"I backed against the bowlder and shook them off, sending one sprawling with every blow.""I backed against the bowlder and shook them off,sending one sprawling with every blow."
This drew on me another shower of arrows, and a bullet that spat into the bowlder at my side and rebounded past my car. This had come from behind, and with a sudden fear I turned. As I did so a yell that seemed to come from the throats of devils rang through the night, and I saw a number of dark forms leaping upon me. With swift terror in my heart, I sprang up, forgetting the fusils at my feet, and met them with clenched fists. I saw a pale glint of steel and struck out with all my strength, shouting aloud for Radisson. Then my fear dropped away from me as the first man went down beneath my fist, and I stepped forward, raging. The leaping, yelling demons seemed all about me, but I backed against the bowlder and shook them off, sending one sprawling with every blow. I caught the exultant voice of Gib, and leaped at a dark form ahead; catching him about the waist, I felt strength surge into me and heaved him high—then something came down on my head and I fell asleep with the sting of snow on my face.
I knew no more of what passed until I found myself lying on a pile of skins, my head throbbing painfully. Opening my eyes, I saw that I was lying beside a fire, while around me were Chippewas, and standing over me was my enemy.
"Awake, eh?" said Gib softly, in the old Gaelic, which he spoke with the Highland burr. There was an evil smile on his crafty face as I struggled to sit up. For a wonder, I was not bound, which I suppose he did not deem necessary.
"You are a troublous fighter, MacDonald," he sneered. "But with the great Radisson dead, you will have hard work to squeeze out of this pocket of mine."
"Radisson—dead?" I echoed dizzily. The shock of it cleared my head and I looked up at him. "You lie, Gib o' Clarclach! No dog such as you could slay Pierre Radisson! His fate lies in higher hands than yours!"
"So?" he snarled, sudden rage whelming in him. Swiftly, he reached out and kicked me with a vicious foot. I gathered myself together, but brown hands gripped me and held me there helpless, while he raved wildly in his madness. And by that I knew that he had lied, and that Radisson was not dead. So I laughed at him as they bound me hand and foot.
More than one of his men seemed wounded beneath their furs, and beside the fire lay two silent warriors. We were in the center of the group of lodges, and as there were but half a score of men around me, I gathered that the rest were scattered through the trees on watch. There was no sign of Ruth, and with that I set myself to taunt mine enemy, speaking in the Cree which all his men doubtless could understand.
"You are a fine leader of men, my brother! Well were you called The Pike—crafty, cowardly warrior who shuns the shallow water! See, in our village lies your chief Soan-ge-ta-ha, while our women laugh at him, and in the snow lies one of his young men, dead. The Cree knives are sharpened, my brothers, and with them are the knives of Radisson, the White Eagle, and of his friends, the Brothers of the Thunder." For this was the name by which the two Mohawks went in all that north country.
My words, as they were designed, sent a swirl of rage through the Chippewas, who with a growl turned on Gib. But he, the crafty one, appeased them swiftly.
"Brave Heart is not hurt, my brothers," he cried. "My medicine tells me that he is even now on his way to join us. As for you, Brave Eyes, you lie. The White Eagle has no men with him—only the tall Mohawk chief."
"Yes, mayhap," I answered, "but these twain are more than a match for your Chippewa women. You stole upon our village, and what gained you? Only one poor captive. It was a great raid, worthy of The Pike, and you have paid for it dearly with your chief and your young men. And the White Eagle is sharpening his claws, my brothers—out there in the night somewhere."
My words reached them, and more than my words. For barely had I finished, when the darkness was split asunder by a musket-shot. The man beside Gib whirled about and fell into the fire.
"Scatter!" foamed Gib, raging. "Scatter and slay the White Eagle, fools! Out with the fire!"
The embers were dashed over the snows instantly, and under his rapid orders the band vanished. Two of them remained to lift me, and they carried me to the door of one of the lodges, a little apart from the rest. Gib flung away the flap, and by the light of the lodge-fire inside I saw the pale, frightened face of Ruth.
"What means this intrusion?" she demanded in French, not seeing me. "I thought we were to remain unmolested!"
The scoundrel tendered her a low, mocking bow, and stepped aside to show my figure, as the two braves flung me at her feet. She gave but a little frighted cry, and stood facing him.
"A meeting of old friends, Mistress de Courbelles." It was the first time I had heard Ruth's name from other than the lips of Radisson. "How could I separate such dearly loved ones? See, I bring you a visitor of great value, and ere long you will have others. So I bid you good-even."
With this he bowed again and was gone. Outside came his voice giving sharp orders, and all was still. But Ruth sprang forward and was on her knees beside me.
"My poor Davie!" she cried, lifting my head in her arms. "Some water, Laughing Snow!"
From out the shadows moved the figure of a Cree woman—a sister of Uchichak's, whom the Chippewas had carried away to care for Ruth. She brought water, and the two of them bathed my wounded head, where I had been struck down from behind. As they did so, I told them all that had passed.
"It was the night after you and The Crane left for the hunt," Ruth told me, "that the Chippewas came. For a little while the old men held them off, which gave most of the women time to flee. I had just left my lodge to find the cause of the shouting when Gib's party broke through. They seized me, set fire to the lodges, and were gone again. Oh, they treated me kindly enough, Davie, but—but I cannot bear that smiling, evil face of Gib!"
"Be not afraid, sister," spoke out the Cree woman, stolidly. "The Crane is a great warrior, and his men must be very near. These Chippewa women will flee before him like leaves before the wind of autumn."
"Yes, I think that Gib's plans were all upset by Brave Heart," I tried to reassure the little maid bravely enough. "But for him, and for the Mighty One, we had never been here, Ruth. As it is, the Swift Arrow will bring Uchichak and his men."
"We have been foolish," declared Laughing Snow bitterly. She went on to tell us how, years ago, it had been rumored that men lived in the Ghost Hills. By piecing together the fragments of Radisson's tales and this of hers, Ruth and I gathered that Gib o' Clarclach had maintained a sort of robber band in these dreaded hills in the old days, when French and English were at war on the Bay. Gib had afterwards, when Radisson dwelt in England, made the journey from the Canadas with d'Iberville and his raiders, and had guided them to the English posts when the French swept them clean. The villain had served both sides, lending himself wherever the more gain promised, and the Cree woman prophesied that once these things were known in the land, her people would make a war on the Chippewas that would go down in fable long afterwards. So indeed they did, but these things came in after years and have no part in this my tale.
There was little sleep for us that night. We had all rested during the day, I high on the ridge, and Ruth in the lodge, for the trip had been a hard one. The two women told how they had come through deep gorges, like those by which we had followed the Mighty One, and how they had given up all hope of rescue.
Now came something which has ever left a great wonder in my mind—one of those turns of chance which come in the most desperate straits. For, when my bonds had been removed, Ruth took from its skin wrappings a little book and showed it to me.
"I found this in the lodge," she said slowly. "Look upon the title-page, Davie, and see if I have been dreaming or not. It seems very hard to believe."
The book was a little leather-bound Bible. As the Cree woman put a flare of birch on the fire, I held it to the light and opened it. There in faded ink were words written, and I copy them from the Book which lies before me as I write. They were in the Dutch tongue, and as follows:
"To Hendrik, to bear with him always in the desert places, that he may make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God. From his beloved wife. A.D. 1605."
And under this, in a firm writing that bespoke strength, were the English words, "Henry Hudson, his book." I stared again, scarce crediting the thing, then looked up to meet the grave, fearful eyes of Ruth. We had both heard the story many a time—how the bold sailor had been set adrift in an open boat, with his son and a few faithful ones, and how they had vanished. Just a century since, 1610, had this thing taken place, and no word had ever come to England of Henry Hudson, through all the years between.
"Then," I almost whispered, "think you that this was really his? How came it here?"
"It speaks for itself," and Ruth dropped beside me and fingered the Book reverently. "Think of it, Davie! In the midst of the wilderness, in the midst of foes, to come into an empty lodge and find this thing! Does it not seem like a message of faith and hope?"
"As to that," I responded, "like enough. But I was thinking on the marvel of it, Ruth. It must even be that Hudson, who was thought to have perished in the waters of the Great Bay, escaped to land. Else how could this Bible have come here? How could Gib have obtained it? Perhaps from the Indians."
With this I turned to Laughing Snow and questioned her closely. But she disclaimed all knowledge of the Book, and said that never before the coming of Radisson had white faces been seen in the northern lands.
For a time we discussed the wonder, failing to gain any information from the Cree woman, but my bandaged head hurt painfully, and after the first surprise I leaned back, faint and weak. Then Ruth took the little volume, warped and stained with time and sea-water, and read to us aloud. As she read, she translated into Cree for the benefit of the other.
I was quite content to lie silently and gaze at her. Very beautiful she seemed there in the faint fire-glow, which tinged her golden hair with ruddy hues and likened her grave, sweet face with the rise and fall of the flames. Her heavy beaver-skins were laid aside, and her inner dress of soft doeskin was decorated with the beautifully marked neck-skins of loons, which Radisson had brought her. Porcupine quills and shell beads fringed her moccasins, while at her throat gleamed that same little gold brooch which had led us so far and brought upon us so much trouble.
Through all our journeys I had kept by me that stained and torn fragment of my father's Bible, and when she had done I wrapped it up again in the skin with the volume that had been Henry Hudson's, and gave them into the keeping of Ruth. Barely had we settled back when the skin flap was pushed aside, and once more Gib o' Clarclach entered.
"I would have some speech with you, David," he announced, no longer smiling, but purposeful and shrewd. Closing the door to keep out the cold, he seated himself on some skins and stared at me across the fire. I made him no answer.
"My young friend, these Chippewas of mine, I keenly regret, are not used to the customs of civilized war. Yet they are far ahead of your Mohawk friends, whom I have seen tie their captives to a tree and build a fire round about. These Chippewas have another method, which is quite as effective; for instead of a fire, they shoot arrows until the victim is like a porcupine with his quills erect. Then they shoot for the heart."
"Well, have on your murderers," I replied, knowing well that he dared not for the sake of Soan-ge-ta-ha. "Methinks their chief will suffer if I do."
"That is exactly the trouble, my bold young friend," he answered me. "Personally, it matters little to me what becomes of the chief, for he disobeyed my orders. But his warriors take another view of the situation. They would have me be fool enough to turn you loose so that their chief may be restored to them."
"Then they may save their worry," I shot back bluntly enough. "If you want Brave Heart, give the maid here back."
"Ah, that is impossible," his suave answer irritated me the more. "For her, we are to receive many fine gifts at the Post—beads and powder and blankets and—other things. No, I deeply regret that I am unable to meet your just demand. But on the other hand, as I was about to propose, unless you consent to parley with Radisson for the return of the chief, my warriors will insist on using you as a target."
Ruth stared at him with frighted eyes, but I knew well enough that the man spoke in deadly earnest. Could I have had my way of it, I would have bade him do his worst; but a little hand fluttered down to my wrist, and I could not withstand the unspoken appeal of Ruth.
"Have it your own way, then," I growled. "I suppose you would have me seek my friends at once?"
"Not till the day, sweet sir," smiled the scoundrel. "My men are all about, and there is no danger of your two or three eager friends inflicting any more damage. I do not quite understand how you got in here, unless you were hunting—no, that could not be either."
He fell to musing, staring at me, whereat I laughed harshly.
"It was no hand of man led us here, Gib o' Clarclach, make sure of that."
"Then we will even ascribe it to the foul fiend," and he got to his feet. "Good-even for the last time, mistress!"
When he had gone we sat silent, all three. Presently the Cree woman fell asleep in her corner and the fire slowly died down to a dim red glow, while Ruth and I sat hand in hand. On the morrow, it seemed like, I would go forth and bargain for my worthless skin, leaving her in the hands of our enemies. Bitterly I cursed myself for a faint-heart, though I knew full well that ere long Uchichak and his warriors would turn the tide of affairs.
The long hours passed, and still I sat sleepless, Ruth having fallen half into slumber, her head resting against my shoulder. I was staring at the skin wall of the lodge, where it was lashed into the brush beyond, and was dreaming again of that terrible voyage and of its ending, when I started suddenly. The glow of the embers had seemed to strike a spark from the wall—a tiny point of light that moved across the skin!
In a moment I knew it was a knife-blade slitting the tough hide, whereat I brought Ruth wide awake. The skin seemed to fall apart in silence, and through it glared a horrible painted mask and staring eyes. Ruth clutched my arm, in fright, but a whisper came from the darkness.
"Brave Eyes! Come swiftly!" And I knew it for the voice of The Keeper.
It was Ruth who woke me from my stupid amazement, pushing me to my feet as The Keeper whispered again. How that crafty Mohawk had pierced the ring of Chippewas, I never knew, but his forest skill must have been far beyond theirs. I remembered the little buckskin bag of paint which always hung at his girdle, and knew that he must have prepared himself according to his own custom.
But my wits came back to me quickly enough, and I pushed Ruth forward to the opening, first stamping out the embers lest they betray us. As quietly as might be I helped her through the narrow slit, the Mohawk receiving us on the other side, and Grim following. Then we were standing in the shelter of a small fir, and for a wonder the skies were dark save for the eternal stars. I looked about for Radisson, but he was not to be seen.
"Come!" breathed The Keeper, leading the way through the snow. None of us wore snowshoes, but the crust was firm enough to support us, with the intense cold of those nights. There was no sound around us save the crackle of the frost as the trees creaked in the wind, nor was any fire visible.
Yet I knew that all about us were men watching and listening. It seemed hardly possible that we should win through to the ridge where I supposed that Radisson waited, but gradually we left the camp behind. Once we were beyond the circle of trees would come the danger, although the absence of the lights seemed to protect us somewhat. We went cautiously and slowly, and it must have been fifteen minutes before the trees thinned out around us.
Then, without warning, a sudden streamer of flame quivered and hung across the skies, and the lights were dancing, lighting up all things in grotesque shadow-gleams. I knew we were lost, even before a dark form bounded into the snow before us and a shrill yell went up that echoed across the night.
"Go!" exclaimed The Keeper in French, pushing Ruth ahead. "Run to the crest yonder, where White Eagle waits!" I sent Grim with a quick word also.
Ruth, with a little sobbing cry, obeyed, and the Mohawk flung himself in one great leap on the figure which was coming toward us. Steel flashed in the half-light and the two went down together. But other forms were yelling at our heels, and if Ruth was to be saved this was no time to run. We must hold them back for a moment or two.
The Keeper rose swiftly and put into my hand the heavy stone ax he had taken from the Chippewa. Then, gripping knife in one hand and tomahawk in the other, he waited at my side as the warriors came at us. Glancing around, I saw Ruth's dark figure vanishing over the snows toward the ridge; as I later learned, she thought we were close behind her, else had she never deserted us.
"Now, brother!" grunted The Keeper. "Back to back!"
With a swirl of snow the dark figures were on us. But the yells of rage turned to warning cries as that huge ax of mine swung up and down, and the lithe Mohawk used his two hands with the swiftness of a panther. They drew back, then came at us again; this time I knew the form of The Pike for their leader, and sprang out to meet him with my ax whirled aloft.
He avoided my stroke, leaping aside and stooping in the snow. Ere I could fathom his intent the others were upon me, pressing me back to the side of the Mohawk. They shrank before that crashing ax and swift tomahawk, and with each blow I caught an approving grunt from the old warrior beside me. We were ringed about with dark forms in the snow, silent and motionless, when I caught sight of Gib again.
Too late, I saw his aim. He had broken off a huge section of the snow-crust, and as I turned to meet him he flung the mass in my face, blinding me and sending me staggering. In vain did I strike out blindly, for hands gripped my throat and bore me back fighting furiously into the snow. I heard a single long yell from The Keeper, and as I went down saw a gleam of light dart from his hand. The tomahawk whirled into one of the men who gripped me, but it was of no avail. I was choked into helplessness and when something hit my wounded head, I knew no more.
Once again I wakened to find myself lying beside a fire, but now it was the broad daylight. My head scarcely pained, though my throat was sore where I had been gripped, and I was fast bound. With a turn of the head it was easy to see all that lay around.
At my side was The Keeper, in similar plight to mine, though his face seemed old and gray and sunken and his furs were red with frozen blood. He lay quiet, his eyes closed, but the sudden fear that he was dead departed when I saw the rise and fall of his breast. His painted face was hideous, yet could not mask the age and weakness and strength of the man; weak he was in body, wounded and spent, but his spirit was as strong as that of Pierre Radisson himself.
Sullen and cursing, the Chippewas were grouped about the fire. More than one of them lay helpless, or with rude-bandaged wounds, and all were eying the Mohawk and me with malignant ferocity. But Ruth was uppermost in my mind. Had she been saved? Or had The Keeper's sacrifice been vain?
Guessing from the sun, it was early morning. I looked across and up to the ridge of cliffs, and imagined that I could see a thin trail of smoke ascending. Whether it were my imagination or no, I could not tell for sure; still, the thought cheered me. At the least, Radisson must be safe, and of Ruth I would soon learn.
But the time dragged on, and by midday intolerable thirst consumed me. The Mohawk had by now come out of his swoon, and lay staring straight up into the sky, nor did I venture to bespeak him. Presently there was a stir about the fire, and from one of the lodges came Gib. Then he entered that wherein Ruth and I had lain, and came back to us with that little skin package which we had forgot in the haste of our flight. He unrolled it and laughed shortly. At a curt order from him The Keeper and I were brought up sitting, against a small hemlock. But when Gib had come to that torn cover of my father's Bible, his face changed horribly, and he flung the whole from him as if it burnt his hands—as very possibly it did.
"So, dog of an Iroquois," he snarled at The Keeper, his features convulsed with rage, "it is you whom I have to thank for the loss of men and captive, eh?Mort de ma vie! But you shall suffer for this, and speedily!"
So he raged, cursing in French, Gaelic and a dozen more tongues, while the Chippewas silently and grimly made ready their arrows and bows.
"You, MacDonald," went on Gib at length, "shall see what your fate will be if Brave Heart be not returned to us safe. As for the girl, I shall have her in the end—and would have her back here ere this, but there is no place she can flee to, and my men are athirst for revenge."
From which I judged shrewdly enough that the Chippewas had refused to face the fire of Radisson from the ridge, after my fall, and that Ruth had escaped to him. This was mightily cheering, and now I cared not what took place, since the little maid was safe.
At word from Gib, two or three of the Chippewas sprang forward and pulled The Keeper to his feet, loosing his bonds and mine and casting off his furs until he stood naked to the waist. The old warrior was scarred with new wounds and old, and I judged that he had not gone down in last night's struggle without giving more than one deathblow. His sinewy bronze figure drew a look of admiration from the surrounding warriors, and when the power of movement was restored to him he quietly leaned over and picked up the little Bible which had been Henry Hudson's.
"So," sneered Gib at this, noting also the emblem of the Cross that hung around the neck of the old Mohawk, "you are of the faith of the blackrobes, Iroquois? Say, will you not accept life and a chieftainship among the Chippewas?"
Before The Keeper could reply to the Cree words, one of the other warriors stepped forth and spoke in the same tongue.
"Old man, you are a brave warrior. Last night you fought well. Beside the fire lies my older brother. His squaw will mourn for him. You shall take his place at our councils, and be a chief among us."
Quiet scorn flashed into the proud, haggard face of the old man, but he said no word, and once again Gib taunted him with his creed.
"Give up that thing about your neck, Iroquois, fling that book into the snow, and you shall be a great man among us and saved from the torture. How say you? What avails your faith now? Is it stronger than Chippewa arrows? Can it break the Chippewa bows?"
The Keeper turned and faced him. Into the stern old features had crept a light that seemed unearthly, and he looked at Gib as though he had seen some other behind him, so that more than one of the warriors glanced about uneasily. Still holding the Book, the old Mohawk answered slowly, unheeding the bitter cold in his fresh wounds.
"Still holding the book, the old Mohawk answered slowly, unheeding the bitter cold in his fresh wounds.""Still holding the book, the old Mohawk answered slowly,unheeding the bitter cold in his fresh wounds."
"The Pike is a great warrior. He was among the Iroquois many years ago. He has seen how warriors of the Five Nations die, and the sight has frightened him. He has fled to the Chippewas, and has put on the robes of a squaw. He asks me, the Keeper of the Eastern Door of the Long-house, Ta-cha-noon-tia, if my faith is stronger than Chippewa arrows! Listen, my brothers.
"I am very old. I am on my last war-trail, and I can see that it is almost ended, and I am glad. But in the snow beside The Pike there is a trail. What is that which stands behind you, my brother? What is that which waits at your shoulder and breathes upon your cheek?"
At the words Gib, who had listened as though through force, flung about, but there was no man beside him. Then from the Chippewas went up a little gasp, and following their eyes I saw a track across the snow, from the woods leading toward the ridge, which passed close to us and right behind Gib. The track was that of the Mighty One, the giant moose, and I realized that The Keeper was taking advantage of every chance that offered.
But Gib laughed harshly. "The Keeper is right. He is on his last trail, unless he casts away the book in his hand, and quickly."
"Listen, my brothers, while I tell you a story." At this I saw Gib start as if to protest, but a swift glance at the Chippewas showed that he could not hurry them. They were absorbed in watching The Keeper, and although their admiration for him would in no degree lessen their cruelty, they wished to lose nothing of his words or deeds, for they knew that he was a greater man than they. He spoke slowly, quietly, his weak voice growing stronger as he went on.
"Long ago, when I was a young warrior without a scalp, a man came among us. He wore a black robe. He was a white man, and his words were sweet in our ears. He told us that the Great Spirit had sent him among us to tell us that there should be peace and not war in the land.
"My brothers, our old men have told us that once the hero Hiawatha banded together five nations in a silver chain of peace. These are the five nations of the Iroquois. No tribe can stand before us—not even the white men have overcome us. But we have forgotten that we formed a league of peace, and our arrows are very sharp.
"We listened to the blackrobe, but we did not believe that the Great Spirit had sent him to us. Our medicine men were very angry at him. Then there came a plague upon us, and many of our warriors died in the villages. The medicine men said that the blackrobe had brought the plague upon us, and our young men cried out that he should be killed.
"My brothers, you do not know how to torture. You are women. We took the blackrobe to a stake and builded a fire around him. Before we lit the fire I jeered at him, and asked him if his Great Spirit was stronger than our arrows, stronger than our fire."
There was dead silence, for The Keeper was holding his audience by the sheer force of his words, and the Chippewas were rapt in his story.
"My brothers, he answered that his faith was greater than our fire or our tomahawks. We were very glad, for we knew that he would die like a warrior. I myself set the fire around him, but he seemed to feel no pain. He gazed up at the sky and spoke to the Great Spirit as the coals fell upon him, so that we became afraid. And, my brothers, before he died we heard him ask the Great Spirit to bless us and not to take vengeance upon us. Then in truth we knew that his faith was greater than our fire, and that his Great Spirit had blunted our arrows. In the next year I went to seek out the White Father, and there I learned to know the Great Spirit, and I placed his token about my neck.
"My brothers, you have heard my story. You have asked me to deny the Great Spirit, but He has whispered to me that He is stronger than your bows and sharper than your arrows. I am sore wounded, and the end of the trail appears before me, my brothers. I have killed many of your young men, who shall journey with me on the ghost-trail to find the Great Spirit. And when I find Him I will ask him to bless you.
"Brave Eyes," and for an instant the stern voice faltered, as The Keeper turned to me, "carry this book to White Eagle, my father, and tell him that the Chippewas are women. Tell him that Ta-cha-noon-tia was a great warrior, and that I will wait for him on the Ghost-trail. Tell the Great Swift Arrow, my brother, that I will wait for him also. Tell them that we have traveled long together, and that the Great Spirit has whispered to me that He will not separate us for long. My brothers, I have spoken."
Handing the Bible to me, The Keeper turned and folded his arms calmly. For a moment the Chippewas were held under the spell of his words, then a word from Gib wakened them. With all respect they led The Keeper to a large tree outside the lodges, and bound him fast.
But as for me, I buried my head in my arms, and sobbed—great, dry, choking sobs that I could by no means check nor hinder, and cared not who saw them. For I was alone and helpless, and the bitter agony in my heart was well-nigh unendurable.
So passed Ta-cha-noon-tia, the Keeper of the Eastern Door—and never in all the North was there a passing which so truly deserved the name of martyrdom.
I do not think that this triumph of The Pike was greatly to his liking, after all. That speech of The Keeper had staggered him, and I caught him more than once, in the hours that followed, gazing steadfastly at the track of the Mighty One across the snows. How that track came there I know not; the moose must have passed from the forest to the ridge during the night without being seen or heard, which was like enough.
So I sat there alone, my head upon my arms, until the thudding of the arrows had ceased and a single yell from the Chippewas told me that it was finished. No word or groan had the Mohawk uttered, and the warriors laid him down beside their own dead and covered him with his robes in silent respect.
Gib had stood at my side, watching in stony silence all that passed, and at the end he turned and strode away, entering one of the lodges. The Chippewas left me to myself, hovering near and conversing in low tones. The death of the martyr had cast a gloom over the day, and I saw the Cree woman, Laughing Snow, moving about among the lodges. For some reason she had not accompanied us in that mad flight, but I spared little thought on her. I was too full of my grief and rage, for him who had died.
So dragged away an hour or two. Then Gib reappeared and said somewhat to his men, who bestirred themselves promptly. I gathered that with the first darkness they would make an attack on Radisson to recover Ruth from him, and misdoubted me much that he could hold the ridge single-handed, or even the pass itself. It was not to be altogether as Gib had planned, however, for before the afternoon had gone a murmur of amazement from the Chippewas awoke me from my lethargy. Glancing up, I saw a single figure advancing over the snows from the ridge. Halting midway to us, it stopped and held up both hands, and I recognized Radisson.
Now, at the time, there were only some eight or nine warriors in camp, the others having gone forth at Gib's command to bring in some fresh meat. Had the others been here, that which took place had been next to impossible. Gib strode out and shouted to Radisson to come forward without fear, assuring him of safety, then he turned back with a swift word.
"Bind that white man's hands and gag him," was his order, and the Chippewas obeyed. In a moment I was trussed and gagged, while Gib flung another blanket over the still form of The Keeper. That he was up to some deviltry I guessed, but could not fathom his purpose.
Radisson slapped along over the snows, and presently came up to us. He was unarmed, and as he paused I could see his keen eyes searching as if for someone who was not visible. It took no great thought to guess who that someone was, and I thought he looked puzzled.
"Greetings, my brothers," he said courteously enough, paying no heed to me, but striding to the fire and warming himself. The Chippewas replied in kind, and Gib smiled craftily.
"Has White Eagle come to surrender himself?" returned the renegade softly.
Radisson smiled. "Nay, but to demand surrender," was his cool retort, and he turned to the Chippewas, disdaining to speak with Gib. "My brothers, the end is near. The Great Spirit is fighting against you. See, he has led me through the hills by a secret path, and there on the ridge are gathered the Cree warriors. They were very eager to send their arrows to you, and I cannot restrain them much longer."
This created a little stir among the Chippewas, but still Gib smiled his sneering smile.
"My brothers, last night you captured Brave Eyes and one of the Brothers of the Thunder. The Yellow Lily was drooping in your hands, and she has fled to us. If I let loose my warriors, upon you, they will eat you up and stamp you into the earth as the herds of bison stamp the grass. But return me your prisoners, and we will go in peace."
My heart gave a bound of joy. So the Crees had arrived with Swift Arrow! But Gib replied calmly enough.
"White Eagle, I am not like the fool Englishmen whom you captured in their forts single-handed in years past. I have not seen your young men, or heard the sound of their war cries."
Radisson turned and pointed out toward the westering sun that was turning the snow and hills and trees to crimson and purple. A guttural exclamation rose from the warriors, and Gib's smile faded away; for there we saw plainly a dozen dark figures wending toward us and dark against the sun.
"Your road to the west is cut off," continued Radisson. "Your escape is impossible. The warriors of Talking Owl have gathered against you, and if you would not be overwhelmed at once, you must act quickly. These young men come to join us, and there are others behind them. Say, my brothers, will you release your captives or no?"
Beneath the stolid calm of the Chippewas it needed no sharp eye to see that they were wild with fear. Gib's cunning tongue had failed him for once, and he could naught but gaze out at the little dots against the sun. They were still a mile or more away, and to detect more than that they were men was impossible. In that moment it seemed that Radisson had triumphed utterly, and the oldest of the Chippewas nodded gravely.
"My father White Eagle is a great warrior. If he will assure us that these men will do us no harm, will let us go in peace, and if he will not bring the warriors of Uchichak upon us, then he may take his captives. But Brave Heart must also be released."
"So it shall be," and I detected nothing of the anxiety that must have underlain Radisson's calm demeanor. "These men shall not harm you, my brothers, and those who are with me shall not attack you. Soan-ge-ta-ha shall return home in safety." Gib started to utter a bitter protest, but the Chippewas waved him into silence, and pulled me to my feet, shoving me forward to Radisson. He drew out his knife to cut my bonds, and asked after The Keeper. It was Gib who made answer, accepting the situation.
"The Mohawk is out with some of our young men, Radisson. He will be back shortly, and he shall join you then. Brave Eyes must remain as he is, lest he attack us, for he is strong."
For an instant Radisson hesitated, and a swift flash of disappointment ran over his stern face. Then it came to me that he must have played a desperate game, and vainly I strove to warn him. The flimsy excuses of the renegade seemed to be accepted, however, for without a word he stepped forward and led me away, none hindering.
When we had gone a hundred yards from the camp he whipped out his knife, gave one quick glance to the west, and cut through my bonds.
"Run for it, lad!" he cried. "Some of the Chippewa hunters have met the others—we are lost unless we break away to the ridge!"
I did not pause to question him, but ran. For a moment I thought we would be safe enough, but the Chippewas must have been watching that party to the west also, for we had barely started when from the camp behind went up a shrill yell of rage, and I heard Gib's shout.
I knew without his telling me that he had tried for one of those audacious coups which had made his name famous, even as Gib had said. The Crees had not arrived; the party to the west was the party of the Chippewas who had been left to guard the retreat, and who for some reason had come on to join Gib. Had the hunters from the camp not met them, in plain sight of all, we had got clean away.
As it was, I was handicapped by having no snowshoes, but even so I could outrun the Chippewas, as I knew well. Then something whistled over my shoulder, and a gunshot rang out behind us, and another. Those Chippewas were well armed, doubtless from the post, and in their rage at being tricked so easily they spared no powder.
I dared not try to jump from side to side, nor could Radisson by reason of his snowshoes, so we plunged straight for the ridge. The bullets whistled past us and over, and I had just begun to rejoice that we had escaped, when I saw Radisson stagger heavily. Then came wild fear to me, and I reached his side and caught his arm in mine.
"'Tis naught, Davie," he muttered as he ran on, and shook me off. "We have distanced them—courage! Where is The Keeper?"
Before answering I glanced behind. The Chippewas had spread out, but were making no further effort to catch us. Another spurt of smoke darted out, and another bullet sang past faintly. A hundred yards farther on and we would be out of range, so I waited until we had gained it, with the ridge near ahead.
"The Keeper is dead," I answered him bluntly enough. "They shot him to death with arrows at midday."
Radisson stopped short and turned a stricken face to me. Terrible was that face, unbelieving my tidings, yet with fear and horror stamped upon it. The old man staggered as he stood, swaying back and forth, but his eagle-eyes were never brighter and keener.
"Dead? The Keeper dead?" he repeated hoarsely. In a few words I told him all that had passed. He bowed his head slowly, and two great tears trickled down over his beard, but no more. When he raised his countenance again I scarce knew it, so deep-sunken was it all in a moment, so ghastly pale.
"Come, Davie," he muttered as if his spirit had broken beneath the weight of sorrow. "Swift Arrow has not yet arrived. We are in bad case, and—and—I am hard hit."
I caught him with a cry of grief, but he gathered himself together and once more we went on. My mind was in a whirl, for I knew the old man was wounded and badly, yet I was thinking more of his terrible grief than of his wound. And so we came to the ridge again, and when we reached bare rock Ruth sprang forward and into my arms, Grim leaping up on me.
"Davie—Davie!" she cried, sobbing, then lifted her face to mine. I held her for an instant, and kissed her on the brow. But as I looked across her shoulder to Radisson I bethought me that he was hurt, and so I loosed her again and would have gone to him, but he stopped me.
"Listen, David! My strength is sore spent—we must leave this cranny in the rocks for the mouth of the pass, for with the darkness the Chippewas will be upon us. Stop not for talking, lad, but catch up the muskets and powder and hasten!" he said.
Seeing that it was useless to irritate him by not obeying, I loaded myself with the weapons and horns of powder, Ruth helping me bind on my snowshoes. Radisson stood, swaying a little, but gazing at the rock walls above as if searching for aid. We set out, Ruth at his arm, and wended beneath the cliffs toward the mouth of that valley of shadow through which we had come hither, striking a path through the great bowlders strewed around while Grim followed sedately. I cast watchful glances down toward the camp, but Gib seemed to be waiting for his hunters and for that second party before he moved on us. On a sudden the old wanderer paused, and his voice rang out as firm as ever.
"Look! The Mighty One has come again to lead us!"
And there in the snow were the tracks of that gigantic moose, fresh and new-made, and leading toward the mouth of the valley! We followed them as speedily as might be, and in ten minutes more the great rock walls had towered above and closed us in. Ruth had come to my side now, and she pressed close to me in fear.
The track suddenly turned away from those old tracks of ours, to one side of the rocks. Without hesitation Radisson followed, until we came to where the moose had milled around and around in the snow, possibly to make a bed—but as Radisson firmly believed, to point us to something. And great fear came upon me when Ruth gave a little cry and showed a long, narrow cleft in the black rocks at our side.
"Said I not that he was leading us?" cried Radisson triumphantly. "It is a cave, lad! There we can stand off the Chippewas as long as need be. Forward!"
I took out flint and steel, kindled my tinder, and presently had a roll of birch flaring. Above stretched that cleft in the granite, silent, black, grim with unseen terrors. I led the way gingerly enough, for the passage seemed to zigzag before me, as if some giant hand had smitten into the heart of the cliffs.
Then I paused abruptly, holding my flare high, as the passage opened out. Surely, it was a cave—small, but large enough to hold us in comfort. The room was a dozen feet across and at my feet lay a little store of wood as if someone else had been there, while skins were piled in the corner. My torch sputtered, and I swiftly lit the pile of sticks, which flared up instantly, flickering in a draught. Then at the far end of the chamber I saw a second opening, smaller than the first, and clad in darkness.
"We have an hour," muttered Radisson thickly, as he sank down upon the skins. "What is this place?"
"Let us tend your wound first," I besought him, whereat Ruth gave a little cry and came to his side.
"Oh, are you hurt?" she exclaimed softly, catching his head as he sank back. "Where is The Keeper?"
"He has gone before me," returned Radisson with more strength. "Nay, let be, lass. You can do me no good now, for I have come to the end of the trail. Eat of the food that is left, both of you; we will have need of all your strength ere morning, lad."
We obeyed him, while Ruth heard the story of The Keeper's passing, and wept as she ate until the tears choked her. Radisson spoke, dry-eyed and smiling, with Grim curled at his side.
"Lad, see what lies in that farther chamber, for it has taken strong hold on my mind."
Willing to humor him, I caught up a burning stick and went to the entrance, which was about mine own height. All was dark beyond, until I turned a sharp corner of the rock. I near dropped the light, and my heart leaped in fear, for a great bearded face was staring out upon me! Then I knew all.
Staring from across a rude table where it sat, was the figure of a man—in one hand an ancient pistol, in the other a quill, with paper before it. Upon the table sat a keg, with the word "Hudson" painted on it, and I needed not to look at that high brow encased in the frozen drippings from the rock above, to know that here had been the ending of Henry Hudson.
"What is it, Davie?" called the soft voice of Ruth, awaking me from my horrified stupor.
"Wait," I made hoarse answer, still dazed by my startling discovery. Looking closer at that figure before me, I saw that it was as if cased in ice, and as something splashed on my neck I knew that the rock-drippings from above had covered it. With trembling fingers I wiped the sweat from my brow, then caught at the sheet of paper before me and incontinently fled.
The horror of it unnerved me, and must have shown in my face. Gradually I told the others of what I had seen, and Radisson started up on his elbow, his old face alight with a great amazement and joy.
"The paper, lad—the paper!" he cried out. "Hendrik Hudson—ah, but this is the greatest discovery of all! Naught matters now—for I have goodly company on the Ghost-trail! Read the paper, lad!"
I held down the dry paper—for it seemed to have escaped those drippings, by some trick of Fate—to the light, and with Ruth peering over my shoulder made shift to read the words written there in English. It was in the same hand which had written in the Bible, and the two lie here before me now. It seemed to be one of other sheets, for at the top it was numbered in Roman.
"XIshall beeware how you doe deal my Truste. In Time shall come Them of mine own Race, to whom doe I graunt all thyngs Herein. This bee a rich laund & worthe ye keeping for Britain. Soe now farewell. I grow weak.Henry Hudson."
I looked up from the paper amazed, and met the exultant eyes of Radisson fixed upon me. The old man clutched at the scrap and held it to him fiercely.
"Radisson has won again!" he exclaimed, his dark eyes shining bright. "I have found a new country and with it Henry Hudson—ah, get you outside, lad! Take the fusils with you, and keep guard! I had forgot our danger, and the night must be coming on. They will trail us here, for The Pike must know the place. Yet it is strange that he knew naught of the passage through the hills behind!"
I loaded the fusils afresh and left him in the care of Ruth. When I gained the entrance to the cave I saw that it must have fallen dark outside, yet the mouth of the passage from the ridge was lit by the fires in the sky, which seemed faintly ablaze. As I set down the guns and drew my furs about me, shivering in the bitterness of the cold, I was thankful that at least I was sheltered from that great wind that tore down through the gap moaning and shrieking.
Where had that moose-track come from? It seemed hard to believe that the mighty animal had passed from woods to ridge, and so on into the passage without having been seen by any. Yet it must have been even so, for the trail was a fresh one, and I wondered at the thing.
With it all I was mightily afraid, nor hesitated to admit it to myself. The death of The Keeper had been a great shock to me, and the finding of Hudson, the mere knowing that his earthly form lay in that cave behind me, was horrible. The fearsomeness of that passageway through the cliffs, lying so dark and ghostly in front of me, added in no small degree to my shakings of soul.
And to cap all, Radisson lay stricken mortally. This I guessed from his manner of speaking and from the fact that he would not allow us to care for his wound. The great wonder of the whole thing, from the trail of the Mighty One to the martyrdom of the Mohawk, oppressed me, and I remembered how The Keeper had prophesied that he would not go on the spirit-trail alone.
Then I fell to thinking of Hudson. So the little boat had not been lost, as all men had thought, but had reached land. Who might know the tale of all that had happened? The stout seaman must have seen his friends and his son perish one by one, yet have struggled on to the west until he had come to the Ghost Hills and found there the rest denied him in life.
So I sat there half in dream, thinking bitterly on what was to be the end of it all. For myself I cared little, but I could not see Ruth in red hands. Why did not Swift Arrow and Uchichak arrive? Almost on the thought, it seemed that a dark shadow flitted down through the pass, whereat I caught up one of the guns and cried out.
"It is Ca-yen-gui-ha-no," came the voice of the Mohawk. "Where is my brother?"
"Here," I shouted, great relief in my heart, and had like to fling my arms about the tall old man as he clambered up to me. "But Uchichak—where are the Crees? We are in sore need, Swift Arrow!"
"They come," he grunted in surprise as he saw where I stood. "The Mighty One met us. I fired and drove him back. The Crees are slow. Swift Arrow came on quickly, and passed the Mighty One, who follows behind me."
He peered about, and I motioned him back into the cave, whither he vanished. A moment later there came a yell from the mouth of the gap, and I knew that the Chippewas were upon me. A number of dark shapes flitted across the opening, a hundred paces away, and I fired at one of these, the echoes rolling up and up in weird echoes of sound.
"Let my brother load," and Swift Arrow stood beside me again. "I will shoot."
Cheerfully enough I resigned my place to him. Now came two shots, and the bullets pattered on the cliffs behind. But to reach us the Chippewas would have to cross that open gully where lay the deep, hard snow, and even in the half-light from the closed-out skies their figures would show plainly against the white snow. And we had four guns, with a good store of powder and balls close to hand.
After those first shots, there came no sign of danger, but I knew that the cunning brain of The Pike would not rest idle for long. The Chippewas could not reach us from below without making a straight charge, which they would have little stomach for, and they could not get at us from above, since those high walls of granite could hardly be scaled.
Yet Gib solved the problem, for presently a musket roared over against us on the opposite side of the cliffs, and a bullet whistled into the cleft behind. There was no danger that those within the cavern could be injured, by reason of the twists in the passage, but the mouth of the cave where we lay could be raked easily enough, and the Arrow grunted.
"We must hit or be hit, Brave Eyes," and he laid his fusil in rest, aiming at the place whence had come the flash. A moment later it came again, but the Arrow fired almost with it. A single yell echoed up, and thereafter came no more shots from across the way.
"Think you they will try to rush upon us?" I whispered fearfully.
"They are women," he grunted disdainfully. "The Mighty One will scatter them."
"How mean you? Where is the moose?"
"He is near. The Crane will drive him before, and when he comes the Chippewas will scatter from before him."
Then I remembered what the Mohawk had first said, upon his arrival. He had met the moose traveling toward the open country, and had driven him back toward us, passing him later as he hurried on ahead of the Crees. But soon I had other things to bother my head with than the moose.
For as we lay watching, something came down from the skies and shattered on the rocks beside me. Feeling about, I found that it had been an arrow, and now we were in grave danger indeed. If we withdrew under the shelter of the cave, we would lose sight of that open gully beneath us; but if we lay there without covering above, the Chippewa arrows could descend full upon us. Gib was having his men shoot straight up, so that the arrows would fall with fearful force, and against such shooting we were defenseless.
They pattered down all around, shattering on the rock and yet seeming to miss us altogether. Before long the Mohawk, who had refused to listen to my word that we should seek shelter inside the cave and defend its mouth, began to chant something in a low voice that swelled louder and louder. A wild, barbaric chant it was, in words that I knew not, but ever and anon he would lift one of the fusils and shoot, though I could see no object at which to aim. When his chant died down again I asked him the meaning of it.
"I go on the Ghost-trail, my brother," he responded after a moment. "The Chippewa arrows are very sharp, and the Great Spirit has called me. I hear the voice of the Keeper of the Eastern Door. He asks me why I wait. I am waiting for my father the White Eagle, oh Ta-cha-noon-tia!" With which he trailed off into his own tongue once more and paid no further heed to me.
I knew not whether he had been struck with one of those falling arrows, for he had made no sign. A moment later he pressed a fusil into my hands.
"They come, brother! Be ready!"
I loaded it as rapidly as might be, but had not finished when a great yell went up from the darkness, and across the snow came the Chippewas—dark splotches that seemed to leap over the white ground.
The Arrow waited, and then when they seemed to be almost upon us, he began firing. One after another of the foremost figures went down, and I managed to get the first gun to him as he fired the fourth. Before that rain of lead the Chippewas broke and fled, but I heard the voice of Gib ring out, and knew that he was still unharmed. When the muskets were once more loaded, I left the ledge for an instant, and ran back to the cave, in order to reassure Ruth. I found her and Radisson just as I had left them, on the pile of skins, and although the fire had died down, there was plenty of wood in the cave from which to replenish it. In a few words I told them of the repulse.
"And Swift Arrow?" demanded Radisson quickly. "Why was he singing the death-chant? Is he also hurt?
"I know not," was my hesitating answer, and the tears could not be kept back—nor were they the tears of a boy. "He is waiting for you, he said."
"Ah! Then he will not have long to wait, methinks," Radisson breathed, holding the hand of Ruth. At sight of Grim I bethought me that he might well prove of service, and so I called him to follow me out to the front of the cave.
"Ready!" thrilled a sharp whisper from Swift Arrow, who had the guns close to his hand. Grim growled. This time the attack came with no forewarning until we saw the approach of the Chippewas, creeping stealthily forward through the snow. But as they came, arrows pattered around us from those behind, who covered their advance.
And this time, there was no stopping them. Five times did the Arrow fire, but then came a rush, and he had but time to draw his knife and put his tomahawk ready. I caught up one of the heavy fusils and swung it about my head, and then they were upon us—a mad swirl of men who seemed to spring out of the darkness and up the path to our ledge.
Now, when it came to hand-to-hand fighting, my great strength proved its worth. The Arrow had crawled to my side, and as only one or two men could reach us at a time, we managed to fling them back with gun-butt and tomahawk, while the shrill yell of the Mohawk rose madly over the shrieks of the Chippewas.
Time after time my heavy piece rose and fell, sometimes parried and sometimes not, while at my side glittered the steel of the old chief, rapid and deadly; but ever the voice of Gib urged on the warriors, and ever they pressed up that narrow path in mad resolve. On a sudden I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and the fusil dashed out of my hands against the rock wall as I staggered back.
An instant, and I had pulled out the knife with a shudder of pain, but that instant had been well-nigh fatal, for the Chippewas poured over us. Then, while I was still faint with the shock and the pain came Grim to the fore. Swift Arrow had risen to his feet, still plying his deadly steel desperately, when the great sheep-dog crouched and sprang, snarling and tearing in the midst of them beneath us.
The Chippewas fell back before him in wild affright, leaving two of their number at handgrips with us. One of these went down under the knife of the Mohawk; the other I seized by the throat and dashed back against the rock, where he lay silent. Then I whistled sharp and shrill, and Grim came back to me—bleeding and torn, but still not hurt unto death. So near had they come to taking us, that but for him we had assuredly perished.
But the Chippewas had not retreated far, and the evil tones of Gib showed me where he stood out there on the snow. The Arrow had fallen forward against the rock, helpless; when next they charged, his aid would be of no avail. And the blood was running fast from my shoulder, as I reloaded one of the weapons.
Gib was standing out in the center of the pass, and of a sudden I heard what seemed to be a bellow of rage, followed by a wild shriek from the Chippewas. Turning, I saw a mighty form leaping through the darkness—great horns outspread, giant shoulders rising high over the group of warriors, huge hoofs striking to right and left. In the dim light, I thought I saw Gib raise a musket, and for an instant the flash of it showed me the Mighty One himself, poised high in air as he leaped upon the terror-struck men.
Then all went dark again. One horrible, long-drawn shriek wailed out down the great cliffs as I raised my musket and aimed at the huge shape below, from which men fled every way. I fired, and saw it stumble forward over a smaller form in the snow; then I felt the faintness of my wound come upon me again, and had but strength enough to stagger back through the cave, meet the staring eyes of Radisson, and fall at the feet of Ruth. But as I fell, I heard from without the war-cry of Uchichak, and knew that the Mighty One had saved us; then I fell asleep, with the tongue of Grim hot on my cheek.
When I woke, it was in the midst of a grave silence. That may scarce mean sense, yet to the full it expresses the feeling that came upon me when I opened my eyes and looked about me. I was sitting against the cave wall, Ruth at my side, and Grim, his great honest dog's eyes full of pain, crouching and looking up at me.
Now the little cave was full of light and men—Uchichak and other chiefs of the Crees, who were standing silent before me, while the light smoke from the dry wood drove past us in the draught. Ruth was bathing my face with water, but I pushed her hand away. This silence among so many boded ill, and oppressed me strangely. I remembered Radisson, and sought for him through the crowding forms.
He was sitting against the wall, with the Swift Arrow at his side, their hands clasped. But, although the Mohawk was well-nigh gone, never had Radisson's face seemed happier, younger and nobler. Hope leaped into my heart that he had not been as sore stricken as we had thought.
Ruth helped me to my feet. We went over and sat beside him. His hand closed on ours, and he smiled kindly on Ruth.
"Well does the Great Swift Arrow deserve his name," he said softly, so that the dying eyes of the old chief lit up. "He brought Uchichak to us and sped on ahead of him, and so saved us all."
"Then you are not so badly hurt?" I exclaimed joyfully. Radisson chuckled, and made answer in his old rich, laughing voice.
"Hurt? Why, lad, I have triumphed! The Keeper, the Swift Arrow and I will travel the last trail together ere long, but see!" And he waved the paper of Hudson aloft as might a boy, then his eyes went to the Cree chiefs, and he spoke in their own tongue.
"My brothers, White Eagle goes upon the spirit-trail. But first he would tell you that in the days to come, white men shall arrive among you. Do not make war upon them, my brothers. They will trade with you for your furs, and will bring much good to you. Will you remember this?"
"We will remember," answered The Crane gravely, and a murmur passed around among the other chiefs. The head of Swift Arrow suddenly sank forward and his hand dropped from that of Radisson. The Mohawk had not waited.
Radisson's face never changed as he asked the Crees how the fight had gone, and if Gib had been slain, and then drew Ruth and me down to him while he waited the answer.
"My father," said Uchichak slowly, "the Crees did not fight, for the enemy had gone. The Mighty One had fought for us and scattered them. But—" and he hesitated an instant, "as we came near, a gun was fired from the cave, and lightning shot across the snow. When we had sought the Chippewas, we found the Mighty One lying dead, and beneath his hoofs was the form of The Pike."
Uchichak paused. With a little shudder I remembered how I had seen the giant moose uprearing and striking out with hoofs and horns, and how he had stumbled across a man even as I fired. Ruth was sobbing quietly on Radisson's shoulder, and the old wanderer addressed us in English.
"Children, do not grieve. I am an old man, and have lived through more than most men. As for Gib, he has perished by the hand of God, even as I foretold that he would. Now listen carefully.
"You, Ruth, are of right named Marie de Courbelles. It were best to visit Montreal and Quebec, for there live your father's people, though he is dead long since, and there you may obtain your inheritance, which is a goodly one."
Ruth sobbed out that she wanted none of it, whereat the old man petted her head and smiled on me suddenly.
"Davie, you will care for the little maid?"
"An' she will let me, I will," was my low reply.
"Then I shall pass happy," and Radisson sighed as if a burden was off his mind. "I would that you had the old Bible of which you spoke, lass. I would like to hear once more the story of those days Christ spent in the wilderness. It hath ever attracted me strangely—I would that my days had been set where I might have known Him!"
And as Radisson voiced the age-old wish of the world, I bethought me that I still had the packet which The Keeper had put in my hands, and so drew it out hastily.
"I have it here—read it, Ruth!"
The little maid took the Book with trembling hands. The translation was Englished by Wicliff, and when she had found the place she put it into French again for Radisson. He listened gravely, his head drooping while she read, the stately chiefs standing around in silent attention, though they understood it not. When it was finished he sighed again.
"Thanks, my daughter. Brave Eyes, help me to my feet, for I would fain look upon the face of Hudson ere I pass."
With The Crane, I helped him to gain his feet, and he leaned heavily upon us. I motioned Ruth not to follow, for that sight was none for her eyes, and so we led him through the inner passage to the second chamber where sat the great mariner in his eternal silence. The glow from our torch lit up his face, and Radisson sank down against the table.
"Henry Hudson and Pierre Radisson!" I heard him murmur. "It were a fitting ending, and a noble one!" Pulling himself up, he signed to us that we should help him back again, which we did, nothing loath. Uchichak was trembling when we reached the outer cave, for that man who sat with quill in hand had frighted him mightily. Yet Radisson had been more observing than I, for all his weakness.
"Davie," he said, more faintly, when he was again sitting upon the skins, "I wish that you do one more thing for me. When I have entered upon the spirit-trail, then carry me into that chamber and let me sit at the table over against Henry Hudson. Place there The Keeper and The Swift Arrow also, for such greatness is worthy them.
"That keg upon the table holds powder, I think. When we are placed, lad, do you set that keg of powder in the narrow entrance and—"
He went no farther, for Ruth fell upon his neck with a great cry. But he knew that I had understood, and that I would obey. Nothing could better show the fantastic, grim spirit of the old wanderer than this last desire of his—to be tombed in the living rock, with Henry Hudson and the two Mohawks beside him. Nor, as I think now, was it so mad a wish after all; for what better tomb could Pierre Radisson have, in all this land he had found and loved and given to the world?
Now, since we had to pass the night here at least, I had the body of Swift Arrow carried within the second chamber. The Crees had already formed a camp outside, and as Radisson wished to taste fresh meat once more before he passed—for we had gone hungry of late, through having brought little food with us—I went outside with Uchichak. The Cree camp was in a place sheltered from the terrific, howling wind, and as the fires in the sky had now risen high overhead and sent down a ghostly light into the deep gulch, I was enabled to see the Mighty One where he lay—for the Indians had not dared to touch him.
That last chance shot of mine had pierced through his heart, striking him just behind the shoulder and going true. And what a great beast he was! I had shot moose ere this, with my arrows, and had seen full many, but never so huge a beast as this Mighty One. Still beneath his great body lay Gib o' Clarclach, his evil face untouched and grinning its last defiant grin up at the sky which he had blasphemed.
In that moment I was glad that no blow of mine had laid him low. He had lived wrongly, and died wrongly. What a contrast between his death and that of The Keeper! Yet the white man was of a race which we call superior, he knew of things which the Mohawk had never dreamed of, he had had advantages which The Keeper could never have had—and he had lost his soul alive. Nay, I am not judging him, God forbid! It may be that even such as he are not without hope elsewhere.
Uchichak plucked up his courage and together we cut off the choicest portions of the giant moose and carried them over to the fires of the camp in the shelter of the walls. Many of the Crees had gone on to the lodges, there to rescue Laughing Snow and to await the coming of Talking Owl from the western pass.
When the meat was cooked I carried it back to the cavern, where we found Radisson as we had left him, and but for his weakness I had never known that he was hurt. He seemed to have become twenty years younger in an hour.
Only Uchichak and one of two of the older chiefs had remained with us. We all partook of the meat, and I even forced a portion upon Ruth, who was in sore need of it. She, poor girl, had little heart for eating, but managed to do well enough, as did we all.
"Now let us consider," said Radisson, to whom the meal had given strength. Not even when he was facing death would he give up planning. "How are you to reach home again?"
"We have no home," said Ruth sadly.
"Ayrby is sold, and we may not return."
"Tut, child," he responded. "I make no doubt you can get the farm back again, if so you wish. Once I am gone, neither English nor French will molest you. Indeed, you might make for the nearest post and there take ship for the colonies. I would have you visit Montreal, if possible, and there regain the inheritance which awaits you. There will be ships in the Bay from Boston, mayhap, who will set forth in the spring."
Straight upon this there entered four warriors who bore the silent form of The Keeper. Radisson demanded to look upon the face of his friend once more, and I would have drawn Ruth aside, but she would not. And when The Keeper's face was uncovered, I was glad that this was so; for the noble old face was strangely exalted and lit with a great beauty such as never in all my life had I seen. I cannot describe it fittingly, yet it was a memory that has ever-remained fresh and vivid—as if God's hand had touched the worn features lightly, ere they fell into the repose of death.
Then they covered him again and bore him into the inner chamber, where they stayed no longer than might be. The old wanderer, I could see, was now sinking fast, and his hand would tremble as it clutched mine and Ruth's. Presently he pulled from about his neck a gold medal—the same, it proved, that had been given him long years before by the English king, ere his shameful betrayal. This he pressed into Ruth's hand.
"Here, my daughter—keep this in my memory, and with my blessing. It is a poor thing to remember me by, and yet it is all I have; it is the sole trace of honor that has come to me for all my labors, and I would that you keep it alway."
"Oh, we need naught to remember—" began Ruth, but ended in a sob. Perhaps to check her grief, Radisson asked her to read to him from the Book, and so she took it up again and after a little began to read, while the tears ran over her cheeks. Whether by accident or by design she never told me, but the passage was that wherein the prophet met and spoke with his God upon the mountain.
I watched Radisson as she read, and saw his face light up, then the look passed into one of awe and wonder. Slowly his head bowed down, until I checked Ruth with my hand, for I thought that the end had come; but it was not so, for he signed to her to continue, and raised his head once more, looking up at the roof of the cave with startled eyes, as though he saw there more than the bare rock. And with that he stretched out his arm, and I helped him to his feet. He shook me off and took one step forward alone.
"Not in the whirlwind," he cried passionately, his voice ringing deep echoes from all around, "not in the whirlwind, O Lord, nor in the fire, nor in the storm have I found Thee! But in the—still—small—"
He swayed forward, all the life gone out of him suddenly, and when I lowered him to the skins I knew that Radisson had departed upon the spirit-trail. I signed to The Crane, and we carried him into the inner chamber and seated him across the table from Hudson. Then—for I knew that in the morning no power would tempt me to enter that room again—I carried out the keg, which proved to be nearly full of coarse, dry powder, and left it in the passage.