The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Long Patrol, by H. A. Cody.

"Lead me, O Thou Star of Heaven,

Guide me through the world's dark night,

Lead me to the restful haven,

Bring me to the morning light.

Star of Heaven, bright and fair,

Keep me ever in Thy care.

Brighten, O Thou Star of Heaven,

Death's dark valley deep and wide,

Lighten up the way before me,

Till I reach the other side.

Star of Heaven, lead me on,

When the light of earth is gone."

Scarcely had Madeline begun to sing ere an invisible veil lifted from the brain of the wounded man by her side. He came forth from the blank world of darkness, and a voice fell upon his ears which made him lie very still. It was so sweet and familiar. He had heard it before, and it led him into gardens of the most beautiful and fragrant flowers. And in the centre—the fairest flower of all—stood Madeline as of old.

Presently the singing ceased, and Grey opened his eyes, and fixed them full upon the bright scene before him.

Madeline turning, saw him, noted the look of intelligence upon his face, and her heart bounded with joy. Grey tried to speak, but words would not come. He gave a weary smile, and stretched out his hand. Madeline seized it, and pressed it gently.

Again he smiled, and gave her such a look of love and gratitude that she trembled with emotion, while a deep blush suffused her cheeks. She longed for Norman to speak, to hear the truth from his own lips. She read it in his eyes, however, and was happy. But she did not wish to excite him in his present condition, and knew that a deep refreshing sleep would be the best thing for him.

With a deep sigh of extreme weariness he closed his eyes in a slumber which Madeline knew was natural and refreshing.

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" she breathed to herself. "The veil is lifted. He knew me, and did not turn away from me in disgust."

She sat watching him for a few minutes, and then some subtle influence caused her to turn her face toward the door. It was partly open, for the morning was mild, and the room warm. And as she looked out upon the world beyond in a half-abstracted manner, she became aware that someone was approaching the house. Then she started, placed Donnie upon the floor, rose to her feet, and took a few steps forward. Her face, which but a few moments before had flushed with joy, was now as white as death. The person coming toward her was the Indian woman, Nadu. She recognised her in an instant, and her first impulse was to close and securely fasten the door. But something seemed to hold her spellbound. She was unable to move and stood perfectly still, fascinated by that slowly advancing figure.

Nadu walked with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her head covered with the old scarf. She was moving as in a dream, heeding nothing about her. Was she coming to visit for the last time the house in which she had passed so many happy days, to look upon the scenes so familiar to her? Was she thinking of the missionary and his wife who would never live there again, the two who had been so kind to her, and who had taught her about the nobler things of life? Was there any feeling of remorse in her heart for the woman she had sent so ruthlessly through the swirling rapids? She reached the door, placed a foot upon the threshold, and lifted her head. As she did so a look of wonder, quickly succeeded by a wild fear, leaped into her eyes. She started back and threw out her arms as if to drive away the scene, while from her lips came a piercing shriek of terror. There before her stood the white woman. It could not be, she was drowned in the rapids, and was this her ghost returned to confront her? The teaching she had received at the Mission House and the years she had spent among white people could not altogether eradicate from Nadu's mind the ingrained superstition of her race. The roaring of the wind, the roll of thunder and the rippling of the stream were to her so many voices of the unseen spirits. Only in times of extreme passion were the voices silent. She heeded nothing then, but rushed madly forward like some impetuous torrent. Only when the violent force had been exhausted did the voices return as before. So on this day her passion of jealousy and hatred was subdued by the sight of her old friend and teacher lying cold in death. And then to be confronted by this spirit, as she thought, of the very one she wished to banish from her mind was most startling. Pain, hardship and even death she would have suffered without a complaint. But this vision of the supernatural, this spirit of the woman she had sent to her death, was more than her sturdy stoicism could endure. Sinking to her knees upon the floor, she buried her face in her hands to blot out that strange sight. And as she knelt there Madeline stepped forward and laid her hand gently upon the bowed woman's shoulder. The touch caused Nadu to shrink back with a gurgling, inarticulate cry.

"Don't be afraid," Madeline said, half surmising the cause of the Indian woman's fear. "I won't hurt you. I forgive you."

Lowering her hands and lifting her head Nadu looked slowly up, while her eyes scanned the white woman's face intently for an instant. Then she reached out fearfully a trembling hand and touched Madeline's dress.

"No, no," came the laughing reply. "Do I seem like a dead person? Get up, and take a good look at me."

Realising how she had been mistaken, Nadu quickly regained her feet, while the old expression of hatred leaped back into her eyes.

"Don't look at me that way!" Madeline cried, laying her hand upon the woman's arm. "Why do you hate me? I have not hurt you. Why do you want to kill me?"

"White woman no savvey?" and Nadu gave a sarcastic laugh. "No savvey Siwash Bill at Hishu?"

In an instant the truth flashed upon Madeline's mind. Why had she been so dull of comprehension? she wondered. She recalled now the squaw man's numerous advances, and his protestations of love that night she had fainted at the door of Old Meg's house. So here was the secret of it all. The Indian woman believed it was her fault, which caused the hatred to burn like a wild, consuming fire.

"Look at me, Nadu," she commanded, drawing closer, "and know that I am telling you the truth. I did not try to steal the heart of your husband. It is a lie! He came to me, but I would not listen. He is bad, bad! You see that man lying there?" and she pointed to the constable. "I knew him a long time ago. I never forgot him. See? Why should I want Siwash Bill?"

Nadu's eyes turned toward the cot, and for the first time she saw the sleeping man lying there. She remained silent for a few minutes, and then a new light shone in her eyes as she turned them upon Madeline's face.

"I tell you, no," was the emphatic reply. "You are wrong. You have tried to kill me when I did nothing to you. It is that man, Bill, who is bad; oh, he is terrible!"

Madeline hardly expected to convince this woman that what she said was true. It was, therefore, a great surprise when Nadu suddenly dropped upon the kitchen floor, seized Madeline's right hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips.

"Me sorry. Me sorry," she moaned. "Nadu once happy here. But Bill take Nadu away. Nadu savvey now."

"Me hate heem! Me hate heem!" she cried, while her hands clinched hard. "Heem bad, ugh!"

With that she turned and hurried out of the house, leaving Madeline standing gazing wonderingly after her. She felt that Nadu's hatred would now be turned toward Siwash Bill. What course her anger would take she could not tell, but a sigh of relief escaped her lips as she realised that she herself was no longer the object of this strange woman's revengeful moods.

She was still standing there when Buckskin Dan crossed the threshold. He glanced at Madeline, and then toward the cot. His eye brightened as he noted the natural expression upon Norman's face.

"Yes, and he is sleeping quietly now," was the reply. "But you have been away most of the morning. I did not think a funeral, especially here, would take so long."

"Set down, miss, while I tell ye all about it, an' then ye must give me an account of when yon laddie come to."

Grey slept for the remainder of the day, and did not awake again until early the next morning. He started up and looked around. Daylight was streaming into the room, and the objects within were quite discernible. He saw Dan lying on the floor a short distance away, and wondered what he was doing there. Then slowly his mind cleared and the past stood out vividly before him. He remembered the stand they had made behind the columns of stone, and how he had rushed forward to rescue the old man. But where was Madeline? He had a faint idea that she had been close by his side, had held his hand, and spoken to him. But he now believed it was all a dream. He wished to get up, for he felt strong enough for that. He was also hungry, and longed to explore the room to see what it contained in the way of food. But he did not wish to disturb the old trapper, who must be very tired. So he lay quietly on the cot, thinking and wondering about many things.

At length Dan opened his eyes, and with an ejaculation of annoyance sprang to his feet.

"Wall, I'll be blowed," he exclaimed. "I only intended to rest a bit thar on the floor, an' didn't I go fast asleep."

His delight knew no bounds when he saw Grey's improved condition, and he set hastily to work getting breakfast. But occasionally he cast his eyes in the direction of Madeline's room, and when at length he heard her moving across the floor toward the door he slipped quickly and quietly out of the kitchen into the fresh morning air.

"Guess I'm better out here," he chuckled with delight. "They don't want an old humbug hangin' around at sich a critical time like this. I'll jist slip over to whar the Injuns are camped, an' have a few words with 'em. I've been thinkin' things over a bit lately, an' want thar help. They're a queer lot of varmints, but they kin help us to git outer this hole."

When he returned a half hour later the jubilant expression had left his face, and his furrowed brow was troubled. He noted the happy scene in the Mission House, Norman and Madeline sitting close to each other, with Donnie playing near by.

"They're gone!" he exclaimed. "Them Injuns, the mean wretches, have cleared out."

"Well, what does it matter, Dan?" Grey replied. "We don't need them now, do we?"

"Don't need 'em? Don't need 'em, do ye say? It's jist the time we do need 'em. Jist as soon as ye git a little more strength into yer body we've got to hike outer this back to Hishu. I wanted them Injuns to go with us, fer I'm thinkin' thar'll be trouble up yon with Siwash Bill an' his gang. With them Injuns at me back I'd soon settle thar hash. But now they've hiked off to the interior—both Hishus an' Big Lakes—to hold a great pot-latch. Blame their dusky skins. They're jist as troublesome an' unsartin as a hull nest of fleas."

"But we can face them, Dan," Grey insisted. "I feel stronger every minute, and I have good cause for it, too, have I not? Oh, Dan, this is the happiest day of my life. The veil is not only lifted from my mind, but the veil so dark and terrible which separated Madeline and me is lifted, too. Come, banish that gloom from your face, and be happy with us for to-day. We've had enough darkness and hardship together of late, Dan, so let us enjoy the sunshine and joy for a few hours at least. To-morrow we can start back to Hishu. I do not fear those vile serpents now, though, they were ten to one."

"Very wall, pardner," and Dan scratched his head doubtfully. "I don't want to spile yer pleasure to-day. So I'll jist think me thoughts, an' hold me tongue fer a change."

CHAPTER XXIX STRENGTH FROM THE HILLS

The night Siwash Bill and Windy Pete had been foiled in their dastardly work within Buckskin Dan's cabin, they sat late in the store scheming for a speedy revenge. They were tigers in human forms, and by the flickering candle light their faces expressed the rage burning in their hearts. Oaths of the most blood-curdling nature poured in a sulphurous stream from their foul mouths. There was nothing about their appearance to arouse even the slightest feeling of sympathy or approval. Through years of baseness, guile and debauchery, they had extinguished the faintest spark of nobleness within their hearts. Subject to no restraint, free to follow the dictates of their own passions, they found it now unbearable to be checked in their mad career.

They sat for hours, and the candle spluttered low ere they ceased. Neither did they see two forms speeding swiftly and quietly from Dan's cabin to the canoe by the river's bank.

At length Windy Pete yawned, rose and threw himself into a bunk in the adjoining room, leaving Bill alone with the dying candle. The squaw man's eyes often turned toward the door as if expecting it to open at any minute, and that Nadu would enter. But as the night lengthened and she did not appear, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. He was sure that she had fulfilled his command, and had sped with the child down-stream. A sense of elation swept over him as he mused upon the success of his scheme. How easily he had cleared himself of the troublesome, suspicious squaw. He had the field to himself now, and there was no one to interfere with his design upon that woman at Old Meg's. She had repelled him, it was true, but what of that? There were other ways, and he thought with satisfaction upon her daily, lonely walk down the trail to the river. There would be no Nadu prowling around, either. He would have the beautiful woman to himself, and then he would see if she would scorn him again. To-morrow she would be there. He would wait no longer. And so he sat in the darkness, for the light had gone out. That kindly ministrant had slowly flickered down to nothing, and night mercifully blotted out the coarse passion-inflamed features of the wretched squaw man sitting alone in the room.

No sleep came to his eyes, and at the earliest break of day he arose, lighted the fire and prepared breakfast. Windy Pete still slept on, unheeding the noise his companion was making. Occasionally the squaw man went to the door and looked intently toward Buckskin Dan's cabin. The trapper was an unusually early riser, and when an hour or two had passed, and no smoke was seen issuing from the stovepipe stuck through the roof, the squaw man was much surprised. He talked it over with Pete when he awoke, and together the two watched the cabin for some sign of life. They waited and watched for the greater part of the morning, and observing nothing they went over to the building, and looked cautiously through the small window into the room. Seeing no one, they tried the door, and found it fastened.

"They've hiked, Pete! Ha, ha!" he cried. "We've routed the d— skunks at last. The place was gittin' too hot fer 'em. Oh, this is a good one. Say, old man, let's go over to the store an' have a drink on it. That was the best job we've done in a long time. I didn't think that spyin' Yellow-leg would show sich a chicken liver so soon. How he did squak last night when the light went out. Oh, oh, this is rich."

They retraced their steps, and had almost reached the store when their attention was arrested by the clatter of hoofs some distance away. Looking around they beheld Shifty Nick tearing down the trail, mounted upon his lean and wiry cayuse. He reined up close to where they were standing, with his characteristic brutality and string of oaths.

"Dough be d—!" was the reply, as the rider leaped to the ground, tore off saddle and bridle, and turned the much-abused animal loose to seek for a meal as best it could. "Come inside, and we'll talk it over. I'm dead beat, an' almost starved."

"They didn't bite," growled Shifty, as he gulped down his food. "How many times have I got to tell ye that?"

"But didn't ye see anybody?" insisted Bill. "Did no one come near the place where we ordered the money to be left?"

"Come? No. But I kept well out of sight, an' saw several d— Yellow-legs in the distance. They were on the lookout, but I kept close. They thought somebody'd be squattin' like a fool by the rock, with folded hands, an' meek eyes, waitin' fer the money. But Shifty knows a thing or two. Good Lord! How my fingers itched and quivered to draw a bead on their numbskulls."

"Oh, well, Nick," Bill replied, "don't feel too bad about it. We've got the kid, an' as that old cuss Si didn't fork out, but set those hounds of hell on us, it'll be some consolation to make 'im squirm. But I'd like to see his face when he gits the news of what has happened to his little tootsy-wootsie boy."

"Where is the kid, anyway?" questioned Nick. "I halted at Old Meg's, an' she told me the news."

"Ha, ha," and Bill laughed outright. "We've got 'im cinched all right. He's gone down to the Big Lakes. They'll keep 'im until called fer."

"Sartin. I didn't want her pryin' around. She's been somewhat suspicious of me lately, so I sent her to her own people with the two Injuns who came spyin' upon Hishu."

"The divil!" and Bill leaped to his feet. "What are ye givin' us? Who's stuffed ye with all this nonsense?"

"Ask Old Meg, then. She'll tell ye, fer she's more'n worked up over it; said that the gal went away with the kid in the canoe. Guess them Big Lakes must have an eye fer beauty, too, Bill, an' one of 'em needed a white squaw. Ha, ha, that's a good one."

Siwash Bill hardly heard these closing words. He stood as in a dream. So she was gone, and his plans were all upset. But why did they take her? What did it all mean?

"How did Old Meg know of this, Nick?" he hoarsely asked. "We didn't hear a word."

"Oh, that d— Yellow-leg told her. He burst into her cabin like a tornado. His eyes were starin' wild, an' his voice was like a roar of thunder, so she said, when he asked her about the gal. Where is the cur now, anyway?"

Siwash Bill was more mystified than ever. He stood looking at Shifty in an abstracted manner, and then an angry snarl of rage broke from his lips.

"We're fools, d— fools!" he cried. "While we've been gloatin' over Buckskin Dan an' that Yellow-leg, callin' 'em cowards an' all kinds of names, they've been hikin' after them Injuns to save the boy an' that gal. Oh, I see it all as plain as day."

The squaw man had been outwitted at his own game. His companions knew when to be silent, and discreetly left him to his own thoughts. They sauntered from the building, and discussed the matter outside. Within the store sat Bill, alone, the very incarnation of baffled rage and hatred. The day wore on, and he prowled around waiting for something to happen. Mingled with his rage was a feeling of insecurity. He had formerly believed that his word was law at Hishu; that his plans could not be overturned, and that his commands would be obeyed. But his eyes were being slowly opened. There was some undercurrent which was working against him. The very air seemed ominous with unforeseen events.

The feeling of dread was deepened when toward evening he saw canoes gliding down the river, filled with natives. He believed they would stop at Hishu, but, instead, they pushed steadily on in deep silence. He ran to the bank of the river, and watched them until they had disappeared around a bend in the distance. He noted that one craft ran close to the shore, and a tall, lithe figure stepped lightly in. He could not tell who this passenger was, but it increased his anxiety. Why had not the Hishus stopped? What did they mean by going by without a word? Had they, too, turned against him? He felt that their action had something to do with the stolen woman and child. But how could they know about it so far off in the wilderness, while he, only a few hundred yards away, had been in entire ignorance?

Anxiously now he discussed the whole question with his companions. Would Dan and the constable return, and the Hishus with them? If so, their position at the village would be unenviable. Or had the Indians gone down to meet the Big Lakes? This latter idea gave them some relief. Anyway, they considered it safer to be prepared, and if the worst came they could fade away into the wilderness. A couple of cayuses, grazing in a wild meadow, several miles from Hishu, were caught and brought to the village to be held in readiness, while packs of food were made up for a speedy departure. In addition to these precautions Shifty Nick each day patrolled the river for miles below Hishu. He lived upon the trail. By day he scanned the river for the slightest object, while at night his alert ears were strained for the faintest paddle dip. It had often been said that Shifty could sleep in the saddle, and could see with his eyes closed.

Days passed and nothing happened. The river gave no sign, and the air breathed no secrets. But late one afternoon Shifty rode madly into Hishu, leaped from the cayuse, and burst into the store.

"No, only one canoe. Injuns nowhere in sight. All whites but one, an' that's Nadu. Now we've got to act, an' what's yer plan? Are ye goin' to let 'em git through Hishu?"

"How long 'fore they'll git here, Nick?" questioned the squaw man, who was now thinking deeply.

"Two hours. It'll be quite dark then," Bill mused, as he glanced toward the window. "Two hours. Let me see. Thar's Dan; he's a divil, an' the Yellow-leg's 'bout as bad. The rest'll be easy to handle, eh?"

"Listen," and the squaw man leaned over and spoke low. "See? Dead men tell no tales. Night. Confusion. Cries of fright. River swift. Good grave, eh? Easy. What? We kin do it. Three to one. It's our only way, Nick. We'll have to do it later, so might as well settle the job now."

"What about 'em? I care not fer the hull bunch. They can't prove anything. We're desperate men, anyway, so a few lives more or less won't matter, eh? Now you had better git down-stream early, in case they come faster'n we expect. I'll be along later, fer I've got some things to look after around the store. We'll have a big blowout when we git this affair settled. I'll stand treat to-night, an' a good one it'll be, too. So ye'd better be off at once."

Slowly the darkness deepened as the squaw man moved around the store. He felt confident now that his plans would not miscarry. He could trust his two companions to do the deed from which his cowardly heart shrank. He had really nothing to detain him, and his excuse of work was only a weak sham. But he resolved to be near, watching within the shadows, at the right moment. Occasionally he went to the door to listen, hoping to hear the report of rifles and the sounds of clamour down-stream. At last, thinking it about time the canoe should be near, he seized his cap, and was about to blow out the candle standing on the table, when a peculiar noise fell upon his ears. He paused and listened. It was the steady tramp of numerous feet approaching the building. He started, and his face grew ashy white, for he recognised that sound. The prospectors and miners had returned from the hills! But why were they coming so soon? Formerly their arrival had always filled him with joy, for it had meant big sales, and much drinking. Now, however, it was different. He did not wish them near at this critical time, and, besides, something warned him that they had returned for a special purpose.

He glanced quickly around, with the idea of flight, but at that instant the store door was thrust open with a bang, and a number of men surged into the room. To the squaw man trembling by the counter they seemed like a veritable army of giants. And in fact they were splendid types of men physically. No carpet knights these, but rugged pioneers and pathfinders, who for long years had followed the lure of gold wherever it beckoned with its mystic charm.

They entered without a word, and almost filled the store. Their silence to the shrinking man was most ominous. Why had he remained behind? he asked himself. Why had he not gone with his companions? He would have had their assistance at any rate, and here he was alone to face these men!

"Evenin', men," he at length blurted out. "It's g-good t' see ye. Yer back early from the hills. Have a drink, eh? Free to all. It's my treat t'night."

If he thought in this manner to win the good will of these men he was sadly mistaken. He partly turned toward the black bottles standing on the shelves, when certain sickening clicks caused him to wheel suddenly about, and he found his eyes looking straight down the smooth barrels of a dozen levelled revolvers.

"Throw up your hands," came the stern command. "There, that's better. Now look here, Bill," and the speaker took a step closer. "Where's that kid you pinched from Big Glen?"

"Look, none of that. You can't fool with us. We've come too far to listen to nonsense. So out with it at once."

"But ye do know. Ye sent 'im, an' if ye don't cough up at once we'll leave your d— carcass here on the floor in the twinkling of an eye. D'ye hear?"

Muttered oaths and agitated movements greeted this contemptible story. The speaker lifted his hand for silence.

"You mean, cowardly sneak," he cried, turning to the prisoner. "You deserve to be tied to a stake and tortured to death. The men here are just in the right mood for such a job, too. They left their claims, tramped the whole distance to Hishu, and are hungry enough to be mad for action."

"No, we won't do it just now. We'll reserve that for a little later. There are two others to be dealt with, and we'll make one job of the whole nasty affair. So you say Shifty and Windy are lying in wait down-stream, eh?"

"Well, then, boys," ordered the speaker, "some stay here, and guard this cur. The rest of us will step over to the landing. We'd like to have a hand in that racket. I hope to God we're not too late."

At that instant the faint report of a rifle fell upon their ears. Then another, and still another. At once a mad rush was made for the door, while Siwash Bill was left in the safe-keeping of half a dozen able-bodied prospectors.

CHAPTER XXX UPHOLDING THE LAW

All day long the pointed prow of the little canoe had disturbed the surface of the Hishu in its steady progress up-stream. The monotonous swish of the paddle continued hour after hour as Buckskin Dan and Grey bent to their task. The latter was still somewhat weak after the trying experiences through which he had recently passed. But the energy and fire of manhood, now intensified by a new hope within his breast, converted toil into play. Madeline was sitting well astern, with Donnie seated comfortably by her side. Upon her face a new light had dawned. She thought much of the terrible journey she had made down that same river but a few days before. Then she was helpless. But now the two strong forms bending and swinging before her were near to shield her from harm.

Her eyes often roamed to Nadu's muffled figure sitting so quietly in the bow. The Indian woman had suddenly appeared below the Kaska Rapids as they were about to embark, and implored to be taken back to Hishu. After careful consideration Dan and Grey had conceded to her request. Why she wished to go they could not tell. Neither did they ask her, well knowing that questions would be useless.

It was a weary way up that crooked stream, and the shadows of a second night were gathering ere they neared the end of their voyage. They had hoped to arrive at Hishu before dark, but in this they were disappointed. Grey's mind was somewhat troubled as he thought of the reception which probably awaited them there. What had Siwash Bill and his companions been doing during the past week? Would they oppose them, and strive to wrench the child from their grasp? He glanced at his rifle lying near his side, and thought of the revolver at his hip. His teeth closed firmly together as he pictured the gang surrounding them. He would show them a thing or two if they attempted any of their vile tricks. There was also that cabin affair, and their dastardly attempt upon his life to be settled. How he longed to be at them.

He was roused from his reverie by a low cry from Nadu. Glancing quickly up he saw the woman pointing excitedly ahead to the left bank.

Following the pointed finger Grey was able to discern in the distance a horseman speeding along the trail close to the river. At times he was lost to view behind a clump of trees, only to reappear farther on. Ere long he was lost to sight amidst the forest and the deepening gloom. Dan ceased paddling, turned and looked into Grey's face.

"It's that skunk, Shifty Nick!" he exclaimed. "He's spotted us, an' is hikin' back to Hishu with the news! He's been waitin' fer us to appear, that's sartin. What mischief are them villains up to now, I wonder?"

"They haven't given us up, then," Grey replied, heading the canoe up-stream. "We're in for it, and there's nothing else for us to do but to drive ahead as fast as we can and have it over with them as soon as possible. I'm tired of this hide-and-seek game. It's getting on my nerves."

Dan did not reply, but bent to his paddle with more determination than ever. How the canoe did thrill along through the water. Nearer and nearer they came to the village, and after a while dim forms of the cabins could be discerned in the distance. Instead of following the left bank of the stream, Dan headed the canoe to the right. Grey wondered at this, but said nothing. He believed the trapper had some purpose in mind which he would soon explain. When almost opposite the village Dan ran the canoe sharply ashore, and when its keel grated gently upon the beach he laid down his paddle and stood up.

"If yez don't mind," he commenced, "I'll jist leave yez here fer awhile an' slip over to Hishu alone an' size things up a bit. We must be cautious."

"No, pardner. You stay here an' guard the lassie an' the kid. It's best not to leave 'em alone. Ye can't tell what might happen."

"Oh, don't go, Norman," pleaded Madeline, leaning forward and laying her hand gently on his arm. "Stay with us. So many things have happened lately that I dread to be alone."

"Well, I'll stay then," Grey assented. "Only I don't like to have Dan go over there by himself. Two are better than one."

"Come," commanded Dan, as he was about to shove the canoe back into the water. "Ain't ye goin' to git out, too?"

Dan hesitated only for an instant, and then sent the craft reeling into the current. It was nothing to him whether the woman stayed or went. Seizing a paddle he headed the canoe for the opposite shore, intending to land about one hundred yards below the store. The evening was still, and hardly a sound did he make as he paddled swiftly forward.

As he neared the shore a rifle report suddenly broke the silence, followed immediately by a second, while a bullet whistled past his head. A scream of pain and fright came from Nadu, and looking quickly in her direction Dan saw her lift herself to her feet, reel and fall with a sickening splash into the dark water. A feeling of wild rage possessed the trapper. He realised now the cowardly nature of the attack, in which the Indian woman was the victim. He wheeled the canoe around in an effort to see some sign of Nadu. But nothing could he observe, although he drifted some distance down the river in the hope of seeing her body rise to the surface.

Resolved to search no longer he headed the canoe for the place where the others were waiting, when again the rifles spoke. Dan threw himself forward, and the bullet whistled harmlessly overhead.

"Them villains! Them sarpints!" he cried, as he ran the canoe upon the beach and leaped out. "I'll git me hands on 'em afore long, see if I don't," and he shook his fist in the direction of Hishu.

When Madeline heard about Nadu's death she sank upon the ground and buried her face in her hands. Her heart had held no bitterness for the poor distracted Indian woman since that day she had talked with her in the Mission House. And now Nadu was gone! All her earthly troubles over in an instant.

"Oh, it is terrible, terrible!" she cried, springing to her feet. "When will these things end! Can nothing stop those horrible men?"

Ere an answer could be made a noise from the opposite shore arrested their attention. Shouts, yells and oaths fell upon their ears. They listened, and at length the sounds moved up-stream toward the store.

"The miners! The miners!" exclaimed the trapper, now much excited. "They've come from the hills, an' none too soon. Oh, if they'd only arrived a few minutes earlier, that poor creature 'ud not be lyin' out thar in the river. We'll go over now, fer the miners have got things in their own hands, an' Buckskin Dan wants a finger in the mess, too. He's got a few words to say. Hurry up. Let's go, quick."

As they paddled rapidly across the river straight toward the store, a bright light suddenly sprang up right before them. Larger and larger it grew, until huge forked flames were leaping wildly into the air. It was a bonfire which had been built, and the light was illumining the village for some distance around.

"We must keep back in the shadders," Dan remarked as they landed upon the shore, "an' git the lassie an' kid inter my cabin. It's no place fer 'em outside on sich an occasion as this. You take 'em thar, pardner," he said, turning to Grey, who was carrying Donnie. "I can't wait any longer. I want to jine the crowd. Here's the key to me shack."

Heeding not the confusion near the store, Norman turned somewhat to the left, and keeping well within the shadows gradually worked his way around toward Dan's cabin. Madeline followed close behind, and after what seemed to be a long time they came upon the shack on the opposite side from the store. The light from the fire was broken by the building, up to which they were able to creep unnoticed. It took Norman but a minute to place the child upon the ground, unlock the door, and throw it open. When once inside he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God, we are here at last, Madeline," and he turned as he spoke to the woman by his side.

The small window faced the store, and the light shining through illuminated the whole room. It showed Madeline's face, white and tired after the journey and the trying ordeal of the evening. Grey laid Donnie, who had fallen asleep in his arms, gently in the lower bunk, and turned to the woman standing quietly near.

"Madeline," he said, taking her hands in his, and looking into her weary eyes, "you are tired and need food and rest. Sit in this big chair, while I build a fire, and we shall soon have a lunch together."

"I am tired," Madeline replied as she took the seat and watched Norman as he at once applied himself to his task.

The large chair was Buckskin Dan's special pride. He had made it big and luxurious, and had covered it with skins of wild animals. To Madeline it was the essence of comfort to nestle among the soft furs and lean her head against the high back. She watched Norman as he moved about the stove piling in dry wood, pouring water into the kettle, and laying the few dishes upon the table. Neither spoke, for words were unnecessary. To each that humble cabin was more beautiful than a gorgeous palace. Love pervaded the room. It had a language without words, and a music without sound.

But Grey's mind was not at rest. The gathering near the store worried him. He realised what those men might do when carried away in the heat of excitement. He thought of the whisky on the shelves, and what the result would be should the men get hold of it. Once he went to the door and listened. Siwash Bill and his companions were standing with their backs against the store, surrounded by the miners. Dan was speaking, and ever and anon above the crackling of the fire Grey could catch a few words. He was telling in fiery language of the murderous attack made by Windy Pete out in the hills that dark night, and of the cowardly attempt at murder in his own cabin.

As the speaker proceeded the cries of rage became fiercer, and it was quite evident to the listening constable that the whisky had been liberally sampled. When he re-entered the cabin his face was graver than usual. He had depended upon Dan, and now he was stirring these men to passionate action.

"Is anything wrong, Norman?" Madeline asked, noting the expression of concern upon his brow.

"I'm afraid so," was the reply. "We can't tell what the miners will do to-night. They are almost beside themselves now. That cursed whisky has let loose the evil demon within them. It always does."

Yells and cries more vehement than before caused Grey to hurry again outside. He heard several shouting for ropes, and noted that the miners had formed more closely about the three wretched men. He realised that there was no time to lose. Hastening across the opening he reached the circle of men, pushed his way through, and stood for a moment and viewed the situation. Several ropes had been found within the store, and nooses had been quickly formed. Extending for several feet from the eaves of the building were two rough-hewn log plates, upon which the roof rested. These, as is often the case, had not been cut off, and on them the storekeeper had often hung articles for safety from the numerous starving Indian dogs which frequented the place when the natives were at Hishu. Over one of these a rope was now thrown, and the noose in the other end was about to be slipped over the head of the terrified squaw man, when Grey stepped quickly to his side.

"What's the meaning of this?" he cried, facing the miners. "Surely you're not going to string these men up?"

"That's what we're going to do, pardner," shouted several. "They deserve more'n that. They stole the kid, an' tried to kill you, didn't they? Step back, and don't interfere."

"But I will interfere," insisted Grey. "I know they deserve severe punishment, but you must not take the law into your own hands. They'll be dealt with, so don't you stain your hands with their blood."

"Come, come, don't stand there preachin' to us," came the cry as the men surged closer. "We want to see 'em go up now. Our law is quicker, an' there's no chance of their gittin' away."

It was a critical moment, and Grey knew it. Before him stood these men, mad and inflamed by the poisonous trash they had been drinking. They were certainly not in a fit condition to hearken to reason. Yet sometimes such hearts could be stirred by sentiment.

"Listen," he cried, raising his right hand for silence. "In the name of the Queen, I demand protection for these men."

But some had been born under other flags, and this appeal to loyalty moved them not.

"That won't do," they cried. "The Queen's all right, but she'd do the same as us if she was here. So stand back, an' let us to our job."

"Then you'll do it in the barking mouth of this," Grey calmly replied as his hand slipped to his hip, and ripped forth his revolver. "As a member of a Force whose duty it is to uphold the law of our land I shall stand by these men. Lay hands upon them at your peril."

A yell of anger burst from the miners at Grey's words and action. Their rage for the moment was diverted from Bill and his companions to the constable. They were not men to be startled or cowed by the gleam of a revolver. Instantly their hands slipped to their hips, and as many weapons flashed in the firelight.

"We kin play at that game, too, pardner," said one sturdy miner in the front row. "Ye can't bully us, an' it ain't no use tryin'."

"I'm not trying to bully you," Grey responded. "I'm only trying to bring you to your senses. Though you're forty to one, I'll make your number less if you're not careful."

At that moment Buckskin Dan sprang to Grey's side. He had watched the proceedings for a while without interfering. But he knew that his words had done much to cause this disturbance. He longed to see the three rascals strung up. But now that his partner was in danger it was a different matter, and he must help him.

"Have a care, pardners," he roared. "If yez touch this man, yez'll answer to the hull Force, an' the British Empire back of 'em. I'll stand by the laddie here, and yez know what Buckskin Dan's like when he gits his gun to work."

On any other occasion the men would have listened to these words of reason. But they were in no mood for that now. They were mad, clean crazy for something, they hardly knew what, and their passion was like a furiously blazing fire.

"Come out of that, Dan," yelled several. "We don't want to hurt you. Let's git at that d— cur. We're not afraid of the whole British Empire."

They surged nearer, and in an instant more the rush would take place. Grey's finger was upon the trigger. The revolver was all ready to spit messages of death, when suddenly his hand dropped, and his eyes stared in amazement. There at his side stood Madeline, confronting the men before her. How she had got there he could not tell. Her slight form was drawn to its full height, while her face was as white as death. Had an angel dropped suddenly into their midst the miners could not have been more surprised. They hesitated, lowered their weapons, and surged back a pace or two. For ten heart beats no one spoke, and the roaring fire was the only sound heard. Then Madeline took a step to the right, and placed herself directly in front of the constable, keeping her face to the miners.

"You are men," she began in a trembling voice, "and will respect a woman, for your mothers were women. But if you shoot this man you will do it through my body. He saved my life, and I love him."

"Madeline! Madeline! What are you doing here?" Grey demanded. "This is no place for you. Oh, please go away for my sake."

But there was no need for Madeline's fear. She was safe in the presence of those men. Where reason and appeal to loyalty had failed, the presence of this woman had succeeded. Their hearts were stirred by the scene before them, and the true chivalry of their nature conquered.

"Three cheers," was the cry, and how they did roar out the three rounds and a "tiger."

"Thank you very much," Madeline responded. "But you will prove that you are in earnest by sparing those men."

"Come, Jake, don't be stubborn," was the cry. "Let's do as the lady wishes. But we'll take good care they won't git away. Come, boys, let's make 'em fast, an' tie 'em up good an' tight till mornin'."

In the confusion and cries which followed Grey seized Madeline by the arm, and hurried back to the cabin. Neither spoke until they were within the building and the door shut. Then Grey reached out and took Madeline's hands in his.

"Oh, I am so thankful," Madeline replied. "But it was terrible to face those men!"

At that instant Dan entered the room. A smile crossed his rugged face as he saw the two standing before him.

"But will the miners leave them alone?" asked Madeline. "They may change their minds."

"But I'm not going to run any risk," Grey replied. "Those three men must go back to Big Glen alive, and I'm going to keep guard to-night. You need a good rest, Madeline, so you and Donnie will have the cabin to yourselves. Dan can sleep in the store. So come, I'm off."

Madeline said not a word, but her eyes spoke all that was necessary, causing Grey to go forward to his watch with a spirit of joy and elation.

CHAPTER XXXI OLD TRAILS AND NEW

It was late ere the confusion in Hishu subsided. The miners from the hills remained around the store until after midnight. They wished to be sure that Siwash Bill and his two companions had no possible means of escape. When they saw them fast bound within the building, and guarded not only by several of their own men, but by the constable and Buckskin Dan, they gradually drifted away to their little shacks in the village. Grey breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw the last depart, and quietness settle down over the place. He could not trust the miners on guard, for he felt quite sure that as the night wore on sleep would overcome them. They were tired men, and he could not blame them if they slept. Dan, he knew, would not fail him, but he must not leave him alone.

In separate corners of the room huddled the three wretched prisoners. By the faint glimmering light of the candle their dim forms could be seen. Their heads, bowed almost to their knees, told their own tale of miserable despair.

At times Grey opened the door and looked at Dan's cabin. All was still there, and he knew that Madeline and Donnie were resting after the fatigue of the day. As morning dawned he stepped out into the open, and paced up and down before the store. The fresh air was invigorating, and his body throbbed with new life. Slowly the night waned, the east brightened, and the sun rose big and red above the tree tops. Then the village stirred to action. Sounds of axes could be heard as the men prepared their firewood, and smoke could be seen curling from a score of stovepipes stuck through the cabin roofs.

Grey wondered what the day would bring forth. He wished to get away from Hishu as speedily as possible. He knew the trapper would go along to assist with the prisoners. But when he considered the distance to Big Glen and the difficulties of the way he realised what a task it would mean. As he was debating with himself whether he should ask several of the miners to accompany them his attention was aroused by the clatter of hoofs on the trail. Looking up, what was his joy to behold two men of the Force mounted on weary horses riding slowly toward him! They greeted him as one from the dead. Blackbird had wandered back to Big Glen, so they told him, and the Major, fearing the worst, had sent them out to find some trace of the lost rider.

Grey told them very little of what had taken place—he would report first to his Commanding Officer. He told the constables to look after the prisoners, and be ready to start back to Big Glen in a few hours.

During the morning Madeline's mind turned often to Old Meg. She felt sorry now for the poor creature alone in her cabin. Should she go away without one word of farewell? There was another reason why she wished to see her. Perhaps at last she might prevail upon her to reveal the mystery of the past six years, and why she had been kept away in the wilderness. Old Meg had never told her. Perhaps she might tell now.

She and Grey were standing at the door waiting for the trapper and a couple of miners to return with the cayuses, which the gang had rounded up for their own retreat if necessary.

"Norman," said Madeline suddenly, "I should like to see Old Meg before leaving Hishu. Will you go with me?"

"Yes, Madeline," was the reply, "if you wish it. But I should think you had seen enough of that woman."

Donnie was delighted with the walk along the trail, and his little tongue kept up an incessant chatter as he trotted by Madeline's side. Reaching Old Meg's cabin Grey knocked upon the door. Receiving no answer, he pushed it open and entered. All was silent within the building, and Madeline wondered what had become of the old woman. She looked first into the kitchen, then into her own room. Next she softly and timidly opened the door of Old Meg's private room. As she did so, a cry of fear fell from her lips, which caused Grey to spring quickly to her side. There, lying upon the bed, they saw her, with eyes staring wildly before her. Her features were contorted with agony, while her hands clutched convulsively the worn grey blankets.

"I thought so. And that man; he would like to take me. But he won't, no, he won't!" and her voice rose to a shriek. "I knew he would come to take me. But I won't go. He'll never take me alive—oh!"

"Can't I do something for you?" Madeline asked, taking the sufferer's cold, bony hand. "You know I want to help you. I am sorry for you."

Into Old Meg's eyes came a faint expression of softness. She turned them upon the face of the fair woman at her side.

"I'm bad," she replied. "I've wronged you, and do you wish to help me? Are you sorry for me?"

"Yes, indeed I am. And if there is anything I can do to assist you, tell me at once."

"You can't do anything for my body, or to give me peace of mind. But there's something I want you to know before I die. Look. Put your hand under the pillow. You'll find something there."

Madeline did as she was commanded, and brought forth a package of papers tied with a string.

"Open it," Meg ordered. "Yes—no—Ah, that's the one. See the name. That's the man who put me up to this job. He sent me in the ship to spirit you away when we reached America. I thought it would be a hard thing to accomplish, but the storm and the wreck helped me out."

Madeline only dimly realised what the woman was saying, for her eyes were fixed upon the name written upon the paper. It was that of her cousin, living in England.

"Can't you guess? Were not you the only one standing between him and your father's vast estate?"

"You don't see yet? Your cousin needed money—was bankrupt—driven to the verge of despair—a desperate man—and you alone stood in his way. With you gone, everything would be his."

Swiftly now the horrible truth flashed into Madeline's mind. It almost overpowered her.

"No, no, not that," cried the woman. "But you were young, and many things can happen in a big city. Young girls can disappear—there are places they can enter, and the world will hear of them no more. But that wreck came. There was a girl drowned. Money did the rest. Money will do anything. There were men willing to swear that you had been drowned—that they saw you go down. The story was believed, and your cousin got what he wanted. Wait," she commanded, as Madeline was about to interrupt her. "Don't stop me. I want to tell my story, for I can't last long. Your cousin knew the truth. I told him everything, and he supplied me with money. But I could not ruin you. I am bad, God knows, but I could not put you into those dens of hell. I fled with you from place to place. But I was always fearful lest I should be discovered. Farther and farther North I sped—to Winnipeg—and beyond, ever Northward—always away from the crowded cities—until we came here. People thought I kept you for an evil purpose. I have fought with men. I have threatened to shoot them. But I kept you safe—and—and—you are pure. You may think it strange, but I loved you. I tried not to show it. I struggled to crush back the feeling. I scolded you. I spoke sharply to you, but I loved you. When you were stolen away by the Indians my heart almost broke. Then when I heard that you were going back to Big Glen, and that I should lose you forever, I could stand no more. How could I live here in this lonely cabin—and you gone! The thought is terrible. I don't deserve your pity—your sympathy, for I am a bad woman. But when you say your prayers to-night put in one little word for Old Meg—the outcast. And see, I wrote it all out before I took that stuff. I thought no one would come to me until I was dead. It's all there—my story is on that paper, though I'm glad I've told you with my own lips, for it makes me feel better."

Tears were streaming down Madeline's cheeks as she listened to the poor creature. She now bent forward, and imprinted a kiss upon the sufferer's brow. Old Meg's face brightened, and she seized the young woman's hands in a firm clasp.

"Don't leave me!" she cried. "I'm afraid to be alone. I'm afraid to die. God, have mercy upon my wretched soul!"

There was a struggle, a gasp for breath, and in a twinkling all was over. Old Meg was dead.

One week later a little company moved slowly through the principal street of Big Glen. Horses and riders were weary, for the journey had been a hard one. The three shackled prisoners shuffled along on foot, with heads bent forward and downcast eyes. They had fondly cherished hopes of escape on the trail, but they were doomed to a bitter disappointment. Now they knew that their last chance was gone.

Madeline rode her horse with much ease and grace. Although tired, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. She was again back to the ways of civilisation. No more loneliness in the great wilderness, with all the many longings and heartaches. The stores interested her, and the people on the streets. Men, women and children paused to gaze upon the spectacle. Word passed from lip to lip that Silas Farwell's child had been found, and the kidnappers had been captured. The excitement grew, and the crowd increased. Men left their stores, women their homes, and followed the little cavalcade. Madeline shrank from the curious gaze bestowed upon her, and her face paled. Grey, riding with Donnie before him, noting her embarrassment, reined his horse to her side.

"They are friendly, Madeline," he whispered. "They are overjoyed at seeing us back again."

Turning into a side street they at length reined up before the finest residence in Big Glen. Presently a pale face appeared at one of the windows, then the door was flung open and a tall woman with a cry of joy rushed down the steps, seized Donnie in her arms, and fairly smothered him in a sea of rapturous kisses. For an instant only there was a death-like silence, and then from the watching crowd arose three rousing cheers of joy. The people remained until Mrs. Farwell, Madeline and Donnie had entered the house, the constables had marched the prisoners off to the Guard Room, and Grey and Buckskin Dan had headed their horses for the Barracks Square. Then they dispersed to discuss the news, and to await anxiously the detailed account which they felt sure would be published in the local evening paper.

An hour later Grey sat alone with his Commanding Officer. He presented a more respectable appearance than upon his entrance into Big Glen. He gave the Major a complete account of his experience in the wilderness, embellishing nothing, and speaking of himself as little as possible. To Buckskin Dan he gave great credit, and only in speaking of the trapper was he at a loss for suitable words in which to express his gratitude. When he finished the Major stroked his moustache thoughtfully for a few moments. Then he reached over and brought down a letter from a pigeon-hole above his desk.

"It is strange," he began, "how things do work out. Only yesterday I received this letter, and I have been puzzling my brain over it ever since. It says that several months ago a man died suddenly in England, of heart trouble. Among his papers were found letters which aroused suspicion. A cousin of his, and the heiress to a large estate, was supposed to have been lost in the wreck of the Tampan about six years ago. This man, who was next of kin, therefore came into possession of the property. The letters, however, told a far different story. The girl had not been drowned, but had been stolen away by an old woman who was paid liberally by the girl's cousin for her services. The letters of the latest date told that they were somewhere in Northern Canada, and word was accordingly sent to the Mounted Police wherever there is a Division, and in fact to every city or town of any size in Canada, asking for information concerning the missing one. There is now not the shadow of a doubt that the Madeline Normsell mentioned in this letter is the one with the same name you found in Hishu. You knew her in England, so you tell me, and can swear that she is the same person. I cannot commend you enough, Grey, for what you have done, and I am very sorry to lose you from the Force. You may consider yourself discharged with special honours."

Grey found it hard to free himself from his comrades as they gathered at the Canteen to hear the story of his experiences from his own lips.

He escaped at length, however, and made his way to Silas Farwell's house. Many were the thoughts which surged through his mind as he walked along the street. He was free, and Madeline was near, and his.

His footsteps upon the verandah of the house were heard by one who was anxiously awaiting his arrival. Suddenly a vision of beauty stood before him. It was Madeline, dressed no longer in her old tattered garments of the trail, but in a dress more becoming to her trim form. For an instant Grey looked into her flushed happy face, and then enfolded her in his arms.

There was no one to see this sacred meeting, for Mrs. Farwell had taken Donnie away to his own little cot upstairs. Madeline led Grey to a cosy room to the left of the hall, where burned a bright fire in an open grate. In front of this they sat while Grey related his interview with the Major.

"Oh, it is wonderful!" exclaimed Madeline. "To think that Cousin Rob would do such a thing, and that all has come out right at last."

"And we shall go home at once, darling," Grey replied. "We must not delay too long. We can set the wedding day now, and talk and plan for the future."

"But what will become of Buckskin Dan?" asked Madeline. "Perhaps he will go with us."

"Not a bit of it, dearie. His mind is too full of the gold he discovered in that old abandoned mine. He's going back to work it as soon as possible. He wants me to return after affairs are settled in England. He's at the Sergeants' Mess now, and will be here this evening to talk the matter over with us. You won't mind coming back, darling, will you? We shall have a fine house like this in Big Glen, and be so happy here."

"I shall go to any part of the earth with you," and Madeline placed her hand in Norman's as she spoke. "We must never be parted again."

The twilight deepened, and the fire burned low as the two lovers sat and talked of the future. The weary trails of the past were ended, and new ones opened up before them, winding far into the unknown future, shimmering clear and golden in the mystic light of eternal love.