[1]The less known Little Saskatchewan empties itself into the lake on the opposite side, about forty miles further south.
[1]The less known Little Saskatchewan empties itself into the lake on the opposite side, about forty miles further south.
A long hour had dragged away. The moon, then a glowing disc of radiance, had reached the centre of the heavens, and cast over the northern land a shivering mantle of white light.
On the long, wooded island, round which the mighty river hissed and murmured, five men were stationed at various points. Sheltered behind the efficient rampart of the black York boat, which had been drawn up on the shingle beach, Lamont knelt, nursing his rifle. He had taken off his coat to sling over head and neck, for protection against the mosquitoes that swarmed in malignant numbers between river and under growth. Before him a delicate green poplar branch waved from the boat. This concealed the gleam of his weapon without interfering with his sight.
Not far distant Winton lay stretched along a fir-shadowed rock, the slime-green base of which was washed by the lipping waves. He kept a watchful eye on the opposite shore, while pulling strongly at a short pipe.
In the dark shadows behind, the comedy of a melodrama was being rehearsed. McAuliffe, self-appointed leader of the defence party, having placed his crack shots, paced up and down before the log hut, drawing ghastly pictures of a probably impending fate for the benefit of the terror-stricken Denton. As his mercurial excitement increased, he swung his only weapon—a keen-edged bush axe—over his head, while at each flash of the metal the quondam bar-tender shrank back with a fresh shudder. Reproof came at length from young Winton.
'Say, Alf, that axe shines like lightning. You're raising an awful racket.'
The Factor quickly lowered his weapon. 'You're right. I'm just explaining things to Peter, though. He wants to know which is the position of danger, as he's dead set on getting it. There's a lion's heart under Peter's modesty, I tell you.'
Winton chuckled softly, and carefully struck a match. With huge relish, the Factor continued, 'See here, Peter, when thenitchiesget hold of you they'll start to work and strip you bare as a shell-fish. Likely then they'll fix you up with a tight suit of paint trimmed with atmosphere. Wonderful playful they can be when they set their minds to it. Shouldn't wonder if they didn't pour oil on your wool and touch it up with a light; just to see how you'd dance, or hear the talk you used preaching. They've got lots of fun in them, Peter. All they want's a fellow with humour, one that could see the point of their jokes. You'd do that fine. Might stick skewers into your stomach to try your digestion, or—'
Here the rifle Denton had been grasping gingerly fell with a crash. Small sweat-beads stood upon his white forehead.
'Hold on!' cried McAuliffe, with more concern, 'we haven't got too many rifles as it is. Pick up that shooter, and just come along with me. Don't point the derned thing at my stomach.'
'It's not loaded,' stammered the ex-minister.
'Not loaded!' shouted the Factor, in a voice that might almost have been heard at the mouth of the Saskatchewan. 'You old doodle-nowl! I reckon you think that when you point it at anitchihe's going to tumble dead just to oblige you. Here, hand over your shells, while I pack the thing for you.'
'I haven't any,' quavered Denton.
'I'd like to know darned well what you have got, outside a lump of pigeon heart and chunk of white liver. Justin!'
The half-breed appeared at the low doorway.
'Give me some shells,' continued the Factor. 'And—Goldam!'
After his favourite oath, the agile tongue became silent. From the distant forest came the solemn hooting of an owl. The dreary sound hung solemnly over the water. Again it screeched forth, then a third time.
Lamont shifted his position slightly, while a light glittered in his keen eyes. Winton slipped the warm pipe into his pocket, and nervously rubbed at his arms, to remove a suggestion of stiffness. Justin handed a fistful of shells to the Factor, then proceeded unconcernedly to the water's edge. Squatting on his haunches he wrenched a large tobacco-wad from a black plug, then leaned over towards his neighbour and grunted.
Winton looked across inquiringly. 'Tobak?' queried the half-breed, extending the greasy plug.
The young man shook his head.
'Good,' affirmed Justin, touching his right eye and raising the rifle to his shoulder.
'No good to me,' came the answer. So Justin grunted again, while his jaws moved faster.
McAuliffe dropped his axe and vigorously forced the shells into the rifle chamber. Then he shoved the weapon into Denton's hand, and hurried him over the shingle with the remark, 'Now chuck off the fleece, Peter. Be a ravening wolf, and worthy of the Company. We've got to fight, and there's no flies on it. You do your biz to-night, and I'll let you hold a prayer meeting in the fort when everything's over. Think of that, Peter.'
Then he passed to the others, with axe under arm, kicking up the wet sand and muttering, 'Darn it, why can't I shoot? I'd give my nose and ears to be able to send a bullet straight.'
The minutes dragged heavily after the signal had been given. McAuliffe stood in a deep shadow, leaning forward on his axe. He fixed his gaze upon the low, whitewashed walls of the fort—where his best years had been spent in isolation from the world—showing ghastly in the moonlight; he looked on to the open space, with the black rocks and long forest shadows, then at the motionless bank of trees, which concealed the approaching foe. Casting his eyes higher, he beheld the majestic flag of England swaying listlessly from the denuded fir; yet higher—he saw the pale stars, and for the moment wondered what lay beyond.
Justin's small eyes were keener even than Lamont's, for he it was who first perceived dark forms, half concealed by bushes they were carrying, winding in single file round the base of the cliff. He gave his low whistle, then deliberately glanced an eye along his sights.
The Factor was sprawling along the shingle, watching the Indians as they commenced to climb the cliff face, led by one man particularly agile. He muttered softly, 'They're fooled by the light you left burning, Justin. Goldam! I'd like to be on top of that cliff now. This old axe of mine would rattle among their jawbones!'
Then Lamont turned himself and called, 'Say, boys, I want you to give me first shot.'
A word, then a grunt, came back by way of assent, but there was no third voice.
'Wonder what Peter's doing,' resumed McAuliffe. 'Hope he won't play monkey tricks with us, anyway. If he aims this way, we're right enough; but if he shoots at thenitchies, there's a fair chance for one of us to damage a bullet.'
That unearthly silence still brooded over the great river and lonely forest. The northern lights crept higher up the sky with a stronger glow. A few sounds, which intensified the solitude, beat the air—the sharp chirping of frogs from the white muskegs behind, the sullen roar of great rapids miles up stream, the piercing refrain of the chief of insect pests.
The tall leader crept up the cliff front, followed by his companions, their bodies flattened against the rock. On the island shore lay Lamont, rifle to shoulder, his cheek caressing the stock, head leaning over as though in sleep. He might have been a stone figure. Another minute, and the leader came up to the summit. He shot forth a long arm to seize the overhanging rock cornice and drag his body over the ledge. But, as he did so, two or three pale blue smoke rings circled peacefully from the island, to float down with the murmuring river. Afterwards came a whip-likecrack, which set the wild northern echoes shrieking.
The leader flung up both arms with convulsive action, then crashed backward, down amongst his followers, sweeping them to the cruel rocks and sand beach beneath. Then Lamont aroused himself and looked round for criticism.
McAuliffe shambled up from his bed of loose stones with ungraceful motions. Up and down the beach he went, laughing and bellowing, bull-like, in his excitement.
'Goldam!' he shouted again and again. 'That beats all! That's the daisiest thing in long shots I've ever blinked at! Goldam, Lamont! you're a peach! Brought them all down, by the almighty Jerusalem! Every dirty, lickspittle squaw's papoose! Here they are again. Pump away your lead, boys. Goldam! Goldam!'
The attacking party from the forest appeared out in the open. Some ventured round the corner of the fort, and these discovered the fate of their companions. But directly they showed themselves, three shots rang out sharply.
The Factor narrowly escaped wounding his leg with the axe in his evolutions. He puffed out his beard, while his great red face glowed and shone. 'I tell you, you're doing fine, boys. You picked off that big fellow as though he'd been a chicken on a fence post, Justin. Hope he isn't dead, though; he owes the Company for a pair of blankets. Look at that, would you?'
Small shot whistled through the air, pattering against rocks, through leaves, and dropping like hail into the river. The natives had fired a volley from their old muzzle loaders, which were almost useless at the distance. Then the attacking party, evidently disappointed and mystified, withdrew again into the forest.
The defenders left their post and came round McAuliffe, with the unimportant exception of Denton. A sharp query at once arose, 'Where's that derned skunk, Peter?'
The half-breed jerked his head towards the trees, and muttered, 'He no good.'
'The mean devil. He can shoot well if he wants. I'm going to track him up, then tie him down to his place.'
'What's the good, Alf?' said Winton. 'Let him alone. He won't be any good if you do find him.'
The other yielded. 'Well, well, I guess you're right. Now I wonder what scheme the rascals t'other side mean working.'
'Get canoe,' said Justin, abruptly.
'I reckon. Then they'll try their dirtiest to land. I shall have my chores to see to soon as they cross the Jordan. How many boats, Justin?'
The half-breed held up a hand, then replied, 'Canoe; one boat.'
'Five canoes and a York,' said McAuliffe, interpreting the sign language. 'That's rough. There's not another tribe in the district with a York boat. This is an old one; used to belong to the Company. It may be leaky, still I reckon it'll do the trip.'
'How large is the tribe?' asked Lamont.
'Small. Not more than sixty males, counting the old 'uns and boys. We should be able to hold them off.'
'Hope they'll soon come,' said Winton, stretching his long arms.
McAuliffe passed his thumb across the axe edge. 'I reckon this is an interval for refreshment,' he observed. 'There should be a bottle in the hut, boys. Let's turn in for a nerve-straightener and a bit of plug. Justin'll whistle out when we're wanted.'
Then they disappeared within, while the night silence grew again.
About half an hour had slipped away, before the half-breed's whistle gave warning of danger. The men were quickly back in their places, to see a couple of canoes working up stream, hugging the opposite bank closely.
Lamont knelt for a time at the side of the half-breed, talking and explaining. Justin nodded and grunted as a sign of understanding, then took a fresh wad of chew, and, without the least outward show of interest, watched the progress of the enemy.
McAuliffe now wore the axe strapped to his back, and appeared with a huge breech loader, which he had loaded with No. 2 shot and a heavy charge. This was for close quarters.
But as he scanned the moon-lit prospect, his peace of mind was considerably perturbed by a slight, yet sufficiently significant omen. The rope might have been tampered with by some Indian, or the slight wind might possibly have loosened the rings, but it was certain that the two flags, which recently had fluttered in their proper places, were now hanging at half-mast.
The Factor was superstitious, like most northerners, so the sight troubled him. It did not appear as though the others had noticed the change—Justin would not have understood the meaning of the sign—and this was perhaps as well.
A gaunt, flat-bottomed York boat came suddenly round the bend in mid-stream. Six paddles flashed on either side between water and moonlight. Even so, progress was slow.
'Ready, Justin?' called Lamont, quickly. A sonorous grunt.
'First canoe.'
Brief silence, then a double report. Two Indians, one at each end of the leading canoe, staggered and fell over the side. Immediately the birch-shell overturned, and cast its occupants into the river.
But the black York boat came steadily on. In vain Justin crashed his bullets through the thick sides. In vain Lamont skilfully pierced the planking beneath water line. The gaunt bulwarks of this floating castle grew nearer. Even Justin shook his head and muttered, 'Bad!' McAuliffe swore and laid a brawny hand upon his axe. The boat was not more than a stone's throw from the end of the island, when a canoe, just launched from the opposite bank, came cutting a white line through the water. It had already reached mid-stream, when a strong cry rose from Winton's corner.
'What is it?' called McAuliffe, hurrying up.
'A canoe coming down stream. Not fifty yards off.'
'Attacked on three sides,' groaned the Factor, as he came to the young man's side. 'Half a dozen in it. Anything would send it over. Winton, boy, you must tackle it.'
'Right, Alf,' said the young fellow simply.
The Factor turned away heavily, but the voice behind called him back. 'Here, Alf, you've been square to the deadbeat.'
An oily, powder-stained hand was extended. McAuliffe clutched it in his great fingers, then hurried along the loose shingle.
He soon came up with the half-breed, who was firing steadily, but without apparent success, at the black boat. The Indians reserved their fire for close quarters. With them reloading was a lengthy process.
For the time Lamont's skill seemed to have left him. Shot after shot he aimed at the speeding canoe, but with no decisive result. At length his nerve was restored, and he disabled the Indian in the bows. The next time his rifle cracked, water poured through the birch bark, and the frail canoe settled at once, not fifteen yards from shore. Then Lamont pulled out his revolver, and coolly picked off the dark heads bobbing among the waves caused by the furious struggles of desperate swimmers.
Hard by, young Winton toiled single-handed. With the speed and coolness which had won him his football blue during that short 'Varsity career, he aimed, fired and reloaded, though his boyish face grew pale at the odds against him. If Lamont had only been by his side, as he so easily might have been! Opportunities were narrowing down rapidly—the canoe was perilously close, and so many of his bullets went astray.
Ah! that was a good shot. The canoe had overturned, but there were still three men uninjured. One held his weapon above water, and clung to the inverted canoe, which he steered towards land, employing it as a life-buoy and shield. Also, he could rest his gun on the birch bark, and take fairly deliberate aim. The other two reached shallow water, and were making for the bank.
Winton pressed his lips fiercely, as, with a hand that trembled for the first time that night, he fired at the approaching foe. The tension was fearful, after the attack of deer fever and the fright of Sinclair's end. If Lamont would only come! From the other end of the island came the loud yells of Indians, and over all the roar of the Factor's deep voice.
For McAuliffe's opening had arrived at last. With the imperturbable Justin at his side, he 'lay for' that York boat. Hurriedly he explained, 'We must empty their guns, boy. When I call "down," flop for your life.'
With jerky motions the black monster drew down, the water rippling and gurgling along the sides. Paddles flashed in the moonlight, while drops rained from the quickly moving blades in fiery points of light.
Not more than a dozen yards distant, and a head appeared. Justin's rifle flashed from the crook of his arm—a paddle dropped, and floated away down stream. That was a shot Lamont might have envied. Three more strokes, and a dozen pointing guns flashed within sight, as many painted faces glared defiance from the stocks.
'Down!' roared McAuliffe, in a voice that set the leaves trembling.
Before the echoes threw back the sound, they were sprawling against the wet sand. Literally at the same moment a thrilling report shrieked over island, up river, across distant forests. Small boughs and bunches of leaves rained from surrounding trees, while each trunk bled from a thousand wounds. The shot crashed, like the bursting of a hurricane, against the rocks, while the air was thick with fluttering wads, and foul with powder.
A wild shout of triumph burst from the black boat. There were two lifeless figures stretched upon the beach! So the paddles worked faster, while the keel ground sullenly on fine sand. There was no thought of concealment. Every warrior leaned over the side, laughing and howling in foolish joy.
But as the smoke collected overhead in one large cloud, and commenced to drift away, extraordinary animation visited one of the supposed corpses. It sprang to its feet and rushed into the water, pointing a heavy gun. At a merely nominal distance it levelled a great gun, then pulled the trigger, with a result that it fell floundering backwards with the force of recoil. It was up directly, spluttering and jubilant. 'You skunks! I've fixed your dirty racket. Goldam! if I haven't made a straight shot this journey, call me Ananias.'
Justin stood behind, stolidly chewing. He grunted and expressed his feelings by the monosyllable, 'Good!'
The attacking party were quiet enough now, for there was hardly a single man unwounded. True to their nature, all had emptied their guns together. Now the foremost idea was immediate departure; so a couple of men sprang overboard to push the boat off.
But McAuliffe threw down the gun, and swung round his axe. 'I'll spoil the first man who starts shoving,' he said cheerfully.
The half-breed fired again, and a man who had been endeavouring secretly to load his gun fell forward in the boat.
This robbed the Indians of their last vestige of determination. They all cried aloud for mercy.
The Factor was now in his element. 'Throw up your hands! Come ashore one by one, and fling down your fixings!'
This injunction was obeyed. The warriors threw knives and ammunition to the beach, then stood with uplifted hands.
'Bring along that new rope, Justin!' The half-breed disappeared within the hut, while McAuliffe, with the air of a general, reviewed his prisoners. 'First that makes a break gets a bullet in his liver! If any want to commit suicide, all he's got to do is move out of his place!'
When the rope was brought, Justin cut it into lengths, while his superior, with considerable zest, fastened the hands of each warrior behind his back. To each he addressed a few conciliatory remarks. Such as to the leader,—
'Well, Muskwah, my boy, you've gone to work and made a derned fool of yourself to-night. Now I've got to use a good bit of new rope to decorate your arms; but see here, boy, I shall notch it down to your score in the store books. You'll have to bring along a gallon of fish oil to get square.'
However, it was not reserved for Justin to fire the last shot of the fight.
His share of the work completed, Lamont exchanged rifle for pipe, and began to chop at a plug of T.&B. Thus employed, he suddenly heard a rattling of footsteps along the shingle towards his left. He turned, expecting to see Winton; but it was a native, speeding along stealthily, with a long knife in his hand.
Lamont dropped smoking materials, and with quick movement jerked up his revolver. He was lying in a perfectly opaque shadow, so was safe from the hostile eyes, which, indeed, never glanced in his direction. Probably this man had some personal grudge against McAuliffe, and meant now to settle it. How he had managed to elude Winton was a question Lamont could not attempt to answer.
He crouched lower, and brought the muzzle down, until it finally rested at the crook of his left elbow. His hand was like a rock. In the dim light he could see his victim's head through the sight.
'Poor devil!' he muttered to himself, with a smile. 'I'll give him a few more seconds to enjoy life in.'
The Indian slackened speed, then began to crawl towards a bush. Half a dozen movements he made, then every muscle in his body tightened with a strange agony. For a second he knelt, as though turned into stone, then dropped over noiselessly, with right side pressing the sand, and head supported on his bent arm, as though he had suddenly been overcome with sleep. And a sleep it was—yet one which leaves the body for ever silent.
The prisoners had been secured to the last man when Lamont came slowly along the beach. Then Justin tapped the Factor's arm, and said in his usual direct manner, 'Chief coming.'
The last navigable birch bark was crossing the river in their direction. When it came closer, the victors perceived two old men huddled together in their blankets, like a couple of dreary crows. The paddle was wielded deftly and gracefully by a young, slender girl, who knelt upright in the centre, with her dark hair streaming and tossing behind.
Along the east, red light was waving and breaking. Misty clouds crept over the forest, to burst in a soaring dew. Damp air crept from the bosom of the Saskatchewan and made the men shiver. The night was merging into a new day.
McAuliffe rubbed his hands briskly, and peered through the shadowy gloom.
'It's old whisky bottle, sure enough. He's going to tumble to his knee bones and lick my shoes.'
Lamont was gazing too—but not at the withered Chief. 'Who is the girl?' he asked, with slow intonation.
The Factor laughed. 'She calls herself his daughter. How the shrivelled old hulk can claim to be her father, darned if I know. She's a daisy, I tell you. If she comes pleading for these fellows with her pretty face held up, and the tears shining in her eyes—well, I shall likely make a fool of myself.'
'What are you going to do with them, anyhow?'
'Let 'em go, soon as they've sworn not to fight against us again. They're all heathens here, so will stay by their word. I've just fixed them up to scare the old chap, and bring him to his senses. Here they come. You watch me give old whisky bottle a good rubbing down.'
Justin came up with the two old men, not speaking but occasionally tapping his rifle with a significant gesture, and grunting loudly. Ahead, Menotah tripped gaily, full as ever of life and happiness, though she had that night seen her tribe more than decimated. She was safe enough in the hands of white men, who might be cruel, yet who always fell down to worship beauty. Therefore she had twisted a fresh wreath among her black tresses, and volunteered to lead her father with Antoine to sue for pardon.
The girl's bright eyes were, however, quickly attracted and held. Lamont, as he stood leaning against a fir, among the shadows slowly turning from black to grey, was a sight good to look upon. He was bareheaded, with the cool morning wind passing through his wavy hair. The excitement of the fight still lingered over his refined face, while a self-satisfied smile round the mouth and a certain tired look in the eyes were both singularly adapted to that clear style of masculine beauty he possessed in no ordinary degree.
To her it was as if the sun had just descended from heaven and taken the form of a man. For the first time in her short life she found herself conflicting with nervousness. This was of short duration, however. Then she gave him a smiling glance, lightly touching with dainty finger tips the bright wreath which twined along her thick fringe. He recalled the scene of the previous evening, and smiled back.
This was McAuliffe's opportunity for asserting his power. Before him stood the Chief, pleading and gesticulating, throwing the blame upon the shoulders of the conveniently absent Riel and his associates, making abundant promises for future obedience. Close by, old Antoine, the real sower of strife, stood wrapped to the chin in his yellow blanket, malevolent and silent.
The Factor listened with what he flattered himself was a frown of judicial severity on his genial red face. Then he made a lamentable effort to deliver himself of fulminations after the manner of the Chief's grandiloquence.
'You've just gone to work and made everlasting moon-heads of yourselves,' he thundered. 'You've tried to play monkey with the Company, and fix its representatives. You've gone a peg worse, for you've rebelled against the Great Mother.[1]She's not going to stand your fooling, I tell you.' He shook a great fist in the direction of the captives. 'Listen here, now. These fellows are all going to be shot under the hour. As you two are bosses, and might feel sort of hurt going along with the crowd, I'm going to let you down soft. All I'm going to do is just string you both up to the big fir 'way side of the fort. May you jump easy!' he concluded, with a dim sense of being called upon for commendatory words by way of peroration.
The Chief shook like a jelly-stone, while Antoine began to display feeble signs of interest. Then the former trembled to his knees and wailed, 'Great Sun, from whom we receive light and food, have pity upon your miserable servants. The wicked rebel Riel, who has dared to fight against the Great Mother, commanded us to rise and destroy, and who am I to disobey his word? Pardon us, friend of the Great Spirit. Then I and my children will ever be your slaves.'
'Can't do it,' said McAuliffe, winking towards Lamont.
We feared the vengeance of Riel,' continued the old man, his wrinkled hands beating upon the shingle. 'His warriors are many, while the white men are few. Have we not received our punishment? The best of the tribe are already cold with death. To-night, round the tents will be heard the voice of weeping; maidens will mourn for lover or father; old men, who bear the scars of life trouble, will lay their white hair in the dirt when the pride of their age is borne to the tent. Instead of music and the dance, there will be beating of death knells, and the belabouring of breasts. Is not the white man satisfied with such vengeance?'
'Can't be helped,' said the Factor, stubbornly. 'Nobody but the Great Mother can forgive you.'
'But has she not placed you here to rule over us? The white man is mighty. He can give pardon to his enemies without fear. The host lies in his path, and he breathes on them. Then no man may tell where that host is.'
McAuliffe had no wish to continue argument, as he was tired and hungry. He had asserted his dignity, which was all that could be required of him. So he replied, as sternly as natural advantages would allow, 'I've heard enough of your gas, and now I'll tell you what I've got a mind to do. I'll let these fellows go, after they've all sworn that they won't fight again against the Hudson's Bay Company. You two will want to chip in as well. There's generosity for you! Goldam! don't you think you'd have slipped out of Kiel's hands like that. He'd have hung first, and let you off afterwards.'
The Chief would have burst into triumphant thankfulness, but he was speedily choked off. 'Now then, I'm waiting here for your curses. Justin, unfix the crowd.'
The half-breed passed behind the captives, and passed a knife blade across each binding rope. Then they fell into line, the Chief leading, and filed before the grinning Factor, each with right hand held aloft, and left spread upon the heart. They swore by Light, by Darkness; by Sun, by Moon; by the Great Spirit, the Totem[2]the River, never to fight against the Hudson's Bay Company, nor to break the laws of the Great Mother. McAuliffe knew that, if occasion arose, they would seal such an oath with their lives.
Permission was then granted the survivors to reclaim their weapons and carry away the dead.
'I've a good stock of blankets in the store,' said the Factor, grimly. 'Guess you may be wanting a few to wrap up the corpses with. The store'll be open about noon. Ten dollars' worth in trade'll buy them. Oil for choice, as I'm short.'
It was remarkable what little concern Menotah showed for her father's fate. She certainly listened to the pleading, and had watched the Factor's glowing face with a satisfied smile, which betokened her certainty of the result. In her vivacious light-heartedness she imitated him as he launched his thunderbolts at her crushed parent. She drew up her slight figure with an injured dignity when he swelled with virtuous indignation; she frowned, though two sparkling eyes gave the lie to the soft forehead lines, when he attempted sternness; she threw back her little head and folded her arms in patience of resignation when he paused to hear the petitioner.
She was only an ignorant girl, whom Providence had strangely endowed with beauty. Her one idea was to charm. She could not know that across success lay the shadow of a life's sorrow.
Lamont stirred from the fir with a soft-voiced remark of flattery. The young man spoke the melodious Cree with native ease. By way of answer, Menotah plucked a berry from her hair, and threw it at him. It struck him on the nose, and she laughed. The tuneful sound was infectious, and the next minute he was at her side. The over-ripe berry had left a blood-like stain upon his fair skin. She turned impulsively, and wiped away the mark with a lingering, caressing touch of her small fingers.
It was then that Lamont's gaze fell to the other shore, and perceived in the raw light the altered position of the flags. The quick eyes, watching his movements, noticed the sudden start, so the red lips parted in a request for explanation.
He looked into her happy face, upturned trustfully. 'The flags!' he exclaimed, pointing.
'What! You have seen them before, haven't you?' she asked.
'They should be hanging from the top of the fir,' he explained.
'Oh! I did that,' cried Menotah, joyously.
'You!'
'I was pulling at the ropes—it was only for mischief—when they came tumbling down. They stopped half way, and then I left them alone.'
With careless hand and ignorant heart of happiness, she had set the sign of mourning for the dead.
'Have I done any harm?' she asked wistfully.
'Of course not,' he replied lightly. 'At least not with your hands.' He looked at her in a new manner. Again she felt that sudden strange timidity, which she did not know was the birth of love.
The dawn was scattering rays of light across forest and river. Red and golden bars stretched along the eastern sky, through which peeped a glory of the imprisoned sun. The birds shook the dew from their plumage, and flew from brake and bush in search of food; frogs sank in the slime of the muskegs and ceased their night song; locusts whirred sharply in the long grass; Nature shook off the passionless mantle of sleep, and rose with the smile of opening flowers and balmy odour of earth's incense. It was the season of new life.
Wiping his massive brow, McAuliffe came up to Lamont and took him by the shoulder. 'I'm proud of you, boy. You've put in good work to-night all right, and saved this old hulk from drifting into harbour. Yes, you're the best shot in the Dominion, sure as I'm the worst. Queer us two fellows should have come together, eh?'
'Extremes,' said the other, yawning. 'Anyway, you made the shot of the fight.'
McAuliffe puffed out his beard in a grim smile. 'Goldam! you mustn't spin shooting yarns before me now. I should chip in and cap the best. But, say, where's Winton?'
'Haven't seen him.'
The Factor's satisfied smile disappeared. He called at Justin, who was launching the heavy York, with Indian assistance, but the only answer he received was a decided shake of the black hair.
'Pshaw! he'll be keeping the bottle company. Come away into the shack, and fetch him out. He's only a boy, and played out with the work.'
But Winton was not inside the hut. Then the Factor laughed gruffly. 'He's too good-natured a young fool for this world. Tell you what; he's gone to work and set out to find Peter, just to tell him to keep clear of me for a while, the dirty rascal. He'd always sort of stick up for him, when he thought I was laying it on too thick. Goldam! Winton's a fine boy. You believe me, Lamont.'
'That's so,' said the other carelessly, glancing towards the kanikanik bush, beside which lay the corpse of the last killed.
The Factor continued, 'I've got a bit of a scheme in this old razzle-pate. There's a neat pile of shin-plasters getting bigger and mounting up all the time. When I'm given long leave, I'm going to blow 'em out by taking the boy back to the old country. Got into trouble at his University, he did, fired out, and came right on here. Derned silly thing to do, anyway, but he was scared of the folks. He's an only boy, so I reckon the people wouldn't want to come hard on him.'
'Lots of his class around,' said Lamont, thinking of the heated faces and desperate struggle at Fish Creek.
'And they're darned sight better-hearted than the good ones that mope at home. Mind you, Lamont, not a word to the boy. Not a word, or you'd spoil the racket.'
Justin called to them from the slime-green rock which the big fir shadowed.
Lamont waved his hand. 'I reckon he's found,' he said shortly.
'What are you driving at anyway? Why should he want to stay out there? Goldam! you're not making out—'
The sentence unfinished, he hurried away over the loose shingle. Lamont followed more leisurely, and presently they both stood at the half-breed's side.
Winton was still at the post of duty, clutching his cold rifle, with face turned towards the colours of the dawn. McAuliffe stooped, panting, then burst into a hearty laugh.
'Just as I said right along. He's played right out, and gone off to sleep. Well, well, I hate to wake him, but we must be getting across.'
Still laughing, he knelt and turned the young man over by his shoulder. But the sleeping figure was of a board-like stiffness. Then his red face became grey tinted, and settled in fear.
For the eyes which looked up at his were unclosed and covered with light film; the forehead was like marble, over which the hair trembled in the raw air of morning, like grass on the dry rock; but the ears heard no sound of McAuliffe's deep cry, the stiff and parted lips gave back no cheerful word of welcome.
Young Winton had done with life and the troubles living brings.
[1]The Queen.
[1]The Queen.
[2]See Glossary.
[2]See Glossary.
The presence of death, which casts so powerful a shadow of sorrow, and imposes so profound a silence, brooded along the smiling shores of the Saskatchewan. In the fort on the cliff summit, Justin had prepared food, and the two men had eaten, then sought sleep for a few hours. About mid-day the Factor appeared outside, swinging the store key, while Lamont stirred himself and began to chop tobacco in the outer office.
On the pure air came distant sounds of lamentation for the dead, shrill voices rising and falling in monotonous cadence, with dull drum beatings. Nearer there were different disturbances of the atmosphere—McAuliffe's deep voice, swearing angrily at some natives, alternating with the funereal strokes of a spade. The half-breed was preparing a grave for the cold figure lying in the other room.
The door swung open—no mosquitoes were stirring in that white heat—and the sun slanted inward with long dazzling rays. Presently a soft, hesitating step pattered along the planking outside, a shadow crossed the hot beams, then a face timidly peeped within.
Lamont called out lightly, and Menotah slipped inside. Warm colour shone in her cheeks, her bosom heaved slightly, while the radiant eyes were moist. Her red lips parted in a quick little sigh of surprised pleasure.
'I did not know you were here,' she said, the soft fringe dropping over her eyes. 'Hesaid I might come—to say good-bye.'
Lamont bit his lip. 'He is inside.' Then she flashed a sudden look upon him and disappeared.
Sitting with the smoke rising to the log roof, he presently heard the sound of a kiss. He started and shuddered. It was a horrible idea for one so young, so warm, so beautiful, to press a kiss with ripe lips on the cold blue features of a corpse. When she appeared, somewhat more solemn and less smiling, he asked, 'Did you like him, Menotah?'
'Yes. He was nice, and used to kiss me; so I have kissed him, now that he has gone to the shadow land.'
She made a light step onward. Her heart was too happy to feel grief for long.
At that moment Lamont was almost glad a possible rival had been removed. This girl was such an entirely perfect piece of nature.
'You may come with me if you like,' she said artlessly, holding out a small brown hand. 'I will talk to you. Perhaps, if you are nice to me, I will kiss you.'
Her colour deepened as she made the innocent promise. She had never felt this warm, elevating desire before. For her it had no name, yet she was certain it was a thing not to be lost lightly. Somehow she imagined a contact of lips would intensify that feeling, might bring it nearer consummation. That the awakening desire was a threatening danger to the 'heart of joy' she did not guess, she could not know.
But he was by her side, and they were walking through the cool of the forest, soothed by the whisperings of the leaves.
Beneath the spreading fir known to the Indians as the 'death tree,' they paused, while Lamont noticed that Menotah's long lashes were fringed with tear dew. 'You are crying,' he said quickly.
She laughed up at him gaily. 'No, I am not. But I am so happy.'
He smiled back at these innocent words, which contained a latent flattery. Then he looked with a growing tenderness at the dark clusters of hair and wonderful health bloom on the delicately curved features. This beautiful girl would obey the natural impulses of inclination. She was ignorant of life—more, could scarce recognise the first emotion of love birth. Certainly he must teach her.
It was a strange spot for the meeting-place of lovers. At every breath of wind overhead branches rocked with a weird sound of bone creaking. For there were many brown-ribbed skeletons swaying airily among the chafing boughs. Sometimes the breeze would fan aside a leaf cluster to disclose a jocund skull secured to the bark behind. They were surrounded by relics of the dead, for the ground and bushes were plentifully besprinkled with bones, which had decayed away, and been swept aside during dark nights when the storm howled through the forest.
'You are happy,' said Lamont almost enviously. 'Have you no wish—'
'Yes,' she interrupted joyously. 'I should like to be wise and know much, more even than old Antoine. Then I would go over the Great Water to the City of the Wind.[1]I would show the white chiefs that the poor Indians, though not great and powerful, are yet beings of flesh and blood. We see with eyes, hear with ears, speak with tongues and life breath. The Indian's body casts as good a shadow as the white man's. Oh, if I might only be wise, and do what I wish!'
'What gives you such a wish?'
With true native reverence for the unknown, she replied fearfully, 'The Dream Spirit whispers in my ear when I sleep. I do not forget.'
She stopped abruptly, so he added with a laugh, 'Your friends?'
'I could not,' she said simply. 'By forgetting friends you rob yourself of pleasure; by forgetting enemies you make yourself coward.'
Lamont gazed at the small face eagerly. 'You would seek for revenge, then?'
'It would be duty,' she returned, with new sternness. 'If it is right to do good to a friend, it must also be right to punish an enemy. If anyone should kill my heart with sorrow, I would give life and strength to the cause of vengeance. I should never turn back.'
A gust of hot wind sighed through the dreary tree. The branches shifted with sullen movements. But, as she ceased speaking, a brown object bounded through the rustling leaves and lay on the grass before them, gazing upward with ghastly mirth.
Lamont started back with white face, and crossed himself hurriedly. But Menotah only laughed. 'The Wind Spirit is throwing skulls at us. But why are you frightened?'
He pointed at the symbol of death. 'It is a bad omen,' he said huskily. 'It means approaching evil.'
'To me?' asked Menotah, astounded at this fresh wisdom.
'Or to me—perhaps to both.'
She smiled and shook her small head. 'Ah! but you are wrong; I should only despise a God, who could only warn me by rolling a skull at my feet. My heart has always been happy; I know the God would never harm me.'
'Trouble comes to all at some time in life.'
'No, not to all; never to me. I have been born that I may laugh and be happy. I must not try to teach you. Yet, when you have made something with your own hands that you think beautiful, you could never destroy it, unless you were mad. You would feel you were cutting away a part of your life. So the God could never destroy my happiness. For he would have to spoil the work of his own making; and the God is never mad.'
She picked up the skull and ran her bright eyes over the mouldering symbol. Then, as she perceived, high up on the bony forehead, a small, rounded fissure, she gave a sad little cry of recognition.
'This is the skull of a white man. But his story was a very sad one.'
'Who was he?' cried Lamont, in surprise.
'I never saw him alive. But when he lay dead, I washed the dry blood from his face. That was eight years ago, when I was very young. See! here is the place where the bullet passed.'
'Who was he?' repeated Lamont, in lower tones.
'He came from the Spirits' passing place.[2]His name was Sinclair.'
'Sinclair!' he muttered to himself. 'Pshaw! it's the commonest name of the Province.' Then to the girl, 'Who shot him?'
'He had an enemy who was a coward. He tracked him down through the forest as you would follow a moose. One evening Sinclair was resting and smoking his pipe. Then this other man crept up and shot him through the bushes.'
Lamont moistened his lips. 'Did he escape?'
Menotah shook her head gladly. 'They caught him, and the warriors tied him to a tree, then shot at him with arrows. Some day I will show you that tree. But he was a coward. He cried for mercy when the women tied his arms.'
'But he was only doing his duty,' argued Lamont, with his careless air. 'You say that vengeance is necessary.'
'But I would never steal upon my enemy and shoot him down. That is the act of a man who fears to fight. I would meet him face to face. Perhaps Sinclair had never done this man an injury after all.' Then she laughed in her happy manner, and set the skull carefully in the cleft of a stunted kanikanik bush. She turned to him and laid a small hand on his arm. 'You would not act as he did,' she said.
He looked at the little fingers curved upon his coat sleeve. Then he placed his hand over and held them. 'Then you do not think me a coward?'
'You!' she said slowly. 'No, you are a brave man, who would fight until death for any you loved.'
'For you?' he said, bending his head to the soft, waving tresses.
'And even after death; your soul would protect me.'
He drew a little back and laughed scornfully. 'Do you believe in such a thing?'
She lifted her face, which was animated with belief. 'You may see it; on the winter's day the shadowy vapour rises to the lips and escapes in breath. You cannot tell where it goes to. But it is the soul.'
She stopped and glanced half shyly. 'Go on,' he said.
'In the summer we do not need to see it. Then everything is alive and happy. But in the dreary winter the Spirit shows itself to our eyes. Then we may know the higher life stirs within us, though the world is dead. Shall I tell you any more?'
She stood like the child repeating a well-known lesson. Her fingers twisted within his, and she lowered her eyes. He passed his arm round the slight figure, and drew her from the shadow of the death tree.
'It is gloomy here; let us go out to the sunshine.'
'Then I must go. I have to bring the old Chief to mourn at the grave.' Her manner changed quickly as she continued, 'I don't think you believe in me.'
He laughed outright. 'Have I said so? Don't you think I would keep any promise I made you?'
They stopped in the dimly-marked forest trail, and he drew her to him. She looked up quickly, sighed, then passed her right arm impulsively across to his shoulder. Her long hair, floating unbound, caressed the hand that held her waist. 'Yes,' she faltered, with a strange little laugh, 'for you are brave.'
The light darted into her lustrous eyes, and her small mouth twitched. He placed his hand beneath her chin and raised her graceful head as he bent his own down. Her quick breathing fanned his face. 'Your promise,' he whispered. Then the sunlight disappeared.
Later, a strange procession started from the fort. Winton's body lay uncovered on resinous pine branches, the ends of which were sustained by the shoulders of McAuliffe and the half-breed. At a short distance behind walked Lamont, smoking carelessly.
The grave had been dug about fifty paces from the door. Arriving there, they placed the body upon the grass, while the Factor mopped his forehead and remarked upon the weather. He was grinning broadly, as a necessary covering to his real feelings. Subsequently he confided to Lamont that he had been compelled to recall the most humorous incidents connected with his past career as a preventive to foolish signs of grief. Justin stood by stolidly, and spat into the grave.
'Shouldn't wonder if we didn't get an electric storm presently,' observed the Factor. There was no reply to this attempt at conversation. 'What'll we do now?' he continued, smiling expansively.
Justin grunted, then pointed expressively to the dark hole surrounded by fresh grass.
'Plant him, eh? well, I guess so. Got any ropes?'
There were none handy, so the half-breed went off to the store for some. The Factor filled the interval by relating a ludicrous anecdote for his companion's benefit, and chopping a pipeful of plug. When Justin returned, ropes were passed round the leafy bier and the body was lowered by concerted effort.
Then McAuliffe lit his pipe, and knocked his great boots together clumsily. He looked across at Lamont, leaning against the tree which shadowed the open grave. 'How are you on the prayer racket?' he blurted forth.
The young man shook his head and muttered something unintelligible.
'Seems kind of hard to cover the boy up and get off without saying a word, don't it? Say, Justin, can't you do something that way?'
The half-breed chewed and grunted a negative. Then there was unpleasant silence, which was finally broken by the rustling of bushes. The old Chief appeared, leaning on his daughter's arm. They both paused, silent, at the brink. Menotah's arms were overflowing with delicate, half-opened buds of the forest rose, and these pink and white blossoms—recalling faded life pleasures of the past—she commenced to drop softly upon the body beneath.
'Goldam!' muttered the Factor, 'I wish I knew what to say, and how to put it.'
Suddenly his reflection was broken by the pure music of a young voice, which rang sweetly out upon the air. An ignorant soul poured forth a message to the unknown God. The heathen girl performed an office which the Christian men shrank from.
Menotah was kneeling, her fair face raised to the clear blue of the sky, her chin resting lightly upon brown finger tips.
'Great Spirit, listen to the words of a daughter Thou knowest not, and grant her that for which she prays. The evil one has stolen the life from this body and has carried it to the cold shadow land. Do not Thou permit him to harm the body that we loved. If Thou hast the power to conquer the wicked spirit, take away that body and place him in the wide fields of summer, where the devils may not live, and where the souls of the mighty sweep over the flowering grass, like cloud shadows on a bright day. Perchance Thou art not able to hear my prayer, for I am but the child of another god. But if Thou canst hear me, I pray Thee hearken to my words, and grant him happiness for ever in the Land of the Sun.'
McAuliffe scratched his beard nervously; Lamont smiled; Justin commenced to fill in the grave.
But the old Chief shuffled aside, and muttered slowly, 'It is not well to call upon the God of the white men. He has conquered our gods in the fight. Perchance he may now turn the blood to water in our veins.'
Towards evening Justin paddled across to the island to bring off a miserable figure, who had long been sending forth a loud but ineffectual appeal for rescue. The half-breed delivered himself of but a single opinion, and that was when Denton lurched nervously into the birch bark, half upsetting it. He crossed his wad to the opposite cheek, and remarked, 'You no good.' Then he wielded his paddle and shot the canoe swiftly across the river.
The ex-minister had plenty of cool assurance when he knew his body was in no particular danger. Also his courage was stimulated by hunger, so he walked to the door of the fort, and at once came upon the Factor and Lamont, who were seated within. The former raised his head and said indifferently, 'It's you, Peter, eh?'
'I've come back again, Alfred,' said the other, composedly. 'And—'
'Quit your dirty noise, now. You can swear in churches, if folks are fools enough to let you, but darn me if you play double face here. If you begin to talk, I shall start fighting. Then I reckon you'd wish you were back in your hiding-place. You're a cowardly devil, Peter, if ever there was one.'
Ominous red streaks appeared on Denton's sallow face. He prepared to cast back a reply.
'Not a word. I tell you, if you talk back at me, it'll go bad for you.' He started up and dragged the wretch to the door. Then he pointed to a dark mound of soil ahead. 'See that? that's where we've just planted young Winton, who was as much a man as you're a hound. They fixed him last night when you were skulking in the bush.'
He pulled off Denton's hat and threw it on the ground. 'You're a murderer, Peter, and darned if I care who hears me say it. If you'd had the spirit of a woman, young Winton wouldn't have been lying out there.'
Then he took Denton by the shirt collar and pulled him outside. Here he turned upon him again. 'See here, now, there isn't room for the two of us in this fort. One's got to get, and I reckon that'll be you.'
Denton's watery eyes grew malevolent. 'You can't turn me out—'
'Quit your row. I don't care where you get, only don't come round here again. Just take your fixings and lift your feet out.'
'I'm in the service of the Company same as you,' cried Denton, showing his teeth. 'You've no right—'
'You talk about that, and I'll put my arms round you. I reckon you'd stand a good show then. You've done an almighty lot to protect the Company's interests. Anyway, I'm Chief Factor here, so out you go.'
Denton set his back to the door, with white, angry face.
'Your time of reckoning will come,' he muttered, falling into his usual fanatical mood.
'Yours is here right now,' returned McAuliffe, drily. 'Get, now!'
It did not take the ex-minister more than a few minutes to collect the few articles he could call his own. Then he reappeared in the office with his small bundle. Justin was bringing the supper. The other two were talking and sitting on the dilapidated sofa. Not one took the slightest notice of him.
But the outcast had no idea of departing without a final word, so when he was safely on the threshold, he paused to attack his old enemy. 'You've always been a tough sinner, McAuliffe. I reckon you can't keep it up much longer. Your sins will soon find you out.'
'Yours'll find you out, when they next call round here,' said the Factor. 'Get outside, now. It makes me tired to look at you.'
The ex-minister stepped over the threshold, but paused to deliver a final message. 'You are a bad crowd, a terrible bad crowd—I've never seen a worse. But it's my duty to pray for you. I will pray for you all.'
A shout of laughter followed his footsteps. Even Justin almost smiled. 'Well, well,' cried McAuliffe, slapping his knee heavily, 'I reckon that was Peter's last curse.'