The Chief of the Ranges: A Tale of the Yukon

CHAPTER V

SECRET DEPTHS

Natsatt opened his eyes and looked around the lodge. Yes, he had been asleep, and it was only a dream after all. But the singing continued. Was it the echo of that strange invisible world following him still into the world of reality? The refrain was familiar, an old tune he had heard years before. He glanced toward Owindia, and then all became clear. Her head was bent, her cheeks were flushed, and she was singing as she worked. For a time Natsatt made no movement. He was content to watch and listen. That was happiness enough.

Klitonda sat in his former position, with his knees drawn up close to his chin, gazing thoughtfully into the fire. He seemed to be paying no heed to what was taking place around him. Ere long Natsatt ran his hand beneath his own buck-skin jacket, and drew forth a small shining mouth-organ. Placing this to his lips he began to play softly the tune he had just heard. The effect was magical. Owindia started, dropped her work, and let her hands fall into her lap. Her eyes, filled with wonder, turned upon the player. The only musical instrument she knew was the doleful Indian drum. But this! Her heart beat wildly, and a new sensation thrilled her entire being. When the music ceased Natsatt smiled as he noted the expression upon the maiden's face.

"You like it?" he asked.

"Ah, ah. Wonderful! Wonderful!" she sighed. "I didn't know there was anything like it in the whole world. My mother often tried to tell me about such things, but she said I would have to hear for myself before I could really know."

"But where did you learn that song?" Natsatt questioned, speaking for the first time in English. "I didn't know you understood the white man's language."

"My mother taught it to me. She often sang it. She had such a nice voice."

"And did your mother speak English?"

"Ah, ah. There was white blood in her veins."

"And she taught you the white man's tongue?"

"Ah, ah. Even when I was a baby she would talk to me in English, but since she died I have not heard anyone speak it until you came."

"Do you know any other song?" Natsatt asked. "Did your mother teach you anything else?"

"Ah, ah. But I have forgotten most of them. There is one I remember quite well; it is so pretty."

"Will you sing it for me, please?"

Natsatt wished to hear her voice again, it was so perfectly natural. His soul had always been stirred by the sighing of the wind, the ripple of the brooks, or the spontaneous outpourings of the little feathered songsters. And now this sweet, clear voice was thrilling him in a similar manner.

Placing the mouth-organ to his lips Natsatt accompanied her as she sang. Never before had the little companion of his wandering life sounded so sweet. How often had that frail instrument cheered his loneliness; what solitudes had reverberated its voice down long sombre arches; and how many trail-worn men, sitting around their camp fires at night had been stirred by thoughts of other and happier days. It had done wonderful things, that little mouth-organ, not because of any intrinsic value, but by reason of the soul which poured forth its deep longings through the simple mechanism. And Natsatt always played with much expression. But now his instrument seemed to be a living thing, and when Owindia had ceased singing the player drifted off upon various airs one after another in rapid succession. It was the one way in which he could give vent to his feelings. He could tell it exactly what was in his heart, whether of joy or sorrow. It was all the outpouring of joy now, the ecstasy of discovery, the feeling that another life of love had blended with his.

"Do all of the white race play like that?" asked Klitonda when Natsatt had ceased. "Can all make such wonderful sounds?"

"Not all," was the reply. "But you should hear some of them. They would laugh at this," and Natsatt pointed to the mouth-organ. "There are as many kinds of things upon which they make music as there are different animals in the woods. There is one bigger than this lodge, which can growl like a bear, roar like thunder, and warble like all the birds. There is hardly any sound it cannot make."

"It must be wonderful," Klitonda sighed. "The white man can do so many things, and you have seen them all. Klota used to tell me about them, but somehow I did not believe her. I thought she must have dreamed them."

"I have not seen all the strange things myself," Natsatt responded, "but I have listened to men who have. At first I did not believe all they said, but now I know that they spoke true."

So sitting there in that quiet lodge he poured into the ears of his eager listeners some of the marvels of the strange world beyond the eastern mountains. He told them of cities, where houses stood closer together than the trees of the thickest forest; of canoes as big as hills; of railroads, horses, carriages; of other lands beyond the great water, where people were as many as the snow flakes falling outside. He told about the Queen mother, of her battle ships, her soldiers, how she ruled such a large part of the world, and no one could conquer her.

To all this Klitonda listened with marked interest. But when Natsatt spoke about the Queen's navy and army his eyes glowed with an intense light.

"And is the Queen mother stronger than the Chilcats?" he asked. "Could she conquer them?"

"Bah! The Chilcats are only rabbits to her," was the contemptuous reply.

"And will her warriors come to help the Ayana drive back the Chilcats, and keep them beyond the Coast Range?" Klitonda eagerly questioned.

Natsatt looked thoughtfully at this worried chief for a while ere replying. He knew what changes would take place in this northern region if the white men came pouring in. Did he not know something of the history of the Indians in other parts of Canada; how step by step they were being forced from their ancestral hunting grounds, to find their game slaughtered by white men, and they themselves treated as babies, cooped up on reserves or falling a prey to the deadly fire-water. Should he tell Klitonda how the Indians in Eastern Canada, and in the United States had been treated by the white men until they had risen in their fury in a vain attempt to drive the invaders back, and of the fearful horrors which followed the bloody battles which had been fought? How could he relate such things to this confiding chief? What would be the use?

"Do you wish the white men to help you against the Chilcats?" he asked.

"Ah, ah. See," and Klitonda stretched out his arm to the left as he spoke, "all this land belonged to the Ayana people. They hunted and trapped in the forest, and fished in the streams as did their fathers before them. They were strong, and their warriors feared no foe. But the Chilcats beat them in a great battle, and the hearts of the Ayana became weak. They run away; they hide in the woods, and mountains. They hear the wolves of the coast coming, and they tremble. They trade their furs and get little or nothing for them. The Chilcats steal the wives and daughters of the Ayana. They tried to steal Owindia. Klota fought them, and she died. Klitonda came suddenly from the forest. He killed one Chilcat, and the other escaped."

The chief had risen to his feet, and was standing erect as he uttered these words. The memory of that outrage was stirring his soul. His eyes glowed, and his hands were hard-clenched by his side. Natsatt had caught Klitonda's spirit. His heart beat in sympathy with the Indian's.

"And are the Chilcats such wolves?" he demanded.

"Ah, ah, much worse," the chief replied. "Wolves are sometimes satisfied, but the Chilcats never. They are always hunting Klitonda. They never stop. They would kill him, and steal Owindia. The son of the Chilcat chief wants her. She is never safe."

Natsatt's heart now beat faster than ever, and he glanced toward Owindia sitting quietly before him. She had been looking full into his face as he talked with her father. She was leaning somewhat forward, her eyes sparkling with animation, with her lips slightly parted. She had been drinking in every word that had been said about the great world of the white race. Her eyes dropped as they encountered those of the young man, and a flush mantled her cheeks. Into Natsatt's heart shot a sudden feeling of dread. He understood why the son of the Chilcat chief should seek to obtain this maiden. Such beauty of features, and perfection of form would be fatal gifts even in the world of civilisation. But here in the wilderness where might was right, how hardly could she escape. The thought of her danger grew stronger upon him. But what could he do to save her? He must make an effort at any rate. He must not lose her now. And yet his own position was as precarious as hers. If the Chilcats were as ferocious as Klitonda had described they would not long endure the presence of the white traders in the country. Even now, no doubt, they knew about the Post, and were planning for its speedy destruction. It would therefore be necessary for him to leave Owindia, hurry down the river, and warn his companions of the danger to which they were exposed. But how could he go away from this maiden, who all unconsciously was exerting such a strong influence upon his restless spirit? So impetuous was his nature that he did not stop to consider what Owindia's feelings might be toward him. He thought merely of his own happiness and what it meant to be near her, and to look upon her face. In her presence there was fulness of life, such as he had never known before. And to think that she was in danger from the Chilcats! A flood of anger suddenly rushed upon him. Why did the Ayana allow such tyrants to oppress them? They were strong enough to hurl back the invaders, and why did they not do it?

"Have the Ayana no hearts?" he asked, turning toward Klitonda. "Can nothing be done to arouse them to fight the Chilcats, and to drive them back?"

"Nothing," was the sad reply. "Klitonda has gone from camp to camp, and has said much. The Ayana talk, but do nothing."

"Are they all weak-hearted?" Natsatt demanded. "Are there none who will stand by their chief?"

"There are some who are not cowards, but they are only a few. They would follow Klitonda to the death if he called them."

Thus Natsatt learned that little help could be expected from the Ayana Indians. The white traders had come into the country, and were they to be driven back, probably killed, when spring came? No, such a thing must not happen. As soon as the storm abated he would hurry back to the Post. It would be necessary for him to leave Owindia for a while. To remain would be worse than useless.

And thus throughout the short winter day the three sat quietly in the lodge and talked of many things. The conversation was mostly between Klitonda and Natsatt, but occasionally Owindia spoke, and her words were always like the sweetest of music to the ardent young lover.

CHAPTER VI

REJECTED

The next morning the sky was clear, the tempest having beaten out its fury during the night. It had been the heaviest storm of the season, and in fact for several years. The snow was piled high around the lodge, and it was with difficulty that Klitonda forced his way through the yielding mass to gain the outer world. It was necessary for him to hasten forth as the last stick had been thrown upon the fire, and he must seek for more dry fuel amidst the forest. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees. They stood shrouded and heavily laden with their white burden. Not a sound broke the intense silence, and no track of man, beast or bird marred the snow.

Within the lodge stood Natsatt and Owindia. The former was girt for a long journey, and a pair of snow-shoes, borrowed from Klitonda, leaned against the wall. He was holding Owindia's hands in his, and his eyes were looking lovingly into her blushing downcast face. There was not the slightest doubt as to the attitude of the two. A love deep and tender burned within their hearts. They had waited years for such a meeting. Natsatt had wandered far and wide, but not until he had reached this spot in the forest did he find the one to whom his heart responded.

"And you will come back—some day?" Owindia was asking. "You will not forget?"

"Forget? How can I ever forget?" was the passionate reply. "And you will be waiting for me, will you not, little one? You will be glad to see me?"

"Ah, ah. The days will be like years while you are away. But sometimes I fear you might never return. Since you came life has been so different. There is much to live for now. And yet—"

Here she hesitated, and paused.

"What is it?" questioned Natsatt.

"I have been wondering how you, a white man, can love Owindia. There must be so many maidens of your own race beyond the mountains of the rising sun. I know so little, while they must be so wise and beautiful."

"Oh, that's what's troubling you," Natsatt laughed, pressing her hands more firmly in his. "But I am as much an Indian, nay more so, than you are. I speak several Indian languages better than the English; I was born in the wilderness, and have spent most of my life there. And I am going to tell you something now which may astonish you. My father was a white man, but my mother was an Indian woman. So you see I am what is called a 'half-breed.'"

Owindia started at these words, and looked keenly into Natsatt's eyes to make sure that he was speaking the truth.

"But you seem like a white man," she replied. "Maybe you are laughing at Owindia in your heart."

"No, no, I am not," protested the young man. "What I tell you is true. People at times will not believe me because I look so much like a full-blooded white man. But surely you will believe me. Why should I lie to you?"

"I know now you tell me true when you look at me that way," and Owindia glanced shyly at him as she spoke. "My heart is, oh, so happy. It sings all the time."

In response to this Natsatt stooped, and imprinted a fervent kiss upon her lips. It was the first time that she had known a lover's kiss, and it thrilled her whole being. Owindia did nothing by halves. She was a creature of the wild. Her likes and dislikes were strong. When her heart was stirred it was intense, overwhelming. Lifting her long slender arms she twined them suddenly around Natsatt's neck, and laid her cheek against his. Never had she known such real happiness, not even in the days when her mother had enfolded her in her loving embrace.

And thus all through that day she lived in a world of dreams. Her mind was ever with Natsatt, and she pictured him speeding over the snow on his way down to the trading Post.

Her father did not notice her far away look, nor her abstracted manner, for he himself was lost in a world of deep thought. He sat hour after hour before the fire with his knees close up to his chin, staring straight before him. He only bestirred himself to replenish the fire or to eat his frugal meal which Owindia prepared. He sat in this position until midnight. Then he rolled himself up in his blanket and slept till morning. When he awoke his every movement spoke of definite action. Owindia was surprised to see him set to work to take down the numerous pelts from the walls and arrange them in two piles. Sometimes he would stand for a while as if debating with himself into which pile he would put certain valuable furs. When at last all the skins had been taken down he tied the two bundles together with stout moose-hide thongs.

Owindia asked no questions. She understood her father's peculiar moods and knew when to be silent. He would tell her his plans at the proper time, she felt sure.

Putting on his snow-shoes, and swinging the larger bundle upon his shoulder, Klitonda left the lodge and strode rapidly across the open until he came to a place where three trees stood quite close together. Up among the branches was his cache, where he kept his supply of moose meat safe from prowling dogs and wolves. Tying a long moose-hide cord to the bundle, and taking the other end in his hand he climbed one of the trees to the scaffold of poles above. Then drawing up the heavy bundle he placed it in the centre of the cache, and with a grunt of satisfaction returned by the way he had come. Once back in the lodge his tongue became unloosened.

"Little one," he began, "my heart is much stirred by what the stranger told us. The white men have come, and have built the trading Post. They will help us to drive back the Chilcats. As I sat by the fire last night I saw a strange sight. Klota, your mother, seemed to be standing by my side, and she was pointing toward the mountains of the rising sun. And as I looked I saw the passes filled with people of the white race coming toward me. I am sure now that they are on their way into this country, and will help us."

"Perhaps you were dreaming, father," Owindia replied.

"No, no, it was no dream. I was awake, and know it was real. So, little one, we must hurry away from here, and bear the great news to our people. They will not refuse to rouse to action when I tell them about the white men, and what they will do for us. I shall take these furs as gifts to the scattered bands. You must come with me. We shall hasten away at once, for there is no time to lose."

Owindia knew how useless it would be to argue with her father when once his mind was settled upon some definite line of action. With a sigh she gathered up her few belongings, tied them in a small bundle, and took down her light snow-shoes from two pegs driven into the wall. She did not cherish the idea of leaving the snug cabin for the long marches over the dreary wastes of a snow-shrouded land. She wished to remain where she was, for the hope was strong within her heart that Natsatt would shortly return, and what would he think when he found the place deserted? She kept these thoughts to herself, however, and obediently followed her father out of the cabin, with her small pack suspended over her shoulders.

Once outside the lodge Klitonda paused and stood for a few moments lost in thought. Then lifting up his face, he uttered words such as Owindia had never heard him speak before.

"Great Spirit," he began, "and Klota's Great Father, listen to Klitonda. Give the Ayana people hearts of fire, and strength of grizzlies of the mountains, that they may rise and drive back the Chilcats. Send the white people into this land like the wild geese when the ice leaves the rivers, and the snow disappears, that they may help us."

He ceased, and stood for a few moments looking straight before him. Then without another word he strode forward into the sombre forest, with Owindia following silently after.

For days they threaded their way over the great silent land. Spectres they seemed gliding through forests, climbing steep hills, winding along sloping mountain sides, and dotting here and there large inland lakes. Occasionally they stayed their steps where a few lone hunters and trappers had their camp. At each place Klitonda would spend the whole night talking to the eager few gathered about the camp fire. Formerly one topic, and only one, was the theme of vital importance, and that was the hated Chilcats. Now the interest was greatly intensified by the story of the advent of the white men. Deeply interested in his subject, and a natural orator of much repute among the tribes of the North, Klitonda as a rule succeeded in imparting to his hearers some of his own enthusiasm. But, alas, after he left, the fire generally burned low, and sometimes went out altogether. In the presence of their chief the Ayana people could be stirred for a time, but the fear of the Chilcats was too strong for the impression to last.

Klitonda's stay at such places was always short. Miles beyond he knew there was a large band of Indians, and thither he and Owindia turned their faces. It was a cold late afternoon as weary with their long march, they reached the encampment, and here that night Klitonda related again the marvellous tale he had come so far to tell. For this moment he had been longing since the day he had started forth from his lonely lodge in the wilderness. Surely now these hunters would respond as they listened to the story of the white man, the opportunity for better trade, and the assistance they would receive in driving back the Chilcats. But as he talked his keen eyes noted the apathy upon the faces of those before him. He even detected signs of hostility, which was different from anything he had ever experienced in their midst. They had always treated him with marked respect even though they did not carry out his wishes. When at length he ceased the usual exclamations of assent were wanting. A deep silence prevailed, which to Klitonda was most ominous. He could not understand the meaning of such action. When, however, old Nagu, the crafty medicine man, rose slowly to his feet, light dawned upon the chief's mind. In this man he saw his bitter opponent, his violent enemy. He recalled the day, over a year ago, when he had mortally offended this wily impostor. He had refused to pay the customary tribute, or "medicine," of valuable furs and skins to this man. He had told him that his incantations were all a farce, and that he himself was a useless humbug. For years Klitonda had despised the vain pretensions of this creature. He had kept his thoughts to himself, however, and had paid the required tribute, until that day, when roused by the insolence of the man, he had expressed his feelings in no moderate terms. Klitonda had yet to learn that the way of the reformer is hard, and that people held in thrall by the ingrained superstition of ages, are not easily taught to open their eyes to the bright light of a new and an ampler day. Such a task at any time is difficult, but it is increased tenfold when the acknowledged leaders, whether they be prophets, priests or medicine men are themselves debased, and are seeking for material gain and personal influence.

And such was Nagu. Those who honoured him, he favoured; but woe betide the man or woman daring enough to offer any opposition. So standing there in the midst of his people, he hurled his pent-up anger at Klitonda. Subtly concealing his own personal injury he upbraided the chief as the cause of all their present trouble. He had been stirring up strife, had killed the Chilcat brave, and thus brought upon the Ayana people the extra vengeance of the coast tribe. And what were they now to do? The Chilcats were coming in full force, and if Klitonda were not delivered up terrible would be the consequences.

During his harangue the medicine man had worked himself up to the highest pitch of fury. He foamed, raved, and gesticulated like a madman, while all the time his eyes glared upon Klitonda with the most intense hatred.

During this attack the chief stood like a statue, with Owindia crouching near at his feet. The latter was terrified by the scene before her. But not a movement of her father's face betrayed the state of his feelings. It was only when the medicine man had ceased and the murmurs of approval had subsided, that he took a step forward, and looked around upon the assembled natives. A sadness, mingled with pity might have been detected in his eyes as he stood there. Then he lifted his right arm and pointed to the medicine man.

"Will the Ayana people listen to such words as that creature has just uttered?" he asked. "They know it is not Klitonda who is to blame for all their trouble; it is their own cowardly hearts. Where is the spirit of our ancestors? Where is the power of our once famous Ayana tribe? There was a time when the call to battle was like the sweetest of music to our people. They gloried in war. Klitonda would rouse the Ayana to action. But they would rather be slaves. They wish to crawl like dogs at the feet of the Chilcat wolves. Klitonda is your chief. He has never failed his people yet. He stands here to-night; his daughter is there," and he partly turned as he spoke and pointed to the pathetic figure of Owindia crouching upon the snow. "Take your chief; take his daughter, and give them to the Chilcats that you may be safe. Then go and tell your little ones, and when they are grown let them tell their children that you were afraid to fight; that your hearts were like water, and your arms like straw, and you gave up your chief and his daughter to those wolves of the coast. How will it sound? You hunters and trappers, answer me that. Klitonda is willing to give himself, nay to die for his people. Here he stands, come and take him."

He paused, and waited for some one to advance. But none moved. What hunter would dare to lay hands upon that chief, of whose courage and prowess they were well aware? They did not even look upon his face, but sat or stood with downcast averted eyes. Their chiefs words had cut deep, for they knew that they were true. Only the medicine man glared like a wild beast, but to him Klitonda gave no heed.

The latter waited to see what the people would do. But finding that they remained silent and inactive, he turned to Owindia and took her by the hand.

"Come, little one," he said. "Let us get back to the wilderness. Our people do not want us."

Not a word was uttered, and not a hand was raised as father and daughter left the camp, and turned their faces toward the black, silent forest. The chief had come to his own, to help, to uplift them; but his own received him not. They preferred the flesh pots of serfdom to the freedom of a larger and a fuller life.

Klitonda was accustomed to discouragements. He could meet death without a tremor. When face to face with avowed enemies his heart thrilled with the joy of conflict. But when it came to downright opposition and repulsion by his own people it was different. Next to Owindia they were nearest his heart in affection. For them he had toiled and suffered, and for them he was willing to die. Their pitiable downtrodden condition moved him deeply. Though he had often lashed the men with stinging words in the hope of stirring the spirit of manhood within them, there was really no anger in his heart. He had looked upon their strong, lithe forms; he had studied them at their games, in which they rivalled with one another in feats of endurance. Oh, if he could only utilise such strength in a more worthy cause, how much might be accomplished. He had watched the bright-eyed comely maidens, and a sadness always filled his heart, for he knew that the more beautiful they were the sooner would they be likely to fall captives to the wily Chilcats. Even the little babes in their moose-skin bags touched him. What trials and sorrows they had ahead of them—the same life of serfdom as their parents. For the cowardice of their forefathers the little ones must tread the cruel trail of affliction.

So on this night of the rejection as he and Owindia pushed speedily on their way, there was no feeling of bitterness within his heart except for the medicine man. He knew that that wretched creature had much to do with his present failure. He himself was free from his dominating power. But not so the rest of the tribe.

Owindia uttered not a word as she followed her father through the shadowy forest. She was tired not only in body but also in mind. The trying ordeal through which they had just passed had almost overcome her. She knew that now they were exposed to two dangers, one from the Chilcats; the other, from their own people. Surely no outcasts were ever placed in a more lamentable position than were these two waifs of the night.

No word of complaint, no outcry at the injustice done to him, broke from Klitonda's lips. He was not like the cur, which rushes away at a kick it has received. He was rather like some lordly monarch of the forest, which deeply wounded seeks some quiet spot to be alone in its great agony. No sleep came to his eyes that night. Amid a friendly thicket of fir trees he made their camp, and while Owindia slept, he either sat before the fire, or paced restlessly up and down among the trees. He was most alert, and at every sound he listened intently, partly expecting an attack from his own people. That they were contemplating handing him and Owindia over to the Chilcats he had not the slightest doubt. When he was present with them he knew they had not the courage to seize him. But under cover of night they might make the attack, expecting to find him asleep.

All the next day they continued on their journey, back to the lodge in the wilderness. Owindia was well accustomed to the trail, and did not find it difficult to keep up with her father. Although grieving over what had recently taken place, a sweet peace dwelt in her heart. Natsatt was constantly in her mind, and the thought of him cheered her through the long hours of the day, and she fell asleep at night thinking of her lover. Could Natsatt have seen the graceful swing of her lithe form, and beheld the rich colour of perfect health mantling cheeks and brow, he would have been more enamoured than ever. Owindia confided none of her happy thoughts to her father. He was too much engrossed with his own cares at present. She was content to keep them hidden away within her own breast, like dew-kissed flowers nestling in some secret dell.

The second night Klitonda was too weary to keep watch. He felt safer now, and believed that they would not be followed so far into the forest. He remained for a while, however, after Owindia had fallen asleep, watching the dying embers. Then he rolled himself up in his warm wolf-skin blanket, and was soon in slumber deep.

CHAPTER VII

TOKENS

Silence prevailed for a few minutes in the Indian encampment after Klitonda and Owindia had left. All sat or stood with bent heads, each waiting for some one else to speak first. Nagu alone cast his eyes furtively around. He was pleased at the defeat of the chief, but somewhat disturbed by the stillness which reigned. He partly divined the cause, and believed that the Indians were ashamed of their own cowardice, and the way they had treated Klitonda. He knew how his own influence even now hung in the balance, and it needed only a few to make a decided stand, and all would join them.

And while this unnatural quietness brooded over the place a score of hunters glided into their midst. Their arrival at this moment was most opportune. The tension was relieved, and all began to talk at once. The subject was Klitonda, and the message he had delivered. Nothing was said about the medicine man or the part that he had played in defeating the object of their chief's visit. But the returned hunters at length learned the whole story when Nagu had betaken himself to his own lodge. They were a score of strapping braves, and had travelled far that day. But all sense of weariness disappeared as they drew aside and earnestly consulted with one another. Out in the wild during the long nights around their camp fires they had discussed many things concerning their own land, and the dominant sway of the Chilcats. For their chief they had the most profound respect. They believed that with a band of men to support him the invaders could be driven back. This idea had been gripping them hard for some time, and had drawn them together more than formerly. Kindred spirits they were who had now emerged from the forest at this critical moment.

The medicine man was not satisfied with their presence. He watched them from his lodge, and endeavoured to hear what they were saying, but all in vain, for the young men spoke low, and kept their counsel to themselves. Had Nagu drawn near just then it would not have been well with him, for these braves were in no mood for interference from this creature whom they were beginning to despise.

Next morning, bright and early, they glided away from camp, and followed the tracks made by Klitonda and his daughter in the pure white snow. Their eyes were keenly alert, and they moved forward with scarcely a sound. They were evidently watching for something besides the chief and Owindia. It was almost dark, when, about to emerge from the forest to cross a small lake, they paused abruptly, and crouched back among the trees. Out in the open their eyes had caught sight of a lone lank timber wolf. He had stopped and was sniffing the tracks he had found upon the snow. Presently he lifted his head and threw his nose into the air. The hated man smell had drifted to his sensitive nostrils, and that spelled danger. But ere he had time to beat a retreat a half dozen bow strings twanged among the trees, and as many pointed arrows hurtled through the air, and sank deep into the brute's lean side. With a wild yell of agony the wolf gave a tremendous bound into the air and then rolled over in the snow, its body quivering in the throes of death.

It did not take the hunters long to rush from the forest, and examine their victim. Soon a sharp knife was produced, and with much deftness the heart was removed from the animal's body. It was apparent that the wolf was needed neither for its skin, nor for food. There was another motive for its death. With the heart warm and bleeding thus procured, the braves formed themselves in a circle about the grewsome object. Then each hunter drew forth an arrow, and inserted its point deep into the soft flesh. No word was spoken during this performance, which had the appearance of a religious ceremony, bloody though it was. Then facing the forest to their left they held aloft their dripping arrows, and as one their voices rang out:

"As the heart blood of this wolf dyes the points of these arrows, so twenty Ayana hunters will never cease until these same points are stained with the heart blood of their enemies. Let these blood-marked arrows be tokens of their resolve, and let the Great Spirit bear witness."

This done they sped on their way, leaving behind them the body of the wolf, its blood flowing forth, and turning the white snow to a crimson hue. By this time darkness had settled over the land, but the hunters heeded it not. With never a single hesitation they followed the tracks which stretched out far ahead. Ere long the moon rose full and bright above the tops of the pointed trees. It rode high in the heavens, and dimly illuminated the long cathedral-like aisles of the silent forest. The trees threw out straight trailing shadows like sharp pointed lances. It was a scene of surpassing beauty; light and shade, peace and grandeur; the full triumphant moon above, the gem-besprinkled carpet of snow below. And through this magic palace sped the feet of the Ayana braves. Their hearts were not stirred by the splendour which surrounded them. To them this fairy world held no fascination. Their hearts were not enthralled by Nature's alluring witchery.

It was midnight when at length their steps grew slower, and they moved more cautiously. Through the keen night air drifted the scent of smouldering wood. Presently a rough "lean-to" was faintly discerned several rods ahead. They peered keenly forward, but no one was visible, and not a sound disturbed the intense silence. The hunters did not approach any nearer now, but remained crouched upon the snow in a watchful attitude. It was a keen night, but the young men did not seem to mind it.

For about two hours they kept watch over the little camp. Then they noticed Klitonda rise to his feet and rekindle the fire from a few hot coals. At once the young men stepped quickly forward and stood before the chief. Turning, the latter saw them, and leaped for his bow and arrows. Then standing defiantly before the place where Owindia was lying, he faced the young men. He believed that they had come to attack him and to take him back as captive. He was, therefore, much surprised when one of the braves advanced and lifted his hand as a sign of peace. Still Klitonda was not satisfied, and remained ready for any emergency. Perhaps this was only a ruse on the part of these braves. Why had they followed him so far into the forest unless they had some sinister motive in view? And thus standing there in the light of the moon he appeared a most formidable antagonist. A man of powerful build, and of great stature, he seemed now a veritable giant. His aspect at this moment was enough to cause even the stoutest heart to shrink. The advancing brave hesitated, and then spoke.

"Great Chief," he began, "the Ayana braves are no enemies to Klitonda. They bring peace. They come to serve their chief, not to harm him. They followed hard upon his tracks until they found him. They bring tokens of their allegiance. Will the Great Chief receive them?"

He paused, and Klitonda lowered his bow.

"Why do the Ayana braves come here?" he replied. "Do they wish to mock their chief? But, stay, Klitonda is their chief no longer; they have rejected him. He is an outcast. His own people would give him over to the Chilcats. His plans have failed, they are like this," and Klitonda seized a handful of snow, and let it fall slowly downward.

"The Great Chiefs words are only partly true," the young brave quietly returned. "There are twenty braves standing here, whose hearts are true to their chief. They would follow him to death on behalf of their country. They bring these tokens of their faith—tokens stained with blood. As they are red from a wolf's bleeding heart, so may they be more deeply stained by the heart blood of the Chilcat wolves."

Saying which the brave stepped forward, and handed Klitonda the blood-marked arrow. One by one his companions did the same. Not a word was spoken during this performance. Klitonda received them all, and held the arrows in his right hand. He looked at the tokens, and then at the young men standing before him.

"What will Klitonda do with these?" he asked, holding forth the score of arrows.

"Keep them," was the reply, "and when the Great Chief wants the twenty Ayana braves, let him send the tokens, and they will come swift as the wind."

To these words Klitonda said nothing. He stood looking beyond the braves far off into the forest. The unexpected appearance of these young men was affecting him deeply. The great weight which had been pressing upon his heart was somewhat removed. All of his own people had not rejected him. There were twenty braves who were ready to stand by his side. There was comfort in the thought. He wished to speak, to tell all that was in his heart. But words refused to come. He was like a dumb man. The braves saw the struggle which was taking place in their chief's mind, and his silence impressed them more than a long oration.

Presently Klitonda turned as if to place several sticks upon the fire. As he did so he saw Owindia standing quietly near. Upon her face was an expression of joy. She had been a silent witness of all that had taken place. The braves had seen her when first she appeared, but they gave no sign that they were aware of her presence. But twenty hearts thrilled as they saw her standing near her father. Klitonda held out the arrows to Owindia.

"Take them, little one," he said. "They will be safe in your keeping. Is it the will of the Ayana braves," he continued, turning to the young man, "that their chief's daughter should guard these tokens which they have brought?"

"Ah, ah," burst at once from a score of lips. "Let the chief's daughter keep the blood-marked tokens."

Thus in the depth of that great forest twenty resolute braves gave their allegiance to Klitonda their chief. Indians they were, in the rough, untouched by any of the refining influences of civilisation. And yet they were real sons of Mother Nature. Their word was their bond, and having once made their vow of allegiance nothing could induce them to break it.

CHAPTER VIII

THE VANGUARD

To enter a region never before trodden by white men, and to erect a fur trading Post where the sole inhabitants are uncouth Indians, means courage of no ordinary degree. And, yet, when "Ranger" Dan forced his way beyond the Rocky Mountains, with his ten companions, and built the trading Post Fort-O-Venture at the confluence of the Yukon and the Segas Rivers, the thought that he had done anything out of the ordinary never entered his mind. So accustomed had he been for long years to the perils of the wilderness that the dangers he and his men encountered in their hazardous journey were of but passing notice.

His companions did not fully understand their leader. Months before when Ranger Dan had searched long and diligently for a number of determined men to accompany him to the great river west of the Rockies, many people believed that he was taking leave of his senses. "Why," they asked one another, "should a man at his advanced age wish to undertake such a journey? Surely it was not for gain, as Dan had acquired more than ordinary of this world's goods in his years of trading with the Indians. What, then, was the object of the expedition?"

Often the traders east of the mountains had turned their eyes wistfully westward, and longed to know what lay beyond those towering snow-capped peaks. Stray rumours at times had drifted to their ears of the extent of that unknown region, with its abundance of fur-bearing animals. But hitherto no one had dared to cross those northern ranges and solve the mystery. Indians told weird tales of the wildness of the land, of treacherous rivers, foaming rapids, and natives, numerous and blood-thirsty. Little wonder, then, that Ranger Dan found it difficult to obtain enough men to accompany him on his apparently mad venture. When asked as to the purpose of the undertaking he would always give a quiet smile, and stroke his long beard before replying.

"I've something lost beyond those mountains," he would say. "It's been lost for years, and I must try to find it. I've a treasure over yon, and doesn't the Great Book say that 'where your treasure is there will your heart be also'? I guess those words apply to this world as well as to the next."

And so Dan's "treasure" story passed from mouth to mouth. "He's after furs," said some. "No, it's gold the fool's seeking," replied others. "That's the treasure he thinks he'll get over yon."

After much difficulty Dan was able to find ten men who were willing to undertake the journey. Liberal pay induced several to join the expedition; while others were lured by the spirit of adventure. All had led a roving life for years, and here was an opportunity for new and further excitement.

As the days passed Ranger Dan was enabled to learn much about his companions. Amid the dangers of the way, the hard tracking, and packing over the long portages their real natures stood out clearly defined. They were men unaccustomed to discipline, of unbridled passion, and ready to desert their leader at any critical moment. Only upon Natsatt, the reserved young half-breed, did he feel that he could fully depend.

Ranger Dan was a stern man, and during his long experience in the wilderness had ruled with a firm hand. When in charge his word was law, and he would brook no opposition. Of large build and great stature he was a man to command immediate respect. Many an offender had reason to remember the flashing gleam of his wrathful eyes, and the sledge-hammer blows of his tense knuckles. "When I'm in command," he had often said, "I'm going to be obeyed, else what's the use of having a leader." He talked but little, and at times he would stand facing the west, with a far away look in his faded grey eyes.

Each night around the camp fire Natsatt would bring forth his little mouth-organ, and play several simple tunes. Then all talking would cease and the men would lie back and listen to the familiar strains they had heard years before. Ranger Dan always enjoyed such moments, and his face would brighten as he listened, although occasionally a half-suppressed sigh would escape his lips. Natsatt often watched his leader, and felt that there was something troubling his mind of which he and his companions were not aware. He longed to know of what he was thinking as he stood gazing far off into space.

As the days passed his respect for Ranger Dan increased. He seemed to be tireless, and his knowledge of woodcraft was wonderful. But it was when they settled down to the steady work of building the Post at the mouth of the river that his respect developed into admiration.

Dan at once set the men to work preparing timber for the building. There was little time to lose, for the season was advancing, and soon cold weather would be upon them. Never once did he hesitate as to the position or size of the house. The most suitable site was chosen close to the river, and here the Post was erected, with store attached. In a few weeks the work was well under way. Built entirely of hewn logs, chinked with moss, and this covered with soft clay found along the bank of the river, it was a structure capable of withstanding the most severe weather. It seemed almost like a fort so large were the logs which had been rolled into place, and securely fastened upon one another. Glass for the small windows there was none. Caribou skins, devoid of hair, and scraped thin, were stretched across the openings, and these let in some light when the door was shut. Two large stone fire-places were erected, at which their cooking was done. These would serve to give light as well as heat, for it would be necessary to reserve their small supply of candles they had brought with them.

The building was completed none too soon, for winter swept down upon them much sooner than they had expected. The river became solid from bank to bank, snow covered the land, and the frost became stinging in its intensity. The days were short, and the nights long. It was necessary for the best hunters to scour the surrounding hills and forest for moose and mountain sheep. Natsatt had the best luck of all, and by means of his excellent marksmanship he was able to add much to their larder.

The first two months of severe weather passed away most pleasantly. There was very little for the men to do, and they enjoyed the long rest after their hard labours since leaving the eastern side of the mountains. The cheerful fires made the large room almost as light as day. Dry, soft wood was plentiful, and they burned it without stint. Cards formed the chief amusement, interspersed with singing of songs, and story telling. It was a time of general good fellowship. They were a little company alone in the vast wilderness. "What more could men desire?" they asked one another, "than a life such as this? Abundance of game, long hours of sleep, work of the lightest, and no cares to distract the mind."

During the whole of this time no Indian had visited the Post by day. Canoes had passed up and down the river during the fall, but the occupants had not disembarked to examine the new building upon the bank. If the natives came at all it must have been in the night, departing without leaving the slightest sign of their presence. Often the men discussed the matter before the open fire. There was a general impression that they were being watched; that Indians were prowling around, though keeping warily out of sight.

"It isn't natural," commented Larry Dasan, a big burly Canadian. "I've helped build a dozen trading Posts in my time, an' before we had the first logs laid the Siwashes were always around us like flies—men, women, papooses, and lean dogs galore. They were coming and going all the time. But here," and he threw out his right hand in disgust, "not a d—— redskin has set foot on the premises by day, an' it's been four months since we arrived."

"Me no savvey wat it all mean," replied Pierre Goutre, a small Frenchman. "Bad beezness dis. No Injun, no fur, no monee, hey? Ol' man heem mak' beeg meestake, me tink. Heem send Natsatt an' Tony to round up Injun. Mebbe dey'll ketch 'em."

The men generally indulged in such free conversation when Ranger Dan was not present. At times the latter would take his snow-shoes, and tramp the woods for hours. He wished to be alone—to think. To him the games and idle chat of his men were of no interest. He was playing another game in which the heart alone was concerned, and he had staked much upon the throw. He needed the trade of the Indians of this land, as the furs would reimburse him for the heavy expenditure he had made. But he could do without their trade if only they would come to the Post. If from far and near, from forest depths, mountain lakes, and turbid rivers, they would gather to look upon the white men, and the building they had erected. If once he could see them, then they might go their way without making the smallest purchase from the store. If only he could behold their dusky faces even for a few moments, he would be somewhat satisfied. He believed that somewhere in this region would come the one for whom his heart had so long been yearning. And even though she did not appear surely among all the bands of the North he would hear some word of her, whether she were dead or alive. Men had called him a fool. But what did he care? How could they understand the deep passionate longings of an old man's lonely heart?

He missed Natsatt from the Post, and anxiously awaited his return. That he and Tony would bring some word of the Indians he had no doubt. But when the storm burst over the land his anxiety developed into fear for the absent ones. When at length Tony staggered in almost exhausted from his hard battle with the raging of the elements, Ranger Dan felt sure that Natsatt had been lost, unless perchance he had found refuge in some Indian camp. This latter gave him but little comfort, for Tony had not met a single native, neither had he seen any signs of recent camp fires.

Natsatt had become very dear to the old Ranger's heart. He had conversed with him more than with the others, and they had numerous things in common. Every night Dan would lie in the bunk and listen to Natsatt playing old familiar airs. But with the young man away the days and nights seemed uncommonly long and dreary.

It was the second evening after the storm that they were all gathered about one of the fire-places. They were discussing again for the hundredth time Natsatt's probable fate. To go in search of him they knew would be useless. His tracks had long since been obliterated, and the snow was too deep to find his body should he have perished in the wilderness. Ranger Dan was about to turn into his bunk, when the door suddenly opened, and Natsatt entered. Had his ghost appeared out of the night his companions could not have been more astonished. They greeted him as one from the dead, and plied him with all sorts of questions as to his experience in the storm.

The news of vital importance Natsatt reserved for Ranger Dan alone. He waited until the others had gone to bed. Then drawing his leader aside, in a low voice he told him all he had learned about the fierce Chilcats, and what a menace they might prove to the trading Post. Dan became deeply interested in the story, and asked the young man many questions concerning the Coast tribe, and their domineering sway over the Ayana Indians.

"This is all new to me," he at length remarked. "I must have time to think it over, and decide what is the best to do. If what you have just told me is true it may help to explain something which has been puzzling me for years. You had better rest now, for you must be greatly wearied after your long trip. I am very grateful to the chief Klitonda for saving your life. He must be a remarkable man, and a very exceptional Indian."

Natsatt said nothing about the chief's daughter, Owindia. He did not wish his companions to know of the prize he had found in the wilderness. His love was too sacred a thing to be bandied about on the lips of coarse minded men. He had heard much of their conversation in the past, and knew what to expect if he divulged his great heart's secret. He had thorough knowledge of the lives of some of these men. Little respect had they for native women, considering them merely as their lawful prey. He trembled, therefore, with apprehension as he thought of Owindia. Such beauty and charm of face and form could hardly escape their hawk-like, greedy eyes. He himself had often laughed at a number of their base jokes. But now his heart grew hot within him. How could he endure such remarks about Owindia? No, they would not be repeated in his presence, he was determined about that. He would guard her to the last. Absence of several days had increased his love for the chief's daughter. The Post seemed unusually lonely and uninteresting since his return. He longed to be back again to the little cabin in the forest. He did not even mention his secret to Dan. He knew he could trust the old Ranger, but he hesitated about mentioning it now when his leader's mind was worried over the Chilcats. No, he would say nothing at present, but wait for a more favourable opportunity.

It did not take Ranger Dan long to make up his mind concerning what Natsatt had told him about the Coast tribe. One night was sufficient for him in which to decide, and the next morning he explained his position to his men. He told them how essential it would be to fortify the Post lest the Chilcats should come, and find them unprepared. He accordingly ordered the men into the forest to cut suitable trees for the barricade he intended to erect.

Thus the days of repose were at an end. Some of the men murmured at the task which confronted them. But Dan was obdurate, and commanded them to obey or to leave the Post. There was, therefore, nothing for the objectors to do but to fall in line and work, for to leave at such a season of the year would mean almost certain death.

Trees of a suitable size were felled, and drawn to the Post on a rough sled made for the purpose. They were all carefully trimmed, and their tops hewn to sharp points. As it was impossible to dig trenches in which to place the trees it was necessary to build a heavy frame work for their support. Thus day by day the work steadily advanced, and ere long one side of the Post was protected by a most formidable barricade, which was almost insurmountable for the most agile warrior.

Only for a few hours each day could the men remain at their work. At times it was bitterly cold, which often severely tested their patience. Dan worked with his men, at the same time supervising everything. As the days began to lengthen the weather grew warmer, and the work advanced more rapidly. The Post stood but several rods from the river. To the latter Dan ran two rows of trees, thus forming a narrow passage through which water could be carried in case of an attack, and also to form a means of retreat to their canoe if necessary.

Spring was upon them by the time the work was completed, and the men were thus enabled to rest awhile from their labours. As soon as the ice left the river Dan expected the Indians to arrive, if they were to come at all. It was the time after their long months of hunting when they would wish to dispose of their furs. So far no further word had been heard of the Chilcats. Dan was not surprised, for he knew that they had a long distance to travel, and the river was the only feasible route when the snow had left the ground. Every morning when he arose he partly expected to see some of the Ayana Indians before night. As the days passed, and none appeared, an anxious expression was seen upon his face. Natsatt noticed it, and sympathised with his leader. He, too, was longing for the appearance of the natives. Surely Klitonda and his daughter would be among the first to arrive. How he yearned to see Owindia. Her image had been constantly in his mind since he had left her in the little lodge long weeks before. Had she, too, been longing for him? he wondered. He found it hard to dissemble his feelings so as not to arouse the suspicion of his companions. But at times they did chaff him about his absent-mindedness, and the far-away look in his eyes. If only he could confide his secret to some one he knew it would be a great relief. Often he was on the point of telling everything to Dan. But each time an indefinable barrier seemed to rise between them, so the pent-up words which were ready to pour from his yearning heart never passed his lips.

CHAPTER IX

CHIVALRY

It was a day long to be remembered when the ice ran out of the Segas River. The weather had been mild for some time, and slowly the solid icy giant weakened, loosened its grip upon the banks, and began to break up into thousands of fragments. The current was swift, and steadily the water rose. At last an ominous grinding sound was heard as the great heaving mass started for the Yukon. It surged along the shores, and threatened to tear away the building which had been erected. Several large cakes of ice were hurled against the barricade, and remained stranded, while their companions passed on without doing any damage.

Ranger Dan breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the river clear. He could look forward now to the coming of the Indians. Surely they would arrive soon. But Dan's anxiety was as nothing compared to Natsatt's. The latter was impatient for the time when Klitonda and Owindia would appear. The days seemed unusually long. His eyes would often search the river for the expected canoe which would bring his loved one to him.

A week had passed since the ice ran out, and no Indians had arrived. Then, late one evening, just as the sun was preparing to dip below the horizon, Natsatt saw a small canoe shoot swiftly around a bend in the river, and approach the Post. His heart beat fast as he beheld Owindia in the centre of the craft deftly handling her slim paddle. Hurrying forward he reached the river just as the canoe ran into the shore. A radiant smile overspread Owindia's face as she saw her lover waiting to receive her. To Natsatt she seemed more beautiful than ever. Her cheeks were flushed by the healthy exercise, and her eyes were sparkling with joy and love. But as she stepped ashore a natural shyness possessed her, which caused her to shrink back a little. Natsatt, too, hesitated, for standing by his side were a number of men from the Post.

In his first delight at seeing Owindia he had forgotten his companions. How he longed to seize the maiden in his arms and greet her with a true lover's kiss. But in the presence of these men he realised that it would not be wise. They knew nothing of the fire burning within his heart, and would misinterpret the act.

Owindia stood abashed before the rude stares of these men. She was pleased that Natsatt remained standing quietly by her side. And yet she was much disappointed. For weeks she had dreamed of this meeting. She had pictured her lover rushing down to receive her, and enfolding her in his strong arms. But she had never imagined that others would be present.

"Say, Bill, what a squaw!" gasped one of the men, whose eyes were fairly bulging with astonishment. "Good heavens, man! I never thought there was such a creature in the whole country. We are certainly in luck."

Before any reply could be made Natsatt stepped forward and grasped Klitonda's hand. He had noted the quick startled look in Owindia's eyes as she listened to these personal remarks. He was fearful lest the traders should go too far, not knowing that the maiden understood every word. He believed that ere long he would be forced to clash with these men. But now he did not desire a disturbance. He was naturally of a peaceful disposition, and would endure much up to a certain point. But when that had been reached it was well for the most daring to be aware. So now by this sudden action in greeting Klitonda he hoped to divert his companions attention from Owindia.

"Great chief of the Ayana," he began, "Natsatt bids you and your daughter welcome. The white men have come to meet you. They would be your friends."

His words had the desired effect, for one by one the men stepped forward and grasped Klitonda's hand. Their friendliness pleased the chief. He looked keenly into the various faces before him, and then turned his eyes to the formidable barricade to the right. But no word did he speak. He stood quietly before them, his commanding figure drawn to its fullest height. For weeks he had been looking forward to his meeting these men who would aid him against the Chilcats. Now it had come to pass, and he was satisfied. The white men had treated him with respect, and his heart was happy.

In the meantime Natsatt had moved aside, and was standing close to Owindia. Neither spoke, for words were unnecessary. Their hearts thrilled by each other's presence. Natsatt hoped that his companions would shortly saunter away, and leave them alone. In this, however, he was disappointed. They had no inclination to depart, for after shaking hands with the chief, they turned their attention to his daughter. To them Owindia was but an ordinary Indian maiden, though more than commonly beautiful. They believed her to be about as intelligent as the native women they had met beyond the mountains.

"Come, lads, let's welcome the squaw," said Larry Dasan. "She's gripped me heart already, an' I'm going to be the first to shake hands with her."

"Ye'll have plenty of rivals," laughed Tim Burke. "The rest of us may take a hand in this little affair too. I'd go to the devil fer a squaw like that."

Natsatt's heart beat fast, and the blood surged madly through his veins as he listened to these men. He maintained his composure, however, until they began to tip winks to one another, and to utter expressions which are not lawful to record. Then he straightened himself up, and stretched out a warning hand.

"Be careful, men," he began, "for this maiden understands the English language. And, besides, I don't think you should say such words about any woman, no matter if she is an Indian."

A loud laugh was the only response to these words. The men were not in the least disconcerted. That Owindia understood what they were saying troubled them not—they were too coarse for that.

"So you're going to stand by the squaw, are ye?" sneered Larry. "That's your game, is it? Want her for yourself, eh? Squaws ain't women—they're truck. The devil made 'em. They haven't souls. They're only made for the use of men."

"If the devil makes them, he's done a fine job on this one," responded Pete Tarquill, whereupon a laugh ensued.

"Look here, men," and Natsatt moved closer to Owindia as he spoke, "my mother was an Indian—call her a squaw if you like. But she was a woman as well, true and tender. Let me tell you this: I am a half-breed, and am not ashamed of it. Speak again as you have just spoken, or meddle with this maiden, and you will answer to me."

"Oh, ye needn't do any bluffing," Larry replied. "You've shown your true colours to-night, a combination of white an' brown, or I should say white an' red. Fine mixture, that. Father a Siwash, an' mother a ——"

The last words had scarcely left his lips ere Natsatt leaped toward him, and with a blow fair between the eyes, hurled him headlong to the ground. With an oath he endeavoured to regain his feet, only to go down again quicker than he rose.

"Got enough, eh?" Natsatt asked when at length Larry did not attempt to renew the contest. "You've been itching for trouble for some time past, and I hope you're satisfied now. Not much fun, is it?"

Then he returned to the rest of the men.

"Got any more remarks to make about Indian women?" he queried. "If so, now's the time to say them."

No one replied, and a deep silence prevailed. The men had seen enough of what Natsatt could do, and no one was anxious to meet Larry's ignominious fate. At that moment Ranger Dan was seen to emerge from the stockade, and hurry quickly across the open.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, looking first at the prostrate man and then at the irate Natsatt.

Next he caught sight of the chief standing near.

"Who is this Indian?" he demanded, "and why didn't you tell me of his arrival?"

"He is Klitonda, chief of the Ayana," Natsatt replied, "and this is his daughter, Owindia."

At once Dan stepped up to the chief, stretched out his hand, and addressed him in Indian.

During the scene which had just taken place Klitonda had stood amazed. He did not understand what was being said, but the fight needed no words of interpretation. "So these were the white men," he thought, "the ones who were to help him against the Chilcats. What did they mean by fighting among themselves?" But when Ranger Dan spoke to him his face cleared.

"I am in charge of this Post," Dan began, "and very sorry am I that I was not here to welcome the great chief of the Ayana, and his daughter. Come into the store, and forget what these men have done."

Without a word Klitonda obeyed, and followed Dan to the Post. Owindia came behind, and Natsatt walked along by her side. The latter did not care now what his companions thought, neither did he pay any attention to the angry scowls which the defeated Larry cast upon him. If it was war the men wanted he would let them have it. But it was to be war in the open on his part, no matter what they might do. He would no longer conceal his love for the maiden. Perhaps when it was known that he was her lover and champion she would be left alone. He spoke to her in a low voice, telling her how glad he was to see her, and how long the time seemed since he had left her. Owindia looked up, and a bright smile illumined her face.

"We must never be parted again, little one," he said. "I cannot live without you."

Again she smiled, but said nothing. She was too happy for utterance. She walked as in a dream through the open door of the barricade, and then into the building. Her eyes roamed about the room in wonder, for her curiosity was much aroused by the things she saw. Owindia was but a child in the ways of the world, and this building, rude and rough though it was, made a deep impression upon her mind. She could eat but little of the food which was placed before her, and paid scarcely any attention to the conversation which was going on between her father and Ranger Dan. Natsatt sat near, and to him she told about their visit to the Ayana camps, their rejection, and the action of the score of young hunters who had followed them into the forest.

"And where are the arrows now?" questioned Natsatt, much interested in her story.

"In the canoe," was the reply. "Owindia has them carefully hidden there."

"And have you been in your lodge by the river ever since?" Natsatt asked.

"Ah, ah. Ever since. But it seemed so long. I thought the ice would never leave the river."

"You wanted to come, then? You were as anxious to see me as I was to see you?"

The light in Owindia's eyes as she turned them upon her lover's face told their own tale. It was her mute answer, and Natsatt was satisfied.

Ere long Klitonda rose to go. Ranger Dan pressed him warmly to stay there during the night, and offered the store where he and his daughter could sleep. But the chief shook his head. He preferred the open, and would there build his camp fire. In the morning he would erect a temporary lodge.

Owindia followed her father from the room, passing the men who were sitting silently on the rough benches. They had been watching the young lovers as they talked together, and in their hearts a feeling of jealousy was smouldering against the half-breed who had won the affection of this beautiful maiden of the forest.