"Ye don't say so! Wall, I declare!" exclaimed Dan, taking the hat in his hand and examining it carefully. "Gee whiz, that was a close shave! I bet that skunk's head stung whar the bullet lifted the hat. Hope to goodness it took a slice of his scalp. Now, let me think whar I've seen this headgear afore. Seems quite familiar. Yes, no, ah, I have it. I have it!" and Dan sprang to his feet in the excitement of his discovery. "It's Windy Pete's, that's whose it is! Haven't I seen him with that old thing fer years now. Guess he's worn it ever sence he came North. Stupid of me not to recognise it at fust sight."
"But what would he be doing here?" questioned Grey. "Did we not leave him at Hishu yesterday morning? Was he not there when we started?"
"He was thar, that's true, young man. But ye don't know them divils. They are here to-day an' miles away to-morrer."
"But what object would Pete have in coming here, and stealing upon us as he did last night? And further, how did he know where we were going when we left Hishu?"
The trapper looked intently into Grey's face, although he saw him not. His mind had gone back to his visit to the store the previous morning, and to the information he had imparted to Siwash Bill. He remembered how interested the latter had been in his movements. It all came to him now like a flash, throwing light upon several things which hitherto had been shrouded in darkness.
"Pardner," and his words were slow and impressive, "the hull thing's as clear to me as a rabbit's eye. It's you they're after an' not me. Yer the game, that's sartin."
"After me!" exclaimed Grey. "Why would Pete track me all the way to this place when he could have fixed me in Hishu? You must be mistaken."
"Ye don't know 'em, young man, as well as I do. They were shrewd enough not to meddle with ye down thar. Oh, no, they wouldn't do that. They would git us out in the hills together, creep up when ye was asleep, run ye through, an' skerdaddle. Then it would appear as if we'd had a set-to an' I stabbed ye."
"My God!" cried Grey, "do you think that was their object? Are they such devils as that, to commit such a crime, and cast the blame upon an innocent man?"
"Are they sich divils? Ye don't know 'em yit. Why, man, they'd do anythin'. Thank God, their hellish plans have missed fire this time. But we must be very keerful, pardner. We've had a warnin' which we can't afford to neglect. So let's git out of this uncanny hole, and hit the trail fer Hishu."
"If we kin, we must reach Hishu afore Windy Pete gits thar."
It was Buckskin Dan who spoke as he and the constable swung on their way the morning after the night of alarms. They were returning by a different trail, which would bring them to the river a few miles below Hishu. Along this route was a high range of hills where mountain sheep were plentiful. Here they expected to bag a tender lamb to take back with them to the village.
"Yes," continued Dan, "we must git that fust, an' then find out fer sartin if Pete was that skunk wot distarbed us last night."
"We'll have to do some hustling, then," Grey replied. "If we stop for game it will make us late."
"Can't be helped, pardner. Grub's mighty low with me jist now, an' if we don't git it to-day, it'll mean another trip to-morrer, an' I don't like to leave Hishu too often jist at present."
Thus for hours they continued on their way, stopping only once by a small brook to eat their last morsel of food. The afternoon was well advanced as the long terrace-like range loomed up before them on their right.
"Should find some sheep over thar," remarked the trapper. "Guess we'd better leave the trail, and circle yon knoll. Thar's good feedin' ground on t'other side."
Slowly and cautiously they wound their way over broken and twisted rocks, keeping a sharp look-out the while. Creeping guardedly about the side of a hill, with a deep gulch below, they beheld a small flock of sheep feeding calmly several hundred yards away. To Grey it seemed cruel to disturb that peaceful scene. He thought of the assailant stealing upon him in the dead of night, and here he was doing the same to these harmless creatures. But Buckskin Dan evidently had no such qualms of conscience. He needed meat, and the sheep were there for man's use, so that was sufficient. Speedily he advanced, gliding from rock to rock with such agility that Grey, nimble though he was, found it difficult to follow. At length they were forced to creep upon all fours, and when at last they were as close as prudence allowed the trapper took careful aim at a small-sized sheep and fired. The animal gave one great leap into the air, and then dropped to the ground. Its companions, terror stricken, gazed for an instant in the direction from whence the report had come, and then fled wildly across the open space and disappeared like magic among the rocks.
"I've snipped that critter fer sure," Dan remarked, "so I'll jist dodge over an' bring it back."
But this was easier said than done, for they found after they had gone a short distance that the rocks sloped down to the very edge of the precipice like one side of the roof of a house, about fifteen feet in width. Leaving his rifle behind, Dan slowly made his way along the narrow ledge, holding on carefully to the wall towering above. A sharp point jutting out partly barred his progress and as he attempted to go around this his foot lost its hold, and he found himself slipping down the sloping rock, which had been worn smooth by wind and rain. With a cry of terror he clutched frantically for something upon which to fasten his fingers. But not an object could be found. Down and down he moved, and when it seemed as if in another instant he must be hurled to immediate death his hand touched a jagged fissure in the surface. How his tense fingers did dig into the friendly crevice as he hung over that awful place. Below yawned the gulf; above stretched the merciless rock.
So quickly had all this taken place that Grey had hardly time to think, much less to act. A numbing horror overspread his whole body as he watched his companion moving down to apparent destruction. But when he saw him gripping so desperately to the rent in the rock he quickly roused to action. He looked about for something to stretch out to his helpless partner. But not a branch or sapling could he behold—nothing that would serve his purpose. He looked far down into the valley; he might get something there. But it would take considerable time to go and return, and in the meantime what would happen to Dan!
"How long can you hold on?" he called.
"'Bout a minute," came the weak reply. "Me fingers are 'most broke. Fer God's sake do somethin', an' do it quick!"
Then Grey acted. He tore off the buckskin jacket he was wearing, which Dan had loaned him, and gave it a most vigorous pull to test its endurance. Next he unbuckled the cartridge belt which encircled his waist. Tying one end of this to a sleeve of the jacket he fastened the other end securely about his ankle. Finding a suitable stone lying near, with some difficulty he made it fast to the second sleeve of the jacket. This accomplished he stretched himself carefully down the rocky incline, and holding on firmly with one hand to the point of a jagged flinty rift, with the other he let out his improvised rope of salvation. The weight of the stone bore it steadily toward the clinging trapper. Would it reach? And if so would it be strong enough? Dan saw it coming, and a gleam of hope came into his faded eyes. But alas! it was still too far away.
"Let her out some more," he shouted. "I can't tech it yit."
Then Grey stretched himself out full length, and with both hands gripped the rock above. It was all that was needed. Dan's tired fingers closed eagerly upon the sleeve of the jacket. He tested its strength ere letting go of his old precarious support. Finding that it held firm he committed himself to its keeping, and slowly and painfully made his way foot by foot up from that dizzy, frowning ledge. Neither Grey nor Dan spoke. The silence was intense. Would the connecting link hold? Would it bear the strain to the end? Grey could feel the weight attached to his leg, but could not see how his comrade was progressing. He half expected at any instant to hear the jacket or belt give way. The perspiration stood in great beads upon his forehead, and he almost held his breath in the intenseness of the moment. But when he felt Dan's hand laid with a mighty grip upon his other leg, and knew that the old man was scrambling quickly up by the side of his body to a place of safety, a great sigh of relief escaped his lips. It did not take him long to draw himself up from his own perilous position after the weight had been removed.
"God bless ye, pardner!" Dan cried, reaching out a large horny hand. "How kin I ever thank ye fer wot ye've done fer me to-day?"
Grey silently grasped the extended member. Words would not come. His heart was too full for utterance.
The trapper stooped down, and slowly unfastened the buckskin jacket from the leathern belt. He next held it up in both hands, and examined it carefully.
"It stood the test well, that's wot it did," he remarked. "Never thought when I made it that it 'ud be the means of savin' me life."
"And did you make this yourself?" Grey inquired with surprise.
"Sartin, every stitch of it. It's not made with yer measly fancy thread, either, but with good stout raw hide. But even that wouldn't have borne the strain if it hadn't been fer somethin' else which made it strong."
"What was that, Dan?"
"'Twas the good Lord, that's who it was. As I kneeled thar in that awful place, with only that slender thing to keep me from death, I thought how I uster kneel at me mother's knees when a little child. It's been sich a long time sence I said a prayer that I didn't know what to say. But I remembered the prayer she taught me then, an' as I struggled up that rock with me hands clingin' to this jacket I said over in me mind,
It wasn't altogether suitable, I own, but it was wonderful comfortin', an' I think the Lord knew wot I meant jist as well as if it had been a long one an' fixed up with fine words. But, thar, I've talked 'bout enough. We must git away from here, an' hike it home as fast as we kin. It's gittin' late, an' I'm afeered we can't reach Hishu afore dark."
"But what about the sheep?" Grey questioned. "Are we to leave it behind?"
"Sartin. Not another step do I take after the critter. It nearly cost me me life, an' I don't venture over yon place ag'in. It's too long a way round, an' not worth the trouble. So come, let's git."
The sun had disappeared behind a tall mountain peak as they descended the slope leading to the river. Here they struck upon a well-beaten trail leading to the village. Along this they sped through the steadily deepening twilight.
Suddenly across the water came a piercing cry which stayed their steps and held them spellbound. Again and again it came, and then all was still. It was a cry for help. There was no doubt about that. Grey's heart beat tumultuously, and an horrible dread overwhelmed him. It was a woman's voice, and it sounded like Madeline's! Springing quickly up the bank at the side of the trail he peered over the tops of the trees, and there out in the stream he caught one fleeting glimpse of a canoe ere it swung around a bend in the river and disappeared from view.
"It's the lassie! It's the lassie!" cried Dan, who had sprung to his side. "Thar's somethin' wrong."
"My God, yes!" Grey replied. "What can we do, oh, what can we do? There's some villainy in this! Do you think they've taken the boy, too?"
"Can't tell. But we must git into Hishu as fast as our legs'll take us, an' find out fer sartin."
Grey waited to hear no more. He leaped down the bank and hurried along the trail. That wild pathetic cry for help still rang in his ears. Madeline was in trouble, in danger! That was enough. Forgotten now were his old doubts and fears. He thought of her only as of old. His steps quickened to a trot as he neared the village, then to a run. Down the trail he sped like a greyhound, with Dan following pantingly some distance behind. He flew by the trapper's cabin, the store and the cluster of deserted shacks. He dashed across the open, reached Old Meg's house, beat upon the door, pushed it open, and sprang into the room.
"Where is she?" he cried. "What has happened? For God's sake tell me, quick!"
Little wonder that Meg started back with surprise, mingled with fear, at this sudden intrusion and the towering form standing before her. Grey's unshaven face was drawn and haggard, while his eyes glowed with a light of wild intensity.
"Where is she?" he demanded. "Why don't you speak?"
"W-what do you mean?" the woman replied. She felt there must be some reason for Grey's excited manner. It disconcerted her, leaving her much confused.
"I want to know what has become of Miss Normsell, who has been staying with you, and also the boy? Where are they? Do you know?"
"They went for a stroll to the river some time ago, and should be back by now. It's getting late."
"To the river? My God!" cried Grey. "Then it was Madeline! She's gone, and the boy, too! There's some foul plot."
Grey asked no more questions. He stared for an instant at Old Meg, then turned and left the building, leaving the woman gazing wonderingly after him.
Grey walked rapidly toward Dan's cabin. His mind was wildly agitated, for his brief interview with Old Meg had given him no satisfaction. In passing the store he was tempted to enter and seek an explanation from Siwash Bill. He banished this thought instantly, however. No, he would see Dan first, and find out what he had learned.
A lighted candle was burning in the cabin, showing that the trapper had been there, although he was nowhere to be seen. Grey entered, and seating himself upon a bench tried to collect his thoughts. What was he to do? Madeline and the boy had been stolen away. What would the Major say when he heard about it? To think that he, Norman Grey, should so neglect his duty as to allow that boy to slip from his grasp! And then there was Madeline. Duty and love were the two forces which stirred his inmost being. He rose to his feet and paced restlessly up and down the small room. Why did not Dan return? Why was he away so long? Without the trapper he felt helpless. A few days before he would have laughed at anyone who even suggested that he could not manage his own affairs. But since coming to Hishu and meeting with this old man, he found how important it was to lean upon him for assistance. Dan knew the people of the place and the whole surrounding country, of which he himself was ignorant.
Thus the moments sped by, and the trapper did not appear. Something must have happened to him. Perhaps he had run across Windy Pete or Siwash Bill, and had got into trouble. At this thought Grey started for the door. He would go to the store and make inquiries. But ere he had time to lay a hand upon the latch the door swung slowly open, and the Indian, Hishu Sam, glided swiftly and noiselessly into the room.
Grey's face brightened perceptibly as he beheld the native who had done so much on behalf of the little child but a short time before. Then he had appeared at the moment when most needed, and now when the darkness was so deep he had suddenly come from the unknown. Grey at once reached out his hand to the native.
"Welcome," he said. "I'm glad to see you again. You're a good friend to the white man."
"Ah, ah," was the reply. "Hishu Sam savvey moche. Bah-bee all sam' lost, eh?"
"Yes, yes, lost," Grey exclaimed in surprise. "How did you know?"
"Hishu Sam see 'um. Beeg canoe go down reever all sam' wild goose."
"And were you along the river? You see canoe? Was the little boy along, too?"
"Ah, ah. Me see bah-bee head. Me see white squaw. Me come to Hishu quick."
"Were they Indians who stole them away?"
"Ah, ah."
"Who?"
"Beeg Lake Injuns."
"What! The Indians who are on the warpath with the Hishus?"
"Ah, ah."
"Look here, Sam; we must get that boy and woman. We must save them quick. What can we do?"
The Indian looked intently into Grey's face for a few seconds.
"Hishu Sam white man's friend," he at length remarked. "Come."
With that he turned toward the door, opened it and passed out into the night. There was nothing left for Grey but to follow. The native took it for granted that he would do so, and did not even once look back.
A short distance from the cabin the Indian turned sharply to the left, and entered upon a rough trail. In the deepening gloom it was hard for Norman to pick his steps, and often he stumbled, and several times fell flat upon the ground. But Hishu Sam walked as easily as in a carpeted room, and evidently knew every inch of the way. Up and up they moved, and after a long hard climb reached the top of a large hill. Here the guide paused and looked slowly around. Then he stretched out a long arm and pointed away to the right.
"Hishu over dere," he began. "Hishu busy. Bime by Hishu all come back."
Grey understood not the meaning of the words until he saw his companion go to a large pile of sticks and underbrush and touch a match to a small piece of bark. Instantly the tiny flame leaped to the inflammable material above, and soon the whole pile was converted into a wild, roaring, seething mass. So intense was the heat that Grey and the Indian were forced to retreat some distance, where the former silently viewed the magnificent spectacle. The hilltop for rods around was illumined by the bright flames, which would make it quite easy to see such a light for miles away.
While Grey stood gazing upon the fire the Indian crouched some distance off, intently peering forth through the darkness. At length Grey took up his position by his side, wondering much what it all meant. Once he questioned the Indian, but receiving no satisfactory reply he was forced to wait. The interest caused by the fire soon waned, and the old longing to be up and doing gripped him hard. He would ere this have hurried down the hillside and have left the Indian alone, but that he believed there was some definite purpose in the Indian's action. The native's silence was to him more eloquent than many words.
Silently they crouched together there on the hilltop. Presently the Indian gave a grunt of satisfaction, and pointed away to the right. At first Grey could see nothing. But as he looked a small light like the faintest star caught his eye. It became brighter. It glowed into a leaping flame, sending blazing cinders high into the air. It was the reply of fire to fire—the natives' crude method of signalling to one another when any great danger was afoot. Presently to the left another light streaked the night from a far-off hilltop, while a little later and to the right another appeared.
Grey understood now the meaning of it all. He recalled, too, the remarkable stories he had heard about the early explorers and their encounters with the natives. Fiery signals from hill to hill had heralded their approach, and brought about them bands of threatening Indians wherever they advanced. So now these fires were being used for a noble purpose. The Hishus would come in a body to his assistance. How long would it take them to return, and in the meantime what would happen to Madeline? He turned to his companion, who was watching the distant fires with much satisfaction.
"Sam," he said, "how long will it take for the Indians to reach Hishu? Will they come at once?"
"Ah, ah. Sun heem come up dere, sun heem go down dere. Hishu come."
"But are you sure they will come?"
"Ugh," grunted the native. "Injun no white man. Injun savvey moche."
"But will they know what the fire means? What will they think?"
"Injun come. Injun savvey fire. Injun savvey Hishu Sam. See?"
"Oh, they think the Big Lakes are coming. Is that it?"
"Ah, ah."
"And you stayed behind to keep watch, eh?"
"Ah, ah."
"Did you ever do this before? Did you ever call the Hishus in this way?"
The native looked thoughtfully before him for a few seconds ere replying.
"Ten winters ago," he at length answered, "bad Injun come up reever. Hishu Sam make beeg fire on hill. Hishu come. Bad Injun run, all sam' dog. Hishu make beeg potlatch. Moche glad."
The fire was smouldering low as Grey rose to his feet. The old impatience was upon him. He longed to be doing. To wait all day for the arrival of the Hishus was more than he could stand. He could do almost anything but wait. How could he tarry at the village while Madeline was being carried farther and farther into the wilderness? No, he must find Buckskin Dan, and discuss matters with him.
Leaving the Indian he hurried down the hill as fast as the roughness of the trail would permit. He reached the cabin, and entered. It was the same as he had left it, but the trapper was nowhere to be seen. A piece of paper lying on the table by the candle arrested his attention. He picked it up, and read the few words scrawled with a lead pencil:
"You'll find me at the store. Dan."
At once Grey left the cabin, and crossed over to the fur-trader's. Entering the building he found the place in darkness, although a faint glimmer of light came from the door at the rear of the room. Groping his way slowly toward this he gave it a push, but found it was securely fastened on the other side.
"Dan," he called, "are you there?"
Receiving no answer he stood for a space, undecided what to do. "Strange," he thought, "that the place should be so still, and the store in darkness. I wonder what has happened to Dan, and why he left that note."
Suddenly a feeling seized him that something was wrong. He became suspicious. Was it a scheme to lure him to the store for some evil purpose? He peered through the darkness in an effort to see what was there. The silence was ominous. He must get away as quickly as possible. Acting upon this impulse he started for the door. He had taken but a few steps forward when a heavy weight suddenly struck him and sent him staggering to the floor. Instantly a rush of feet was heard, and strong hands were laid upon him. Recovering himself as speedily as possible Grey threw out one arm with all the force he could command. It struck what he believed to be a human face, for immediately a groan was heard as something fell heavily to the floor. Then like a tiger he closed with the assailant whose hands were gripping him hard. It was no novice, he at once realised, who had attacked him, but a man of skill, and great muscular strength. But Grey himself was not to be despised when once thoroughly aroused. The blood beat wildly through his veins, and a deep rage filled his heart at the despicable attack which had been made upon a defenceless man, and in the dark at that. But he would show his assailant a thing or two. He caught him with a grip of iron, and hurled him back several steps. Then the two joined in a terrible embrace. Backwards and forwards they surged, and strained at each other. Time and time again Grey felt his opponent's hands reaching out for his throat. They seemed like the slippery, clammy tentacles of a hideous octopus. No word was spoken. Each was reserving his strength for the contest. At length Grey's fingers touched his adversary's throat. It was all that was needed, and almost like the spring of a trap they closed upon the coarse, tense flesh. It was his turn now, and he made the most of it. From his opponent's lips came a hoarse gurgling sound, while he frantically endeavoured to tear away those death-dealing fingers. Grey was madly triumphant now. The sense of victory possessed his soul as he felt his antagonist sink upon the floor. No bulldog held firmer than did he. But even in the midst of his triumph something touched him which brought a chill to his heart. Something was passed swiftly and deftly about his ankles, and then drawn tight. He loosened his grip upon the throat, and tried to regain his feet. But in vain, for his legs were fast bound, as if in a vise. Then in the twinkling of an eye his arms were seized and he was hurled to the floor face downwards, while his arms were fastened behind his back. He had forgotten his second assailant, who had returned to the attack with such marked success. Frantically he struggled to tear away his hands, and to throw off the weight pressing upon his body. But his efforts were all to no purpose, and at last he was forced to give up from sheer exhaustion. He could not see, but he could easily guess the identity of his captors. Two they were, that was evident, and what two except Siwash Bill and Windy Pete would make such a mean, savage attack?
"Lie there, ye young spyin' cur," one of them said, which the constable recognised as Bill's voice. "'Tain't sich fun is it comin' to Hishu? Not a holiday trip, eh? Ye'll think it less so before we git through with ye."
"The more you do with me," Grey replied, "the worse for yourselves. If you want to feel the noose, drive ahead."
"Ha, ha," laughed Pete. "We fear not the noose. All the d— Yellow-legs in the country haven't enough wit to stretch our necks. But come, Bill, lend a hand, and let's git out of this. Have ye the knife?"
"Sure."
Grey began to realise the seriousness of his position as the men lifted him bodily and carried him out into the night toward Buckskin Dan's cabin. This they entered, and laid him in the lower bunk. By the candle light he could see their faces, and they seemed to him like two diabolical fiends standing there in the middle of the room. They began to whisper to each other, while Siwash Bill drew a glittering hunting knife from its sheath at his side. Then the meaning of their action stabbed Grey's mind. They would murder him there in cold blood, in Dan's cabin, and let the blame rest upon the innocent old trapper! He recalled that scene out in the hills, and saw again Pete's form slinking through the night with the bared knife in his hand. The thought almost maddened him. Wildly he tore at his bonds, but they held firm. He sat up in the bunk, and then rolled out upon the floor, and on his knees faced his captors.
"You imps of hell!" he cried. "Would you murder a man in cold blood? Have you no hearts in your bodies? Free my hands and feet and let us fight it out. There are two of you, but I'll fight you both. I dare you to do it, you cowardly dogs."
"Hold yer jaw," cried Pete. "Come, Bill, douse that candle. There's too much light here fer this job."
Grey now felt that his last moment on earth had arrived. He saw a big hand reach out toward the table, and then all was dark. He made one mighty effort to rise, but failing in this he fell forward upon the floor, while from his lips leaped the wild piercing cry of "Dan, Dan! For God's sake, help!"
Instead of going with the constable to Old Meg's house, upon his return from the hill, Buckskin Dan went into his own cabin. Here he lighted a candle, and examined carefully his stock of provisions. Finding it much lower than he had expected he slowly scratched his head in a puzzled manner.
"Wall, I'll be blowed!" he muttered. "I thought thar was more meat left, but that last moose j'int is almost gone, an' what's left is about all bone an' gristle. Guess I'll have to go to the store, though I hate to do so. Mebbe Bill has some on hand."
He was about to blow out the candle, when he suddenly paused.
"No, guess I'd better leave it fer the lad. He'll be back soon. Let me see: he'll wonder whar I am. Ah, that's the idee. I'll jist leave a note to tell 'im I'm at the store. I may be longer than I expect."
Finding a piece of brown paper, and unearthing a stub of a pencil from a few simple treasures kept in an old box, he painfully scrawled the brief sentence: "You'll find me at the store. Dan."
Little dreaming that this simple act would bring his partner into such serious difficulty the worthy trapper closed the cabin door, and walked rapidly toward the store.
He found Siwash Bill alone in the building, smoking an old blackened pipe. The squaw man could hardly conceal his pleasure at seeing Dan alone. He feigned surprise, however, at his early return, and questioned him as to his luck on the hills.
"Brought nuthin' back," Dan replied. "Not even a sheep. Say have ye any meat?"
"No," replied the trader. "I'm clean skinned out. Not a scrap left. I've some in the cache, though, about three miles up-stream."
"Three miles! Good Lord!" groaned the trapper, "an' I want it now."
"Why not wait till the mornin', Dan? Surely yer not so hard up as that?"
"No, I want it to-night. So I'm goin' after it at once. An' look ye, if me pardner comes here tell 'im I'll be back as soon as I kin. I've left a note in the cabin to tell 'im I came to the store. I'll settle with ye fer the meat later."
Dan left the building and walked with a swinging stride along the trail up-stream. It was well for his peace of mind that he did not see the form of Windy Pete glide into the store a few minutes later, nor hear the animated conversation which took place between him and the squaw man. Had he seen them, and could he have read their thoughts, he would have bounded back to the cabin with the great leaps of a greyhound.
Well accustomed to the trail he had no difficulty in picking his way through the darkness. He knew where the cache was located, as he had passed it time and time again. In less than an hour the place was reached, and a generous portion of meat obtained. This accomplished, he set his face homeward. Lifting up his eyes, a bright light on the hill above the settlement arrested his steps. He paused for a few minutes, and gazed intently upon the flames which were slowly dying down.
"It's an Injun signal, by jingo!" he exclaimed. "It must be fer the Hishus. I wonder who it kin be. I must git back to camp an' find out. Surely the Big Lakes are not upon us. God help us, if they are!"
Reaching the store he found the place silent and in darkness.
"Queer," he muttered. "What's happened to Bill? Mebbe he's heard about the Big Lakes, an' has taken to the hills. Guess I'll git back to me own shack and see to me ammunition. Hope to goodness me pardner's thar."
Reaching his cabin he paused for a moment, and watched the fire upon the hilltop, half expecting at any instant to hear the sound of approaching Indians. But a cry from a most unexpected quarter fell upon his ears. It was the wild call for help within the cabin, and at once he recognised the voice. Puzzled beyond description as to the meaning of it all he leaped toward the door, gave it a mighty push, and dashed into the room.
The place was in darkness, so he could see nothing. He heard only the scuttling of feet and felt some moving object touch his shoulder. He reached out quickly, but clutched nothing save the yielding air. Soon all was still.
"Laddie, laddie," he called. "What's wrong?"
"I'm here, Dan," came the reply. "But for God's sake get a light."
With trembling hands the old man fumbled in the pocket of his buckskin jacket, brought forth his rude match case made of two cartridge shells, found a match and struck it. He lighted the candle upon the table, and then glanced anxiously about the room. Seeing Grey huddled upon the floor, he sprang to his side with a peculiar cry, half rage and half sympathy.
"Are ye hurt, pardner?" he demanded. "Have the wretches knifed ye?"
"No, Dan," came the reply. "I'm all right now, but unloosen these cords, quick."
With two swift strokes of his hunting knife Dan severed the bonds. Instantly Grey sprang to his feet, and looked around the cabin. He reached out his hand, and clutched a rifle leaning against the wall.
"Give me your revolver, Dan, and some cartridges. You stay here; I don't want you to run any risk."
The trapper, however, maintained his position. He noted the flushed face of his companion and the wild gleam in his eyes.
"Whar are ye goin'?" he asked. "An' what d'ye want with the guns?"
"Going? I'm going after those devils, who trapped, bound and led me here to die. But for your timely arrival I would now be a corpse on this very floor."
Across Dan's face spread an angry cloud. His rough, hard fingers clinched with a sudden grip.
"Was it Bill an' Pete?" he hoarsely whispered. "Was it them varmints?"
"Yes, that's who it was. But come, I want your revolver. I'll take that grinning look from their faces quicker than hell."
"Now look here, pardner," Dan remonstrated, "jist cool down a bit. Yer a little excited, an' don't realise yer persition. Wot's the use of goin' after them divils now? We've more important work on hand, an' I'm thinkin' ye've fergotten the lassie. Guess we'd better go after her fust, an' we kin settle with them skunks later. I admire yer spunk, young man, but we mustn't run any risk at present. Bill an' Pete are mighty handy with the gun, an' mebbe thar wouldn't be anyone left to go after the lassie."
Grey looked hard at Dan for a few minutes without replying. He realised the force of the words he had just heard. But the red rage of battle was hot within him, and he found it difficult to wait.
"Besides," coolly continued the trapper, reading truly the struggle his companion was undergoing, "it's yer duty to keep calm. Ye belong to a great Force, an' I've never yit heard of a member doin' anything that was rash, or that would upset his plans. Caution's the word now, pardner."
"You're right, Dan," and as Grey reached out his hand and gripped that of the trapper, a sigh escaped his lips. "I'm afraid it would bungle matters if I went after those villains. I agree to wait."
"Wall said, pardner. I know how ye feel, an' I jist long meself to git after them snakes. But, come, we must hike away from here. The canoe's in the stream an' the meat's outside, so we kin slip away through the darkness. We've wasted too much time already, an' have given them redskins a big start."
A few minutes later a small trim canoe dropped silently away from the shore a short distance above the cabin. She darted out into midstream where the swift current caught her in its irresistible sweep. Neither Dan nor Norman spoke much as hour after hour they bent to their paddles.
The grey dawn was breaking when at length they ran the canoe ashore, and prepared their breakfast, principally of moose meat. Then it was up and on again. Being on the river, protected by the banks and trees, they escaped the furious storm which was sweeping over the lake miles below. In the afternoon when they did burst into that fine sheet of water, the gale had spent its fury, and only the foamy surf upon the shore, where the long ground swells throbbed and beat, remained to tell of the tempest that had raged but a few hours before.
Grey, although well accustomed to the scenery of the North, felt his heart thrill anew at the superb spectacle which now met his gaze. To the left and right rose massive flinty walls, terrace above terrace, culminating in numerous grand and fantastic peaks hundreds of feet above the surface of the lake. Huge gaping crevices scarred their weather-beaten sides, which every spring belched torrents of icy waters. The afternoon sun touched the snowy peaks with a dazzling halo, forming a sharp contrast to the bluest of skies overhead.
"My, what a sight!" Grey ejaculated, as he rested his paddle across his knees. "I've never seen anything to equal this. Oh, for an artist's skill to catch such a scene!"
"Ay, ay, it's fine, pardner," Dan replied. "But ye should see it when thar's a storm on, an' then ye'd witness somethin'. I saw it once to me sorrow, an' only by a miracle I live to tell the tale. But, laddie, thar's been a storm here to-day. I see signs of it on yonder shore, an' I'm thinkin' the lassie's had a hard time of it. I hope to goodness them redskins made fer shore in time."
Grey looked anxiously into the speaker's face. A new fear seized his heart. Suppose Madeline and the boy had gone down! How could he endure it, and would he dare to go back to Big Glen? What would the Major say, and the Force?
"Look here, Dan," and Grey spoke most impressively, "if we find that an accident has happened, and Madeline and the boy have gone down, do you know what I shall do?"
"No; couldn't guess."
"I shall go back to Hishu, and have it out with those devils there. They may punch me full of holes if they wish, but I don't think they'll ever do it upon anybody else. It'll be the only thing left for me to do in the world, and I think it will be a mighty fine service after all."
A grim smile crossed the trapper's rugged face.
"I guess ye won't have to do that yit awhile, pardner," he remarked. "Them red divils are too cunnin' to take any risk. They know the lake better than they do their prayers. They were sheltered somewhar ye may be sure, an' are now hikin' on like blazes; so we must git after 'em. Thar's a stream some distance ahead which mebbe they reached afore the storm struck. That's their route, an' we must hustle along."
After two more hours of hard paddling an opening appeared upon their right, which proved to be the mouth of a small stream, called by the Indians "Wahsek."
"We'll find the current purty strong," said Dan, as they headed the canoe for the opening. "Thar's a nasty rapids several miles up, an' I'd like to reach the foot of it afore we stop. D'ye think ye can stan' it?"
"Stand it, man! Why I could paddle all night. Of what stuff do you think I am made?"
"Mighty good stuff, if I'm any jedge. Ye've been through enough of late to knock out a dozen men, an' yit yer as chipper as a whisky-jack. But say, pardner, this current's too strong fer the paddles, guess we'll have to pole. I brought two sticks along, fer ye kin never tell what minute ye may have to use 'em, on these tarnel northern streams. I do want to reach the rapids afore landin'. Guess then we'll have to pack the canoe round that rough piece of water."
It was necessary now to keep close to the shore, and with the long poles they slowly and steadily forced the craft against the current, which increased in velocity as they advanced.
The sun had disappeared above the tree tops, and night was settling over the land ere the sound of rushing, swirling waters fell upon their ears.
"It's the rapids, pardner," Dan remarked, as he gave the canoe a vigorous shove which sent her quivering like a thing of life against her rushing adversary. "A little ferther, an' we'll be thar."
When at length they ran into an eddy close to shore and disembarked they could discern through the gloom the white, turbulent waters but a short distance above. Grey was tired, very tired, and after supper was ended he threw himself upon the ground by the small camp fire they had lighted.
"I could sleep for a week," he remarked. "My, this place feels good!"
"No wonder, pardner," was the reply. "Ye haven't had much sleep fer several nights. So fall to now, fer we must make an early start in the mornin'."
Standing upon the bank Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and gazed at the surf beating and chafing against the shore. She was bewildered and her brain whirled. The wind raved about her, tossing her hair in wild confusion. Her clothes were wet, and she shivered with the cold. She looked at the lad lying in her arms. He was very still. It was the silence of fear, and he gazed up wonderingly into Madeline's eyes. His lips quivered as he noticed her drawn, tense features. He was about to cry, when Madeline suddenly bent her head, and rained a shower of passionate kisses upon the little white face. Tears came to her eyes and fell upon the boy's soft cheeks.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "What are 'ou crying for? Why don't 'ou take me home to my mamma?"
"I can't, Donnie," was the sobbing reply. "I would if I could. We are alone here with these people, and we must cling together. I want you to be a man, Donnie, and help me to be brave."
For a few brief heart-beats the little lad looked intently into Madeline's face, his bright eyes filled with a questioning, wondering light. Then something seemed to dawn across his mind, and placing one small hand into hers he straightened himself up, and stood proudly by her side.
"I'll take care of 'ou, Malin," he cried. "I'll fight for 'ou. I'll—"
His words were cut short by a gruff voice near at hand. They both started and looked quickly around. The Indian woman was standing near, ordering them to make haste as the men were about to move forward.
Then Madeline noticed that the canoe had been drawn ashore and hidden in a secret place among the trees. The men were making ready to depart, with their few belongings thrown over their shoulders. What did it all mean? She wondered. Why were they leaving the lake, and where were they going? The water, rough and tumultuous though it was, seemed like a friend, and to leave it was to abandon hope. She looked away to the left and beheld a long valley opening up between the shoulders of two mountain ranges. Through this they were to travel. It seemed to her like the gate of death, dark and horrible.
Taking Donnie's hand in her own she followed the natives. The trail, though worn by many feet, was rough. There were rocks, and snags which had not been removed, and over these the boy at times stumbled. He tried bravely to keep up with his companion, but his little legs wearied, and his breath came hard and fast. Madeline looking down saw the effort he was making to be a man. Compunction smote her heart, so, stooping, she lifted the lad in her arms and struggled forward. At times the Indians turned and scowled darkly when she lagged too far behind. But no one offered to assist her with her burden. When her arms ached she would place the boy upon the ground for a brief respite, but only to lift him up again after a few minutes. Thus all through that long day she battled onward. How her strength endured she could not tell. Often she was at the point of sinking upon the trail and giving up in despair. But that little clinging form depending upon her always nerved her to action. For his sake she would be brave and keep up. She longed to lie down and rest, for she was very tired. The strain of the night before and the lack of sleep were telling plainly upon her now. She thought she knew what it was to be weary, but never anything like this. Her whole body ached, her eyes were tired, and her long dark lashes would continually droop. Her head throbbed, and her face was hot and feverish.
"Oh, God!" she mentally prayed. "Why this chastening? Why is the rod so heavy?"
And still she pressed on. She walked mechanically now—a mere machine, a human shuttle crawling through the silent web of trees, streams and hills. And her feet, how they ached! Her shoes were but scant protection against the cruel snags and stones. She was unaccustomed to long marches. At times she almost screamed at the pain she endured, but always with firmly compressed lips she crushed back the cry.
At one terrible moment her foot suddenly struck upon a sharp root, which caused her to stumble and fall forward full length upon the trail. Donnie, fortunately, was walking by her side, and he tried to assist her to her feet. She rose, and gazed about her in a bewildered manner. Should she go on? The Indians were some distance ahead, and were becoming impatient at her slowness. Accustomed to the trail they could not understand such weakness, and in their hearts they despised the white woman.
Standing there a scene appeared to her, clear and bright as the sun in the heavens. It was a picture which hung upon the wall of her old home, showing a weary, thorn-crowned man bearing a heavy cross and sinking beneath its burden. She saw His sorrowful eyes, and they seemed to be looking full upon her. So intense was the vision that she gave a distinct start, caught Donnie once more by the hand and hurried onward. But now a new courage was hers, and though the trail was no less hard, nor did her weariness abate in the least degree, some indefinable power possessed her heart, which wrenched away some of the terrible weight of despair. An unseen presence seemed to be very near, upholding and supporting her, for what purpose she could not guess.
It was late in the afternoon when, after climbing a steep hill, the Indians halted by the side of a swiftly flowing stream, and prepared to camp for the night. Mechanically she watched them as they moved about. She could only taste the poorly cooked food thrust before her. She wished to lie down and rest, no matter where. A small fire had been built, but this was soon allowed to go out, and when night came upon them the desolation of the scene almost overpowered her. A thin blanket was thrown at her feet by one of the Indians. Almost mechanically she picked it up, and began to prepare for the night. One blanket for two! She shuddered at the thought. But there was nothing else to do. So wrapping it carefully about the child where he lay upon the hard ground, and taking her place by his side, she drew one edge over her own body.
Donnie had been wonderfully brave throughout the day, but the long journey had made him very weary. Only a few minutes elapsed after he had taken his place upon his earthen bed ere he was fast asleep.
But not so Madeline. Her eyes would not close. They kept staring up at the great vault above. How far away seemed the stars, and how cold and cruel they looked as they twinkled from their lofty positions. A loneliness which was overwhelming swept upon her. She felt like crying out in anguish of soul. Was there a God beyond those stars and did He care? Why did He allow such misery to exist upon His earth which He had made so beautiful? But as she mused that vision she had seen during the day came once more to her mind. She saw His thorn-crowned head, and the sad face and weary eyes. "He knows, He knows," she whispered to herself. "It was He who said, 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!'"
Donnie moved in his sleep, and called "Mamma, mamma. Why don't 'ou tum to me?" He started up in afright, looked about, and began to cry.
"Hush, dear," Madeline replied. "You are safe with me."
Then she placed her arms about the lad, and drew him closer to her breast. Her heart was filled with a passionate yearning for the poor child, who had been so cruelly torn away from his home. They were comrades in distress. His curly head was against hers, and she felt the pressure of his soft cheek. Ere long he was fully reassured, so lying down again he was soon in slumber deep.
Slowly the time crept by, but no sleep came to her eyes. Though her body was weary her brain was active. She found herself wondering as to the meaning of it all. Why was she being thus borne off into the wilderness? Was it for the sake of the child? She felt there was some other motive, and that the Indian woman had some sinister purpose in view. Her lowering face and cruel eyes stood out clear and distinct as she lay there. She thought, too, of Norman. Where was he, and would he know what had happened to her? Had he cast her aside as unworthy of his affection?
The night was still and cool. No sound of life broke the intense silence except the deep breathing of the child close by her side. She longed for something to break the quietness which reigned, which was almost maddening her. Presently a slight noise arrested her attention. It was a light step as of someone approaching. Her heart beat fast, and she strained her eyes in an effort to pierce the gloom. Soon a shadowy form became visible. It drew nearer, and then stopped. Slowly it advanced until it was close by her side, when she recognised the form of Nadu, the Indian woman. Madeline lay perfectly still now, although her heart was thumping so loud that she thought it must be heard yards away. The visitor stood for a few seconds like a statue. Then she stooped down and peered intently into Madeline's face. The latter closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She almost felt Nadu's warm breath, and pictured those eyes glaring like fiery balls. When it seemed that she could stand the strain no longer she heard the woman move away, and when Madeline opened her eyes the intruder was nowhere to be seen. The darkness had swallowed her up, and Madeline almost imagined she had seen a vision. She lay awake for some time after this incident, staring up vacantly at the stars. At length, however, the tired brain ceased to work, and she drifted away for a time from care and fear into the beneficent land of sleep.
And thus they lay, beneath the twinkling lights of heaven, the child and the woman, two fresh fair flowers, rudely snatched from their natural abode, to be tossed to and fro by the wild winds of passion and greed far out into the frontier of a cold, cruel land.
The banks of the Takan River, at the head of the Kaska Rapids, were lined with tall fir trees and jack pines. It was a sombre place, this, and the regular camping ground where from time immemorial natives had disembarked to portage overland to the big lake below.
Near one of the large trees stood Nadu, the Indian woman, dark, straight and motionless as the numerous boles around her. But, though very still, a new light shone in her eyes—the light of indecision. For weeks past only grim determination had been expressed in those restless orbs. At Hishu, and all the way down the river, no change or softening gleam could be detected. There was nothing but that savage glitter of a beast of the forest ready to spring upon its victim.
But now something was disturbing that fevered brain, some counter attraction was at work, causing those ever-varying expressions. As dark billowy clouds roll and surge threateningly athwart the sky, while occasionally a brief glimpse of the clear blue is seen, so it was across Nadu's face. Now the storm of passion was seen, and again a sudden rift telling of the violence raging within.
Her form was straight and unbending. A shawl covered her head and swept her comely shoulders. Night was symbolised there—black, desolate Night. Occasionally her eyes turned to the spot where Madeline and Donnie were lying. Then the clouds grew dark, and the staring eyes gleamed cruelly fierce. But anon they shifted to the left, and roamed among the silent arches of the shadowy forest. Then the fire died down to a softer glow, suggesting warmth rather than destruction.
For some time she remained in this position. At length, drawing the loose ends of the shawl closely together about her head, she moved swiftly forward. Down among the trees she sped, following what seemed to be a narrow trail. No mortal eye could see this rough crooked path. But Nadu needed not the light of day for guidance. She was on familiar ground, and intuitively kept the way. Ere long the trees became somewhat sparse, and soon a large clearing appeared in view.
Silently Nadu sped from the midst of the shadows and started across the open. Presently she paused and looked keenly ahead. A light suddenly shone through the darkness. For some time it held her special attention. It fascinated and then drew her steadily on. Brighter and brighter it shone. By this time she was quite near, close enough to see the outline of a rude log house, with the light streaming from the one window on the northern side. Her form was not straight now, but much bent as she crept warily onward, fearful lest she should be observed. But so silent were her movements that a watchful dog could hardly detect her approach.
She came close to the window, and standing somewhat to one side peered in through the small dust-laden panes. The scene she beheld caused Nadu's bosom to heave, and the hardness of her face to change entirely to an expression of love. Eagerly her eyes dwelt upon various things within that building. The rough deal table, the few stools and benches, and the one lighted candle. But a thin white hand, steadily writing, moved her most, and lifting her eyes they rested upon a bent head covered with hair of snowy whiteness, while a long beard swept the writer's breast.
All unconscious of the eager eyes peering in upon him, the lonely worker continued his task through the silent watches of the night.
For some time Nadu stood by the window, her eyes riveted upon that grey-haired man. After a while she turned aside, glided around the house until she came to the door. Here she paused and looked carefully about. But no sign of life was to be seen. The far-off eastern horizon was now reddening above the tree tops. The light of the rising moon was slowly stealing over the land, bringing into relief the dim outlines of various log houses and tent frames not far away.
Nadu dropped upon the wooden doorstep and leaned her head against her right hand. Occasionally her form trembled, and a half-smothered sob escaped her lips. Some strong emotion was stirring in this Indian woman's heart like a deep lake disturbed by a subtle, unseen volcano. At length she arose and moved slowly away from the building. At times she paused, and looked yearningly back upon the house she had just left. But when once again among the trees her step quickened, and as she neared the river the old hard look returned to her face. She stayed her steps where the woman and the child were lying. Then she crept softly forward, and peered down intently upon the silent pair. What were the thoughts which racked her brain as she saw Madeline's face strained and white lying there amidst the shadows? When she had gazed to her satisfaction she once more glided away, and moving to the bank of the river crouched down upon the ground. A canoe lying in a little eddy near the shore chafed and tugged at its moosehide painter. The cold dark river surged sullenly by, to leap with a roar and a swirl through the dreaded Kaska Rapids several hundred yards down-stream.
Nadu did not sleep, for when the brain becomes the battlefield of strong contending emotions the ministering angel of slumber can find no abiding place. At length she roused to action. Having awakened the men she went to the white woman's side, and looked for a few minutes upon that slight form. Madeline's left arm was thrown about Donnie's body in a protecting embrace. Her right hand pillowed her tired head, while across cheek and brow swept a few loosened tresses of dark brown hair. About the corners of her mouth a faint semblance of a smile was to be detected. Was she dreaming of happy bygone days in her old home far away? If so what a terrible change to awake to her real situation!
Was it the crackling of the fire which one of the Indians had made or the presence of that dark face staring down upon her which caused Madeline to move restlessly, then open her eyes, and start up with a little cry of fright? A malicious gleam of joy shone in Nadu's eyes as she turned away and left the woman and the child together.
Donnie was much refreshed by his sleep. He was standing the ordeal far better than Madeline. He chatted incessantly while she washed his face, and smoothed out his tousled curly locks with her fingers.
Madeline could barely taste the food, and she stood silently by watching Donnie enjoying the few morsels which were given to him. She leaned against a large tree to support her tired and overtaxed form. Every bone in her body ached, for she was so sore and stiff after her long walk of the day before.
Although very early in the morning the moon made the whole land almost as bright as day. The hastily prepared breakfast was soon eaten, the small fire extinguished, and preparations made for a speedy departure.
Madeline and Donnie were standing on the bank near where the canoe was floating. The Indian woman stood by the bow with her hand upon the moosehide thong, while the men conversed together for a few minutes several yards away. Presently they came close to the canoe and began to talk with the woman. What they said Madeline could not tell, but they seemed to be disputing over some question. Ere long one beckoned to the white woman, and pointed to the canoe. With her hand firmly grasping the child's Madeline slipped down the bank and stood close to the craft.
"Git in," commanded Nadu, as she hesitated a moment, "me hand in bah-bee."
Had she at that moment glanced at the Indian woman's malignant, triumphant face she would have shrunk back in terror. But her eyes were upon the rocking canoe, and carefully she stepped over the side, and was about to turn around to receive Donnie, when she felt the craft shoot swiftly out from the shore. The sudden motion caused her to sink upon her knees with a cry of fright. Quickly she turned her eyes to the shore, and there standing close to the water was Donnie with his little arms stretched out appealingly toward her, while his pathetic cry urging her to return smote upon her ears. Nadu was close by his side, one hand fiercely clutching the child's arm, with her eyes full fixed upon the departing canoe. The men were wildly gesticulating, and talking rapidly to her in their own tongue. She heeded them not, but stood like a statue staring out over the swiftly flowing water.
Then the truth flashed across Madeline's mind with a horrible stabbing intensity. It was the Indian woman's devilish plot to get rid of her, to send her to a speedy death into the swirling rapids below. Already their roar sounded in her ears like the knell of doom. Swifter flowed the stream, and the canoe trembled convulsively in its onward rush. Madeline glanced about for a paddle. She would make a struggle for life; she would die fighting. But alas, even that final hope vanished, for the paddles had been carefully removed, by whose hand she could easily guess. But what avail would be a pair of frail arms against that sinuous overmastering current? It was a monster, cruel and relentless, sweeping her onward into the very jaws of death. What earthly hand could break its grip, or what human voice could bid it hold back, and it would obey? Only one Hand could reach out, but there was no sign; only one Voice could give the all-powerful command, and It was silent.
Nearer now were those white foaming waters. Their angry snarl as they dashed and broke over some hidden rock sounded louder and louder. Madeline crouched in the bottom of the canoe, her eyes fascinated by that gleaming, grinning line ahead. She felt the craft quiver, dip, and then with a bound it plunged into that flume of destruction. Instantly Hell opened its horrid jaws to engulf her. She heard the jeering, maddening roar of demons. She felt the white froth spuming her body, and beheld ghostly, merciless claws reaching out to grip and drag her down to their horrid abode. Trees, rocks and sky were blotted out as the craft tore and staggered through that cloud of foam. The canoe was rapidly filling now, and the water was pouring over Madeline's body. It was blinding and deafening her. She rose to her knees; she staggered to her feet; she tried to stand. Her brain reeled. She felt she was going mad. Suddenly the mist cleared. She saw the blue sky above, and lifting up her hands she gave one wild, imploring cry for help. And even as she cried the canoe rushed with a sickening crash upon the edge of a concealed, jagged boulder, hurling Madeline like a rocket, out into the midst of that hissing, seething death.