[1]Winnipeg—then Upper Fort Garry.
[1]Winnipeg—then Upper Fort Garry.
[2]Manitoba. So called from its derivation,Manitou-toopah.
[2]Manitoba. So called from its derivation,Manitou-toopah.
In the early morning there was excitement at the fort, for the isolated inhabitants were soon to be placed in contact with the outer world. The H.B. boat, which, in the summer season, made periodic trips from Selkirk to the Great Saskatchewan, had entered the river, and was steaming heavily towards the uneven and broken platform of logs which constituted a landing stage.
As usual, news of the arrival came through the medium of the keen-sighted Justin. The excitable Factor clapped a hand over Lamont's arm, and dragged him forth in shirt and breeches to where the white waves rushed and bubbled, covered with foam of broken force. Here they waited for news from the world and sight of other fellow creatures.
Spray dashed up the slimy logs, while a strong river breeze made the morning chilly. McAuliffe blew into his hands vigorously, always keeping his gaze on the green screen of firs, round which the boat might any moment appear.
'Goldam! I reckon the crazy ark's travelled to the bottom,' he cried lustily.
'The river's running strong. Listen to the roar of the rapids,' said his companion.
'Justin sighted her at the second bend, and she's not round yet. Us two could pull the lump of wood along in less time. Goldam! there she is! That's her old nose coming round.'
The black boat crawled round the bend slowly, with two lines of foam parting before her keel. Then the watchers distinguished the coarse features of a man standing in the bows. He held, and occasionally waved as an entirely unnecessary signal, a small and much torn flag.
The Factor rubbed his hands excitedly. 'It's Dave Spencer, making a fool of himself as usual. Now we'll have to get to work and pump the news out of him. Dave's bad on telling things, though it's in his head all the time. It's like dropping a bucket down a deep well getting anything out of him.'
He placed a hand to his mouth and shouted, 'Ho, there, Dave!'
The Captain grinned widely, but replied only by a more vigorous wave of the tattered ensign.
'Thinks a wonderful lot of his breath, don't he?' grumbled the Factor. 'Now, if it had been Angus, he'd have started in to talk 'way back at the mouth. He don't care if no one hears him. Talks just for the pleasure of letting his tongue work!'
The boat turned in mid-stream, slightly above the stage, then drew down cautiously, the captain bawling deep-toned commands, interlarded with epithets. Presently a rope swung uncoiling through the air. This was eagerly snatched at by the Factor. Then the boat was made fast and Dave stepped ashore, mail bag in hand.
McAuliffe gripped him by the arm at once. 'Now, then, Dave, let's have it!'
'What's the racket?' asked the other composedly, beating his legs. 'I tell you, Alf, it's ter'ble cold on the water this morning. The wind's a terror.'
'You derned old oyster!' spluttered the Factor. 'Open up your chin bag, and put us up to what's been going on.'
'It's wonderful cold for the time of year, sure. How's yourself, Alf?'
'Going to consumption for wanting to pound your head off. See here, Dave! What's been the latest south?'
'Quite a lot,' said Dave, imperturbably, drawing a big bundle of soiled newspapers from the buckskin bag.
'Let's hear,' cried McAuliffe, clutching the parcel hungrily.
Dave meditated, while he kicked up splinters from the rotting logs. 'There's old man Roberts. You mind him, Alf?'
The Factor nodded, while Dave continued carelessly, 'He's tumbled off the perch. All his truck went by auction. I bought up his white pony—one he used to ride every day, summer or winter. He was a queer old chap, warn't he, Alf? I'd meet him crawling along the fence of his half section, wrapped up in all the rags he could lay claws on, if 'twas winter. His old jaws would be shifting, and the brown juice freezing in solid chunks on his dirty bunch of beard—'
'Goldam!' shouted McAuliffe. 'Think I care whether old man Roberts's alive or dead, or gone up like Elijah? What have thenitchiesbeen up to? Tell us that, Dave.'
'Coming to that. You're in an everlasting twitter, Alf; don't give a fellow chance to open his lips. Young Munn's dead, too—'
'Well, well, what did he die of?'
'Overdose of lead. Riel's slick shot fixed him at Fish Creek.'
'Bad for his old folks. How goes the Rebellion?'
'There ain't none to speak on—not now, anyway.'
'Not quieted down? You don't say it's over, Dave?'
'That's what. It's the Archbishop's racket. He told 'em not to rise, and, by the powers, they didn't.'
The Factor gave a long whistle. 'How did the old man do it, Dave? It must have been a fairly tough job.'
'Bet your neck upon that. He ran through the Province and over the Territories. He went miles by himself, and told the breeds he'd curse 'em if they jumped with Riel. Times he went horseback; times by canoe; often on foot. I tell you, Alf, he's straight enough, though he is chief R.C.'
'It corks me,' said the Factor.
'He's a Christian, sure. The Government's done nothing good for him. Now he's gone to work and saved them the country. Old Taché and Father Lacombe are names to swear by right now.'
'It knocks me over,' said McAuliffe, 'catches me right between the eyes. Tell you, Dave, I never thought there was any good in Catholics before. Seems queer, too, that fellows who keep little bits of painted images in cupboards to say prayers to, should be so right down white in the heart. I'll have a good word for them after this. But how about Riel?'
'He's fairly cornered. There's only one thing for Louis—a gallows and bit of rope at Regina.'
'The old man won't chip in to get him off?'
'No good; they wouldn't have it. Riel's sworn to fight till he crops. He'd stay by his word.'
Lamont, standing near, had listened to the conversation with intense interest, though he had not joined in it himself The close observer might have noticed a sudden angry gleam in his eyes when the name of the Archbishop had been pronounced, also the nervous twitchings of his hands at the mention of the Indian leader's impending fate. When he perceived Spencer had no further information of definite importance, he walked to the end of the stage, as if provided with sufficient food for reflection. Half-breeds were dumping loaded provision barrels upon the insecure logs, while a couple of Icelanders carried an inanimate figure between them to the grass space beyond.
To this human bundle the Captain now drew the Factor's attention. 'That's a present I'm going to leave you, Alf,' he said.
'What sort?' demanded McAuliffe, shading his eyes.
'An Icelander. Ter'ble sick, he is. Can't take him on with me in the boat, for he's turning up fast. You can find some place for him, eh?'
'I reckon Justin can. Wish you wouldn't dump your dying carcases here, Dave. This place isn't a derned cemetery. I allow, if you'd been here t'other day, you might have thought it was.'
'What's that?' asked Dave, eagerly. 'What's been going on here, Alf?'
'Lots of things. We've been fighting worse than wild cats.'
Dave was interested. 'You don't say scrapping?'
'It was a terror,' said the Factor. 'Thenitchieswere hot after our hides. We had a holy time.'
'What made them rise here, though?'
'Riel sent them up a message; don't know what it was. Anyway, it made them as crazy as bugs on a hot plate. But, Dave, they fixed young Winton.'
The other's dull eyes rounded. 'Well, well, that's a lot too bad,' he exclaimed, hanging on each syllable.
'Sinclair, too. You mind Billy Sinclair of St Andrews, Dave?'
'What! Not him? Never old Billy Sinclair?'
'That's what,' said McAuliffe, not without relish at being the imparter of startling information.
Dave wagged his head sorrowfully. 'You—don't—say! To think of old Billy hopping! Why, we've been pards ever since he could bite tobacco. Married the gal I was more than a little broken on, too. Now she's a widow with young children. Well, well, well. To think of how Billy used to walk her out Sunday evenings, while I'd hang round church door and tell the boys all gals were the same anyway. Here's old Billy gone, with her a widow, and me still a single man. I reckon that's not my fault, but gals take some suiting nowadays.'
'Haven't you anything else to tell, Dave?'
'Why, it's you that's got the talking. It makes me dizzy to take it in. Deaths and murders like a printed newspaper. Young Winton fixed, and poor Billy gone to the worms. But say, Alf, where's Peter?'
'You don't want to talk to me about him. I'm through with the dam' cowardly hypocrite. He skulked off in the bush before the fight, and if it hadn't been for the dead youngster and Lamont over there, I'd shouldn't have been telling you the truth now.'
'Peter ran off, eh?' chuckled the other. 'What have you done?'
'Fired him out by the neck,' said the Factor, with unction. Then, as a rapid change of subject, 'You've brought my brandy, Dave?'
'Dozen case of H.B. Good and black, I tell you.'
The Factor beamed. 'We'll have a good night, liquoring up and poker.'
A short figure appeared on the summit of a black rock in the distance, waving his straw bonnet.
'There's Justin signalling. Hungry, Davey?'
'I'd be a liar if I said no,' replied the Captain.
They turned away together, while Lamont still remained on the wet logs, despite the Factor's cheery invitation for him to join them. For some time he stood motionless, regardless of Nature's appeal for breakfast, troubled, be it said, more by fear for the future than reflection on the past. Indeed, he was only stirred by hostile interruption.
A tall figure glided quickly from the bush behind, and crossed the rock-strewn space. When he saw Lamont he paused, as though he had unexpectedly come upon the object of his search and doubted how to act.
For the young man's growing intimacy with the fair forest queen of the Saskatchewan could not escape the naturally keen eyes of her watchers. The aged Chief but shook his weak head, as he watched the light-hearted girl dancing along the sunshine with laugh and happy song. Antoine, gloomy as was his wont, limped from hut to hut, muttering low-voiced imprecations against all white men, and those around in particular. The youngest and most formidable—Muskwah, leader of the warriors, who looked upon the beautiful girl as his own life prize, yet with that reverential sense of ownership the dreamer might regard some glorious phantasy of his imagination—only awaited opportunity to strike at the pride of his rival; for surely the imperious white could never descend to the poor level of the Indian, nor choose a bride from the tents of the down-trodden race.
So, shadow-like, he had crept behind the young man to the meeting place, where the dry bones of the dead creaked in the night wind. There, with burning eyes and throbbing brain, he had listened to a soft-voiced conversation, yet one in which eyes and hands were more expressive than tongue. He had stolen away with madness at the heart, with wild desire to obtain her who was now slipping beyond reach on the ebb-tide of fate. He would risk his life to obtain its highest desire.
Lamont turned quickly when he heard a guttural exclamation at his side. With his usual contemptuous air he regarded the young Indian, who was unarmed, save for the sheathed hunting knife. 'What do you want?' he muttered angrily.
Then Muskwah raised a hand to point at the boat, rising and falling on the heavy river swell.
'The white chief will listen to his servant? For his heart bids him speak, and there is much to say.'
Lamont had started violently and turned pale, when the words 'white chief,' spoken in a tongue unpleasantly familiar, smote upon his ear. Then he repeated his question.
The Indian made a strange answer,—
'Is not this land lonely and vast to the white man? See how the black boat rides upon the waters. In he you may sail away, along the mighty river, and out upon the Great Water.[1]So you shall come to the cities of the plain, and be again among the tents of your own people. Also, you will leave to the Indian the little he may now call his own. Then the peaceful air will lie like a bird in the sail, while the men's muscles will swell with rowing. The boat will leap over laughing waters and flit home, as the muskawk to its lair when the sun dies. In your own tents you may find happiness, and a white bride, whose face shall be as the blush of early morning.
'And I—I also shall know the beauty of life. For I may live beneath the sunshine of Menotah's smiles.'
[1]Lake Winnipeg.
[1]Lake Winnipeg.
Ignoring the presence of his rival, Lamont passed aside and entered the scrub bush which fringed the odorous forest. But, noiseless and agile as the overhead chipmunk, Muskwah followed in his track, scarce ever ceasing from his melodious and heartfelt appeal. Since he played the part of suppliant, he argued with his opponent without heat, though passion might not be denied. He invoked the higher sense of right. Surely only the Indian was fit mate for the Indian. Where would be the 'heart of joy' when the brain had been touched by fancy, the mind spoilt in imagination? Love was the choicest gift of theHeelhi-Manitou, a thing not to be lightly taken, and never to be cast aside as worthless. In such manner he pleaded, with all the native picturesque imagery of word expression and imagination.
At length Lamont turned upon him in anger. 'What about the night of the fight? Perhaps you don't know that my rifle was once sighted for your heart. A motion of the finger, and you would have gone to your fantastic paradise. But I spared you, for you were more of the man than your followers.'
Not a muscle stirred along Muskwah's stolid countenance. 'The gift which is unsought is no gift. Mayhap I might even now be happier, had you sent my soul to join those who fell in death. For with one hand you have held out life, yet with the other have you taken away its light.'
'So now you follow me with the request that I should give you that which is as much mine as yours. You seek Menotah's love—'
'Surely!' broke in the Indian, with a fury of passion. 'What other woman is there who can so stir the heart within a man? Who would not die for her favour, or fight for her love?'
A sneer crossed Lamont's face, while his eyes grew cold. The keen-sighted Indian marked the change. 'Let not the white chief mock at my poor words. It is the heart that speaks, and the tongue must obey the thought. The white chief knows that my love is for Menotah, that my life joy lies at the utterance of her voice. He would not take away the sun, the day shine, and leave only the black night of despair.'
'Wouldn't he?' said Lamont, coolly. 'Why not?'
'Because he is merciful,' cried Muskwah, clasping his sinewy hands. 'Every man may love, yet none may resign the heart already bound.'
Lamont laughed. 'What a sickly sentiment,' he muttered carelessly.
The eyes of the Indian flashed, while his bosom heaved. He raised his hands, with head erect, in a pose of proud defiance. Then in a soft monotone he poured forth the emotional phrases of his heart,—
There is yet the great truth, which is spirit sent, behind my weak words. Listen, white chief, while I teach you the power of love.
When I was a stripling youth around the tents, before I was of age to be made brave, often would I cast eye of longing on some fair maiden as she passed. So when her eyes met mine with silent message, the heart would bound within, and I called it love. Yet it was not so, since the pain would die down, while the wound would leave no scar. Then many moons grew round and faded in their light as the young Menotah passed from childhood to youth. Her beauty opened like the flower bud moistened by the softness of light, and painted with the coloured breath of morning. For those the gods love are beautiful, and the seasons bring them gifts. So was it with Menotah. To her, spring came with heart of joy, and summer with a smile; fair blush, gift of autumn, and winter last with health.
'But as I watched her, with wonder that the Spirit could make anything so beautiful, my whole being fled away as the soul at time of death. Where the heart had once throbbed lurked a living flame, which burnt by day and night and grew ever fiercer. So I waited for that fire to burn out, as it had done before. During the clear day, when the strength rose high and I tracked the muskawk or snared the wolf, I thought I was once again master of my life. But as night rose and stillness crept through the tents, the limbs sank in weariness and the fire returned to burn away manly strength and courage. With it, also, came the loneliness and a great longing. So I knew that this was love, the sickness that knows not healing. I knew that the fire would burn, unless desire were satisfied, until there should be nothing left to consume, until life reason should have passed, and loneliness be satisfied in the silence.'
They stood together beneath the softly stirring pine branches, where the green-tinted sunlight stabbed down in narrow rays. Civilised and barbarian almost; cultured and the untaught. Yet surrounding Nature might have hesitated in choosing out the Man.
Lamont slunk away sullenly. 'I have no wish to hear your wild love songs. The feelings are things to be repressed, not blasted into the ears of those who do not wish to listen.'
The Indian turned too, and with growing passion caught him by the arm. 'I but follow the teaching of my own mind. A man must obey the love call, though the world rise to hold him back.'
Muskwah spoke from his own by no means narrow philosophy. The workings of the world were certainly beyond his understanding; the ways of Nature he was in close touch with. He was pushing dimly towards one definite aim in life. The Chief was tottering to his death. When the funeral smoke had cleared, he might well be chosen head of the tribe. Power he cared not for, except as a path which might lead to happiness. For none but the heart which knew not sorrow[1]could be the Chief's bride, and she, Menotah, would surely give all that a man could wish for.
The Chief had placed his footsteps in the right direction, and, in the callous Indian sex love, had regarded the young warrior with special favour. Indeed, he had bidden him plead his own cause, but the lover's bashfulness could not be overcome. Whenever she passed, he trembled beneath the bright gaze. But then came the message from Riel and the subsequent struggle, where Lamont had appeared, surrounded most with the mystery of a god. Menotah beheld the skill and courage of the handsome white. Such things are pleasing to women. She had looked upon the one conquered and rope bound; the other victorious and confident. The latter had addressed her with the soft voice that maidens love; the former was ignorant of such love artifice. Moreover, she had cast at the white man smiling glances, for which the Indian would have dared the fire and mocked the powers above.
And yet the wide world course lies open to all. Prizes are set in the open, but they are few and the competitors many. The strongest, most eloquent, highest in skill, take of the best, while the multitude fight for the poor consolations remaining.
Muskwah still held Lamont back. His flashing eyes and passioned face were not to be safely trifled with. 'I love,' he cried blindly. 'Nothing can heal the wound, or soften that suffering. Were Menotah to strike me down in death, I should fall blessing her.'
Lamont tried to free his arm, but the Indian's fingers closed it round like steel springs. 'You are a fighter and hunter. Keep your strength, and do not waste it in the arms of a woman.'
'The white chief is also a warrior. When the blood runs hot, the heart may thirst for nothing but war and power. But when the fight is done, and darkness creeps around, he stretches forth his limbs in the tent and calls for love.'
Lamont feared lest the impetuous lover should again burst into his passion song. He made a quick movement, released himself, then stepped back.
'I am going,' he said coolly. 'But I will first tell you that if you would win Menotah, you must plead for yourself—and against me.'
The judgment was that of Nature. When the object of a careless affection is about to pass to another's ownership, desire becomes a passion. It is only the prize which seems irrevocably lost that remains a thing of perfect beauty; it is the realisation of an ideal that is an imperfect happiness.
Lamont had been attracted by Menotah's artless beauty, her joyous laughter, and caressing ways. Satisfied with the fact that she loved him, her favours yet failed to stir the fire of his heart into a higher glow than admiration. But now that an Indian rival breathed opposition, the smouldering flame leapt up into fierce heat, and Menotah possessed two lovers.
The ghastly pallor, which in the Indian takes the place of the red anger flush, altered the dark hue of his features. 'Perhaps the white man spoke without thought. For why should he leave his own cities, to choose a bride from the lowly tents of the Cree? For him there is the wide world to choose from. But I have only this one hope, and it is more to me than the beauty of the world. I will listen again for an answer.'
'I have spoken,' said Lamont, stubbornly. 'I have no more to say.'
Then the Indian started forward suddenly, with vengeance in his face.
'Yet there is something beside. There is an oath. Swear that you will never speak to her on the heart's pain. Swear by the Spirit. Swear that you will not enter into her life.'
Lamont stepped against a straight pine, confident in his strength. 'Diable s'en mêle!' he muttered. Then to the Indian, 'Get back to the encampment, you crazy fool.'
Passion raged along every muscle of the grey-dark face. He cast aside control over voice and actions. 'Am I to lose Menotah after spending my life for her? You shall swear.' He came excitedly forward, with arms outreaching.
Two crows flapped heavily in the tree summits, with dismal croakings. 'Another step this way,' said Lamont, coolly, 'one more step, and the crows will have you. Your eyes will never see Menotah again.'
Yet he knew this threat was useless, for he understood the Indian character, which is a thing ruled by momentary flashes of strong impulse. The mental anarchy of the uncivilised mind is short-lived, yet overwhelming in consequence. The untrained body leaps from devotion to animosity, from obedience to open rebellion, in a moment. So with Muskwah, revenge was just then a higher passion than love.
As the anger-fire smouldered in his dark eyes, the long brown fingers worked towards the keen-edged knife, and he glided forward with the quick cunning of the grass snake.
Lamont smiled, while the sure right hand darted to his side. Half fronting he stood, with the left elbow crooked. But there was no descending flash of a bright muzzle, no sharp report, no dusky rival writing in death along the moss.
He was absolutely unarmed! At Justin's sudden entrance with the news of the boat arrival, the impetuous Factor had pulled him out without allowing time for complete equipment. Those weapons behind which he was a lion of courage were lying in the fort. He stood alone, confronted by a merciless rival, in the lonely forest of the Saskatchewan.
Still here was opportunity for displaying that vaunted courage of the all-conquering white before one of the defeated. He might stand up against him and fight with the natural weapons of despair, aided perhaps by the withered branch snapped from the near pine with strength of necessity. This Indian should be shown how fearlessly the white man could face danger or death.
With a shrill cry, Muskwah sprang at him. He staggered back a pace, blenching from the uplifted knife—then ran, with all the speed of his limbs, with all the white fear of the pursued.
The display of cowardice was needless, for the Indian rapidly overtracked him. Lamont turned suddenly, with the horror of feeling the cold slush of the knife in his back, and dropped to his knees. He was seized by the shoulders; he clutched his enemy by the body.
So together they fought in the solitude, while the sun revolved up the heavens, and the summer heat grew towards noon. Purple butterflies flashed unconcernedly in the greenish light over their heads; the blood-red kanikanik wands nodded; locusts whirred and hurled themselves strongly against the sweating bodies of the combatants. The beauty of Nature environed the hot human passions. On the extreme summit of a feather-pine, the carrion crows croaked and rocked in the soft breeze.
Muskwah's natural strength, aided by passion, which disregarded life safety, prevailed at length. His rival lay beneath his hands, pressed upon the white, flowering moss, his face rigid with increasing fear.
The victor's bosom rose and fell exultantly. 'The Spirit has given you into my power, and bidden me take revenge. Gaze for the last time on the world light, white man, before I draw darkness across your eyes with my knife.'
Lamont glared upward despairingly. The hands that held him trembled with the mighty flood of restrained anger. A knife quivered in hot white circles between his eyes and the furious face of his opponent.
All his subtle resource in emergency rose in a mighty effort for preservation of life. There was still a move to be made; desperate, but yet of possible success. He must pit his trained mind knowledge and power of will against the weak determination and brain of inexperience.
He was a splendid actor. So he nerved himself and laughed aloud.
Surprise partially disarmed the victor of his blind anger. Then came the words which caused his grip to loosen,—
'Pshaw! I will in a word take away strength from your arm. You dare not kill me.'
Muskwah stared upon the lively face of scorn, his own working in perplexity. 'Tell me why I should spare you,' he said wonderingly.
The answer came with a slow, cruel deliberation, 'Menotah loves me.'
He felt the finger clutch on his throat unfasten, as an overstrained necklet. He watched the light of knowledge dawning upon the heavy features. He had fired his shot, as at invisible foes under cover of night. Now he must follow up his words and make his advantage sure.
By his murder there would be nothing beyond the mere satisfaction of revenge. But Menotah would mourn and wear sorrow upon her 'heart of joy.' The Indian had declared entire devotion, yet he was now thirsting to perform an act which must surely bring suffering into her life. More, she might even learn, through the process of chance, whose hand it had been that had destroyed the life of him she loved.
'Kill me, you destroy your own happiness; spare my life—you may yet win her who has your love.'
Such arguments dashed against a weak knowledge to the overwhelming of desperation's anger. To the heart came well-nigh relinquished memories of self-pride and future hope. The dull brain spoke plainly. By satisfying longing for vengeance, he would banish into the impossible all life happiness. By extinguishing the flame of life he destroyed the light in Menotah's eyes. That which she approved was sacred, even though a rival. So he lifted his simple head, with the understanding that his opponent's words had broughtsalvationto three lives. It was again the triumph of the tongue.
Muskwah sheathed the long knife. 'Now you shall swear to leave this land, and return to your own place. Behold the black boat lies upon the waters, and in her you shall sail away, even as I said. You have stood at the outer door of life, while I was by your side ready to cast you into whirling vapour. Down you must have fallen, shadow amid shadows, while I might have gazed into the nether gloom, then stepped back to the life world. Will you swear not? Surely you shall return thither again. Then shall I come back alone. You are teaching me the ways of the world, white man.'
Sullenly Lamont struggled to a sitting posture. In the dim voice of hatred he muttered, 'I will swear to depart from this place, and never more speak of love to Menotah. That is the price I am to pay for life?'
'By the Great Spirit, the Totem of your being, the Light and Darkness, the River, and your own Gods,' chanted the Indian in his deep monotone.[2]
So Lamont swore.
[1]Such is the literal translation of 'Menotah.'
[1]Such is the literal translation of 'Menotah.'
[2]To the heathen Indian, an oath such as this is absolutely infrangible. The converted native quickly comes to treat a sacred promise with the easy elasticity of other Christians!
[2]To the heathen Indian, an oath such as this is absolutely infrangible. The converted native quickly comes to treat a sacred promise with the easy elasticity of other Christians!
A distant but threatening thunder murmur broke from the heart of a bank of sulphurous clouds beating closely over the south. The deep sound rolled over the water and seemed to bury itself in the trembling ground. Then a serpent of fire writhed along the fringe of the cloud mass and disappeared, followed by another sullen roar.
It was a strange evening of wild colour and intense calm. Nothing in Nature stirred, except the wide stream of tinted waves. Sound there was absolutely none along the stifling atmosphere. Even mosquitoes were quiescent, and frogs silent.
Lamont came slowly towards the fort, threading a sinuous course among the black rock shapes. Every slight noise, such as the swishing aside of kanikaniks, the scraping of boot against stone, the crisp crackling of dry grass, became abnormal in that profound quiet. There was something almost ghastly in this terrific silence which could only precede some unnatural tumult.
'An electric storm,' he muttered. The whispered words became a shriek, and echoed back from the dark trees on the opposite bank. On such a night one might well shrink from even thought; for the silent action of the mind seemed able to create a derangement in the atmosphere.
But as he approached the fort, there were no lack of disturbing sounds. The Factor and Dave were sampling black H.B. and playing poker. Such things were never intended to be performed in silence. The two within made no attempt to infringe upon the rule of custom.
The solitary man came across the open space, longing for a breath of air, which might alter, if even for a moment, the statuesque rigidity of the pines, and break the panorama into shifting life. He rounded a jagged spar, and suddenly came upon the two horses, pulling at long tufts of grass that shot upward from damp recesses at the roots of the rock.
His appearance brought animation to the scene. The grey mare started and shivered, then sprang aside, her ears back, her mouth fiercely open. Lamont came nearer, and she twisted her neck to bring the single eye to bear upon the disturber of peace. When she beheld who it was, she again wheeled and lashed forth violently with her ragged hoofs. He sprang aside behind the rock with a startled oath, while Kitty cantered to the forest with many a frightened snort. The black horse followed.
With a distinct feeling of satisfaction that no witnesses had been present, Lamont walked to the door of the fort. As he entered, McAuliffe's deep tones struck jeeringly against his ear,—
'Three solid old women and a brace of bullets, Davey! No, lad, it's no use your trying to bluff a hair off my whiskers. Fixed you this time, sure. Jackpot, Davey!'
Five sticky cards dribbled from the Captain's shaking hand. 'You're a teaser, Alf,' he muttered thickly, speaking down his pipe. 'I'm water-logged, right enough. So let's ha' a drink.'
McAuliffe's huge hand closed round the bottle neck. You derned old tree-partridge! You didn't reckon there was a full house this side. Can't fool me with your measly flushes.'
The black liquor fell with a gurgle and splash into cracked glasses. Then Lamont came inside and seated himself.
'Come and take the pictures,' invited the Factor, genially. 'I've just cleaned out Davey here, and spoiling for another draw. Davey can't shake cards worth shucks.'
'Your opinion ain't up to a monkey's grin,' returned Dave, dogmatically. 'There's too many words and not enough sense for me.'
'It's all too deep for you, lad. That's the blessed fact. Your chip of brain was only allowed you for a bit of a show. 'Tisn't for use, Davey, and don't you make any mistake. Maybe there's enough to hold you outside an asylum, but it's a narrow margin, and wants careful looking after.'
'I ain't no Solomon,' said Dave, after a hearty sip at the ink-like compound. 'Reckon it's safer to be a fool than a wise man, Alf. A moonhead can say a slick thing once in a while and be none the worse, but darned if a clever chap can cut didoes. 'Twouldn't pay him by a jugful.'
Lamont sat in a corner and absorbed his brandy with slow gulps. A subtle scheme was simmering in his brain, which the fiery liquor now awoke to full activity. Presently he rose, then began to clean his deadly rifle.
McAuliffe was in splendid humour. He puffed out his beard, and slapped his chest comfortably. 'Nothing like a few drops of real stuff,' he proclaimed generally. ''Bout an hour's time I'll feel like talking nice.'
'Mind old Captain Robinson?' chimed in Dave. 'Lots of whiles I've started in to talk with him. When he got to reckon he was in for a brain-squeezer, he'd sort of walk sideways, and say, "Bide here a while, Dave, while fetch in something from the house." I'd just creep after and hear the chink of a bottle and glass at work. He always works up his talk that way. Then he'd be back, with the words fairly dropping off his tongue like a dog-sweat, "Now, Dave, you're wrong, and I'll tell you how."
'Then he'd settle right down for the hour. Wonderful fond of his own noise, was Captain. Never gave anyone else a bit of a show.
'I diddled him once,' chuckled Dave. 'We started in one day, least Captain did, till I fairly ached for a bit of chin-work. So I just pulled out a good cigar and handed it over sort of careless, 'though I didn't care if he took it or not. Captain can't ever refuse a cigar, so he stretched out for it, all the time talking for what he was worth. Then I brought out a match, pulled it along my pants, and held it over. He was a bit anxious and suspicious like, for he seemed to sort of think he was letting me in. Anyway he stuck his head up and tried to catch a light without stopping his bandy. 'Twasn't his racket that journey. A dose of smoke just travelled nice down his throat. Before he could swallow, I came right in and said, "Now, Captain, I'm going to show you where you make a mistake." I talked then till I got into a sweat, and my throat was dry as a hot pea. But I diddled him, sure.'
'You did so,' assented the Factor. 'Captain's a bad listener. He's got no use for doses of his own poison.'
Outside, the greyness which follows the deep colouring of the sunset was slowly assuming a darker hue, across which darted every few seconds a pale blue flash light. McAuliffe lit a greasy lamp with unsteady hands and replaced the smoked glass. Lamont sat silent, with the weapon lying across his knees, scarcely taking heed of the conversation going on beside him, until Dave suddenly struck a note of more immediate interest.
'No harm come to the gal, Alf?'
'Reckon you mean Menotah. Darn it, Dave, do you think we'd fix a woman?
'Accidents,' suggested Dave. 'She's right enough, eh?'
'Course. I'd spoil the man who harmed her, I reckon.'
'She's a daisy!' said the Captain, fervently. 'Twist her hair up some crazy way, hang a fine dress around her, and she'd knock the spots off any at Garry. She's a peach blossom, sure! I don't mind telling you straight, Alf, I'm thinking of doing the gal a first-class honour. I tell you, I'm going to make her Mrs Spencer. She's worth the honour, and don't you forget it, Alf.'
Lamont flashed a contemptuous glance at the insignificant speaker, while McAuliffe burst into a lusty roar of laughter, and slapped his great thigh repeatedly.
'Don't see what you're quirking at,' said Dave, sulkily. 'Ain't she good enough, Alf?'
'She's eighteen carat, 'Twas something else bothering me, Dave. I tell you, Davey, she's a girl of taste.'
'Well, what's the matter with me?' asked the other surlily.
'A looking glass would tell you straight. There's one t'other room. You're not so bad, Dave, now I come to think on it. But you don't make much of a picture to look at.' He doubled up and laughed again, while the sickly light darted across the window.
Dave sat back with an injured air. 'Gals are too darned particular. Many a one I've tried to hitch on to, but they've always broken loose and gone after someone else with dollars, or a different twist to the nose from mine.'
'Never mind, Davey,' said the Factor, encouragingly. 'There'll be some old woman waiting on you presently, with a beauty show certificate.'
The Captain swore. 'There's no finding out what they're driving at. One gal now—Elsie they called her—I felt pretty well sure of. She seemed to kind of catch on, so I thought 'twas just a case of picking when I wanted. One Sunday I made up a few nice sentences, with a sort of poetry jingle. Chose a soft grass spot, I did, tumbled on my knee bones, and asked her if she'd hold on to me. Well, she thought, 'bout as cool as though I'd asked her to name her drink, then said she reckoned the investment wouldn't be profitable enough. That's the way they all go. I never gave her another chance, bet you, Alf.'
Then they fell back to their poker playing. The night drew on, while the power of the electric storm grew mightier and more awful. So another two hours passed.
Inside the fort, the yellow lamp light flickered dully within a soot-covered glass. Its use was superfluous, as the incessant lightning kept the room flooded in a wild radiance. Without, the stupendous silence was appalling—a silence amid the crashing and roar of the heavens, which but threw the dreadful intervals into more powerful relief. It was undoubtedly a furious storm, yet not a pine branch stirred, not a grass stem quivered, not a speck of dust travelled in airy course; a feather would scarce have found air to float it; the waters of the Saskatchewan coiled in sluggish circles like oil. Still, from a thousand points of the copper-coloured sky, lightning streamed and twisted in furious revelry, before disappearing in a flood of angry contortions as fresh fire darted into the dead wake. Then that fearful pause of silence indescribable. After, dull booming of distant artillery, or waspish whinings of kettledrums.
From the forest limit sped Menotah, with cloak drawn over her hair, hurrying for the shelter of the fort. She held a rough willow box, which she anxiously opened when she reached the clearing. The electric light darted down and converted the contents into a liquid flood of red light. From side to side the breathless life streamed, crossing and recrossing in waving threads of gold. This was safe, so she darted across the open, shrank from a descending flame, which hissed between her body and the door, then entered boldly, though half dazed and breathing quickly.
Sprawling across the table, his huge head lying upon his hands, she beheld the Chief Factor, mumbling in incoherent phrases. Opposite, bolt upright, balanced on an insecure box and sucking at an empty pipe, appeared Dave Spencer, howling in his coarse voice some unintelligible song and beating time with an empty bottle which dribbled down his arm. The girl's bright eyes passed from one to the other, while presently she began to laugh softly at the two unmeaning comedians.
Lamont, in the corner, with elbows upon knees and face hidden between his hands, she did not at first perceive. It seemed to him as though he had suddenly been forced off his own circle of life and been brought into contact with beings unknown, of different form and custom. His present environment was unnatural and visionary. Even Dave's mechanical expletives were insufficient to dispel the illusion. When the girl appeared, like a visible portion of the surrounding silence, he regarded her as some fresh vagary of Nature, or creation of the storm. He blinked his eyes, with the dim idea of seeing her disappear from vision. But when the cloak fell back and the softly cut features of Menotah were upraised in the blue light, he reflected,—first, on Sinclair's poor body, rotting in some thick tangle of bush; then on Muskwah, full of life, hope and vengeance.
When she laughed, he started at the sound of contrast, and overturned the cracked glass beside him. Then he rose, crushed the broken fragments, and came towards the girl with a low-toned question on his lips, 'Why are you here?'
She looked up gladly. Then he noticed her fingers closing round the willow box.
'I was in the forest when the fire was cast at my head, so I hastened here.'
The vagrant thoughts fled off on another tack. He kept his eyes fixed upon the girl's countenance. She drew back frightened.
'Your eyes are still and cold. Your lips move, yet there is no word-sound. You did not look at me so—in the forest, when the white moon peeped over the ledges.'
He cast off the glamour of illusion, and asked again, 'Why have you come?'
'I told you,' said Menotah, pettishly. 'You did not attend, for you have been drinking the strong waters—'
'No, I haven't,' interrupted Lamont. 'I have scarcely tasted the stuff. Why are you out on such a night?'
'The spirits of the dead call us in the storm,' said she fearfully. 'They shriek in the thunder; their hollow eyes stare from the lightning; their cold breath beats in the rain. It is terrible to stay within, and hear them fighting. Yet it may be death to venture outside.'
'Why did you?'
She touched the box with light finger tips. 'I kept this buried beneath a forest tree; but I feared lest a Spirit might snatch it in the storm.'
Lamont laughed. 'Spirits could steal away nothing.'
'They breathe, and the substance vanishes; they touch, and it melts. Often have I seen the wind carrying a tree uprooted. I have also looked upon a tent borne on the storm. There is a Spirit in the wind.'
A furious roar of thunder convulsed the dread silence. As it died away, Dave burst into renewed howlings, and commenced an attack upon the table with the black bottle.
'You shouldn't have come here.'
'Why not?'
'Two drunken men—and you.' He shrugged his shoulders.
'But when a man drinks much strong water, he is helpless. Besides, you are here.'
Dave staggered to his irregular feet, dimly conscious that someone was speaking close at hand, and fell heavily into Lamont's arms.
'Come—have something—to drink, Alfy. Haven't had good drink—with you—long time.'
Arousing to the fact that his name had been pronounced, McAuliffe uplifted a strange, shaggy face, to stare helplessly around.
'That 'ud be Dave—old Davey Spencer. Talking through his hat as usual. No good listening—what he says. He ain't of no account.'
Dave threw his hot arms around Lamont's neck. 'Alfy—you good fellow,' he slobbered. 'Heard boys run you down—say old Alf McAuliffe wasn't much good anyway. I've given it 'em straight. Your old pal, Davey, will stay right by you.'
McAuliffe stuck a bottle to the perpendicular on the sloppy table, and lectured it with wagging beard,—
'No use at all for chaps that have a lot to say for themselves—no derned bit of good, they ain't! There's Dave Spencer, now—he's one of 'em. Corks me, he do! I've been talking to him to-night—not a single sense-bug under his wool. Can't argue worth shucks. Sits sucking a glass and stares like a derned old owl whenever I talk straight—squirms like a pesky fish trying to get back to water. It's a terrible waste of time for fellow like me—lots of brains—to argue with a wooden chunk like Dave. Don't you forget it now. What I'm saying's the right thing.'
'Damn you, keep off!' shouted Lamont, throwing the unsteady Captain back against the wall.
'Not going back on friends, Alfy—not on old Davey Spencer? Always drunk fair with you—never took lager when you had whisky. Just shake, Alf—show no ill feeling. Then we'll go for a walk and have something—ter'ble long time 'tween drinks. My treat, Alf.'
'Get a move on, then!' cried the Factor. He rose clumsily. 'Seems to be a bit of a storm coming around. Don't matter, though. Hook your arm in mine, Davey.'
But then Lamont caught the speaker and pulled him back to the inner room.
McAuliffe struggled like a bear. 'There'll be trouble here!' he howled. 'A fellow can do what he darned well likes in a free country!'
'You'll get twisted up by lightning first thing if you go out.'
'We'll try, anyhow,' hiccoughed the Factor, smiling pleasantly.
'Can't spare you,' muttered the other. 'Come along with me. I'll stay with you, and bring along a stiff eye-opener.'
'You're the stuff!' chuckled McAuliffe. 'I'm right with you. Never mind Davey; haven't got much an opinion of him. Sort of chap to stand you a drink, then make you pay for it. We'll go for a stroll presently, eh? Sun shining nice and bright. I want to pick some pretty flowers for my gal.'
Lamont laughed cynically, and dumped the great body on the heap of clothes which stood for a bed. He stood by to check any inclination to rise, until he was recalled to the office by a sound of scuffling and an indignant cry. Then he remembered Dave.
Menotah had quickly commenced to ridicule her companion upon his singular want of graceful motion. The Captain recognised his persecutor, and smiled broadly with pleasure. 'You're a fine gal, and good-looking gal,' he declared. 'Come and sit on my knee.'
Which pleasant invitation was scornfully refused. 'I shall stay here, and you can sit by yourself,' she said. 'What have you been doing to-night?'
'Thinking of you,' replied Dave, effusively. 'Always doing it—first thing in morning, last thing at night.'
She regarded his wobbling figure with a laugh. 'It has been too much for your feet. If you think any more, your legs will give way.'
Dave whined at the imputation. 'I'm all right. See me walk the chalked line.' Then he commenced to gyrate towards her.
She doubled her little fist. 'If you come any nearer, I shall hit you in the face.'
The Captain chuckled happily, and made a fresh lurch onward. 'I know you gals—all the same. Never let a fine-looking man alone. Lots have tried to catch Dave Spencer—shook 'em off, though, every time. Always said—going to marry Menotah and settle down comfortable.'
The girl laughed. 'Why,' she cried frankly, 'you are uglier than a jack-fish, and as stupid as a tree-partridge! Don't you know that?'
The Captain was in a condition only to appreciate compliments. 'You agree to that quick enough. I know you gals—never let a good chance slip. Come, give me a kiss.'
Menotah turned to escape, but in doing so stepped upon a fragment of Lamont's broken glass. She cried sharply, for she was barefooted; but the next instant Dave had flung two unsteady arms round her, while his hot tainted breath struck against her cheek.
Yet, before he could put his amorous designs in execution, Lamont was across the floor, and had seized him angrily by the collar. He dragged him away, struggling violently, and shouting like a maniac.
'Unfix me. I'll pay you for mauling my carcase. You don't know Dave Spencer, I guess. Who the devil are you, anyway?'
Menotah nursed her foot upon the lounge, watching her protector with soft eyes. Dave slobbered along the floor, cursing and groaning, then turned his dull head round and looked up into Lamont's face. The same moment Menotah turned up the lamp flame, though scanty light could penetrate the blackened chimney. Still, the incessant lightning, across window and half open door, was sufficient by itself.
Suddenly Dave shot a shaking finger upward. 'I know you!' he cried madly. 'White Chief! Ho, ho! White Chief!'
It might have been the electric light that cast the livid hue across Lamont's features. Certainly he started wildly, then recollected in whose presence he stood, and laughed.
'Pshaw!' he muttered, 'if you weren't three sheets in the wind, I'd stuff you with lead for that.'
The Captain kept his strange dark eyes fixed vindictively. 'I saw you once,' he shrieked; 'saw you one evening without your paint. White Chief! I'll hand you over. You will swing along with Riel. You will be hung!'
The thunder rose from the heart of the great silence, and roared fearfully. When it died into mutterings, the thick breathing of the sleeping Factor within was distinctly audible. Lamont kicked the drunken body, and turned to Menotah with a gesture of contempt.
'Come,' he said, 'I will take you to your home.' She looked at him pathetically, almost as a wounded stag who expects the death blow. Then she silently pointed to a scarlet line across the little brown foot.
He fell to his knee and kissed passionately the spot indicated. Then he drew the silk scarf from his throat and bound up the delicate limb. While doing so, she bent down and pressed her lips fervently to the white skin at the back of his neck.
Dave had forgotten his accusation, and, still muttering upon the floor, was rapidly sinking into a natural stupor. The boat departed in the early morning, and in her Lamont had sworn to take passage. But much might be performed before the dawning. McAuliffe lay in a dead sleep; Justin tended the Icelander in a riverside hut; Denton was safely out of the way. Good.
'Shall I carry you in my arms,chérie?' he asked.
'I can walk now,' she replied. 'We must go before the wind strikes us.'
They stepped from the fort during one of the short, terribly intense periods of silence. Immediately there rang forth the sullen report of a muzzle-loader. It came from the opposite shore, and hung over the forest until dispelled by the thunder.
'It is Muskwah,' said the girl. 'He has hunted the moose since morning, and now returns. That is his signal. The Chief would marry me to him,' she concluded indifferently.
They came to the edge of the cliff. The electric fire blazed with stronger fury, yet not a drop of rain fell from the copper sky to the parched ground, not a motion of air stole through the solemn pines. Beneath, the mighty Saskatchewan swelled away, its oil-like water converted into a sea of fire, overhung by ever-changing blood shadows.
Menotah released his arm with a little cry of fear, as a narrow ribbon of flame darted along his back and struck across the rock. 'Why have you the rifle?'
Lamont feigned surprise. 'I forgot,' he said quickly. 'I will cover it with my coat.' He did so, then turned to the girl again.
'It is not far through the forest, Menotah. I wish you to go to the encampment by yourself.'
She demurred, but obeyed. He made as though he would return to the fort, but she gave a little cry, and he turned, to find her standing beside him with uplifted face. 'You forgot me,' she said pitifully.
'No,chérie; I was only afraid of the fire striking you.' He kissed her many times, then she stepped into the bushes with a backward glance.
So he was alone. The rifle was again uncovered, while he knelt on the rocky headland, with eyes fixed upon the dark shadows beneath the opposing bank. Minutes dragged along slowly as he crouched, like a dark statue, until eyes dimmed with the strained gaze and, in the intervals of great silence, heart-beats rose in loud pulsations. But it was not for long he waited. A canoe shot suddenly forth from the dark shadows beyond. It carried a single occupant, one who headed the frail craft with dexterous paddle strokes straight for the point. He knelt to his work; the figure was erect, rejoicing in strength and manhood. It was the bearing of one who has secured the victory, who sees happiness before him on the life pathway.
Now he had reached the centre of the great river, and the white paddle shone like a glass beneath the fire. Then the stern-faced watcher perceived in the illumination the features, the swelling muscles, the proud might of the warrior Muskwah. Another stroke, and the canoe half sprang from the water like a graceful bird, to fall back and dart along, cutting through the sanguine waters and casting aside two wide lines of ruddy waves.
'He must not land. The time has come.'
Such words were spoken by an avenging voice from the heart of the storm. He raised and levelled that murderous rifle; the stock burnt his cheek: lightning confused the sights; then he settled himself like a rock, as the forefinger caressed the trigger. The reverberating crack was swallowed by the revelry above, the gleaming river received in its bosom the harmless missive.
'Again!' The single word circled from the red mystery of the tempest. The warrior approached the shore. Should he reach that dark shelter of the cliff, he must escape beneath the forest shadows, while another life would pay the penalty of failure.
The rifle came up, with the wild lights playing and leaping along its narrow length. A bullet darted forth and pierced the brown bark at the side.
'Again!'
He could see the Indian's frightened face, as he struggled madly towards the rock-lined shore, the friendly shadows, where he might creep away in safety; but there was no thought of pity, no compunction at depriving mortality of its best. Only he passed a hand across his eyes and straightened himself for a more resolute effort. Then the keen eye glanced again from sight to sight, while the storm fiend spoke for the last time,—
'The wind is coming. There will be opportunity only for two more shots.'
Half lifting the gaze from his glowing weapon, he perceived the heads of the most distant pines on the heaving sky line bend almost double, yet amid a silence most intense. That fearful calm could have no other ending. In three minutes the tornado must burst upon them.
An unearthly moaning shuddered over forest and river. At the same moment the heavens divided into a myriad fiery serpents, writhing and hissing to every point of the compass. As this avenging host convulsed the livid sky, a death bullet shrieked from the shore and savagely bit the warrior's left shoulder.
He dropped with a wild cry; the birch bark overturned, scarlet waters foamed and twisted like a furnace with the grim struggle. And after came the common end of all.
In the last interval of stillness, Lamont wiped the sweat from his forehead, and again covered the rifle. The wind approached. He prepared to move towards the fort, but the small bush behind trembled with motion. Then a figure crept forth and caught at his arm with soft fingers. He cried aloud, when the frightened face and wide-open eyes appeared in the strange lights.
'Menotah! You here!'
She pointed below to the fire-like river, while her lips moved. At length words dropped forth. 'Why did you kill him?'
There was time for a hasty reply, though the trees across the water bent and cracked. Flinging down the weapon, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to him, until heart beat with heart. Then he whispered against her ear, 'Because I love you.' Then the wind came.
With a mad fury it drowned the sonorous bursts of thunder. The Saskatchewan was lashed into white billows of foam; a drifting canoe was torn into fragments by sharp rocks. Trees groaned and tossed appealingly heavy plumes to the violent sky; branches and small stones hurtled on the wings of the tempest.
It was the murderer's storm, and for him alone. As he clasped Menotah, beneath the raging bush, it poured all its message of retribution around his head, and shrieked the red words of fate into his ears. His unworthy love was blood purchased. It was a thing accursed. It would end in blood.
And, after the wind, came the rain.
The following morning dawned with clear light in a radiant softness. Bright sunshine glistened joyfully upon dripping pine needles, drawing fragrance from the damp ground and dew-lined bushes.
Dave, sulky and forgetful of events closely preceding, partook of a greasy breakfast prepared by Justin, then slouched outside, where he might relieve his feelings by swearing at the slowness of his half-breed assistants. The Factor was abroad yet earlier. Half a bottle of black H.B. had little subsequent effect upon his vigorous constitution. He ate with Dave, continually disburdening himself of badly-received jokes at his companion's expense.
The Captain rose presently with a curt farewell, and blundered finally from the fort. But McAuliffe was not to be shaken off. He followed, borrowed a plug of T.& B., then walked along, peeling off thick strips and reminding Dave of several commissions to be executed prior to a next meeting. 'Shouldn't have taken so much liquor, Dave. You've got a sore head this morning, sure.'
The other mumbled an indistinct reply. Then they came down to the river's edge. Here the boat was lying, bales of furs for English shipment ready stowed, an Icelander waiting to cast off the last rope. Dave swore at this latter, then stepped on board. The next minute the black monster drew slowly away. The Captain took up a stolid position in the bows, and lifted the torn flag he was grasping in response to McAuliffe's parting shout. Then the unwieldy craft gurgled round the bend and disappeared. The Factor turned, to discover Lamont approaching him from the forest. 'Where you been?' he called, as the young man came up.
'Around early. Tracked a muskawk, but couldn't get in a shot.'
'That was the old bull's luck. Say, we had a bit of a jamboree last night, eh?'
'I reckon you did. What with liquor splashing and a tornado howling, it was a fairly wild night.'
'Don't often get off on a jag,' said the Factor. 'When I do, I'm a rocket. Bound to go off full rip. Guess you found me a bit of a teaser, eh?'
'Not so bad as Dave. I've no use for him.'
'He's not much of a chap. Told him that straight lots of times. I shouldn't have cut such an everlasting dido if he hadn't been monkeying around. Drank more than I did, too. Dirty mean trick that, for he can get lots across lake. Quite a little storm rustling most of the while, eh?'
Lamont smiled feebly. 'Just a bit,' he said slowly.
The Factor looked at him critically. 'Darn it, Lamont, a fellow might think you'd been on the jag stead of me.'
He was right. The young man's face was colourless and heavy; his eyes dull and deeply marked with black lines; his appearance thinner and older. The Factor, on the other hand, represented the perfection of health. His great face glowed with colour beneath a wide straw bonnet; his eyes shone; his step was firm and vigorous.
'I'm a bit played out. Up most of the night; out first thing without grub.'
'That's what,' returned McAuliffe, heartily. 'Come off now; there's a decent chunk of moose steak lying inside.'
They disappeared within the log fort, while the silence and desolation grew again.
Through the fresh dampness of the forest came Menotah, with her wonted happiness and joy of heart. Her hair was unbound as usual; she wore a tiny pair of beaded and grass-worked mocassins, with dainty leggings of fringed buckskin. Light notes of joyous music dropped from her smiling lips as she danced along with scarce a limp or a pause—for the old Antoine, with the miraculous native art of healing, had rubbed an ointment upon the wounded foot.
She passed along like a butterfly floating with the wind, threading an unmarked track for some distance, then glided through torn and rugged bush, to finally emerge at the edge of a gloomy swamp, where strange creatures croaked and crawled, where poisonous herbs reared fetid heads aloft.
Here an unmistakable odour permeated the air. A thick film coated nauseous puddles of silent water, where circles of bright colour curled and twisted beneath the bright sunlight. A colossal fortune, open gift of Nature, lay beneath that lonely wilderness, only awaiting someone to seize upon it. Yet neither the old Antoine, nor the light-hearted girl, the two who alone knew of the place, ever had the imagination troubled with the golden vision of an oil king's dream.
Black rocks pressed closely upon the limit of this slimy expanse, which spread away to the distance, broken by occasional solemn bushes, or gaunt stone masses like huge creatures of mythology. Between this cliff and the precarious edge Menotah picked her light-footed way, until she came to an open spot fronted by a thick bush clump, which seemed to bar all further progress.
She stepped across and pulled at a pliant bough. It came back, and she passed through a dark aperture, the branch closing behind her with considerable force, like a spring door. Ahead lay another smaller clearing, with three trees in the centre, growing to form an almost perfect equilateral triangle. These had been utilised as corner posts for a small hut constructed out of thick kanikanik rods, overlaid with white reeds plaited with red wands of the same bush. The roof was thatched in by layers of leaves and dry grass, the whole being sheltered by pendulous tresses of the overhanging trinity of pines. At the forest side a roughly-cut aperture did duty for a window, where a cloth was stretched across at night, to exclude, as far as possible, the noxious vapours and the no less unpleasant insects.
Menotah had reached her destination. She stopped and hooted thrice in soft cadence. Scarce had the low cry passed drearily over the swamp, when the reed door was pushed back, while a figure, bent and completely enveloped in a sweeping black cloak, crawled forth slowly. This apparition the girl regarded with every sign of complacent satisfaction.
'I have come early,' she began in glad tones, 'for last evening I could not find you. I came to the hut before the storm arose, but it was empty.'
The figure raised a thin, bearded face, and spoke in a weak voice. 'I went into the forest—to escape the stench of the swamp for a few hours. I thought I knew the way, but it gave me trouble to return.'
'You should not have left this place. Some might see you.'
'Don't fear, my girl. I shall lie quiet, till the strength comes. I sha'n't show my face till the proper time. No one comes here?'
'None can, but old Antoine, for they do not know the path. He comes but seldom, to gather foul plants and collect creatures from the mud. Then he makes great medicines and strong poison. Are you not satisfied here?'
The figure shivered, and drew the mantle more closely round his lean shoulders. 'It is an awful place at night—especially on a quiet night. Mists rise and hang upon yonder dark pools, while blue lamps shudder along the marsh.'
Menotah gave a fearful little laugh. 'But you should not venture forth when the cold moon shines.[1]TheMutchi-Manitouis then abroad, and his home is in the swamp. He it is who lights those fires, that you may come to the edge and gaze upon them. Then he would drag you in to feed upon your blood, while your soul would make another blue lamp. But the dim shadows are powerless to harm, for they are only poor spirits who have been sent to the other world without food or light by the way. So they have lost the right path, and must search through the long night for it.'
The huddled figure, who already seemed overridden by superstition, bent still lower in a fit of coughing. Menotah, with her inborn knowledge of the unseen, had no idea of easing his mind.
'You have not seen that which the Spirit has shown to me,' she continued, in a half whisper. 'When I was younger, I would sometimes be very foolish, and would even walk by the edge of the swamp when the moon was cold and round. I wished to learn some of the mysteries of the future. So as the night grew older and the south wind blew more strongly,[2]there rose around me groanings, with louder cries of souls in torture. Fires darted from side to side, while shadow figures floated in such numbers that the sky became hidden. Sometimes, when I came by a black pool, where red patches lay without motion, a blue-veined hand darted upward, making horrible clutches with bony fingers at the life air, which the body might not reach from the bondage of death. Then a ghastly head, with starting eyes and awful features, would be cast up at my feet, only to roll back into the slime with fearful cries. I could see the agony in the eyes as the dark water closed around. Also, voices would call my name, and feet tread beside me as I trembled along. Invisible hands pulled at me, while hollow eyes rolled and burnt in the air at my side. Yet I kept to the path and never lost courage. Had I done so, one of those blue lamps which now frighten you at night would mark that spot where I had made entry into the other world.'
'You imagined this!' cried the figure. 'It was a dream. I have seen nothing like that—'
'Because the Spirit has not given you the double vision,' she said eagerly. 'Some may see more than others can even imagine. These have an inner pair of eyes with which they may look into the mysteries, to read the future and the fate of others, though we may never find or learn our own.'
'Have you the double pair?'
'I cannot tell yet; I am still so young. But I can see very well, and I know—I know—'
She stopped, then widened her lustrous eyes and gazed on him with a smile, in which there was certain pride.
'Now I must go,' she said suddenly. 'See how the sun is creeping up from the low ridge of cloud. Is there anything I should bring you?'
'No. Only keep your tongue as you have managed so far. Then everything ought to turn out well.'
She stepped back to the leafy wall. 'Last night there was a moose brought into the camp. I have cut off some nice pieces for you, and will bring them this evening. Do not lose yourself again.'
She nodded with a radiant smile, the bushes closed behind her flowing hair as a last bright note of farewell floated back to the stagnant swamp pools. Then her happy steps turned lightly in the direction of the dismal death tree, where she was to meet the one to whom she had dedicated her fresh young heart.
Quickly she came across him, stretched at his ease in the soft green shade beneath the tinted light. She came to him, full of that love and trust which is in itself a thing of perfect beauty, yet which so often proves a serpent to its owner. She knelt by his side, under the interlacing tangle of boughs, to throw her warm young arms around his neck in the passion of her innocent devotion. Her tantalising hair waved round his neck and fondled each feature. It intoxicated the sense, so he returned her embrace, drew her down beside him, whispering soft words into her ear, caressing the flushed face with the careless touch of a man who understands a woman's weakness.