What happened after that was of little interest to me. I have brief, fitful memories of things that occurred at intervals, for as I later learned from Ruth, my hurts were very sore indeed, and more than once they had given me up for dead. But for The Keeper and for Radisson himself, who searched through the woods for healing simples and herbs at each camping-place, I had been in sorry plight.
I mind me of many days of travel, during no small part of which I was lashed tightly enough to the canoe. At times Ruth's face would be above me, her fingers sweeping my brow, and at times Radisson's kindly white beard would bend over me and his fingers, for all their sinewy strength, were as tender as those of Ruth.
That was a dour and terrible journey. Even now, as I sit writing and gazing over the moors that roll upland beyond Ayrby, I can feel the throbs of pain across my ribs, and the hurt of the thwart against my back. And in the damp weather the feeling is no mere imagination, either.
I remember, after many days of flickering lights and shadows, there came one time when Ruth's tears fell on my cheeks and irritated me strangely. Perhaps the lass did not know I was conscious, for I could speak no word. I heard Radisson attempt to cheer her, and it seemed that he, too, had lost his heartiness. Then they died away into blackness once more, and the next memory is of the Crees.
Queer men they were, queer people, moving like the veriest devils through my half-sensed dreams, although they were our firmest friends. Radisson to them was a deity, and the two Mohawks were little less. They were great hunters and fighters, however, and when my mind came back to me somewhat I never lacked for meat and broth, while skins of the richest were ours in plenty.
When I came to learn of the journey, after I had been injured, it was a tale of hardship and suffering—incurred for the most part on my account. To move a helpless man across the wilderness is a task for the mightiest, and our little party had been sore put to it ere a party of the Crees found us and aided us to their villages.
I came to my clear senses one day, at last, to find a great weight lying upon me, and all dark around. I put up my hand to remove the weight and found that it was the skin of some beast, yet I could not so much as lift it. By this I knew I must be very sick and weak, and for a space the knowledge frighted me oddly.
Suddenly light appeared to one side, and I saw I was lying in a conical shelter, like a tent, and that Ruth stood in the doorway. I called to her weakly enough.
"Eh, lassie! Come and help me."
She gave a little cry and dropped on her knees at my side. But she would not take the fur away, whereat I wondered. Nor would she let me talk, but told me of the journey and of where we now were.
To my utter amazement I found that I had been sick, not for days, but for long weeks. It was a good month and more that I had lain in this shelter, in the Cree village, and near two months since we had met the moose. The first snow had come upon the land, and the days and nights were bitter cold.
In the lodge next to mine dwelt Ruth, and beyond that Radisson and the Mohawks. There was a tale to be told of great wonders, of things and beasts and men such as we had never dreamed of in the old days at Ayrby farm. I listened half-believing, and before she had finished dropped into a deep, pleasant sleep.
Through the days that followed I began to adjust myself somewhat to the new life about me. The Crees—dark, dirty men who wore skins—were kind enough and treated me with not only respect but even deference. For some time I was at a loss to account for this. I presently came to understand that I was looked upon as a great man, greater even than the two Mohawks, which surprised me and troubled me no little. It is not right and just that a man should be so treated by his fellows unless he has proved himself greater than they, and the worship of these poor heathen creatures worried me mightily.
Radisson spent long hours with me, talking and explaining the things all around. Our fusils he had carefully oiled and laid aside, for it seemed that the Crees had never heard the sound of a gun, and the time might come when an appeal to their superstition would do wonders.
"But is that right?" I asked doubtfully. "Methinks it would be more Christian in us to help the poor creatures to understand, than to try and shock them into thinking us men of another world."
"Why, so we are," smiled Radisson. "You see, Davie, we are like to be safe for the present, until the deep snows come. Then we can look for trouble. I have sent out runners to the east and south, for it seems to me that the English around the Bay will not rest until they get news of me. The Chippewa nation is always warring against the Crees, and like enough The Pike will lead them. Our friend is a subtle, crafty fellow and will halt at nothing.
"As for your fears in the matter of religion, Davie, you had best forget them. We can live down to their standard, as does The Pike, or up to our standard, as I have ever done. I have no great wish to preach to them, for their faith is good enough, but do you suit yourself in that regard. It may be that God has not brought us here for nothing, and it is far from my thought to thwart His will."
As the time went by I grew stronger, walking about the village on the arm of Ruth and coming to understand more and more the people among whom we were. Having little else to do, I took to learning their tongue from a chief named Uchichak, or The Crane. He was a fine, upright, silent man of good parts, and as I came to speak the language a little, I told him of the true God. But at this he would ever fall silent, gazing into the fire and saying no word, so that I deemed my talk but wasted.
The Keeper and The Arrow were but indifferent Christians, having been converted years before by the French, and their faith was a mixture of heathenism and religion which was strange to see. Once I protested with The Keeper about taking scalps, whereat he silenced me deftly and firmly.
"Brave Eyes"—for such was the name I now bore—"does not know of what he speaks. Here the nations do not war as our nation wars. The Great Spirit has whispered to me that it is right for the white men to do some things, and wrong for the red men to do some things. He has whispered to Uchichak that it is not right for the Crees to take scalps, and they do not. He has whispered to The Keeper that it is right, and so The Keeper does. He has whispered to the white men that they shall drink of the water of fire. He has whispered to The Keeper not to drink. The Keeper has seen his brothers disobey, and drink, until their minds were stolen from their bodies. The Keeper does not disobey the Great Spirit. Let my brother listen to the Great Spirit, unless he thinks himself greater. Does my brother know more than the Great Spirit?"
It was the longest speech I ever heard from The Keeper, and his quiet sarcasm at the close taught me a lesson that I sorely needed. I had considered myself above these poor heathen people, and in time I came to know that in many ways I was below them. We did not worship alike, yet we all worshiped. There was much that they could and did teach me, and Uchichak came to be a very good friend to me.
The two Mohawks came to rather disregard me and Ruth, centering themselves on Radisson alone, quietly but insistently. They hunted and fished with him, or alone, and left me to Uchichak, who proved an able teacher. Those were happy weeks for me, as I slowly came back to strength and health, and I believe that never in her life had Ruth been so filled with the joy of youth as she was here. And it was well, for there were dark days to come.
As to our future, that was unsettled. Radisson was filled with a great dream of going on into the sunset and searching out the country there, of finding lands where no white man had ever trod. His age was as nothing to him, and I verily believe that except for Ruth he had departed long since. But the love of the little maid restrained him, and his great vision waited on her will.
With the snows, I set forth on the heels of Uchichak, learning to hunt and fish and trap as did the Crees. Our fusils and little store of powder were jealously guarded away, so that perforce I had to learn the bow and spear. I learned that moose and elk and bison were no creatures from the nether world, but animals of flesh and blood, and one day I proposed to The Crane that we should seek out the moose who had attacked us, and who had so nearly killed me. At the suggestion a strange expression swept across the chief's dark, handsome face, and he glanced at me with a worried look.
"Is my brother so anxious to meet the Great Spirit? Has he not escaped the horns of the Mighty One by a miracle?"
"Nonsense!" I retorted. "The Great Spirit did not give me the heart of a coward, Uchichak. He saved me from the moose, and if it be His will, I shall some day meet and slay the animal. Why do you call him the Mighty One?"
It seemed to me that The Crane fell to trembling, almost. Certainly his face quivered, and he glanced around uneasily. We stood alone, our snowshoes leaving a faint trail across a bare rise of snow, carrying a small deer between us. The chief set down his end of the pole and faced me.
"You have said many things to me that I do not understand, my brother. You have told me of the Great Spirit whom you serve, and sometimes I have thought that He was our own Great Spirit also. You have told me how He came to your people and let men kill Him, which to me seemed very foolish, so that I knew He was not the same Great Spirit."
In that moment I saw the mistake I had made. I had told Uchichak the bare story of the Gospels, but had not explained that story. There, standing in the snow beside the stiff and frozen deer, with his intent gaze fixed on me, I spoke as best I might. Indeed, the words seemed to come to me as if placed in my mouth, and when I had made an end I knew not what I had said.
But Uchichak gazed at me silently, and I think that he had understood the greater part of my speech, for I had spoken mostly in his own tongue, haltingly but simply enough that a child might understand.
"You have spoken well, my brother," he returned slowly. "I have understood your words, although your speech is harsh, and it seemed to me that not you were speaking, but the Great Spirit whom you worship. Listen. It is well that my people should hear of this also. We are not like the Sioux or the Chippewas, blind to all things. We are eager to let our ears be open, and our old men are very wise. To-morrow night shall a Council be held, and before the Council you shall tell these things."
Without pausing for answer, he stooped and we picked up the deer. Our way home was silent enough, and I dared to dream that I had impressed The Crane with some knowledge of the true God. But this was far from the case, as I was to learn.
I have passed over lightly my days of striving, when I was learning to live this new life, for of late my fingers have grown somewhat stiff and the quill hard to hold, and I have that to tell of which must not be delayed. At this time the winter was well onward, and many of the men were away from the village, hunting in the Barren Places. Of Gib and his Chippewas we had heard nothing.
Grim, all this time, had remained close to me and Ruth. The Indian dogs, used for hauling sleds in winter, seemed idle, frivolous creatures to him, and he disdained to give them attention. The Crees were inclined to sneer at him as a "lodge-dog," good for nothing except to lie beside the fire, until one day two of their fighting brutes went for him. Grim, forced to the combat, made such short work of the wolf-like beasts that thereafter the others slunk past him in fear, while the Crees also gave him a wide berth.
Upon reaching the village that night, we found that Radisson and the Mohawks had left for a two-day elk hunt. A little dismayed at their absence, I sought out Ruth and told her of my conversation with the chief.
"We will face them together, Davie," she said softly, her deep eyes aglow. "A woman is not admitted to the council, yet Uchichak can persuade them easily enough. They are not stern, fierce people like the Mohawks, and they will listen to me."
Gladly enough I asked Uchichak. After a moment he nodded gravely.
"She may speak, and then go. It is not permitted that women should sit in the council."
This was the best I could get out of him, but it was enough. There was no sign of Radisson the next afternoon, and as the council-lodge was made ready I began to miss his support. Ruth and I knew that we would have no great ordeal before us, but it would be hard indeed to break through the stolidity of the Crees, to appeal to their finer feelings. That they or other Indians have such feelings has been denied; but I, who have lived and hunted with them, know that all men have souls alike—mayhap some deeper-buried than others beneath the crust of time and circumstance, yet all there for the finding.
Ruth and I ate our evening meal together, while Grim crunched a bone contentedly at our sides. Both of us, as our garments had given out, had replaced them with others of very soft skin, while in this cold winter weather we wore furs as did the Crees. When the meal was done we covered over the little fire in the center of the lodge, and stepped to the door.
Five minutes later we were in the lodge of council—a large structure, half skin and half brush. Around the fire were ranged the old men of the village, and the chiefs; and after a dignified silence the calumet was passed around from hand to hand, among the very old men only, for with these people tobacco was rather in the nature of a burnt-offering, and was never smoked for the pleasure therein. Another silence, then the oldest chief arose and very briefly directed Ruth to speak to them as she wished.
I would that I might give here the speech that Ruth made to those Crees, there by the dim light of the little fire, her yellow hair flashing forth from the wolf-fur hood in long tendrils, her eyes striving to pierce through the darkness to those stolid faces about her. She did not speak their language at all well, and I saw plainly that the hearing had been given her out of courtesy alone. They were our friends, were these Crees, because we were the friends of Radisson, and they would do all for us that friends might.
At length she finished and turned away. I stepped forward when the old chief had gravely risen and thanked her, and led her to the entrance. When I returned, the same old man rose and addressed me.
"Our brother Brave Eyes has heard the words of the Yellow Lily. They were like the dew upon the trees at dawn—sparkling and refreshing, but not fit to quench the thirst of the warriors. There is much that we do not understand, and we hope that Brave Eyes will set our minds at rest."
I waited a space, knowing that this would add dignity to my words. Even as I rose to my feet, a noise of dogs came from without, the flap of the door was pushed aside and The Keeper, The Arrow and Radisson entered and flitted to their seats in the Council. This seemed like a good omen to me, and I took heart again.
Now I appealed to the warriors direct, strove to wake them to consciousness of what my message meant, applied all that I said to their life and daily acts. As I went on, the words flowed almost of themselves, and I, who had ever been a clumsy, gawky lout, felt with a thrill that I was commanding these men. Yet it was not I, as none knew better. It was a Something that spoke in and through me, until in the end I felt a great fear of what that Something might be. None the less, I said what I had to say, and so seated myself again, the sweat standing out on my brow.
For a long, long time there was no sound within the lodge. Then I saw The Keeper rise to his feet and walk out beside the fire, standing a moment like a dark statue.
"My brothers," he said in Cree, "we have listened to very great words. In my own land the Great Spirit has sent his Blackrobes to speak such words to us, and we have listened. I am very old, my brothers. These words are sweet in my ears. But my white brothers, Brave Eyes and White Eagle, have not heard all. The Great Spirit has not whispered to them of the Mighty One. Perhaps he has sent them that the Mighty One should be slain, and that the Cree nation should know which was the True Great Spirit. I have ended."
I did not understand the conclusion of this speech, but I did understand the half-audible gasp of horror that ran through the lodge. It brought back to me the time when I was a little fellow, and had gone to meeting one day with my father and mother. While the preacher was thundering forth, I had escaped from mother and toddled away to look up in laughing wonder at the tall figure of Alec Gordon, with his stiff starched bands. In that moment the same shuddering gasp had echoed through the folk, and I heard later that no few of them had looked to see me fall stricken.
So around the Council lodge ran the same whisper and was gone instantly. I wondered what sacrilege The Keeper had uttered, and stared at Uchichak as he gravely rose, took up the calumet, lit it, and waved it to the four corners of the heavens. Then he replaced it and turned toward me.
"My brother Ta-cha-noon-tia is our friend. His words are the words of a friend. He is a great warrior and an old man, and his Great Spirit is very strong. But it is not our Great Spirit who whispers in his ear, and we are afraid. I will tell my brothers of our Great Spirit."
With a single stride he went to the door and flung open the flap dramatically. Before us in the sky flamed the northern lights—grotesque sheeted figures of lambent flame, dancing here and yon, rising, falling, many-colored.
"The Spirits of the Dead who Dance," he affirmed, in a single Cree word. "My brothers the Great Spirit of our fathers is mighty. This is his sign to his children. When we have passed the last trail, we too shall join our fathers in the Spirit-dance across the heavens. This is the sign that our Great Spirit has given us. And now I shall tell you of the Mystery."
I would have sprung up and made ready answer, but a hand gripped my arm and I found Radisson behind me. I remembered that Indian ways were not our ways, and that when Uchichak had finished I could speak, and not until then.
"My brothers, our Great Spirit, from the days of our fathers, has sent us a messenger. Sometimes it is a man, sometimes it is an animal." His voice lowered almost to a whisper, and the hush was intense. "My brothers, it is more than an animal, more than a little brother of the forest. We who are chiefs, we of the Council, know that this messenger is none other than the Great Spirit himself, who comes to watch over his children."
For an instant there was dead silence, Uchichak standing with bowed head. Only the sound of heavy breathing filled the lodge until he continued more firmly.
"My brothers, when I was very young the messenger was a White Beaver, larger and more cunning than ever beaver was before him. When I was a young man the Mighty One had vanished, and in his place was another Mighty One. How did we know this? I will tell you.
"One of our young men brought the news that in the Barren Places was a mighty moose, larger than any moose ever seen. He had followed the tracks, and had come to a bear, slain by the moose. There were three young men in the village who said they would hunt this moose. Our old men warned them, saying that the young man had been led to the bear in token that the moose wished us well. Perhaps he was a Mighty One. But the young men refused to listen and went forth with their dogs.
"My brothers, you have heard the tale of Spotted Lynx, Two Horns and Yellow Cloud. They hunted for many weeks. The Mighty One did not wish to harm them. But at last they found him feeding, and wounded him. My brothers, are any of those young men among you? Have you seen their faces in the lodges of their people? Have they returned to their fathers?"
A single half-suppressed groan broke from one of the old men. There was no doubt that the tale was true. I reflected that if three hunters, armed with bow and spear, had gone out against that terrible moose, there might well have been small chance of their returning safe. But The Crane did not pause long.
"We have heard how the hunters of the Chippewa nation have sought him, and have fled home like women to their people. Our fathers have told us how, when they were little children, the Great Spirit had whispered to them that the Crees should not seek to hunt the Mighty One, and should not seek to hunt in the hills of the Barren Places. It is in these hills that the Mighty One now dwells, and the Chippewas fear them also.
"Sometimes the Mighty One travels far. My brothers, you have heard how Brave Eyes met him. You have seen that he favored Brave Eyes and did not kill him, but sent him to be our brother. The heart of Brave Eyes is very strong. We know that it holds no fear. Now that he knows who the Mighty One is whose horns he felt, now that he knows it was our Great Spirit himself, Brave Eyes will not fear to say that he was wrong."
Uchichak drew his furs about him and resumed his seat. The eyes of the Council, one by one, were slowly turned on me. But not until I felt Radisson's hand relax on my arm did I rise to speak.
"My brothers," I said with some difficulty, "I speak in a strange tongue. I can find no words in it to say that I did not speak to you rightly before. The Crane has told me that the Spirits of the Dead who Dance are signs from your Great Spirit. How is it, then, that the same signs have come to me and my brother the White Eagle and to my sister the Yellow Lily, very far from here. How is it that this sign comes to my white brothers also?"
There was a little stir at this, and I heard the Keeper grunt in appreciation.
"Listen, my brothers. I have told you of the sign in the water, which the Great Spirit has sent to his white children, through his own Son. I wish you to remember this, and it may be that you will accept this sign. As to your Mighty One, he is not a Messenger sent by the Great Spirit; he is a messenger of the Evil Spirit."
I had looked for another stir at these words, but none came. Instead, there was silence—the silence of apprehension, of waiting.
"My brothers, you do not like my words, but your hearts are open. Your ears are not closed to the whisper of the Great Spirit, and you will listen. If the Mighty One was your friend and protector, would he have slain your young men? Would he not have sent them home as he has sent the other hunters, like foolish women?"
I paused again, taking full advantage of this favorite trick of Indian Oratory.
"Listen, my brothers. My Great Spirit whispers to me. He says that your Mighty One is false. He says that there is only one Great Spirit, and that He wishes you to accept the sign in the water. He says that it is for this purpose He brought me to you. He asks you whether you will accept this sign that you believe in Him."
With this rather abrupt close I sat down. There was a long silence as they turned over my words carefully, slowly, weighing each one. Finally the old wizened head-chief, whose single eagle-feather gleamed oddly in the red light, answered me.
"My brother, you have spoken well. Your words have satisfied the thirst of the warriors, as the spring that bubbles in the forest. Yet we were afraid at them, for we feared that our Great Spirit would be angry.
"You have said that the sign of the Spirits of the Dead has been sent to you also. That is well. The Great Spirit has whispered to me. He whispered in my ear that you, my brother, and my brother White Eagle also, should prove to us that the Mighty One is a messenger of the Evil Spirit. You have told us how your Great Spirit sent His Son to you, and how you killed Him. We would not have treated Him thus, my brother. Our ears are open. We would have feasted Him with venison and listened to Him.
"The Great Spirit has whispered to me that you should seek the Mighty One. We know that there is no fear in your heart, and that the White Eagle is very wise and good. Perhaps the Great Spirit will help you. If you slay the Mighty One we will know that we have been wrong, and that our fathers have been wrong, and we will accept the sign in the water."
Weak and shaking, the old man sat down and covered his face. One by one the chiefs stood up and spoke in the same vein. One by one they agreed that if Radisson and I should slay the Moose, they would accept the "sign in the water," for thus only could I represent the symbol of baptism to them. Uchichak made a splendid speech, and I was right glad to find here in the wilderness men whose minds were so open, so free to conviction. Their beliefs were simple and earnest, and while there was small hope that they would or could accept the gospel of peace, merely to bring them to a knowledge of the True God would be a tremendous conquest.
So the Council ended. Radisson accompanied me to the lodge of Ruth, where we told her all that had taken place, and of the gage of battle which had been flung before us. That it would be accepted by Radisson I had no doubt.
"Aye, lad," he said in answer to my eager question, "I may hold to no faith over-much, but in this matter I am with you—if only for the sake of little Ruth here."
"Not that!" she flashed out at him quickly. "Pray, Uncle Pierre, have you no deeper thought than this? Look deep down in your heart, and say no if you dare!"
Radisson looked down at her, then at me, and in his weary eyes I saw what I had but seldom found in his face. In that moment I knew that even from us he had kept his real self hidden.
"Yes, child," he replied softly. "I hesitated to acknowledge it, but it is true. I may not be of your faith, but I will do this thing for the sake of Him who suffered for us all, and in the trust that through us these poor, faithful friends of ours may be given a light to lighten their darkness."
Wherewith he rose and left us suddenly, nor did he ever allude to that conversation again, until the day he left us. But Ruth and I sat silent for a little space, wondering.
"It is a fearsome thing," I murmured at last, "how this superstition has laid hold on such men as Uchichak. Why, the Mighty One is no more than a beast—cunning, merciless, but still a beast. With such men as Radisson and the Mohawks with me, what is there to fear?"
"Softly, Davie," smiled Ruth a little sadly. "It is not so easy as may seem to you. Did ever an easy thing accomplish aught in the world? It is the things we fight for and suffer for that are worth while, that bring the Word to the world. It was never God's way to make the path easy for those who bear His Word."
I wondered at her not a little. There was a light in her sweet face that I had never seen before, and something in her manner smote me to the heart, so that I bade her good-night and left her to sleep.
And ever since that night I have thought that Ruth spoke not of herself, for her words were fraught with prophecy.
For the next few days the four of us were very busy. We decided that if the work must be done it should be done at once, and we made ready without delay. I think Radisson, despite his words of that night, was eager to be off and away into the westing lands where no man had been, for it was ever his wont to seek beyond the known things.
The Crees were ready enough to help us with all that we asked. Uchichak it was who gave us his dogs and sled, whereon we loaded food and our fusils, with what store of powder and ball we had. It was settled that after the next heavy fall of snow we should set forth, and by the signs of the country the Crees declared that a storm was not far off.
Indeed, it came within the week—two days of heavy, drifting snow and high wind. And when it came we knew that ere long we would be parted from our little lass. But the manner of that parting, and the ending of it, was in no wise what we had looked forward to.
Now it may be that the things I have to relate will seem strange and un-Christian and wondrous, even as they do to me. Yet are they but the truth. In that far Northern land many such things come to pass, for there man is very close to the forces of the world, and whether it be that his mind is quickened by the dread silence of the snows, or whether there is in truth a nearness to God in that silence, I know not. It has often vexed me and the answer is not yet.
But this much I do know. Holding to none of the superstitions around me, I then believed and do still affirm that the whole matter of the Moose of Mystery, the Mighty One, was under the direction of some Higher Power, and that Gib o' Clarclach came to his triumph and his end through that same guidance. Howbeit, I had best leave you to judge for yourselves.
That storm came upon us and closed us in our lodges for two days. On the third morning it was decided that we should start forth just as soon as the crust had formed strong enough to bear dogs and sled. In the meantime, Uchichak and I went forth upon a last hunt, thinking to bring in a caribou or elk, for with the winter the bison had drifted far to the south of us.
Two days of idleness and gorging, as was the custom of the Crees, had well-nigh finished the stock of food in the village. Therefore most of the men fared forth on the hunt. Radisson and the two Mohawks trailed together, admitting none other to their company, and on the second morning thereafter we four were to set out upon our quest. According to custom, the warriors set out in small groups or singly, scattering in all directions. Ruth was engaged in making deerskin scabbards for the fusils, since in that terrific cold it was impossible to set fingers to iron.
Uchichak and I were accompanied by a lively young brave named Wapistan, or The Marten, who had often gone out with us, and whose tracking powers were remarkable. As ever, we were armed only with bows and flint-tipped arrows. My own weapon, which I had made with great care, was a source of great interest to the Crees, for it was full twice as long and thick as theirs, and even Uchichak could scarcely bend it, although to me the trick came easily enough. I would never be as expert as was The Crane, but when it came to distance I could overshoot him greatly. This, however, was more by reason of my greater strength, for which quality of body I later thanked God most heartily.
The fierceness of the storm seemed to have driven most of the larger animals to the shelter of the hills, and although we circled widely to the cast of the village and then to the north, by that evening we had found nothing save a few rabbits, which barely were sufficient for our own needs. As there was another day ahead of us, we camped that night beneath some willows on the bank of an ice-clad river. I urged Uchichak to push forward to the hills in the northeast, but he refused stoutly.
"Those are the Ghost Hills, brother. There walks the Mighty One, and the Spirits of the Dead who Dance. We can hear them singing in the wind. We must not disturb them."
All that evening The Crane was very silent and downcast, and I came to know that he considered that this was our last trip together. To his mind, the Great Spirit would never allow me to come back from that hunt against the Mighty One. The Ghost Hills were sacred, and were about to be impiously profaned. Indeed, since that meeting of the Council we had come in for no small share of reverence from all the warriors, who held that we were bravely going to our deaths. I learned later that it had been decided that the Yellow Lily should become the adopted daughter of the tribe, should we fail to return.
Early in the morning the three of us left our brush shelter and started forth, determined to avoid the disgrace of returning to the village empty-handed. Now we circled back toward the south again, overlooking no patch of woods where elk or deer might be sheltering. The morning was still young when we came to a break of heavy-laden pines, and started through them warily. Suddenly a cry from Wapistan, at one side, called us to him.
"Come quickly!"
We found him standing in the midst of some bushes, where the snow had been kicked away in a wide circle, affording access to the tender green shoots beneath. But there was no expression of joy on his face, and as we came up The Crane halted abruptly.
"Let us go away quickly," he muttered. I was amazed at this, for it was plain to me that here was the bed of a moose, and I stared at the two men until Wapistan led me over to the side of the little clearing.
"Let my brother look upon the tracks of the Mighty One," was all he said. There before me were such tracks as I had never seen—great imprints of sharp hoofs that could only have been made by the giant moose which had attacked us in the beginning. I have hunted many moose, since then, but never have I found such a trail as that.
"Listen, Uchichak," I said, trembling with eagerness. "If he is the Mighty One, he must have been sent to us, for we are far from the Hills. Let us follow. I will hunt him, you need not."
"The Mighty One walks on the storm," murmured The Crane, glancing around apprehensively. None the less, my words had impressed him. "We will see whither the tracks lead. It may be that the Great Spirit has sent him to his children. He may lead us to a herd of elk. We will follow a little way."
And therein was the beginning of our strange pilgrimage.
Without delay we started out, Wapistan leading and Uchichak bringing up the rear. The great caution displayed by these hunters told me more than any words could have done that our quest was a dangerous one. With bows strung and ready, every aisle of the forest was searched ahead of us, and with every crack of sticks and trees in the great frost I could see Wapistan spring to alertness. But all around us was nothing save the deathly silence, through which the frost-crackles and the "sluff-sluff" of our snowshoes sounded loud.
Mile after mile we plowed along, from patch to patch of forest, and still the deep tracks of the giant beast led us onward. The fresh-fallen snow had made heavy going for him, since at each step he plunged through to his knees. The Crees might consider that he walked on the wind, but for my own part I thought him a feckless creature to leave the shelter of the Hills in such a storm. And in that thought I neglected the workings of Providence, as I later admitted readily enough.
The trail presently led us to a fairly large river, and out across the ice. The other bank was bordered with thick trees, and as we neared them I turned to The Crane and smiled.
"If the Mighty One walked on the storm, Uchichak, it looks as though men had also been able to walk there."
But the Indians had already caught sight of the dark trail on the farther shore, and with a guttural exclamation of surprise we all dashed forward. There in the shelter of the trees the snow was not so deep, and the tracks of the Mighty One led us straight to a deep trail plowed in the snow, where they were lost.
"Are they other hunters from the village?" I asked in my ignorance. The two Crees kicked away their snowshoes and crept about examining the trail, while I leaned on my bow. It was plain enough that the Moose had gone forward in this path, where the snow had been worn away and packed deep for him, whereat I began to think better of his sense.
Uchichak straightened up suddenly, and at sight of his face I knew that something was wrong—terribly wrong. His usual stolidity had given place to rage and grief, and he turned to me with a flame in his dark eyes.
"My brother, we must hasten to the village at once. Men have come and gone, and they are not of our own people."
Still I realized nothing of what he meant, although his face sobered me.
"Then do you go," I returned, "while I continue on the trail of the Mighty One—" But Wapistan had sprung to my side, eager and wrathful.
"Brave Eyes cannot read the trail," he cried sharply. "See, here have gone many men—two or three tens of men. Their tracks lead away from the village, and with them goes a dog-sled. They travel toward the Ghost Hills, and their snowshoes are of Chippewa make. Let us hasten, my brothers!"
Then I groaned, for I remembered what Radisson had said of Gib, called The Pike, and his Chippewa followers. If these men had come to the village when the hunters were away, what had happened?
Right speedily was all thought of the Mighty One forgotten, as we took up the trail in desperate haste toward the village. Wapistan went on to say that it was very fresh, that the band had not passed us more than an hour previously, and in no long time his words were borne out. For, as we turned a sharp bend in the river-trail, we came upon two men striding rapidly toward us. They were not more than a hundred yards away, and I did not need Uchichak's hasty exclamation to tell me that they were Chippewas. For one was our old friend Soan-ge-ta-ha, though the other I knew not.
For a bare second we stared at each other, then I saw the Chippewa chief throw off the coverings of a musket. I dashed my two companions headlong, just as the weapon roared out and gave vent to a cloud of smoke. The bullet sang overhead, and at this unprovoked and cowardly attack I picked up my strung bow and drew it taut.
The two Chippewas had darted aside just after the chief fired, and were speeding for the shelter of the trees. But my arrow sped faster than they. Even as Uchichak and Wapistan darted forward, I saw Brave Heart stumble, and the musket flew far from him. He was up and running again, however, but the brief pause had given my vengeful friends a lead. All four disappeared among the trees, with wild cries that thrilled my heart.
I followed slowly after them, glad that my savage aim had not gone true, for in all my life I had never shed the heart-blood of a man. That these Chippewas were enemies there was no doubt, and I prudently stopped to recover the musket dropped by the chief, for such things were valuable. A brief wonder came to me that the weapon had not dismayed the two Crees, but I hastened to follow them in among the trees. As I did so, I caught a glimpse of something dark speeding toward us from the direction of the village, but I stopped not to see what it was.
From the trees and bushes came the sound of men struggling, and when I had broken through I saw the four in front. Wapistan was calmly sitting in the snow, wiping his long flint knife, and I turned from him with a shudder. Soan-ge-ta-ha and Uchichak were at handgrips, but The Crane plainly had the mastery over the Chippewa chief, in whose shoulder still stood my arrow. Even as I plunged forward through the snow, Brave Heart bent backward, the knife dropped from his nerveless fingers, and Uchichak stood up to meet me.
"It was a good fight, brother!" he said calmly. "This Chippewa dog is only faint from loss of blood. The Marten has sharp teeth, and is a warrior. Good!"
I kneeled over Brave Heart, pulled the arrow through his shoulder-muscles, and roughly bound up the already freezing wound. As I did so, I told the others of the dark object that I had seen approaching, and Wapistan slipped away. The Crane aided me in getting Brave Heart up with his back against a stump, and barely had we done so when there was a crash of bushes behind us, and in swept Radisson, The Keeper, and Swift Arrow, leading the same dog-sled which had been prepared for our hunt of the Mighty One. The Chippewa chief opened his eyes.
"Soan-ge-ta-ha," burst out Radisson angrily in English, "your heart is bad! You have led your warriors against the Crees, stealing upon them in the night, and you shall suffer for it bitterly!"
"What has happened?" I cried out, a great fear rising in me. "What does it all mean?"
Brave Heart smiled cruelly, the two Mohawks stood impassive. Radisson turned to me with a sudden sob shaking his great frame, and his white-bearded face seemed shot with lightnings as he made reply in Cree, that the warriors might understand.
"What does it mean? It means that The Pike is on his last war-path, Davie! Last night a band of thirty Chippewas burst on the village. The few men held them back until most of the women could escape with some few things, then—then the village was destroyed."
A grunt broke from Uchichak, and his hand went to his knife as he stood over the wounded chief. But I flung him away, a question hot on my lips.
"Was it Ruth they were after? Did they harm her?"
"Yes and no, lad. They bore her away captive on a sled. Fortunately, these dogs and our sled had been hidden out of their reach. When the Mohawks and I returned we took them and came after. You shall go forward with us, and we will follow the party."
"What can we do against them?" I exclaimed hopelessly.
"We can watch and wait," returned Radisson grimly, with a significant look at the two gaunt warriors beside him. "Uchichak, do you take this Chippewa back and hold him captive. Gather your hunters speedily—even now they are coming in. Send a runner to the village of Talking Owl and bid his young men join you. Then follow our trail, even though it may lead to the Ghost Hills. There, perhaps, The Pike will imagine that you do not dare follow."
Uchichak said nothing. He and Wapistan jerked Brave Heart to his feet, replaced his snowshoes for him, and the three departed. So suddenly and unexpectedly had the dire news broken upon me, that I stood as if dazed. Radisson came and put a kindly hand on my shoulder.
"Come, lad, all is not lost. They will not harm the little maid, and we must hasten on their trail. Not even The Pike would dare harm her while their chief is a captive. Come, there is work for us ahead. Now tell me your tale as we go forward."
Brokenly, I told him how we had come upon the trail. When I finished, Radisson's face was lit with a stern glow, and he raised a hand to the Mohawks.
"My brothers, the Great Spirit is fighting for us! The Mighty One has led Brave Eyes to the trail. He will lead us on where the trail is lost!"
And that was the manner in which the madness of Radisson began—a madness, I think, which was sent by the Great Spirit of whom he spoke.
When I speak of madness, I mean nothing else. From that moment the old man was daft, as it seemed to me. We two led the way, the Mohawks following after the sled, and Radisson set such a place as I never traveled before or since.
The mighty energy of the old man dominated us all. From his words I soon saw that he had become filled with the idea that the Moose had been sent to lead us to Ruth again, until presently the uncanny thought of it laid hold on me likewise. We took up the trail of the raiders, which after a few miles crossed the river and struck off straight for the northeast, with the moose-tracks still following it.
Mile after mile we swung behind us. I wondered at Radisson's words—"where the trail is lost"—for it seemed that a child could follow such a plain, deep track as this. But he had not lived his life in the wilderness for naught. As we went forward, he told of how the raiders must have left before the great storm, and have traveled through it, to spring on the village with Indian cunning when they knew the hunters would be gone.
Their object was plain enough, for Gib thought to get a firm hold on Radisson by the capture of Ruth, and perhaps to sell that advantage to the English or French. Both nations had wronged the terrible old man deeply, and both would be like to go wild when they heard that he was loose in his own land again. In the old days the mere magic of his name, the terror inspired by his countless daring escapades and adventures, had more than once swept the Bay clear of his foes. I have often thought that had the French not betrayed him so shamefully, and had the English not misused his great powers so basely, one nation or the other would ere now have ruled all the land from the Colonies to the Bay. There are wars and rumors of wars in the land, however, and I have even lately heard a wild rumor that our armies have conquered all the Canadas; though this is hardly possible, to my mind. But to return to my tale.
There was some dried meat on the sledge, and this we ate as we traveled, without stop. The Chippewa party, fearful of pursuit, were putting on all speed in a desperate effort to gain the shelter of the Hills before they were overtaken. The trail was fresh, and they could not go faster than did we, for they were handicapped by the sled which bore Ruth.
From Radisson I learned that Gib had cunningly prevented his raiders from injuring the people of the village. He no doubt knew that if Ruth alone were carried off, the Crees would hesitate long before venturing to follow him into the sacred Hills. But the savage instincts of his followers had upset his crafty plans. Soan-ge-ta-ha and another had stolen back to pillage and burn and slay, thinking to catch up easily with the party. But for us they would have done so, and now not even the Ghost Hills would stay the vengeful Crees from the pursuit.
At evening we halted for a brief half-hour, to bait and rest the dogs. Now the weeks of hardening and hunting began to bear fruit, for I had stood that terrific pace nearly as well as the rest. My ribs were still somewhat sore at times, but in the main I was heartier and stronger than ever in my life before.
The rest was grateful to us all, and at this time we loaded the fusils, together with the musket taken from Brave Heart, and covered them carefully on the sled. We might have need of them at any time, and to load was no short work. For some time I had seen no signs of Ruth's sled in the trail we followed, and spoke of it to the Keeper.
"It is there," he grunted. "They are following it, hiding it beneath their tracks."
"That looks as if they were getting ready to lose the trail," put in Radisson. He seemed to give no thought to this possibility, taking it as a matter of course, and the Mohawks only nodded. It seemed strange to me, but I held my peace.
When the Spirit of the Dead began to dance in the sky we took up the march again, goading the weary dogs to the trail. Faint rumbles as of thunder seemed to come from the heavens, but ever we slapped on and on across the snows, while grotesque shadows fell all around us as the lights quivered above in lambent blue and purple flames. It was a wondrous spectacle, far beyond any that I had seen at home, where the lights were a common occurrence, and I gave the Crees small blame for naming them as they did. To an ignorant people those flaring fires of God must indeed have seemed like spirits leaping over the skies.
The deep trail led us straight through forest and wild, open levels of snow. Once we came to a camping-place of the Chippewas, where they too had made a brief halt for food and rest. Far beyond lay the deep forest, and a wide curving line of taller trees tokened that there was some large river before us, or mayhap a lake.
And a lake it proved to be, set in the midst of trees, with a small stream flowing from it. All was ice-coated, swept bare of snow by the wind, and the trail led straight to this sheet of ice. Radisson laughed grimly when we found this.
"Hold up, Davie. We must have a council here. Do you stop with the dogs."
I obeyed, while the others set off in different directions across the ice. They returned quickly enough, and with their first words I knew that the trail was lost.
"They have scattered on the ice," spoke up Swift Arrow. "Three parties have gone away from the farther shore."
Radisson nodded, his deep eyes searching the trees around us.
"Then how do we know which to follow?" I cried in dismay. "Which party took the sled with them?"
"That we know not, lad," he made answer as if to a child. "They have followed after the sled, hiding its track. It might be with any of the three parties. They will swing out in a wide circle and then straight for the hills. No matter which we follow, we lose time. An excellent trick to fool children with, chief."
The Keeper merely grunted, while I stared at them aghast. Why did Radisson take this so calmly? But he gave me no time to question.
"Did you find it?" he asked the Mohawks simply. Swift Arrow made answer.
"The Mighty One's trail goes alone. It goes toward the east, where lies the shadow of the Ghost Hills."
Then in a flash I saw it all. Radisson proposed to abandon the Chippewa trails and follow that of the beast! The belief that the animal had been sent to guide us had overpowered all his woodcraft and subtlety, and I flung out at him in wild protest.
"It is madness!" I concluded angrily. "Better to lose time and still be on the track of the enemy, than to follow a wandering beast!"
"Rail not against the wisdom of old men," exclaimed Radisson sternly, his voice ringing with confidence. "The Mighty One is guiding us, Davie. Do you lead, Keeper, while we come after. We must break trail now, and it will be no light labor."
Raging against the old man's madness, for so I deemed it, I set out with The Keeper to break trail. The Moose plunged straight ahead for the Hills, and his long legs had sunk almost to the shoulder at every step. I wondered how far ahead of us he might be, and when The Keeper knelt down quickly to smell the trail I knew that we must be close upon him.
The fortitude and strength that dwelt in the frame of the old chief was marvellous. We broke the trail by turns, our shoes stamping deep down through the soft crust at each step, until it required every ounce of endurance we possessed to keep on with the labor. Miles of it, hours of it, passed by, and still we kept on at the same terrific pace. At times Radisson and Swift Arrow relieved us, but ever we headed straight for the Ghost Hills, whose tree-clad and rocky summits now rose clear against the lambent sky. As we went, I began to fall into Radisson's way of thinking. Perhaps, after all, that uncanny Moose was leading us, guiding us straight to our goal. And whether it were the silence of these waste and desolate barrens around, or some inner feeling of the night, I gained confidence that He who in truth led us would not let harm come to the little maid.
It seemed hours before we rested again, and this time I flung myself down on a skin from the sled, huddling among the dogs for warmth, and slept. Those three old men must have been made of iron, for when I awakened I saw The Keeper sitting just as I had left him, alert and keen-eyed as ever, while Swift Arrow and Radisson were talking in low tones.
The poor brutes that hauled the sled suffered even more than we did. They were worn to death, and before we started out again, having fed them what we dared from our slender stock of food, we cut up our single robe which had covered the guns, and bound their bleeding feet as best we might. They fell to the trail limping, but there must have been something of the Indian stolidity in them, for all that long march I heard no cry, no whimper, burst from their throats.
Now, for the first time, I thought of Grim. What had happened to him? Where was he? At my questions Radisson smiled.
"He is faithful still, lad. They said in the village that he defended Ruth until Gib would have killed him, when the lass consented to go with them to save his life. Grim stayed ever at her side, and is like enough with her now."
This cheered me mightily, small hope though it were. Well I knew the wiliness of that old sheep-dog, and that while Ruth was endangered he would watch over her even as my father would have done. When I took up the weary labor again it was with better heart and more confident spirit than since the start.
Now we knew that we could not be far from the end of the terrible journey. Or at least my three comrades knew it, for I refused to admit that there was aught save madness in keeping to the moose-track. The snatch of sleep and food had cleared my mind from the influence of the night, and as we slapped on over the snows I railed bitterly at myself for ever having consented to it.
Slowly the hills ahead, purple in the unearthly, flitting lights, drew closer and towered ahead of us. Slowly the wide expanse of snow broke into little rises, then we found ourselves among the first of the Ghost Hills. Before long I knew why they had received that name.
They seemed to break straight out of the ground—great masses of black rock like that on the coast below Rathesby, at home. As we drew among them, still following that gigantic track left plain for us to read, I saw that despite the heavy snow the black masses of rock stood out bare and bleak, closing around us and shutting out the lights above.
The trail led downward now—down in a winding line among the towering crags, and we were passing over still deeper snow, which had drifted from the hills. As we wound through the dark passages a swift, chill wind smote us and cut to the marrow. It was not my first taste of the bitter wind of the Northland, which is infinitely harder to endure than the most silent cold, however great it may be.
Thus we were literally swallowed up in that terrible abyss of rock and snow, and the weird feeling of the place affected even our dogs, who growled and shivered. All was dead silent, except for the rush and howl of the wind, which seemed to shoot down through those narrow pits of darkness, until we could with difficulty stand against it. From somewhere ahead droned out the long, eerie howl of a wolf, drifting to us on the wind. I saw Swift Arrow, ahead of me, pause and throw up his head; then into the teeth of the gale he cast an answering howl—one as perfect as the other, which drew a sharp yelp from the dogs. By this time I comprehended how on board the "Lass" Radisson had so amazed and shamed us all, and had even learned a little of the mimicry myself.
It was fearful to drive ahead through that gale, which sent the icy particles of snow against us like tiny knives, and to know that outside and above, the night was silent and windless. Indeed, there was never any rest within the Ghost Hills, and I could well realize why the Indians dreaded and avoided them.
By now I was more than ever sure that we were not only on the wrong track, but that this Mighty One was sent by the foul fiend to lead us astray and into danger of the worst. The passage of those hills was terrible to the body and to the soul. As we drew deeper into the darkness, weird echoes were set flying by our shoes and the wind and the voices of us. These were not borne past, but seemed to eddy up overhead, as though some flux of the wind caught and whirled them back toward us.
The Keeper had been in the lead, Radisson following. Of a sudden, as we came to a space somewhat lighter, I saw that the chief had vanished! I uttered a single cry that rebounded about in mad echoes, but Swift Arrow gripped me as I turned in terror.
"Peace! Ta-cha-noon-tia has but gone ahead to see what lies before."
With the calm words my fear passed, and I was ashamed. After all, we were in the hand of God, and if He willed that evil should come to us, then it would come. So I quelled my terror and pressed on after the sledge. A moment more, and the passage was done with.
Turning the corner of a sharp cliff, we found ourselves out in the night again, standing on a ridge of bare black rock. At our side stood The Keeper. Behind towered those terrible cliffs, but ahead was a little forested basin, alight with the fires of the sky and stretching ahead to hills in the distance. Radisson turned to the Mohawk with a question.
"My father, the tracks of the Mighty One are lost and I do not see them. But below us are the lodges of warriors."
I looked again at the stretch of wooded country. Sure enough, I could see black groups of something that might well be huts or lodges, but there was no sign of fire to cheer us.
"The Mighty One has led us well," shouted Radisson triumphantly. "We have arrived before them we seek! Let us rest, brothers, and make merry, for we are masters of the stronghold of The Pike, and his fate is in our hands!"
So for the rest of that night we lay in the snow behind the ledge, while over us the wind howled down into the cleft of rocks, and around us the poor weary dogs huddled in shivering groups, for we dared light no fire, and had like to have frozen in the great cold. But the Moose had led us aright, and the madness of Radisson was justified—in part.
It was not far from dawn when we arrived at the ridge, or ledge that ran along the cliffs, with an easy descent over the rolling snows to the basin beneath. But as the dancing dead men paled in the skies, the cold became too bitter for any of us. It was necessary that we light a fire to keep from perishing, and the two Mohawks disappeared to right and left. It was so cold that sleep was impossible, weary as we were.
However, The Keeper returned and motioned to us that we should accompany him, and in a few moments we were gathered in a deep cleft amid the rocks, to one side of the terrible passage by which we had come. Here The Arrow met us with some dry wood and birch-bark, and before long we were gathered about a smokeless fire, which at least served to permit of our sleeping.
With one of us on watch at a time, the day passed away. After noon, I was wakened and placed on guard at the crest of the ridge, overlooking the basin. A little later, I saw a number of moving objects off to the west, and speedily wakened my companions, with a great relief and joy in my heart. The Mighty One had led us aright! Doubtless he himself had for years made his home in these hills where he was safe from man, and by following his trail we had chanced on a short cut to the heart of the Ghost Hills, while the Chippewa band had been forced to take a longer trail.
The moving objects resolved themselves into the forms of men as they drew nearer, clear and distinct in that atmosphere which seemed to bring all things close to us. We watched silently, each knowing that the others perceived all, and could make out a sled with some dark object on it. There were barely a dozen men in the party, so we knew the others had taken a longer detour in order to throw off and delay pursuit, and would doubtless arrive later.
"What will we do?" I murmured to Radisson. "We have little food, yet we cannot make an attack on them."
He turned to the Mohawks, and the three old men spoke for a few moments in the Iroquois tongue. Meanwhile, the Chippewa party had come nigh the huts, and presently I could see the light flare of fire-smoke rising from the midst. At the distance, it was impossible to make out form or feature, yet I had no doubt that the burden lifted from the sled, and the dark dot beside it, were Ruth and the faithful Grim.
"It is hard to tell," said Radisson in French, his fine face wrinkled in perplexity. "We cannot make an open attack, for that fiend Larue would kill the little maid sooner than give her up. It is plain that they fear no enemy, since they are in the open and that smoke could be seen afar.
"There are a score of them still out, and it must be that they do not fear Uchichak's men. Possibly they have come along a trail that Swift Arrow discovered and followed last year. He says it could be defended by a few against an army. I see naught to do save to wait until night, and try to steal down and get the little maid. Could we but get her up here, we might defend that pass behind us against a thousand."
Swift Arrow grunted approval. "The Crees cannot break through the western trail," he said. "They grow faint at the sight of blood. The Chippewas are women, also. To-night we will steal down and take away Yellow Lily."
I thought over his words, as I gazed on the encampment below. If he was right, we might expect no aid, for that terrible gulf through which we had come was unknown to all men, and the trail followed by Gib was doubtless secured against the Crees. But if only Uchichak—
"Listen!" I cried out with the thought blazing in me. "We are but four, and three of us could hold the mouth of that gully—even this whole crest. I cannot drive dogs, nor do I know the ways of the trail well enough; but Swift Arrow or The Keeper could take the sled and drive back, bringing Uchichak and his men by the trail of the Mighty One. Then to-night you and the remaining Mohawks can attempt the rescue of Ruth."
Radisson considered the matter in silence, glanced at the impassive chiefs, and received a grunt which tokened approval. With no more parley, Great Swift Arrow drew down his fur hood and picked up the thong which served as a dog-whip.
"I will go," he declared calmly as ever. "I will find you waiting in the pass?"
"In the pass," echoed Radisson.
Without more ado, the dogs, snarling and protesting, were forced into the harness, The Arrow cracked his whip, and he was gone along the ridge toward the mouth of the pass, as if the long trip before him was no more than a pleasure excursion. He had left the guns, all save one, together with most of the dried meat.
Radisson and I went forth to a group of pines which grew in the shelter of the ridge, and when we returned with some store of dry wood we found The Keeper curled up asleep. The Indians seemed to have the power of sleep whenever they wished, and Radisson chuckled.
"Do you keep guard, lad, while I sleep also. Wake me at midday."
I nodded, for I felt no great need of sleep, and the old man sat down beside his friend, feet to the fire. I left the cranny in the rocks and went forth a few paces into the sunlight's warmth, where I could overlook the encampment of The Pike. Here, crouched down in hiding, I set myself to wait as patiently as might be until the appointed time should pass.
The camp below was too far away for any sound to reach us, but from the absence of all sign of life I gathered that the Chippewas were resting after their terrific march. I felt none of the Mohawk's contempt for them; indeed, they seemed to me to be men to be reckoned with to the utmost, and as for Gib o' Clarclach, I had already experienced enough of his craft to know that he was no mean foe.
Toward midday I saw a number of dark forms appear to the westward, and as they drew near there came a faint barking of dogs down the wind. There were a scant half-dozen men in the arriving party, and the others turned out to meet them, after which all disappeared within the huts. Plainly, Gib considered that half a score men were enough to guard the western trail, which showed that it must be well-nigh impassable to Uchichak.
Then weariness came upon me, and I awoke Radisson, who yielded me his place beside the fire. Covering my head, I was soon fast asleep despite the cold, and when I woke again it was to find the day all but spent and The Keeper gone.
"Eat as little as may be, Davie," said Radisson as I warmed some of the frozen meat before the fire. "We have none too much to last us."
So I scarce touched the little supply of food. There was no more to be had unless we retraced our steps into the Barren Places, or descended into the forested basin to seek the game that must be plentiful there. Indeed, as I later learned, the place was thick with game, for the animals knew well that here they were safe from hunters.
The Keeper, it seemed, was scouting. I marvelled how the old chief could venture forth, but Radisson explained that the Chippewas seemed to keep but a slight watch, and for all my gazing I could see no signs of the Mohawk.
"How long, think you, ere Swift Arrow comes upon the Crees?"
Radisson shrugged his shoulders. "No telling, lad. He would not have gone through to the outside before noon at the earliest, and the dogs were sore spent. If he should chance upon them to the westward, he might be here by morning; but it may well be two or three days until their arrival. We must be far from the trail of The Pike."
This was scant consolation, and so we waited in silence. Still came no sign of The Keeper, and soon the Spirits of the Dead were dancing to the north, faintly. It must have been that age had dimmed the cunning of Radisson, for as I foolishly placed more wood on the fire, he made no comment. Suddenly from out of the darkness came a swift stream of words, angry and vehement, in the voice of The Keeper.
The result astonished me, for with one swift leap Radisson had sprung past me and was kicking the fire into embers over the snow. I was on my feet instantly, staring amazed at the tall figure of the chief.
"What is the matter? Surely our fire could not be seen from below?"
The Keeper grunted sarcastically. "Has my father lost his cunning? Has White Eagle been dreaming the dreams of women? From below the fire is hid, but the reflection of the fire was high on the cliffs."
Radisson, Indian-like, grunted disgustedly, and finished the last ember with his heel. But he said nothing, merely looking to the Mohawk inquiringly.
"There are two tens of men," reported the Keeper briefly. "The Pike is their chief. Their lodges are old. The Yellow Lily is there, also a woman of the Chippewas. One of their young men I met, gathering wood."
He touched his robes, as if beneath them lay something concealed. Radisson's words told me what that something was. The old man spoke quite as a matter of course.
"Then The Keeper will have another scalp to hang in the smoke of his lodge. Think you they saw the reflection of our fire?"
The Mohawk shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. The two might have been discussing the weather or the stars for all the emotion they displayed, instead of the vital danger which threatened us all. And now I began to feel that the disdain expressed by the two Mohawks was not groundless. They were of another race than the chattering Crees and Chippewas. They seemed to hold themselves aloof, as if theirs was the heritage of more than these other men might comprehend. And truly I think it was, for there was in the whole bearing of The Keeper a great grimness, like unto the grimness of Fate, and at times since I have wondered if he could have seen some hint of what his end was to be.
We were now in darkness, save for the rising gleam of the fires in the sky. It seemed that Radisson and the Mohawk intended to wait until later in the night before they stole down to rescue Ruth. The cold was now intense, but despite my shiverings I saw that both Radisson and the Indian were listening to something that I could not hear. From the trees below rose a long wolf-howl, answered faintly by the voices of the Chippewa dogs.
"That was a poor cry, Keeper," and Radisson rose to his feet noiselessly. Then the snow crunched and crackled, and I saw the two slipping into the long shoes. One by one the guns were examined and primed afresh, and Radisson turned to me.
"We will steal down and wait, lad. Do you come to the crest of the ridge, there to cover our retreat if need be."
Picking up the extra guns, I donned my snowshoes and we stepped forth from the shelter of the niche in the cliffs. Out to the north the sky was just beginning to blaze in the spirit-dance, and the faint glimmer of light among the trees betokened a campfire, while behind us rose the gaunt, bleak cliffs. To right and left in a long curve swept the bare-blown, bowlder-strewn ridge, and for a moment we stood watching.
On a sudden The Keeper whirled about, and as he did so I heard a sharp, clear note behind. Something struck me and bounded away from my furs, and even as the whistle of another arrow rang past, Radisson had flung me from my feet. A gunshot split the night, and another, and one lone, weird yell rose up.
"Cover, Davie, cover!" cried Radisson, slipping behind a bowlder. The Mohawk had clean vanished, but his voice quavered out in a single soul-rending war-cry such as I had never heard before. Then, gun in hand, I was crouching beside Radisson.
"That was poor aiming," he muttered. "They should have downed us at the first fire, or waited until—ah!"
Once more a musket spoke from the darkness, and the bullet crashed on the bowlder. Radisson fired instantly, then a choking cry came back to us. Now I realized that Gib had indeed seen our fire and with his cunning had surrounded us. Had he waited until daylight, we had never left that ridge alive, but doubtless the impatience of his warriors had overruled his craftiness.
"Wait here, lad," whispered Radisson as he reloaded, "while I seek The Keeper. We must not let daylight find us here."
If it did, it would find us frozen, I thought, while the arrows pattered around. No sign of any foe had I seen, but the blaze of the heavens began to light the dark face of the cliff as Radisson crawled away. Above, nestling against the face of the cliff, was a patch of drifted snow, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the light it seemed to me that across this a shadow moved.
I set my fusil in rest, and of a sudden my trembling hands grew firm again, as I drew a careful sight on that patch of snow. A shadow struck against it and wavered there, and in that instant I fired. While the long echoes of the shot died away on the farther cliffs, something crashed and was silent.
Before I could withdraw the gun, an arrow pierced my fur sleeve and quivered loosely in my arm. I jerked it away, for the hurt was but slight, and reloaded. Then came a shot from somewhere to my left, and again that long, heart-splitting yell of the Mohawk shrilled up. It was answered by two sudden shots, and catching up one of the spare guns beside me I fired at the flashes.