We lay idle for three days, with nothing save ice and fog around us. Then came another gale, this time from the east, and we began the weary fight once more. Strangely enough, my father and rugged old Lag Hamilton, with Alec Gordon himself, were now feeling the scurvy; and we were all of us frightened by it, and by our own helplessness. One of the dogs had been lost overboard, having ventured out on the deck in the storm, so thereafter I kept Grim safe inside the cabin.
Of the old stranger we saw little during those days. He was busy tending Wat Herries, which he did with the skill and tenderness of a woman, and we were all taken up with our own sick. Whenever I went on deck I saw that the crew obeyed Black Michael with a sullen, surly manner that boded ill. Many of them were sick also, and among these went Ruth with such small comforts as we had, till not a soul on board but loved her—save possibly one.
On the third day of that gale matters came to a head. I do not think any of us, save Ruth and I and the stranger, suspected that the crew had aught in mind; but had not my father been down with the plague I would then have told him all. The suspense was hard on me, almost too hard to bear. Day and night we had to keep watch, twice narrowly missing great mountains of ice, and on the third day we struck a water-lashed cake with such force that the "Lass" sprung a great leak.
When this was discovered the crew well-nigh went mad with fear. I was in the cabin when the crash came, and ran to the door with the others. When Black Michael ordered the men to the pumps, they rebelled flatly, and before he could so much as move he was trussed up like a fowl in one of his own tarred ropes. Then knives flashed out in the light and the men came surging aft. I cried out to Robin Grier and with our fathers' claymores, which we fetched from the cabin on the run, we stationed ourselves over the ladder at the break of the poop, and called on the men to halt. Tam Graham and those of the others who were not down with the sickness came out behind us.
With a sudden loathing I recognized the leader of the crew for Gib o' Clarclach. He stood looking up with his evil grin, but kept well out of reach of my weapon.
"Let us by, MacDonald," he spoke out. "We are acting for the good of all, and bring no harm to you and yours."
"That is a lie," I cried hotly. "I know well what you want, and you shall not pass by this ladder, you rebels! As for you, I have met you before now, Gib o' Clarclach, and know more of you than I did then. You got little good out of your visit the other night, and you will get little good now. Best stow away your knives and go about your work."
The only answer I got was a howl of rage from the men.
"The old wizard is Jonah!" yelled out the fellow called Eoghan, with a flourish of his long knife. "Put him into the sea again and let him go his way. He has bewitched us all, and we be dead men unless we rid the ship of him!"
This talk staggered Robin, who wavered and glanced at me, irresolute. Tam Graham muttered something behind me, and the men below yelled again and came at the ladder, seeing their advantage. But I would not give back, nor did I want to hurt any of them, so I brought down the flat of my father's claymore on Gib's crown, and tumbled him to the deck, whereat all drew back with a snarl.
As for Gib, he leaped to his feet and drew back his hand quickly. There came a flash of something, and Robin dashed me aside just in time to let a long knife fly under my arm. The scoundrel yelled something at me in a strange tongue, but before I regained my balance a sudden silence fell upon them all, and they stared past us. Turning, I heard a whispered prayer from Robin, and saw the old man.
He was standing just behind, a brass-bound pistol in each hand, his knees giving to the sway of the deck as the "Lass" pitched. Then a howl went up from the crowd below.
"Wizard!" they yelled, some in English and some in the Gaelic. "Get you gone and take your spells from us!" And they surged forward. But the old man raised his pistols, his white hair flying, and a fierce flame raging in his eyes. I think those eagle-eyes halted them more than the pistols, for they were in a mood to care little for two bullets.
"Fools!" he cried in English, and yet again. "Fools! Would you destroy your only hope? You dogs, I am Pierre Radisson!"
"Radisson! Pierre Radisson!"
At the muttered word and the blank look on the faces below I could have laughed, but I make no doubt that my own face looked as blank as theirs. Not a soul on board but knew that name, and in a flash it all came over me, till I flushed with shame at my own suspicions.
Out of the world as we had been at Ayrby, even I had heard this man's story. It was said that he was a French-Canadian by birth, and was the greatest adventurer of our own times. He had found a great river to the west of the Colonies, the same which Marquette and La Salle explored, and later on had opened up the Canadas to trade. He it was who had founded the Company of Gentlemen Adventurers into Hudson's Bay, the fame of which was great, and by the exploits of his arms had kept them there against the French.
But Radisson had found that the faith of princes is a weak rod to lean upon. First, the French had betrayed and robbed him, which had sent him over to England. Then, after the founding of the Great Company, the very men to whom he had brought fortunes had left him to starve, denying him all share in the huge profits they made in furs from the Canadas. My father had often dwelt on this story as an example of the faith of kings. Time and again Radisson had swept the Bay of French or English, but the ending of it all was that he was thrown upon the streets of London town. How Pierre Radisson came to be on board the "Lass," how he had come into that little leaky sloop, I knew not; but as I gazed on the stern face of him I felt a sudden great thrill of hope and eagerness.
The rebels felt more than that, for they were mightily afraid of this man, who had single-handed done such deeds in the Canadas that all men had heard of him. I caught a quick oath from below, saw Gib o' Clarclach break away and vanish forward, and so finished the mutiny. With a little laugh Radisson put away his pistols.
"I will take charge of this ship," his voice thrilled along the deck. "Have no more of this foolery. Unloose the mate yonder and go to your places. By the help of God we will come safe to shore yet."
Very silently and in great awe the men unbound Black Michael, and in no long time the ship was as it had been. Robin and Tam Graham and I stood wondering at the break of the poop. Radisson turned to us with a courtly bow.
"Gentlemen, I thank you for your support. The crew is like to be short-handed ere we reach any port, and if need be I will call upon you for help," said he.
Robin stared, his mouth agape, and old Tam withdrew to tell the news in the cabins, whither we followed him presently. I looked about for Ruth, and found her giving some broth to my father and Alec. When this was done I took her out on deck willy-nilly, for she needed a breath of air and we cared little for the storm that still raged.
Since men were in the bows watching for ice ahead, we sat us down in the shelter of the cabin, and presently Radisson came thither and joined us.
"So now the mask is off," he said, speaking in French, and smiling. "I had not thought to tell my name, but it must needs out. We are in a bad strait, my friends."
"Why?" questioned Ruth. "And why not tell your name in the beginning? Surely you had no hard thoughts of us?"
Radisson looked sadly into her eyes, and smiled again. "My child, I have fled from England to die in mine own country. They would not let me go, they would not let me work for them nor serve them, and France has cast me out. Yet the English feared that I would serve France again, and so when I had provided for my wife and children I fled in secret to the coast and embarked in that little sloop wherein you found me.
"I had no hard thoughts, lass, but I am suspicious of all men. The wilderness is my only home, and it is to the wilderness that I go. If I come to the Colonies, or to New France, I shall be laid by the heels. They seem to fear that my very presence would work them ill." He lifted his face and looked to forget us as he gazed abroad into the storm. "Is there some curse upon me, Lord God, that men fear me so? Ah, to be once more on the open prairies where the air is free of plots, with red-skinned friends behind me and the unknown world ahead!"
Those words sank deeply into my mind, and there was to come a time when I would remember them again; but Ruth leaned forward and took his hand gently. A right strong hand it was, for all its age unwrinkled and firm as mine own.
"Nay, speak not so bitterly," she reproved him softly. "There is no curse upon any man, dear sir! Come, you shall go with us and join our settlement, and when all is safely bestead you shall go and come as you please, with none to hinder!"
"So?" Radisson gazed down at her unsmiling, and I felt on a sudden that there might indeed be fear in his soul, but in no wise a selfish fear. "And whither is this ship sailing?"
"What—" Ruth stared up at him, her wonder slowly changing to something more. "You think—we are in danger?"
"Grave danger," he nodded confirmingly. "None know it save Wat Herries your master, and I, but we have been driven far from our course to the Colonies. Until I can get sight of the sun I know not whither we have drifted, but we are likelier to be near Greenland than the Americas."
This told us nothing, for we knew not that there was such a place as Greenland. There was no more trouble with the crew, who were all eager enough to do Master Radisson's bidding. But the scurvy was now upon us sore, all having it save Ruth and me and one or two others and Radisson himself. Two days later the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and that noon Radisson and Black Michael busied themselves with poor Wat's instruments, until after an hour Radisson came below and asked to see Alec Gordon.
"Sir," he said quietly, while I held up old Alec's stricken head, "you must know that we are far off our course, and in dire need of green food, even if it be but grass. Now I know these waters well, and if we turn to our right course we will all be dead ere we reach the Colonies. But, an' it please you, I can guide this ship into Hudson's Bay and so to one of the posts established by the Adventurers. There we can remain till Master Herries be recovered and the sickness gone, when it will be no great matter for him to lay a course for the Colonies from there."
For a moment there was silence. We were all taken aback by this news and knew not what to say, until finally Alec sank back his head with a groan, speaking in the Gaelic which I translated.
"Do your best, Master Radisson, and we ask no more. The Lord hath sent you to us, and He knows His business best."
So it came about that our prow was no longer turned to the south, but to the west. Now, too, the winds favored us and drove us onward full steadily, and the same day our course was determined on, one of the men found a sack of half-rotted potatoes in the hold. We hunted over, but found no more. These, however, served to stay the sickness in a slight degree, and seemed to the men to be a good omen.
For many days thereafter we stood forward with the ice all around and with the weather bitter, but without storms to hinder and harass us. In that time Pierre Radisson drew ever closer to me and to Ruth, sitting often with us and talking much of his travels and adventures, one hand on Grim and the other clasping mine or Ruth's. On one of these occasions I asked him about Gib o' Clarclach, called The Pike.
"The man is of your own country," answered Radisson, "though most of his life has been spent among the French. It was in New France I found him first, and he was a member of the party that went with me from Montreal to the fur country. He was but a lad then, and of evil ways, but a good fighter and of great resource. When we returned, our canoes deep-laden with a rich cargo, it was he who urged the Governor to seize the furs and betray me.
"After, I came to England. When next I came to the Great Bay whither we are now bound, this fellow stirred up trouble more than once, for he was dwelling among the Chippewa nation, and he had become a powerful man among them. However, I was no less powerful among the Crees, and the Sioux to the far south, and on one occasion we trapped The Pike with many of his men. It was thought then that he was killed, but evidently he escaped to do more evil in the world. Long ago I swore vengeance against him, and that vow will some day be kept."
"But why did you not shoot him the day he led the mutinous men?" I queried. "If the man had done me so much harm—"
"Peace, lad," commanded the old man firmly, but kindly. "I am older than you, and such things I have learned to leave to a higher hand than mine own. Never fear, this man will meet his punishment as God wills, in God's own good time. Mind you not what the Scriptures say—"
"Aye, well enough," I broke in heatedly, thinking on my first meeting with the man. "But if the time ever comes when I stand against him again, I will strike with no flat blade then! And besides," I added shrewdly, "methinks there is more to the tale than you have told."
Radisson smiled. "Aye, lad, much more, but the time is not come for the telling, spitfire!"
"But, sir," cried out Ruth suddenly. "how is it that you are taking our ship into the Great Bay, when you feared so much to fall into the hands of these men? Will they not do you injury?"
"That may well be," answered Radisson quietly. "But I think God has sent me to do my utmost for you and yours, maiden. My own fate matters little, and it is even in His hands. I do not think He will let me come to grief while I serve Him, child."
Ruth said nothing to this, but she gazed at Radisson's sorrow-graven face with a great admiration, in which I shared to the full. And in truth it was no little thing to which he had set himself. Were it known that he was alive and in the fur country, the English and French raiders would both be after him. Both nations had wronged him deeply, and both feared and hated him equally; for as my father used to say, "If ye never do a man an injury, Davie, you'll aye live in brotherly love." Thus it was with the great Pierre Radisson.
He of all men had seen that there was an unsuspected greatness in the country north of the Canadas. He had discovered and opened up that country to the fur-trade, and had received little thanks for his pains. Even his wanderings in the far west were but little known, as he told them to us during the voyage. His brief tale of Gib had shown me much of the man's own greatness, for Radisson had spoken without bitterness or rancor, deeply as he had been wronged by the traitor and spy.
So, if he took the "Lass" into Hudson's Bay as he intended, and brought us safely to one of the Adventurers' posts, he would have little chance or none of getting away free himself.
Of all on board, I think that only Ruth and I understood this—save, mayhap, Gib o' Clarclach, of whom now we saw nothing at all. In the days that followed our talk with Radisson, I had no chance for another spare hour with Ruth. The illness had seized upon the crew until we were were very shorthanded, and with those of our party who were able, I took place with the sailors at the ropes. There were but half a dozen of us all left untouched, and a few days later poor Maisie Graham died.
Her funeral was a gloomy enough matter, for my father, looking like some great gaunt specter, took the place of old Alec and afterwards staggered back to his bed again. Ruth and those others of the women who could, tended the sick. At morn and eve we gathered beside Alec and it was a fearsome thing to hear the words of prayer come from those blackened, disease-scarred lips. Yet those days of terror made a man out of me who had been a boy, and but for them I had never had the faith and courage to meet what came after.
So we drove east and south through the ice, great mountains of it all about us, trusting everything to the old man who led us on. Then one day there came a blue haze on the horizon, and a feeble yell of joy went up from the men. I looked to see Radisson turn us in toward the land, but he shook his head to my questions.
"Nay, lad, that is but a barren ice-bound coast. We must on into the bay itself and there, please God, we shall find peace."
But the news that we were come to the New World at last was wondrous heartening to our sick, notwithstanding that two of the men died that same day. The leak had gained greatly upon us, and the next morning I felt signs of the illness for the first time. Ruth had not been touched by it, and of the men only Gib, Radisson, and one or two others had escaped. But all the women, poor folk, were in their beds.
Then we came to the great cliffs, stern and icy. A day later a gale came down from the north and drove us onward into the bay; and although this increased the labor at the pumps, yet we welcomed it, since it but sent us the faster toward safety. And at length, as I came on deck at sunrise to take up my watch, I heard a hoarse shout from the weary men, and looking across the floating ice at the dark shore, saw a break of green that we had come to in the night.
It was an inhospitable shore, seen through the shreds of mist that were driving in on us, but never was a heartier prayer of thanks sent up than that which rose from the "Lass" when the news had spread. The wind was falling and a fog setting in, so that we were long in making the shore, which seemed deserted. Not a curl of smoke went upward from all its length.
Ruth and I stood on the poop, hand in hand, watching that long-desired shore until the fog had thickened and the wind dropped. At this Radisson ordered the anchor put out, and I perforce assisted at the task. When I returned to Ruth she was staring over the rail strangely.
"Davie," she asked in a low voice, "does it not seem to you that the ship is lower in the water this morning?"
"I had not seen it," I replied carelessly. As I looked overside with her my heart leaped up, for in truth the ship was sitting low. I knew that the leak had gained on us, but evidently it was nothing serious, for the men had made no outcry about it.
However, I had scant time to reassure Ruth, for presently Radisson approached us. Grim tagged at his heels, for since my father's illness the dog had taken to following the old man around.
"Davie," he said, "pick out what men can row and get the longboat over. We must make a camp here and relieve the worst cases among the sick, then we can go on to Albany, which I take to be the nearest post."
Save for scattered cakes, the bay was free enough of ice, but the fog now had almost hid the shore from sight. Only three of the crew were able to row—Black Michael, Gib and the sailor Eoghan. That made the four of us, however, and we made shift to get the longboat over the side, by the help of Radisson and Ruth. It was a sad and terrible sight, to watch those others, who had been strong men all, lying about the decks or gazing on us with a wild stare of hope.
When the boat was over, we began lading her as our captain ordered us, with canvas, stores, powder, fusils and a host of other things.
"We will set out a camp," declared Radisson, when at length the boat was laden to the gunwales. "Then the sick will go on shore while I gather herbs and green things which I know well. With these, we will be enabled to overcome the scurvy in a few days, I trust."
What might have passed for a feeble cheer went up from the pathetic group above us, but even as Radisson leaped down into the boat, Eoghan went forward over his oar with a single groan. I tried to pull him up, but the poor fellow could not move. The scurvy had taken hold on him of a sudden, and he muttered that his joints were aflame. Radisson would have taken his place, but with a flash Ruth was over the rail and had pushed him away.
"I can row as well as you," she laughed. "Save your strength, sir! Yours is of more worth to us than is mine."
"Aye, let the lassie go!" And with amazement I beheld my father clinging to the rail above and staring down with ghastly eyes. "God speed your errand and give you His blessing!" Methought he spoke more to me than Radisson, and later this reflection has comforted me, for this was the last word I ever had with my father Fergus.
So Radisson nodded to Ruth and we pushed away from the ship. Then for the first time I noticed that Grim had followed us into the boat and was crouched in the stern beside the old white-haired wanderer. Over us gathered the other dogs, and the last token we had as we pulled away into the fog was the full-throated bark of Tam Graham's Sandy.
There was no wind and the fog lay thick and wet about us. Ahead rose the gray line of the shore, grim enough for all its touch of green. As I looked back at the ship I realized more than ever the truth behind those words of Homer, beaten into my head by my father—"Let us go up the sounding seas!" For the water seemed to rise behind until they met and blended with the gray wall of mist above; and in the midst, dim and ghostly, hung the "Lass o' Dee." That picture clung long in my memory—that, and the brown shoulders of Gib o' Clarclach rising and falling before me on the after-thwart.
Presently Radisson cried to us to cease rowing, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a line of black rocks a few yards away. Black Michael, in the bow, fended us in and sprang ashore with a shout of rejoicing which we all echoed as we followed him, even Grim catching the enthusiasm and giving vent to a series of loud barks.
Bleak rocks lay before and about us, interspersed with small trees and bushes. To one side a little cascading brook trickled down over the rocks into the sea with a quiet murmur. But there was no sign of human life within our limited range of vision.
We were all chilled to the bone by that heavy, dank fog, which by now had closed in thicker than ever, so that when Radisson said he would start a fire we began unloading the boat with alacrity. He disappeared into the bushes, soon emerging with an armful of sticks and bark. By means of my flint and steel we soon had a fire blazing, dragged poor Eoghan up from the boat, and clustered joyfully about the warmth.
"David," said Radisson after a little, "do you and your sister come with me. We must see to curing this scurvy, which I fear is getting into my old bones at last."
Catching Ruth's hand I pulled her up with a laugh and we left Black Michael and Gib staring at us dully, across the half-senseless body of Eoghan.
"Wait, lad," Radisson pointed to a clump of bushes. "Do you stop here within sight of the camp. In this fog it were an easy matter to get lost beyond repair. Call to us every few moments and pluck all these leaves you can carry. Chew some of them well, while Ruth and I go on after others."
I fell to work on the bushes, cramming my mouth full of the leaves and stuffing my pockets with them. I did not neglect to call out frequently, Ruth's silvery voice rising clearly in response. Meanwhile I carried some of the leaves to the men in camp, and much to my surprise saw Gib o' Clarclach just giving some to Black Michael, so I merely thrust a few into Eoghan's mouth and bade him chew for his life. It was plain that Gib had small need of Radisson's services in this land.
In no great while Ruth and the old man rejoined us, laden down with roots and leaves of divers shapes. These we bruised between stones and with them filled a kettle which had been fetched from the ship. To this was put water, and the kettle was then set over the fire.
"Now," ordered Radisson, "do you stay here, Mistress Ruth, while we go fetch a load of the sick. Keep this brew simmering, so it may be ready on our return."
We stepped toward the boat, but Gib and Black Michael made no move to arise. Radisson spoke to them sharply, whereat Gib growled sullenly in French.
"Do the work yourself, an' you will! I be not going to budge from solid earth for you or—"
He got no farther, for Radisson took one long step to his side, his stern old face livid with sudden fury. Seizing the man by the throat, he lifted him with one hand and dashed him back to the ground, like as I have seen my father dash a spider from him.
"Obey me, you dog! Get to the boat, both of you, lest I forget myself!"
Coming from the old man of seventy, the words may seem ludicrous enough; but there was that in his voice which brought the two men to their feet without a word more. Sullenly they stepped into the boat while Radisson watched them. Then he turned to me.
"In with you, Davie! We'll leave Ruth to take care of Eoghan."
"Willingly," she laughed gayly, then added more soberly, "You'll bring father back in the first boat, Davie?"
"That we will, lass," I made hearty answer, and she watched us off, her hand resting on Grim's head. The ship was hid from us in the fog, but Radisson had her compass-bearing from the shore. Now there happened a fearsome thing, a thing which has made my blood run chill many a night since.
Just before the shore was closed from sight, I saw Grim lift his head from Ruth's hand and utter one long howl. So mournful was that voice, so terrible in the loneliness around, that it drew a curse from Black Michael, and I shivered despite myself. And in this same moment came another howl—but now from the fog ahead of us—a long deep cry which I recognized for old Sandy's, and it was cut short in the midst as by his master's hand. But Tam Graham was lying sick between decks, as we well knew.
And with that I felt that something was wrong. I believe that we all sensed it, for the others fell to their oars and Radisson's shaggy white brows drew far down. Knowing Grim as I did, I was far more fearful than the others; only once before had I heard such sound from his throat, and that was on the day my mother died.
So as I pulled I cast glances over my shoulder, seeking the ship, and sudden remembrance of Ruth's words that morning put haste into my oar. My mind was full of its uneasy fear, and it was full five minutes before I realized that we should have come to the ship ere this. I could see naught of her in the fog, and when I looked to Radisson I saw him studying his compass and peering about.
"Have we lost the 'Lass'?" I cried between strokes.
"Strange!" he muttered, frowning. "I had her bearings right enough, but—"
Black Michael cried out in Gaelic that we were of a surety bewitched, and for a moment my heart failed me and I stared at Radisson in horror.
"Her cable was not strong," spoke up Gib, who had lost his surliness of a sudden. "Mayhap it parted and sent her adrift."
"There is no wind to drift her," answered Radisson, perplexed. "Yet we heard the dogs howl plain enough. What make you of it, Davie?"
"God knows!" I half sobbed, staring back over my shoulder in the shuddering fog, that seemed to stifle us, so thick was it. An old word came into my head, and out I blurted it. "Ill's the wind when dogs howl."
At this Black Michael uttered a savage Gaelic oath that was half pure fear, and paused on his oar. For a little we drifted thus, the sullen seas heaving beneath us, driving us slowly up and down yet giving us no sign of what lay beyond that curtain of gray. It was uncanny, and I shivered again until my oar was all but lost.
"Give me that fusil," commanded Radisson. I took up the gun, which was ready loaded, and passed it to him. Lifting it, he fired in the air. There was no answer save a dull echo and the lap-lap of water on our sides. Black Michael went gray with sheer fright.
"Strange," exclaimed Radisson again, and even his deep voice was shaken. "What think you of it, Jean?"
I remembered later how then he turned to the man he hated above all others, and I respected him the more for it. Gib, for it was he whom Radisson addressed, leaned over and snatched something from the water.
"This, Sieur Radisson."
He held up a dripping object. We all stared at it, then I felt my heart leap, and I uttered a cry of horror—for the thing was the front cover of my father's Bible!
Even that hardened villain Gib was shocked at this discovery. He handed the soaked leather cover to me in silence, and when I raised my face I saw Radisson gazing at me, a great sadness in his eyes. I stammered out what the thing was, and thereafter silence fell upon us all.
I knew full well that some dire thing had happened before that sacred Bible could have been wrenched asunder in my father's hands, for seldom indeed had it ever left him. I stood up on the seat and shouted in a frenzy of fear, for that horrible fog set badly on my soul.
"Father! Father! Where are you?"
But through the mist came only one faint reply—a weird howl from the throat of Grim. I sank back staring and Radisson gave a short order.
"Pull, all of you! Somewhat has happened to the ship, plain enough. Yet may we rescue some of the poor souls aboard her, if it be God's will."
We gave way with desperate energy, but though we rowed back and forth in that blanketed fog for nigh an hour, we found no sign of Wat Herries' ship other than the torn, watersoaked fragment of leather that lay in my shirt bosom. Despair sat heavily upon us all, and at length Radisson, his face haggard and terrible, swept us about and we gave up the vain search.
It must be that the touch of scurvy and the hardships of that voyage had sapped my strength, and that this horrible day had set a finish upon it, for I remember nothing more save staggering to the camp, when we had reached the shore, and meeting Ruth as she advanced. Then I fell forward, my arms going about Grim's shaggy neck; I tried to sob out something, and therewith fainted dead away.
I recovered to find Ruth feeding me a bitter herb-brew, which I pushed from me as I sat up. My head had been in her arms, and when my eyes met hers I remembered all, and near cried out but with the shock of the memory. For the grief in her sweet face showed all too clearly that she had been told of the tidings. Then Grim licked my hand, whereat I rose to my feet; it came to me in that instant that there was a new burden now on my shoulders, and that I must show myself for a man indeed.
"Here, Davie," cried out Radisson, "come and help me with this canvas. Ruth, give Eoghan some more of that brew."
I joined him and the other two, and under his guidance we stretched the canvas into some semblance of a tent that would make a rude shelter for us. When this had been done to his liking, Radisson had us rear, a little distance off, a shedlike cover of boughs over which he flung our plaids. This was for the use of Ruth.
"Come, lad," and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. "No more of this staring into the fog-cloud; help us gather firewood against the night."
Turning, I looked into the face of Black Michael and recognized his rough but kindly attempt to hearten me. I had not thought it of him, so dark and sullen the man was ever, and the memory of those few words has always touched him kindly in my mind. So I helped him gather wood, after which we made a sorry enough meal, our first in the New World.
Eoghan was somewhat recovered by now, and the leaves and brew had done us all good, even in that little time. But none the less we were in desperate case, and our gathering was a quiet one. When the meal was done Radisson beckoned me to one side.
"Come you for a little exploring, David."
But when we had left the camp and were among the trees, his tone changed and he gripped me by the shoulder, whirling fiercely upon me.
"Lad, there be three fusils and five horns of powder yonder in the camp. Get them all safe stowed away in hiding, for we may have trouble from these men ere long."
I stared at him agape. "Why, do you fear—"
"Obey orders!" he snapped. Then, his face relaxing from its anxious tensity, he continued more kindly. "Aye, I fear that for one thing the ship is lost, David. When this cursed fog lifts we shall know for certain; but hope for little. I misdoubt that great howl from the dogs; besides, there was no answer to our cries or shot. All those aboard her were too weak to man the pumps, and I fear she has filled and gone down at her anchor."
I was about to make reply when he checked me.
"We have ourselves to depend on, David. Brace up, lad—remember that your sister must be saved by us."
"Saved—from what?" I repeated. "We have the boat and can make our way—"
"Peace," he cried. "You know nothing of the dangers about us, even in our own party. Do my bidding in the matter of the fusils and powder. Say as little as may be to anyone, especially to Ruth, for I may be wrong and it were not well to alarm her. Go now—I will return presently."
So in no little alarm and perplexity I returned, to find no change in affairs at the camp. The three fusils and the powder were easily secured and I placed them in Ruth's shelter in charge of Grim. The weather remained as it had been, the fog still heavy on the waters.
Side by side, Ruth and I sat near the fire for hours. In truth, the poor maid was drooping with sheer fatigue. I, poor lout, could think of naught cheering to say to her, and so we sat and listened to the lapping of the waves below and the chance talk of the three men. I mentioned it not to Ruth, but the more I saw of Gib the more I feared and hated the fellow, though for no very tangible reason save the words of Radisson. And those I understood but dimly for many days to come.
Toward the sunset Radisson returned to us, bearing two dead rabbits. These were prepared and Ruth cooked them, giving us a wholesome change from the salt meat. Gradually the darkness fell, and we built up the fire until its warmth gave us such a glow as we had not known for weeks.
That night Radisson told us many stories of his adventures in this very country and in the Canadas to the south. He told how he had been captured as a lad by the Mohawk Indians and how he had finally become a great man among them, before returning to his own people. Then he told of that great empire of the redmen, called the Five Nations, of which the Mohawks are the greatest; of his later travels in the west and of how he had discovered that great river called "Father of Waters" by the Indians, which in later days had been "discovered" anew, for Radisson never stood well with the Papists. To his stories the men listened eagerly, Gib with a half sneer, but little did I heed their glumness. Ruth and I forgot ourselves in Radisson's words, which was perhaps as he had intended.
So drew that day to a close. Seldom in my life have I known a more terrible one—not from its actual danger, but from the mere awfulness of the unknown. Only once have I felt greater terror, and of that you shall hear in its proper place.
In the night a little breeze arose. I woke once to find Radisson building the fire anew, and cast my eyes toward the star-hung waters. But no ship's light could I see, and I think I sobbed myself to sleep in misery of heart, for I remember Gib cursing me in some strange tongue.
With the morning our worst fears were confirmed. There before us lay the blue bay glittering in the sun, but never a sign of the "Lass o' Dee." To north and west the shore stretched, while the country behind us seemed thickly wooded and deserted. It was a strange thing, to me at least, to see all that land with not a single spiral of smoke curling up from any farm or stead.
That the ship had sunk with all on board, I no longer had any doubt. Fortunately, we had good store of provisions, and as I sat with Ruth that morning and gazed out across the water, I did my best to cheer up the poor maid. The loss of my father and the rest was a great shock to her, coming as it had, but she was never much given to grieving and sat there dry-eyed. Pretty enough she looked, despite her grief, for her yellow hair fell braided over her shoulders and her great violet eyes stared out from beneath her fine, high brows. Looking at her in this moment, I was startled by a likeness of her profile to that of old Radisson; howbeit, I said nothing of it at the time.
No sooner had we made sure of the ship's loss than Radisson vanished with one of the fusils, and after a time we heard a faint shot. The men were already like new, the scurvy symptoms vanishing rapidly before the herb-brew and roots, and I myself could feel the great change which these had worked in me.
Slowly the morning drew on, and then Radisson appeared bearing parts of a deer-like animal he called a caribou. When we had eaten and drunk we felt wondrous better, both in body and mind.
"It is hard to realize," said Ruth very soberly, "that we alone are left alive out of all that ship's company. It seems like some evil dream."
"It is no dream, maid," returned Radisson sadly, "but cold reality. It behooves us to make some plan, my friends. Where think you we are, Jean?"
And now for the second time Gib answered to the French name. Truly, he seemed a person of many titles.
"I would say to the northwest of Albany," he replied slowly, cocking his evil face up at the sky. "The southern shore is lower than this, methinks. We might be near those barren lands the Chippewas tell of."
Radisson nodded. "So it seemed to me, although I have never been up through these more northern lands. Then our best plan will be to go south in the boat. Surely we ought to reach the fort within a day or so, and then—"
Radisson paused suddenly. I saw the eyes of Gib grow small and cold and hard, and they met those of the old wanderer insolently.
"And then?" He repeated half mockingly, with a triumphant leer. "England and France are at peace, in these parts! And perchance the Governor would pay as well for a certain hostage we wot of as would certain parties in New France."
Radisson said nothing, but looked at the man steadily for a long while, though I saw the cords of his neck bulge out. At length the bold eyes of Gib shifted and then fell beneath that intent look, and our leader spoke calmly and quietly.
"I think we will all be able to row in the morning. We will start then. If need be, we can make a sail of this canvas. This afternoon we will reload the boat."
Now it seemed to me that a single swift glance passed between Gib and Black Michael. Then the latter wagged his great beard dubiously.
"I fear me we are in no great spirit for rowing, Master Radisson," he grumbled, although an hour before he had been working well enough over the fire. "My joints are sore, and Eoghan here can barely move."
"Fool, to take Pierre Radisson for a child!" That was all the old man said, but before his eyes Black Michael seemed to shrink back in confused silence. If this kept on, I knew that Radisson would be goaded into action we might all regret; albeit, boylike, I rejoiced thereat as the thought came to me. Then I fell to pondering on that puzzle which had vexed me so sore—Gib o' Clarclach. Who was he? Had Radisson told me truly or no? And who was this hostage of whom he had spoken? But I knew no more at the end of that pondering than I knew at the beginning.
During the afternoon we loaded most of our goods back into the boat, so that in the morning we might make a start. Most of the provisions were put aboard, together with the spare clothes and other things we had fetched from the ship, but the fusils, powder and shot I left where they had been hid. And fortunate it was that I did so, as events fell out.
To tell the truth, I think Ruth grieved more for my father than did I. He had ever been a hard man, just but stern in all things, and I had been more my mother's son while she lived. The thing was rather a shock than a heart-grief to me, I verily believe, and bitterly have I reproached myself that it was so, but without avail.
That night I noticed that Black Michael cast anxious glances at us, and the sailor Eoghan stared more than once at the gold brooch at Ruth's throat. I thought long on this, and it brought again to my mind that scene on the beach near Rathesby, when Gib and the other had fallen to staring at the brooch also. What might the thing be, and whose arms were those graven upon it? But this Ruth knew as little as I, and I concluded that the men were but attracted by the glitter of the massy gold, as was like enough.
This night fell warm and clear, very different from that before. Now Radisson and I lay together, the other three sleeping beyond us and nearer to the fire. I wrapped my plaid about me, as I had done many a time on the moors at home, and fell asleep almost at once; as yet I was none too strong, and even the little work done that day had wearied me. Grim lay beside Ruth's shelter.
How long I slept I know not, but when I wakened the fire had died down to a red glow. I lay wondering what had roused me, then sat up. The place where Gib had lain was vacant.
But I was too sleepy to waste time on such little things, and so rolled over again and dropped off. When next I opened mine eyes it was to find Radisson bending over and shaking me roughly.
"Waken, David!" Something in that deep rich voice of his brought me to my feet.
"What is it?" I cried, staring about into the new dawn. "What is the matter?"
"Matter enough," replied the old man gravely. "The men have gone off with the boat, lad, and we are deserted!"
I looked around, dazed. Of the three men there was no sign, and the boat was gone from the shore. As I stared, scarce believing mine own eyes, Ruth and Grim came toward us. The lassie had heard the news already, for at my exclamation of anger she tried to hearten us with a laugh, and slipped her hand into that of Radisson.
"Never mind, Davie, we are better off without them! So put that black look from your face and let them go, since they will have it so; they will only fetch us succor the sooner."
Radisson but grunted—a habit he had when words failed him.
"The cowards!" I broke forth hotly, staring across the vacant waters. "'Tis little we can look to them for, Ruth. To steal off and leave us in our sleep!" And I told how I had awakened during the night.
"You know not the danger, either of of you." Radisson shook his head gloomily, the while his fine eyes searched the woods about us. "We must pack what we can carry on our backs. It may be that we shall yet reach the post in safety before them."
I saw no reason why we must hasten to reach the fort ahead of the scoundrels, but at the time it seemed too small a matter to call for exposition. Our leader was no man to bide inactive. We had each a fusil, and good store of powder and shot, while food was to be had for the getting, it seemed. I began to think that this land might not be so barren after all.
What was left to us we made into two bundles, Radisson taking one and I the other. Then we set off along the brook, inland. The country was high and bare, save for bushes and evergreen trees, but of heather I saw none; indeed, as I learned later, there was none of our proper heather in all this New World.
As Radisson believed Fort Albany to be toward the southeast, our best plan was to follow the course of the streamlet, which turned from the shore toward the south. We were soon lost in the tangle of bush, and about noon left the stream altogether. Then it developed that the three deserters had taken Radisson's compass; but of this our leader recked little, for he guided us by some sixth sense which he averred was part of the Indian training.
Despite the rough ground and our loads, we must have made full ten or twelve miles that day, and with nightfall camped beside a river of goodly size, making our dinner from a hare which Grim fetched in. It was late before I could sleep, the woods around being filled with strange noises and the calls of birds and animals. In the morning I had my first sight of the men of the New World.
I was about building a fire, on a big rock by the river's edge, when I heard a voice from the water. Looking up, I saw three canoes poised noiselessly in the stream, each bearing two dark-skinned men whose hair was hung in braids and who were naked to the waist. Their faces were not painted, as in Radisson's stories, and all were staring at me as at some wondrous marvel.
I cried out and sprang for a fusil, but the paddles swept down once, and even as Radisson awoke the first Indian leaped ashore. I was trying to load a fusil in haste, but Radisson sprang up and halted me after a quick look at the red men.
"Down with the gun, lad. These be friends."
"Down with the gun, lad. These be friends.""Down with the gun, lad. These be friends."
All six of them landed now, but stopped their advance with a guttural word of surprise at sight of the old wanderer. I laid my hand on Grim's bristling neck.
"What cheer!" said Radisson in English. "Has Soan-ge-ta-ha forgotten his friend the White Eagle?"
One of the Indians, older than the rest, gravely took the extended hand of Radisson and made reply in very good English, to my surprise.
"Brave Heart has not forgotten the Eagle, although his young men know him not, and the winters have left their snows on his hair. Will the Eagle and his children go to the post with us?"
At this Radisson broke into a strange tongue and I could make nothing of the talk that ensued. Ruth had come to my side and was watching the red men somewhat fearfully, while in their turn they bestowed open admiration upon her. Soon they came forward and bunched around the fire while they talked. After a little Radisson turned to me, and spoke rapidly, in French.
"Davie, these be men of the Chippewa nation, who will take us to the fort. On your life speak not in English of Gib!"
While I was puzzling over this command, Ruth had turned to the speaker.
"But why do you go thither?" she asked anxiously. "Surely you could send us with—"
"Nay, daughter," replied the old wanderer, "these are not to be trusted, although they fear to deceive or harm me. Say no more, for we go to the post."
He drew a deep breath, then took one of our fusils and presented it to the chief, Brave Heart. The gift was received with a murmur of joy, and although I could make nothing of the words, the eyes of the six Indians betrayed the fierce delight in their hearts at the gift. But there was no gratitude mingled with that delight, and as they sat and eyed the gift methought I could see the murder-lust in their glances. It has always seemed to me that the Adventurers to whose post we were going, have done little good; for in all that land north of New France they have but taught the red men to slay and slay for skins, and mingled little enough of the word of God with the word of man. Howbeit, to my story.
It is not my purpose to detail the strange customs and sights which Ruth and I saw during the next few days and nights while we paddled up that river. To others they might not seem so strange as they did to us, and moreover I have greater things to tell of which befell later. Soan-ge-ta-ha, or Brave Heart, had known Radisson both as friend and foe, years before, and very plainly held the old man in vast respect and fear.
For two days we ascended the river, then came a portage where the canoes and furs were carried for a mile or more to another stream, which we descended this time. On the third day we met another party of four natives, also Chippewas, who exchanged words with Brave Heart, greeted us with a mingling of fear and awe, and pushed on ahead.
"They cannot understand it," laughed Radisson in French, which these others knew not. "They have seen no ship along the coast and are beginning to think the Great Spirit dropped us here from the sky."
I marveled at the credulity of the poor creatures, and suggested that it was wrong so to deceive them, whereat Radisson looked queerly at me. As Ruth failed to agree, I dropped the subject for the time, although I liked not to continue in such standing, which to my mind savored of deceit and well-nigh blasphemy. By this you may see that I was no little changed from the young lout who had slipped out of the Purple Heather at Rathesby to skip the prayers—as well I might be, after the horror of that voyage and its ending.
We traveled each in a separate canoe, seeing little of each other save at the halting places. On one of these occasions Radisson told me why he had ordered no mention made of Gib. It seemed that the fellow was of no little reputation among the Chippewas, even as was Radisson among other tribes, and if his return to the New World were known things might go ill.
Ruth made light of the hardships of those first days, although Brave Heart's men treated her with all consideration. Both she and I gained some slight knowledge of the art of paddling, and I found that the scurvy had altogether disappeared, whereat I thanked God most fervently.
It seemed that the Chippewa chief, Soan-ge-ta-ha, was one of the greatest among his own people. He was not so old as Radisson, but his face held a stern, implacable aspect which at times set me athrill with fear of the man. I prayed that we might never have him to face as an enemy, nor at that time did such an event seem probable.
And as we paddled I grew ever more amazed at the great size of this new land, which seemed to have neither limit nor end. On we went, crossing from one stream to another. We had been with the six Chippewas for eight days, and on the fifth day after meeting the four others Soan-ge-ta-ha announced the post was only three days' journey off. Of this we were right glad, and if Radisson felt in any other wise he gave no sign.
But we were not destined to accompany the six farther, for here happened one of those wonderful things which showed ever more plainly that the hand of God was over us, guiding and protecting us from hidden dangers. We had just made ready to embark when Soan-ge-ta-ha lifted his hand in a warning gesture, and Grim gave a low growl. As he did so, the bushes on the farther side of our camping-place parted, and out stepped two men.
But what men they were! Ruth gave a little cry and settled back within my arm, while the Chippewas emitted a grunt of surprise. Both the men were Indians—just such savages as Radisson had described to us while on the "Lass." Naked to the waist like our own six, the face and breast of each was hideously painted with red and white paint, and they wore pantaloons of skin, beaded and fringed wondrously. Each was taller than the average man, and their heads were in part shaven so that a single long lock of hair was left, and in this were twisted eagle feathers. As they came closer I saw that for all their sturdiness these were old men, in years if not in vigor. They carried no muskets, but at their belts were hatchets and knives. For an instant we all stared as if rooted to the ground, then to my utter amazement Radisson leaped forward and threw his arms about the first savage.
"My brother—my brother!" he cried out in French, all his heart in his voice. "Am I dreaming or bewitched? Can this thing be possible?" He turned and caught the other likewise. "And you, Swift Arrow—is it you or some ghost of the olden days?"
As if this were not surprise enough for me, these grave painted savages of the New World made dignified response in French. Nay, it was poor French enough, yet Ruth and I could sense it with ease.
"Now are we indeed happy," spoke the older of the two, paying no heed to us who watched in amazement. "My brother, many snows ago you left us. We heard that you had gone to the Great Father across the big water. Then it was borne to us that you were far in the north, here among the snows.
"My brother, our lodges were empty. We mourned for you in the Long House among the Nations. There was no war among us and we grew old. So we bade our people farewell and left the land of the Long House to seek you. My brother, we have found you, and we thank the Great Spirit. We, who were young together, shall grow old together and travel the Ghost-trail together. I, Ta-cha-noon-tia the Black Prince, Keeper of the Eastern Door, have said it."
For an instant there was a tense silence. I did not realize what the speech portended, but I could see Radisson's face, and I watched it glow in the morning sun until it seemed as if youth had once more touched it lightly for an instant, so glorified was it. Then Soan-ge-ta-ha made a step forward, for he knew no French.
"Who are these?" he asked, sweeping a hand toward the strangers with a frown. "What do they in the country of the Chippewas?"
The pair seemed to sense the spirit of the words if not their meaning, for they drew themselves up proudly and topped the Chippewas by a head. It was Radisson who made hasty answer.
"These are brothers of mine from the far south, Brave Heart. They came in search of me, and are on no war trail." He turned and addressed the two in a strange, guttural tongue. They made answer with a few gestures. I saw Radisson cast a quick look at me; there was that in his face which spelled danger. Therewith he turned to the Chippewas again.
"Soan-ge-ta-ha has been generous to his friends, as befits a great chief, and we thank him. Let him keep our gifts in token of friendship, for we may go no farther with him. We depart from this place with these my brothers."
The Chippewas glanced at the two impassive figures, and there was greed in their eyes as they took in the exquisite garments, the fine weapons, the—ah, what was that dark line fringing the belts? Radisson had told me of the strange custom of wearing an enemy's hair, and I turned away my eyes as I recognized only too plainly the scalps that fringed the girdles of these two old strangers.
Soan-ge-ta-ha eyed Radisson for an instant. Perhaps he had a conflicting mind, but if so he thought better of it, for he only nodded and spoke briefly to his warriors. These, without a word to us, leaped into the loaded canoes, and with a last wave from the chief the six pushed off into the stream.
"What did he say?" spoke up Ruth hurriedly. "Why is this? Be these men going to take us to the post?"
Radisson came and took her hand, speaking in English.
"My child, these men have done what few had dared attempt—they have come here from below the Canadas, far to the south, in search of me. They belong to the Mohawk nation, the greatest tribe of the Iroquois, and long ago I lived with them and loved them. Ruth, these are two great men in their own land, famous both of them—they—they—"
Here his emotion choked him, for he turned his face away and I saw a tear upon his white beard. After a moment he caught my hand with Ruth's and turned about. Now he spoke in French.
"Ta-cha-noon-tia, Black Prince, you who ward the Eastern Door of the Long House of the Five Nations, and you, Ca-yen-gui-nano, Great Swift Arrow, I give into your friendship and protection this young man, who is as mine own son, and this girl, who is the daughter of mine own sister."
And at that Ruth gave a great cry and caught Radisson by the hands, staring at him wildly.
"What mean you?" she broke forth, searching his smiling face. "Is this a jest, sir? Or do you really know—"
"My child," and Radisson caught her to him, touching her brow with his lips, "it is no jest. But we are in grave danger here. Come, greet these noblest of men, and let us begone. The tale I will give you in full at the first chance."
Both the two Mohawks and I had looked on at this scene with no little bewilderment. But as Ruth obeyed him and turned to them with a puzzled smile, the elder, whom we came to know as the Keeper, stepped forward and caught her hand to his lips in right courtly fashion—doubtless learned at Montreal.
"The Yellow Lily need fear not, for we are brothers of the White Eagle," and he glanced at Radisson, then turned to me. His black eyes glittered intensely as they swept over me, but it was his companion, the Arrow, who spoke. Doubtless he put his Mohawk thought into French speech, for the words were abrupt.
"The young man with brave eyes is good to look upon. He is our brother."
"Then we will care for the Yellow Lily together," I smiled at Ruth, using the name they had bestowed upon her. This pleased them hugely, and a smile flickered across their dark faces. Presently they and Radisson were chattering in the strange tongue, and when he turned to us there was doubt in his strong face, for once.
"My children, we are in a narrow path. These twain have lived for two years among the Cree people, daily waiting my coming. But a few days since they had journeyed to the post. Gib, Eoghan and Black Michael had arrived in the boat. No sooner was their story told than men were sent out in all directions in search of us, while among the Chippewas a price was set on our heads in beads and blankets.
"What!" I cried indignantly. "Would they dare—"
"Peace, lad. You know not all the tale, and it is too long to be told here. There is no law in these parts save that of the strongest, and the Keeper and the Arrow set forth to find us. Fortunately, Soan-ge-ta-ha had not heard the news, else he had not let us go so easily. As I will explain later, it is impossible for Ruth to seek the post. The only thing left us is to go with my friends here and find refuge among the Crees to the west. There we shall be safe, for the Crees are old friends of mine. The Mohawks have two canoes hidden a few miles from here. Let us go on with them, and we can take to the water on another river. This will throw off any pursuers until we can find shelter among friends."
I glanced at Ruth, despair in my eyes. She read the look and came to me, putting her hand on my arm.
"Davie, dear, there is naught else to do. Have no fear for me, but let us trust in God. Remember, we have much to talk of and we do not know all that has passed. Are you willing to go into the wilderness with us?"
"Willing?" I burst out, seizing her hand. "Aye, for myself I care naught, Ruth, but for you—is there no other way?"
"There is no other way, my son," returned Radisson gravely.
"Then let us go forth and seek what may betide," I answered bitterly.
There was no time lost. Our few belongings were all ready, and we set out after Radisson who followed in the steps of the Keeper. As for the Arrow, he melted into the bushes and was gone—to scout for danger and to meet us at the canoes, explained the old wanderer.
That march through the forest was one of no little hardship for all of us, but more especially for Ruth and me. There was danger all about us, for at any moment we might come upon parties of Chippewas who were even then searching the forest for trace of us. I walked along as one in a maze, and in truth my poor brain was all bewildered.
What was the meaning of this strange meeting with the two Mohawks? And Radisson's words to them—was Ruth indeed his niece? That was hardly to be credited, methought, for why had he said no word to us before? And in any case, he could know no more of the maid than did I, who had lived all my life beside her. None the less, the matter troubled me.
In point of distance we had not far to go, but the difficulties of the savage forest beset us sorely. Ruth had much ado to prevent her skirts being torn by thorns and jagged branches. At one time we would be pushing through thick-grown saplings, and at another leaping from tussock to tussock of swamp-grass. The Keeper and Radisson, better accustomed to such places, moved like shadows; but had there been any foe near, my crashing must have betrayed our presence beyond a doubt.
Yet all things draw to an end, and the end of our journey was a clear, open lake of good size. Not a hundred yards from where we emerged, The Arrow stood waiting beside the shore, and at his feet were two canoes. Here was a new wonder to me, that the Keeper should have guided us so surely through those trackless woods to the side of his comrade.
But Ruth was fain for rest, and so was I. We sank down beside the canoes, and here Radisson joined us.
"Now," he said with a certain vigor and spring in his voice which was new to me, "I will explain things to you, my children. In the first place, you are verily my sister's daughter, Ruth. It was nigh twenty years ago that I left her in Montreal, new-married to the Sieur de Courbelles, and my last gift to her was that brooch you wear at your throat. See—those are mine own arms upon it! Then I left New France, but she, with her husband, was to join me in London town. I never heard word of her again, my child; there can be no doubt that their ship was driven far north and you alone were saved."
He paused a space, and I saw that Ruth's own little fingers had stolen out to grasp his. But here there came a great light to me.
"Then," I exclaimed, "was that why Gib o' Clarclach was so hasty after Ruth? Nay, but it could hardly have been so, for he had scarce recognized that little brooch!"
"Not that, David," smiled the old man, "but he knew the arms right well, and doubtless he also knew the tale of my sister and her loss by shipwreck. I must tell you, lad, that the man who you know as Gib, whom I know as Jean Lareatt, whom the Indians hereabouts know to their cost as The Pike, is an agent of France—a spy, who serves France or England according as he is best paid. No one knows, or ever will know, just who his masters are. So you see, lad, that if he could lay hold on the maid and fetch her to Paris, they might get me into their clutches again right easily."
"But not that!" I exclaimed angrily. "Frenchmen would never dare go to such extremes with a maid of good birth—"
Radisson's face went black. "No? Wait till you know them as I do, the Jesuit dogs! If you want the truth of it, that man Gib is no man of France so much as he is a paid spy of the Order—the Order that has hounded me, stolen the credit of discoveries, sent forth its men in my place to gain mine honor, and at the last tried to steal this child of my blood!"
And therewith he went on to tell me things I had not dreamed possible. He told of his long trips through the wilderness, of how he had found the "Father of Waters," how his reports had been stolen and altered, his furs stolen from him, and how on the strength of his labors the Jesuits had sent out men of their order to take the credit for his work.
"But why?" asked Ruth with wondering eyes. "Why should they do this thing? Surely there are honorable and good men among—"
"Aye, lass, there are," Radisson made quick response. "But the reason for it is simply that I am none of their faith. When a lad I was taken by the Mohawks and grew up among them. Then I returned to mine own people, but I never forgot my adopted nation. On all my trips I carried Iroquois with me. The Arrow here went to the Detroit with me years before the settlement was founded there. The Keeper was behind me when the Sioux people saw their first white face, and when I was led to the great river in the South."
With that our conversation was ended, for The Arrow approached and warned us that the day was drawing on apace. We made a light meal off some dried venison, after which we embarked in the canoes. In one went The Arrow, Ruth and I, while The Keeper and Radisson embarked in the other, and we followed in their course across the lake to the mouth of a little river that flowed westward.
So it came about that I set my back toward my own people. I sat in the bow, The Arrow in the stern. Whiles we paddled, and whiles floated where the river was more rapid, but Ruth talked ever with us. I could hear her chattering with the stolid man in the stern, who seemed to waken into life at her words, and so we gained some knowledge of these two strange Indians and their ways.
Of the Iroquois confederacy Radisson had already told us much, and of their Long House, which was not unlike the Houses of Parliament in London town. Here the Five Nations sent their delegates to make laws and give judgments, and the highest chief of each nation kept the doors. The Mohawks, who lived farther east than the rest, held the eastern door of that savage parliament, which fact had given the Black Prince his title. I wondered at his name being the same as that of a former prince of England, but the reason therefor I never knew.
As we wended on our way my gloom began to drop from me. I realized how Radisson felt, and the fact that before us lay a great new land where no white man was, thrilled me to the marrow. I drew the good free air deep into my lungs and put away all thought of that villain Gib o' Clarclach; all these plottings were left behind us, and only the open country and friends lay before. What if these friends were red? From the talk of The Arrow, red friends were as good as or better than white.
Since then I have realized more truly just what that terrible journey from the Canadas had meant for the two Mohawks. Alone and unaided they had traversed a wilderness of foes to find the man they loved as brother. When they came to the Cree people they chanced upon traces of him, Radisson being well known to the Crees, and for his sake the strangers had been taken in and provided for. Their prowess soon made them great men among the Crees, whose customs were not so very different, though less bloody; and during the two years they had spent, waiting for Radisson with a firm faith in his coming, their position had been firmly established. All these things came to me not at once, but slowly, during the many days we paddled on, heading toward the west, and then to the north. Our way was slow, because on the third day one of the canoes was ripped on a rock and we had to wait for a hasty patching. The weather was very warm indeed, but cold at night.
So it came about that when pursuit had been left far behind, we were in the Barren Places, as The Keeper named them. And they deserved the name, being of swamp and scrub trees and thickets of saplings; but of game there was plenty. In this place came the danger to Ruth, and here we first encountered the Mighty One, of whom I will have great things to tell in their own place.
One morning Ruth and I had left the camp for an early ramble. I took a fusil, thinking to kill a deer or caribou. We climbed a little hill above the camp and entered the thicker woods, where after a while we became separated, Ruth halting beside some bushes of berries, very good to the taste. I was perhaps a hundred yards from her when I heard a sudden cry.
Whirling about, I saw a wondrous beast plunging toward the lass. Of monstrous build he was, with huge shoulders and head, while great splay-horns added to his frightful mien. In terror, Ruth made shift to get behind a tree, while the monster stood shaking his head and striking the earth with his hoofs.
I had been so startled that for a moment I forgot my fusil. Never had I dreamed of so huge a beast! I shouted at him and ran forward, whereat he came at me speedily. Ruth cried out again, and in mighty fear I raised my weapon, thinking to see fire come from his nostrils at any moment, for I took him as little less than the fiend himself.
But now he had turned again to Ruth, and the little maid was barely keeping the tree between them. In desperation, I poured fresh powder in the pan and aimed again. This time the weapon spoke, and the added powder sent me backward to the ground with the recoil. Those mighty horns seemed to shoot forward and up, the huge body rose in air, and the next I knew was that the terrible beast was standing over me, scraping at me with his horns. Fortunately, they seemed soft, like those of a deer in summer, and I beat frantically at his enormous nose. An instant later I gripped the horns.
With this, the monster lifted his head and me with it. I gave myself up for lost as he pressed me back into a tree, snorting and grunting, but I hung on grimly enough, for I feared the sharp hoofs.
"Run!" I cried to Ruth, whom I could not see. "Run, Ruth!"
I felt my strength going fast. Now the beast had pushed me in through the branches and was striving to grind me against the tree-trunk itself. Vainly did I writhe and twist away, for those huge horns swung and slashed at me, and had they been hard I had died in that moment. As it was, I felt my ribs crushed in, then a terrific pain shot through me, and my grip loosened.
But even as I fell back, a wild yell sounded in my ears, and a blast of powder-smoke swept by my face. The massy horns were gone, and I scraped back against the tree and came to the ground, helpless and broken.