CHAPTER XXBESIEGED
Alittletent of pale green silk, trim and elegant, was pitched for Gault in the meadow below, a short distance from the big fire built by the Crees. After supper they could see Gault seated in the place of honor beside the fire, surrounded by his men. Apparently all was peace and good-fellowship in that camp. The attitudes of the men suggested story-telling, and hearty laughter.
“This is for our benefit,” said Loseis with a scornful smile.
“I shall watch through the night,” said Conacher.
“There will be no open attack.”
“Just the same, I’ll stay up.”
“I will take turns with you.”
However, Gault presently crept under his little tent; and the Crees one by one rolled up in their blankets, and lay completely covered up in the redskin manner like a long row of corpses along the edge of the creek bank. The sun went down, and the great silence crept like long fingers out of the darkening sky. The brief hours of darkness passed, and there was no suspicious move nor sound from below. The last of the sunset glow stole around the northern horizon towards the east. In due course the sun rose again, and the camp below lay exactly as before.
Soon afterwards a great bustle began. They built up the fire, breakfasted, caught their horses, and packed up. Moale and the main body of the Crees crossed the creek, and galloped away over the trail to the south. Gault and two men rode up the rise, crossed the little square without a glance towards the Women’s House, and went on up the trail behind the store.
“There are four men unaccounted for,” said Loseis suddenly. “Only ten went with Moale. I counted them.”
“Let’s go out and take a look about,” said Conacher. “Whatever they are plotting, it will take them a certain time to organize it. For a few minutes anyhow, we will be safe.”
They left Mary-Lou, gray with terror, alone in the house. Conacher took his gun. After their night-long vigil it was a delight to get out into the open. Running down the grassy rise together, they joked at danger.
“Funny, here in my own place to be expecting to hear a bullet sing past my ears,” said Loseis.
“ ’S all right if it sings past,” said Conacher, grinning.
As soon as Loseis looked over the creek bank she said: “There was a damaged dug-out lying in the mud here. They have repaired it and gone in it. They must have gone down river, close under the bank. We should have seen them if they had gone up. I don’t know why they should go down river.”
“I think I can explain that,” said Conacher. “There are three possible ways of escape from this place; south by the trail to the lake and beyond; east by the trail to Fort Good Hope; and north down the river. All three ways are now watched by our enemies.”
“I never should have thought of going down river,” said Loseis. “There is nothing there.”
“I have thought of it,” said Conacher. “It would be many hundreds of miles to a post, but it’s a possibility. But with the river watched it would be the most dangerous way of all. All they’d have to do would be to smash our boat, or set it adrift in the current. It would be all day with us then.”
“Just to keep us from escaping wouldn’t do Gault any good,” said Loseis. “We have plenty of grub; and help is bound to arrive in the end. That cannot be the whole of his plan.”
“Oh, no; not the whole of it,” said Conacher grimly. “Time will tell.”
Loseis shivered. “Let’s get back under cover,” she said.
Before returning to the house they made sure that Conacher’s dug-out was still safe where he had left it hidden in the willows with the paddle in the bottom.
“Who knows? It may come in handy,” he said.
The hours of that day dragged by with leaden feet. Nothing happened, and that was the hardest thing to bear. All needed sleep; and all were too highly keyed up to obtain it. Clouds had come up with the sun, and by breakfast time a soft persistent rain was falling, driven in sheets by a cold wind from the northeast. Sharp squalls swept across the little square at intervals, almost blotting out the buildings opposite.
“Well, at any rate we’re better off than the other fellows,” said Conacher with a grim chuckle. “We’ve got a roof over our heads.”
After breakfast in spite of Loseis’ protests, he took up his position in the open doorway, with his gun across his knees. His view out of the window was too much narrowed by the thickness of the log walls, he explained.
“But you offer such a fair mark where you are!” complained Loseis.
“Nobody could shoot me here except from behind the house opposite,” said Conacher. “In order to do that he’s got to show himself; and my eyes are as quick as the next man’s.”
The house opposite bothered Conacher. “If they gained possession of it, it would render our position untenable, as they say in the army communiqués,” he said.
It transpired that there were staples in the door, and a padlock lying somewhere within to fasten it. Conacher announced his intention of going across to bar the shutters and lock the door.
And so it was done. Loseis stood at the door with her gun to cover his passage to and fro across the little square.
Loseis and Conacher, half exasperated, half affectionate, disputed endlessly over who should bear the heavier part of the burden.
“Youmustsleep!” insisted Loseis. “It is to-night that the real danger will come.”
“You sleep first,” said Conacher, “and I’ll promise to match whatever you do, later.”
Towards the end of the afternoon the sky cleared, and the grass of the little square steamed up in the warmth of the late sun.
“I’d give something to be able to run down to the river and back to stretch my legs,” said Conacher longingly.
“Every foot of the flat is commanded from the bench to the north,” said Loseis sharply.
“Very little danger of getting hit if I zigzagged,” said Conacher, partly to tease her.
Loseis changed her tactics. “Very well, I’ll come too,” she said.
“Not on your life!” said Conacher; and the subject was dropped.
They ate their supper; the sun went down; and the great stillness descended. Conacher closed and barred the door then; and went back to the kitchen window. The window was open; and the slender black barrel of his rifle stuck out across the thick log that formed its sill. Accustomed as they were to the evening stillness, in this tense hour it struck awe into their breasts as if it was the first time. They had an indefinable feeling that whatever It was, It would come in this hushed moment. Loseis was at her window; Mary-Lou was crouched on the floor at the back of the room with her hands pressed to her mouth.
Presently they heard that sound which is always associated with the sunset stillness of the Northwest; the long-drawn, intolerably mournful howl of a coyote; a sound calculated to shake stretched nerves. It rose startlingly close; in fact from the ravine through which the creek flowed behind the men’s house opposite.
“That is no coyote,” said Loseis sharply. “They never come so close to the Post.”
Mary-Lou moaned.
The cry was repeated; and was answered from down the river.
“That coyote is afloat in a canoe,” said Conacher with a grim chuckle. “The men who went down the river to-day have been instructed to come back at evening to watch us.”
Another heartrending howl was raised from the hill back of the store.
“The outposts are establishing communications,” said Conacher, carrying it off lightly in order to hearten the girls. “Well, it’s a relief to know what and where they are. At this God-awful moment of the day you could imagine anything!”
For awhile the quavering cries went back and forth; then silence. Darkness drew slowly in. At first the sky across the river was like a sea of amber with one or two scraps of cloud floating in it like golden ships. As the warmth gradually faded out it took on the hue of blued steel. The moon was rising later now; to-night there would be an hour or so of darkness before her coming. Conacher had to strain his eyes to make out the details of the house across the way.
The slow minutes passed. In the big chimney the night-breeze kept up a gentle, uneven murmuring that was like somebody speaking to somebody else a little way off. Occasionally the man and the girl whispered from room to room in the dark just to reassure themselves of the other’s warm and breathing presence.
“Paul?”
“Yes, pardner?”
“There’s no need for both of us to be watching.”
“Well, you take a sleep, old girl.”
“Sleep!”
“My sentiments exactly!”
And later:
“Paul, do not remain at the window. Even though they cannot see you, they will guess that you are there. It is like a bull’s eye in the side of the house!”
“But I must be looking out!”
“Do as I do. Scrape away the clay, and use a chink between the logs for a peep-hole.”
After that Paul lay full length on the floor of the kitchen, with his rifle barrel poked out through the chink.
Suddenly his gun roared outside, blowing the night to pieces as it seemed. A dreadful, low cry escaped from Mary-Lou.
“What was it?” whispered Loseis sharply.
“Man crawling towards the door of the men’s house.”
“Did you get him?”
“No,” said Conacher ruefully. “He streaked back around the corner. It was the merest shadow. I shot too soon.”
There was another long wait, much harder to bear for nerves that still recollected the explosion of that shot. Then they became aware by a gentle grayness pervading the scene outside, that the moon had risen. The orb itself was hidden by the buildings opposite.
“He’s gone into the little warehouse beyond the store,” said Conacher suddenly. “The door has been opened. . . . Damn it! I should have locked that door.”
“You couldn’t have locked it,” said Loseis. “They broke the staples.”
“I’ve a good mind to go over there and get him,” muttered Conacher.
“Right across the open, I suppose,” said Loseis bitterly.
“I might steal around behind the buildings.”
“There are probably others there.”
“If I sent a shot through the open door it would give him a good scare.”
“Nothing to be gained by scaring him.”
The edge of the moon peeped over the ridge of the men’s house. A few minutes later she was shining directly into their faces. This had them at a cruel disadvantage, for the other side of the square where one or more of their enemies were lurking, was hidden in the deepest shadow. Conacher swore helplessly under his breath.
By and by a cloud crept across the moon dimming her silvery glare.
“He’s come out of the warehouse,” said Conacher in surprise. “The door is closed now. . . . I don’t understand that. Why should he come out unless he had found a better place? What other place is there where he could sit in hiding and watch us?”
There was no answer forthcoming. The moon came out again, bathing the little square within the crouching buildings in her misty radiance. As she rose higher their vision was the less obscured. Nothing stirred outside. The earth was so still, one fancied one could feel its great swing to the east. Time passed, and that fear against which the bravest hearts are not proof, lay upon them heavier and heavier; the fear of the unknown.
Conacher at his loophole muttered and swore under his breath. “When I knew where he was it was all right. . . . This is hellish . . . !”
Finally, when the eastern sky was beginning to get ready for dawn, he jumped up. “I can’t stand this,” he cried. “I’ve got to find out where they are, and what they’re up to!”
Loseis found him in the dark. “Oh, hush!” she whispered. “Maybe there’s an ear pressed against the back wall! . . . What are you going to do?”
Conacher put his lips to her ear. “Make a dummy, and show it at the door,” he said. Even at that moment a chuckle sounded in his voice.
They closed the shutters, stuffed up their peep-holes and lighted a lamp. Conacher tied a broom to the back of a chair with the brush uppermost. He then tied a piece of firewood athwart the broom handle just under the brush. This was for shoulders. They dared not use hammer and nails. Upon this frame he hung one of Mary-Lou’s dresses, and completed the figure by forcing a small cooking pot over the brush of the broom, with a piece of white cloth hanging down in front to represent a face. In the moonlight at a hundred paces distance they judged that it would serve. Conacher blew out the light again.
“I’ll manipulate the chair,” he said to Loseis. “You go back to your peep-hole. You must be watching for the flash in case he shoots. Mary-Lou, you must open the door. There’s no danger if you keep behind it.”
Conacher waited until Loseis was at her place. “All clear outside?” he asked.
“I can see nothing,” she whispered.
“All right then, Mary.”
They could hear her gasping softly for breath, as she drew the door slowly open. The night stole into the room. All three hearts were beating furiously. Conacher, lying on the floor, grasped the legs of the chair, and thrust it forward a little. At first he tipped it to represent a face peeping around the doorframe, and quickly withdrew it. After repeating this once or twice, he allowed the whole figure to show in the doorway, swaying a little like a living body.
“Any movement across the way?” he whispered to Loseis.
“Nothing!”
Finally he allowed the figure to tip forward as if to peer outside the door. From across the square two shots crashed out almost simultaneously. One bullet shattered the chair back; the other buried itself deep in the log wall across the kitchen. It was a relief to hear those shots, waiting for them was so dreadful. Conacher jerked the remains of the chair out of sight, and Mary-Lou slammed the door. All three of them were panting for breath.
“Well?” demanded Conacher excitedly.
“They are inside my father’s house,” said Loseis desperately.
“Impossible!” he cried in dismay.
“Yes! They are doing the same as us. Shooting through chinks between the logs.”
“How could they have got in? There are no windows in the back.”
“Who knows? Dug underneath the wall, maybe.”
For the first time Conacher showed discouragement. “Oh, God!” he groaned. “By night or day they’ve got us covered!”
CHAPTER XXIA LEAP FOR FREEDOM
Onthe third morning following, Loseis and Conacher were seated at a little table in the kitchen of the Women’s House, with a scarcely touched meal between them. In the inner room Mary-Lou was lying on a mattress with her face turned towards the wall, asleep—or despairing. In the kitchen all was in apple pie order; a fire burning on the well-swept hearth with a small pot of water bubbling upon it; the shutter of the little window flung back, and the sunshine streaming in; outside all green and peaceful to the eye. There was nothing to indicate the horror of the situation but the faces of the two at the table. Those gaunt and gray young faces, deeply seamed and sunken eyed, told a tale of seventy-two hours’ horror. Neither had had more than a snatch or two of broken sleep. Three endless nights and days and no hope of relief. It was the absence of hope which had aged them.
Conacher rested his cheek in his palm, and gloomily traced imaginary lines on the oilcloth cover with his fork. Loseis’ eyes, which looked truly enormous now, were fixed on the young man’s face, all tenderness.
“You have brought all this on your head through mixing in my miserable affairs,” she murmured.
He looked up quickly. “Oh, don’t say a thing like that!” he protested, hurt to the quick. “It seems to divide us. How can we be divided now? Your fate is my fate and mine yours!”
Loseis looked down, somewhat comforted. But she yearned for more explicit comfort still. “I wonder you do not hate me,” she whispered.
“Loseis!” he said sharply, “if you say such things to me, you will have me blubbering like Mary-Lou. That would be a nice thing!” And the tears actually stood in his eyes.
The sight of those tears was sweet to Loseis; but she went on perversely: “Sometimes I think you do hate me. You do not like to look at me any more. Always you turn your eyes away.”
Conacher turned his eyes away then. “The truth is, I can’t bear to look at you,” he murmured. “Such a child as you are, and so plucky and proud; never a word of complaint out of you. It drives me wild to think I can’t save you from this!”
Loseis glided swiftly around the table, and caught his head against her breast. “Ah, you blessed Paul!” she crooned, brooding over him. “I was just trying to make you say again that you loved me. You mustn’t grieve so over me. Think what it would be for me if you weren’t here!”
She dropped to her knees beside his chair. Speech would no longer serve to convey their feelings. They snatched a moment of poignant happiness out of the surrounding horror.
Finally Conacher, partly withdrawing himself from her arms, sat up straight. “This can’t go on!” he said, striking the table.
“What is in your mind?” she asked anxiously.
“We have plenty of food,” he said, “and the water is still holding out; but what is the use of it all? To be trapped like this would break anybody’s nerve; knowing night and day that the guns were covering you. If we stay here they’re certain to get us in the end. Time is passing. If we give them no opportunity to pick us off, they’ll drive us out of our shelter. They have only to build a fire against the back wall of this house . . .”
“Oh, Heaven!” murmured Loseis.
“I don’t want to frighten you unnecessarily,” he said, stroking back her hair; “but we’ve got to face the worst. I’ve been looking for it to happen every night. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. How simple for Gault to shoot us down as we ran out, and throw our bodies back on the fire . . . I say we must make a break for it, while we are able to choose our own time.”
“But where could we go?” faltered Loseis.
“I’ve been thinking about that. God knows, I have had plenty of time! The three obvious ways out are closed to us, but there is a fourth way . . .”
“Where?”
“Across the river and over the prairie to the north or northwest.”
“But that is the unknown country!” said Loseis with widening eyes. “No white man has ever been across there!”
“True,” said Conacher; “but after all it’s just a country like any other. And I’m accustomed to making my own way.”
“Nobody knows what is on the other side!”
“I know,” said Conacher. “It’s part of my job to map this country; and I carry the existing map in my mind. Two or three hundred miles away—I can only make a rough guess as to the distance; there is an important river called the Mud River. We only have reports of it from the Indians. But the name tells you what kind of a river it is. It must be a prairie river like this one; fairly deep and moderately swift. If there are cottonwood trees I could make a rough dug-out; or I could always make rafts. The Mud River eventually falls into the Sinclair. It is up the Sinclair River that my outfit is making its way at present. According to their schedule they will make the mouth of the Mud River on July fifteenth. That gives us a month. If we are too late we could follow them up the Sinclair. They travel slow on account of the work they have to do. It is the best chance I see. No woman has ever made such a journey, but men have; and you are as plucky and strong as a boy.”
“I can do it if you can,” said Loseis quickly. “But how could we escape from here with an outfit; grub, blankets, ax, gun, ammunition?”
“It would have to be a mighty slim outfit,” said Conacher. “I could feed you with my gun if I had to.”
“Across the river there are only a few broken horses,” said Loseis. “We could not be sure of finding them at the moment we needed them.”
“We may have to walk,” said Conacher.
“But when Gault missed us, he could swim his horses over. What chance would we have then?”
“Not much of a one. . . . But a crazy idea has been coming back to me again and again. Maybe the very craziness of it is in its favor. . . .”
“What is it?”
“If we could persuade Gault that we had committed suicide in our desperation . . . . ?”
Loseis’ eyes widened like a child’s.
“Can you swim?” asked Conacher.
She sadly shook her head.
“Hm! that’s awkward. . . . But maybe I could manage. . . . There is that little air pillow in my outfit. . . .”
They heard Mary-Lou approaching out of the next room, and drew apart.
“What on earth will we do with her?” whispered Loseis.
Conacher shook his head in complete perplexity. “We’ll talk it over later,” he whispered.
Mary-Lou had come to clean up the breakfast dishes. The past four days had made a shocking change in the appearance of the comely Indian girl. She was too apathetic to resent being excluded from their counsels; and Conacher and Loseis went on with their whispering.
All day they alternately whispered together, and parted from each other to think over the matter afresh. To have this absorbing matter to talk over relieved the tension; the hours passed more quickly. They surveyed their plan from every angle, continually rejecting this expedient, and accepting that. Little by little they built up a reasonable-seeming structure. Of course the best plan they could make depended upon so many chances for its success, that there were many moments when they despaired. But at such moments Conacher would always say: “Still, anything would be better than this!” Whereupon they would set their wits to work afresh.
Some hours later Conacher said: “One thing is certain. It would have twice as good a chance of success if we could prepare Gault’s mind beforehand for such a thing to happen. We ought to send him a letter.”
“How could we send him a letter?” asked Loseis.
Recollecting the Indian trophies that hung on the walls of Loseis’ room, Conacher went in there. Loseis, following, saw him take down a bow, and test the string.
“It has hardened some,” he said: “But it will do.”
Loseis, getting the idea, smiled. “But would they dare to come out and get it?” she asked.
“Oh, curiosity is a strong motive,” said Conacher. “And anyway, I have suspected every night that they came part way across the square at the darkest time before the moon comes up, to make sure that we didn’t slip out.”
They sat down to concoct the letter. “You must write it,” said Conacher. “It would be more effective.”
After a couple of hours’ work and many drafts, they produced the following:
“To Gault:“Why do you torture me so? I have never harmed you. Mary-Lou died the first night, and we buried her under the floor. Our water is gone. Conacher is acting so strangely I am afraid of what he may do. He doesn’t know I am writing this. I will shoot it over to you while he sleeps. If there is any decency or mercy in your heart let me see you ride away from this place to-morrow. I cannot stand this any longer.“Laurentia Blackburn.”
“To Gault:
“Why do you torture me so? I have never harmed you. Mary-Lou died the first night, and we buried her under the floor. Our water is gone. Conacher is acting so strangely I am afraid of what he may do. He doesn’t know I am writing this. I will shoot it over to you while he sleeps. If there is any decency or mercy in your heart let me see you ride away from this place to-morrow. I cannot stand this any longer.
“Laurentia Blackburn.”
Conacher and Loseis smiled grimly over this effusion. But Loseis quickly frowned.
“I cannot bear to have him think I would whine for mercy like that,” she murmured.
“Yes, but think of the pleasure of fooling him later,” Conacher pointed out.
To send their letter they chose a moment after sunset, while there was still light enough to aim it. Throwing open the door, they all stood back on the chance of receiving a bullet from across the way: but their enemies gave no sign. It fell to Loseis’ part to dispatch the letter, since she was accustomed to handling the bow and arrow. The letter had been fastened around the shaft with a thread. After waiting a moment or two, Loseis took up her stand far enough back from the door so that she could not possibly be seen. Drawing the bow-string to her ear, she let it twang. The arrow sped across the open space, and stuck fast in the wall of the men’s house, a few inches from the door. Conacher slammed their door shut.
Next morning as soon as it became light, they perceived that the arrow still remained fixed in the wall. Their hearts sunk, thinking that their ruse had failed. But as the light strengthened Loseis’ sharp eyes discovered that the white band around the shaft was gone.
“They have it!” she cried.
All day long they anxiously watched for any sign of activity on the part of their enemies. If any reply had been made to their letter it might have seriously embarrassed them, but none was made. As the endless, endless day finally rounded towards its close, Conacher said grimly:
“It must be to-night.”
Loseis nodded.
They did not take Mary-Lou into their confidence until the latest possible moment. They supped; and the dishes were washed. Finally when Conacher began to lay out the bundles they were to carry, she had to be told. The mind of the overwrought girl was distracted by the thought of more danger.
“Let me stay here,” she moaned. “Let me stay here and die!”
“Why die?” said Conacher patiently. “We’re offering you a chance to live!”
“I cannot do it!”
“You have the easiest part of all,” Loseis pointed out.
“We have told them that you are dead and buried,” said Conacher laughing. “Whether they believe it or not, they’re not going to bother about you until they catch Loseis and me. We have only got to run from the door to the corner of the house. There’s not one chance in a hundred they can get us in that space if we run abreast. Once around the corner we are out of range until they can get out of the house.”
After long persuasion, Mary-Lou agreed to try it.
“Now listen,” said Conacher, with an appearance of great cheerfulness; “here’s the plan. At the corner of the house we divide. Loseis and I run down to the flat, and strike for my dug-out, while you hit directly into the woods behind this house. You are to make your way entirely around the Post by the side hill, and cross the creek, and make your way as best you can to the Slavi village. Take your time to it. If you get there by to-morrow night it will do. When it is dark to-morrow night take three horses . . .”
“But not my horse,” put in Loseis. “She is too well known.”
“Three horses,” resumed Conacher; “and as much grub as Tatateecha will let you have. . . .”
“They have plenty of smoked meat and smoked fish,” said Loseis.
“What place can I appoint for a meeting?” asked Conacher of Loseis.
“The Old Wives’ Slough. It is the furthest point that I have been with my father. About ten miles west of here, and the same distance north of the Slavi village.”
“Have you been there?” Conacher asked Mary-Lou.
She shook her head.
“Do you know the North Star?”
She nodded.
“Good! Then take the horses and the grub when it becomes dark to-morrow night, and ride ten miles in the direction of the North Star to that slough in the prairie.”
“There is a trail from the Slavi village,” put in Loseis.
“Loseis and I will be waiting for you there,” said Conacher.
“In the poplar bluff on the south side of the slough,” added Loseis.
“If we are not there,” added Conacher with a smile for Loseis’ benefit, “why, turn around and ride back to the Slavi village.”
Conacher repeated these instructions over again, and made Mary-Lou say it all after him. Both he and Loseis feared that in the unnerved red girl they had but a broken reed to lean upon. However they had no other. Once clear of that den of horror they hoped that she might recover herself somewhat.
Then the packs were made. Each was to take a blanket with a small package of food rolled up inside it. In addition Conacher had his gun and an ammunition belt containing a hundred shells, and a small cooking-pot packed with matches, tea and tobacco. Loseis was to take a smaller belt of shells and a small ax. Mary-Lou was given Conacher’s smaller gun and ammunition for it. Everything was to be strapped on their backs, in order to leave both arms free.
“How shall we know the proper moment to start out?” asked Loseis.
“The moon does not rise to-night until after midnight,” said Conacher. “The darkest time will be about two hours after sundown. I will mark a candle and light it when the sun goes down. When it has burned two inches we will make a break.”
“That will only give us an hour or so before the moon comes up.”
“The first few minutes will decide everything,” he said, smiling at her.
They were ready, of course, long before it was time to set out. Conacher made it his job to keep up the spirits of his little party. He suggested having another meal, but no one ate but himself. After that there was nothing to do but sit down and look at the candle. Very hard on the nerves. A half a dozen times Loseis sprang up like a haggard little panther, crying:
“It’s perfectly dark. Let’s start.”
To which Conacher would always reply in his calm and cheerful style: “No! When you settle on a thing, you must stick to it.”
As the candle burned down towards the fateful mark, the three pairs of eyes were fixed on it in painful intensity, and three hearts rose slowly into three throats. The last ten minutes were the hardest.
“Now!” said Conacher briskly, at last.
They adjusted their packs. Under her pack Loseis wore the deflated air pillow fastened between her shoulders by a harness of twine contrived by Conacher. Both Loseis and Conacher felt that this might well be the moment of farewell, but neither spoke of it. It was all expressed in an exchange of looks. Mary-Lou was piteously striving to get her breath. Conacher’s last act before leaving was to throw a pailful of the precious water on the fire, that no reflection of the glow might betray them when the door was opened. The room was filled with hissing steam.
“Wait a moment,” whispered Conacher in the darkness. “They might possibly have heard that sound. Give them time to forget it. . . . Me first, then Loseis, then Mary-Lou. Take hands. Run like hell around the corner of the house. . . . I am opening the door now. . . .”
They ran out and turned, putting every nerve into it. Instantly, the guns across the grass roared out. They heard the twin bullets plug deep into the logs behind them. The guns crashed again. They gained the corner of the house unhurt. Immediately the cry of the coyote was raised not a hundred yards away; almost in their ears it seemed. It was more human than coyote. Their enemies were outside the house. Already they could hear the sound of running feet. Other cries answered the first one: from the hill behind; from the ravine; from the river.
Loseis gave Mary-Lou a gentle push; and the Indian girl disappeared noiselessly into the bush back of the house. Conacher and Loseis took hands and raced down the grassy rise. A voice behind them shouted in English:
“There they go!”
Conacher whispered: “Make first for the creek; then double back towards the willows!”
The surface of the natural meadow was rough, and Conacher went down twice, but was up again like the recoil of a spring. Loseis had the mysterious sure-footedness of an Indian. Behind them they heard their pursuers falling and cursing. Gault’s voice shouted a command in Cree.
“He is telling them to make for the creek,” whispered Loseis.
When they had almost reached the edge of the creek bank, they turned sharply to the right, and headed back obliquely across the flat towards the point where the dug-out was hidden. They slackened their pace that they might not betray their whereabouts by further falls. This maneuver was successful for the moment. They heard their pursuers halt at the creek bank. Gault called to men who were evidently approaching down the bed of the creek.
The fugitives gained the river bank, and crawling under the thick willows, presently stumbled on the dug-out lying in a fissure in the earthen bank. So far so good. However, they were not unmindful of the dug-out manned by four Crees somewhere out on the river; and they waited awhile listening.
They heard them coming up-stream, paddling at a furious rate. They passed close to the bank, not half a dozen yards from where Loseis and Conacher were crouching. Conacher gave them a minute, then started to slide the dug-out off the mud.
“They’ll see us!” whispered Loseis in alarm.
“Somebody must see us, or we can’t pull off the double suicide,” said Conacher grimly.
They launched the dug-out and climbed in. Since the paddlers in the other dug-out had their backs turned to them, they could have gained the other shore unseen; but Conacher headed diagonally up-stream, laying such a course that they must be at least heard by those gathered around the mouth of the creek. And they were heard. A chorus of cries was raised. Conacher then steered straight for the opposite shore. In a moment they heard the other dug-out splashing after them.
Immediately to the north of the high-cut bank, there was a smallish flat covered with grass, through the center of which a tiny stream wound its way to the river. It was the usual willow-bordered rivulet flowing quite deep between overhanging banks, which were held from caving in by the roots of the thickly springing willows. The branches of the willows interlaced overhead. This muskrat-haunted stream was an important factor in the plans of the fugitives; but they were not ready to use it yet.
Conacher landed alongside its mouth. The instant the nose of the dug-out touched, they were out. The other dug-out was already half way across the river. They raced through the grass alongside the willow-bordered stream, slipping out of their packs as they ran. A hundred yards or so from the river, Conacher took both packs and boring through the outer willows, tied the packs to branches overhanging the little stream.
Returning to Loseis, they doubled on their tracks, and ran for the steep grassy rise which culminated in the bold knoll where the two graves were. The Crees, having just landed, were stumbling through the grass at a loss. Presently the fugitives were seen, as they wished to be. With renewed cries to their friends across the river, the Crees set after them. Gault’s roaring voice was heard from the river.
“They told him that we were running up the hill,” whispered Loseis; “and he’s telling them to work around back, and head us off on top.”
“We may take our time then,” said Conacher, falling to a walk.
On top of the knoll they came to a stand. The little enclosure containing the two graves was behind them; and behind that again, the grove of pines. On either side the ground sloped steeply down, and in front it broke off into nothingness.
“Well, here we are,” said Conacher lightly; “that was easy!”
“The hardest is before us,” murmured Loseis.
Stepping to the edge of the cut-bank, they looked over. The precipitous slide of earth, almost as pale as snow at their feet, was gradually swallowed in the murk. The fact that they could not see the bottom of it, made the leap appear doubly terrible.
“Does your heart fail you, dear?” murmured Conacher.
“Not as long as you are beside me,” she whispered.
“Remember to let yourself go limp when you hit the dirt,” he said. “Gravity will do the rest. I’ll be there before you, because I’m heavier.”
He blew up the little air cushion that was strapped to her back.
They could hear the Crees working around the north side of the hill. It was evidently expected that the fugitives meant to run back along the top of the ridge. Below them the river revealed itself merely as a grayish band, a shade or two lighter than its shores. They could just make out the disturbance created by two furiously driven bark canoes about to land below. These had headed for the south side of the hill. There was some underbrush on that side; and when the occupants landed they could be heard smashing through it. They were evidently working up that side with the object of coming in touch with the other party.
“This is better than I could have hoped for,” said Conacher cheerfully. “We have got them all on the hill.”
“Is it time to go now?” asked Loseis nervously.
“No! No! Wait until they are right on top of us.”
Somewhere back of them the two parties met on top of the ridge. There was a whispered consultation, then a silence, very hard for the listeners to bear. Conacher held Loseis’ hand tightly squeezed within his own. Up there under the wide spreading night sky they became queerly aware of their insignificance. A long silence; then from half a dozen sounds their sharpened senses informed them that their enemies were creeping towards them through the pines.
Loseis caught her breath sharply, and moved towards the edge.
“Steady, sweetheart,” whispered Conacher.
Suddenly there was an astonished cry of: “There!” and a rush of feet.
Loseis and Conacher cried out wildly, as they had rehearsed together: “Good-by! . . . Good-by, all!” And leaped.
CHAPTER XXIITHE SEARCH
Loseiscould never have described the sensations of that mad roll down the cut-bank. As a matter of fact all sensation was whirled clean out of her; and the first thing she knew was the mighty smack with which her body hit the water. Water it seemed could be almost as hard as wood. She went under.
As she rose again, gasping and wildly reaching, her fingers came in contact with Conacher’s coat. In the first second she clutched him in a deathlike grip; in the second she remembered he had told her they would both drown, if she did so; and she released him. She discovered that the air cushion was sufficient to hold her up.
Conacher whispered in her ear: “You are all right?”
“I . . . I think so,” she stuttered.
“Put your two hands lightly on my shoulders and I’ll tow you. Do not splash.”
He swam softly down with the current.
In the first moment there was only silence from above. Then they heard Gault’s excited voice:
“Quick! the canoes! Search for them in the river!”
The men came tearing pell-mell down the hill, and Conacher swam with all his strength for the mouth of the little stream.
They gained it none too soon. Finding firm ground underfoot they waded up-stream under the arching willows. The water was up to their waists. They had to move at a snail’s pace to avoid splashing. As soon as the upper part of their bodies was exposed to the air, they realized the numbing cold of the water. Loseis clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Meanwhile the two dug-outs had been launched. The men shouted confusedly at each other. Such a search was hopeless in the dark. They could hear Gault savagely cursing his men. It was quite clear that he was not bent upon rescuing the two, but upon making sure that they did not escape. The voices softened in the distance, as the current carried the dug-outs down. Conacher and Loseis could now permit themselves to move faster through the water.
Conacher drew Loseis along with one hand, and held the other straight over his head as they proceeded through the dark tunnel. An exclamation of satisfaction escaped him as his hand came in contact with the hanging packs. He took them down. A short distance further along there was a break in the willows on the right-hand side, and a back-water whence they climbed out in the grass. Streaming with water, they set off at a jog trot to warm up.
The voices of Gault and the Crees were still receding. Simultaneously it occurred to Conacher and Loseis that they could now permit themselves to hope. Stopping, they flew into each other’s arms. It was a moist embrace, but none the less rapturous. After the frightful strain of the past days, the reaction was unnerving. In their joy and relief, they both partly broke down; but neither was ashamed of showing emotion.
“Oh, my Paul!” murmured Loseis. “Perhaps we are going to be happy after all!”
“Perhaps?” cried Conacher. “I should like to see anybody stop us now?”
He was not, however, quite so sure as all that.
The river flat gradually narrowed down to the typical coulee of the prairies, with the little stream running in the bottom. As the ground began to rise, the willows ceased, and the way became rough and stony. Conacher struck obliquely up the steep side of the coulee to find better going over the prairie. The moon rose as they gained the upper level, throwing a strange misty glamour over that vast, fixed, rolling sea. They pressed briskly ahead through the short buffalo grass which did not impede the feet, keeping the North Star over their right shoulders. Their clothes dried slowly; but the exercise of walking kept them warm.
Their hearts were light. The awful bare solitudes, rise behind rise in endless succession, and the deathlike silence had no power to oppress them now. How could they feel lonely walking hand in hand free under the sky? Day stole upon them with enchanting beauty. The prairie was sprinkled with wild roses and the rose madder flower that is called painter’s brush. Prairie chickens fluttered from bush to bush companionably; and little furry four-footed creatures scurried for the shelter of their holes. Loseis sang as she walked; and Conacher cracked his jokes.
The sun was rising behind them as they came to the edge of a wide, saucer-like depression in the prairie, holding in the bottom an oval pond of an astonishing blueness. It was dotted with snowy water fowl. All the surrounding country dimpled like a vast cheek in smooth rounds and hollows, was mantled with a tender green, grayish in the shadows. At the left hand side of the lake grew a wide patch of poplar scrub; that is to say, thousands of little saplings growing as thick as hair, and putting forth leaves of so intense a green it was like a shout in the morning. The whole picture was washed with rose color in the horizontal rays of the rising sun.
Loseis drew a long breath. “I never realized how beautiful the prairie was!” she murmured. “It never was so beautiful,” she amended, putting her hand on Conacher’s arm. “How marvelous to one who has been a prisoner! Even if they should catch us we shall have had this!”
“They’re not going to catch us,” said Conacher. “Not while I have a hundred shells in my belt.”
Loseis pointed to the poplar scrub. “That’s the meeting place with Mary-Lou to-night.”
“Too bad we have to waste the day waiting for her,” said Conacher. “We won’t hang about there, it’s too obvious a hiding-place. The high ground on the other side would be a good observation post. Tired?”
“Tired!” sang Loseis. “I am just beginning to feel that I have legs again!”
They headed obliquely across the depression towards a swell of land to the south that enjoyed a slight prominence in the gently rolling sea of grass. The flat appearance of the prairie was deceptive. Some of these insignificant bumps commanded a view for many miles.
Tucked down behind the rise they found a cozy hollow with another patch of the vivid poplar scrub. They sat down at the edge of it to eat part of the food they had brought.
While they were thus engaged, silently and with excellent appetite, a brown bear came ambling placidly out from among the saplings. He looked at them with a start of astonishment so comic that Loseis burst out laughing; then with a great “Woof!” of indignation galloped away up the rise.
Conacher had snatched up his gun. “Fresh meat!” he cried. But with a reluctant shake of his head, he dropped it again.
“Why not?” asked Loseis.
“If we are searched for, the carcass would be found.”
When they had finished eating, Conacher said: “I’m sorry I cannot let you have a fire; but the smoke would betray us for many miles around. Creep in among the trees; take off your damp clothes; wrap up in your blanket and sleep until I call you.”
“What are you going to do?” demanded Loseis, ready to quarrel with him as usual over who should bear the brunt of the hardship.
“I’m going to roll up and sleep at the top of the rise behind a rose bush,” said Conacher grinning. “If they send out a search party they may be expected to appear in about two hours.”
“You are always talking about their searching for us,” said Loseis. “If Gault thinks we are dead he will not look for us. If he thinks we are not dead, we are certain to be caught in these empty spaces. Why worry?”
“There is a third alternative,” said Conacher. “Gault thinks we are dead, but he cannot afford to take any chances. It seems to me he will send out a party to scour the prairie just as a precaution. It is up to us to keep out of their way until they are satisfied. It won’t be as bad as if theyknewwe were here.”
Loseis wished to be allowed to watch from the top of the rise, but Conacher carried his point.
From behind the clump of roses that he had marked on the way over, Conacher was able to survey an expanse of country that faded into gray mist on the horizon. He slept for awhile as he had promised. It was about nine o’clock by the sun, when he perceived the first horseman, no more than a black dot far to the eastward; but a significantly shaped dot. Presently he made out another, and another at wide intervals. The nearest was about four miles distant.
Racing back down the rise, he called to Loseis. When she answered, he said: “Dress as quickly as possible. We must move on.”
When she appeared from among the trees, he explained what he had seen. “Unless I miss my guess,” he said, “they will divide and ride around the high ground surrounding the slough until they meet again. That would bring us right in their line of march. We must get over another rise. You can see that they are combing the country as they come. What we ought to do is to work around behind them.”
Hand in hand like a pair of children they headed south, bent almost double as they climbed the rises, and racing free down the other side. When they had put a couple of heights between them and the slough, they began to work around towards the east. The prairie is not such a desperate place for fugitives as it might seem. It is true that from the high places you can see for many miles around: but there are always hollows into which you cannot see until you are upon them. At a glance it seems as if the bubbles of earth had been pushed up in meaningless disorder; but such is not the case. Nature sees to it that the country is drained. Every hollow opens into another. Conacher had the mapmaker’s instinct for the contour of land, and he was never in doubt as to their proper course. At the same time while they were hidden from their enemies their enemies were hidden from them. It caused the heart to rise in the throat to imagine a horseman suddenly appearing over the grass close by.
After an hour’s walking and running, they came upon a good-sized patch of rose scrub folded into the side of a rise. Conacher stopped to survey it.
“A perfect hiding-place if you lay flat on the ground,” he said; “yet no one would suppose it. Come on, let’s tackle the thorns.”
Inch by inch they threaded their painful way along the ground; careful to rearrange the branches they had disturbed upon entering; and cutting with their knives a little tunnel ahead. Finally in the thickest of the patch they lay companionably on the warm, dry ground within whispering distance of each other, and lapped in delicious fragrance. Themselves concealed, they could see out more or less through interstices between the leaves.
“One could fall asleep here, and dream of being in Paradise,” said Loseis, sniffing.
“Yes,” said Conacher, disengaging a thorn; “and roll over and find one’s self in the other place!”
They both dozed, and were awakened simultaneously by the sound of thudding hoofs. They waited with fast-beating hearts. A dark-skinned horseman rode into view along the top of the very rise against whose side they lay. He was less than a hundred yards away; they could distinguish every detail of his somewhat dandified dress.
“Watusk,” whispered Loseis.
At sight of the patch of scrub, the Cree reined up his horse, and sat staring directly at them. It caused the goose-flesh to rise upon their bodies; their hearts seemed to stop beating. With infinite caution Conacher drew his gun into position.
“The horse first; then his rider,” he whispered.
But after debating a moment, the Cree clapped heels to his horse, and rode on. Presently he disappeared. A long breath of thankfulness escaped from the two hidden ones.
“He will never know how nearly his wife became a widow,” said Conacher.
“Well, they’ve checked this place off,” said Loseis. “Shall we stay here?”
Conacher shook his head. “This will be his second big circle around the slough,” he said. “If he repeats the maneuver he will pass to the south of us. I don’t like the notion of being hemmed in. We’ve got to think of to-night. If they are making the slough their headquarters they will camp there. Unless we head Mary-Lou off she would ride right into them.”
“We must be close upon the trail between the Slavi village and the slough,” said Loseis.
“But we’re still too near the slough. We must make further south.”
Once more they took to the grass. For several hours they saw no more of the searchers. They made their last spell in a poplar bluff (as the patches of scrub are called) overlooking the trail between the lake and the slough, but much nearer the former.
They had not been there long when they were filled with disquietude by the sight of another of the Crees approaching from the direction of the Slavi village.
“He’s been in to look about,” said Conacher. “Natural enough.” As the man drew closer he added with a certain relief: “He doesn’t look as if he had discovered anything important. I guess Mary-Lou has side-stepped him.”
Their thoughts were given a sudden new turn, when the Cree turning out of the trail, put his horse directly for the bluff, Conacher and Loseis hastily retreated within the thickest part of the miniature wood. The Cree could not ride in among the little trees. Dismounting, he tied his horse.
Then began a grim game of I Spy with death for the stakes. Conacher and Loseis enjoyed a certain advantage, because they were aware of their danger, while the redskin was not. He was merely following general instructions to search all likely places of concealment. He was taking no particular care to muffle the sound of his progress, and they could generally follow it. When he went one way they went the other. But there were harrowing periods when they could hear nothing. The bluff was over an acre in extent, and it was impossible to see more than half a dozen yards through the thickly springing stems. Once he caught them in a corner, and they were almost forced out into the open. Another time they actually had a glimpse of his passing. They stood frozen in their tracks. With what thankful hearts they heard him return to his horse at last. They flung themselves down to let the hideous strain relax.
They ate again. Satisfied now, that they had done their utmost, they rolled up in their blankets, and slept for eight hours on end. It was twilight when they awoke. They ate the last of the food they had brought.
“It will be prairie chicken for breakfast if Mary-Lou doesn’t come,” remarked Conacher.
“She will come if they have not taken her,” said Loseis confidently.
“What I am chiefly afraid of,” said Conacher, “is that she will pass right out with fright when we rise beside the trail.”
“When we were children we used to signal to each other by imitating the cry of the kill-dee,” said Loseis. “I will try that.”
When the stars came out they moved down beside the faint track worn in the buffalo grass. Conacher, pulling his blanket around his shoulders, squatted in the grass, smoking, and Loseis leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
“How strange!” she murmured.
“What is, sweetheart?”
“Us two little things out here in the middle of the bald-headed. I feel about an inch high under these stars.”
“Better than last night,” suggested Conacher.
“Rather! . . . Paul, if we ever have any children, I wonder if this will mean anything to them?”
Conacher was more moved than he cared to show. Loseis, scarcely more than a child herself, dreaming of having children of her own! “Surely!” he said with assumed lightness. “Think how they’ll be able to put it over the other kids! ‘My Ma and my Pa were chased by Injuns!’ ”
Loseis chuckled. “If we come through all right it will be a wonderful thing to have shared,” she murmured. “It will help us over the tiresome parts.”
“You’re a wise little duck!” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Other girls refuse to admit beforehand that there could be any tiresome parts.”
“How do you know?” she asked quickly.
He swallowed his chuckle. “Oh, you learn these things from books, and from other men,” he said.
“I know that I shall not be marrying an angel,” she said, nestling against him; “and I assure you that you are not.”
“Angel enough for me!” he said, kissing her.
There was a vibration in the stillness. At first they thought it was a trick of the desirous imagination; then by degrees they became sure. Horses were approaching along the trail at a walk. The slowness of the pace was eloquent of the red girl’s terrors, and of the loyalty and strength of will that forced her out into the night in spite of her terrors. Conacher and Loseis rose to their feet.
Finally they made out shadowy forms in the trail. Loseis uttered the plaintive cry of the little bird that haunts the edges of the prairie sloughs. The shadowy horses stopped. There was a moment of painful suspense. It was not a natural place, of course, to find the kill-dee.
“Risk it!” whispered Conacher. “Speak to her!”
“Mary-Lou,” said Loseis softly; “we are here!”
There was no answer. They apprehended through the dark that the solitary rider had slipped out of the saddle. Running forward they found her half fainting, but clinging to the horses still.
She quickly recovered. Ah! what a joyful reunion that was! Sharers in danger!—there is no other bond quite the same as this. They all babbled at once. Loseis and Mary-Lou clung to each other weeping; Conacher embraced them both indiscriminately.
“I so scare’!” Mary-Lou whispered in Loseis’ ear. “I know the Crees out here somewhere. I t’ink they get you sure. But I got come jus’ the same. When I see you in the trail I t’ink it is the Crees. I am near die then!”
“You’re the bravest of any of us!” whispered Loseis. “Because you know what fear is!”
While the girls whispered Conacher turned his attention to the horses. Mary-Lou had brought the best procurable, and he was well-pleased. She had brought a fair store of smoked meat and fish also, but not enough to see them through, of course.
“Tatateecha t’ink I lyin’ till he see me start,” she explained.
“Let us ride,” said Conacher. “We can talk as we go.”
They mounted. The horses were still fresh and coquettish with the bit. What a delight it was to feel good horseflesh between the knees once more. Their breasts swelled with renewed hope.
“Which way?” asked Loseis.
“Southwest,” said Conacher; “because that is the direction they would least expect us to take. At daylight we’ll turn, and lay our proper course northwest. Save your horses.”
They set off at an easy trot. When the horses settled to their work, they let the reins lie loose on their necks. It was safest to let these prairie-bred beasts choose their own footing. Now the North Star must be kept over the horse’s right flank. Conacher chose a bright star in the southwest for a beacon. As they rode they exchanged experiences. Mary-Lou said:
“Las’ night all the Crees around the post is after you, so I have no trouble. I walk around the side of the hill, and cross the creek, and climb the ridge. I hide in the bush till daylight. I hear you cry: ‘Good-by! Good-by!’ across the river. That cry it hurt my heart though I know it is a fool. I t’ink maybe you break a leg on the cut-bank. In the morning I see where some Crees is camp beside the trail, and I go around them. Then I go back to the trail and run to the Slavi village. I am there before the sun is half way up the sky. I sleep long.”
“What did you do when the Cree came in?” asked Loseis.
“Wah! He come down from the prairie when nobody is lookin’ that way. All are scare’! I snatch up a shawl and put it over my head like the ot’er women. I stay with the ot’er women. He not know me. Bam-bye he go back again.”
The course they were following led them roughly parallel with Blackburn’s Lake. When the moon rose they could see it palely gleaming in the distance. It was an exhilarating ride; the wind created by their own passage blew cool about their faces; the exercise of riding kept them tingling. With every additional mile that they put between them and their enemies their hearts rose. Conacher attempted to sing. But though there was no danger in raising the voice here, the great brooding silence was too much for him. In spite of themselves they talked in undertones.
Just before dawn they spelled alongside a poplar bluff to allow the horses to graze. Here the humans enjoyed the luxury of a fire again, and the stimulus of hot food. Though the meal was only of smoked fish without sauce or bread, such a complete sense of comfort is not to be had under civilized conditions. They groaned at the necessity of breaking camp.
After a two-hour rest they saddled, and turned at right angles to their former course. The sun had risen in a cloudless sky, and the air was like wine. At mid-morning they calculated that they were abreast of Old Wives’ Slough again, but now many miles to the westward. Coming to another sapphire-colored slough lying under a rather prominent rise to the eastward, which had a well-grown poplar bluff on its slope, Conacher called a halt for the balance of the day.
“We need sleep,” he said; “moreover it is just possible if they ride west to-day, that they might catch sight of us from some height or another. The horses will be well hidden alongside the bluff yonder.”
Picketing the horses to keep them from straying, they ate again. On this occasion Loseis insisted on being allowed to stand the first watch; and Conacher dispatched her to the top of the rise, while he rolled up in his blanket.
In the afternoon he relieved her. From the top of the rise it was evident that this was the highest point in many miles around. To Conacher lying in the grass smoking, it seemed as if half the world was spread before him. In that crystal clearness he could even trace the line of the valley of Blackburn’s River. The easterly horizon was closed in by the land rising on the other side of the river. The pale green sea of the prairie between was always the same, and never quite the same. Apparently every yard of it was open to his vision; but Conacher knew from past experience that this was not so. Every swell of the land melted so softly into the swell beyond that one could not guess the hollow between. Conacher remembered the old-time stories of how the Indians could steal up on the wagon-trains camped in the open prairie.
As if evoked by that thought he saw Indians riding towards him then. It was what he was looking for and least desired to see. He glimpsed them as they crossed a hollow; a moment later they trotted over a little rise. There were three of them, they were less than a mile away; they were heading directly for the spot where he lay. This time an encounter could not be avoided. All his high hopes came tumbling down like a house of cards.
Conacher ran down the hill to alarm his camp. There was no time to ride away. Best for them to keep the shelter they had. A word told Loseis and Mary-Lou what was upon them. They led the horses close up behind the bluff of trees, and tied them. They scattered the remaining embers of the fire, and beat them out. Conacher and Loseis took up a position within the trees facing the summit of the rise, gun in hand. The girl’s face was pale and resolute.
“I can shoot straight, too,” she said quietly.
They waited.
“All three of them are together now,” said Conacher. “We must get them all. And their horses too. If we get them all it will be some time before Gault learns what has happened. We will still have a chance.”
The three horsemen appeared at the top of the rise, and reined up. They were quite at their ease. Each slung a leg over his saddle to rest, and produced a pipe. There they stayed, silhouetted against the tender blue sky. One had a pair of field-glasses which was passed from hand to hand. Conacher and Loseis instinctively drew back a little further amongst the saplings. Suddenly the horses behind them whinnied; and Conacher groaned in bitterness of spirit.
However, at that moment a small troop of wild horses appeared out of a depression to the north. Led by a bay stallion with arched neck and streaming tail, they trotted past. In the chorus of neighing and whinnying which arose, the sounds made by Conacher’s horses escaped the notice of the Crees.
After what seemed like an age-long wait to the watchers hidden in the poplars, the three Indians slipped out of their saddles, tightened girths and mounted again.
“Now for it!” whispered Conacher. “Do not fire until they are within a hundred feet. Bring down the horses first. You take the piebald and I’ll take the other two.”
But to their amazement and delight the riders wheeled and disappeared the way they had come. For a moment they stared at the empty place with hanging mouths. Then Conacher made as if to run out from among the trees. Loseis clutched him.
“It may be a trick!” she gasped.
They waited several minutes, not daring to rejoice yet.
“Imustgo look!” said Conacher. “I must know what they are doing.”
Loseis made no further effort to restrain him; and he ran up to the top of the rise, and flung himself down. At first he could see nothing but grass. Then the three riders rose mysteriously out of the grass, trotting away as they had come; showing their backs . . . theirbacks! Conacher nearly choked with joy. He waited awhile yet to make doubly sure. They disappeared and appeared again, holding steadily to the east. They shrank to mere specks in the green sea.
Conacher leaped to his feet, and charged back down the hill, yelling and brandishing his gun. Loseis snatched up her gun warily. Not until he came close did she comprehend that this was a pantomime of joy. He swept her clean off her feet in his embrace.
“They’ve gone back!” he shouted. “This was the outer edge of their patrol. They’ve given up the search! After this we’ve got nothing to contend with but nature!”