it would be difficult to have accessto Hamilton. He was lying on a stretcher within talking range of thetable and had one arm in a sling. Now, I hold it is harder for theunpractised man to play the spy with everything in his favor, than forthe adept to act that rôle against the impossible. One is without theart that foils detection. The other can defy detection. So I stoodinside with my hand on the door lest the click of the closing latchshould rouse attention, but had no thought of prying into Hudson's Baysecrets. 

"Your Honor, " began Hamilton in a lifeless manner, which told me hissearch had been bootless, and he turned languidly towards a puffy, crusty, military gentleman, whom, from the respect shown him, I judgedto be Governor McDonell. "Duncan Cameron's warrant for the arrest isperfectly legal. If Your Honor should surrender yourself, you will saveFort Douglas for the Hudson's Bay Company. Besides, the whole arrestwill prove a farce. The law in Lower Canada provides no machinery forthe trial of cases occurring----" Here Hamilton came to a blank andunexpected stop, for his eyes suddenly alighted on me with a look thatforbade recognition, and fled furtively back to the group it the table. I understood and kept silent. 

"For the trial of cases occurring?" asked the governor sharply. 

"Occurring--here, " added Hamilton, shooting out the last word as if hisarm had given him a sudden twinge. "And so I say, Your Honor will losenothing by giving yourself up to the Nor'-Westers, and will save FortDouglas for the Hudson's Bay. "

"The doctor tells me it's a compound fracture. You'll find it painful, Mr. Hamilton, " said Governor McDonell sympathetically, and he turned tothe papers over which the group were conferring. "I'm no great hand inwinning victories by showing the white flag, " began the gallant captain, "but if a free trip from here to Montreal satisfies those fools, I'llgo. "

"Well said! Bravo! Your Honor, " exclaimed a shaggy member of thecouncil, bringing his fist down on the table with a thud. "I call thatdiplomacy, outmanoeuvring the enemy! Your Honor sets an example forabiding by the law; you obey the warrant. They must follow the exampleand leave Fort Douglas alone. "

"Besides, I can let His Lordship know from Montreal just whatreinforcements are needed here, " continued Captain McDonell, with acurious disregard for the law which he professed to be obeying, and afaithful zeal for Lord Selkirk. 

Hamilton was looking anxiously at me with an expression of warning whichI could not fully read. Then I felt, what every one must have felt atsome time, that a third person was watching us both. Following Eric'sglance to a dark window recess directly opposite the door where I stood, I was horrified and riveted by the beady, glistening, insolent eyes ofLouis Laplante, gazing out of the dusk with an expression of rakishamusement, the amusement of a spider when a fly walks into its web. Taken unawares I have ever been more or less of what Mr. Jack MacKenziewas wont to call "a stupid loon!" On discovering Laplante I promptlysustained my reputation by letting the door fly to with a sharp clickthat startled the whole room-full. Whereat Louis Laplante gave a low, soft laugh. 

"What do you want here, man?" demanded Governor McDonell's sharp voice. 

Jerking off my cap, I saluted. 

"My man, Your Honor, " interjected Eric quietly. "Come here, Rufus, " hecommanded, motioning me to his side with the hauteur of a master towardsa servant. And Louis Laplante rose and tip-toed after me with a tigerishmalice that recalled the surly squaw. 

"Oh, Eric!" I cried out eagerly. "Are you hurt, and at such a time?"Unconsciously I was playing into Louis' hands, for he stood by thestove, laughing nonchalantly. 

Thereupon Eric ground out some imprecation at my stupidity. 

"There's been a shuffling of allegiance, I hear, " he said with a queermisleading look straight at Laplante. "We've recruits from FortGibraltar. "

Eric's words, curiously enough, banished triumph from Laplante's faceand the Frenchman's expression was one of puzzled suspicion. From Eric'simpassive features, he could read nothing. What Hamilton was driving at, I should presently learn; but to find out I would no more take my eyesfrom Laplante's than from a tiger about to spring. At once, to get myattention, Hamilton brought a stick down on my toes with a sharpnessthat made me leap. By all the codes of nudges and kicks and suchsignaling, it is a principle that a blow at one end of human anatomydrives through the density of the other extremity. It dawned on me thatEric was trying to persuade Laplante I had deserted Nor'-Westers for theHudson's Bay. The ethics of his attempt I do not defend. It was afterthe facile fashion of an intriguing era. A sharper weapon was presentlygiven us against Louis Laplante; for when I grasped Eric's stick to staythe raps against my feet, I felt the handle rough with carving. 

"What are these carvings, may I inquire, Sir?" I asked, assuming thestrangeness, which Eric's signals had directed, but never moving my eyesfrom Laplante. The villain who had befooled me in the gorge and eludedme in the forest, and now tormented Frances Sutherland, winced under mywatchfulness. 

"The carvings!" answered Eric, annoyed that I did not return his plainsignals and determined to get my eye. "Pray look for yourself! Where areyour eyes?"

"I can't see in this poor light, Sir; but I also have a strangely carvedthing--a spear-head. Now if this head has no handle and this handle hasno head--they might fit, " I went on watching Laplante, whose saucyassurance was deserting him. 

"Spear-head!" exclaimed Hamilton, beginning to understand I too had mydesign. "Where did you find it?"

"Trying to bury itself in my head. " I returned. At this, Laplante, theknave, smiled graciously in my very face. 

"But it didn't succeed?" asked Hamilton. 

"No--it mistook me for a tree, missed the mark and went into the tree;just as another friend of mine mistook me for a tree, hit the mark andran into me, " and I smiled back at Laplante. His face clouded. Thatreference to the scene on the beach, where his Hudson's Bay despatcheswere stolen, was too much for his hot blood. "Here it is, " I continued, pulling the spear-head out of my plaid. I had brought it to Hamilton, hoping to identify our enemy, and we did. "Please see if they fit, Sir?We might identify our--friends!" and I searched the furtive, guilty eyesof the Frenchman. 

"Dat frien', " muttered Louis with a threatening look at me, "dat frien'of Mister Hamilton he spike good English for Scot' youth. "

Now Louis, as I remembered from Laval days, never mixed his English andFrench, except when he was in passion furious beyond all control. 

"Fit!" cried Hamilton. "They're a perfect fit, and both carved the same, too. "

"With what?"

"Eagles, " answered Eric, puzzled at my drift, and Louis Laplante worethe last look of the tiger before it springs. 

"And eagles, " said I, defying the spring, "signify that both thespear-head and the spear-handle belong to the Sioux chief whosedaughter"--and I lowered my voice to a whisper which only Laplante andHamilton could hear--"is married--to Le--Grand--Diable!"

"What!" came Hamilton's low cry of agony. Forgetting the fractured arm, he sprang erect. 

And Louis Laplante staggered back in the dark as if we had struck him. 

"Laplante! Laplante! Where's that Frenchman? Bring him up here!" calledGovernor McDonell's fussy, angry tones. 

Coming when it did, this demand was to Louis a bolt of judgment; and hejoined the conference with a face as gray as ashes. 

"Now about those stolen despatches! We want to know the truth! Were youdrunk, or were you not? Who has them?" Captain McDonell arraigned theFrenchman with a fire of questions that would have confused any otherculprit but Louis. 

"Eric, " I whispered, taking advantage of the respite offered by Louis'examination. "We found Laplante at _Pointe a la Croix_. He was drunk. Heconfessed Miriam is held by Diable's squaw. Then we discovered someonewas listening to the confession and pursued the eavesdropper into thebush. When we came back, Laplante had been carried off. I found one ofmy canoemen had your lost fowling-piece, and it was he who had listenedand carried off the drunk sot and tried to send that spear-head into meat the Sault. 'Twas Diable, Eric! Father Holland, a priest in ourcompany, told me of the white woman on Lake Winnipeg. Did you findthis--" indicating the spear handle--"there?"

Eric, cold, white and trembling, only whispered an affirmative. 

"Was that all?"

"All, " he answered, a strange, fierce look coming over his face, as thefull import of my news forced home on him. "Was--was--Laplante--inthat?" he asked, gripping my arm in his unwounded hand with forebodingforce. 

"Not that we know of. Only Diable. But Louis is friendly with the Sioux, and if we only keep him in sight we may track them. "

"I'll--keep--him--in sight, " muttered Hamilton in low, slow words. 

"Hush, Eric!" I whispered. "If we harm him, he may mislead us. Let uswatch him and track him!"

"He's asking leave to go trapping in the Sioux country. Can you go astrader for your people? To the buffalo hunt first, then, south? I'llwatch here, if he stays; you, there, if he goes, and he shall tell usall he knows or--"

"Hush, man, " I urged. "Listen!"

"Where, " Governor McDonell was thundering at Laplante, "where are theparties that stole those despatches?"

The question brought both Hamilton and myself to the table. We wentforward where we could see Laplante's face without being seen by hisquestioners. 

"If I answer, Your Honor, " began the Frenchman, taking the captain'sbluster for what it was worth and holding out doggedly for his ownrights, "I'll be given leave to trap with the Sioux?"

"Certainly, man. Speak out. "

"The parties--that stole--those despatches, " Laplante was answeringslowly. At this stage he looked at his interlocutor as if to questionthe sincerity of the guarantee and he saw me standing screwing thespear-head on the tell-tale handle. I patted the spear-head, smiledblandly back, and with my eyes dared him to go on. He paused, bit hislip and flushed. 

"No lies, no roguery, or I'll have you at the whipping-post, " roared thegovernor. "Speak up. Where are the parties?"

"Near about here, " stammered Louis, "and you may ask your newturn-coat. "

I was betrayed! Betrayed and trapped; but he should not go free! I wouldhave shouted out, but Hamilton's hand silenced me. 

"Here!" exclaimed the astounded governor. "Go call that youngNor'-Wester! If _he_ backs up y'r story, _he_ was Cameron's secretary, you can go to the buffalo hunt. "

That response upset Louis' bearings. He had expected the governor wouldrefer to me; but the command let him out of an awkward place and hedarted from the room, as Hamilton and I supposed, --simpletons that wewere with that rogue!--to find the young Nor'-Wester. This turn ofaffairs gave me my chance. If the young Nor'-Wester and Laplante cametogether, my disguise as Highlander and turn-coat would be stripped fromme and I should be trapped indeed. 

"Good-by, old boy!" and I gripped Hamilton's hand. "If he stays, he'syour game. When he goes, he's mine. Good luck to us both! You'll comesouth when you're better. "

Then I bolted through the main hall thinking to elude the canny Scots, but saw both men in the stairway waiting to intercept me. When I randown a flight of side stairs, they dashed to trap me at the gate. At thedoorway a man lounged against me. The lantern light fell on a pointedbeard. It was Laplante, leaning against the wall for support and shakingwith laughter. 

"You again, old tombstone! Whither away so fast?" and he made to holdme. "I'm in a hurry myself! My last night under a roof, ha! ha! Waittill I make my grand farewell! We both did well, did the grand, ho! ho!But I must leave a fair demoiselle!"

"Let go, " and I threw him off. 

"Take that, you ramping donkey, you Anglo-Saxon animal, " and he aimed akick in my direction. Though I could ill spare the time to do it, Iturned. All the pent-up strength, from the walk with Frances Sutherlandrushed into my clenched fist and Louis Laplante went down with a thudacross the doorway. There was the sish-rip of a knife being thrustthrough my boot, but the blade broke and I rushed past the prostrateform. 

Certain of waylaying me, the Scots were dodging about the gate; but byrunning in the shadow of the warehouse to the rear of the court, I gaveboth the slip. I had no chance to reconnoitre, but dug my hunting-knifeinto the stockade, hoisted myself up the wooden wall, got a grip of thetop and threw myself over, escaping with no greater loss than bootspulled off before climbing the palisade, and the Highland cap whichstuck fast to a picket as I alighted below. At dawn, bootless andhatless, I came in sight of Fort Gibraltar and Father Holland, who wasscanning the prairie for my return, came running to greet me. 

"The tip-top o' the mornin' to the renegade! I thought ye'd beenscalped--and so ye have been--nearly--only they mistook y'r hat for thewool o' y'r crown. Boots gone too! Out wid your midnight pranks. "

A succession of welcoming thuds accompanied the tirade. As breathreturned, I gasped out a brief account of the night. 

"And now, " he exclaimed triumphantly, "I have news to translate ye to asivinth hiven! Och! But it's clane cracked ye'll be when ye hear it. Now, who's appointed to trade with the buffalo hunters but y'r veryself?"

It was with difficulty I refrained from embracing the bearer of suchgood tidings. 

"Be easy, " he commanded. "Ye'll need these demonstrations, I'mthinkin'--huntin' one lass and losin' y'r heart to another. "

We arranged he should go to Fort Douglas for Frances Sutherland and Iwas to set out later. They were to ride along the river-path south ofthe forks where I could join them. I, myself, picked out and paid fortwo extra horses, one a quiet little cayuse with ambling action, theother, a muscular broncho. I had the satisfaction of seeing FatherHolland mounted on the latter setting out for Fort Douglas, while theIndian pony wearing an empty side-saddle trotted along in tow. 

The information I brought back from Fort Douglas delayed any morehostile demonstrations against the Hudson's Bay. That very morning, before I had finished breakfast, Governor McDonell rode over to FortGibraltar, and on condition that Fort Douglas be left unmolested gavehimself up to the Nor'-Westers. At noon, when I was riding off to thebuffalo hunt and the Missouri, I saw the captain, smiling and debonair, embarking--or rather being embarked--with North-West brigades, to besent on a free trip two thousand five hundred miles to Montreal. 

"A safe voyage to ye, " said Duncan Cameron, commander of Nor'-Westers, as the ex-governor of Red River settled himself in a canoe. "A safevoyage to ye, mon!"

"And a prosperous return, " was the ironical answer of the dauntlessruler over the Hudson's Bay. 

"Sure now, Rufus, " said Father Holland to me a year afterwards, "'twas aprosperous return he had!"

Fortunately, I had my choice of scouts, and, by dangling the prospectsof a buffalo hunt before La Robe Noire and Little Fellow, tempted themto come with me. 

CHAPTER XII

HOW A YOUTH BECAME A KING

When the prima-donna of some vauntful city trills her bird-song abovethe foot-lights, or the cremona moans out the sigh of night-windsthrough the forest, artificial townsfolk applaud. Yet a nesting-tree, athousand leagues from city discords, gives forth better music withdeeper meaning and higher message--albeit the songster sings only fromlove of song. The fretted folk of the great cities cannot understand thewitching fascinations of a wild life in a wild, free, tameless land, where God's own hand ministers to eye and ear. To fare sumptuously, todress with the faultless distinction that marks wealth, to see and aboveall to be seen--these are the empty ends for which city men engage in amad, feverish pursuit of wealth, trample one another down in a strifemore ruthless than war and gamble away gifts of mind and soul. These arethe things for which they barter all freedom but the name. Where onesucceeds a thousand fail. Those with higher aims count themselves happy, indeed, to possess a few square feet of canvas, that truly representsthe beauty dear to them, before weeds had undermined and overgrown andchoked the temple of the soul. That any one should exchange gildedchains for freedom to give manhood shoulder swing, to be and todo--without infringing on the liberty of others to be and to do--is tosuch folk a matter of no small wonderment. For my part, I know I wascounted mad by old associates of Quebec when I chose the wild life ofthe north country. 

But each to his taste, say I; and all this is only the opinion of an oldtrader, who loved the work of nature more than the work of man. Othervoices may speak to other men and teach them what the waterways andforests, the plains and mountains, were teaching me. If "ologies" and"ics, " the lore of school and market, comfort their souls--be it so. Asfor me, it was only when half a continent away from the jangle oflearning and gain that I began to stir like a living thing and to knowthat I existed. The awakening began on the westward journey; but the newlife hardly gained full possession before that cloudless summer day onthe prairie, when I followed the winding river trail south of the forks. The Indian scouts were far to the fore. Rank grass, high as thesaddle-bow, swished past the horse's sides and rippled away in anunbroken ocean of green to the encircling horizon. Of course allowancemust be made for a man in love. Other men have discovered a worldful ofbeauty, when in love; but I do not see what difference two figures onhorseback against the southern sky-line could possibly make to theshimmer of purple above the plains, or the fragrance of prairie-roseslining the trail. It seems to me the lonely call of the meadow-lark highoverhead--a mote in a sea of blue--or the drumming and chirruping offeathered creatures through the green, could not have sounded lessmusical, if I had not been a lover. But that, too, is only an opinion;for one glimpse of the forms before me brought peace into the wholeworld. 

Father Holland evidently saw me, for he turned and waved. The otherrider gave no sign of recognition. A touch of the spur to my horse and Iwas abreast of them, Frances Sutherland curveting her cayuse from thetrail to give me middle place. 

"Arrah, me hearty, here ye are at last! Och, but ye're a skulkin'wight, " called the priest as I saluted both. "What d'y' say for y'rself, ye belated rascal, comin' so tardy when ye're headed for GretnaGreen--Och! 'Twas a _lapsus linguæ_! 'Tis Pembina--not GretnaGreen--that I mean. "

Had it been half a century later, when a little place called Gretnasprang up on this very trail, Frances Sutherland and I need not haveflinched at this reference to an old-world Mecca for run-away lovers. But there was no Gretna on the Pembina trail in those days and theLittle Statue's cheeks were suddenly tinged deep red, while I completelylost my tongue. 

"Not a word for y'rself?" continued the priest, giving me full benefitof the mischievous spirit working in him. "He, who bearded the foe inhis den, now meeker than a lambkin, mild as a turtle-dove, timid as apigeon, pensive as a whimpering-robin that's lost his mate----"

"There ought to be a law against the jokes of the clergy, Sir, " Iinterrupted tartly. "The jokes aren't funny and one daren't hit back. "

"There ought to be a law against lovers, me hearty, " laughed he. "They're always funny, and they can't stand a crack. "

"Against all men, " ventured Frances Sutherland with that instinctive, womanly tact, which whips recalcitrant talkers into line like a deftdriver reining up kicking colts. "All men should be warranted safe, notto go off. "

"Unless there's a fair target, " and the priest looked us oversignificantly and laughed. If he felt a gentle pull on the rein, heyielded not a jot. Unluckily there are no curb-bits for hard-mouthedtalkers. 

"Rufus, I don't see that ye wear a ticket warranting ye'll not go off, "he added merrily. Red became redder on two faces, and hot, hotter withat least one temper. 

"And womankind?" I managed to blurt out, trying to second her effortsagainst our tormentor. "What guarantee against dangers from them? Thepulpit silenced--though that's a big contract--mankind labeled, what forwomen?"

"Libeled, " she retorted. "Men say we don't hit straight enough to bedangerous. "

"The very reason ye are dangerous, " the priest broke in. "Ye aim at ahead and hit a heart! Then away ye go to Gretna Green--och! It'sPembina, I mean! Marry, my children----" and he paused. 

"Marry!--What?" I shouted. Thereupon Frances Sutherland broke into pealsof laughter, in which I could see no reason, and Father Holland winked. 

"What's wrong with ye?" asked the priest solemnly. "Faith, 'tis noadvice I'm giving; but as I was remarking, marry, my children, I'dsooner stand before a man not warranted safe than a woman, who mighttake to shying pretty charms at my head! Faith, me lambs, ye'll learnthat I speak true. "

As Mr. Jack MacKenzie used to put it in his peppery reproof, I alwaysdid have a knack of tumbling head first the instant an opportunityoffered. This time I had gone in heels and all, and now came up in asfine a confusion as any bashful bumpkin ever displayed before his lady. Frances Sutherland had regained her composure and came to my rescue withanother attempt to take the lead from the loquacious churchman. 

"I'm so grateful to you for arranging this trip, " and she turneddirectly to me. 

"Hm-m, " blurted Father Holland with unutterable merriment, before Icould get a word in, "he's grateful to himself for that same thing. Faith! He's been thankin' the stars, especially Venus, ever since he gotmarching orders!"

"How did you reach Fort Gibraltar?" she persisted. 

"Sans boots and cap, " I promptly replied, determined to be ahead of theinterloper. 

"Sans heart, too, " and the priest flicked my broncho with his whip andknocked the ready-made speech, with which I had hoped to silence him, clean out of my head. Frances Sutherland took to examining remoteobjects on the horizon. Hers was a nature not to be beaten. 

"Let us ride faster, " she suddenly proposed with a glance that bodedroguery for the priest's portly form. She was off like a shaft from abow-string, causing a stampede of our horses. That was effective. A hardgallop against a stiff prairie wind will stop a stout man's eloquence. 

"Ho youngsters!" exclaimed the priest, coming abreast of us as we reinedup behind the scouts. "If ye set me that gait--whew--I'll not be leftfor Gretna Green--Faith--it's Pembina, I mean, " and he puffed like acargo boat doing itself proud among the great liners. 

He was breathless, therefore safe. Frances Sutherland was not disposedto break the accumulating silence, and I, for the life of me, could notthink of a single remark appropriate for a party of three. The ordinarycommonplaces, that stop-gap conversation, refused to come forth. Irehearsed a multitude of impossible speeches; but they stuck behindsealed lips. 

"Silence is getting heavy, Rufus, " he observed, enjoying ourembarrassment. 

Thus we jogged forward for a mile or more. 

"Troth, me pet lambs, " he remarked, as breath returned, "ye'll bothbleat better without me!"

Forthwith, away he rode fifty yards ahead, keeping that distance beyondus for the rest of the day and only calling over his shoulderoccasionally. 

"Och! But y'r bronchos are slow! Don't be telling me y'r bronchos arenot slow! Arrah, me hearties, be making good use o' the honeymoon, --Imean afternoon, not honeymoon. Marry, me children, but y'r bronchos arebog-spavined and spring-halted. Jiggle-joggle faster, with ye, yerascals! Faith, I see ye out o' the tail o' my eye. Those bronchos arenosing a bit too close, I'm thinkin'! I'm going to turn! I warn yefair--ready! One--shy-off there! Two--have a care! Three--I'm coming!Four--prepare!"

And he would glance back with shouts of droll laughter. "Get epp! Wemustn't disturb them! Get epp!" This to his own horse and off he wouldgo, humming some ditty to the lazy hobble of his nag. 

"Old angel!" said I, under my breath, and I fell to wondering whatearthly reason any man had for becoming a priest. 

He was right. Talk no longer lagged, whatever our bronchos did; but, indeed, all we said was better heard by two than three. Why that was, Icannot tell, for like beads of a rosary our words were strung togetheron things commonplace enough; and fond hearts, as well as mystics, havea key to unlock a world of meaning from meaningless words. Tufts ofpoplars, wood islands on the prairie, skulking coyotes, that prowled tothe top of some earth mound and uttered their weird cries, mud-coloredbadgers, hulking clumsily away to their treacherous holes, gophers, slyfellows, propped on midget tails pointing fore-paws at us--these andother common things stole the hours away. The sun, dipping close to thesky-line, shone distorted through the warm haze like a huge bloodshield. Far ahead our scouts were pitching tents on ground well backfrom the river to avoid the mosquitoes swarming above the water. It wastime to encamp for the night. 

Those long June nights in the far north with fire glowing in the trackof a vanished sun and stillness brooding over infinite space--have aglory, that is peculiarly their own. Only a sort of half-darkness liesbetween the lingering sunset and the early sun-dawn. At nine o'clock thesun-rim is still above the western prairie. At ten, one may read bydaylight, and, if the sky is clear, forget for another hour that nighthas begun. After supper, Father Holland sat at a distance from the tentswith his back carefully turned towards us, a precaution on his part forwhich I was not ungrateful. Frances Sutherland was throned on the boxesof our quondam table, and I was reclining against saddle-blankets at herfeet. 

"Oh! To be so forever, " she exclaimed, gazing at the globe of solid goldagainst the opal-green sky. "To have the light always clear, justahead, nothing between us and the light, peace all about, no care, noweariness, just quiet and beauty like this forever. "

"Like this forever! I ask nothing better, " said I with great heartiness;but neither her eyes nor her thoughts were for me. Would the eyeslooking so intently at the sinking sun, I wondered, condescend to lookat a spot against the sun. In desperation I meditated standing up. 'Tisall very well to talk of storming the citadel of a closed heart, butunless telepathic implements of war are perfected to the same extent asmodern armaments, permitting attack at long range, one must first getwithin shooting distance. Apparently I was so far outside the defences, even my design was unknown. 

"I think, " she began in low, hesitating words, so clear and thrilling, they set my heart beating wildly with a vague expectation, "I thinkheaven must be very, very near on nights like this, don't--you--Rufus?"

I wasn't thinking of heaven at all, at least, not the heaven she had inmind; but if there is one thing to make a man swear white is black andblack white and to bring him to instantaneous agreement with anystatement whatsoever, it is to hear his Christian name so spoken for thefirst time. I sat up in an electrified way that brought the fringe oflashes down to hide those gray eyes. 

"Very near? Well rather! I've been in heaven all day, " I vowed. "I'vebeen getting glimpses of paradise all the way from Fort William----"

"Don't, " she interrupted with a flash of the imperious nature, which Iknew. "Please don't, Mr. Gillespie. "

"Please don't Mister Gillespie me, " said I, piqued by a return to theformal. "If you picked up Rufus by mistake from the priest, he sets agood example. Don't drop a good habit!"

That was my first step inside the outworks. 

"Rufus, " she answered so gently I felt she might disarm and slay me ifshe would, "Rufus Gillespie"--that was a return of the old spirit, acompromise between her will and mine--"please don't begin saying thatsort of thing--there's a whole day before us----"

"And you think I can't keep it up?"

"You haven't given any sign of failing. You know, Rufus, " she addedconsolingly, "you really must not say those things, or something will behurt! You'll make me hurt it. "

"Something is hurt and needs mending, Miss Sutherland----"

"Don't Miss Sutherland me, " she broke in with a laugh, "call me Frances;and if something is hurt and needs mending, I'm not a tinker, though myfather and the priest--yes and you, too--sometimes think so. But sistersdo mending, don't they?" and she laughed my earnestness off as one wouldpuff out a candle. 

"No--no--no--not sisters--not that, " I protested. "I have no sisters, Little Statue. I wouldn't know how to act with a sister, unless shewere somebody else's sister, you know. I can't stand the sisterlybusiness, Frances----"

"Have you suffered much from the sisterly?" she asked with a merrytwinkle. 

"No, " I hastened to explain, "I don't know how to play the sisterlytouch-and-go at all, but the men tell me it doesn't work--dead failure, always ends the same. Sister proposes, or is proposed to----"

"Oh!" cried the Little Statue with the faintest note of alarm, and shemoved back from me on the boxes. "I think we'd better play at being verymatter-of-fact friends for the rest of the trip. "

"No, thank you, Miss Sutherland--Frances, I mean, " said I. "I'm not thefool to pretend that----"

"Then pretend anything you like, " and there was a sudden coldness in hervoice, which showed me she regarded my refusal and the slip in her nameas a rebuff. "Pretend anything you like, only don't say things. "

That was a throwing down of armor which I had not expected. 

"Then pretend that a pilgrim was lost in the dark, lost where men'ssouls slip down steep places to hell, and that one as radiant as anangel from heaven shone through the blackness and guided him back tosafe ground, " I cried, taking quick advantage of my fair antagonist'ssudden abandon and casting aside all banter. 

"Children! children!" cried the priest. "Children! Sun's down! Time togo to your trundles, my babes!"

"Yes, yes, " I shouted. "Wait till I hear the rest of this story. "

At my words she had started up with a little gasp of fright. A look ofawe came into her gray eyes, which I have seen on the faces of those whofind themselves for the first time beside the abyss of a precipice. AndI have climbed many lofty peaks, but never one without passing theseplaces with the fearful possibilities of destruction. Always the novicehas looked with the same unspeakable fear into the yawning depths, withthe same unspeakable yearning towards the jewel-crowned heights beyond. This, or something of this, was in the startled attitude of thetrembling figure, whose eyes met mine without flinching or favor. 

"Or pretend that a traveler had lost his compass, and though he waswithout merit, God gave him a star. "

"Is it a pretty story, Rufus?" called the priest. 

"Very, " I cried out impatiently. "Don't interrupt. "

"Or pretend that a poor fool with no merit but his love of purity andtruth and honor lost his way to paradise, and God gave him an angel fora guide. "

"Is it a long story, Rufus?" called the priest. 

"It's to be continued, " I shouted, leaping to my feet and approachingher. 

"And pretend that the pilgrim and the traveler and the fool, asked noother privilege but to give each his heart's love, his life's devotionto her who had come between him and the darkness----"

"Rufus!" roared the priest. "I declare I'll take a stick to you. Comeaway! D' y' hear? She's tired. "

"Good-night, " she answered, in a broken whisper, so cold it stabbed melike steel; and she put out her hand in the mechanical way of thewell-bred woman in every land. 

"Is that all?" I asked, holding the hand as if it had been a galvanicbattery, though the priest was coming straight towards us. 

"All?" she returned, the lashes falling over the misty, gray eyes. "Ah, Rufus! Are we playing jest is earnest, or earnest is jest?" and sheturned quickly and went to her tent. 

How long I stood in reverie, I do not know. The priest's broad handpresently came down on my shoulder with a savage thud. 

"Ye blunder-busticus, ye, what have ye been doing?" he asked. "TheLittle Statue was crying when she went to her tent. "

"Crying?"

"Yes, ye idiot. I'll stay by her to-morrow. "

And he did. Nor could he have contrived severer punishment for theunfortunate effect of my words. Fool, that I was! I should keep myselfin hand henceforth. How many men have made that vow regarding the womanthey love? Those that have kept it, I trow, could be counted easilyenough. But I had no opportunity to break my vow; for the priest rodewith Frances Sutherland the whole of the second day, and not once did helet loose his scorpion wit. She had breakfast alone in her tent nextmorning, the priest carrying tea and toast to her; and when she cameout, she leaped to her saddle so quickly I lost the expected favor ofplacing that imperious foot in the stirrup. We set out three abreast, and I had no courage to read my fate from the cold, marble face. Theground became rougher. We were forced to follow long detours roundsloughs, and I gladly fell to the rear where I was unobserved. Clumps ofwillows alone broke the endless dip of the plain. Glassy creeksglittered silver through the green, and ever the trail, like a narrowribbon of many loops, fled before us to the dim sky-line. 

When we halted for our nooning, Frances Sutherland had slipped from hersaddle and gone off picking prairie roses before either the priest or Inoticed her absence. 

"If you go off, you nuisance, you, " said the priest rubbing his baldpate, and gazing after her in a puzzled way, when we had the meal ready, "I think she'll come back and eat. "

I promptly took myself off and had the glum pleasure of hearing her chatin high spirits over the dinner table of packing boxes; but she was onher cayuse and off with the scouts long before Father Holland and I hadmounted. 

"Rufus, " said the priest with a comical, quizzical look, as we set offtogether. "Rufus, I think y'r a fool. "

"I've thought that several hundred thousand times myself, this morning. "

"Have ye as much as got a glint of her eye to-day?"

"No. I can't compete against the Church with women. Any fool knows that, even as big a fool as I. "

"Tush, youngster! Don't take to licking your raw tongue up and down thecynic's saw edge! Put a spur to your broncho there and ride ahead withher. "

"Having offended a goddess, I don't wish to be struck dead by invitingher wrath. "

"Pah! I've no patience with y'r ramrod independence! Bend a stiff neck, or you'll break a sore heart! Ride ahead, I tell you, you young mule!"and he brought a smart flick across my broncho. 

"Father Holland, " I made answer with the dignity of a bishop and my nosemighty high in the air, "will you permit me to suggest that people knowtheir own affairs best----"

"Tush, no! I'll permit you to do nothing of the kind, " said he, drivinga fly from his horse's ear. "Don't you know, you young idiot, thatbetween a man surrendering his love, and a woman surrendering hers, there's difference enough to account for tears? A man gives his and getsit back with compound interest in coin that's pure gold compared to hiscopper. A woman gives hers and gets back----" the priest stopped. 

"What?" I asked, interest getting the better of wounded pride. 

"Not much that's worth having from idiots like you, " said he; by whichthe priest proved he could deal honestly by a friend, without anymincing palliatives. 

His answer set me thinking for the best part of the afternoon; and Iwarrant if any man sets out with the priest's premises and thinks hardfor an afternoon he will come to the same conclusion that I did. 

"Let's both poke along a little faster, " said I, after long silence. 

"Oho! With all my heart!" And we caught up with Frances Sutherland andfor the first time that day I dared to look at her face. If there weretear marks about the wondrous eyes, they were the marks of the showerafter a sun-burst, the laughing gladness of life in golden light, thejoyous calm of washed air when a storm has cleared away turbulence. Whydid she evade me and turn altogether to the priest at her right? Had Ibeen of an analytical turn of mind, I might, perhaps, have made a verycareful study of an emotion commonly called jealousy; but, when one'sheart beats fast, one's thoughts throng too swiftly for introspection. Was I a part of the new happiness? I did not understand human naturethen as I understand it now, else would I have known that fair eyesturn away to hide what they dare not reveal. I prided myself that I wasnow well in hand. I should take the first opportunity to undo my follyof the night before. 

 * * * * *

It was after supper. Father Holland had gone to his tent. FrancesSutherland was arranging a bunch of flowers in her lap; and I took myplace directly behind her lest my face should tell truth while my tongueuttered lies. 

"Speaking of stars, you know Miss Sutherland, " I began, remembering thatI had said something about stars that must be unsaid. 

"Don't call me _Miss_ Sutherland, Rufus, " she said, and that gentleanswer knocked my grand resolution clean to the four winds. 

"I beg your pardon, Frances----" Chaos and I were one. Whatever was it Iwas to say about stars?

"Well?" There was a waiting in the voice. 

"Yes--you know--Frances. " I tried to call up something coherent; butsomehow the thumping of my heart set up a rattling in my head. 

"No--Rufus. As a matter of fact, I don't know. You were going to tell mesomething. "

"Bother my stupidity, Miss--Miss--Frances, but the mastiff's forgottenwhat it was going to bow-wow about!"

"Not the moon this time, " she laughed. "Speaking of stars, " and she gaveme back my own words. 

"Oh! Yes! Speaking of stars! Do you know I think a lot of the mencoming up from Fort William got to regarding the star above the leadingcanoe as their own particular star. "

I thought that speech a masterpiece. It would convince her she was thestar of all the men, not mine particularly. That was true enough toappease conscience, a half-truth like Louis Laplante's words. So I wouldrob my foolish avowal of its personal element. A flush suffused thesnowy white below her hair. 

"Oh! I didn't notice any particular star above the leading canoe. Therewere so very, very many splendid stars, I used to watch them half thenight!"

That answer threw me as far down as her manner had elated me. 

"Well! What of the stars?" asked the silvery voice. 

I was dumb. She flung the flowers aside as though she would leave; butFather Holland suddenly emerged from the tent fanning himself with hishat. 

"Babes!" said he. "You're a pair of fools! Oh! To be young and throw ouropportunities helter-skelter like flowers of which we're tired, " and helooked at the upset lapful. "Children! children! _Carpe Diem! CarpeDiem!_ Pluck the flowers; for the days are swifter than arrows, " and hewalked away from us engrossed in his own thoughts, muttering over andover the advice of the Latin poet, "_Carpe Diem! Carpe Diem!_"

"What is _Carpe Diem_?" asked Frances Sutherland, gazing after thepriest in sheer wonder. 

"I wasn't strong on classics at Laval and I haven't my crib. "

"Go on!" she commanded. "You're only apologizing for my ignorance. Youknow very well. "

"It means just what he says--as if each day were a flower, you know, hadits joys to be plucked, that can never come again. "

"Flowers! Oh! I know! The kind you all picked for me coming up from FortWilliam. And do you know, Rufus, I never could thank you all? Were those_Carpe Diem_ flowers?"

"No--not exactly the kind Father Holland means we should pick. "

"What then?" and she turned suddenly to find her face not a hand'slength from mine. 

"This kind, " I whispered, bending in terrified joy over her shoulder;and I plucked a blossom straight from her lips and another and yetanother, till there came into the deep, gray eyes what I cannottranscribe, but what sent me away the king of all men--for had I notfound my Queen?

And that was the way I carried out my grand resolution and kept myselfin hand. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE BUFFALO HUNT

I question if Norse heroes of the sea could boast more thrillingadventure than the wild buffalo hunts of American plain-rangers. Acavalcade of six hundred men mounted on mettlesome horses eager for thefurious dash through a forest of tossing buffalo-horns was quite asimposing as any clash between warring Vikings. Squaws, children and ahorde of ragged camp-followers straggled in long lines far to thehunters' rear. Altogether, the host behind the flag numbered not lessthan two thousand souls. Like any martial column, our squad had captain, color-bearer and chaplain. Luckily, all three were known to me, as Idiscovered when I reached Pembina. The truce, patched up betweenHudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers after Governor McDonell's surrender, leftCuthbert Grant free to join the buffalo hunt. Pursuing big game acrossthe prairie was more to his taste than leading the half-breeds duringpeace. The warden of the plains came hot-foot after us, and was promptlyelected captain of the chase. Father Holland was with us too. Our courselay directly on his way to the Missouri and a jolly chaplain he made. InGrant's company came Pierre, the rhymster, bubbling over with jinglingminstrelsy, that was the delight of every half-breed camp on the plains. Bareheaded, with a red handkerchief banding back his lank hair, and cladin fringed buckskin from the bright neck-cloth to the beaded moccasins, he was as wild a figure as any one of the savage rabble. Yet this wasthe poet of the plain-rangers, who caught the song of bird, the burr ofcataract through the rocks, the throb of stampeding buffalo, the moan ofthe wind across the prairie, and tuned his rude minstrelsy to wildnature's fugitive music. Viking heroes, I know, chanted their deeds insongs that have come down to us; but with the exception of the Eskimo, descendants of North American races have never been credited with ataste for harmony. Once I asked Pierre how he acquired his art ofverse-making. With a laugh of scorn, he demanded if the wind and thewaterfalls and the birds learned music from beardless boys anddraggle-coated dominies with armfuls of books. However, it may have beenwith his Pegasus, his mount for the hunt was no laggard. He rode aknob-jointed, muscular brute, that carried him like poetic inspirationwherever it pleased. Though Pierre's right hand was busied upholding thehunters' flag, and he had but one arm to bow-string the broncho'sarching neck, the half-breed poet kept his seat with the easy grace ofthe plainsman born and bred in the saddle. 

"Faith, man, 'tis the fate of genius to ride a fractious steed, " saidFather Holland, when the bronchos of priest and poet had come intoviolent collision with angry squeals for the third time in ten minutes. 

"And what are the capers of this, my beast, compared to the antics offate, Sir Priest?" asked Pierre with grave dignity. 

The wind caught his long hair and blew it about his face till he becamean equestrian personification of the frenzied muse. I had becomeacquainted with his trick of setting words to the music of quaintrhymes; but Father Holland was taken aback. 

"By the saints, " he exclaimed, "I've no mind to run amuck of Pegasus!I'll get out of your way. Faith, 'tis the first time I've seen poetry inbuckskin of this particular binding, " and he wheeled his broncho out, leaving me abreast of the rhymster. 

Pierre's lips began to frame some answer to the churchman. 

"Have a care, Father, " I warned. "You've escaped the broncho; but lookout for the poet. "

"Save us! What's coming now?" gasped the priest. 

"Ha! I have it!" and Pierre turned triumphantly to Father Holland. 

 "The Lord be praised that poetry's free, Or you'd bottle it up like a saint's thumb-bone, That beauty's beauty for eyes that see Without regard to a priestly gown----"

"Hold on, " interrupted Father Holland. "Hold on, Pierre!"

 "'Your double-quick Peg Has a limp of one leg!'

"'Bone' and 'gown' don't fit, Mr. Rhymster. "

"Upon my honor! You turned poet, too, Father Holland!" said I. "We mightbe on a pilgrimage to Helicon. "

"To where?" says Grant, whose knowledge of classics was less than myown, which was precious little indeed. 

"Helicon. "

At that Father Holland burst in such roars of laughter, the rhymstertook personal offense, dug his moccasins against the horse's sides androde ahead. His fringed leggings were braced straight out in thestirrups as if he anticipated his broncho transforming the concave intothe convex, --known in the vernacular as "bucking. "

"Mad as a hatter, " said Grant, inferring the joke was on Pierre. "Lethim be! Let him be! He'll get over it! He's working up his rhymes forthe feast after the buffalo hunt. "

And we afterwards got the benefit of those rhymes. 

The tenth day west from Pembina our scouts found some herd's footprintson soggy ground. At once word was sent back to pitch camp on rollingland. A cordon of carts with shafts turned outward encircled the campingground. At one end the animals were tethered, at the other the hunter'stents were huddled together. All night mongrel curs, tearing about theenclosure in packs, kept noisy watch. Twice Grant and I went out toreconnoitre. We saw only a whitish wolf scurrying through the longgrass. Grant thought this had disturbed the dogs; but I was not so sure. Indeed, I felt prepared to trace features of Le Grand Diable under everyelk-hide, or wolf-skin in which a cunning Indian could be disguised. Ideemed it wise to have a stronger guard and engaged two runners, RingingThunder and Burnt Earth, giving them horses and ordering them to keepwithin call during the thick of the hunt. 

At daybreak all tents were a beehive of activity. The horses, withalmost human intelligence, were wild to be off. Riders could scarcelygain saddles, and before feet were well in the stirrups, the bronchoshad reared and bolted away, only to be reined sharply in and broughtback to the ranks. The dogs, too, were mad, tearing after make-believeenemies and worrying one another till there were several curs less forthe hunt. Inside the cart circle, men were shouting last orders towomen, squaws scolding half-naked urchins, that scampered in the way, and the whole encampment setting up a din that might have scared anybuffalo herd into endless flight. Grant gave the word. Pierre hoistedthe flag, and the camp turmoil was left behind. The _Bois-Brulés_ keptwell within the lines and observed good order; but the Indian rabblelashed their half-broken horses into a fury of excitement, thatthreatened confusion to all discipline. The camp was strongly guarded. Father Holland remained with the campers, but in spite of his holycalling, I am sure he longed to be among the hunters. 

Scouts ahead, we followed the course of a half-dried slough wherebuffalo tracks were visible. Some two miles from camp, the out-runnersreturned with word that the herds were browsing a short distance ahead, and that the marsh-bed widened to a banked ravine. The buffalo could nothave been found in a better place; for there was a fine slope from theupper land to our game. We at once ascended the embankment and coursedcautiously along the cliff's summit. Suddenly we rounded an abruptheadland and gained full view of the buffalo. The flag was lowered, stopping the march, and up rose our captain in his stirrups to surveythe herd. A light mist screened us and a deep growth of the leatherygrass, common to marsh lands, half hid a multitude of broad, humped, furry backs, moving aimlessly in the valley. Coal-black noses pokedthrough the green stalks sniffing the air suspiciously and the curvedhorns tossed broken stems off in savage contempt. 

From the headland beneath us to the rolling prairie at the mouth of thevalley, the earth swayed with giant forms. The great creatures wererestless as caged tigers and already on the rove for the day's march. Isuppose the vast flocks of wild geese, that used to darken the sky andfill the air with their shrill "hunk, hunk, " when I first went to thenorth, numbered as many living beings in one mass as that herd; but menno more attempted to count the creatures in flock or herd, than toestimate the pebbles of a shore. 

Protruding eyes glared savagely sideways. Great, thick necks hulkedforward in impatient jerks; and those dagger-pointed horns, sharper thana pruning hook, promised no boy's sport for our company. The buffalosees best laterally on the level, and as long as we were quiet weremained undiscovered. At the prospect, some of the hunters grewexcitedly profane. Others were timorous, fearing a stampede in ourdirection. Being above, we could come down on the rear of the buffaloesand they would be driven to the open. 

Grant scouted the counseled caution. The hunters loaded guns, filledtheir mouths with balls to reload on the gallop and awaited thecaptain's order. Wheeling his horse to the fore, the warden gave onequick signal. With a storm-burst of galloping hoofs, we charged down theslope. At sound of our whirlwind advance, the bulls tossed up theirheads and began pawing the ground angrily. From the hunters there was noshouting till close on the herd, then a wild halloo with unearthlyscreams from the Indians broke from our company. The buffaloes startedup, turned panic-stricken, and with bellowings, that roared down thevalley, tore for the open prairie. The ravine rocked with the plungingmonsters, and reëchoed to the crash of six-hundred guns and athunderous tread. Firing was at close range. In a moment there was abattle royal between dexterous savages, swift as tigers, and theseleviathans of the prairie with their brute strength. 

A quick fearless horse was now invaluable; for the swiftest ridersdarted towards the large buffaloes and rode within a few yards beforetaking aim. Instantly, the ravine was ablaze with shots. Showers ofarrows from the Indian hunters sung through the air overhead. Menunhorsed, ponies thrown from their feet, buffaloes wounded--ordead--were scattered everywhere. One angry bull gored furiously at hisassailant, ripping his horse from shoulder to flank, then, maddened bythe creature's blood, and before a shot from a second hunter brought himdown, caught the rider on its upturned horns and tossed him high. Bykeeping deftly to the fore, where the buffalo could not see, andswerving alternately from side to side as the enraged animals struckforward, trained horses avoided side thrusts. The saddle-girths of onehunter, heading a buffalo from the herd, gave way as he was leaning overto send a final ball into the brute's head. Down he went, shouldersforemost under its nose, while the horse, with a deft leap cleared thevicious drive of horns. Strange to say, the buffalo did not see where hefell and galloped onward. Carcasses were mowed down like felled trees;but still we plunged on and on, pursuing the racing herd; while theground shook in an earthquake under stampeding hoofs. 

I had forgotten time, place, danger--everything in the mad chase and washard after a savage old warrior that outraced my horse. Gradually Irounded him closer to the embankment. My broncho was blowing, almostwind-spent, but still I dug the spurs into him, and was only a fewlengths behind the buffalo, when the wily beast turned. With head down, eyes on fire and nostrils blood-red, he bore straight upon me. Mybroncho reared, then sprang aside. Leaning over to take sure aim, Ifired, but a side jerk unbalanced me. I lost my stirrup and sprawled inthe dust. When I got to my feet, the buffalo lay dead and my broncho wastrotting back. Hunters were still tearing after the disappearing herd. Riderless horses, mad with the smell of blood and snorting at everyflash of powder, kept up with the wild race. Little Fellow, La RobeNoire, Burnt Earth, and Ringing Thunder, had evidently been left in therear; for look where I might I could not see one of my four Indians. Near me two half-breeds were righting their saddles. I also wastightening the girths, which was not an easy matter with my excitedbroncho prancing round in a circle. Suddenly there was the whistle ofsomething through the air overhead, like a catapult stone, or recoilingwhip-lash. The same instant one of the half-breeds gave an upward tossof both arms and, with a piercing shriek, fell to the ground. The fellowcaught at his throat and from his bared chest protruded an arrow shaft. 

I heard his terrified comrade shout, "The Sioux! the Sioux!" Then hefled in a panic of fear, not knowing where he was going and staggeringas he ran; and I saw him pitch forward face downwards. I had barelyrealized what had happened and what it all meant, before an exultantshout broke from the high grass above the embankment. At that my horsegave a plunge and, wrenching the rein from my grasp, galloped offleaving me to face the hostiles. Half a score of Indians scrambled downthe cliff and ran to secure the scalps of the dead. Evidently I had notbeen seen; but if I ran I should certainly be discovered and a Sioux'sarrow can overtake the swiftest runner. I was looking hopelessly aboutfor some place of concealment, when like a demon from the earth ahorseman, scarlet in war-paint appeared not a hundred yards away. Brandishing his battle-axe, he came towards me at furious speed. Withweapons in hand I crouched as his horse approached; and the fool mistookmy action for fear. White teeth glistened and he shrieked with derisivelaughter. I knew that sound. Back came memory of Le Grand Diablestanding among the shadows of a forest camp-fire, laughing as I struckhim. 

The Indian swung his club aloft. I dodged abreast of his horse to avoidthe blow. With a jerk he pulled the animal back on its haunches. Quick, when it rose, I sent a bullet to its heart. It lurched sideways, rearedstraight up and fell backwards with Le Grand Diable under. The fallknocked battle-axe and club from his grasp; and when his horse rolledover in a final spasm, two men were instantly locked in a death clutch. The evil eyes of the Indian glared with a fixed look of uncowed hatredand the hands of the other tightened on the redman's throat. Diable wassnatching at a knife in his belt, when the cries of my Indians rang outclose at hand. Their coming seemed to renew his strength; for with thefull weight of an antagonist hanging from his neck, the willowy formsquirmed first on his knees, then to his feet. But my men dashed up, knocked his feet from under him and pinioned him to the ground. La RobeNoire, with the blood-lust of his race, had a knife unsheathed and wouldhave finished Diable's career for good and all; but Little Fellow struckthe blade from his hand. That murderous attempt cost poor La Robe Noiredearly enough in the end. 

Hare-skin thongs of triple ply were wound about Diable's crossed armsfrom wrists to elbows. Burnt Earth gagged the knave with his ownmoccasin, while Ringing Thunder and Little Fellow quickly roped him neckand ankles to the fore and hind shanks of the dead buffalo. This time mywily foe should remain in my power till I had rescued Miriam. 

"_Monsieur! Monsieur!_" gasped Little Fellow as he rose from putting alast knot to our prisoner's cords. "The Sioux!" and he pointed in alarmto the cliff. 

True, in my sudden conflict, I had forgotten about the marauding Sioux;but the fellows had disappeared from the field of the buffalo hunt andit was to the embankment that my Indians were anxiously looking. Threethin smoke lines were rising from the prairie. I knew enough of Indianlore to recognize this tribal signal as a warning to the Sioux band ofsome misfortune. Was Miriam within range of those smoke signals? Now wasmy opportunity. I could offer Diable in exchange for the Sioux captives. Meanwhile, we had him secure. He would not be found till the hunt wasover and the carts came for the skins. 

Mounting the broncho, which Little Fellow had caught and brought back, Iordered the Indians to get their horses and follow; and I rode up to thelevel prairie. Against the southern horizon shone the yellow birch of awigwam. Vague movements were apparent through the long grass, from whichwe conjectured the raiders were hastening back with news of Diable'scapture. We must reach the Sioux camp before these messengers causedanother mysterious disappearing of this fugitive tribe. 

We whipped our horses to a gallop. Again thin smoke lines arose from theprairie and simultaneously the wigwam began to vanish. I had almostconcluded the tepee was one of those delusive mirages which lead prairieriders on fools' errands, when I descried figures mounting ponies wherethe peaked camp had stood. At this we lashed our horses to faster pace. The Sioux galloped off and more smoke lines were rising. 

"What do those mean, Little Fellow?" I asked; for there was smoke in adozen places ahead. 

"The prairie's on fire, _Monsieur_! The Sioux have put burnt stick indry grass! The wind--it blow--it come hard--fast--fast this way!" andall four Indians reined up their horses as if they would turn. 

"Coward Indians, " I cried. "Go on! Who's put off the trail by the fireof a fool Sioux? Get through the fire before it grows big, or it willcatch you all and burn you to a crisp. "

The gathering smoke was obscuring the fugitives and my Indians stillhung back. Where the Indian refuses to be coerced, he may be won byreward, or spurred by praise of bravery. 

"Ten horses to the brave who catches a Sioux!" I shouted. "Come on, Indians! Who follows? Is the Indian less brave than the pale face?" andwe all dashed forward, spurring our hard-ridden horses without mercy. Each Indian gave his horse the bit. Beating them over the head, theycraned flat over the horses' necks to lessen resistance to the air. Aboisterous wind was fanning the burning grass to a great tide of firethat rolled forward in forked tongues; but beyond the flames werefigures of receding riders; and we pressed on. Cinders rained on us likeliquid fire, scorching and maddening our horses; but we never paused. The billowy clouds of smoke that rolled to meet us were blinding, andthe very atmosphere, livid and quivering with heat, seemed to become afiery fluid that enveloped and tortured us. Involuntarily, as we drewnearer and nearer the angry fire-tide, my hand was across my mouth toshut out the hot burning air; but a man must breathe, and the nextintake of breath blistered one's chest like live coals on raw flesh. Little wonder our poor beasts uttered that pitiful scream against pain, which is the horse's one protest of suffering. Presently, they becamewildly unmanageable; and when we dismounted to blindfold them and muffletheir heads in our jackets, they crowded and trembled against us in afrenzy of terror. Then we tied strips torn from our clothing across ourown mouths and, remounting, beat the frantic creatures forward. I haveoften marveled at the courage of those four Indians. For me, there wasincentive enough to dare everything to the death. For them, what motivebut to vindicate their bravery? But even bravery in its perfection hasthe limitation of physical endurance; and we had now reached the limitof what we could endure and live. The fire wave was crackling andlicking up everything within a few paces of us. Live brands fell thickas a rain of fire. The flames were not crawling in the insidious line ofthe prairie fire when there is no wind, but the very heat of the airseemed to generate a hurricane and the red wave came forward in leapsand bounds, reaching out cloven fangs that hissed at us like an army ofserpents. I remember wondering in a half delirium whether parts ofDante's hell could be worse. With the instinctive cry to heaven forhelp, of human-kind world over, I looked above; but there was only agreat pitchy dome with glowing clouds rolling and heaving and tossingand blackening the firmament. Then I knew we must choose one of threethings, a long detour round the fire-wave, one dash through theflames--or death. I shouted to the men to save themselves; but BurntEarth and Ringing Thunder had already gone off to skirt the near end ofthe fire-line. Little Fellow and La Robe Noire stuck staunchly by me. Weall three paused, facing death; and the Indians' horses trembled closeto my broncho till I felt the burn of hot stirrups against both ankles. Our buckskin was smoking in a dozen places. There was a lull of thewind, and I said to myself, "The calm before the end; the next hurricaneburst and those red demon claws will have us. " But in the momentarylull, a place appeared through the trough of smoke billows, where thegrass was green and the fire-barrier breached. With a shout and headsdown, we dashed towards this and vaulted across the flaming wall, ourhorses snorting and screaming with pain as we landed on the smoking turfof the other side. I gulped a great breath of the fresh air into mysuffocating lungs, tore the buckskin covering from my broncho's head andwe raced on in a swirl of smoke, always following the dust whichrevealed the tracks of the retreating Sioux. There was a whiff of singedhair, as if one of the horses had been burnt, and Little Fellow gave ashout. Looking back I saw his horse sinking on the blackened patch; butLa Robe Noire and I rode on. The fugitives were ascending rising groundto the south. They were beating their horses in a rage of cruelty; butwe gained at every pace. I counted twenty riders. A woman seemed to bestrapped to one horse. Was this Miriam? We were on moist grass and Iurged La Robe Noire to ride faster and drove spurs in my own beast, though I felt him weakening under me. The Sioux had now reached thecrest of the hill. Our horses were nigh done, and to jade the faggedcreatures up rising ground was useless. 

When we finally reached the height, the Sioux were far down in thevalley. It was utterly hopeless to try to overtake them. Ah! It is easyto face death and to struggle and to fight and to triumph! But thehardest of all hard things is to surrender, to yield to the inevitable, to turn back just when the goal looms through obscurity!

I still had Diable in my power. We headed about and crawled slowly backby unburnt land towards the buffalo hunters. 

Little Fellow, we overtook limping homeward afoot. Burnt Earth andRinging Thunder awaited us near the ravine. The carts were already outgathering hides, tallow, flesh and tongues. We made what poor speed wecould among the buffalo carcasses to the spot where we had left Le GrandDiable. It was Little Fellow, who was hobbling ahead, and the Indiansuddenly turned with such a cry of baffled rage, I knew it bodedmisfortune. Running forward, I could hardly believe my eyes. Fools thatwe were to leave the captive unguarded! The great buffalo layunmolested; but there was no Le Grand Diable. A third time had hevanished as if in league with the powers of the air. Closer examinationexplained his disappearance. A wet, tattered moccasin, with theappearance of having been chewed, lay on the turf. He had evidentlybitten through his gag, raised his arms to his mouth, eaten away thehare thongs, and so, without the help of the Sioux raiders, freed hishands, untied himself and escaped. 

Dumfounded and baffled, I returned to the encampment and took counselwith Father Holland. We arranged to set out for the Mandanes on theMissouri. Diable's tribe had certainly gone south to Sioux territory. The Sioux and the Mandanes were friendly enough neighbors this year. Living with the Mandanes south of the Sioux country, we might keep trackof the enemy without exposing ourselves to Sioux vengeance. 

Forebodings of terrible suffering for Miriam haunted me. I could notclose my eyes without seeing her subjected to Indian torture; and I hadno heart to take part in the jubilation of the hunters over their greatsuccess. The savory smell of roasting meat whiffed into my tent and Iheard the shrill laughter of the squaws preparing the hunters' feast. With hard-wood axles squeaking loudly under the unusual burden, thelast cart rumbled into the camp enclosure with its load of meat andskins. The clamor of the people subsided; and I knew every one wasbusily gorging to repletion, too intent on the satisfaction of animalgreed to indulge in the Saxon habit of talking over a meal. Well mightthey gorge; for this was the one great annual feast. There would followa winter of stint and hardship and hunger; and every soul in the campwas laying up store against famine. Even the dogs were happy, for theywere either roving over the field of the hunt, or lying disabled fromgluttony at their masters' tents. 

Father Holland remained in the tepee with me talking over our plans andplastering Indian ointment on my numerous burns. By and by, the voicesof the feasters began again and we heard Pierre, the rhymester, chantingthe song of the buffalo hunt:

 Now list to the song of the buffalo hunt, Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, chant of the brave! We are _Bois-Brulés_, Freemen of the plains, We choose our chief! We are no man's slave!

 Up, riders, up, ere the early mist Ascends to salute the rising sun! Up, rangers, up, ere the buffalo herds Sniff morning air for the hunter's gun!

 They lie in their lairs of dank spear-grass, Down in the gorge, where the prairie dips. We've followed their tracks through the sucking ooze, Where our bronchos sank to their steaming hips. 

 We've followed their tracks from the rolling plain Through slime-green sloughs to a sedgy ravine, Where the cat-tail spikes of the marsh-grown flags Stand half as high as the billowy green. 

 The spear-grass touched our saddle-bows, The blade-points pricked to the broncho's neck; But we followed the tracks like hounds on scent Till our horses reared with a sudden check. 

 The scouts dart back with a shout, "They are found!" Great fur-maned heads are thrust through reeds, A forest of horns, a crunching of stems, Reined sheer on their haunches are terrified steeds!

 Get you gone to the squaws at the tents, old men, The cart-lines safely encircle the camp! Now, braves of the plain, brace your saddle-girths! Quick! Load guns, for our horses champ!

 A tossing of horns, a pawing of hoofs, But the hunters utter never a word, As the stealthy panther creeps on his prey, So move we in silence against the herd. 

 With arrows ready and triggers cocked, We round them nearer the valley bank; They pause in defiance, then start with alarm At the ominous sound of a gun-barrel's clank. 

 A wave from our captain, out bursts a wild shout, A crash of shots from our breaking ranks, And the herd stampedes with a thunderous boom While we drive our spurs into quivering flanks. 

 The arrows hiss like a shower of snakes, The bullets puff in a smoky gust, Out fly loose reins from the bronchos' bits And hunters ride on in a whirl of dust. 

 The bellowing bulls rush blind with fear Through river and marsh, while the trampled dead Soon bridge safe ford for the plunging herd; Earth rocks like a sea 'neath the mighty tread. 

 A rip of the sharp-curved sickle-horns, A hunter falls to the blood-soaked ground! He is gored and tossed and trampled down, On dashes the furious beast with a bound, When over sky-line hulks the last great form And the rumbling thunder of their hoofs' beat, beat, Dies like an echo in distant hills, Back ride the hunters chanting their feat. 

 Now, old men and squaws, come you out with the carts! There's meat against hunger and fur against cold! Gather full store for the pemmican bags, Garner the booty of warriors bold. 

 So list ye the song of the _Bois-Brulés_, Of their glorious deeds in the days of old, And this is the tale of the buffalo hunt Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, have proudly told. 

CHAPTER XIV

IN SLIPPERY PLACES

A more desolate existence than the life of a fur-trading winterer in thefar north can scarcely be imagined. Penned in some miserable lodge athousand miles from human companionship, only the wild orgies of thesavages varied the monotony of dull days and long nights. The winter Ispent with the Mandanes was my first in the north. I had not yet learnedto take events as the rock takes wave-blows, and was still at thatmawkish age when a man is easily filled with profound pity for himself. A month after our arrival, Father Holland left the Mandane village. EricHamilton had not yet come; so I felt much like the man whom a gloomypoet describes as earth's last habitant. I had accompanied the priesthalf-way to the river forks. Here, he was to get passage in an Indiancanoe to the tribes of the upper Missouri. After an affectionatefarewell, I stood on a knoll of treeless land and watched thebroad-brimmed hat and black robe receding from me. 

"Good-by, boy! God bless you!" he had said in broken voice. "Don't fallto brooding when you're alone, or you'll lose your wits. Now mindyourself! Don't mope!"

For my part, I could not answer a word, but keeping hold of his handwalked on with him a pace. 

"Get away with you! Go home, youngster!" he ordered, roughly shaking meoff and flourishing his staff. 

Then he strode swiftly forward without once looking back, while I wouldhave given all I possessed for one last wave. As he plunged into thesombre forest, where the early autumn frost of that north land hadalready tinged the maple woods with the hectic flush of coming death, sopoignant was this last wresting from human fellowship, I could scarcelyresist the impulse to desert my station and follow him. Poorer than thepoorest of the tribes to whom he ministered, alone and armed only withhis faith, this man was ready to conquer the world for his Master. "Would that I had half the courage for my quest, " I mused, and walkedslowly back to the solitary lodge. 

Black Cat, Chief of the Mandane village, in a noisy harangue, adopted meas his son and his brother and his father and his mother and I know notwhat; but apart from trade with his people, I responded coldly to thesewarm overtures. From Father Holland's leave-taking to Hamilton's coming, was a desolately lonesome interval. Daily I went to the north hill andstrained my eyes for figures against the horizon. Sometimes horsemenwould gradually loom into view, head first, then arms and horse, likethe peak of a ship preceding appearance of full canvas and hull oversea. Thereupon I would hurriedly saddle my own horse and ride furiouslyforward, feeling confident that Hamilton had at last come, only to findthe horsemen some company of Indian riders. What could be keeping him? Iconjectured a thousand possibilities; but in truth there was no need forany conjectures. 'Twas I, who felt the days drag like years. Hamiltonwas not behind his appointed time. He came at last, walking in on me onenight when I least expected him and was sitting moodily before myuntouched supper. He had nothing to tell except that he had wasted manyweeks following false clues, till our buffalo hunters returned with newsof the Sioux attack, Diable's escape and our bootless pursuit. At oncehe had left Fort Douglas for the Missouri, pausing often to send scoutsscouring the country for news of Diable's band; but not a trace of therascals had been found; and his search seemed on the whole more barrenof results than mine. Laplante, he reported, had never been seen thenight after he left the council hall to find the young Nor'-Wester. Inmy own mind, I had no doubt the villain had been in that company wepursued through the prairie fire. Altogether, I think Hamilton's comingmade matters worse rather than better. That I had failed after so nearlyeffecting a rescue seemed to embitter him unspeakably. 

Out of deference to the rival companies employing us, we occupieddifferent lodges. Indeed, I fear poor Eric did but a sorry business forthe Hudson's Bay that winter. I verily believe he would have forgottento eat, let alone barter for furs, had I not been there to lug himforcibly across to my lodge, where meals were prepared for us both. Often when I saw the Indian trappers gathering before his door withpiles of peltries, I would go across and help him to value the furs. Atfirst the Indian rogues were inclined to take advantage of hisabstraction and palm off one miserable beaver skin, where they shouldhave given five for a new hatchet; and I began to understand why theycrowded to his lodge, though he did nothing to attract them, while theyavoided mine. Then I took a hand in Hudson's Bay trade and equalizedvalues. First, I would pick over the whole pile, which the Indians hadthrown on the floor, putting spoiled skins to one side, and peltries ofthe same kind in classified heaps. 

"Lynx, buffalo, musk-ox, marten, beaver, silver fox, black bear, raccoon! Want them all, Eric?" I would ask, while the Indians eyed mewith suspicious resentment. 

"Certainly, certainly, take everything, " Eric would answer, withoutknowing a word of what I had said, and at once throwing away hisopportunity to drive a good bargain. 

Picking over the goods of Hamilton's packet, the Mandanes would choosewhat they wanted. Then began a strange, silent haggling over prices. Unlike Oriental races, the Indian maintains stolid silence, compellingthe white man to do the talking. 

"Eric, Running Deer wants a gun, " I would begin. 

"For goodness' sake, give it to him, and don't bother me, " Eric wouldurge, and the faintest gleam of amused triumph would shoot from thebeady eyes of Running Deer. Running Deer's peltries would be spread out, and after a half hour of silent consideration on his part and trader'stalk on mine, furs to the value of so many beaver skins would be passedacross for the coveted gun. I remember it was a wretched old squaw witha toothless, leathery, much-bewrinkled face and a reputation forknowledge of Indian medicines, who first opened my eyes to the sort oftrade the Indians had been driving with Hamilton. The old creature wasbent almost double over her stout oak staff and came hobbling in with abag of roots, which she flung on the floor. After thawing out her frozenmoccasins before the lodge fire and taking off bandages of skins abouther ankles, she turned to us for trade. We were ready to makeconcessions that might induce the old body to hurry away; but shedemanded red flannel, tea and tobacco enough to supply a whole family ofgrandchildren, and sat down on the bag of roots prepared to out-siegeus. 

"What's this, Eric?" I asked, knowing no more of roots than the oldwoman did of values. 

"Seneca for drugs. For goodness' sake, buy it quick and don't haggle. "

"But she wants your whole kit, man, " I objected. 

"She'll have the whole kit and the shanty, too, if you don't get herout, " said Hamilton, opening the lodge door; and the old squaw presentlylimped off with an armful of flannel, one tea packet and a parcel oftobacco, already torn open. Such was the character of Hamilton'sbartering up to the time I elected myself his first lieutenant; but ashis abstractions became almost trance-like, I think the superstition ofthe Indians was touched. To them, a maniac is a messenger of the GreatSpirit; and Hamilton's strange ways must have impressed them, for theyno longer put exorbitant values on their peltries. 

After the day's trading Eric would come to my hut. Pacing the crampedplace for hours, wild-eyed and silent, he would abruptly dash into thedarkness of the night like one on the verge of madness. Thereupon, thetaciturn, grave-faced La Robe Noire, tapping his forehead significantly, would look with meaning towards Little Fellow; and I would slip out somedistance behind to see that Hamilton did himself no harm while theparoxysm lasted. So absorbed was he in his own gloom, for days he wouldnot utter a syllable. The storm that had gathered would then dischargeits strength in an outburst of incoherent ravings, which usually endedin Hamilton's illness and my watching over him night and day, keepingfirearms out of reach. I have never seen--and hope I never may--anyother being age so swiftly and perceptibly. I had attributed his wornappearance in Fort Douglas to the cannon accident and trusted thenatural robustness of his constitution would throw off the apparentlanguor; but as autumn wore into winter, there were more gray hairs onhis temple, deeper lines furrowed his face and the erect shoulders beganto bow. 

When days slipped into weeks and weeks into months without the slightestinkling of Miriam's whereabouts to set at rest the fear that my rashpursuit had caused her death, I myself grew utterly despondent. Like allwho embark on daring ventures, I had not counted on continuousfrustration. The idea that I might waste a lifetime in the wildernesswithout accomplishing anything had never entered my mind. Week afterweek, the scouts dispatched in every direction came back without oneword of the fugitives, and I began to imagine my association withHamilton had been unfortunate for us both. This added to despair thebitterness of regret. 

The winter was unusually mild, and less game came to the Missouri fromthe mountains and bad lands than in severe seasons. By February, we wereon short rations. Two meals a day, with cat-fish for meat and driedskins in soup by way of variety, made up our regular fare formid-winter. The frequent absence of my two Indians, scouring the regionfor the Sioux, left me to do my own fishing; and fishing with bare handsin frosty weather is not pleasant employment for a youth of softup-bringing. Protracted bachelordom was also losing its charms; butthat may have resulted from a new influence, which came into my life andseemed ever present. 

At Christmas, Hamilton was threatened with violent insanity. As theMandanes' provisions dwindled, the Indians grew surlier toward us; and Iwas as deep in despondency as a man could sink. Frequently, I wonderedwhether Father Holland would find us alive in the spring, and Isometimes feared ours would be the fate of Athabasca traders whosebodies satisfied the hunger of famishing Crees. 

How often in those darkest hours did a presence, which defied time andspace, come silently to me, breathing inspiration that may not bespoken, healing the madness of despair and leaving to me in the midst ofanxiety a peace which was wholly unaccountable! In the lambent flame ofthe rough stone fireplace, in the darkness between Hamilton's hut andmine, through which I often stole, dreading what I mightfind--everywhere, I felt and saw, or seemed to see, those gray eyes withthe look of a startled soul opening its virgin beauty and revealing itsinmost secrets. 

A bleak, howling wind, with great piles of storm-scud overhead, ravedall the day before Christmas. It was one of those afternoons when thesombre atmosphere seems weighted with gloom and weariness. On Christmaseve Hamilton's brooding brought on acute delirium. He had been moredepressed than usual, and at night when we sat down to a cheerlesssupper of hare-skin soup and pemmican, he began to talk very fast andquite irrationally. 

"See here, old boy, " said I, "you'd better bunk here to-night. You'renot well. "

"Bunk!" said he icily, in the grand manner he sometimes assumed at theQuebec Club for the benefit of a too familiar member. "And pray, Sir, what might 'bunk' mean?"

"Go to bed, Eric, " I coaxed, getting tight hold of his hands. "You'renot well, old man; come to bed!"

"Bed!" he exclaimed with indignation. "Bed! You're a madman, Sir! I'm tomeet Miriam on the St. Foye road. " (It was here that Miriam lived inQuebec, before they were married. ) "On the St. Foye road! See the lightsglitter, dearest, in Lower Town, " and he laughed aloud. Then followedsuch an outpouring of wild ravings I wept from very pity andhelplessness. 

"Rufus! Rufus, lad!" he cried, staring at me and clutching at hisforehead as lucid intervals broke the current of his madness. "Gillespie, man, what's wrong? I don't seem able to think. Who--are--you? Who--in the world--are you? Gillespie! O Gillespie! I'mgoing mad! Am I going mad? Help me, Rufus! Why can't you help me? It'scoming after me! See it! The hideous thing!" Tears started from hisburning eyes and his brow was knotted hard as whipcord. 

"Look! It's there!" he screamed, pointing to the fire, and he darted tothe door, where I caught him. He fought off my grasp with maniacalstrength, and succeeded in flinging open the door. Then I forgot thisman was more than brother to me, and threw myself upon him as against anenemy, determined to have the mastery. The bleak wind roared through theopen blackness of the doorway, and on the ground outside were shadows oftwo struggling, furious men. I saw the terrified faces of Little Fellowand La Robe Noire peering through the dark, and felt wet beads startfrom every pore in my body. Both of us were panting like fagged racers. One of us was fighting blindly, raining down aimless blows, I know notwhich, but I think it must have been Hamilton, for he presently sank inmy arms, limp and helpless as a sick child. 

Somehow I got him between the robes of my floor mattress. Drawing a boxto the bedside I again took his hands between mine and prepared for anight's watch. 

He raved in a low, indistinct tone, muttering Miriam's name again andagain, and tossing his head restlessly from side to side. Then he fellinto a troubled sleep. The supper lay untouched. Torches had burnedblack out. One tallow candle, that I had extravagantly put among someevergreens--our poor decorations for Christmas Eve--sputtered low andthrew ghostly, branching shadows across the lodge. I slipped from thesick man's side, heaped more logs on the fire and stretched out betweenrobes before the hearth. In the play of the flame Hamilton's face seemedsuddenly and strangely calm. Was it the dim light, I wonder. Thefurrowed lines of sorrow seemed to fade, leaving the peaceful, transparent purity of the dead. I could not but associate the branchedshadows on the wall with legends of death keeping guard over the dying. The shadow by his pillow gradually assumed vague, awesome shape. I satup and rubbed my eyes. Was this an illusion, or was I, too, going mad?The filmy thing distinctly wavered and receded a little into the dark. 

An unspeakable fear chilled my veins. Then I could have laughed defianceand challenged death. Death! Curse death! What had we to fear fromdying? Had we not more to fear from living? At that came thought of mylove and the tumult against life was quieted. I, too, like othermortals, had reason, the best of reason, to fear death. What matter if alonely one like myself went out alone to the great dark? But whenthought of my love came, a desolating sense of separation--separationnot to be bridged by love or reason--overwhelmed me, and I, too, shrankback. 

Again I peered forward. The shadow fluttered, moved, and came out of thegloom, a tender presence with massy, golden hair, white-veined brow, andgray eyes, speaking unutterable things. 

"My beloved!" I cried. "Oh, my beloved!" and I sprang towards her; butshe had glided back among the spectral branches. 

The candle tumbled to the floor, extinguishing all light, and I wasalone with the sick man breathing heavily in the darkness. A log brokeover the fire. The flames burst up again; but I was still alone. Had I, too, lost grip of reality; or was she in distress calling for me?Neither suggestion satisfied; for the mean lodge was suddenly filledwith a great calm, and my whole being was flooded and thrilled with thetrancing ecstasy of an ethereal presence. 

If I remember rightly--and to be perfectly frank, I do--though I was inas desperate straits as a man could be, I lay before the hearth thatChristmas Eve filled with gratitude to heaven--God knows such a giftmust have come from heaven!--for the love with which I had been dowered. 

How it might have been with other men I know not. For myself, I couldnot have come through that dreary winter unscathed without the influenceof her, who would have been the first to disclaim such power. Among thevelvet cushions of the east one may criticise the lapse of white man tobarbarity; but in the wilderness human voice is as grateful to the earas rain patter in a drouth. There, men deal with facts, not arguments. Natives break the loneliness of an isolated life by not unwelcomedvisits. Comes a time when they tarry over long in the white man's lodge. Other men, who have scouted the possibility of sinking to savagery, haveforsaken the ways of their youth. Who can say that I might not havedeparted from the path called rectitude?

Religion may keep a holy man upright in slippery places; but for commonmortals, devotion to a being, whom, in one period of their worship menrank with angels, does much to steady wavering feet. Hers was theinfluence that aroused loathing for the drunken debauches, the cheating, the depraved living of the Indian lodges: hers, the influence that keptthe loathing from slipping into indifference, the indifference frombecoming participation. Indeed, I could wish a young man no bettertalisman against the world, the flesh and the devil, than love for apure woman. 

How we dragged through the hours of that night, of Christmas and thedays that followed, I do not attempt to set down here. Hamilton'sillness lasted a month. What with trading and keeping our scouts on thesearch for Miriam and waiting on the sick man, I had enough to busy mewithout brooding over my own woes. Hard as my life was, it was fortunateI had no time for thoughts of self and so escaped the melancholy apathythat so often benumbs the lonely man's activities. And when Eric becameconvalescent, I had enough to do finding diversion for his mind. Keepingrecord of our doings on birch-bark sheets, playing quoits with theMandanes and polo with a few fearless riders, helped to pass the longweary days. 

So the dismal winter wore away and spring was drizzling into summer. Within a few weeks we should be turning our faces northward for theforks of the Red and Assiniboine. The prospect of movement after longstagnation cheered Hamilton and fanned what neither of us wouldacknowledge--a faint hope that Miriam might yet be alive in the north. Iverily believe Eric would have started northward with restored couragehad not our plans been thwarted by the sinister handiwork of Le GrandDiable. 

CHAPTER XV

THE GOOD WHITE FATHER

For a week Hamilton and I had been busy in our respective lodges gettingpeltries and personal belongings into shape for return to Red River. OnSaturday night, at least I counted it Saturday from the notches on mydoorpost, though Eric, grown morose and contradictory, maintained thatit was Sunday--we sat talking before the fire of my lodge. A drearyraindrip pattered through the leaky roof and the soaked parchment tackedacross the window opening flapped monotonously against the pine logs. 

Unfastening the moon-shaped medallion, which my uncle had given me, Islowly spelled out the Nor'-Westers' motto--"Fortitude in Distress. "

"For-ti-tude in Dis-tress, " I repeated idly. "By Jove, Hamilton, we needit, don't we?"

Eric's lips curled in scorn. Without answering, he impatiently kicked afallen brand back to the live coals. I know old saws are poor comfort topeople in distress, being chiefly applicable when they are not needed. 

"What in the world can be keeping Father Holland?" I asked, leading offon another tack. "Here we are almost into the summer, and never a sightof him. "

"Did you really expect him back alive from the Bloods?" sneeredHamilton. He had unconsciously acquired a habit of expecting the worst. 

"Certainly, " I returned. "He's been among them before. "

"Then all I have to say is, you're a fool!"

Poor Eric! He had informed me I was a fool so often in his ravings I hadgrown quite used to the insult. He glared savagely at the fire, and if Ihad not understood this bitterness towards the missionary, the nextremark was of a nature to enlighten me. 

"I don't see why any man in his senses wants to save the soul of anIndian, " he broke out. "Let them go where they belong! Souls! Theyhaven't any souls, or if they have, it's the soul of a fiend----"

"By the bye, Eric, " I interrupted, for this petulant ill-humor, that sawnaught but evil in everything, was becoming too frequent and alwaysended in the same way--a night of semi-delirium, "by the bye, did yousee those fellows turning up soil for corn with a buffalo shoulder-bladeas a hoe?"

"I wish every damn Red a thousand feet under the soil, deeper than that, if the temperature increases. "

It was impossible to talk to Hamilton without provoking a quarrel. Leaning back with hands clasped behind my head, I watched throughhalf-closed eyes his sad face darkling under stormy moods. 

At last the rain succeeded in soaking through the parchment across thewindow and the wind drove through a great split in chilling gusts thatadded to the cabin's discomfort. I got up and jammed an old hat into thehole. At the window I heard the shouting of Indians having a hilariousnight among the lodges and was amazed at the sound of dischargingfirearms above the huzzas, for ammunition was scarce among the Mandanes. The hubbub seemed to be coming towards our hut. I could see nothingthrough the window slit, and lighting a pine fagot, shot back thelatch-bolt and threw open the door. A multitude of tawny, joyous, upturned faces thronged to the steps. The crowd was surging about somenewcomer, and Chief Black Cat was prancing around in an ecstasy ofdelight, firing away all his gunpowder in joyous demonstration. I liftedmy torch. The Indians fell back and forth strode Father Holland, hisface shining wet and abeam with pleasure. The Indians had been welcoming"their good white father. " As he dismissed his Mandane children we drewhim in and placed his soaked over-garments before the fire. Then weproffered him all the delicacies of bachelors' quarters, and filled andrefilled his bowl with soup, and did not stop pouring out our lye-blacktea till he had drained the dregs of it. 

Having satisfied his inner-man, we gave him the best stump-tree seat inthe cabin and sat back to listen. There was the awkward pause ofreunion, when friends have not had time to gather up the loose threadsof a parted past and weave them anew into stronger bands of comradeship. Hamilton and the priest were strangers; but if the latter were asovercome by the meeting after half a year's isolation as I was, thesilence was not surprising. To me it seemed the genial face wasunusually grave, and I noticed a long, horizontal scar across hisforehead. 

"What's that, Father?" I asked, indicating the mark on his brow. 

"Tush, youngster! Nothing! Nothing at all! Sampled scalping-knife on me;thought better of it, kept me out of the martyr's crown. "

"And left you your own!" cried Hamilton astonished at the priest'scareless stoicism. 

"Left me my own, " responded Father Holland. 

"Do you mean to say the murderous----" I began. 

"Tush, youngster! Be quiet!" said he. "Haven't many brethren come fromthe same tribe more like warped branches than men? What am I, that Ishould escape? Never speak of it again, " and he continued his silentstudy of the flames' play. 

"Where are your Indians?" he asked abruptly. 

"In the lodges. Shall I whistle for them?"

He did not answer, but leaned forward with elbows on his knees, rubbinghis chin vigorously first with one hand, then the other, still studyingthe fire. 

"How strong are the Mandanes?" he asked. 

"Weak, weak, " I answered. "Few hundred. It hasn't been worth while fortraders to come here for years. "

"Was it worth while this year?"

"Not for trade. "

"For anything else?" and he looked at Eric's dejected face. 

"Nothing else, " I put in hastily, fearing one of Hamilton's outbreaks. "We've been completely off the track, might better have stayed in thenorth----"

"No, you mightn't, not by any means, " was his sharp retort. "I've beenin the Sioux lodges for three weeks. "

With an inarticulate cry, Hamilton sprang to his feet. He was tremblingfrom head to foot and caught Father Holland roughly by the shoulder. 

"Speak out, Sir! What of Miriam?" he demanded in dry, hard, raspingtones. 

"Well, well, safe and inviolate. So's the boy, a big boy now! May yehave them both in y'r arms soon--soon--soon!" and again he fell tostudying the fire with an unhurried deliberation, that was torture toHamilton. 

"Are they with you? Are they with you?" shouted Hamilton, hope boundingup elastically to the wildest heights after his long depression. "Don'tkeep me in suspense! I cannot bear it. Tell me where they are, " hepleaded. "Are they with you?" and his eyes burned into the priest's likelive coals. "Are--they--with--you?"

"No--Lord--no!" roared Father Holland, alarmed at Hamilton's violentcondition. "But, " he added, seeing Eric reel dizzily, "but they're allright! Now you keep quiet and don't scare the wits out of a body!They're all right, I tell you, and I've come straight from them for theransom price. "

"Get it, Rufus, get it!" shouted Hamilton to me, throwing his handsdistractedly to his head, a habit too common with him of late. "Get it!Get it!" he kept calling, utterly beside himself. 

"Sit down, will you?" thundered the priest, as if Eric's sitting downwould calm all agitation. "Sit down! Behave! Keep quiet, both of you, ormy tongue'll forget holy orders and give ye some good Irish eloquence!What d' y' mane, scarin' the breath out of a body and blowing his ideasto limbo? Keep quiet, now, and listen!"

"And did they, " I cried, in spite of the injunction, "did they do thatto you?" pointing to the scar on his brow. 

"Yes, they did. "

"Because they saw you with me?"

"No, that's a brand for the faith, you conceited whelp, you--theystopped their tortures because they saw you with me. Now, swell out, Rufus, and gloat over your importance! I tell you it was the devil, himself, snatched my martyr's crown. "

"Le Grand Diable?"

"Le Grand Diable's own minion. I saw his devilish eyes leering from theback o' the crowd, when I was tied to a stake. 'Bring that Indian tome, ' sez I, transfixing him with my gaze; for--you understand--Icouldn't point, my hands being tied. Troth! But ye should 'a' seen theirlooks of amazement at me boldness! There was I, roped to that tree, likea pig for the boiling pot, and sez I, 'Bring--that Indian--to me!' justas though I was managing the execution, " and the priest paused to enjoythe recollection of the effects of his boldness. 

"A squaw up with an old clout, " he continued, "and slashed it across myface, saying, 'Take that, pale face! Take that, man with a woman'sskirts on!' and 'Take that!' howled a young buck, fetching the flat ofhis dagger across me forehead, close-cropped hair giving no grip forscalping, not to mention a pate as bald as mine, " and the priest roaredat his own joke, patting his bare crown affectionately. 

"Though the blood was boilin' in me enraged veins and dribblin' down myface like the rain to-night, by the help o' the Lord, I felt no pain. Never flinchin' nor takin' heed o' that bold baste of a squaw, I bawledlike a bull of Bashan, 'Bring--that Indian--to me, coward-heartedSioux--d' y' fear an Iroquois? Bring him to me and I'll make him enrichyour tribe!'

"Faith! Their eyes grew big as a harvest moon and they brought Le GrandDiable to me. Knowing his covetous heart, I told him if he still had thewoman and the child, I'd get him a big ransom. At that they all jangleda bit, the old squaw clouting me with her filthy rag as if she wantedto slap me to a peak. At length they let Le Grand Diable unfasten thebands. With my hands tied behind my back, I was taken to his lodge. Miriam and the boy were kept in a place behind the Sioux squaw's hut. Once when the skin tied between blew up, I caught a glimpse of her poorwhite face. The boy was playing round her feet. I was in a corner of thelodge but was so grimed with grease and dirt, if she saw me she thoughtI was some Indian captive and turned away her head. I told Le GrandDiable in _habitant_ French--which the rascal understands--that I couldobtain a good ransom for his prisoners. He left me alone in the lodgefor some hours, I think to spy upon me and learn if I tried to speak toMiriam; but I lay still as a log and pretended to sleep. When he cameback, he began bartering for the price; but I could make him no promisesas to the amount or time of payment, for I was not sure you were here, and would not have him know where you are. 

"He kept me hanging on for his answer during the whole week, and many atime Miriam brushed past so close her skirts touched me; but thatshe-male devil of his--may the Lord give them both a warm, frontseat!--was always watching and I could not speak. Miriam's face washidden under her shawl and she looked neither to the right, nor to theleft. I don't think she ever saw me. On condition you stay in your campand don't go to meet her, but send your two Indians alone for her withyour offer, he let me go. Here I am! Now, Rufus, where are your men? Offwith them bearing more gifts than the Queen of Sheba carried toSolomon!"

 * * * * *

From the hour that La Robe Noire and Little Fellow, laden with gaudytrinkets and hunting outfits, departed for the Sioux lodges, Hamiltonwas positively a madman. In the first place, he had been determined todisguise himself as an Indian and go instead of La Robe Noire, whosefigure he resembled. To this, we would not listen. Le Grand Diable wasnot the man to be tricked and there was no sense in ransoming Miriam fora captive husband. Then, he persisted in riding part of the way with ourmessengers, which necessitated my doing likewise. I had to snatch hishorse's bridle, wheel both our horses round and head homeward at agallop, before he would listen to reason and come back. 

Round the lodges he was a ramping tiger. Twenty times a day he went fromour hut to the height of land commanding the north country, keeping meon the run at his heels; and all night he beat around the cramped shackas if it had been a cage. On the fourth day from the messengers'departure, chains could not bind him. If all went well, they should bewith us at night. In defiance of Le Grand Diable's conditions, which anarrow from an unseen marksman might enforce, Eric saddled his mare androde out to meet the men. 

Of course Father Holland and I peltered after him; but it was onlybecause gathering darkness prevented travel that we prevailed on him todismount and await the Indians' coming at the edge of the village. 

At last came the clank, clank of shod hoofs in the valley. The nativesused only unshod animals, so we recognized our men. Hamilton darted awaylike a hare racing for cover. 

"The Lord have mercy upon us!" groaned Father Holland. "Listen, lad!There's only one horse!"

I threw myself to the earth and laying my ear to the turf strained forevery sound. The thud, thud of a single horse, fore and hind feetstriking the beaten trail in quick gallop, came distinctly up from thevalley. 

"It may not be our men, " said I, with sickening forebodings tugging atthroat and heart. 

"I mistrusted them! I mistrusted the villains!" repeated the priest. "Ifonly you had enough Mandanes to ride down on them, but you're too weak. There are at least two thousand Sioux. "

Hamilton and Little Fellow, talking loudly and gesticulating, rodecrashing through the furze. 

"I knew it! I knew it!" shouted Hamilton fiercely, "One of us shouldhave gone. "

"What's wrong?" came from Father Holland in a voice so low andunnaturally calm, I knew he feared the worst. 

"Wrong!" yelled Hamilton, "They hold La Robe Noire as hostage anddemand five hundred pounds of ammunition, twenty guns and ten horses. Ofcourse, I should have gone----"

"And would it have mended matters if you'd been held hostage too?" Idemanded, utterly out of patience and at that stage when a little strainmakes a man strike his best friends. "You know very well, the men wereonly sent to make an offer. You'd no right to expect everything on onetrip without any bargaining----"

"Shut up, boy!" exclaimed Father Holland. "Just when ye both need ally'r wits, y'r scattering them to the four winds. Now, mind yourselves! Idon't like these terms! 'Tis the devil's own doing! Let's talk thisover!"

With a vast deal of the wordy eloquence that characterizes Indiandiplomacy, the tenor of Le Grand Diable's message was "His shot pouchwas light and his pipe cold; he hung down his head and the pipe of peacehad not been in the council; the Sioux were strangers and the whiteswere their enemies; the pale-faces had been in their power and they hadalways conveyed them on their journey with glad hearts and something toeat. " Finally, the Master of Life, likewise Earth, Air, Water, and Firewere called on to witness that if the white men delivered five hundredrounds of ammunition, twenty guns and ten horses, the white woman andher child, likewise the two messengers, would be sent safely back to theMandane lodge; none but these two messengers would be permitted in theSioux camp; also, the Sioux would not answer for the lives of the whitemen if they left the Mandane lodges. Let the white men, therefore, sendback the full ransom by the hands of the same messenger. 

CHAPTER XVI

LE GRAND DIABLE SENDS BACK OUR MESSENGER

Father Holland advised caution and consideration before acting. A policyof bargaining was his counsel. 

"I don't like those terms, at all, " he said, "too much like giving yourweapons to the enemy. I don't like all this. "

He would temporize and rely on Le Grand Diable's covetous dispositionbringing him to our terms; but Hamilton would hear of neither cautionnor delay. 

The ransom price was at once collected. Next morning, Little Fellow, ona fresh mount with a string of laden horses on each side, went posthaste back to the Sioux. 

In all conscience, Hamilton had been wild enough during the firstparley. His excitement now exceeded all bounds. The first two days, whenthere was no possibility of Miriam's coming and Little Fellow could notyet have reached the Sioux, I tore after Eric so often I lost count ofthe races between our lodge and the north hill. The performance beganagain on the third day, and I broke out with a piece of my mind, whichsurprised him mightily. 

"Look you here, Hamilton!" I exclaimed, rounding him back from the hill, "Can't you stop this nonsense and sit still for only two days more, ormust I tie you up? You've tried to put me crazy all winter and, by Jove, if you don't stop this, you'll finish the job----"

He gazed at me with the dumb look of a wounded animal and was too amazedfor words. Leaving me in mid-road, feeling myself a brute, he wentstraight to his own hut. After that incident, he gave us no furtheranxiety and kept an iron grip on his impatience. With me, anger hadgiven place to contrition. He remained much by himself until the night, when our messengers were expected. Then he came across to my quarters, where Father Holland and I were keyed up to the highest pitch. Puttingout his hand he said--

"Is it all right with us again, Rufus, old man?"

That speech nigh snapped the strained cords. 

"Of course, " said I, gripping the extended hand, and I immediatelycoughed hard, to explain away the undue moisture welling into my eyes. 

We all three sat as still and silent as a death-watch, Father Hollandfumbling and pretending to pore over some holy volume, Eric with fingerstightly interlaced and upper teeth biting through lower lip, and I withclenched fists dug into jacket pockets and a thousand imaginary soundssinging wild tunes in my ears. 

How the seconds crawled, and the minutes barely moved, and the hoursseemed to heap up in a blockade and crush us with their leaden weight!Twice I sought relief for pent emotion by piling wood on the fire, though the night was mild, and by breaking the glowing embers into ashower of sparks. The soft, moccasined tread of Mandanes past our doorstartled Father Holland so that his book fell to the floor, while Ishook like a leaf. Strange to say, Hamilton would not allow himself theluxury of a single movement, though the lowered brows tightened andteeth cut deeper into the under lip. 

Dogs set up a barking at the other end of the village--a common enoughoccurrence where half-starved curs roved in packs--but I could notrefrain from lounging with a show of indifference to the doorway, whereI peered through the moon-silvered dusk. As usual, the Indians withshrill cry flew at the dogs to silence them. The noise seemed to beannoying my companions and was certainly unnerving me, so I shut thedoor and walked back to the fire. 

The howl of dogs and squaws increased. I heard the angry undertone ofmen's voices. A hoarse roar broke from the Mandane lodges and rolledthrough the village like the sweep of coming hurricane. There was afleet rush, a swift pattering of something pursued running round therear of our lodge, with a shrieking mob of men and squaws after it. Thedogs were barking furiously and snapping at the heels of the thing, whatever it was. 

"A hostile!" exclaimed Hamilton, leaping up. 

Hardly knowing what I did, I bounded towards the door and shot forwardthe bolt, with a vague fear that blood might be spilled on ourthreshold. 

"For shame, man!" cried Father Holland, making to undo the latch. 

But the words had not passed his lips when the parchment flap of thewindow lifted. A voice screamed through the opening and in hurtled around, nameless, blood-soaked horror, rolling over and over in a redtrail, till it stopped with upturned, dead, glaring eyes and hideous, gaping mouth, at the very feet of Hamilton. 

It was the scalpless head of La Robe Noire. Our Indian had paid theprice of his own blood-lust and Diable's enmity. 

Before the full enormity of the treachery--messengers murdered andmutilated, ransom stolen and captives kept--had dawned on me, FatherHolland had broken open the door. He was rushing through the nightscreaming for the Mandanes to catch the miscreant Sioux. When I turnedback, not daring to look at that awful object, Hamilton had fallen tothe hut floor in a dead faint. 

 * * * * *

And now may I be spared recalling what occurred on that terrible night!

Women luxuriate and men traffic in the wealth of the great west, but howmany give one languid thought to the years of bloody deeds by which thewest was won?

 * * * * *

Before restoring Hamilton, it was necessary to remove that which wasunseemly; also to wash out certain stains on the hearth-stones; andthose things would have tried the courage of more iron-nerved men thanmyself. 

I should not have been surprised if Eric had come out of that faint, agibbering maniac; but I toiled over him with the courage of blankhopelessness, pumping his arms up and down, forcing liquor between theclenched teeth, splashing the cold, clammy face with water, and lavinghis forehead. At last he opened his eyes wearily. Like a man ill at easewith life, moaning, he turned his face to the wall. 

Outside, it was as if the unleashed furies of hell fought to quenchtheir thirst in human blood. The clamor of those red demons was in myears and I was still working over Hamilton, loosening his jacket collar, under-pillowing his chest, fanning him, and doing everything else Icould think of, to ease his labored breathing, when Father Holland burstinto the lodge, utterly unmanned and sobbing like a child. 

"For the Lord's sake, Rufus, " he cried, "for the Lord's sake, come andhelp! They're murdering him! They're murdering him! 'Twas I who set themon him, and I can't stop them! I can't stop them!"

"Let them murder him!" I returned, unconsciously demonstrating that thecivilized heart differs only in degree from the barbarian. 

"Come, Rufus, " he pleaded, "come, for the love of Frances, or your handswill not be clean. There'll be blood on your hands when you go back toher. Come, come!"

Out we rushed through the thronging Mandanes, now riotous with the lustof blood. A ring of young bucks had been formed round the Sioux to keepthe crowd off. Naked, with arms pinioned, the victim stood motionlessand without fear. 

"Good white father, he no understand, " said the Mandanes, jostling theweeping priest back from the circle of the young men. "Good whitefather, he go home!" In spite of protest by word and act they roughlyshoved us to our lodge, the doomed man's death chant ringing in our earsas they pushed us inside and clashed our door. In vain we had arguedthey would incur the vengeance of the Sioux nation. Our voices weredrowned in the shout for blood--for blood!

The sigh of the wind brought mournful strains of the victim's dirge toour lodge. I fastened the door, with robes against it to keep the soundout. Then a smell of burning drifted through the window, and Istop-gapped that, too, with more robes. 

 * * * * *

That the Sioux would wreak swift vengeance could not be doubted. As soonas the murderous work was over, guides were with difficulty engaged. Having fitted up a sort of prop in which I could tie Hamilton to thesaddle, I saw both Father Holland and Eric set out for Red River beforedaybreak. 

It was best they should go and I remain. If Miriam were still in thecountry, stay I would, till she were safe; but I had no mind to see Ericgo mad or die before the rescue could be accomplished. 

As they were leaving I took a piece of birch bark. On it I wrote with acharred stick:--

 "Greetings to my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight. "

This, Father Holland bore to Frances Sutherland from me. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRICE OF BLOOD

How many shapeless terrors can spring from the mind of man I never knewtill Eric and the priest left me alone in the Mandane village. Ever, onclosing my eyes, there rolled and rolled past, endlessly, without goingone pace beyond my sight, something too horrible to be contemplated. When I looked about to assure myself the thing was not there--could notpossibly be there--memory flashed back the whole dreadful scene. Upstarted glazed eyes from the hearth, the floor, and every dim nook inthe lodge. Thereupon I would rush into the village road, where theshamefaced greetings of guilty Indians recalled another horror. 

If I ventured into Le Grand Diable's power a fate worse than La RobeNoire's awaited me. That there would be a hostile demonstration over theSioux messenger's death I was certain. Nothing that I offered couldinduce any of the Indians to act as scouts or to reconnoiter the enemy'sencampment. I had, of my own will, chosen to remain, and now I foundmyself with tied hands, fuming and gnashing against fate, conjuring upall sorts of projects for the rescue of Miriam, and butting my headagainst the impossible at every turn. Thus three weary days draggedpast. 

Having reflected on the consequences of their outrage, the Mandanesexhibited repentance of a characteristically human form--resentmentagainst the cause of their trouble. Unfortunately, I was the cause. Fromthe black looks of the young men I half suspected, if the Sioux chiefwould accept me in lieu of material gifts, I might be presented as apeace-offering. This would certainly not forward my quest, and prudence, or cowardice--two things easily confused when one is in peril--counseleddiscretion, and discretion seemed to counsel flight. 

"Discretion! Discretion to perdition!" I cried, springing up from amidnight reverie in my hut. Every selfish argument for my own safety hadpassed in review before my mind, and something so akin to judiciouscaution, which we trappers in plain language called "cowardice, " wasinsidiously assailing my better self, I cast logic's sophistries to thewinds, and dared death or torture to drive me from my post. Whence comesthis sublime, reasonless _abandon_ of imperiled human beings, whichcasts off fear and caution and prudence and forethought and all thatgoes to make success in the common walks of life, and at one blind leapmounts the Sinai of duty? To me, the impulse upwards is as mysterious asthe impulse downwards, and I do not wonder that pagans ascribe one toOrmuzd, the other to Ahriman. 'Tis ours to yield or resist, and Iyielded with the vehemence of a passionate nature, vowing in thedarkness of the hut--"Here, before God, I stay!"

Swift came test of my oath. While the words were yet on my lips, stealthy steps suddenly glided round the lodge. A shuffling stopped atthe door, while a chilling fear took possession of me lest the mutilatedform of my other Indian should next be hurled through the window. I hadnot time to shoot the door-bolt to its catch before a sharp click toldof lifted latch. The hinge creaked, and there, distinct in thestarlight, that smote through the open, stood Little Fellow, himself, haggard and almost naked. 

"Little Fellow! Good boy!" I shouted, pulling him in. "Where did youcome from? How did you get away? Is it you or your ghost?"

Down he squatted with a grunt on one of the robes, answering never aword. The gaunt look of the man declared his needs, so I prepared tofeed him back to speech. This task kept me busy till daybreak, for thefilling capacity of a famishing Indian may not be likened to any otherhungry thing on earth without doing the red man grave injustice. 

"Hoohoo! Hoohoo! But I be sick man to-morrow!" and he rubbed himselfdown with a satisfied air of distension, declining to have his platereloaded for the tenth time. I noticed the poor wretch's skin was cut tothe bone round wrists and ankles. Chafed bandage marks encircled theflesh of his neck. 

"What did this, Little Fellow?" and I pointed to the scars. 

A grim look of Indian gratitude for my interest came into the stolidface. 

"Bad Indians, " was the terse response. 

"Did they torture you?"

He grunted a ferocious negative. 

"You got away too quick for them?"

An affirmative grunt. 

"Le Grand Diable--did you see him?"

At that name, his white teeth snapped shut, and from the depths of theIndian's throat came the vicious snarl of an enraged wolf. 

"Come, " I coaxed, "tell me. How long since you left the Sioux?"

"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep, " and rising, he enacted a hobblinggait across the cabin in unison with the rhythmic utterance of hiswords. 

"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one. "

"Traveled at night!" I interrupted. "Two nights! You couldn't do it intwo nights!"

"Walkee--walkee--walkee--one sleep, " he repeated. 

"Three nights!"

Four times he hobbled across the floor, which meant he had come afootthe whole distance, traveling only at night. 

Sitting down, he began in a low monotone relating how he had returned toLa Robe Noire with the additional ransom demanded by Le Grand Diable. The "pig Sioux, more gluttonous than the wolverine, more treacherousthan the mountain cat, " had come out to receive them with hootings. Theplunder was taken, "as a dead enemy is picked by carrion buzzards. " He, himself, was dragged from his horse and bound like a slave squaw. LaRobe Noire had been stripped naked, and young men began piercing hischest with lances, shouting, "Take that, man who would scalp theIroquois! Take that, enemy to the Sioux! Take that, dog that's friend tothe white man!" Then had La Robe Noire, whose hands were bound, sprungupon his torturers and as the trapped badger snaps the hand of thehunter so had he buried his teeth in the face of a boasting Sioux. 

Here, Little Fellow's teeth clenched shut in savage imitation. Then wasLe Grand Diable's knife unsheathed. More, my messenger could not see;for a Sioux bandaged his eyes. Another tied a rope round his neck. Thus, like a dead stag, was he pulled over the ground to a wigwam. Here he layfor many "sleeps, " knowing not when the great sun rose and when he sank. Once, the lodges became very still, like many waters, when the windslumbers and only the little waves lap. Then came one with the soft, small fingers of a white woman and gently, scarcely touching him, as thespirits rustle through the forest of a dark night, had these hands cutthe rope around his neck, and unbound him. A whisper in the Englishtongue, "Go--run--for your life! Hide by day! Run at night!"

The skin of the tent wall was lifted by the same hands. He rolled out. He tore the blind from his eyes. It was dark. The spirits had quenchedtheir star torches. No souls of dead warriors danced on the fire plainof the northern sky! The father of winds let loose a blast to drown allsound and help good Indian against the pig Sioux! He ran like a hare. Heleaped like a deer. He came as the arrows from the bow of the greathunter. Thus had he escaped from the Sioux!

Little Fellow ceased speaking, wrapped himself in robes and fell asleep. 

I could not doubt whose were the liberator's hands, and I marveled thatshe had not come with him. Had she known of our efforts at all? Itseemed unlikely. Else, with the liberty she had, to come to LittleFellow, surely she would have tried to escape. On the other hand, herimmunity from torture might depend on never attempting to regainfreedom. 

Now I knew what to expect if I were captured by the Sioux. Yet, givenanother stormy night, if Little Fellow and I were near the Sioux withfleet horses, could not Miriam be rescued in the same way he hadescaped? Until Little Fellow had eaten and slept back to his normalcondition of courage, it would be useless to propose such a hazardousplan. Indeed, I decided to send him to some point on the northern trail, where I could join him and go alone to the Sioux camp. This would bebetter than sitting still to be given as a hostage to the Sioux. If theworst happened and I were captured, had I the courage to endure Indiantortures? A man endures what he must endure, whether he will, or not;and I certainly had not courage to leave the country without one blowfor Miriam's freedom. 

With these thoughts, I gathered my belongings in preparation for secretdeparture from the Mandanes that night. Then I prepared breakfast, sawLittle Fellow lie back in a dead sleep, and strolled out among thelodges. 

Four days had passed without the coming of the avengers. The villagerswere disposed to forget their guilt and treat me less sulkily. As Isauntered towards the north hill, pleasant words greeted me from thelodges. 

"Be not afraid, my son, " exhorted Chief Black Cat. "Lend a deaf ear tobad talk! No harm shall befall the white man! Be not afraid!"

"Afraid!" I flouted back. "Who's afraid, Black Cat? Only white-liveredcowards fear the Sioux! Surely no Mandane brave fears the Sioux--ugh!The cowardly Sioux!"

My vaunting pleased the old chief mightily; for the Indian is nothing ifnot a boaster. At once Black Cat would have broken out in loud tirade onhis friendship for me and contempt for the Sioux, but I cut him shortand moved towards the hill, that overlooked the enemy's territory. Agreat cloud of dust whirled up from the northern horizon. 

"A tornado the next thing!" I exclaimed with disgust. "The fates areagainst me! A fig for my plans!"

I stooped. With ear to the ground I could hear a rumbling clatter as ofa buffalo stampede. 

"What is it, my son?" asked the voice of the chief, and I saw that BlackCat had followed me to the hill. 

"Are those buffalo, Black Cat?" and I pointed to the north. 

As he peered forward, distinguishing clearly what my civilized eyescould not see, his face darkened. 

"The Sioux!" he muttered with a black look at me. Turning, he would havehurried away without further protests of friendship, but I kept pacewith him. 

"Pooh!" said I, with a lofty contempt, which I was far from feeling. "Pooh! Black Cat! Who's afraid of the Sioux? Let the women run from theSioux!"

He gave me a sidelong glance to penetrate my sincerity and slackened hisflight to the proud gait of a fearless Indian. All the same, alarm wasspread among the lodges, and every woman and child of the Mandanes werehidden behind barricaded doors. The men mounted quickly and rode out togain the vantage ground of the north hill before the enemy's arrival. 

Another cross current to my purposes! Fool that I was, to havedilly-dallied three whole days away like a helpless old squaw wringingher hands, when I should have dared everything and ridden to Miriam'srescue! Now, if I had been near the Sioux encampment, when all thewarriors were away, how easily could I have liberated Miriam and herchild!

 * * * * *

Always, it is the course we have not followed, which would have led onto the success we have failed to grasp in our chosen path. So we salvewounded mistrust of self and still, in spite of manifest proof to thecontrary, retain a magnificent conceit. 

I cursed my blunders with a vehemence usually reserved for other men'serrors, and at once decided to make the best of the present, lettingpast and future each take care of itself, a course which will save a mangray hairs over to-morrow and give him a well-provisioned to-day. 

Arming myself, I resolved to be among the bargain-makers of the Mandanesrather than be bargained by the Sioux. Wakening Little Fellow, I toldhim my plan and ordered him to slip away north while the two tribes wereparleying and to await me a day's march from the Sioux camp. He told meof a wooded valley, where he could rest with his horses concealed, andafter seeing him off, I rode straight for the band of assembled Mandanesand surprised them beyond all measure by taking a place in the forefrontof Black Cat's special guard. The Sioux warriors swept towards us in atornado. Ascending the slope at a gallop, whooping and beating theirdrums, they charged past us, and down at full speed through the village, displaying a thousand dexterities of horsemanship and prowess to striketerror to the Mandanes. Then they dashed back and reined up on thehillside beneath our forces. The men were naked to the waist and theirfaces were blackened. Porcupine quills, beavers' claws, hooked bones, and bears' claws stained red hung round their necks in ringlets, oradorned gorgeous belts. Feathered crests and broad-shielded mats ofwillow switches, on the left arm, completed their war dress. The leadershad their buckskin leggings strung from hip to ankle with small bells, and carried firearms, as well as arrows and stone lances; but themajority had only Indian weapons. In that respect--though we were notone third their number--we had the advantage. All the Mandanes carriedfirearms; but I do not believe there was enough ammunition to averagefive rounds a man. Luckily, this was unknown to the Sioux. I scannedevery face. Diable was not there. 

Scarcely were the ranks in position, when both Sioux and Mandane chiefsrode forward, and there opened such a harangue as I have never heardsince, and hope I never may. 

"Our young man has been killed, " lamented the Sioux. "He was a goodwarrior. His friends sorrow. Our hearts are no longer glad. Till now ourhands have been white, and our hearts clean. But the young man has beenslain and we are grieved. Of the scalps of the enemy, he brought many. We hang our heads. The pipe of peace has not been in our council. Thewhites are our enemies. Now, the young man is dead. Tell us if we areto be friends or enemies. We have no fear. We are many and strong. Ourbows are good. Our arrows are pointed with flint and our lances withstone. Our shot-pouches are not light. But we love peace. Tell us, whatdoth the Mandane offer for the blood of the young man? Is it to be peaceor war? Shall we be friends or enemies? Do you raise the tomahawk, orpipe of peace? Say, great chief of the Mandanes, what is thy answer?"

This and more did the Sioux chief vauntingly declaim, brandishing hiswar club and addressing the four points of the compass, also the sun, ashe shouted out his defiance. To which Black Cat, in louder voice, madereply. 

"Say, great chief of the Sioux, our dead was brought into the camp. Thebody was yet warm. It was thrown at our feet. Never before did it enterthe heart of a Missouri to seek the blood of a Sioux! Our messengerswent to your camp smoking the sacred calumet of peace. They were sons ofthe Mandanes. They were friends of the white men. The white man is likemagic. He comes from afar. He knows much. He has given guns to ourwarriors. His shot bags are full and his guns many. But his men, yeslew. We are for peace, but if ye are for war, we warn you to leave ourcamp before the warriors hidden where ye see them not, break forth. Wecannot answer for the white man's magic, " and I heard my power overdarkness and light, life and death, magnified in a way to terrify my owndreams; but Black Cat cunningly wound up his bold declamation by askingwhat the Sioux chief would have of the white man for the death of themessenger. 

A clamor of voices arose from the warriors, each claiming somerelationship and attributing extravagant virtues to the dead Sioux. 

"I am the afflicted father of the youth ye killed, " called an oldwarrior, putting in prior claim for any forthcoming compensation andenhancing its value by adding, "and he had many feathers in his cap. "

"He, who was killed, I desired for a nephew, " shouted another, "and anivory wand he carried in his hand. "

"He who was killed was my brother, " cried a third, "and he had a new gunand much powder. "

"He was braver than the buffalo, " declared another. 

"He had three wounds!" "He had scars!" "He wore many scalps!" came thevoices of others. 

"Many bells and beads were on his leggings!"

"He had garnished moccasins!"

"He slew a bear with his own hands!"

"His knife had a handle of ivory!"

"His arrows had barbs of beavers' claws!"

If the noisy claimants kept on, they would presently make the dead man agod. I begged Black Cat to cut the parley short and demand exactly whatgift would compensate the Sioux for the loss of so great a warrior. After another half-hour's jangling, in which I took an animated part, beating down their exorbitant request for two hundred guns with beadsand bells enough to outfit the whole Sioux tribe, we came to terms. Indeed, the grasping rascals well-nigh cleared out all that was left ofmy trading stock; but when I saw they had no intention of fighting, Iheld back at the last and demanded the surrender of Le Grand Diable, Miriam and the child in compensation for La Robe Noire. 

Then, they swore by everything, from the sun and the moon to the cow inthe meadow, that they were not responsible for the doings of Le GrandDiable, who was an Iroquois. Moreover, they vowed he had hurriedly takenhis departure for the north four days before, carrying with him theSioux wife, the strange woman and the white child. As I had no object inarousing their resentment, I heard their words without voicing my ownsuspicions and giving over the booty, whiffed pipes with them. But I hadno intention of being tricked by the rascally Sioux, and while they andthe Mandanes celebrated the peace treaty, I saddled my horse and spurredoff for their encampment, glad to see the last of a region where I hadsuffered much and gained nothing. 

CHAPTER XVIII

LAPLANTE AND I RENEW ACQUAINTANCE

The warriors had spoken truth to the Mandanes. Le Grand Diable was notin the Sioux lodges. I had been at the encampment for almost a week, daily expecting the warriors' return, before I could persuade the peopleto grant me the right of search through the wigwams. In the end, Isucceeded only through artifice. Indeed, I was becoming too proficientin craft for the maintenance of self-respect. A child--I explained tothe surly old men who barred my way--had been confused with the Siouxslaves. If it were among their lodges, I was willing to pay well for itsredemption. The old squaws, eying me distrustfully, averred I had cometo steal one of their naked brats, who swarmed on my tracks with astantalizing persistence as the vicious dogs. The jealous mothers wouldnot hear of my searching the tents. Then I was compelled to make friendswith the bevies of young squaws, who ogle newcomers to the Indian camps. Presently, I gained the run of all the lodges. Indeed, I needed not alittle diplomacy to keep from being adopted as son-in-law by onepertinacious old fellow--a kind of embarrassment not wholly confined totrappers in the wilds. But not a trace of Diable and his captives did Ifind. 

I had hobbled my horses--a string of six--in a valley some distance fromthe camp and directly on the trail, where Little Fellow was awaiting me. Returning from a look at their condition one evening, I heard a band ofhunters had come from the Upper Missouri. I was sitting with a group ofmen squatted before my fatherly Indian's lodge, when somebody walked upbehind us and gave a long, low whistle. 

"Mon Dieu! Mine frien', the enemy! Sacredie! 'Tis he! Thou cock-brainedidiot! Ho--ho! Alone among the Sioux!" came the astonished, half-breathless exclamation of Louis Laplante, mixing his English andFrench as he was wont, when off guard. 

Need I say the voice brought me to my feet at one leap? Well Iremembered how I had left him lying with a snarl between his teeth inthe doorway of Fort Douglas! Now was his chance to score off thatgrudge! I should not have been surprised if he had paid me with a stabin the back. 

"What for--come you--here?" he slowly demanded, facing me with arevengeful gleam in his eyes. His English was still mixed. There wasnone of the usual light and airy impudence of his manner. 

"You know very well, Louis, " I returned without quailing. "Who shouldknow better than you? For the sake of the old days, Louis, help to undothe wrong you allowed? Help me and before Heaven you shall command yourown price. Set her free! Afterwards torture me to the death and takeyour full pleasure!"

"I'll have it, anyway, " retorted Louis with a hard, dry, mirthlesslaugh. "Know they--what for--you come?" He pointed to the Indians, whounderstood not a word of our talk; and we walked a pace off from thelodges. 

"No! I'm not always a fool, Louis, " said I, "though you cheated me inthe gorge!"

"See those stones?" There was a pile of rock on the edge of the ravine. 

"I do. What of them?"

"All of your Indian--left after the dogs--it lie there!" His eyequestioned mine; but there was not a vestige of fear in me towards thatboaster. This, I set down not vauntingly, but fully realizing what I oweto Heaven. 

"Poor fellow, " said I. "That was cruel work. "

"Your other man--he fool them----"

"All the better, " I interrupted. 

"They not be cheated once more again! No--no--mine frien'! To come here, alone! Ha--ha! Stupid Anglo-Saxon ox!"

"Don't waste your breath, Louis, " I quietly remarked. "Your names haveno more terror for me now than at Laval! However big a knave you are, Louis, you're not a fool. Why don't you make something out of this? Ican reward you. Hold _me_, if you like! Scalp me and skin me and put meunder a stone-pile for revenge! Will it make your revenge any sweeterto torture a helpless, white woman?"

Louis winced. 'Twas the first sign of goodness I had seen in the knave, and I credited it wholly to his French ancestors. 

"I never torture white woman, " he vehemently declared, with a suddenflare-up of his proud temper. "The son of a seigneur----"

"The son of a seigneur, " I broke in, "let an innocent woman go intocaptivity by lying to me!"

"Don't harp on that!" said Louis with a scornful laugh--a laugh that isever the refuge of the cornered liar. "You pay me back by stealingdespatches. "

"Don't harp on that, Louis!" and I returned his insolence in fullmeasure. "I didn't steal your despatches, though I know the thief. Andyou paid me back by almost trapping me at Fort Douglas. "

"But I didn't succeed, " exclaimed Laplante. "Mon Dieu! If I had onlyknown you were a spy!"

"I wasn't. I came to see Hamilton. "

"And you pay me back as if I had succeed, " continued Louis, "by kickingme--me--the son of a seigneur--kicking me in the stomach like a pig, which is no fit treatment for a gentleman!"

"And you paid me back by sticking your knife in my boot----"

"And didn't succeed, " broke in Louis regretfully. 

At that, we both laughed in spite of ourselves, laughed as comrades. And the laugh brought back memories of old Laval days, when we used tothrash each other in the schoolyard, but always united in defensiveleague, when we were disciplined inside the class-room. 

"See here, old crony, " I cried, taking quick advantage of his suddensoftening and again playing suppliant to my adversary. "I own up! Youowe me two scores, one for the despatches I saw taken from you, one forknocking you down in Fort Douglas; for your knife broke and did not cutme a whit. Pay those scores with compound interest, if you like, the wayyou used to pummel me black and blue at Laval; but help me now as weused to help each other out of scrapes at school! Afterwards, do as youwish! I give you full leave. As the son of a seigneur, as a gentleman, Louis, help me to free the woman!"

"Pah!" cried Louis with mingled contempt and surrender. "I not punishyou here with two thousand against one! Louis Laplante is agentleman--even to his enemy!"

"Bravo, comrade!" I shouted out, full of gratitude, and I thrust forwardmy hand. 

"No--no--thanks much, " and Laplante drew himself up proudly, "not till Ipay you well, richly, --generous always to mine enemy!"

"Very good! Pay when and where you will. "

"Pay how I like, " snapped Louis. 

With that strange contract, his embarrassment seemed to vanish and hisEnglish came back fluently. 

"You'd better leave before the warriors return, " he said. "They comehome to-morrow!"

"Is Diable among them?"

"No. "

"Is Diable here?"

"No. " His face clouded as I questioned. 

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. "

"Will he be back?"

"Dammie! How do I know? He will if he wants to! I don't tell tales on aman who saved my life. "

His answer set me to wondering if Diable had seen me hold back thetrader's murderous hand, when Louis lay drunk, and if the Frenchman'sknowledge of that incident explained his strange generosity now. 

"I'll stay here in spite of all the Sioux warriors on earth, till I findout about that knave of an Indian and his captives, " I vowed. 

Louis looked at me queerly and gave another whistle. 

"You always were a pig-head, " said he. "I can keep them from harmingyou; but remember, I pay you back in your own coin. And look out for thedaughter of L'Aigle, curse her! She is the only thing I ever fear! Keepyou in my tent! If Le Grand Diable see you----" and Louis touched hisknife-handle significantly. 

"Then Diable _is_ here!"

"I not say so, " but he flushed at the slip of his tongue and movedquickly towards what appeared to be his quarters. 

"He is coming?" I questioned, suspicious of Louis' veracity. 

"Dolt!" said Louis. "Why else do I hide you in my tent? But remember Ipay you back in your own coin afterwards! Ha! There they come!"

A shout of returning hunters arose from the ravine, at which Louisbounded for the tent on a run, dashing inside breathlessly, I followingclose behind. 

"Stay you here, inside, mind! Mon Dieu! If you but show your face; 'tistwo white men under one stone-pile! Louis Laplante is a fool--dammie--afool--to help you, his enemy, or any other man at his own risk. "

With these enigmatical words, the Frenchman hurried out, fastening thetent flap after him and leaving me to reflect on the wild impulses ofhis wayward nature. Was his strange, unwilling generosity the result ofanimosity to the big squaw, who seemed to exercise some subtle andcommanding influence over him; or of gratitude to me? Was the nobleblood that coursed in his veins, directing him in spite of hisdegenerate tendencies; or had the man's heart been touched by the sightof a white woman's suffering? If his alarm at the sound of returninghunters had not been so palpably genuine--for he turned pale to thelips--I might have suspected treachery. But there was no mistaking themotive of fear that hurried him to the tent; and with Le Grand Diableamong the hunters, Louis might well fear to be seen in my company. Therewas a hubbub of trappers returning to the lodges. I heard horses turnedfree and tent-poles clattering to the ground; but Laplante did not comeback till it was late and the Indians had separated for the night. 

"I can take you to her!" he whispered, his voice thrilling withsuppressed emotion. "Le Grand Diable and the squaw have gone to thevalley to set snares! And when I whistle, come out quickly! Mon Dieu! Ifyou're caught, both our scalps go! Dammie! Louis is a fool. I take youto her; but I pay you back all the same!"

"To whom?" The question throbbed with a rush to my lips. 

"Stupid dolt!" snarled Louis. "Follow me! Keep your ears open for mywhistle--one--they return--two--come you out of the tent--three, we arecaught, save yourself!"

I followed the Frenchman in silence. It was a hazy summer night withjust enough light from the sickle moon for us to pick our way past thelodges to a large newly-erected wigwam with a small white tent behind. 

"This way, " whispered Louis, leading through the first to an openinghidden by a hanging robe. Raising the skin, he shoved me forward andhastened out to keep guard. 

The figure of a woman with a child in her arms was silhouetted againstthe white tent wall. She was sitting on some robes, crooning in a lowvoice to the child, and was unaware of my presence. 

"And was my little Eric at the hunt, and did he shoot an arrow all byhimself?" she asked, fondling the face that snuggled against hershoulder. 

The boy gurgled back a low, happy laugh and lisped some childish reply, which only a mother could translate. 

"And he will grow big, big and be a great warrior and fight--fight forhis poor mother, " she whispered, lowering her voice and caressing thechild's curls. 

The little fellow sat up of a sudden facing his mother and struck outsquarely with both fists, not uttering a word. 

"My brave, brave little Eric! My only one, all that God has left to me!"she sobbed hiding her weeping face on the child's neck. "O my God, letme but keep my little one! Thou hast given him to me and I havetreasured him as a jewel from Thine own crown! O my God, let me but keepmy darling, keep him as Thy gift--and--and--O my God!--Thy--Thy--Thywill be done!"

The words broke in a moan and the child began to cry. 

"Hush, dearie! The birds never cry, nor the beavers, nor the great, boldeagle! My own little warrior must never cry! All the birds and thebeasts and the warriors are asleep! What does Eric say before he goes tosleep?"

A pair of chubby arms were flung about her neck and passionate, childishkisses pressed her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. Then he slippedto his knees and put his face in her lap. 

"God bless my papa--and keep my mamma--and make little Eric brave andgood--for Jesus' sake----" the child hesitated. 

"Amen, " prompted the gentle voice of the mother. 

"And keep little Eric for my mamma so she won't cry, " added the child, "for Jesus' sake--Amen, " and he scrambled to his feet. 

A low, piercing whistle cut the night air like the flight of anarrow-shaft. It was Louis Laplante's signal that Diable and the squawwere coming back. At the sound, mother and child started up in alarm. Then they saw me standing in the open way. A gasp of fright came fromthe white woman's lips. I could tell from her voice that she was alla-tremble, and the little one began to whimper in a smothered, suppressed way. 

I whispered one word--"Miriam!"

With a faint cry of anguish, she leaped forward. "Is it you, Eric? OEric! is it you?" she asked. 

"No--no, Miriam, not Eric, but Eric's friend, Rufus Gillespie. "

She tottered as if I had struck her. I caught her in my arms and helpedher to the couch of robes. 

Then I took up my station facing the tent entrance; for I realized thesignificance of Laplante's warning. 

"We have hunted for more than a year for you, " I whispered, bending overher, "but the Sioux murdered our messenger and the other you yourselflet out of the tent!"

"That--your messenger for me?" she asked in sheer amazement, provingwhat I had suspected, that she was kept in ignorance of our efforts. 

"I have been here for a week, searching the lodges. My horses are in thevalley, and we must dare all in one attempt. "

"I have given my word I will not try, " she hastily interrupted, beginning to pluck at her red shawl in the frenzied way of deliriousfever patients. "If we are caught, they will torture us, torture thechild before my eyes. They treat him well now and leave me alone as longas I do not try to break away. What can you, one man, do against twothousand Sioux?" and she began to weep, choking back the anguished sobs, that shook her slender frame, and picking feverishly at the red shawlfringe. 

To look at that agonized face would have been sacrilege, and in ahelpless, nonplussed way, I kept gazing at the painful workings of thethin, frail fingers. That plucking of the wasted, trembling hands hauntsme to this day; and never do I see the fingers of a nervous, sensitivewoman working in that delirious, aimless fashion but it sets mewondering to what painful treatment from a brutalized nature she hasbeen subjected, that her hands take on the tricks of one in the laststages of disease. It may be only the fancy of an old trader; but I dareavow, if any sympathetic observer takes note of this simple trick ofnervous fingers, it will raise the veil on more domestic tragedies andheart-burnings than any father-confessor hears in a year. 

"Miriam, " said I, in answer to her timid protest, "Eric has risked hislife seeking you. Won't you try all for Eric's sake? There'll be littlerisk! We'll wait for a dark, boisterous, stormy night, and you will rollout of your tent the way you thrust my Indian out. I'll have my horsesready. I'll creep up behind and whisper through the tent. "

"Where _is_ Eric?" she asked, beginning to waver. 

Two shrill, sharp whistles came from Louis Laplante, commanding me tocome out of the tent. 

"That's my signal! I must go. Quick, Miriam, will you try?"

"I will do what you wish, " she answered, so low, I had to kneel to catchthe words. 

"A stormy night our signal, then, " I cried. 

Three, sharp, terrified whistles, signifying, "We are caught, saveyourself, " came from Laplante, and I flung myself on the ground behindMiriam. 

"Spread out your arms, Miriam! Quick!" I urged. "Talk to the boy, orwe're trapped. "

With her shawl spread out full and her elbows sticking akimbo, shecaught the lad in her arms and began dandling him to right, and left, humming some nursery ditty. At the same moment there loomed in the tententrance the great, statuesque figure of the Sioux squaw, whom I hadseen in the gorge. I kicked my feet under the canvas wall, whileMiriam's swaying shawl completely concealed me from the Sioux woman andthus I crawled out backwards. Then I lay outside the tent and listened, listened with my hand on my pistol, for what might not that monster offury attempt with the tender, white woman?

"There were words in the tepee, " declared the angry tones of the Indianwoman. "The pale face was talking! Where is the messenger from theMandanes?"

At that, the little child set up a bitter crying. 

"Cry not, my little warrior! Hush, dearie! 'Twas only a hunterwhistling, or the night hawk, or the raccoon! Hush, little Eric!Warriors never cry! Hush! Hush! Or the great bear will laugh at you andtell his cubs he's found a coward!" crooned Miriam, making as though sheneither heard, nor saw the squaw; but Eric opened his mouth and roaredlustily. And the little lad unconsciously foiled the squaw; for shepresently took herself off, evidently thinking the voices had been thoseof mother and son. 

I skirted cautiously around the rear of the lodges to avoid encounteringDiable, or his squaw. The form of a man hulked against me in the dark. 'Twas Louis. 

"Mon Dieu, Gillespie, I thought one scalp was gone, " he gasped. 

"What are you here for? You don't want to be seen with me, " I protested, grateful and alarmed for his foolhardiness in coming to meet me. 

"Sacredie! The dogs! They make pretty music at your shins without me, "and Louis struck boldly across the open for his tent. "Fool to stay solong!" he muttered. "I no more ever help you once again! Mon Dieu! No! Ino promise my scalp too! They found your horses in the valley! They--howyou say it?--think for some Mandane is here and fear. They rode backfast on your horses. 'Twas why I whistle for, twice so quick! They ridenorth in the morning. I go too, with the devil and his wife! I be goneto the devil this many a while! But I must go, or they suspect and knifeme. That vampire! Ha! she would drink my gore! I no more have nothing todo with you. Before morning, you must do your own do alone! Sacredie! Donot forget, I pay you back yet!"

So he rattled on, ever keeping between me and the lodges. By hisconfused words, I knew he was in great trepidation. 

"Why, there are my horses!" I exclaimed, seeing all six standing beforeDiable's lodge. 

"You do your do before morning! Take one of my saddles!" said Louis. 

Sure enough, all my saddles were piled before the Iroquois' wigwam; andthere stood my enemy and the Sioux squaw, talking loudly, pointing tothe horses and gesticulating with violence. 

"Mon Dieu! Prenez garde! Get you in!" muttered Louis. We were at histent door, and I was looking back at my horses. "If they see you, all islost, " he warned. 

And the warning came just in time. With that animal instinct ofnearness, which is neither sight, nor smell, my favorite broncho putforward his ears and whinnied sharply. Both Diable and the squaw notedthe act and turned; but Louis had knocked me forward face down into thetent. 

With an oath, he threw himself on his couch. "Take my saddle, " he said. "I steal another. Do your do before morning. I no more have nothing todo with you, till I pay you back all the same!"

And he was presently fast asleep, or pretending to be. 

CHAPTER XIX

WHEREIN LOUIS INTRIGUES

Next morning Le Grand Diable would set out for the north. This night, then, was my last chance to rescue Miriam. "Do your do before morning!"How Laplante's words echoed in my ears! I had told Miriam a stormy nightwas to be the signal for our attempt; and now the rising moon wasdispelling any vague haziness that might have helped to conceal us. Inan hour, the whole camp would be bright as day in clear, silver light. Presently, the clatter of the lodges ceased. Only an occasional snarlfrom the dogs, or the angry squeals of my bronchos kicking the Indianponies, broke the utter stillness. There was not even a wind to drownfoot-treads, and every lodge of the camp was reflected across the groundin elongated shadows as distinct as a crayon figure on white paper. Whatif some watchful Indian should discover our moving shadows? La RobeNoire's fate flashed back and I shuddered. 

Flinging up impatiently from the robes, I looked from the tent way. Somedog of the pack gave the short, sharp bark of a fox. Then, but for thecrunching of my horses over the turf some yards away, there wassilence. I could hear the heavy breathing of people in near-by lodges. Up from the wooded valley came the far-off purr of a stream over stonybottom and the low washing sound only accentuated the stillness. Theshrill cry of some lonely night-bird stabbed the atmosphere with a throbof pain. Again the dog snapped out a bark and again there was utterquiet. 

"One chance in a thousand, " said I to myself, "only one in a thousand;but I'll take it!" And I stepped from the tent. This time the wakefuldog let out a mouthful of quick barkings. Jerking off my boots--I hadnot yet taken to the native custom of moccasins--I dodged across theroadway into the exaggerated shadow of some Indian camp truckery. Here Ifell flat to the ground so that no reflection should betray mymovements. Then I remembered I had forgotten Louis Laplante's saddle. Rising, I dived back to the tepee for it and waited for the dogs toquiet before coming out again. That alert canine had set up a duet witha neighboring brute of like restless instincts and the two seemed topromise an endless chorus. As I live, I could have sworn that LouisLaplante laughed in his sleep at my dilemma; but Louis was of the sortto laugh in the face of death itself. A man flew from a lodge anddealing out stout blows quickly silenced the vicious curs; but I had tolet time lapse for the man to go to sleep before I could venture out. 

Once more, chirp of cricket, croak of frog and the rush of watersthrough the valley were the only sounds, and I darted across to the campshadow. Lying flat, I began to crawl cautiously and laboriously towardsmy horses. One gave a startled snort as I approached and this set thedogs going again. I lay motionless in the grass till all was quiet andthen crept gently round to the far side of my favorite horse and caughthis halter strap lest he should whinny, or start away. I drew erectdirectly opposite his shoulders, so that I could not be seen from thelodges and unhobbling his feet, led him into the concealment of a groupof ponies and had the saddle on in a trice. To get the horse to the rearof Miriam's tent was no easy matter. I paced my steps so deftly with thebroncho's and let him munch grass so often, the most watchful Indiancould not have detected a man on the far side of the horse, directingevery move. Behind the Sioux lodge, the earth sloped abruptly away, bareand precipitous; and I left the horse below and clambered up the steepto the white wall of Miriam's tent. Once the dogs threatened to create adisturbance, but a man quieted them, and with gratitude I recognized thevoice of Laplante. 

Three times I tapped on the canvas but there was no response. I put myarm under the tent and rapped on the ground. Why did she not signal? Wasthe Sioux squaw from the other lodge listening? I could hear nothing butthe tossings of the child. 

"Miriam, " I called, shoving my arm forward and feeling out blindly. 

Thereupon, a woman's hand grasped mine and thrust it out, while a voiceso low it might have been the night breeze, came to my ear--"We arewatched. "

Watched? What did it matter if we were? Had I not dared all? Must notshe do the same? This was the last chance. We must not be foiled. Myhorse, I knew, could outrace any cayuse of the Sioux band. 

"Miriam, " I whispered back, lifting the canvas, "they will take you awayto-morrow--my horse is here! Come! We must risk all!"

And I shoved myself bodily in under the tent wall. She was not a hand'slength away, sitting with her face to the entrance of Diable's lodge, her figure rigid and tense with fear. In the half light I could discernthe great, powerful, angular form of a giantess in the opening. 'Twasthe Sioux squaw. Miriam leaned forward to cover the child with a motionintended to conceal me, and I drew quickly out. 

I thought I had not been detected; but the situation was perilousenough, in all conscience, to inspire caution, and I was backing away, when suddenly the shadows of two men coming from opposite sides appearedon the white tent, and something sprang upon me with tigerish fury. There was the swish of an unsheathing blade, and I felt rather than sawLe Grand Diable and Louis Laplante contesting over me. 

"Never! He's mine, my captive! He stole my saddle! He's mine, I tellyou, " ground out the Frenchman, throwing off my assailant. "Keep him forthe warriors and let him be tortured, " urged Louis, snatching at theIndian's arm. 

I sprang up. It was Louis, who tripped my feet from under me, and we twotumbled to the bottom of the cliff, while the Indian stood abovesnarling out something in the Sioux tongue. 

"Idiot! Anglo-Saxon ox!" muttered Louis, grappling with me as we fell. "Do but act it out, or two scalps go! I no promise mine when I say Ihelp you, bah----"

That was the last I recall; for I went down head backwards, and the blowknocked me senseless. 

When I came to, with an aching neck and a humming in my ears, there wasthe gray light of a waning moon, and I found myself lying bound inMiriam's tent. Her child was whimpering timidly and she was hurriedlygathering her belongings into a small bundle. 

"Miriam, what has happened?" I asked. Then the whole struggle andfailure came back to me with an overwhelming realization that tortureand death would be our portion. 

"Try no more, " she whispered, brushing past me and making as though shewere gathering things where I lay. "Never try, for my sake, never try!They will torture you. I shall die soon. Only save the child! Formyself, I am past caring. Good-by forever!" and she dashed to the otherside of the tent. 

At that, with a deal of noisy mirth, in burst Laplante and the Siouxsquaw. 

"Ho-ho! My knight-errant has opened his eyes! Great sport for thebraves, say I! Fine mouse-play for the cat, ho-ho!" and Louis lookeddown at me with laughing insolence, that sent a chill through my veins. 'Twas to save his own scalp the rascal was acting and would have me acttoo; but I had no wish to betray him. Striking at her captives andrudely ordering them out, the Sioux led the way and left Louis to bringup the rear. 

"Leave this, lady, " said Louis with an air that might have beenimpudence or gallantry; and he grabbed the bundle from Miriam's hand andthrew it over his shoulder at me. This was greeted with a roar oflaughter from the Sioux woman and one look of unspeakable reproach fromMiriam. Whistling gaily and turning back to wink at me, the Frenchmandisappeared in Diable's lodge. For my part, I was puzzled. Did Louis actfrom the love of acting and trickery and intrigue? Was he befooling thedaughter of L'Aigle, or me?

They tore down Diable's tepee, stringing the poles on the bronchosstolen from me and leaving Miriam's white tent with the Sioux. I sawthem mount with my horses to the fore, and they set out at a sharp trot. From the hoof-beats, I should judge they had not gone many paces, whenone rider seemed to turn back, and Louis ran into the tent where I lay. I did not utter one word of pleading; but as he stooped for Miriam'sbundle, he whisked out a jack-knife and my heart bounded with a greathope. I suppose, involuntarily, I must have lifted my arms to have thebonds severed; for Laplante shook his head. 

"No--mine frien'--not now--I not scalp Louis Laplante for yoursake, --no, never. Use your teeth--so!" said he, laying the blade of theknife in his own teeth to show me how; and he slipped the thing intohiding under my armpits. "The warriors--they come back to-day, " hewarned. "You wait till we are far, then cut quick, or they do worse toyou than to La Robe Noire! I leave one horse for you in the valleybeyond the beaver-dam. Tra-la, comrade, but not forget you. I pay youback yet all the same, " and with a whistle, he had vanished. 

I hung upon the Frenchman's words as a drowning sailor to a life-line, and heard the hoof-beats grow fainter and fainter in the distance, hardly daring to realize the fearful peril in which I lay. By the lightat the tent opening, I knew it was daybreak. Already the Sioux werestirring in their lodges and naked urchins came to the entrance to hootand pelt mud. Somehow, I got into sitting posture, with my head bowedforward on my arms, so I could use the knife without being seen. Atthat, the impertinent brats became bolder and swarming into the tentbegan poking sticks. I held my arm closer to my side, and felt the hardsteel's pressure with a pleasure not to be marred by that tantalizinghorde. There seemed to be a gathering hubbub outside. Indians, squawsand children were rushing in the direction of the trail to the Mandanes. The children in my tent forgot me and dashed out with the rest. I couldnot doubt the cause of the clamor. This was the morning of the warriors'return; and getting the knife in my teeth, I began filing furiously atthe ropes about my wrists. Man is not a rodent; but under stress ofnecessity and with instruments of his own designing, he can do somethingto remedy his human helplessness. To the din of clamoring voices outsidewere added the shouts of approaching warriors, the galloping of amultitude of horses and the whining yells of countless dogs. 

While all the Sioux were on the outskirts of the encampment, I might yetescape unobserved, but the returning braves were very near. Putting allmy strength in my wrists, I burst the half-cut bonds; and the rest waseasy. A slash of the knife and my feet were free and I had rolled downthe cliff and was running with breathless haste over fallen logs, underleafy coverts, across noisy creeks, through the wooded valley to thebeaver dam. How long, or how far, I ran in this desperate, heedlessfashion, I do not know. The branches, that reached out like the bands ofpursuers, caught and ripped my clothing to shreds. I had been bootless, when I started; but my feet were now bare and bleeding. A gleam ofwater flashed through the green foliage. This must be the river, withthe beaver-dam, and to my eager eyes, the stream already appeared muddyand sluggish as if obstructed. My heart was beating with a sensation ofpainful, bursting blows. There was a roaring in my ears, and at everystep I took, the landscape swam black before me and the trees racinginto the back ground staggered on each side like drunken men. Then Iknew that I had reached the limit of my strength and with the domedmud-tops of the beaver-dam in sight half a mile to the fore, I sank downto rest. The river was marshy, weed-grown and brown; but I gulped down adrink and felt breath returning and the labored pulse easing. Not daringto pause long, I went forward at a slackened rate, knowing I musthusband my strength to swim or wade across the river. Was it theapprehension of fear, or the buzzing in my ears, that suggested thefaint, far-away echo of a clamoring multitude? I stopped and listened. There was no sound but the lapping of water, or rush of wind through theleaves. I went on again at hastened pace, and distinctly down the valleycame echo of the Sioux war-whoop. 

I was pursued. There was no mistaking that fact, and with a thrill, which I have no hesitancy in confessing was the most intense fear I haveever experienced in my life, I broke into a terrified, panic-strickenrun. The river grew dark, sluggish and treacherous-looking. By theblood flowing from my feet, Indian scouts could track me for leagues. Ilooked to the river with the vague hope of running along the water bedto throw my pursuers off the trail; but the water was deep and I had notstrength to swim. The beaver-dam was huddled close to the clay bank ofthe far side and on the side, where I ran, the current spread out in aflaggy marsh. Hoping to elude the Sioux, I plunged in and flounderedblindly forward. But blood trails marked the pond behind and the softooze snared my feet. 

I was now opposite the beaver-dam and saw with horror there werebranches enough floating in mid-stream to entangle the strongestswimmer. The shouts of my pursuers sounded nearer. They could not haveknown how close they were upon me, else had they ambushed me in silenceafter Indian custom, shouting only when they sighted their quarry. Theriver was not tempting for a fagged, breathless swimmer, whose dive mustbe short and sorry. I had nigh counted my earthly course run, when Icaught sight of a hollow, punky tree-trunk standing high above the bank. I could hear the swiftest runners behind splashing through the marshbed. Now the thick willow-bush screened me, but in a few moments theywould be on my very heels. With the supernatural strength of a lastdesperate effort, I bounded to the empty trunk and like some hounded, treed creature, clambered up inside, digging my wounded feet into thesoft, wet wood-rot and burrowing naked fingers through the punk of therounded sides till I was twice the height of a man above the blackenedopening at the base. Then a piece of wood crumbled in my right hand. Daylight broke through the trunk and I found that I had grasped the edgeof a rotted knot-hole. 

Bracing my feet across beneath me like tie beams of rafteredscaffolding, I craned up till my eye was on a level with the knot-holeand peered down through my lofty lookout. Either the shouting of theSioux warriors had ceased, which indicated they had found my tracks andknew they were close upon me, or my shelter shut out the sound ofapproaching foes. I broke more bark from the hole and gained full viewof the scene below. 

A crested savage ran out from the tangled foliage of the river bank, sawthe turgid settlings of the rippling marsh, where I had beenfloundering, and darted past my hiding-place with a shrill yell oftriumph. Instantaneously the woods were ringing, echoing and re-echoingwith the hoarse, wild war-cries of the Sioux. Band after band burst fromthe leafy covert of forest and marsh willows, and dashed in full pursuitafter the leading Indian. Some of the braves still wore the buckskintoggery of their visit to the Mandanes; but the swiftest runners hadcast off all clothing and tore forward unimpeded. The last coppery formdisappeared among the trees of the river bank and the shoutings weregrowing fainter, when, suddenly, there was such an ominous calm, I knewthey were foiled. 

Would they return to the last marks of my trail? That thought sent theblood from my head with a rush that left me dizzy, weak and shivering. Ilooked to the river. The floating branches turned lazily over and overto the lapping of the sluggish current, and the green slime oozing fromthe clustered beaver lodges of the far side might hide either a mirybottom, or a treacherous hole. 

A naked Indian came pattering back through the brush, looking into everyhollow log, under fallen trees, through clumps of shrub growth, where aman might hide, and into the swampy river bed. It was only a matter oftime when he would reach my hiding-place. Should I wait to be smoked outof my hole, like a badger, or a raccoon? Again I looked hopelessly tothe river. A choice of deaths seemed my only fate. Torture, burning, orthe cool wash of a black wave gurgling over one's head?

A broad-girthed log lay in the swamp and stretched out over mid-streamin a way that would give a quick diver at least a good, clean, clearleap. A score more savages had emerged from the woods and were eagerlysearching, from the limbs of trees above, where I might be perched, tothe black river-bed below. However much I may vacillate between twocourses, once my decision is taken, I have ever been swift to act; and Islipped down the tree-trunk with the bound of a bullet through agun-barrel, took one last look from the opening, which revealed pursuersnot fifty yards away, plunged through the marsh, dashed to the fallenlog and made a rush to the end. 

A score of brazen throats screeched out their baffled rage. There was atwanging of bow-strings. The humming of arrow flight sung about my head. I heard the crash of some savage blazing away with his old flintlock. Adeep-drawn breath, and I was cleaving the air. Then the murky, greenishwaters splashed in my face, opened wide and closed over me. 

A tangle of green was at the soft, muddy bottom. Something living, slippery, silky and furry, that was neither fish, nor water snake, gotbetween my feet; but countless arrows, I knew, were aimed and ready forme, when I came to the surface. So I held down for what seemed aninterminable time, though it was only a few seconds, struck for the farshore, and presently felt the green slime of the upper water matting inmy hair. 

Every swimmer knows that rich, sweet, full intake of life-giving airafter a long dive. I drew in deep, fresh breaths and tried to blink theslime from my eyes and get my bearings. There were the howlings ofbaffled wolves from what was now the far side of the river bank; butdomed clay mounds, mossy, floating branches and a world of willowsshrubs were about my head. Then I knew what the furry thing among thetangle at the river bottom was, and realized that I had come up amongthe beaver lodges. The dam must have been an old one; for the clayhouses were all overgrown with moss and water-weeds. A perfect networkof willow growth interlaced the different lodges. 

I heard the splash as of a diver from the opposite side. Was it abeaver, or my Indian pursuers? Then I could distinctly make out thestrokes of some one swimming and splashing about. My foes weredetermined to have me, dead, or alive. I ducked under, found shallow, soft bottom, half paddled, half waded, a pace more shoreward, and cameup with my head in utter darkness. 

Where was I? I drew breath. Yes, assuredly, I was above water; but theair was fetid with heavy, animal breath and teeth snarled shut in myvery face. Somehow, I had come up through the broken bottom of an oldbeaver lodge and was now in the lair of the living creatures. What wasinside, I cannot record; for to my eyes the blackness was positivelythick. I felt blindly out through the palpable darkness and caught tighthold of a pole, that seemed to reach from side to side. This gave meleverage and I hoisted myself upon it, bringing my crown a mighty sharpcrack as I mounted the perch; for the beaver lodge sloped down like anegg shell. 

I must have seemed some water monster to the poor beaver; for there wasa scurrying, scampering and gurgling off into the river. Then my ownbreathing and the drip of my clothes were all that disturbed the lodge. 

Time, say certain philosophers, is the measure of a man's ideasmarching along in uniform procession. But I hold they are wrong. Time isnothing of the sort; else had time stopped as I hung panting over thepole in the beaver lodge; for one idea and one only, beat and beat andbeat to the pulsing of the blood that throbbed through my brain--"I amsafe--I am safe--I am safe!"

How can I tell how long I hung there? To me it seemed a century. I donot even know whether I lost consciousness. I am sure I repeatedlyawakened with a jerk back from some hazy, far-off, oblivious realm, shutoff even in memory from the things of this life. I am sure I tried toburrow my hand through the clammy moss-wall of the beaver lodge to letin fresh air; but my spirit would be suddenly rapt away to that otherregion. I am sure I felt the waters washing over my head and sweeping meaway from this world to another life. Then I would lose grip of the poleand come to myself clutching at it with wild terror; and again thedrowse of life's borderland would overpower me. And all the time I wassaying over and over, "I am safe! I am safe!"

How many of the things called hours slipped past, I do not know. As Isaid before, it seemed to me a century. Whether it was mid-day, ortwilight, when I let myself down from the pole and crawled like abedraggled water-rat to the shore, I do not know. Whether it wasmorning, or night, when I dragged myself under the fern-brake and fellinto a death-like sleep, I do not know. When I awakened, the forest wasa labyrinth of shafted moonlight and sombre shadows. All that hadhappened in the past twenty-four hours came back to me with vividreality. I remembered Laplante's promise to leave a horse for me in thevalley beyond the beaver dam. With this hope in my heart I crawledcautiously down through the silent shadows of the night. 

At daybreak I found Louis had made good his promise, and I was speedingon horseback towards the trail, where Little Fellow awaited me. 

CHAPTER XX

PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS

He who would hear that paradox of impossibilities--silence becomevocal--must traverse the vast wastes of the prairie by night. As amother quiets a fretful child, so the illimitable calm lulls tumultuousthoughts. The wind moving through empty solitudes comes with a sigh ofunutterable loneliness. Unconsciously, men listen for some faintrustling from the gauzy, wavering streamers that fire northern skies. The dullest ear can almost fancy sounds from the noiseless wheeling ofplanets through the overspanning vaulted blue; and human speech seemssacrilege. 

Though the language of the prairie be not in words, some message issurely uttered; for the people of the plains wear the far-away look ofcommunion with the unseen and the unheard. The fine sensibility of thewhite woman, perhaps, shows the impress of the vast solitudes mostreadily, and the gravely repressed nature of the Indian least; but allplain-dwellers have learned to catch the voice of the prairie. I, myself, know the message well, though I may no more put it into wordsthan the song love sings in one's heart. Love, says the poet, isinfinite. So is the space of the prairie. That, I suppose, is why bothare too boundless for the limitation of speech. 

Night after night, with only a grassy swish and deadened tread over theturf breaking stillness, we journeyed northward. Occasionally, like thechirp of cricket in a dry well, life sounded through emptiness. Skulkingcoyotes, seeking prey among earth mounds, or night hawks, liltingsolitarily in vaulted mid-heaven, uttered cries that pierced the vastblue. Owls flapped stupidly up from our horses' feet. Hungry kiteswheeled above lonely Indian graves, or perched on the scaffolding, wherethe dead lay swathed in skins. 

Reflecting on my experiences with the Mandanes and the Sioux, I wasdisposed to upbraid fate as a senseless thing with no thread of purposethrough life's hopeless jumble. Now, something in the calm of theplains, or the certainty of our unerring star-guides, quieted my unrest. Besides, was I not returning to one who was peerless? That hope speedilyeclipsed all interests. That was purpose enough for my life. Forthwith, I began comparing lustrous gray eyes to the stars, and tracing a woman'sfigure in the diaphanous northern lights. One face ever gleamed throughthe dusk at my horse's head and beckoned northward. I do not think herpresence left me for an instant on that homeward journey. But, indeed, Ishould not set down these extravagances, which each may recall in hisown case, only I would have others judge whether she influenced me, orI, her. 

Thus we traveled northward, journeying by night as long as we were inthe Sioux territory. Once in the land of the Assiniboines, we rode dayand night to the limit of our horses' endurance. Remembering theHudson's Bay outrage at the Souris, and having also heard from Mandanerunners of a raid planned by our rivals against the North-West fort atPembina, I steered wide of both places, following the old Missouri trailmidway between the Red and Souris rivers. It may have been because wetraveled at night, but I did not encounter a single person, native orwhite, till we came close to the Red and were less than a day's journeyfrom Fort Gibraltar. On the river trail, we overtook some Hudson's Baytrappers. The fellows would not answer a single question about eventsduring the year and scampered away from us as if we carried smallpox, which had thinned the population a few years before. 

"That's bad!" said I aloud, as the men fled down the river bank, wherewe could not follow. Little Fellow looked as solemn as a grave-stone. Heshook his head with ominous wisdom that foresees all evil but refuses toprophesy. 

"Bother to you, Little Fellow!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? What'sup?"

Again the Indian shook his head with dark mutterings, looking mightysolemn, but he would not share his foreknowledge. We met more Hudson'sBay men, and their conduct was unmistakably suspicious. On a suddenseeing us, they reined up their horses, wheeled and galloped off withouta word. 

"I don't like that! I emphatically don't!" I piloted my broncho to aslight roll of the prairie, where we could reconnoitre. Distinctly therewas the spot where the two rivers met. Intervening shrubbery confused mybearings. I rose in my stirrups, while Little Fellow stood erect on hishorse's back. 

"Little Fellow!" I cried, exasperated with myself, "Where's FortGibraltar? I see where it ought to be, where the towers ought to behigher than that brush, but where's the fort?"

The Indian screened his eyes and gazed forward. Then he came down with athud, abruptly re-straddling his horse, and uttered one explosiveword--"Smoke. "

"Smoke? I don't see smoke! Where's the fort?"

"No fort, " said he. 

"You're daft!" I informed him, with the engaging frankness of a masterfor a servant. "There--is--a fort, and you know it--we're bothlost--that's more! A fine Indian you are, to get lost!"

Little Fellow scrambled with alacrity to the ground. Picking up twosmall switches, he propped them against each other. 

"Fort!" he said, laconically, pointing to the switches. 

"L'anglais!" he cried, thrusting out his foot, which signified Hudson'sBay. 

"No fort!" he shouted, kicking the switches into the air. "No fort!" andhe looked with speechless disgust at the vacancy. 

Now I knew what he meant. Fort Gibraltar had been destroyed by Hudson'sBay men. We had no alternative but to strike west along the Assiniboine, on the chance of meeting some Nor'-Westers before reaching the company'squarters at the Portage. That post, too, might be destroyed; but wherewere Hamilton and Father Holland? Danger, or no danger, I must learnmore of the doings in Red River. Also, there were reasons why I wishedto visit the settlers of Fort Douglas. We camped on the south side ofthe Assiniboine a few miles from the Red, and Little Fellow went to someneighboring half-breeds for a canoe. 

And a strange story he brought back! A great man, second only to theking--so the half-breeds said--had come from England to rule overAssiniboia. He boasted the shock of his power would be felt fromMontreal to Athabasca. He would drive out all Nor'-Westers. Thispersonage, I afterwards learned, was the amiable Governor Semple, whosucceeded Captain Miles McDonell. Already, as a hunter chases a deer, had the great governor chased Nor'-Westers from Red River. Did LittleFellow doubt their word? Where was Fort Gibraltar? Let Little Fellowlook and see for himself if aught but masonry and charred walls stoodwhere Fort Gibraltar had been! Let him seek the rafters of theNor-Westers' fort in the new walls of Fort Douglas! Pembina, too, hadfallen before the Hudson's Bay men. Since the coming of the greatgovernor, nothing could stand before the English. 

But wait! It was not all over! The war drum was beating in the tents ofall the _Bois-Brulés_! The great governor should be taught that even theking's arms could not prevail against the _Bois-Brulés_! Was there smokeof battle? The _Bois-Brulés_ would be there! The _Bois-Brulés_ hadwrongs to avenge. They would not be turned out of their forts fornothing! Knives would be unsheathed. There were full powder-bags! Therewas a grand gathering of _Bois-Brulés_ at the Portage. They, themselves, were on the way there. Let Little Fellow and the white trader join them!Let them be wary; for the English were watchful! Great things were to bedone by the _Bois-Brulés_ before another moon--and Little Fellow's eyessnapped fire as he related their vauntings. 

I was inclined to regard the report as a fairy tale. If the half-breedswere arming and the English watchful, the distrust of the Hudson's Baymen was explained. A nomad, himself, the Indian may be willing enough toshare running rights over the land of his fathers; but when the newcomernot only usurps possession, but imposes the yoke of laws on the native, the resentment of the dusky race is easily fanned to that point whichcivilized men call rebellion. I could readily understand how theHudson's Bay proclamations forbidding the sale of furs to rivals, whenthese rivals were friends by marriage and treaty with the natives, roused all the bloodthirsty fury of the Indian nature. Nor'-Westers'forts were being plundered. Why should the _Bois-Brulés_ not pillageHudson's Bay posts? Each company was stealing the cargo of its rival, asboats passed and repassed the different forts. Why should the half-breednot have his share of the booty? The most peace-loving dog can be seta-fighting; and the fight-loving Indian finds it very difficult indeed, to keep the peace. This, the great fur companies had not yet realized;and the lesson was to be driven home to them with irresistible force. 

The half-breeds also had news of a priest bringing a delirious man toFort Douglas. The description seemed to fit Hamilton and Father Holland. Whatever truth might be in the rumors of an uprising, I must ascertainwhether or not Frances Sutherland would be safe. Leaving Little Fellowto guard our horses, at sundown I pushed my canoe into the Assiniboinejust east of the rapids. Paddling swiftly with the current, I kept closeto the south bank, where overhanging willows concealed one side of theriver. 

As I swung out into the Red, true to the _Bois-Brulés'_ report, I sawonly blackened chimneys and ruined walls on the site of Fort Gibraltar. Heading towards the right bank, I hugged the naked cliff on the sideopposite Fort Douglas, and trusted the rising mist to conceal me. Thus, I slipped past cannon, pointing threateningly from the Hudson's Baypost, recrossed to the wooded west bank again, and paddled on till Icaught a glimpse of a little, square, whitewashed house in a grove offine old trees. This I knew, from Frances Sutherland's description, washer father's place. 

Mooring among the shrubbery I had no patience to hunt for beaten path;but digging my feet into soft clay and catching branches with bothhands, I clambered up the cliff and found myself in a thicket not astone's throw from the door. The house was in darkness. My heart sank ata possibility which hardly framed itself to a thought. Was theapparition in the Mandane lodge some portent? Had I not read, or heard, of departed spirits hovering near loved ones? I had no courage to thinkmore. 

Suddenly the door flung open. Involuntarily, I slipped behind thebushes, but dusk hid the approaching figure. Whoever it was made nonoise. I felt, rather than heard, her coming, and knew no man could walkso silently. It must be a woman. Then my chest stifled and I heard myown heart-beats. Garments fluttered past the branches of myhiding-place. She of whom I had dreamed by night and thought by day andhoped whether sleeping, or waking, paused, not an arm's length away. 

Toying with the tip of the branch, which I was gripping for dear life, she looked languorously through the foliage towards the river. At firstI thought myself the victim of another hallucination, but would not stirlest the vision should vanish. She sighed audibly, and I knew this wasno spectre. Then I trembled all the more, for my sudden appearance mightalarm her. 

I should wait until she went back to the house--another of my brave vowsto keep myself in hand!--then walk up noisily, giving due warning, andknock at the door. The keeping of that resolution demanded all mystrength of will; for she was so near I could have clasped her in myarms without an effort. Indeed, it took a very great effort to refrainfrom doing so. 

"Heigh-ho, " said a low voice with the ripple of a sunny brook tinklingover pebbles, "but it's a long day--and a long, long week--and a long, long, long month--and oh!--a century of years since----" and the voicebroke in a sigh. 

I think--though I would not set this down as a fact--that a certainsmall foot, which once stamped two strong men into obedience, now ventedits impatience at a twig on the grass. By the code of easternproprieties, I may not say that the dainty toe-tip first kicked theoffensive little branch and then crunched it deep in the turf. 

"I hate this lonely country, " said the voice, with the vim of water-fretagainst an obstinate stone. "Wonder what it's like in the Mandane land!I'm sure it's nicer there. "

Now I affirm there is not a youth living who would not at some time givehis right hand to know a woman's exact interpretation of that word"nicer. " For my part, it set me clutching the branch with such ferocity, off snapped the thing with the sharp splintering of a breaking stick. The voice gave a gasp and she jumped aside with nervous trepidation. 

"Whatever--was that? I am--not frightened. " No one was accusing her. "Iwon't go in! I won't let myself be frightened! There! The very idea!"And three or four sharp stamps followed in quick succession; but she wasshivering. 

"I declare the house is so lonely, a ghost would be live company. " Andshe looked doubtfully from the dark house to the quivering poplars. "I'drather be out here with the tree-toads and owls and bats than in therealone, even if they do frighten me! Anyway, I'm not frightened! It'sjust some stupid hop-and-go-spring thing at the base of our brains thatmakes us jump at mice and rats. " But the hands interlocking at her backtwitched and clasped and unclasped in a way that showed the automaticbrain-spring was still active. 

"It's getting worse every day. I can't stand it much longer, looking andlooking till I'm half blind and no one but Indian riders all day long. Why doesn't he come? Oh! I know something is wrong. "

"Afraid of the Metis, " thought I, "and expecting her father. A finefather to leave his daughter alone in the house with the half-breedsthreatening a raid. She needs some one else to take care of her. " This, on after thought, I know was unjust to her father; for pioneers obeynecessity first and chivalry second. 

"If he would only come!" she repeated in a half whisper. 

"Hope he doesn't, " thought I. 

"For a week I've been dreaming such fearful things! I see him sinking ingreen water, stretching his hands to me and I can't reach out to savehim. On Sunday he seemed to be running along a black, awful precipice. Icaught him in my arms to hold him back, but he dragged me over and Iscreamed myself awake. Sometimes, he is in a black cave and I can't findany door to let him out. Or he lies bound in some dungeon, and when Istoop to cut the cords, he begins to sink down, down, down through thedark, where I can't follow. I leap after him and always waken with sucha dizzy start. Oh! I know he has been in trouble. Something is wrong!His thoughts are reaching out to me and I am so gross and stupid I can'thear what his spirit says. If I could only get away from things, theclatter of everyday things that dull one's inner hearing, perhaps Imight know! I feel as if he spoke in a foreign language, but the wordshe uses I can't make out. All to-day, he has seemed so near! Why does henot come home to me?"

"Mighty fond daughter, " thought I, with a jealous pang. She was fumblingamong the intricate draperies, where women conceal pockets, andpresently brought out something in the palm of her hand. 

"I wouldn't have him know how foolish I am, " and she laid the thinggently against her cheek. 

Now I had never given Frances Sutherland a gift of any sort whatever;and my heart was pierced with anguish that cannot be described. I was, indeed, falling over a precipice and her arms were not holding me backbut dragging me over. Would that I, like the dreamer, could awaken witha start. In all conscience, I was dizzy enough; and every pressure ofthat hateful object to her face bound me faster in a dungeon of utterhopelessness. My sweet day-dreams and midnight rhapsodies trooped backto mock at me. I felt that I must bow broken under anguish or else steelmyself and shout back cynical derision to the whole wan troop oftorturing regrets. And all the time, she was caressing that thing in herhand and looking down at it with a fondness, which I--poor fool--thoughtthat I alone could inspire. I suppose if I could have crept awayunobserved, I would have gone from her presence hardened and embittered;but I must play out the hateful part of eavesdropper to the end. 

She opened the hand to feast her eyes on the treasure, and I cranedforward, playing the sneak without a pang of shame, but the dusk foiledme. 

Then the low, mellow, vibrant tones, whose very music would haveintoxicated duller fools than I--'tis ever a comfort to know there aregreater fools--broke in melody: "To my own dear love from her everloyal and devoted knight, " and she held her opened hand high. 'Twas mybirch-bark message which Father Holland had carried north. I suddenlywent insane with a great overcharge of joy, that paralyzed all motion. 

"Dear love--wherever are you?" asked a voice that throbbed with longing. 

Can any man blame me for breaking through the thicket and my resolutionand discretion and all?

"Here--beloved!" I sprang from the bush. 

She gave a cry of affright and would have fallen, but my arms were abouther and my lips giving silent proof that I was no wraith. 

What next we said I do not remember. With her head on my shoulder and Idoing the only thing a man could do to stem her tears, I completely losttrack of the order of things. I do not believe either of us was calmenough for words for some time after the meeting. It was she whoregained mental poise first. 

"Rufus!" she exclaimed, breaking away from me, "You're not a sensibleman at all. "

"Never said I was, " I returned. 

"If you do _that_, " she answered, ignoring my remark and recedingfarther, "I'll never stop crying. "

"Then cry on forever!"

With womanly ingratitude, she promptly called me "a goose" and otherirrelevant names. 

The rest of our talk that evening I do not intend to set down. In thefirst place, it was best understood by only two. In the second, it couldnot be transcribed; and in the third, it was all a deal too sacred. 

We did, however, become impersonal for short intervals. 

"I feel as if there were some storm in the air, " said FrancesSutherland. "The half-breeds are excited. They are riding past thesettlement in scores every day. O, Rufus, I know something is wrong. "

"So do I, " was my rejoinder. I was thinking of the strange gossip of theAssiniboine encampment. 

"Do you think the _Bois-Brulés_ would plunder your boats?" she askedinnocently, ignorant that the malcontents were Nor'-Westers. 

"No, " said I. "What boats?"

"Why, Nor'-West boats, of course, coming up Red River from Fort Williamto go up the Assiniboine for the winter's supplies. They're coming in afew days. My father told me so. "

"Is Mr. Sutherland an H. B. C. Or Nor'-Wester?" I asked in the slang ofthe company talk. 

"I don't know, " she answered. "I don't think he knows himself. He saysthere are numbers of men like that, and they all know there is to be araid. Why, Rufus, there are men down the river every day watching forthe Nor'-Westers' Fort William express. " "Where do the men come from?" Iquestioned, vainly trying to patch some connection between plots for araid on North-West boats and plots for a fight by Nor'-West followers. 

"From Fort Douglas, of course. "

"H. B. C. 's, my dear. You must go to Fort Douglas at once. There will bea fight. You must go to-morrow with your father, or with me to-night, " Iurged, thinking I should take myself off and notify my company of theintended pillaging. 

"With you?" she laughed. "Father will be home in an hour. Are you sureabout a fight!"

"Quite, " said I, trembling for her safety. This certainty of mine hasbeen quoted to prove premeditation on the Nor'-Westers' part; but Imeant nothing of the sort. I only felt there was unrest on both sides, and that she must be out of harm's way. 

Truly, I have seldom had a harder duty to perform than to leave Francesalone in that dark house to go and inform my company of the plot. 

Many times I said good-by before going to the canoe and times unnumberedran back from the river to repeat some warning and necessitate anotherfarewell. 

"Rufus, dear, " she said, "this is about the twentieth time. You mustn'tcome back again. "

"Then good-by for the twenty-first, " said I, and came away feeling likea young priest anointed for some holy purpose. 

 * * * * *

I declare now, as I declared before the courts of the land, that inhastening to the Portage with news of the Hudson's Bay's intention tointercept the Nor'-Westers' express from Fort William, I had no otherthought but the faithful serving of my company. I knew what sufferingthe destruction of Souris had entailed in Athabasca, and was determinedour brave fellows should not starve in the coming winter through mynegligence. 

Could I foresee that simple act of mine was to let loose all thepunishment the Hudson's Bay had been heaping up against the day ofjudgment?

CHAPTER XXI

LOUIS PAYS ME BACK

What tempted me to moor opposite the ruins of Fort Gibraltar? Whattempts the fly into the spider's web and the fish with a wide ocean forplay-ground into one small net? I know there is a consoling fashion ofascribing our blunders to the inscrutable wisdom of a long-sufferingProvidence; but common-sense forbids I should call evil good, deify myerrors, and give thanks for what befalls me solely through my own fault. 

Bare posts hacked to the ground were all that remained of FortGibraltar's old wall. I had not gone many paces across the formercourtyard, when voices sounded from the gravel-pit that had once doneduty as a cellar. The next thing I noticed was the shaggy face of LouisLaplante bobbing above the ground. With other vagabond wanderers, theFrenchman had evidently been rummaging old Nor'-West vaults. 

"Tra-la, comrade, " he shouted, leaping out of the cellar as soon as hesaw me. "I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, am resurrecting. I was aPlante! Now I'm a _Louis d'or_, fresh coined from the golden vein ofdazzling wit. Once we were men, but they drowned us in a wine-barrellike your lucky dog of an English prince. Now we're earth-goblinsre-incarnate! Behold gnomes of the mine! Knaves of the nethermostdepths, tra-la! Vampires that suck the blood of whisky-cellars and floatto the skies with dusky wings and dizzy heads! Laugh with us, oldsolemncholy! See the ground spin! Laugh, I say, or be a hitching-post, and we'll dance the May-pole round you! We're vampires, comrade, andyou're our cousin, for you're a bat, " and Louis applauded his joke withloud, tipsy laughter and staggered up to me drunk as a lord. His heavybreath and bloodshot eyes testified what he had found under the rubbishheaps of Fort Gibraltar's cellar. Embracing me with the affection of along-lost brother, he rattled on with a befuddled, meaningless jargon. 

"So the knife cut well, did it? And the Sioux did not eat you by inches, beginning with your thumbs? Ha! Très bien! Very good taste! You were notmeant for feasts, my solemncholy? Some men are monuments. That's you, mine frien'! Some are champagne bottles that uncork, zip, fizz, froth, stars dancing round your head! That's me! 'Tis I, Louis Laplante, son ofa seigneur, am that champagne bottle!"

Pausing for breath, he drew himself erect with ridiculous pomposity. Nowthere are times when the bravest and wisest thing a brave and wise mancan do is take to his heels. I have heard my Uncle Jack MacKenzie saythat vice and liquor and folly are best frustrated by flight; and allthree seemed to be embodied in Louis Laplante that night. A stupid sortof curiosity made me dally with the mischief brewing in him, just as thefly plays with the spider-web, or the fish with a baited hook. 

"There's a fountain-spout in Nor'-West vaults for those who know whereto tap the spigot, eh, Louis?" I asked. 

"I'm a Hudson's Bay man and to the conqueror comes the tribute, "returned Louis, sweeping me a courtly bow. 

"I hope such a generous conqueror draws all the tribute he deserves. Doyou remember how you saved my life twice from the Sioux, Louis?"

"Generous, " shouted the Frenchman, drawing himself up proudly, "generousto mine enemy, always magnificent, grand, superb, as becomes the son ofa seigneur! Now I pay you back, rich, well, generous. "

"Nonsense, Louis, " I expostulated. "'Tis I who am in your debt. I oweyou my life twice over. How shall I pay you?" and I made to go down tomy canoe. 

"Pay me?" demanded Louis, thrusting himself across my path in a menacingattitude. "Stand and pay me like a man!"

"I am standing, " I laughed. "Now, how shall I pay you?"

"Strike!" ordered Louis, launching out a blow which I barely missed. "Strike, I say, for kicking me, the son of a seigneur, like a pig!"

At that, half a dozen more drunken vagabonds of the Hudson's Bay servicereeled up from the cellar pit; and I began to understand I was in for asmuch mischief as a young man could desire. The fellows were about us ina circle, and now, that it was too late, I was quite prepared like thefly and the fish to seek safety in flight. 

"Sink his canoe, " suggested one; and I saw that borrowed craft swamped. 

"Strike! _Sacredie!_ I pay you back generous, " roared Louis. "How can I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, strike a man who won't hit back?"

"And how can I strike a man who saved my life?" I urged, trying tomollify him. "See here, Louis, I'm on a message for my company to-night. I can't wait. Some other day you can pay me all you like--not to-night, some-other-time----"

"Some-oder-time! No--never! Some-oder-time--'tis the way I pay my owndebts, always some-oder-time, and I never not pay at all. You nosome-oder-time me, comrade! Louis knows some-oder-time too well! He quithis cups some-oder-time and he never quit, not at all! He quit wildIndian some-oder-time, and he never quit, not at all! And he go home andsay his confess to the curé some-oder-time, and he never go, not at all!And he settle down with a wife and become a grand seigneursome-oder-time, and he never settle down at all!"

"Good night, Laplante! I have business for the company. I must go, " Iinterrupted, trying to brush through the group that surrounded us. 

"So have we business for the company, the Hudson's Bay Company, and youcan't go, " chimed in one of the least intoxicated of the rival trappers;and they closed about me so that I had not striking room. 

"Are you men looking for trouble?" I asked, involuntarily fingering mypistol belt. 

"No--we're looking for the Nor'-West brigade billed to pass from FortWilliam to Athabasca, " jeered the boldest of the crowd, a red-faced, middle-aged man with blear eyes. "We're looking for the Nor'-Westers'express, " and he laughed insolently. 

"You don't expect to find our brigades in Fort Gibraltar's cellar, " saidI, backing away from them and piecing this latest information to what Ihad already heard of plots and conspiracies. 

Forthwith I felt strong hands gripping both my arms like a vise and thecoils of a rope were about me with the swiftness of a lasso. My firstimpulse was to struggle against the outrage; but I was beginning tolearn the service of open ears and a closed mouth was often morevaluable than a fighter's blows. Already I had ascertained from theirown lips that the Hudson's Bay intended to molest our north-boundbrigade. 

"Well, " said I, with a laugh, which surprised the rascals mightily, "nowyou've captured your elephant, what do you propose to do with him?"

Without answering, the men shambled down to the landing place of thefort, jostling me along between the red-faced man and Louis Laplante. 

"I consider this a scurvy trick, Louis, " said I. "You've let me into apretty scrape with your idiotic heroics about paying back a fanciedgrudge. To save a mouse from the tigers, Louis, and then feed him toyour cats! Fie, man! I like your son-of-a-seigneur ideas of honor!"

"Ingrate! Low-born ingrate, " snapped the Frenchman, preparing to strikeone of his dramatic attitudes, "if I were not the son of a seigneur, andyou a man with bound arms, you should swallow those words, " and hesquared up to me for a second time. "If you won't fight, you shan't runaway----"

"Off with your French brag, " ordered the soberest of the Hudson's Baymen, catching Louis by the scruff of his coat and spinning him out ofthe way. "There'll be neither fighting nor running away. It is to FortDouglas we'll take our fine spy. "

The words stung, but I muffled my indignation. 

"I'll go with pleasure, " I returned, thinking that Frances Sutherlandand Hamilton and Father Holland were good enough company to compensatefor any captivity. "With pleasure, and 'tis not the first time I'll havefound friends in the Hudson's Bay fort. "

At that speech, the red-faced man, who seemed to be the ringleader, eyedme narrowly. We all embarked on a rickety raft, that would, I declare, have drowned any six sober men who risked their lives on it; but drunkmen and children seem to do what sober, grown folk may not are. 

How Louis Laplante was for fighting a duel _en route_ with the man, whospoke of "French brag" and was only dissuaded from his purpose by theraft suddenly teetering at an angle of forty-five degrees with thewater, which threatened to toboggan us all into mid-river; how I wasthen stationed in the centre and the other men distributed equally oneach side of the raft to maintain balance; how we swung out into theRed, rocking with each shifting of the crew and were treated to a volleyof objurgations from the red-faced man--I do not intend to relate. Thissort of melodrama may be seen wherever there are drunken men, a raft anda river. The men poled only fitfully, and we were driven solely by thecurrent. It was dark long before we had neared Fort Douglas and thewaters swished past with an inky, glassy sheen that vividly recalled themurky pool about the beaver-dam. And yet I had no fear, but driftedalong utterly indifferent to the termination of the freakish escapade inwhich I had become involved. Nature mercifully sets a limit to humancapacity for suffering; and I felt I had reached that limit. Nothingworse could happen than had happened, at least, so I told myself, and Iawaited with cynical curiosity what might take place inside the Hudson'sBay fort. Then a shaft of lantern light pierced the dark, strikingaslant the river, and the men began poling hard for Fort Douglas wharf. We struck the landing with a bump, disembarked, passed the sentinel atthe gate and were at the entrance to the main building. 

"You kick me here, " said Louis. "I pay you back here!"

"What are you going to do with him?" asked the soberest man of thered-faced leader. 

"Hand him over to Governor Semple for a spy. "

"The governor's abed. Besides, they don't want him about to hear H. B. Secrets when the Nor'-West brigade's a-coming! You'd better get soberedup, yez hed! That's my advice to yez, before going to Governor Semple, "and the prudent trapper led the way inside. To the fore was the mainstairway, on the right the closed store, and on the left a smallapartment which the governor had fitted up as a private office. For someunaccountable reason--the same reason, I suppose, that mischief isalways awaiting the mischief-maker--the door to this office had beenleft ajar and a light burned inside. 'Twas Louis, ever alert, whenmischief was abroad, who tip-toed over to the open door, poked his headin and motioned his drunken companions across the sacred precincts ofGovernor Semple's private room. I was loath to be a party to this madnonsense, but the fly and the fish should have thought of results beforeventuring too near strange coils. The red-faced fellow gave me a push. The sober man muttered, "Better come, or they'll raise a row, " and wewere all within the forbidden place, the door shut and bolted. 

To city folk, used to the luxuries of the east, I dare say that officewould have seemed mean enough. But the men had been so long away fromleather chairs, hair-cloth sofa, wall mirror, wine decanter and otherodds and ends which furnish a gentleman's living apartments that thevery memory of such things had faded, and that small room, with itsold-country air, seemed the vestibule to another world. 

"Sump--too--uss--ain't it?" asked the sober man with bated breath andobvious distrust of his tongue. 

"Mag--nee--feque! M. Louis Laplante, look you there, " cried theFrenchman, catching sight of his full figure in the mirror and instantlystriking a pose of admiration. Then he twirled fiercely at both ends ofhis mustache till it stood out with the wire finish of a Parisian dandy. 

The red-faced fellow had permitted me, with arms still tied, to walkacross the room and sit on the hair-cloth sofa. He was lolling back inthe governor's armchair, playing the lord and puffing one of Mr. Semple's fine pipes. 

"We are gentlemen adventurers of the ancient and honorable Hudson's BayCompany, gentlemen adventurers, " he roared, bringing his fist down witha thud on the desk. "We hereby decree that the Fort William brigade becaptured, that the whisky be freely given to every dry-throated lad inthe Hudson's Bay Company, that the Nor'-Westers be sent down the Red ona raft, that this meeting raftify this dissolution, afterwardsmoving--seconding--and unanimously amending----"

"Adjourning--you mean, " interrupted one of the orator's audience. 

"I say, " called one, who had been dazed by the splendor, "how do youtell which is the lookin' glass and which is the window?" And he lookedfrom the window on one side to its exact reflection, length and width, directly opposite. 

The puzzle was left unsolved; for just then Louis Laplante found a flaskof liquor and speedily divided its contents among the crowd--which wasnot calculated to clear up mysteries of windows and mirrors among thoseaddle-pates. Dull wit may be sport for drunken men, but it is mightyflat to an onlooker, and I was out of patience with their carousal. 

"The governor will be back here presently, Louis, " said I. 

"Tired of being a tombstone, ha--ha! Better be a champagne bottle!" helaughed with slightly thickened articulation and increased unsteadinessin his gait. 

"If you don't hide that bottle in your hand, there'll be a big head anda sore head for you men to-morrow morning. " I rose to try and get themout of the office; but a sober man with tied arms among a drunken crewis at a disadvantage. 

"Ha--old--wise--sh--head! To--be--sh--shure! Whur--d'--y'--hide--it?"

"Throw it out of the window, " said I, without the slightest idea ofleading him into mischief. 

"Whish--whish--ish--the window, Rufush?" asked Louis imploringly. 

The last potion had done its work and Louis was passing from the jovialto the pensive stage. He would presently reach a mood which might beugly enough for a companion in bonds. Was it this prospect, I wonder, orthe mischievous spirit pervading the very air from the time I reachedthe ruins that suggested a way out of my dilemma?

"Throw it out of the window, " said I, ignoring his question and shovinghim off. 

"Whish--ish--the window--dammie?" he asked, holding the bottleirresolutely and looking in befuddled distraction from side to side ofthe room. 

"Thur--both--windows--fur as I see, " said the man, who had been sober, but was no longer so. 

"Throw it through the back window! Folks comin' in at the door won't seeit. "

The red-faced man got up to investigate, and all faith in my plan diedwithin me; but the lantern light was dusky and the red-faced man couldno longer navigate a course from window to mirror. 

"There's a winder there, " said he, scratching his head and looking atthe window reflected in perfect proportion on the mirrored surface. 

"And there's a winder there, " he declared, pointing at the real window. "They're both winders and they're both lookin'-glasses, for I see us allin both of them. This place is haunted. Lem-me out!"

"Take thish, then, " cried Louis, shoving the bottle towards him andfloundering across to the door to bar the way. "Take thish, or tell mewhish--ish--the window. "

"Both winders, I tell you, and both lookin'-glasses, " vowed the man. Theother four fellows declined to express an opinion for the very goodreason that two were asleep and two befuddled beyond questioning. 

"See here, Louis, " I exclaimed, "there's only one way to tell where tothrow that bottle. "

"Yesh, Rufush, " and he came to me as if I were his only friend on earth. 

"The bottle will go through the window and it won't go through themirror, " I began. 

"Dammie--I knew that, " he snapped out, ready to weep. 

"Well--you undo these things, " nodding to the ropes about my arms, "andI'll find out which opens, and the one that opens is the window, and youcan throw out the bottle. "

"The very thing, Rufush, wise--sh--head--old--old--ol' solemncholy, " andhe ripped the ropes off me. 

Now I offer no excuse for what I did. I could have opened that windowand let myself out some distance ahead of the bottle, without involvingLouis and his gang in greater mischief. What I did was not out of spiteto the governor of a rival company; but mischief, as I said, was in thevery air. Besides, the knaves had delayed me far into midnight, and Ihad no scruples about giving each twenty-four hours in the fortguardroom. I took a precautionary inspection of the window-sash. Yes, Iwas sure I could leap through, carrying out sash and all. 

"Hurry--ol' tombshtone--governor--sh-comin', " urged Louis. 

I made towards the window and fumbled at the sash. 

"This doesn't open, " said I, which was quite true, for I did not try tobudge it. Then I went across to the mirror. "Neither does this, " said I. 

"Wha'--wha'--'ll--we do--Rufush?"

"I'll tell you. You can jump through a window but not through a glass. Now you count--one two--three, "--this to the red-faced man--"and whenyou say 'three' I'll give a run and jump. If I fall back, you'll knowit's the mirror, and fling the bottle quick through the other. Ready, count!"

"One, " said the red-faced man. 

Louis raised his arm and I prepared for a dash. 

"Two!"

Louis brought back his arm to gain stronger sweep. 

"Three!"

I gave a leap and made as though I had fallen back. There was thepistol-shot splintering of bottle and mirror crashing down to the floor. The window frame gave with a burst, and I was outside rushing past thesleepy sentinel, who poured out a volley of curses after me. 

CHAPTER XXII

A DAY OF RECKONING

As well play pussy-wants-a-corner with a tiger as make-believe war withan Indian. In both cases the fun may become ghastly earnest with no timefor cry-quits. So it was with the great fur-trading companies at thebeginning of this century. Each held the Indian in subjection andthought to use him with daring impunity against its rival. And each wascaught in the meshes of its own merry game. 

I, as a Nor'-Wester, of course, consider that the lawless acts of theHudson's Bay had been for three years educating the natives up to thetragedy of June 19, 1816. But this is wholly a partisan, opinion. Certainly both companies have lied outrageously about the results oftheir quarrels. The truth is Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers were playingwar with the Indian. Consequences having exceeded all calculation, bothcompanies would fain free themselves of blame. 

For instance, it has been said the Hudson's Bay people had no intentionof intercepting the North-West brigade bound up the Red and Assiniboinefor the interior--this assertion despite the fact our rivals hadpillaged every North-West fort that could be attacked. Now Iacknowledge the Nor'-Westers disclaim hostile purpose in the rally ofthree hundred _Bois-Brulés_ to the Portage; but this sits not well withthe warlike appearance of these armed plain rangers, who sallied forthto protect the Fort William express. Nor does it agree with theexpectations of the Indian rabble, who flocked on our rear like carrionbirds keen for the spoils of battle. Both companies had--as itwere--leveled and cocked their weapon. To send it off needed but aspark, and a slight misunderstanding ignited that spark. 

My arrival at the Portage had the instantaneous effect of sending twostrong battalions of _Bois-Brulés_ hot-foot across country to meet theFort William express before it could reach Fort Douglas. They were toconvoy it overland to a point on the Assiniboine where it could bereshipped. To the second of these parties, I attached myself. I wasanxious to attempt a visit to Hamilton. There was some one else whom Ihoped to find at Fort Douglas; so I refused to rest at the Portage, though I had been in my saddle almost constantly for twenty days. 

When we set out, I confess I did not like the look of things. ThoseIndians smeared with paint and decked out with the feathered war-capkept increasing to our rear. There were the eagles! Where was thecarcass? The presence of these sinister fellows, hot with the lust ofblood, had ominous significance. Among the half-breeds there wasunconcealed excitement. 

Shortly before we struck off the Assiniboine trail northward for theRed, in order to meet the expected brigade beyond Fort Douglas, some ofour people slipped back to the Indian rabble. When they reappeared, theywere togged out in native war-gear with too many tomahawks and pistolsfor the good of those who might interfere with our mission. There was nomisunderstanding the ugly temper of the men. Here, I wish to testifythat explicit orders were given for the forces to avoid passing nearFort Douglas, or in any way provoking conflict. There was placed incharge of our division the most powerful plain-ranger in the service ofthe company, the one person of all others, who might control the nativesin case of an outbreak--and that man was Cuthbert Grant. Pierre, theminstrel, and six clerks were also in the party; but what could ahandful of moderate men do with a horde of Indians and Metis wrought upto a fury of revenge?

"Now, deuce take those rascals! What are they doing?" exclaimed Grantangrily, as we left the river trail and skirted round a slough of FrogPlains on the side remote from Fort Douglas. Our forces were followingin straggling disorder. The first battalions of the _Bois-Brulés_, whichhad already rounded the marsh, were now in the settlement on Red Riverbank. It was to them that Grant referred. Commanding a halt and raisinghis spy-glass, he took an anxious survey of the foreground. 

"There's something seriously wrong, " he said. "Strikes me we're near apowder mine! Here, Gillespie, you look!" He handed the field-glass tome. 

A great commotion was visible among the settlers. Ox-carts packed withpeople were jolting in hurried confusion towards Fort Douglas. Behind, tore a motley throng of men, women and children, running like afrightened flock of sheep. Whatever the cause of alarm, our men were notmolesting them; for I watched the horsemen proceeding leisurely to theappointed rendezvous, till the last rider disappeared among the woods ofthe river path. 

"Scared! Badly scared! That's all, Grant, " said I. "You've no idea whatwild stories are going the rounds of the settlement about the_Bois-Brulés_!"

"And you've no idea, young man, what wild stories are going the roundsof the _Bois-Brulés_ about the settlement, " was Grant's moody reply. 

My chance acquaintance with the Assiniboine encampment had given me someidea, but I did not tell Grant so. 

"Perhaps they've taken a few old fellows prisoners to ensure the fort'sgood behavior, while we save our bacon, " I suggested. 

"If they have, those Highlanders will go to Fort Douglas shining bald asa red ball, " answered the plain-ranger. 

In this, Grant did his people injustice; for of those prisoners taken bythe advance guard, not a hair of their heads was injured. The wardenwas nervously apprehensive. This was unusual with him; and I have sincewondered if his dark forebodings arose from better knowledge of the_Bois-Brulés_ than I possessed, or from some premonition. 

"There'd be some reason for uneasiness, if you weren't here to controlthem, Grant, " said I, nodding towards the Indians and Metis. 

"One man against a host! What can I do?" he asked gloomily. 

"Good gracious, man! Do! Why, do what you came to do! Whatever's thematter with you?"

The swarthy face had turned a ghastly, yellowish tint and he did notanswer. 

"'Pon my honor, " I exclaimed. "Are you ill, man?"

"'Tisn't that! When I went to sleep, last night, there were--corpses allround me. I thought I was in a charnel house and----"

"Good gracious, Grant!" I shuddered out. "Don't you go off your headnext! Leave that for us green chaps! Besides, the Indians were raisingstench enough with a dog-stew to fill any brain with fumes. Forgoodness' sake, let's go on, meet those fellows with the brigade, securethat express and get off this 'powder mine'--as you call it. "

"By all means!" Grant responded, giving the order, and we moved forwardbut only at snail pace; for I think he wanted to give the settlersplenty of time to reach the fort. 

By five o'clock in the afternoon we had almost rounded the slough andwere gradually closing towards the wooded ground of the river bank. Wewere within ear-shot of the settlers. They were flying past withterrified cries of "The half-breeds! The half-breeds!" when I heardGrant groan from sheer alarm and mutter--

"Look! Look! The lambs coming to meet the wolves!"

To this day I cannot account for the madness of the thing. There, sometwenty, or thirty Hudson's Bay men--mere youths most of them--werecoming with all speed to head us off from the river path, at a woodedpoint called Seven Oaks. What this pigmy band thought it could doagainst our armed men, I do not know. The blunder on their part was sounexpected and inexcusable, it never dawned on us the panic-strickensettlers had spread a report of raid, and these poor valiant defendershad come out to protect the colony. If that be the true explanation oftheir rash conduct in tempting conflict, what were they thinking aboutto leave the walls of their fort during danger? My own opinion is thatwith Lord Selkirk's presumptuous claims to exclusive possession in RedRiver and the recent high-handed success of the Hudson's Bay, the men ofFort Douglas were so flushed with pride they did not realize the risk ofa brush with the _Bois-Brulés_. Much, too, may be attributed to GovernorSemple's inexperience; but it was very evident the purpose of the forcedeliberately blocking our path was not peaceable. If the Hudson's Bayblundered in coming out to challenge us, so did we, I frankly admit; forwe regarded the advance as an audacious trick to hold us back till theFort William express could be captured. 

Now that the thing he feared had come, all hesitancy vanished fromGrant's manner. Steeled and cool like the leader he was, he sternlycommanded the surging Metis to keep back. Straggling Indians andhalf-breeds dashed to our fore-ranks with the rush of a tempest andchafed hotly against the warden. At a word from Grant, the men swungacross the enemy's course sickle-shape; but they were furious at thisdisciplined restraint. From horn to horn of the crescent, rode theplain-ranger, lashing horses back to the circle and shaking his fist inthe quailing face of many a bold rebel. 

Both sides advanced within a short distance of each other. We could seethat Governor Semple, himself, was leading the Hudson's Bay men. Immediately, Boucher, a North-West clerk, was sent forward to parley. Now, I hold the Nor'-Westers would not have done that if their purposehad been hostile; but Boucher rode out waving his hand and calling--

"What do you want? What do you want?"

"What do you want, yourself?" came Governor Semple's reply with someheat and not a little insolence. 

"We want our fort, " demanded Boucher, slightly taken aback, butthoroughly angered. His horse was prancing restively within pistol rangeof the governor. 

"Go to your fort, then! Go to your fort!" returned Semple with stingingcontempt in manner and voice. 

He might as well have told us to go to Gehenna; for the fort wasscattered to the four winds. 

"The fool!" muttered Grant. "The fool! Let him answer for theconsequences. Their blood be on their own heads. "

Whether the _Bois-Brulés_, who had lashed their horses into a lather offoam and were cursing out threats in the ominous undertone that precedesa storm-burst, now encroached upon the neutral ground in spite of Grant, or were led gradually forward by the warden as the Hudson's Baygovernor's hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of themoment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between theHudson's Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming morefurious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like anirresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson's Bay faces, that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble ofNor'-Westers and _Bois-Brulés_ disguised in hideous war-gear, I dareavow not twenty of us were recognizable. 

"Miserable rogue!" Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself withrage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor's head, "Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?"

"Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it's all up!" I begged, seeingthe parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the_Bois-Brulés_ and did not hear. 

"Wretch!" Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. "Dare you to speakso to me!" and he caught Boucher's bridle, throwing the horse back onits haunches. 

Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground. 

"Arrest him, men!" commanded the governor. "Arrest him at once!"

But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gunleveled across its back. 

Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought himshot and broke from Grant's control to be avenged, or whether LieutenantHolt of the Hudson's Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged hisweapon by accident, will never be known. 

Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from theranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, firedvolley after volley into the governor's party. The neighing and plungingof the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson's Bay men wereshouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in theshrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought Irecognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashedback memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at thebuffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousnessthat our men's murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie withinnocent blood. 

Throwing himself between the _Bois-Brulés_ and the retreating band, thewarden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wildbeasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leaderargued with blows. The shooting had been of a blind sort, and few shotsdid more than wound; but the natives were venting the pent-up hate ofthree years and would give no quarter. From musketry volleys the fighthad become hand-to-hand butchery. 

I had dismounted and was beating the scoundrels back with the butt endof my gun, begging, commanding, abjuring them to desist, when a Hudson'sBay youth swayed forward and fell wounded at my feet. There was thebaffled, anguished scream of some poor wounded fellow driven to bay, andI saw Laplante across the field, covered with blood, reeling andstaggering back from a dozen red-skin furies, who pressed upon theirfagged victim, snatching at his throat like hounds at the neck of abeaten stag. With a bound across the prostrate form of the youth, I ranto the Frenchman's aid. Louis saw me coming and struck out so valiantly, the wretched cowards darted back just as I have seen a miserable pack ofopen-mouthed curs dodge the last desperate sweep of antlered head. Thatgave me my chance, and I fell on their rear with all the might I couldput in my muscle, bringing the flat of my gun down with a crash oncrested head-toggery, and striking right and left at Louis' assailants. 

"Ah--_mon Dieu_--comrade, " sobbed Louis, falling in my arms from sheerexhaustion, while the tears trickled down in a white furrow over hisblood-splashed cheeks, "_mon Dieu_--comrade, but you pay me backgenerous!"

"Tutts, man, this is no time for settling old scores and playing thegrand! Run for your life. Run to the woods and swim the river!" Withthat, I flung him from me; for I heard the main body of our forceapproaching. "Run, " I urged, giving the Frenchman a push. 

"The run--ha--ha--my old spark, " laughed Louis with a tearful, lack-lifesort of mirth, "the run--it has all run out, " and with a pitiful reeldown he fell in a heap. 

I caught him under the armpits, hoisted him to my shoulders, and madewith all speed for the wooded river bank. My pace was a tumble more thana run down the river cliff, but I left the man at the very water's edge, where he could presently strike out for the far side and regain FortDouglas by swimming across again. Then I hurried to the battle-field insearch of the wounded youth whom I had left. As I bent above him, thepoor lad rolled over, gazing up piteously with the death-look on hisface; and I recognized the young Nor'-Wester who had picked flowers withme for Frances Sutherland and afterwards deserted to the Hudson's Bay. The boy moaned and moved his lips as if speaking, but I heard no sound. Stooping on one knee, I took his head on the other and bent to listen;but he swooned away. Afraid to leave him--for the savages were wreakingindescribable barbarities on the fallen--I picked him up. His arms andhead fell back limply as if he were dead, and holding him thus, I againdashed for the fringe of woods. Rogers of the Hudson's Bay staggeredagainst me wounded, with both hands thrown up ready to surrender. He waspleading in broken French for mercy; but two half-breeds, one withcocked pistol, the other with knife, rushed upon him. I turned away thatI might not see; but the man's unavailing entreaties yet ring in myears. Farther on, Governor Semple lay, with lacerated arm and brokenthigh. He was calling to Grant, "I'm not mortally wounded! If you couldget me conveyed to the fort I think I would live!"

Then I got away from the field and laid my charge in the woods. Poorlad! The pallor of death was on every feature. Tearing open his coat andtaking letters from an inner pocket to send to relatives, I saw aknife-stab in his chest, which no mortal could survive. Battle ispitiless. I hurriedly left the dying boy and went back to the living, ordering a French half-breed to guard him. 

"See that no one mutilates this body, " said I, "and I'll reward you. "

My shout seemed to recall the lad's consciousness. Whether he fullyunderstood the terrible significance of my words, I could not tell; buthe opened his eyes with a reproachful glazed stare; and that was thelast I saw of him. 

Knowing Grant would have difficulty in obtaining carriers for GovernorSemple, and only too anxious to gain access to Fort Douglas, I ran withhaste towards the recumbent form of the fallen leader. Grant was at somedistance scouring the field for reliable men, and while I was yet twentyor thirty yards away an Indian glided up. 

"Dog!" he hissed in the prostrate man's face. "You have caused all this!You shall not live! Dog that you are!"

Then something caught my feet. I stumbled and fell. There was the flareof a pistol shot in Governor Semple's face and a slight cry. The nextmoment I was by his side. The shot had taken effect in the breast. Thebody was yet hot with life; but there was neither breath, nor heartbeat. 

A few of the Hudson's Bay band gained hiding in the shrubbery andescaped by swimming across to the east bank of the Red, but the remnanttried to reach the fort across the plain. Calling me, Grant, now utterlydistracted, directed his efforts to this quarter. I with difficultycaptured my horse and galloped off to join the warden. Our riders werecircling round something not far from the fort walls and Grant wastearing over the prairie, commanding them to retire. It seems, whenGovernor Semple discovered the strength of our forces, he sent some ofhis men back to Fort Douglas for a field-piece. Poor Semple with hisEuropean ideas of Indian warfare! The _Bois-Brulés_ did not wait forthat field-piece. The messengers had trundled it out only a shortdistance from the gateway, when they met the fugitives flying back withnews of the massacre. Under protection of the cannon, the men made aplucky retreat to the fort, though the _Bois-Brulés_ harassed them tothe very walls. This disappearance--or rather extermination--of theenemy, as well as the presence of the field-gun, which was a new terrorto the Indians, gave Grant his opportunity. He at once rounded the menup and led them off to Frog Plains, on the other side of the swamp. Herewe encamped for the night, and were subsequently joined by the firstdivision of _Bois-Brulés_. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD

The _Bois-Brulés_ and Indian marauders, who gathered to our camp, weredrunk with the most intoxicating of all stimulants--human blood. Thisflush of victory excited the redskins' vanity to a boastful frenzy. There was wild talk of wiping the pale-face out of existence; and if aweaker man than Grant had been at the head of the forces, not a white inthe settlement would have escaped massacre. In spite of the bitternessto which the slaughter at Seven Oaks gave rise, I think all fair-mindedpeople have acknowledged that the settlers owed their lives to thewarden's efforts. 

That night pandemonium itself could not have presented a more hideousscene than our encampment. The lust of blood is abhorrent enough incivilized races, but in Indian tribes, whose unrestrained, hard lifeabnormally develops the instincts of the tiger, it is a thing that maynot be portrayed. Let us not, with the depreciatory hypocrisy, characteristic of our age, befool ourselves into any belief thatbarbaric practices were more humane than customs which are the flower ofcivilized centuries. Let us be truthful. Scientific cruelty may do itsworst with intricate armaments; but the blood-thirst of the Indianassumed the ghastly earnest of victors drinking the warm life-blood ofdying enemies and of torturers laving hands in a stream yet hot frompulsing hearts. 

Decked out in red-stained trophies with scalps dangling from theirwaists, the natives darted about like blood-whetted beasts; and thehalf-breeds were little better, except that they thirsted more for bootythan life. There was loud vaunting over the triumph, the ignorant rabbleimagining their warriors heroes of a great battle, instead of themurderous plunderers they were. Pierre, the rhymester, according to hiswont, broke out in jubilant celebration of the half-breeds' feat:[A]

 Ho-ho! List you now to a tale of truth Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, proudly sing, Of the _Bois-Brulés_, whose deeds dismay The hearts of the soldiers serving the king!

 Swift o'er the plain rode our warriors brave To meet the gay voyageurs come from the sea. Out came the bold band that had pillaged our land, And we taught them the plain is the home of the free. 

 We were passing along to the landing-place, Three hostile whites we bound on the trail. The enemy came with a shout of acclaim, We flung back their taunts with the shriek of a gale. 

 "They have come to attack us, " our people cry. Our cohorts spread out in a crescent horn, Their path we bar in a steel scimitar, And their empty threats we flout with scorn. 

 They halt in the face of a dauntless foe, They spit out their venom of baffled rage! Honor, our breath to the very death! So we proffer them peace, or a battle-gage. 

 The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!" 'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow! Our men break from line, for the battle-wine Of a fighting race has a fiery glow. 

 The governor thought himself mighty in power. The shock of his strength--Ha-ha!--should be known From the land of the sea to the prairie free And all free men should be overthrown![B]

 But naked and dead on the plain lies he, Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote Greedily feast on the great and the least, Without respect for a lord of note. 

 The governor thought himself mighty in power. He thought to enslave the _Bois-Brulés_, "Ha-ha, " laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock. "Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay. "

 Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note? Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees? What spirits wail to the prairie gale? Who tells his woes to the evening breeze?

 Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not. We fought with them till none remained. The coyote knew, and his hungry crew Licked clean the grass where the turf was stained. 

 Ho-ho! List you all to my tale of truth. 'Tis I, Pierre, the rhymester, this glory tell Of freedom saved and brave hands laved In the blood of tyrants who fought and fell!

The whole scene was repugnant beyond endurance. My ears were so filledwith the death cries heard in the afternoon, I had no relish forPierre's crude recital of what seemed to him a glorious conquest. Icould not rid my mind of that dying boy's sad face. Many half-breedswere preparing to pillage the settlement. Intending to protect theSutherland home and seek the dead lad's body, I borrowed a fresh horseand left the tumult of the camp. 

I made a detour of the battle-field in order to reach the Sutherlandhomestead before night. I might have saved myself the trouble; for everymovable object--to the doors and window sashes--had been taken from thelittle house, whether by father and daughter before going to the fort, or by the marauders, I did not know. 

It was unsafe to return by the wooded river trail after dark and Istruck directly to the clearing and followed the path parallel to thebush. When I reached Seven Oaks, I was first apprised of my whereaboutsby my horse pricking forward his ears and sniffing the air uncannily. Itightened rein and touched him with the spur, but he snorted and jumpedsideways with a suddenness that almost unseated me, then came to astand, shaking as if with chill. Something skulked across the trail andgained cover in the woods. With a reassuring pat, I urged my horse backtowards the road, for the prairie was pitted with badger and gopherholes; but the beast reared, baulked and absolutely refused to be eitherdriven, or coaxed. 

"Wise when men are fools!" said I, dismounting. Bringing the reins overhis head, I tried to pull him forward; but he planted all fours andjerked back, almost dragging me off my feet. 

"Are you possessed?" I exclaimed, for if ever horror were plainlyexpressed by an animal, it was by that horse. Legs rigid, head bentdown, eyes starting forward and nostrils blowing in and out, he was apicture of terror. 

Something wriggled in the thicket. The horse rose on his hind legs, wrenched the rein from my hand and scampered across the plain. I sent ashot into the bush. There was a snarl and a scurrying through theunderbrush. 

"Pretty bold wolf! Never saw a broncho act that way over a coyotebefore!"

I might as well find the body of the English lad before trying to catchmy horse, so I walked on. Suddenly, in the silver-white of a starry sky, I saw what had terrified the animal. Close to the shrubbery lay thestark form of a white man, knees drawn upwards and arms spread out likethe bars of a cross. Was that the lad I had known? I rushed towards thecorpse--but as quickly turned away. From downright lack of courage, Icould not look at it; for the body was mutilated beyond semblance tohumanity. Would that I had strength and skill to paint that dead figureas it was! Then would those, who glory in the shedding of blood, gloryto their shame; and the pageant of war be stripped of all its falsetoggery revealing carnage and slaughter in their revolting nakedness. 

I could not look back to know if that were the lad, but ran aimlesslytowards the scene of the Seven Oaks fray. As I approached, there was agreat flapping of wings. Up rose buzzards, scolding in angry discord atmy interruption. A pack of wolves skulked a few feet off and eyed meimpatiently, boldly waiting to return when I left. The impudence of thebrutes enraged me and I let go half a dozen charges, which sent them toa more respectful distance. Here were more bodies like the first. Icounted eight within a stone's throw, and there were twice as manybetween Seven Oaks and the fort. Where they lay, I could tell very well;for hawks wheeled with harsh cries overhead and there was a vaguemovement of wolfish shapes along the ground. 

What possessed me to hover about that dreadful scene, I cannot imagine, unless the fear of those creatures returning; but I did not carry athing with which I could bury the dead. Involuntarily, I sought outRogers and Governor Semple; for I had seen the death of each. It waswhen seeking these, that I thought I distinguished the faintest motionof one figure still clothed and lying apart from the others. 

The sight riveted me to the spot. 

Surely it was a mistake! The form could not have moved! It must havebeen some error of vision, or trick of the shadowy starlight; but Icould not take my eyes from the prostrate form. Again the bodymoved--distinctly moved--beyond possibility of fancy, the chest heavingup and sinking like a man struggling but unable to rise. With theghastly dead and the ravening wolves all about, the movement of thatwounded man was strangely terrifying and my knees knocked with fear, asI ran to his aid. 

The man was an Indian, but his face I could not see; for one handstaunched a wound in his head and the other gripped a knife with whichhe had been defending himself. My first thought was that he must be aNor'-Wester, or his body would not have escaped the common fate; but ifa Nor'-Wester, why had he been left on the field? So I concluded he wasone of the camp-followers, who had joined our forces for plunder andcome to a merited end. Still he was a man; and I stooped to examine himwith a view to getting him on my horse and taking him back to the camp. 

At first he was unconscious of my presence. Gently I tried to remove theleft hand from his forehead, but at the touch, out struck the righthand in vicious thrusts of the hunting-knife, one blind cut barelymissing my arm. 

"Hold, man!" I cried, "I'm no foe, but a friend!" and I caught the rightarm tightly. 

At the sound of my voice, the left hand swung out revealing a frightfulgash; and the next thing I knew, his left arm had encircled my neck likethe coil of a strangler, five fingers were digging into the flesh of mythroat and Le Grand Diable was making frantic efforts to free his righthand and plunge that dagger into me. The shock of the discovery threw meoff guard, and for a moment there was a struggle, but only for a moment. Then the wounded man fell back, writhing in pain, his face contortedwith agony and hate. I do not think he could see me. He must have beenblind from that wound. I stood back, but his knife still cut the air. 

"Le Grand Diable! Fool!" I said, "I will not harm you! I give you thewhite man's word, I will not hurt you!"

The right arm fell limp and still. Had I, by some strange irony, beenled to this spot that I might witness the death of my foe? Was this theend of that long career of evil?

"Le Grand Diable!" I cried, going a pace nearer, which seemed to bringback the ebbing life. "Le Grand Diable! You cannot stay here among thewolves. Tell me whereto find Miriam and I'll take you back to the camp!Tell me and no one shall harm you! I will save you!"

The thin lips moved. He was saying, or trying to say, something. 

"Speak louder!" and I bent over him. "Speak the truth and I take you tothe camp!"

The lips were still moving, but I could not hear a sound. 

"Speak louder!" I shouted. "Where is Miriam? Where is the white woman?"I put my ear to his lips, fearful that life might slip away before Icould hear. 

There was a snarl through the glistening set teeth. The prostrate bodygave an upward lurch. With one swift, treacherous thrust, he drove hisknife into my coat-sleeve, grazing my forearm. The effort cost him hislife. He sank down with a groan. The sightless, bloodshot eyes opened. Le Grand Diable would never more feign death. 

I jerked the knife from my coat, hurled it from me, sprang up and fledfrom the field as if it had been infected with a pest, or I pursued bygends. Never looking back and with superstitious dread of the deadIndian's evil spirit, I tore on and on till, breath-spent and exhausted, I threw myself down with the North-West camp-fires in sight. 

FOOTNOTES:

[A] It should scarcely be necessary for the author to state that theseare the sentiments of the Indian poet expressing the views of the savagetowards the white man, and not the white man towards the savage. Thepoem is as close a translation of the original ballad sung by Pierre inMetis dialect the night of the massacre, as could be given. The Indiannature is more in harmony with the hawk and the coyote than with thewhite man; hence the references. Other thoughts embodied in this crudelay are taken directly from the refrains of the trappers chanted at thattime. 

[B] Governor Semple unadvisedly boasted that the shock of his powerwould be felt from Montreal to Athabasca. 

CHAPTER XXIV

FORT DOUGLAS CHANGES MASTERS

I suppose there are times in the life of every one, even thestrongest--and I am not that--when a feather's weight added to a burdenmay snap power of endurance. I had reached that stage beforeencountering Le Grand Diable on the field of massacre at Seven Oaks. With the events in the Mandane country, the long, hard ride northwardand this latest terrible culmination of strife between Nor'-Westers andHudson's Bay, the past month had been altogether too hard packed for mywell-being. The madness of northern traders no longer amazed me. 

An old nurse of my young days, whom I remember chiefly by her ramrodback and sharp tongue, used to say, "Nerves! nerves! nothing butnerves!" She thanked God she was born before the doctors had discoverednerves. Though neurotic theories had not been sufficiently elaboratedfor me to ascribe my state to the most refined of modern ills--nervousprostration--I was aware, as I dragged over the prairie with the horseat the end of a trailing bridle rein, that something was seriously outof tune. It was daylight before I caught the frightened broncho and noknock-kneed coward ever shook more, as I vainly tried to vault into thesaddle, and after a dozen false plunges at the stirrup, gave up theattempt and footed it back to camp. There was a daze between my eyes, which the over-weary know well, and in the brain-whirl, I coulddistinguish only two thoughts, Where was Miriam--and Father Holland'sprediction--"Benedicite! The Lord shall be your avenger! He shalldeliver that evil one into the power of the punisher. "

Thus, I reached the camp, picketed the horse, threw myself down in thetent and slept without a break from the morning of the 20th till mid-dayof the 21st. I was awakened by the _Bois-Brulés_ returning from ademonstration before the gateway of Fort Douglas. Going to the tentdoor, I saw that Pritchard, one of the captive Hudson's Bay men, hadbeen brought back from a conference with the enemy. From his account, the Hudson's Bay people seemed to be holding out against us; but thesettlers, realizing the danger of Indian warfare, to a man favoredsurrender. Had it not been for Grant, there would have been no fartherparley; but on news that settlers were pressing for capitulation, thewarden again despatched Pritchard to the Hudson's Bay post. In the hopeof gaining access to Frances Sutherland and Eric Hamilton I accompaniedhim. Such was the terror prevailing within the walls, in spite ofPritchard's assurance regarding my friendly purpose, admission wasflatly denied me. I contented myself with verbal messages that Hamiltonand Father Holland must remain. I could guarantee their safety. The sameoffer I made to Frances, but told her to do what was best for herselfand her father. When Pritchard came out, I knew from his face that FortDouglas was ours. Hamilton and Father Holland would stay, he reported;but Mistress Sutherland bade him say that after Seven Oaks her fatherhad no friendly feeling for Nor'-Westers, and she could not let him goforth alone. Terms were stipulated between the two companies with dueadvantage to our side from the recent victory and the formal surrenderof Fort Douglas took place the following day. 

"What are you going to do with the settlers, Cuthbert?" I asked of thewarden before the capitulation. 

"Aye! That's a question, " was the grim response. 

"Why not leave them in the fort till things quiet down?"

"With all the Indians of Red River in possession of that fort?" askedGrant, sarcastically. "Were a few Nor'-Westers so successful in holdingback the Metis at Seven Oaks, you'd like to see that experimentrepeated?"

"'Twill be worse, Grant, if you let them go back to their farms. "

"They'll not do that, if I'm warden of the plains, " he declared withgreat determination. "We'll have to send them down the Red to the laketill that fool of a Scotch nobleman decides what to do with his finecolonists. "

"But, Grant, you don't mean to send them up north in this cold country. They may not reach Hudson's Bay in time to catch the company ship toScotland! Why, man, it's sheer murder to expose those people to a winterup there without a thing to shelter them!"

"To my mind, freezing is not quite so bad as a massacre. If they won'ttake our boats to the States, or Canada, what else can Nor'-Westers do?"

And what else, indeed? I could not answer Grant's question, though Iknow every effort we made to induce those people to go south instead ofnorth has been misrepresented as an infamous attempt to expel Selkirksettlers from Red River. Truly, I hope I may never see a sadder sightthan the going forth of those colonists to the shelterless plain. It wasdisastrous enough for them to be driven from their native heath; but tobe lured away to this far country for the purpose of becoming buffersbetween rival fur-traders, who would stop at nothing, and to besacrificed as victims for their company's criminal policy--I speak as aNor'-Wester--was immeasurably cruel. 

Grant was, of course, on hand for the surrender, and he wisely kept theplain-rangers at a safe distance. Clerks lined each side of the path tothe gate, and I pressed forward for a glimpse of Frances Sutherland. There was the jar of a heavy bolt shot back. Confused noises soundedfrom the courtyard. The gates swung open, and out marched the sheriff ofAssiniboia, bearing in one hand a pole with a white sheet tacked to theend for a flag of truce, and in the other the fort keys. Behind, sullenand dejected, followed a band of Hudson's Bay men. Grant stepped up tomeet the sheriff. The terms of capitulation were again stated, and therewas some signing of paper. Of those things my recollection isindistinct; for I was straining my eyes towards the groups of settlersinside the walls. When I looked back to the conferring leaders thesilence was so intense a pinfall could have been heard. The keys of thefort were being handed to the Nor'-Westers and the Hudson's Bay men hadturned away their faces that they might not see. The vanquished thenpassed quickly to the barges at the river. Each of the six drunkenfellows, whom I had last seen in the late Governor Semple's office, theHighlanders who had spied upon me when I visited Fort Douglas but a yearbefore, the clerks whom I had heard talking that night in the greathall, and many others with whom I had but a chance acquaintance, fileddown to the river. Seeing all ready, with a North-West clerk at the prowof each boat to warn away marauders, the men came back for settlers andwounded comrades. I would have proffered my assistance to some of theburdened people on the chance of a word with Frances Sutherland, but thecolonists proudly resented any kind offices from a Nor'-Wester. I sawLouis Laplante come limping out, leaning on the arm of the red-facedman, whose eye quailed when it met mine. Poor Louis looked sadlybattered, with his head in a white bandage, one arm in a sling, and adejected stoop to his shoulders that was unusual with him. 

"This is too bad, Louis, " said I, hurrying forward. "I forgot to sendword about you. You might as well have stayed in the fort till yourwounds healed. Won't you come back?"

Louis stole a furtive, sheepish glance at me, hung his head and lookedaway with a suspicion of moisture about his eyes. 

"You always were a brute to fight at Laval! I might trick you at first, but you always ended by giving me the throw, " he answereddisconsolately. 

"Nonsense, Louis. " I was astounded at the note of reproach in his voice. "We're even now--let by-gones be by-gones! You helped me, I helped you. You trapped me into the fort, I tricked you into breaking a mirror andlaying up a peck of trouble for yourself. Surely you don't treasure anygrudge yet?"

He shook his head without looking at me. 

"I don't understand. Let us begin over again. Come, forget old scores, come back to the fort till you're well. "

"Pah!" said Louis with a sudden, strange impatience which I could notfathom. "You understand some day and turn upon me and strike and giveme more throw. "

"All right, comrade, treasure your wrath! Only I thought two men, whohad saved each other's lives, might be friends and bury old quarrels. "

"You not know, " he blurted out in a broken voice. 

"Not know what?" I asked impatiently. "I tell you I forgive all and Ihad thought you might do as much----"

"Do as much!" he interrupted fiercely. "_O mon Dieu!_" he cried, with asob that shook his frame. "Take me away! Take me away!" he begged theman on whose arm he was leaning; and with those enigmatical words hepassed to the nearest boat. 

While I was yet gazing in mute amazement after Louis Laplante, wonderingwhether his strange emotion were revenge, or remorse, the women andchildren marched forth with the men protecting each side. The emptythreats of half-breeds to butcher every settler in Red River hadevidently reached the ears of the women. Some trembled so they couldscarcely walk and others stared at us with the reproach of murder intheir eyes, gazing in horror at our guilty hands. At last I caught sightof Frances Sutherland. She was well to the rear of the sad procession, leaning on the arm of a tall, sturdy, erect man whom I recognized as herfather. I would have forced my way to her side at once, but a swiftglance forbade me. A gleam of love flashed to the gray eyes for aninstant, then father and daughter had passed. 

"Little did I think, " the harsh, rasping voice of the father was saying, "that daughter of mine would give her heart to a murderer. Which ofthese cut-throats may I claim for a son?"

"Hush, father, " she whispered. "Remember he warned us to the fort andtook me to Pembina. " She was as pale as death. 

"Aye! Aye! We're under obligations to strange benefactors when times goawry!" he returned bitterly. 

"O father! Don't! You'll think differently when you know----" but ahulking lout stumbled between us, and I missed the rest. 

They were at the boats and an old Highlander was causing a blockade byhis inability to lift a great bale into the barge. 

"Let me give you a lift, " said I, stepping forward and taking hold ofthe thing. 

"Friend, or foe?" asked the Scot, before he would accept my aid. 

"Friend, of course, " and I braced myself to give the package a hoist. 

"Hudson's Bay, or Nor'-Wester?" pursued the settler, determined to takeno help from the hated enemy. 

"Nor'-Wester, but what does that matter? A friend all the same! Yoheave! Up with it!"

"Neffer!" roared the man in a towering passion, and he gave me a pushthat sent me knocking into the crowd on the landing. Involuntarily, Ithrew out my arm to save a fall and caught a woman's outstretched hand. It was Frances Sutherland's and I thrilled with the message she couldnot speak. 

"I beg your pardon, Mistress Sutherland, " said I, as soon as I couldfind speech, and I stepped back tingling with embarrassment and delight. 

"A civil-tongued young man, indeed, " remarked the father, sarcastically, with a severe scrutiny of my retreating person. "A civil-tongued youngman to know your name so readily, Frances! Pray, who is he?"

"Oh! Some Nor'-Wester, " answered Frances, the white cheeks blushing red, and she stepped quickly forward to the gang-plank. "Some Nor'-Wester, Isuppose!" she repeated unconcernedly, but the flush had suffused herneck and was not unnoticed by the father's keen eyes. 

Then they seated themselves at the prow beside the Nor'-Wester appointedto accompany the boat; and I saw that Louis Laplante was sittingdirectly opposite Frances Sutherland, with his eyes fixed on her face ina bold gaze, that instantly quenched any kindness I may have felttowards him. How I regretted my thoughtlessness in not havingforestalled myself in the Sutherlands' barge. The next best thing was togo along with Grant, who was preparing to ride on the river bank andescort the company beyond all danger. 

"You coming too?" asked Grant sharply, as I joined him. 

"If you don't mind. "

"Think two are necessary?"

"Not when one of the two is Grant, " I answered, which pleased him, "butas my heart goes down the lake with those barges----"

"Hut-tutt--man, " interrupted Grant. "War's bad enough without love; butcome if you like. "

As the boats sheered off from the wharf, Grant and I rode along theriver trail. I saw Frances looking after me with surprise, and I thinkshe must have known my purpose, though she did not respond when Isignalled to her. 

"Stop that!" commanded Grant peremptorily. "You did that very slyly, Rufus, but if they see you, there'll be all sorts of suspicion aboutcollusion. "

The river path ran into the bush, winding in and out of woods, so wecaught only occasional glimpses of the boats; but I fancied her eyeswere ever towards the bank where we rode, and I could distinctly seethat the Frenchman's face was buried in his arms above one of thesquarish packets opposite the Sutherlands. 

"Is it the same lass, " asked Grant, after we had been riding for morethan an hour, "is it the same lass that was disguised as an Indian girlat Fort Gibraltar?"

His question astonished me. I thought her disguise too complete even forhis sharp penetration; but I was learning that nothing escaped thewarden's notice. Indeed, I have found it not unusual for young people ata certain stage of their careers to imagine all the rest of the worldblind. 

"The same, " I answered, wondering much. 

"You took her back to Fort Douglas. Did you hear anything special in thefort that night?"

"Nothing but that McDonell was likely to surrender. How did you know Iwas there?"

"Spies, " he answered laconically. "The old _voyageurs_ don't changemasters often for nothing. If you hadn't been stuck off in the Mandanecountry, you'd have learned a bit of our methods. Her father used tofavor the Nor'-Westers. What has changed him?"

"Seven Oaks changed him, " I returned tersely. 

"Aye! Aye! That was terrible, " and his face darkened. "Terrible!Terrible! It will change many, " and the rest of his talk was full ofgloomy portents and forebodings of blame likely to fall upon him for themassacre; but I think history has cleared and justified Grant's part inthat awful work. Suddenly he turned to me. 

"There's pleasure in this ride for you. There's none for me. Will yefollow the boats alone and see that no harm comes to them?"

"Certainly, " said I, and the warden wheeled his horse and galloped backtowards Fort Douglas. 

For an hour after he left, the trail was among the woods, and when Ifinally reached a clearing and could see the boats, there was causeenough for regret that the warden had gone. A great outcry came fromthe Sutherlands' boat and Louis Laplante was on his feet gesticulatingexcitedly and talking in loud tones to the rowers. 

"Hullo, there!" I shouted, riding to the very water's edge andflourishing my pistol. "Stop your nonsense, there! What's wrong?"

"There's a French papist demands to have speech wi' ye, " called Mr. Sutherland. 

"Bring him ashore, " I returned. 

The boat headed about and approached the bank. Then the rowers ceasedpulling; for the water was shallow, and we were within speakingdistance. 

"Now, Louis, what do you mean by this nonsense?" I began. 

In answer, the Frenchman leaped out of the boat and waded ashore. 

"Let them go on, " he said, scrambling up the cliff in a staggering, faint fashion. 

"If you meant to stay at the fort, why didn't you decide sooner?" Idemanded roughly. 

"I didn't. " This doggedly and with downcast eyes. 

"Then you go down the lake with the rest and no skulking!"

"Gillespie, " answered Louis in a low tone, "there's strength of an ox inyou, but not the wit. Let them go on! Simpleton, I tell you of Miriam. "

His words recalled the real reason of my presence in the north country;for my quest had indeed been eclipsed by the fearful events of the pastweek. I signalled the rowers to go without him, waved a last farewell toFrances Sutherland, and turned to see Louis Laplante throw himself onthe grass and cry like a schoolboy. Dismounting I knelt beside him. 

"Cheer up, old boy, " said I, with the usual vacuity of thought andstupidity of expression at such times. "Cheer up! Seven Oaks has knockedyou out. I knew you shouldn't make this trip till you were strong again. Why, man, you have enough cuts to undo the pluck of a giant-killer!"

Louis was not paying the slightest attention to me. He was mumbling tohimself and I wondered if he were in a fever. 

"The priest, the Irish priest in the fort, he say to me: 'Wicked fellow, you be tortured forever and ever in the furnace, if you not undo whatyou did in the gorge!' What care Louis Laplante for the fire? Pah! Whatcare Louis for wounds and cuts and threats? Pah! The fire not half sohot as the hell inside! The cuts not half so sharp as the thinks thatprick and sting and lash from morn'g to night, night to morn'g! Pah!Something inside say: 'Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, a dog! A cur!Toad! Reptile!' Then I try stand up straight and give the lie, but itsay: 'Pah! Louis Laplante!' The Irish priest, he say, 'You repent!' Whatcare Louis for repents? Pah! But her eyes, they look and look and looklike two steel-gray stars! Sometime they caress and he want to pray!Sometime they stab and he shiver; but they always shine like stars ofheaven and the priest, he say, 'You be shut out of heaven!' If the angelall have stars, steel glittering stars, for eyes, heaven worth fortrying! The priest, he say, 'You go to abode of torture!' Torture! Pah!More torture than 'nough here. Angels with stars in their heads, morebetter. But the stars stab through--through--through----"

"Bother the stars, " said I to myself. "What of Miriam?" I asked, interrupting his penitential confidences. 

His references to steel-gray eyes and stars and angels somehow put me inno good mood, for a reason with which most men, but few women, willsympathize. 

"Stupid ox!" He spat out the words with unspeakable impatience at myobtuseness. "What of Miriam! Why the priest and the starry eyes and thesomething inside, they all say, 'Go and get Miriam! Where's the whitewoman? You lied! You let her go! Get her--get her--get her!' What ofMiriam? Pah!"

After that angry outburst, the fountains of his sorrow seemed to dry upand he became more the old, nonchalant Louis whom I knew. 

"Where is Miriam?" I asked. 

He ignored my question and went on reasoning with himself. 

"No more peace--no more quiet--no more sing and rollick till he getMiriam!"

Was the fellow really delirious? The boats were disappearing from view. I could wait no longer. 

"Louis, " said I, "if you have anything to say, say it quick! I can'twait longer. "

"You know I lie to you in the gorge?" and he looked straight at me. 

"Certainly, " I answered, "and I punished you pretty well for it twice. "

"You know what that lie mean"--and he hesitated--"mean to her--toMiriam?"

"Yes, Louis, I know. "

"And you forgive all? Call all even?"

"As far as I'm concerned--yes--Louis! God Almighty alone can forgive thesuffering you have caused her. "

Then Louis Laplante leaped up and, catching my hand, looked long andsteadily into my eyes. 

"I go and find her, " he muttered in a low, tense voice. "I follow theirtrail--I keep her from suffer--I bring them all back--back here in thebush on this river--I bring her back, or I kill Louis Laplante!"

"Old comrade--you were always generous, " I began; but the words chokedin my throat. 

"I know not where they are, but I find them! I know not howsoon--perhaps a year--but I bring them back! Go on with the boats, " andhe dropped my hand. 

"I can't leave you here, " I protested. 

"You come back this way, " he said. "May be you find me. "

Poor Louis! His tongue tripped in its old evasive ways even at themoment of his penitence, which goes to prove--I suppose--that we are allthe sum total of the thing called habit, that even spontaneous acts areevidences of the summed result of past years. I did not expect to findhim when I came back, and I did not. He had vanished into the woods likethe wild creature that he was; but I was placing a strange, reasonlessreliance on his promise to find Miriam. 

When I caught up with the boats, the river was widening so that attackwould be impossible, and I did not ride far. Heading my horse about, Ispurred back to Fort Douglas. Passing Seven Oaks, I saw some of theHudson's Bay men, who had remained burying the dead--not removing them. That was impossible after the wolves and three days of a blistering sun. 

I told Hamilton of neither Le Grand Diable's death, nor Louis Laplante'spromise. He had suffered disappointments enough and could ill stand anysort of excitement. I found him walking about in the up-stairs hall, buthis own grief had deadened him to the fortunes of the warring companies. 

"Confound you, boy! Tell me the truth!" said Father Holland to meafterwards in the courtyard. 

Le Grand Diable's death and Louis Laplante's promise seemed to make agreat impression on the priest. 

"I tell you the Lord delivered that evil one into the hands of thepunisher; and of the innocent, the Lord, Himself, is the defender. Await His purpose! Await His time!"

"Mighty long time, " said I, with the bitter impatience of youth. 

"Quiet, youngster! I tell you she shall be delivered!"

 * * * * *

At last the Nor-Westers' Fort William brigade with its sixty men andnumerous well-loaded canoes--whose cargoes had been the bone ofcontention between Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers at Seven Oaks--arrivedat Fort Douglas. The newcomers were surprised to find us in possessionof the enemy's fort. The last news they had heard was of wanton andsuccessful aggression on the part of Lord Selkirk's Company; and I thinkthe extra crews sent north were quite as much for purposes of defence asswift travel. But the gravity of affairs startled the men from FortWilliam; for they, themselves, had astounding news. Lord Selkirk was onhis way north with munitions of war and an army of mercenaries formerlyof the De Meurons' regiment, numbering two hundred, some said three orfour hundred men; but this was an exaggeration. For what was he comingto Red River in this warlike fashion? His purpose would probably showitself. Also, if his intent were hostile, would not Seven Oaks massacreafford him the very pretence he wanted for chastising Nor'-Westers outof the country? The canoemen had met the ejected settlers bound up thelake; and with them, whom did they see but the bellicose Captain MilesMcDonell, given free passage but a year before to Montreal and now on"the prosperous return, " which he, himself, had prophesied?

The settlers' news of Seven Oaks sent the brave captain hurryingsouthward to inform Lord Selkirk of the massacre. 

We had had a victory; but how long would it last? Truly the sky wasdarkening and few of us felt hopeful about the bursting of the storm. 

CHAPTER XXV

HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE

Even at the hour of our triumph, we Nor'-Westers knew that we had yet toreckon with Lord Selkirk; and a speedy reckoning the indomitablenobleman brought about. The massacre at Seven Oaks afforded our rivalsthe very pretext they desired. Clothed with the authority of an officerof the law, Lord Selkirk hurried northward; and a personage of hisimportance could not venture into the wilderness without a strongbody-guard. At least, that was the excuse given for the retinue of twoor three hundred mercenaries decked out in all the regimentals of war, whom Lord Selkirk brought with him to the north. A more rascally, daringcrew of ragamuffins could not have been found to defend Selkirk's sideof the gentlemen adventurers' feud. The men were the offscourings ofEuropean armies engaged in the Napoleonic wars, and came directly fromthe old De Meurons' regiment. The information which the Fort Williambrigade brought of Selkirk's approach, also explained why that samebrigade hastened back to the defence of Nor'-West quarters on LakeSuperior; and their help was needed. News of events at Fort Williamcame to us in the Red River department tardily. First, there was a vaguerumor among the Indian _voyageurs_, who were ever gliding back andforward on the labyrinthine waters of that north land like the birds ofpassage overhead. Then came definite reports from freemen who had beenexpelled from Fort William; and we could no longer doubt that Nor'-Westheadquarters, with all the wealth of furs and provisions therein hadfallen into the hands of the Hudson's Bay forces. Afterwards camewarning from our _Bourgeois_, driven out of Fort William, for FortDouglas to be prepared. Lord Selkirk would only rest long enough at FortWilliam to take possession of everything worth possessing, in the nameof the law--for was he not a justice of the peace?--and in the name ofthe law would he move with like intent against Fort Douglas. To theearl's credit, be it said, that his victories were bloodless; but theywere bloodless because the Nor'-Westers had no mind to unleash thoseredskin bloodhounds a second time, preferring to suffer loss rather thanresort to violence. Nevertheless, we called in every available hand ofthe Nor'-West staff to man Fort Douglas against attack. But summerdragged into autumn and autumn into winter, and no Lord Selkirk. Then webegan to think ourselves secure; for the streams were frozen to a depthof four feet like adamant, and unless Selkirk were a madman, he wouldnot attempt to bring his soldiers north by dog-train during the bittercold of mid-winter. But 'tis ever the policy of the astute madman todiscount the enemy's calculations; and Selkirk utterly discounted oursby sending his hardy, dare-devil De Meurons across country under theleadership of that prince of braggarts, Captain D'Orsonnens. Indeed, wehad only heard the rumor of their coming, when we awakened one morningafter an obscure, stormy night to find them encamped at St. James, westward on the Assiniboine River. Day after day the menacing forceremained quiet and inoffensive, and we began to look upon thesenotorious ruffians as harmless. For our part, vigilance was not lacking. Sentinels were posted in the towers day and night. Nor'-West spiesshadowed every movement of the enemy; and it was seriously consideredwhether we should not open communication with D'Orsonnens to ascertainwhat he wanted; but, truth to say, we knew very well what he wanted, andhad had such a surfeit of blood, we were not anxious to re-openhostilities. 

As for Hamilton, I can hardly call his life at Fort Douglas anythingmore than a mere existence. A blow stuns, but one may recover. Repeatedfailure gradually benumbs hope and willpower and effort, like someghoulish vampire sucking away a man's life-blood till he faint and diefrom very inanition. The blow, poor Eric had suffered, when he lostMiriam; the repeated failure, when we could not restore her; and I sawthis strong, athletic man slowly succumb as to some insidious, paralyzing disease. The thought of effort seemed to burden him. Hewould silently mope by the hour in some dark corner of Fort Douglas, orwander aimlessly about the courtyard, muttering and talking to himself. He was weary and fatigued without a stroke of work; and what littlesleep he snatched from wakeful vigils seemed to give him no rest. Hisfood, he thrust from him with the petulance of a child; and at everysuggestion I could make, he sneered with a quiet, gentle insistence thatwas utterly discomfiting. To be sure, I had Father Holland's boisterousgood cheer as a counter-irritant; for the priest had remained at FortDouglas, and was ministering to the tribes of the Red and Assiniboine. But it was on her, who had been my guiding star and hope and inspirationfrom the first, that I mainly depended. As hard, merciless winter closedin, I could not think of those shelterless colonists driven to the lake, without shuddering at the distress I knew they must suffer; and Idespatched a runner, urging them to return to Red River, and givingpersonal guarantee for their safety. Among those, who came back, werethe Sutherlands; and if my quest had entailed far greater hardship thanit did, that quiet interval with leisure to spend much time at theSelkirk settlement would have repaid all suffering. After sundown, I wasfree from fort duties. Tying on snow-shoes after the manner of thenatives, I would speed over the whitened drifts of billowy snow. Thesurface, melted by the sun-glare of mid-day and encrusted with brittle, glistening ice, never gave under my weight; and, oddly enough, my wayalways led to the Sutherland homestead. After the coming of the DeMeurons, Frances used to expostulate against what she called myfoolhardiness in making these evening visits; but their presence made nodifference to me. 

"I don't believe those drones intend doing anything very dreadful, afterall, sir, " I remarked one night to Frances Sutherland's father, referring to the soldiers. 

Following his daughter's directions I had been coming very early, alsovery often, with the object of accustoming the dour Scotchman to mystaying late; and he had softened enough towards me to take part inoccasional argument. 

"Don't believe they intend doing a thing, sir, " I reiterated. 

Pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, he closed the book ofsermons, which he had been reading, and puckered his brows as if he werecompromising a hard point with conscience, which, indeed, I afterwardsknew, was exactly what he had been doing. 

"Aye, " said he, "aye, aye, young man. But I'm thinking ye'll no do y'rcompany ony harm by speerin' after the designs o' fightin' men who makeladders. "

"Oh!" I cried, all alert for information. "Have they been makingladders?"

He pulled the spectacles down on his nose and deliberately reopened thebook of sermons. 

"Of that, I canna say, " he replied. 

Only once again did he emerge from his readings. I had risen to go. Frances usually accompanied me to the outer door, where I tied mysnow-shoes and took a farewell unobserved by the father; but when Iopened the door, such a blast of wind and snow drove in, I instantlyclapped it shut again and began tying the racquets on inside. 

"O Rufus!" exclaimed Frances, "you can't go back to Fort Douglas in thatstorm!"

Then we both noticed for the first time that a hurricane of wind wasrocking the little house to its foundations. 

"Did that spring up all of a sudden?" I cried. "I never saw a blizzarddo that before. "

"I'm afraid, Rufus, we were not noticing. "

"No, we were otherwise interested, " said I, innocently enough; but shelaughed. 

"You can't go, " she declared. 

"The wind will be on my back, " I assured her. "I'll be all right, " and Iwent on lacing the snow-shoe thongs about my ankle. 

The book of sermons shut with a snap and the father turned towards us. 

"Let no one say any man left the Sutherland hearth on such a night! Putby those senseless things, " and he pointed to the snow-shoes. 

"But those ladders, " I interposed. "Let no one say when the enemy cameRufus Gillespie was absent from his citadel!"

The wind roared round the house corners like a storm at sea; and thefather looked down at me with a strange, quizzical expression. 

"Ye're a headstrong young man, Rufus Gillespie, " said the hard-setmouth. "Ye maun knock a hole in the head, or the wall! Will ye go?"

"Knock the hole in the wall, " I laughed back. "Of course I go. "

"Then, tak' the dogs, " said he, with a sparkle of kindliness in the coldeyes. So it came that I set out in the Sutherlands' dog-sled with asupply of robes to defy biting frost. 

And I needed them every one. Old settlers, describing winter storms, have been accused of an imagination as expansive as the prairie; but Iaffirm no man could exaggerate the fury of a blizzard on the unbrokenprairie. To one thing only may it be likened--a hurricane at sea. Peoplein lands boxed off at short compass by mountain ridges forget with whatviolence a wind sweeping half a continent can disport itself. In theboisterous roar of the gale, my shouts to the dogs were a feeble whispercaught from my lips and lost in the shrieking wind. The fine snowyparticles were a powdered ice that drove through seams of clothing andcut one's skin like a whip lash. Without the fringe of woods along theriver bank to guide me, it would have been madness to set out by day, and worse than madness by night; but I kept the dogs close to the woods. The trees broke the wind and prevented me losing all sense of directionin the tornado whirl of open prairie. Not enough snow had fallen on thehard-crusted drifts to impede the dogs. They scarcely sank and with thewind on their backs dashed ahead till the woods were passed and we wereon the bare plains. No light could be seen through the storm, but I knewI was within a short distance of the fort gate and wheeled the dogstoward the river flats of the left. The creatures seemed to scent humanpresence. They leaped forward and brought the sleigh against the wallwith a knock that rolled me out. 

"Good fellows;" I cried, springing up, uncertain where I was. 

The huskies crouched around my feet almost tripping me and I feltthrough the snowy darkness against the stockades, stake by stake. 

Ah! There was a post! Here were close-fitted boards--here, iron-lining--this must be the gate; but where was the lantern that hungbehind? A gust of wind might have extinguished the light; so I drubbedloudly on the gate and shouted to the sentry, who should have beeninside. 

The wind lulled for a moment and up burst wild shouting from thecourtyard intermingled with the jeers of Frenchmen and cries of terrorfrom our people. Then I knew judgment had come for the deeds at SevenOaks. The gale broke again with a hissing of serpents, or red irons, andthe howling wind rose in shrill, angry bursts. Hugging the wall, whilethe dogs whined behind, I ran towards the rear. Men jostled through thesnowy dark, and I was among the De Meurons. They were too busy scalingthe stockade on the ladders of which I had heard to notice an intruder. Taking advantage of the storm, I mounted a ladder, vaulted over thepickets and alighted in the courtyard. Here all was noise, flight, pursuit and confusion. I made for the main hall, where valuable paperswere kept, and at the door, cannoned against one of our men, whoshrieked with fright and begged for mercy. 

"Coward!" said I, giving him a cuff. "What has happened?"

A flare fell on us both, and he recognized me. 

"The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!"

I left him bawling out his fear and rushed inside. 

"What has happened?" I asked, tripping up a clerk who was flying throughthe hallway. 

"The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!"

"Stop!" I commanded, grasping the lap of his coat. "What--_has_--happened?"

"The De Meurons!" This was fairly screamed. 

I shook him till he sputtered something more. 

"They've captured the fort--our people didn't want to shed blood----"

"And threw down their guns, " I interjected, disgusted beyond word. 

"Threw down their guns, " he repeated, as though that were a praiseworthyaction. "The s-s-sentinels--saw the court--full--full--full ofs-soldiers!"

"Full of soldiers!" I thundered. "There are not a hundred in the gang. "

Thereupon I gave the caitiff a toss that sent him reeling against thewall, and dashed up-stairs for the papers. All was darkness, and I nighbroke my neck over a coffin-shaped rough box made for one of thetrappers, who had died in the fort. Why was the thing lying there, anyway? The man should have been put into it and buried at once withoutany drinking bout and dead wake, I reflected with some sharpness, as Irubbed my bruised shins and shoved the box aside. Shouts rang up fromthe courtyard. Heavy feet trampled in the hall below. Hamilton, as aHudson's Bay man, and Father Holland, I knew, were perfectly safe. But Iwas far from safe. Why were they not there to help me, I wondered, withthe sort of rage we all vent on our friends when we are cornered andthey at ease. I fumbled across the apartment, found the right desk, pried the drawer open with my knife, and was in the very act of seizingthe documents when I saw my own shadow on the floor. Lantern light burstwith a glare through the gloom of the doorway. 

CHAPTER XXVI

FATHER HOLLAND AND I IN THE TOILS

Behind the lantern was a face with terrified eyes and gaping mouth. Itwas the priest, his genial countenance a very picture of fear. 

"What's wrong, Father?" I asked. "You needn't be alarmed; you're allright. "

"But I am alarmed, for you're all wrong! Lord, boy, why didn't ye staywith that peppery Scotchman? What did Frances mane by lettin' you outto-night?" and he shaded the light of the lantern with his hand. 

"I wanted these things, " I explained. 

"Ye want a broad thumpin', I'm thinkin', ye rattle-pate, to risk y'rprecious noodle here to-night, " he whispered, coming forward and fussingabout me with all the maternal anxiety of a hen over her only chicken. 

"Listen, " said I. "The whole mob's coming in. "

"Go!" he urged, pushing me from the desk over which I still fumbled. 

"Run for those dogs of mercenaries!" I protested. 

"Ye swash-buckler! Ye stiff-necked braggart!" bawled the priest. "Outwid y'r nonsense, and what good are y' thinkin' ye'll do--? Stir yourstumps, y' stoopid spalpeen!"

"Listen, " I urged, undisturbed by the tongue-thrashing that stormedabout my ears. In the babel of voices I thought I had heard some onecall my name. 

"Run, Rufus! Run for y'r life, boy!" urged Father Holland, apparentlythinking the ruffians had come solely for me. 

"Run yourself, Father; run yourself, and see how you like it, " and Itucked the documents inside my coat. 

"Divil a bit I'll run, " returned the priest. 

"Hark!"

The De Meurons' leaders were shouting orders to their men. Above thescreams of people fleeing in terror through passage-ways, came a shrillbugle-call. 

"Go--go--go--Rufus!" begged Father Holland in a paroxysm of fear. "Go!"he pleaded, pushing me towards the door. 

"I won't!" and I jerked away from him. "There, now. " I caught up a cluband loaded pistol. 

The Nor'-Westers had no time to defend themselves. Almost before mystubborn defiance was uttered, the building was filled with a mob ofintoxicated De Meurons. Rushing everywhere with fixed bayonets andcursing at the top of their voices, they threatened death to allNor'-Westers. There was a loud scuffling of men forcing their waythrough the defended hall downstairs. 

"Go, Rufus, go! Think of Frances! Save yourself, " urged the priest. 

It was too late. I could not escape by the hall. Noisy feet were alreadytrampling up the stairs and the clank of armed men filled every passage. 

"Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee! Seven Oaks!" bawled a French voice from thehalf-way landing, and a multitude of men with torches dashed up thestairs. I took a stand to defend myself; for I thought I might becharged with implication in the massacre. 

"Jee-les-pee, " roared the voices. "Where is Gillespie?" thundered aleader. 

"That's you, Rufus, lad! Down with you!" muttered the priest. Before Iknew his purpose, he had tripped my feet from under me and knocked meflat on the floor. Overturning the empty coffin-box, he clapped it abovemy whole length, imprisoning me with the snap and celerity of amouse-trap. Then I heard the thud of two hundred avoirdupois seatingitself on top of the case. The man above my person had whisked out abook of prayers, and with lantern on the desk was conning overdevotions, which, I am sure, must have been read with the manual upsidedown; for bits of the _pater noster_, service of the mass, and vesperpsalms were uttered in a disconnected jumble, though I could not butapply the words to my own case. 

"_Libera nos a malo--ora pro nobis, peccatoribus--ab hoste malignodefende me--ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me--peccator videbit etirascetur--desiderium peccatorum peribit_----" came from the priest withtorrent speed. 

"Jee-les-pee! Jee-les-pee!" roared a dozen throats above the half-waylanding. Then came the stamp of many feet to the door. 

"Wait, men!" Hamilton's voice commanded. "I'll see if he's here!"

"_Simulacra gentium argentum et aurum, opera manuum hominum_, " likehailstones rattled the Latin words down on my prison. 

"One moment, men, " came Eric's voice; but he could not hold them back. In burst the door with a rush, and immediately the room was crowded withvociferating French soldiers. 

"_Manus habent, et non palpabunt; pedes_----"

"Is Gillespie here?" interrupted Hamilton, without the slightestrecognition of the priest in his tones. 

"_Pedes habent et non ambulabunt; non clamabunt in gutture suo_, "muttered the priest, finishing his verse; then to the men with astiffness which I did not think Father Holland could ever assume--

"How often must I be disturbed by men seeking that young scoundrel? Lookat this place, fairly topsy-turvy with their hunt! Faith! The room isbefore you. Look and see!" and with a great indifference he went on withhis devotions. 

"_Similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea_----"

"Some one here before us?" interrupted an Englishman with somesuspicion. 

"Two parties here before ye, " answered the priest, icily, as if theserepeated questions rumpled ecclesiastical dignity, and he gabbled onwith the psalm, "_similes illis fiant qui faciunt ea, et omnes_----"

"If we lifted that box, " interrupted the persistent Englishman, "whatmight there be?"

"If ye lift that box, " answered Father Holland with massivesolemnity--and I confess every hair on my body bristled as he rose--"Ifye lift that box there might be a powr--dead--body, " which was verytrue; for I still held the cocked pistol in hand and would have shot thefirst man daring to molest me. 

But the priest's indifference was not so great as it appeared. I couldtell from a tremor in his voice that he was greatly disturbed; and hecertainly lost his place altogether in the vesper psalm. 

"_Requiescat in pace_, " were his next words, uttered in funerealgravity. Singularly enough, they seemed to fit the situation. 

Father Holland's prompt offer to have the rough box examined satisfiedthe searchers, and there were no further demands. 

"Oh, " said the Englishman, taken aback, "I beg your pardon, sir! Nooffence meant. "

"No offence, " replied the priest, reseating himself. "_Benedicite_----"

"Sittin' on the coffin!" blurted out the voice of an English youth asthe weight of the priest again came down heavily on my prison; and againI breathed easily. 

"Come on, men!" shouted Hamilton, apprehensive of more curiosity. "We'rewasting time! He may be escaping by the basement window!"

"_Jam hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit; surge, amica mea, etveni!_" droned the priest, and the whole company clattered downstairs. 

"Quick!--Out with you!" commanded Father Holland. "Speed to y'r heels, and blessing on the last o' ye!"

I dashed down the stairs and was bolting through the doorway when someone shouted, "There he is!"

"Run, Gillespie!" cried some one else--one of our men, I suppose--and Ihad plunged into the storm and raced for the ladders at the rearstockades with a pack of pursuers at my heels. The snow drifts were inmy favor, for with my moccasins, I leaped lightly forward, while thebooted soldiers floundered deep. I eluded my pursuers and was half-wayup a ladder when a soldier's head suddenly appeared above the wall onthe other side. Then a bayonet prodded me in the chest and I fellheavily backwards to the ground. 

 * * * * *

I was captured. 

That is all there is to say. No man dilates with pleasure over that partof his life when he was vanquished. It is not pleasant to have weaponsof defence wrested from one's hands, to feel soldiers standing uponone's wrists and rifling pockets. 

It is hard to feel every inch the man on the horizontal. 

In truth, when the soldiers picked me up without ceremony, orgentleness, and bundling me up the stairs of the main hall, flung meinto a miserable pen, with windows iron-barred to mid-sash, I was but asorry hero. My tormentors did not shackle me; I was spared thathumiliation. 

"There!" exclaimed a Hudson's Bay man, throwing lantern-light across thedismal low roof as I fell sprawling into the room. "That'll cool theyoung hot-head, " and all the French soldiers laughed at my discomfiture. 

They chained and locked the door on the outside. I heard the soldiers'steps reverberating through the empty passages, and was alone in a sortof prison-room, used during the régime of the petty tyrant McDonell. Itwas cold enough to cool any hot-head, and mine was very hot indeed. Iknew the apartment well. Nor'-Westers had used it as a fur storeroom. The wind came through the crevices of the board walls and piledminiature drifts on the floor-cracks, all the while rattling loosetimbers like a saw-mill. The roof was but a few feet high, and I creptto the window, finding all the small panes coated with two inches ofhoar-frost. Whether the iron bars outside ran across, or up and down, Icould not remember; but the fact would make a difference to a mantrying to escape. Much as I disliked to break the glass letting in morecold, there was only one way of finding out about those bars. I raisedmy foot for an outward kick, but remembering I wore only the moccasinswith which I had been snowshoeing, I struck my fist through instead, andshattered the whole upper half of the window. I broke away cross-piecesthat might obstruct outward passage, and leaning down put my hand on thesharp points of upright spikes. So intense was the frost, the skin of myfinger tips stuck to the iron, and I drew my hand in, with the sting ofa fresh burn. 

It was unfortunate about those bars. I could not possibly get past themdown to the ground without making a ladder from my great-coat. I gropedround the room hoping that some of the canvas in which we tied thepeltries, might be lying about. There was nothing of the sort, or Imissed it in the dark. Quickly tearing my coat into strips, I knottedtriple plies together and fastened the upper end to the crosspiece ofthe lower window. Feet first, I poked myself out, caught the strandswith both hands, and like a flash struck ground below with badly skinnedpalms. That reminded me I had left my mits in the prison room. 

The storm had driven the soldiers inside. I did not encounter a soul inthe courtyard, and had no difficulty in letting myself out by the maingate. 

I whistled for the dogs. They came huddling from the ladders where Ihad left them, the sleigh still trailing at their heels. One poor animalwas so benumbed I cut him from the traces and left him to die. Gatheringup the robes, I shook them free of snow, replaced them in the sleigh andled the string of dogs down to the river. It would be bitterly coldfacing that sweep of unbroken wind in mid-river; but the trail over icewould permit greater speed, and with the high banks on each side thedogs could not go astray. 

To an overruling Providence, and to the instincts of the dogs, I owe mylife. The creatures had not gone ten sleigh-lengths when I felt the lossof my coat, and giving one final shout to them, I lay back on the sleighand covered myself, head and all, under the robes, trusting the huskiesto find their way home. 

I do not like to recall that return to the Sutherlands. The man, who isfrozen to death, knows nothing of the cruelties of northern cold. Theicy hand, that takes his life, does not torture, but deadens the victiminto an everlasting, easy, painless sleep. This I know, for I felt thedeadly frost-slumber, and fought against it. Aching hands and feetstopped paining and became utterly feelingless; and the deadening thingbegan creeping inch by inch up the stiffening limbs the life centres, till a great drowsiness began to overpower body and mind. Realizing whatthis meant, I sprang from the sleigh and stopped the dogs. I tried togrip the empty traces of the dead one, but my hands were too feeble; soI twisted the rope round my arm, gave the word, and raced off abreastthe dog train. The creatures went faster with lightened sleigh, butevery step I took was a knife-thrust through half-frozen awakeninglimbs. Not the man who is frozen to death, but the man who ishalf-frozen and thawed back to life, knows the cruelties of northerncold. 

In a stupefied way, I was aware the dogs had taken a sudden turn to theleft and were scrambling up the bank. Here my strength failed or Itripped; for I only remember being dragged through the snow, rollingover and over, to a doorway, where the huskies stopped and set up agreat whining. Somehow, I floundered to my feet. With a blaze of lightthat blinded me, the door flew open and I fell across the thresholdunconscious. 

 * * * * *

Need I say what door opened, what hands drew me in and chafed life intothe benumbed being?

"What was the matter, Rufus Gillespie?" asked a bluff voice the nextmorning. I had awakened from what seemed a long, troubled sleep andvaguely wondered where I was. 

"What happened to ye, Rufus Gillespie?" and the man's hand took hold ofmy wrist to feel my pulse. 

"Don't, father! you'll hurt him!" said a voice that was music to myears, and a woman's hand, whose touch was healing, began bathing myblistered palms. 

At once I knew where I was and forgot pain. In few and confused words Itried to relate what had happened. 

"The country's yours, Mr. Sutherland, " said I, too weak, thick-tonguedand deliriously happy for speech. 

"Much to be thankful for, " was the Scotchman's comment. "Seven Oaks isavenged. It would ill 'a' become a Sutherland to give his daughter'shand to a conqueror, but I would na' say I'd refuse a wife to a manbeaten as you were, Rufus Gillespie, " and he strode off to attend tooutdoor work. 

And what next took place, I refrain from relating; for lovers' eloquenceis only eloquent to lovers. 

CHAPTER XXVII

UNDER ONE ROOF

Nature is not unlike a bank. When drafts exceed deposits comes aprotest, and not infrequently, after the protest, bankruptcy. From thebuffalo hunt to the recapture of Fort Douglas by the Hudson's Baysoldiers, drafts on that essential part of a human being called staminahad been very heavy with me. Now came the casting-up of accounts, and mybill was minus reserve strength, with a balance of debt on the wrongside. 

The morning after the escape from Fort Douglas, when Mr. Sutherlandstrode off, leaving his daughter alone with me, I remember very wellthat Frances abruptly began putting my pillow to rights. Instead ofkeeping wide awake, as I should by all the codes of romance and commonsense, I--poor fool--at once swooned, with a vague, glimmeringconsciousness that I was dying and this, perhaps, was the first blissfulglimpse into paradise. When I came to my senses, Mr. Sutherland wasagain standing by the bedside with a half-shamed look of compassionunder his shaggy brows. 

"How far, " I began, with a curious inability to use my wits and tongue, "how far--I mean how long have I been asleep, sir?"

"Hoots, mon! Dinna claver in that feckless fashion! It's months, lad, sin' ye opened y'r mouth wi' onything but daft gab. "

"Months!" I gasped out. "Have I been here for months?"

"Aye, months. The plain was snaw-white when ye began y'r bit nappie. Noo, d'ye no hear the clack o' the geese through yon open window?"

I tried to turn to that side of the little room, where a great wave offresh, clear air blew from the prairie. For some reason my head refusedto revolve. Stooping, the elder man gently raised the sheet and rolledme over so that I faced the sweet freshness of an open, sunny view. 

"Did I rive ye sore, lad?" asked the voice with a gruffness in strangecontradiction to the gentleness of the touch. 

Now I hold that however rasping a man's words may be, if he handle thesick with gentleness, there is much goodness under the rough surface. Thoughtlessness and stupidity, I know, are patent excuses for half theunkindness and sorrow of life. But thoughtlessness and stupidity arealso responsible for most of life's brutality and crime. Notspiteful intentions alone, but the dulled, brutalized, deadenedsensibilities--that go under the names of thoughtlessness andstupidity--make a man treat something weaker than himself withroughness, or in an excessive degree, qualify for murder. When theharsh voice asked, "Do I rive ye sore?" I began to understand howsurface roughness is as often caused by life's asperities as by theinner dullness akin to the brute. 

Indeed, if my thoughts had not been so intent on the daughter, I couldhave found Mr. Sutherland's character a wonderfully interesting study. The infinite capacity of a canny Scot for keeping his mouth shut I neverrealized till I knew Mr. Sutherland. For instance, now thatconsciousness had returned, I noticed that the father himself, and notthe daughter, did all the waiting on me even to the carrying of mymeals. 

"How is your daughter, Mr. Sutherland?" I asked, surely a natural enoughquestion to merit a civil reply. 

"Aye--is it Frances y'r speerin' after?" he answered, meeting myquestion with a question; and he deigned not another word. But I lay inwait for him at the next meal. 

"I haven't seen your daughter yet, Mr. Sutherland, " I stuttered out witha deal of blushing. "I haven't even heard her about the house. "

"No?" he asked with a show of surprise. "Have ye no seen Frances?" Andthat was all the satisfaction I got. 

Between the dinner hour and supper time I conjured up various plots tohoodwink paternal caution. 

"Mr. Sutherland, " I began, "I have a message for your daughter. "

"Aye, " said he. 

"I wish her to hear it personally. "

"Aye. "

"When may I see her?"

"Ye maun bide patient, lad!"

"But the message is urgent. " That was true; for had not forty-eighthours passed since I had regained consciousness and I had heard neitherher footsteps nor her voice?

"Aye, " said the imperturbable father. 

"Very urgent, Mr. Sutherland, " I added. 

"Aye. "

"When may I see her, Sir?"

"All in guid time. Ye maun bide quiet, lad. "

"The message cannot wait, " I declared. "It must be given at once. "

"Then deleever it word for word to me, young mon, and I'll trudge off toFrances. "

"Your daughter is not at home?"

"What words wu'l ye have me bear to her, lad?" he asked. 

That was too much for a youth in a peevish state of convalescence. Whatlover could send his heart's eloquence by word of mouth with a peppery, prosaic father?

"Tell Mistress Sutherland I must see her at once, " I quickly respondedwith a flash of temper that was ever wont to flare up when put to thetest. 

"Aye, " he answered, with an amused look in the cold, steel eyes. "I'lldeleever y'r message when--when"--and he hesitated in a way suggestiveof eternity--"I'll deleever y'r message when I see her. "

At that I turned my face to the wall in the bitterness of spirit whichonly the invalid, with all the strength of a man in his whims and theweakness of an infant in his body, knows. I spent a feverish, restlessnight, with the hard-faced Scotchman watching from his armchair at mybedside. Once, when I suddenly awakened from sleep, or delirium, hiseyes were fastened on my face with a gleam of grave kindliness. 

"Mr. Sutherland, " I cried, with all the impatience of a child, "pleasetell me, where is your daughter?"

"I sent her to a neighbor, sin' ye came to y'r senses, lad, " said he. "Ye hae kept her about ye night and day sin' ye gaed daft, and losh, mon, ye hae gabbled wild talk enough to turn the head o' ony lassieclean daft. An' ye claver sic' nonsense when ye're daft, what would yesay when ye're sane? Hoots, mon, ye maun learn to haud y'r tongue----"

"Mr. Sutherland, " I interrupted in a great heat, quite forgetful of hishospitality, "I'm sorry to be the means of driving your daughter fromher home. I beg you to send me back to Fort Douglas----"

"Haud quiet, " he ordered with a wave of his hand. "An' wa'd ye have meexpose the head of a mitherless bairn to a' the clack o' the auld geesein the settlement? Temper y'r ardor wi' discretion, lad! 'Twas but theday before yesterday she left and she was sair done wi' nursing you andlosing of sleep! Till ye're fair y'rsel' again and up, and she's weeland rosy wi' full sleep, bide patient!"

That speech sent my face to the wall again; but this time not in anger. And that dogged fashion Mr. Sutherland had of taking his own way did memany a good turn. Often have I heard those bragging captains of theHudson's Bay mercenaries swagger into the little cottage sitting-room, while I lay in bed on the other side of the thin board partition, andrelate to Mr. Sutherland all the incidents of their day's search for me. 

"So many pounds sterling for the man who captures the rascal, " declaresD'Orsonnens. 

"Aye, 'tis a goodly price for one poor rattle-pate, " says Mr. Sutherland. 

Whereupon, D'Orsonnens swears the price is more than my poor empty headis worth, and proceeds to describe me in terms which Mr. Sutherland willonly tolerate when thundered from an orthodox pulpit. 

"I'd have ye understand, Sir, " he would declare with great dignity, "I'll have no papistical profanity under my roof. "

Forthwith, he would show D'Orsonnens the door, lecturing the astonishedsoldier on the errors of Romanism; for whatever Mr. Sutherland deemedevil, from oaths to theological errors, he attributed directly to thepope. 

"The ne'er-do-weel can hawk naething frae me, " said he when relating theincident. 

Once I heard a Fort Douglas man observe that, as the search had provedfutile, I must have fallen into one of the air-holes of the ice. 

"Nae doot the headstrong young mon is' gettin' what he deserves. Iwarrant he's warm in his present abode, " answered Mr. Sutherland. 

On another occasion D'Orsonnens asked who the man was that Mr. Sutherland's daughter had been nursing all winter. 

"A puir body driven from Fort Douglas by those bloodthirsty villains, "answered Mr. Sutherland, giving his visitor a strong toddy; and he atonce improved the occasion by taking down a volume and reading theFrench officer a series of selections against Romanism. After thatD'Orsonnens came no more. 

"I hope I did not tell Nor'-West secrets in a Hudson's Bay house when Iwas delirious, Mr. Sutherland, " I remarked. 

The Scotchman had lugged me from bed in a gentle, lumbering, well-meantfashion, and I was sitting up for the first time. 

"Ye're no the mon wi' a leak t' y'r mouth. I dinna say, though, ye'reaye as discreet wi' the thoughts o' y'r heart as y'r head! Ye need nafash y'r noodle wi' remorse aboot company secrets. I canna say ye'll nofret aboot some other things ye hae told. A' the winter lang, 'twasFrances and stars and spooks and speerits and bogies and statues andgraven images--wha' are forbidden by the Holy Scriptures--till thelassie thought ye gane clean daft! 'Twas a bonnie e'e, like silverstars; or a bit blush, like the pippin; or laughter, like a wimplin'brook; or lips, like posies; or hair, like links o' gold; and mair o'the like till the lassie came rinnin' oot o' y'r room, fair red wi'shame! Losh, mon, ye maun keep a still tongue in y'r head and not blaboot y'r thoughts o' a wife till she believes na mon can hae peace wi'outher. I wad na hae ye abate one jot o' all ye think, for her price is farabove rubies; but hae a care wi' y'r grand talk! After ye gang to thekirk, lad, na mon can keep that up. "

His warning I laughed to the winds, as youth the world over has everlaughed sage counsels of chilling age. 

I can compare my recovery only to the swift transition of seasons inthose northern latitudes. Without any lingering spring, the coldgrayness of long, tense winter gives place to a radiant sun-burst ofwarm, yellow light. The uplands have long since been blown bare of snowby the March winds, and through the tangle of matted turf shoot myriadpurple cups of the prairie anemone, while the russet grass takes onemerald tints. One day the last blizzard may be sweeping a white trailof stormy majesty across the prairie; the next a fragrance of flowersrises from the steaming earth and the snow-filled ravines have becomeminiature lakes reflecting the dazzle of a sunny sky and fleece clouds. 

My convalescence was similar to the coming of summer. Without any wearyfluctuation from well to ill, and ill to well--which sickens the heartwith a deferred hope--all my old-time strength came back with the glowof that year's June sun. 

"There's nae accountin' for some wilful folk, lad, " was Mr. Sutherland'sremark, one evening after I was able to leave my room. "Ye hae risenfrae y'r bed like the crocus frae snaw. An' Frances were hangin' abooty'r pillow, lad, I'm nae sure y'd be up sae dapper and smart. "

"I thought my nurse was to return when I was able to be up, " I answered, strolling to the cottage door. 

"Come back frae the door, lad. Dinna show y'rsel' tae the enemy. Therebe more speerin' for ye than hae love for y'r health. Have y'r witsaboot ye! Dinna be frettin' y'rsel' for Frances! The lassies aye rinfast enow tae the mon wi' sense to hold his ain!"

With that advice he motioned me to the only armchair in the room, andsitting down on the outer step to keep watch, began reading sometheological disputation aloud. 

"Odds, lad, ye should see the papist so'diers rin when I hae Calvin byme, " he remarked. 

"It's a pity you can't lay the theological thunderers on the doorstep todrive stray De Meurons off. Then you could come in and take this chairyourself, " I answered, sitting back where no visitor could see me. 

But Mr. Sutherland did not hear. He was deep in polemics, rolling outstout threats, that used Scriptural texts as a cudgel, with a zest thattestified enjoyment. "The wicked bend their bow, " began the raspingvoice; but when he cleared his throat, preparatory to the main argument, my thoughts went wandering far from the reader on the steps. As onewhose dream is jarred by outward sound, I heard his tones quaver. 

"Aye, Frances, 'tis you, " he said, and away he went, pounding at thesophistries of some straw enemy. 

A shadow was on the threshold, and before I had recalled my listlessfancy, in tripped Frances Sutherland, herself, feigning not to see me. The gray eyes were veiled in the misty fashion of those fluffy thingswomen wear, which let through all beauty, but bar out intrusion. I donot mean she wore a veil: veils and frills were not seen among thecolonists in those days. But the heavy lashes hung low in the slumbrous, dreamy way that sees all and reveals nothing. Instinctively I startedup, with wild thoughts thronging to my lips. At the same moment Mr. Sutherland did the most chivalrous thing I have seen in homespun orbroadcloth. 

"Hoots wi' y'r giddy claver, " said he, before I had spoken a word; andwalking off, he sat down at some distance. 

Thereupon his daughter laughed merrily with a whole quiver of dangerousarchery about her lips. 

"That is the nearest to an untruth I have ever heard him tell, " shesaid, which mightily relieved my embarrassment. 

"Why did he say that?" I asked, with my usual stupidity. 

"I am sure I cannot say, " and looking straight at me, she let go thebarbed shaft, that lies hidden in fair eyes for unwary mortals. 

"Sit down, " she commanded, sinking into the chair I had vacated. "Sitdown, Rufus, please!" This with an after-shot of alarm from the heavylashes; for if a woman's eyes may speak, so may a man's, and theirlanguage is sometimes bolder. 

"Thanks, " and I sat down on the arm of that same chair. 

For once in my life I had sense to keep my tongue still; for, if I hadspoken, I must have let bolt some impetuous thing better left unsaid. 

"Rufus, " she began, in the low, thrilling tones that had enthralled mefrom the first, "do you know I was your sole nurse all the time you weredelirious?"

"No wonder I was delirious! Dolt, that I was, to have been delirious!"thought I to myself; but I choked down the foolish rejoinder andendeavored to look as wise as if my head had been ballasted with theweight of a patriarch's wisdom instead of ballooning about like a kiterun wild. 

"I think I know all your secrets. "

"Oh!" A man usually has some secrets he would rather not share; andthough I had not swung the full tether of wild west freedom--thankssolely to her, not to me--I trembled at recollection of the passes thatcome to every man's life when he has been near enough the precipice toknow the sensation of falling without going over. 

"You talked incessantly of Miriam and Mr. Hamilton and Father Holland. "

"And what did I say about Frances?"

"You said things about Frances that made her tremble. "

"Tremble? What a brute, and you waiting on me day and----"

"Hush, " she broke in. "Tremble because I am just a woman and not anangel, just a woman and not a star. We women are mortals just as you menare. Sometimes we're fools as well as mortals, just as you men are; butI don't think we're knaves quite so often, because we're denied theopportunity and hedged about and not tempted. "

As she gently stripped away the pretty hypocrisies with which loversdelude themselves and lay up store for disappointment, I began todiscount that old belief about truth and knowledge rendering a womanmannish and arrogant and assertive. 

"You men marry women, expecting them to be angels, and very often theangel's highest ambition is to be considered a doll. Then your hope goesout and your faith----"

"But, Frances, " I cried, "if any sensible man had his choice of anangel and a fair, good woman----"

"Be sure to say fair, or he'd grumble because he hadn't a doll, " shelaughed. 

"No levity! If he had choice of angels and stars and a good woman, he'dchoose the woman. The star is mighty far away and cold and steely. Theangel's a deal too perfect to know sympathy with faults and blunders. Itell you, Little Statue, life is only moil and toil, unless lovetransmutes the base metal of hard duty into the pure gold of unalloyeddelight. "

"That's why I tremble. I must do more than angel or star! Oh, Rufus, ifI can only live up to what you think I am--and you can live up to what Ithink you are, life will be worth living. "

"That's love's leverage, " said I. 

Then there was silence; for the sun had set and the father was no longerreading. Shadows deepened into twilight, and twilight into gloaming. Andit was the hour when the brooding spirit of the vast prairie solitudesfills the stillness of night with voiceless eloquence. Why should Iattempt to transcribe the silent music of the prairie at twilight, whichevery plain-dweller knows and none but a plain-dweller may understand?What wonder that the race native to this boundless land hears therustling of spirits in the night wind, the sigh of those who have losttheir way to the happy hunting-ground, and the wail of little ones whosefeet are bruised on the shadow trail? What wonder the gauzy northernlights are bands of marshaling warriors and the stars torches lightingthose who ride the plains of heaven? Indeed, I defy a white man with allthe discipline of science and reason to restrain the wanderings ofmystic fancy during the hours of sunset on the prairie. 

There is, I affirm, no such thing as time for lovers. If they havewatches and clocks, the wretched things run too fast; and if the sunhimself stood still in sympathy, time would not be long. So I confess Ihave no record of time that night Frances Sutherland returned to herhome and Mr. Sutherland kept guard at the door. When he had passed thethreshold impatiently twice, I recollected with regret that it wasimpossible to read theology in the dark. The third time he thrust hishead in. 

"Mind y'rselves, " he called. "I hear men coming frae the river, a prettyhour, indeed, for visitin'. Frances, go ben and see yon back window'sopen!"

"The soldiers from the fort, " cried Frances with a little gasp. 

"Don't move, " said I. "They can't see me here. It's dark. I want to hearwhat they say and the window is open. Indeed, Frances, I'm an expert atwindow-jumping, " and I had begun to tell her of my scrape with Louis'drunken comrades in Fort Douglas, when I heard Mr. Sutherland's gratingtones according the newcomers a curious welcome. "Ye swearin', blasphemin', rampag'us, carousin' infidel, ye'll no darken my doorwaythis night. Y'r French gab may be foul wi' oaths for all I ken; butye'll no come into my hoose! An' you, Sir, a blind leader o' the blind, a disciple o' Beelzebub, wi' y'r Babylonish idolatries, wi' y'r incensethat fair stinks in the nostrils o' decent folk, wi' y'r images andmummery and crossin' o' y'rsel', wi' y'r pagan, popish practises, wi'y'r skirts and petticoats, I'll no hae ye on my premises, no, not an' yeleave y'r religion outside! An' you, Meester Hamilton, a respectableProtestant, I'm fair surprised to see ye in sic' company. "

"'Tis Eric and Father Holland and Laplante, " I shouted, springing to myfeet and rushing to the doorway, but Frances put herself before me. 

"Keep back, " she whispered. "The priest and Mr. Hamilton have been herebefore; but father would not let them in. The other man may be a DeMeuron. Be careful, Rufus! There's a price on your head. "

"Ho--ho--my _Ursus Major_, prime guardian of _Ursa Major_, first of theheavenly constellations in the north, " insolently laughed Louis Laplantethrough the dusk. 

"Let me pass, Frances, " I begged, thrusting her gently aside, but hertrembling hands still clung to my arm. 

"Impertinent rascal, " rasped the irate Scotchman. "I'd have yeunderstand my name's Sutherland, not _Major Ursus_. I'll no bide wi'y'r impudence! Leave this place----"

"The Bruin growls, " interrupted Louis with a laugh, and I heard Mr. Sutherland's gasp of amazed rage at the lengths of the Frenchman'sinsolence. 

"I must, dearest, " I whispered, disengaging the slender hands from myarm; and I flung out into the dusk. 

In the gloom, my approach was unnoticed; and when I came upon the group, Father Holland had laid his hand upon Mr. Sutherland's shoulder and in alow, tense voice was uttering words, which--thank an all-bountifulProvidence!--have no sectarian limits. 

"And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'I was a stranger and yetook me not in: naked and ye clothed me not: sick and in prison and yevisited me not. Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to oneof the least of these, ye did it not to me'----"

"Dinna con Holy Writ to me, Sir, " interrupted Mr. Sutherland, throwingthe priest's hand off and jerking back. 

Then Louis Laplante saw me. There was a long, low whistle. 

"Ye daft gommerel, " gasped Mr. Sutherland, facing me with unutterabledisgust. "Ye daft gommerel! A' my care and fret, waste--gane clean towaste. I wash m' hands o' ye----"

But Louis had knocked the Scotchman aside and tumbled into my arms, halflaughing, half crying and altogether as hysterical as was his wont. 

"I pay you back at las', my comrade! Ha--old solemncholy! You thoughtthe bird of passage, he come not back at all! But the birds return! Sodoes Louis! He decoy-duck the whole covey! You generous? No more notgenerous than the son of a seigneur, mine enemy! You give life? He givelife! You give liberty! So does Louis! You help one able help himself?Louis help one not able help himself! Ha! _Très bien! Noblesse oblige!La Gloire!_ She--near! She here! She where I, Louis Laplante, son of aseigneur, snare that she-devil, trap that fox, trick the tigress!Ha--ol' tombstone! _Noblesse oblige_--I say! She near--she here, " and heflung up both arms like a frenzied maniac. 

"Man! Are you mad?" I demanded, uncertain whether he were apostrophizingDiable's squaw, or abstract glory. "Speak out!" I shouted, shaking himby the shoulder. 

"These--are they all friends?" asked Louis, suddenly cooled and lookingsuspiciously at the group. 

"All, " said I, still holding him by the shoulder. 

"That--that thing--that bear--that bruin--he a friend?" and Louispointed to Mr. Sutherland. 

"Friend to the core, " said I, laying both hands upon his shoulders. "Core with prickles outside, " gibed Louis. 

"Louis, " I commanded, utterly out of patience, "what of Miriam? Speakplain, man! Have you brought the tribe as you promised?"

It must have been mention of Miriam's name, for the white, drawn face ofEric Hamilton bent over my shoulder and fiery, glowing eyes burned intothe very soul of the Frenchman. Louis staggered back as if red irons hadbeen thrust in his face. 

"_Sacredie_, " said he, backing against Father Holland, "I am nomurderer. "

It was then I observed that Frances Sutherland had followed me. Herslender white fingers were about the bronzed hand of the Frenchadventurer. 

"Monsieur Laplante will tell us what he knows, " she said softly, and shewaited for his answer. 

"The daughter of _L'Aigle_, " he replied slowly and collectedly, all thewhile feasting upon that fair face, "comes down the Red with her tribeand captives, many captive women. They pass here to-night. They campsouth the rapids, this side of the rapids. Last night I leave them. Irun forward, I find Le Petit Garçon--how you call him?--Leetle Fellow?He take me to the priest. He bring canoe here. He wait now for carry usdown. We must go to the rapids--to the camp! There my contract! Mybargain, it is finished, " and he shrugged his shoulders, for Frances hadremoved her hand from his. 

Whether Louis Laplante's excitable nature were momentarily unbalanced bythe success of his feat, I leave to psychologists. Whether somepremonition of his impending fate had wrought upon him strangely, letpsychical speculators decide. Or whether Louis, the sly rogue, worked upthe whole situation for the purpose of drawing Frances Sutherland intothe scene--which is what I myself suspect--I refer to private judgment, and merely set down the incidents as they occurred. That was how LouisLaplante told us of bringing Diable's squaw and her captives back to RedRiver. And that was how Father Holland and Eric and Louis and Mr. Sutherland and myself came to be embarking with a camping outfit for acanoe-trip down the river. 

"Have the Indians passed, or are they to come?" I asked Louis as Mr. Sutherland and Eric settled themselves in a swift, light canoe, leavingthe rest of us to take our places in a larger craft, where LittleFellow, gurgling pleased recognition of me, acted as steersman. 

"They come later. The fast canoe go forward and camp. We watch behind, "ordered Louis, winking at me significantly. 

I saw Frances step to her father's canoe. 

"You're no coming, Frances, " he protested, querulously. 

"Don't say that, father. I never disobeyed you in my life, and I _am_coming! Don't tell me not to! Push out, Mr. Hamilton, " and she picked upa paddle and I saw the canoe dart swiftly forward into mid-current, where the darkness enveloped it; and we followed fast in its wake. 

"Louis, " said I, trying to fathom the meaning of his wink, "are thoseIndians to come yet?"

"No. Simpleton--you think Louis a fool?" he asked. 

"Why did you lie to them?"

"Get them out of the way. "

"Why?"

"Because, stupid, some ones they be killed to-night! The Englishman, hehave a wife--he not be killed! Mademoiselle--she love a poor fool--orbreak her pretty heart! The father--he needed to stick-pin you both--soyou never want for to fight each other, " and Louis laughed low like thepurr of water on his paddle-blade. 

"Faith, lad, " cried the priest, who had been unnaturally silent, because, I suppose, he was among aliens to his faith, "faith, lad, 'tisa good heart ye have, if ye'd but cut loose from the binding past. Maythis night put an end to your devil pranks!"

 * * * * *

And that night did!

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE LAST OF LOUIS' ADVENTURES

I think, perhaps, the reason good enterprises fail so often where evilventures succeed, is that the good man blunders forward, trusting to themerits of his cause, where the evil manipulator proceeds warily as a catover broken glass. And so, altogether apart from his services as guide, I felt Louis Laplante's presence on the river a distinct advantage. 

"The Lord is with us, lad. She shall be delivered! The Lord is with us;but don't you bungle His plans!" ejaculated Father Holland for thetwentieth time; and each time the French trapper looked waggishly overhis shoulder at me and winked. 

"Bungle! Pah!" Louis clapped his paddle athwart the canoe and laughed alow, sly, defiant laugh. "Bungle! Pah! Catch Louis bungle his cards, ha, ha! Trumps! He play trumps--he hold his hand low--careless--nodings init--he keep quiet--nodings worth play in his hand--but his sleeve--ha, ha!" and Louis laughed softly and winked at the full moon. 

"The daughter of L'Aigle, she cuff Louis, she slap his cheek, she callhim lump--lout--slouch! Ha, ha!--Louis no fool--he pare the claws ofL'Aigle to-night!"

At that, Little Fellow's stolid face took on a vindictive gleam, and hesnapped out something in Indian tongue which set Louis to laughing. Suddenly the Indian's paddle was suspended in mid-air, and Little Fellowbent over the prow, gazing at the moon-tracked water. 

"_Sacredie!_" cried Louis, catching up water that trickled through hisfingers, "'tis dried rabbit thong! They are ahead of us! They havepassed while that Scotch mule was balk! We must catch the Englishman, "and he began hitting out with his paddle at a great rate. 

We had overtaken Mr. Sutherland's canoe within half an hour of Louis'discovery, and Eric wheeled about with a querulous demand. 

"What's wrong? Are they ahead? I thought you said they were behind, " andhe turned suspiciously to Laplante. 

"You thought wrong, " said Louis, ever facile with subterfuges. "Youthought wrong, Mister High-and-Mighty! Camp here and watch; they comebefore morning!"

"No lies to me, " shouted Eric, becoming uncontrollably excited. "If youmislead us, your life shall----"

"Pig-head! I no save your wife for back chin! Camp here, I say, " andLouis' fitful temper began to show signs of sulking. 

"For goodness' sake, Eric, do what you're told! We've made a bad enoughbusiness of it----"

"Give the Frenchman a chance! Do what you're told, I say, ye blunderers!Troth, the Lord Himself couldn't bring success to such blunderingidiots, " was Father Holland's comment. 

"I'll take na orders frae meddlesome papists, " began the Scotchman; butLittle Fellow had forcibly turned the prow of the canoe shoreward. Igave them a shove with my paddle. Frances took the cue, and while herfather was yet scolding raised her paddle and had them close to theriver bank. 

"Get your tent up here, " I called to conciliate them. "Then come to thebank and watch for the Indians. "

A bit of clean gravel ran out from the clay cliff. 

"That's the ground, " said I, as the other canoe bumped over the pebbles;and I stopped paddling and dangled my hand in the water. 

Something in the dark drifted wet and soft against my fingers. Ordinarily such an incident would not have alarmed me; but instantly ashudder of apprehension ran through my frame. I scarce had courage tolook into the river lest the white face of a woman should appear throughthe watery depths. Clutching the water-soaked tangle, I jerked it up. Something gave with a rip, and my hand was full of shawl fringe. 

"What's that, Rufus?" asked Father Holland. "Don't know. " I motionedhim to be silent and held it up in the moonlight. Distinctly it was, orhad been, red fringe. 

"Do you think--" he began, then stopped. Our keel had rubbed bottom andHamilton was springing out of the other canoe. 

"Yes, I do, " I replied, choking with dread. "This is too terrible! He'llkill himself! Go up the bank with him! Keep him busy at the tent! LittleFellow and I'll pole for it. The water's shallow there----"

"What do _you_ think?" said the priest to Laplante. 

"T'ink! I never t'ink! I finds out. " But all the same, Louis' assurancewas shaken and he peered searchingly into the river. 

"Aren't you coming? What's your plan?" called Eric. 

"Certainly we are, but get this truck to higher ground, will you?" Ihoisted out the camp trappings. "I want to paddle out for something. "

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Something lost out there. I lost it out of my hand. "

Frances Sutherland, I know, suspected trouble from the alarm which Icould not keep out of my speech; for she pressed to the water's edge. 

"Get the tent ready, " I urged. 

"What's the meaning of this mystery?" persisted Hamilton sharply. "Whathave you lost?"

"Don't press him too closely. Faith, it may be a love token, "interjected Father Holland, as he stepped ashore; but he whispered in myear as he passed, "You're wrong, lad! You're on the wrong track!"

I leaped back to the canoe, Little Fellow and the Frenchman following, and we paddled to the shallows where I had caught the fringe. I proddedthe soft mud below and trailed the paddle back and forward over the claybottom. Louis did likewise; but in vain. Only soft ooze came up on theblade. Then Little Fellow stripped and dived. Of course it was darkunder water, as it always is dark under the muddy Red, and the Indiancould not feel a thing from which fringe could have ripped. Had my jerkdisturbed whatever it was and sent it rolling down to mid-current? Iasked Father Holland this when I came back. 

"Tush, faint-heart, " he muttered, drawing me aside. "'Tis only a trialof your faith. "

I said something about trials of faith which I shall not repeat here, but which the majority of people, who are on the tenter-hooks of suchtrials, have said for themselves. 

"Faith! Pah!" exclaimed Louis, joining our whispered conference, whileEric and Mr. Sutherland were hoisting a tent. "That shawl, it meannodings of things heavenly! It only mean rag stuck in the mud and redsnearabouts here! I have told the Great Bear and his snarl Englishman theIndians not come till morning. They get tent ready and watch! You followLouis, he lead you to camp. The priest--he good for say a littleprayer; the Indian for fight; Louis--for swear; Rufus--to snatch theEnglishwoman, he good at snatching the fair, ha-ha. "

He darted to the shore, calling Little Fellow from the canoe and leavingFather Holland and me to follow as best we could. 

"We'll be back soon, Eric, " I shouted. "We're going to get the lie ofthe land. Keep watch here, " and I broke into a run to keep up with theFrench trapper and the Indian, who were leading into the woods away fromthe river. I could hear Father Holland puffing behind like a wind-blownracer. Abruptly the priest came to a stop. 

"By all the saints, " he ordered. "Go back to the tent!"

I turned. A white form emerged from the foliage and Frances was besideme. 

"May I not come?" she asked. 

"No--dearest, there will be fighting. "

"No--Lord--no, " panted Father Holland coming up to us. "We're notswapping one woman for another. What would Rufus do without ye?"

"You are going for Miriam?" she questioned, holding my hand. "God speedyou and bring you back safely!"

"Say rather--bring Miriam, " and I unfastened the clinging hand almostroughly. 

"Come on, slugs, sloths, laggards, " commanded Laplante impatiently, andwe dashed into the thick of the woods, leaving the white figure aloneagainst the shadowy thicket. She called out something, of which I heardonly two words, "Miriam" and "Rufus"; but I knew those names wereuttered in supplication and they filled my heart with daring hope. Surely, we must succeed--for the Little Statue's prayers were followingme--and I bounded on with a faith as buoyant as the priest's blindtrust. Thus we ran through the moon-shafted woods pursuing the flitting, lithe figures of trapper and Indian, who scarce disturbed a fern leaf, while Father Holland and I floundered through the underbrush likeramping elephants. Then I found myself panting as hard as the priest andclinging to his arm for support; for illness had taken all the braveryout of my muscles, like champagne uncorked and left in the heat. 

"Brace yourself, lad, " said the priest. "The Lord is with us, but don'tyou bungle. "

A long, low whistle came through the dark, a whistle that was such aperfect imitation of the night hawk, no spy might detect it for thesignal of a runner. After the whistle, was the soft, ominous hiss of aserpent in the grass; and we were abreast of Louis Laplante and LittleFellow standing stock still sniffing forward as hounds might scent afoe. 

"She may not be there! She may be drown;" whispered Louis, "but we creepon, quiet like hare, no noise like deer, stiller than mountain cat, hist--what that?"

The night breeze set the leaves all atremble--clapping their hands, asthe Indians call it--and a whiff of burning bark tainted the air. "That's it, " said I under my breath. 

The smoke was blowing from wooded flats between us and the river. Cautiously parting interlaced branches and as carefully replacing eachbough to prevent backward snap, we turned down the sloping bank. Isuppose necessity's training in the wilds must produce the same resultin man and beast; and from that fact, faddists of the various "osophies"and "ologies" may draw what conclusions they please; but I affirm thatno panther could creep on its prey with more stealth, caution andcunning than the trapper and Indian on the enemy's camp. I have seenwild creatures approaching a foe set each foot down with noiselesstread; but I have never seen such a combination of instincts, brute andhuman, as Louis and Little Fellow displayed. The Indian felt the groundfor tracks and pitfalls and sticks, that might crackle. Louis, with hiswhole face pricked forward, trusted more to his eyes and ears and thatsense of "feel, " which is--contradictory as it may seem--utterlyintangible. Once the Indian picked up a stick freshly broken. This wasexamined by both, and the Indian smelt it and tried his tongue on thebroken edge. Then both fell on all fours, creeping under the branches ofthe thicket and pausing at every pace. 

"Would that I had taken lessons in forest lore before I went among theSioux, " I thought to myself. Now I knew what had been incomprehensiblebefore--why all my well-laid plans had been detected. 

A wind rustled through the foliage. That was in our favor; for in spiteof our care the leaves crushed and crinkled beneath us. At intervals aglimmer of light shone from the beach. Louis paused and listened sointently our breathing was distinctly audible. A vague murmur of lowvoices--like the "talking of the trees" in Little Fellow'slanguage--floated up from the river; and in the moonlight I saw Laplantelaugh noiselessly. Trees stood farther apart on the flats and brushwoodgave place to a forest of ferns, that concealed us in their deepfoliage; but the thick growth also hid the enemy, and we knew not atwhat moment we might emerge in full view of the camp. So we stretchedout flat, spying through the fern stalks before we parted the stems todraw ourselves on a single pace. Presently, the murmur separated intodistinct voices, with much low laughing and the bitter jeers that makeup Indian mirth. We could hear the crackling of the fire, and wormedforward like caterpillars. 

There was a glare of light through the ferns, and Louis stopped. We allthree pulled abreast of him. Lying there as a cat watches a mouse, weparted first one and then another of the fronds till the Indianencampment could be clearly seen. 

"Is that the tribe?" I whispered; but Louis gripped my arm in a vicethat forbade speech. 

The camp was not a hundred feet away. Fire blazed in the centre. Poleswere up for wigwams, and already skins had been overlaid, completingseveral lodges. Men lay in lazy attitudes about the fire. Squaws weretaking what was left of the evening meal and slave-women were puttingthings to rights for the night. Sitting apart, with hands tied, wereother slaves, chiefly young women taken in some recent fray and not yettrusted unbound. Among these was one better clad than the others. Herwrists were tied; but her hands managed to conceal her face, which wasbowed low. In her lap was a sleeping child. Was this Miriam? Childrenwere with the other captives; but to my eyes this woman's torn shawlappeared reddish in the fire glow. 

"Let's go boldly up and offer to buy the slaves, " I suggested; butLouis' grip tightened forbiddingly and Little Fellow's forefingerpointed towards a big creature, who was ordering the others about. 'Twasa woman of giant, bronzed form, with the bold stride of a conqueringwarrior and a trophy-decked belt about her waist. The fire shone againsther girdle and the stones in the leather strap glowed back blood-red. Father Holland breathed only one word in my ear, "Agates;" and the fireof the red stones flashed like some mystic flame through my being tillbrain and heart were hot with vengeance and my hands burned as if everynerve from palm to finger-tips were a blade point reaching out todestroy that creature of cruelty. 

"Diable's squaw, " I gasped out, beside myself with anger and joy. "Letme but within arm's length of her----"

"Hold quiet, " the priest hissed low and angry, gripping my shoulder likea steel winch. "'Vengeance is mine, ' saith the Lord! See that you savethe white woman! Leave the evil-doer to God! The Lord's with us, but Itell you, don't you bungle!"

"Bungle!" I could have shouted out defiance to the whole band. "Let go!"I ordered, trying to struggle up; for the iron hand still held me. "Letgo, or I'll----"

But Louis Laplante's palm was forcibly slapped across my mouth and hisother hand he laid significantly on his dagger, giving me onethreatening look. By the firelight I saw his lips mechanically countingthe numbers of the enemy and mechanically I audited his count. 

"Twenty men, thirty squaws and the slaves, " said he under his breath. 

An Indian left the fire and approached the captives. 

"See! Watch! Is that woman Miriam?" demanded the priest. "She'll takeher hands from her face now. "

"Of course it is!" I was furious at the restraint and hesitancy; but asI said before, the experienced intriguer proceeds as warily as a cat. 

"You not sure--not for sure--_Mon Dieu_--no, " muttered Laplante; and hewas right. With the forest shadows across the captives, it wasimpossible to distinguish the color of their faces. Taking a knife fromhis belt, the Indian cut the cords of all but the woman with her handsacross her face. A girl brought refuse of food; but this woman took nonotice, never moving her hands. Thereupon the young squaw sneered andthe Indian idlers jeered loud in harsh, strident laughter. This rousedthe big squaw. She strode up, Little Fellow all the while withglistening teeth following her motions as a cat's head turns to a mouse. With the flat of her hand she struck the silent woman, who leaped up andran to a wigwam. In speechless fear, the child had scrambled to its feetand backed away from the angry group towards the ferns; but the lightwas fitful and shadowy, and we could recognize neither woman, nor child. 

"I can't stand this any longer, " I declared. "I must know if that'sMiriam. Let's draw closer. "

Father Holland and I crawled stealthily to the very border of ferngrowth, Louis and the Indian lying still and muttering over some plan ofaction. 

"Hist, " said the priest, "we'll try the child. "

Unlike naked Indian children, the little thing had a loose garmentbanded about its waist; but its feet were bare and its hair as ravenblack as that of any young savage. It stood like some woodland elf inthe maze of heavy sleepiness, at each harsh word from the camp, sidlingshyly closer to our hiding-place. We dragged forward till I could havetouched the child, but feared to startle it. 

Putting his hand out slowly, Father Holland caught the little creature'sarm. It gave a start, jerked back and looked in mute wonderment at ourstrange hiding-place. 

"Pretty boy, " crooned the priest in low, coaxing tones, gentlytightening his hold. 

"Is it white?" I whispered. 

"I can't see. "

"Good little man, " he went on, slowly folding his hands about it. Drawing quickly back, he lifted the child completely into his arms. 

"Is boy sleepy?" he asked. 

"Call him 'Eric, '" I urged. 

"Is Eric sleepy?"

The child's head fell wearily against the priest's shoulder. Snugglingcloser, he lisped back in perfect English, "Eric's tired. "

At once Father Holland's free hand caught my arm as if he feared I mightrush out. For a moment neither of us spoke. 

Then he said, "Give me your coat. "

I ripped off my buckskin-smock. Wrapping the sleeping boy about, thepriest laid him gently among the ferns. 

"Where's the mother?" asked Father Holland with a catching intake ofbreath. 

I pointed to the wigwam. The big squaw had come out, leaving Miriamalone and was engaged in noisy dispute with the men. Louis and LittleFellow had now wriggled abreast of us. 

"Ha, ha, _mon brave_--your time, it come now! You save the white woman!I pay my devoirs to the lady, ha, ha--I owe her much--I pay you bothback with one stroke, one grand stroke. Little Fellow, he watch forspring surprise and help us both! Swoop--snitch--snatch--snap her up!'Tis done--tra-la!" and Louis drew up for all the world like a tigerabout to spring, but the priest drew him down. 

"Listen, " commanded the churchman, in the slow, tense way of one whointended to be obeyed. "I'll go back and come up by the beach. I'llbrow-beat them and tongue-whack them for having slaves. They'll offerfight; so'll I. They'll all run down; that's your chance. Wait till theyall go. I'll make them, every one. That's your chance. You rush! Trythat! If it fail, in the name of the Lord, have y'r weapons ready--andthe Lord be with us!"

"They'll kill you, " I protested. "Let me go!"

"You? What about Frances?"

"Pah!" said Louis. "I go myself--I trick--I trap--I snare 'em----"

"Hush to ye, ye braggart, " interrupted the priest. "Gillespie is asflabby as dough from an illness. 'Tis here you sit quiet, and help withMiriam as ye'd save y'r soul! Howld down with y'r bouncing nonsense, lad, and the saints be with ye; for it's a fight there'll be, and thereis the fightin' stuff of a soldier in ye! Never turn to me--mind yenever turn to help me, or the curse of the fool be on y'r head--and theLord be with us!"

"Amen. " But I spoke to vacancy. While a rising wind set the branchesoverhead grating noisily, he had risen and darted away. Louis Laplante, contrary to the priest's orders, also rose and disappeared in the woods. Little Fellow still lay by me, but I could not rely on him forintelligent action, and there came over me that sense of aloneness indanger, which I knew so well in the Mandane country. The child'sslightest cry might alarm the camp, and I shivered when he breathedheavily, or turned in his sleep. The Indians might miss the boy andsearch the woods. Instinctively my hand was on my pistol. It was well tobe as near Miriam's tent as possible; and I, too, took advantage of thewind to change my place. I moved back, signalling the Indian to follow, and skirted round the open till I was directly opposite Miriam's wigwam. Why had Louis gone off, and why did he not come back? Had he gone tokeep secret guard over the priest, or to decoy the vigilant Sioux woman?In his intentions I had confidence enough, but not in his judgment. Atthat moment my speculations were interrupted by a loud shout from thebeach. Every Indian in camp started up as if hostiles had uttered theirwar-cry. 

"Hallo, there! Hallo! Hallo!" called the priest. Indians dashed to theriver, while bedraggled squaws and naked children rushed from wigwamsand stood in clamorous groups between the lodges and the water. Thetopmost branches of the trees swayed back and forward in the wind, alternately throwing shafts of moonlight and shadows across the openingof Miriam's wigwam. When the light flooded the tent a solitary, white-faced form appeared in dark, sharp outline. The bare arms weretied at the wrists, and beat aimlessly through the darkness. And therewas a sound of piteous weeping. 

Should I make the final, desperate dash now? "Don't bungle His plans, "came the priest's warning; and I waited. The squaws were very near; andthe angular figure of Diable's wife hung on the rear of the group. Shewas scolding like a termagant in the Sioux tongue, ordering the otherwomen to the fray; but still she kept back, looking over her shouldersuspiciously at Miriam's tent, uncertain whether to go or stay. We hadfailed in every other attempt to rescue Miriam. If the Lord--as thepriest believed--had planned the sufferer's aid, His instruments hadblundered badly. There must be no more feeble-fingering. 

"Thieves! Thieves! Cut-throats!" bawled Father Holland in a storm ofabuse. "Ye rascals, " he thundered, cutting the air with his stick andpurposely backing away from the camp to draw the Indians off. Then hisvoice was lost in a chorus of shrill screams. 

The moonlight shone across the wigwam opening. The captive had heard theEnglish tongue, and was listening. But the Sioux squaw had also heardand recognized the voice of a former prisoner. She ran forward a pace, then hesitated, looking back doubtfully. As she turned her head, outfrom the gloom of the thicket with the leap of a lynx, lithe and swift, sprang the crouching form of Louis Laplante. I felt Little Fellow all ina tremor by my side; the tremor not of fear, but of the couchantpanther; and he uttered the most vicious snarl I have ever heard fromhuman throat. Louis alighted neatly and noiselessly, directly behind theSioux woman. She must have felt his presence, for she turned round andround expectantly. Louis, silent and elusive as a shadow, circled abouther, tripping from side to side as she turned her head. But the firebetrayed him. She had wheeled towards the forest as if spying for theunseen presence among the foliage, and Louis deftly dodged behind. Themove put him between the fire and his antagonist, and the full profileof his queer, bending figure was shadowed clear past the woman. Sheturned like some vengeful, malign goddess, and I thought it all up withthe daring trapper; but he doffed his red toque and swept the advancingfury the low bow of a French courtier. Then he drew himself erect andlaughed insolently in the woman's face. His careless assurance allayedher suspicions. 

"Oh, 'tis you!" she growled. 

"'Tis I, fleet-foot, winged messenger, humble slave, " laughed Louis, with another grotesque bow; but the rogue had cleverly put himselfbetween the squaw and Miriam's tent. 

I should have rushed to Miriam's rescue long since, instead of watchingthis by-play between trapper and mountain cat; but as the foray waxedhotter with the priest, the young braves had run back to their tents forguns and clubs. 

"Stand off, ye scoundrels, " roared the priest, in tones of genuineanger; for the Indians were closing threateningly about him. "Standback, ye knaves, ye sons of Satan, " and every soul but Louis Laplanteand the Sioux squaw ran with querulous shouts to the river. 

"Cruel! Cruel! Cruel!" sobbed a voice from the wigwam; and there was astraining to break the thongs which bound her. "Cruel! Cruel! Hast Thouno pity? O my God! Hast Thou no pity? Shall not a sparrow fall to theground without Thy knowledge? Is this Thy pity? O my God!" The voicebroke in a torrent of heart-piercing cries. 

I could endure it no longer. 

"Have at ye, ye villains! Come out like men! Now, me brave bhoys, showthe stuff that's in ye! A fig for y'r valor if ye fail! The curse o' theLord on the coward heart! Back with ye; ye red divils! Out with ye, Rufus! The Lord shall deliver the captive! What, 'an wuld ye dare strikea servant o' the Lord? Let the deliverer appear, I say, " he shouted, weaving in commands to us as he dealt stout blows about him and recededdown the river bank. "Take that--and that--and that, " I heard him shout, with a rat-tat-too of sharp thuds from the staff accompanying eachword. Then I knew the quarrel on the beach was at its height; and LouisLaplante was still foiling the Sioux's approach to Miriam's wigwam likea deft fencer. 

"Follow me, Little Fellow, " I commanded. "Have your knife ready, " and Ihad not finished speaking when three shrill whistles came from Louis. 'Twas his old-time signal of danger. Above the hubbub at the river theSioux squaw was screaming to the braves. 

Bounding from concealment, I tore off the layer roofing of the wigwam, plunged through the tapering pole frame, shaking the frail lean-to likea house of cards, and was beside Miriam. Again I heard Louis' whistleand again the squaw's angry scream; but Little Fellow had followed on myheels and stood with knife-blade glittering bare at the tent-entrance. 

"Hush, " I whispered, slashing my dagger through the thongs around herhands and cutting the rope that held her to the central stake. "We'vefound you at last. Come! Come!" and I caught her up. 

"O my God!" she cried. "At last! At last! Where is the child? They havetaken little Eric!"

"We have him safe! His father is waiting! Don't hesitate, Miriam!"

"Run, Little Fellow, " I ordered, "Across the camp. Get the child, " and Isprang from the wigwam, which crashed to the ground behind me. I hadthought to save skirting the woods by a run across the camping-ground;but when my Indian dashed for the child and the Sioux saw me undefendedwith the white woman in my arms, she made a desperate lunge at Laplanteand called at the top of her voice for the braves. 

Louis, with weapons in hand, still kept between the fury and Miriam; butI think his French chivalry must have been restraining him. Though theSioux offered him many opportunities and was doing her best to sheathe aknife in his heart, he seemed to refrain from using either dagger orpistol. An insolent laugh was on his face. The life-and-death game whichhe was playing was to his daring spirit something novel and amusing. 

"The lady is--perturbed, " he laughed, dodging a thrust at his neck; "shefences wide, tra-la, " this as the barrel of his pistol parried a driveof her knife; "she hits afar--ho--ho--not so fast, my fury--not sofurious, my fair--zipp, ha--ha--ha--another miss--another miss--thelady's a-miss, " for the squaw's weapon struck fire against his own. 

"Look out for the braves, have a care, " I shouted; for a dozen youngbucks were running up behind to the woman's aid. 

"Ha--ha---_prenez garde_--my tiger-cat has kittens, " he laughed; and helooked over his shoulder. 

That backward look gave the fury her opportunity. In the firelight bluesteel flashed bright. The Frenchman reeled, threw up his arms, andfell. One sharp, deep, broken draw of breath, and with a laugh on hislips, Louis Laplante died as he had lived. Then the tiger-cat leapedover the dead form at Miriam and me. 

What happened next I can no more set down consecutively than I candistinguish the parts in a confused picture with a red-eyed furystriking at me, naked Indians brandishing war-clubs, flashes of powdersmoke, a circle of gesticulating, screeching dark faces in thebackground, my Indian fighting like a very fiend, and a pale-faced womanwith a little curly-headed boy at her feet standing against the woods. 

"Run, _Monsieur_; I keep bad Indians off, " urged Little Fellow. "Run--save white squaw and papoose--run, _Monsieur_. "

Now, whatever may be said to the contrary, however brave two men may be, they cannot stand off a horde of armed savages. I let go my wholepistol-charge, which sent the red demons to a distance and intendeddashing for the woods, when the Sioux woman put her hand in her pocketand hurled a flint head at Little Fellow. The brave Indian sprang asideand the thing fell to the ground. With it fell a crumpled sheet ofpaper. I heard rather than saw Little Fellow's crouching leap. Two formsrolled over and over in the camp ashes; and with Miriam on my shoulderand the child under the other arm, I had dashed into the thicket of theupper ground. 

Overhead tossed the trees in a swelling wind, and up from the shorerushed the din of wrangling tongues, screaming and swearing in a clamorof savage wrath. The wind grew more boisterous as I ran. Behind theIndian cries died faintly away; but still with a strength not my own, always keeping the river in view, and often mistaking the pointedbranches, which tore clothing and flesh from head to feet, for the handsof enemies--I fled as if wolves had been pursuing. 

Again and again sobbed Miriam--"O, my God! At last! At last! Thanks beto God! At last! At last!"

We were on a hillock above our camp. Putting Miriam down, I gave her myhand and carried the child. When I related our long, futile search andtold her that Eric was waiting, agitation overcame her, and I said nomore till we were within a few feet of the tents. 

"Please wait. " I left her a short distance from the camp that I might goand forewarn Eric. 

Frances Sutherland met me in the way and read the news which I could notspeak. 

"Have you--oh--have you?" she asked. "Who is that?" and she pointed tothe child in my arms. 

"Where's Hamilton? Where's your father?" I demanded, trembling fromexhaustion and all undone. 

"Mr. Hamilton is in his tent priming a gun. Father is watching theriver. And oh, Rufus! is it really so?" she cried, catching, sight ofMiriam's stooped, ragged figure. Then she darted past me. Both her armsencircled Miriam, and the two began weeping on each other's shouldersafter the fashion of women. 

I heard a cough inside Hamilton's tent. Going forward, I lifted thecanvas flap and found Eric sitting gloomily on a pile of robes. 

"Eric, " I cried, in as steady a voice as I command, which indeed, wasshaking sadly, and I held the child back that Hamilton might not see, "Eric, old man, I think at last we've run the knaves down. "

"Hullo!" he exclaimed with a start, not knowing what I had said. "Areyou men back? Did you find out anything?"

"Why--yes, " said I: "we found this, " and I signalled Frances to bringMiriam. 

This was no way to prepare a man for a shock that might unhinge reason;but my mind had become a vacuum and the warm breath of the childnestling about my neck brought a mist before my eyes. 

"What did you say you had found?" asked Hamilton, looking up from hisgun to the tent-way; for the morning light already smote through thedark. 

"This, " I said, lifting the canvas a second time and drawing Miriamforward. 

I could but place the child in her arms. She glided in. The flap fell. There was the smothered outcry of one soul--rent by pain. 

"Miriam--Miriam--my God--Miriam!" "Come away, " whispered a choky voiceby my side, and Frances linked her arm through mine. 

Then the tent was filled and the night air palpitated with sounds ofanguished weeping. And with tears raining from my eyes, I hastened awayfrom what was too sacred for any ear but a pitying God's. That had cometo my life which taught me the depths of Hamilton's suffering. 

"Dearest, " said I, "now we understand both the pain and the joy ofloving, " and I kissed her white brow. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PRIEST JOURNEYS TO A FAR COUNTRY

Again the guest-chamber of the Sutherland home was occupied. 

How came it that a Catholic priest lay under a Protestant roof? Howcomes it that the new west ever ruthlessly strips reality naked of creedand prejudice and caste, ever breaks down the barrier relics of amouldering past, ever forces recognition of men as individuals withindividual rights, apart from sect and class and unmerited prerogatives?The Catholic priest was wounded. The Protestant home was near. Manhoodin Protestant garb recognized manhood in Roman cassock. Necessitycommanded. Prejudice obeyed as it ever obeys in that vast land ofuntrameled freedom. So Father Holland was cared for in the Protestanthome with a tenderness which Mr. Sutherland would have repudiated. Formy part, I have always thanked God for that leveling influence of thewest. It pulls the fools from high places and awards only onecrown--merit. 

It was Little Fellow who had brought Father Holland, wounded andinsensible, from the Sioux camp. 

"What of Louis Laplante's body, Little Fellow?" I asked, as soon as Ihad seen all the others set out for the settlement with Father Hollandlying unconscious in the bottom of the canoe. 

"The white man, I buried in the earth as the white men do--deep in theclay to the roots of the willow, so I buried the Frenchman, " answeredthe Indian. "And the squaw, I weighted with stones at her feet; for theytrod on the captives. And with stones I weighted her throat, which wasmarked like the deer's when the mountain cat springs. With the stones ather throat and her feet, the squaw, I rolled into the water. "

"What, Little Fellow, " I cried, remembering how I had seen him roll overand over through the camp-fire, with his hands locked on the Siouxwoman's throat, "did you kill the daughter of L'Aigle?"

"Non, _Monsieur_; Little Fellow no bad Indian. But the squaw threw aflint and the flint was poison, and my hands were on her throat, and thesquaw fell into the ashes, and when Little Fellow arose she was dead. Did she not slay La Robe Noire? Did she not slay the white man beforeMonsieur's eyes? Did she not bind the white woman? Did she not drag meover the ground like a dead stag? So my fingers caught hard in herthroat, and when I arose she lay dead in the ashes. So I fled and hidtill the tribe left. So I shoved her into the water and pushed herunder, and she sank like a heavy rock. Then I found the priest. "

I had no reproaches to offer Little Fellow. He had only obeyed thesavage instincts of a savage race, exacting satisfaction after his ownfashion. 

"The squaw threw a flint. The flint was poison. Also the squaw threwthis at Little Fellow, white man's paper with signs which are magic, "and the Indian handed me the sheet, which had fallen from the woman'spocket as she hurled her last weapon. 

Without fear of the magic so terrifying to him, I took the dirty, crumpled missive and unfolded it. The superscription of Quebec citadelwas at the top. With overwhelming revulsion came memory of poor LouisLaplante lying at the camp-fire in the gorge tossing a crumpled piece ofpaper wide of the flames, where the Sioux squaw surreptitiously pickedit up. The paper was foul and tattered almost beyond legibility; butthrough the stains I deciphered in delicate penciling these words:

 "In memory of last night's carouse in Lower Town, (one favor deserves another, you know, and I got you free of that scrape), spike the gun of my friend the enemy. If R-f-s G--p--e, E. H--l-t-n, J--k MacK, or any of that prig gang come prying round your camp for news, put them on the wrong track. I owe the whole ---- ---- set a score. Pay it for me, and we'll call the loan square. "

No name was signed; but the scene in the Quebec club three years before, when Eric had come to blows with Colonel Adderly, explained not only theauthorship but Louis' treachery. 'Tis the misfortune of errant rogueslike poor Louis that to get out of one scrape ever involves them in aworse. Now I understood the tumult of contradictory emotions that hadwrought upon him when I had saved his life and he had resolved to undothe wrong to Miriam. 

Little Fellow put the small canoe to rights, and I had soon joined theothers at the Sutherland homestead. But for two days the priest lay asone dead, neither moaning nor speaking. On the morning of the third, though he neither opened his eyes nor gave sign of recognition, he askedfor bread. Then my heart gave a great bound of hope--for surely a mandesiring food is recovering!--and I sent Frances Sutherland to him andwent out among the trees above the river. 

That sense of resilient relief which a man feels on discharging animpossible task, or throwing off too heavy a burden, came over me. Miriam was rescued, the priest restored, and I dowered with God's bestgift--the love of a noble, fair woman. Hard duty's compulsion no longerspurred me; but my thoughts still drove in a wild whirl. There was aglassy reflection of a faded moon on the water, and daybreak camerustling through the trees which nodded and swayed overhead. Atwittering of winged things arose in the branches, first only thecadence of a robin's call, an oriole's flute-whistle, the stirringwren's mellow note. Then, suddenly, out burst from the leafed sprays achorus of song that might have rivaled angels' melodies. The robin'scall was a gust of triumph. The oriole's strain lilted exultant and athousand throats gushed out golden notes. 

"Now God be praised for love and beauty and goodness--and above all--forFrances--for Frances, " were the words that every bird seemed to besinging; though, indeed, the interpretation was only my heart'sresponse. I know not how it was, but I found myself with hat off andbowed head, feeling a gratitude which words could not frame--for thesplendor of the universe and the glory of God. 

"Rufus, " called a voice more musical to my ear than any bird song; andFrances was at my side with a troubled face. "He's conscious andtalking, but I can't understand what he means. Neither can Miriam andEric. I wish you would come in. "

I found the priest pale as the pillows against which he leaned, withglistening eyes gazing fixedly high above the lintel of the door. Miriam, with her snow-white hair and sad-lined face, was fanning the airbefore him. At the other side stood Eric with the boy in his arms. Mr. Sutherland and I entered the room abreast. For a moment his wistful gazefell on the group about the bed. First he looked at Eric and the child, then at Miriam, and from Miriam to me, then back to the child. Themeaning of it all dawned, gleamed and broke in full knowledge upon him;and his face shone as one transfigured. 

"The Lord was with us, " he muttered, stroking Miriam's white hair. "Praise be to God! Now I can die in peace----"

"No, you can't, Father, " I cried impetuously. 

"Ye irriverent ruffian, " he murmured with a flash of old mirth and agentle pressure of my hand. "Ye irriverent ruffian. Peace! Peace! I diein peace, " and again the wistful eyes gazed above the door. 

"Rufus, " he whispered softly, "where are they taking me?"

"Taking you?" I asked in surprise; but Frances Sutherland's finger wason her lips, and I stopped myself before saying more. 

"Troth, yes, lad, where are they taking me? The northern tribes haveheard not a word of the love of the Lord; and I must journey to a far, far country. "

At that the boy set up some meaningless child prattle. The priest heardhim and listened. 

"Father, " asked the child in the language of Indians when referring to apriest, "Father, if the good white father goes to a far, far away, who'll go to northern tribes?" "And a little child shall lead them, "murmured the priest, thinking he, himself, had been addressed andfeeling out blindly for the boy. Eric placed the child on the bed, andFather Holland's wasted hands ran through the lad's tangled curls. 

"A little child shall lead them, " he whispered. "Lord, now lettest ThouThy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation. Alight to lighten the Gentiles--and a little child shall lead them. "

Then I first noticed the filmy glaze, as of glass, spreading slowlyacross the priest's white face. Blue lines were on his temples and hislips were drawn. A cold chill struck to my heart, like icy steel. Toowell I read the signs and knew the summons; and what can love, orgratitude, do in the presence of that summons? Miriam's face was hiddenin her hands and she was weeping silently. 

"The northern tribes know not the Lord and I go to a far country; but alittle child shall lead them!" repeated the priest. 

"Indeed, Sir, he shall be dedicated to God, " sobbed Miriam. "I shalltrain him to serve God among the northern tribes. Do not worry! God willraise up a servant----"

But her words were not heeded by the priest. 

"Rufus, lad, " he said, gazing afar as before, "Lift me up, " and I tookhim in my arms. 

"My sight is not so good as it was, " he whispered. "There's a dimnessbefore my face, lad! Can _you_ see anything up there?" he asked, staring longingly forward. 

"Faith, now, what might they all be doing with stars for diadems? Whatfor might the angels o' Heaven be doin' going up and down betwane theblue sky and the green earth? Faith, lad, 'tis daft ye are, a-changin'of me clothes! Lave the black gown, lad! 'Tis the badge of poverty andHe was poor and knew not where to lay His head of a weary night! Lavethe black gown, I say! What for wu'd a powr Irish priest be doin'a-wearin' of radiant white? Where are they takin' me, Rufus? Not toonear the light, lad! I ask but to kneel at the Master's feet an' kissthe hem of His robe!"

There was silence in the room, but for the subdued sobbing of Miriam. Frances had caught the priest's wrists in both her hands, and had buriedher face on the white coverlet. With his back to the bed, Mr. Sutherlandstood by the window and I knew by the heaving of his angular shouldersthat flood-gates of grief had opened. There was silence; but for thehard, sharp, quick, short breathings of the priest. A crested birdhopped to the window-sill with a chirp, then darted off through thequivering air with a glint of sunlight from his flashing wings. I heardthe rustle of morning wind and felt the priest's face growing coldagainst my cheek. 

"I must work the Master's work, " he whispered, in shortbroken breaths, "while it is day--for the night cometh--whenno man--can work. --Don't hold me back, lad--for I must go--to afar, far country--It's cold, cold, Rufus--the way is--rugged--my feetare slipping--slipping--give a hand--lad!--Praise to God--there's aresting-place--somewhere!--Farewell--boy--be brave--farewell--I may notcome back soon--but I must--journey--to--a----far----far----"

There was a little gasp for breath. His head felt forward and Francessobbed out, "He is gone! He is gone!"

And the warmth of pulsing life in the form against my shoulder gaveplace to the rigid cold of motionless death. 

"May the Lord God of Israel receive the soul of His righteous servant, "cried Mr. Sutherland in awesome tones. 

With streaming eyes he came forward and helped me to lay the priestback. 

Then we all passed out from that chamber, made sacred by an invisiblepresence. 

 * * * * *

VALEDICTORY. 

'Twas twenty years after Father Holland's death that a keen-eyed, dark-skinned, young priest came from Montreal on his way to Athabasca. 

This was Miriam's son. 

To-day it is he, the missionary famous in the north land, who passingback and forward between his lonely mission in the Athabasca and theheadquarters of his order, comes to us and occupies the guest-chamber inour little, old-fashioned, vine-grown cottage. 

The retaking of Fort Douglas virtually closed the bitter war betweenHudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers. To both companies the conflict had provedruinous. Each was as anxious as the other for the terms of peace bywhich the great fur-trading rivals were united a few years after themassacre of Seven Oaks. 

So ended the despotic rule of gentlemen adventurers in the far north. The massacre turned the attention of Britain to this unknown land andthe daring heroism of explorers has given place to the patientnation-building of multitudes who follow the pioneer. Such is the recordof a day that is done.