CHAPTER XIX.ANOTHER VISITOR.
That the redskins were making an attack in force on the stockade was my first and immediate conclusion, but it gave me no great uneasiness since I knew how stoutly we were protected. On second thoughts, however, I observed that the shots and yells—which were keeping up lustily—came from a considerable distance, and I began to suspect that something else was in the wind.
Meanwhile, I had not been standing idle. As soon as I heard the alarm I ran like a deer across the yard. It was the work of an instant to dash into the quarters and seize my musket. Then I sped on, with a great clamor rising from every part of the fort and armed men hastening right and left of me.
When I reached the gates, where a little group was assembled, no more than a minute could have elapsed since the outbreak. I passed on to the nearest watch tower—it was near by—and darted up the ladder which led to the second floor. Here there were good-sized loopholes commanding a view of the north and east fronts of the stockade. Half a dozen men were watching from them, and above their excited voices I heard the crack of muskets and the whooping chorus of savages.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “They are not attacking the fort?”
“No, not that, Carew,” cried one. “The redskins are chasing some poordevils who were bound here. Ah, they have turned on them! Plucky fellows!”
“Will you stand here, sir? Look yonder—quick!”
It was the voice of Baptiste, who was at one of the loopholes. He made room for me, and I peered eagerly out. The view was straight to the north, and what I saw turned my blood hot with anger.
Less than a quarter of a mile away, where the white, moonlit clearing ended at a narrow forest road running parallel with the river, the sorely-harassed little group was in plain sight—a sledge, a team of dogs, and three men kneeling on the snow. They were exchanging shots with a mass of Indians, who were dancing about on the verge of the timber, and were for the moment being held at bay. I could see the red flashes, and the wreaths of gray smoke against the dark green of the trees.
“They had better make a dash for it,” exclaimed Baptiste.
“Now is their chance.”
“We are all cowards,” I cried indignantly. “A party could have dashed out to the rescue by this time.”
“Just my opinion, Carew,” said a man named Walker. “But who was to give the orders? They must come from the factor. He’s down at the gates now, and plenty with him.”
“Then I’ll get his permission to go out,” I cried hotly. “Will you volunteer, men?”
But as I spoke—I had not taken my eyes from the loophole—the situation suddenly took a different turn. The Indians yelled with triumph, and I saw one of the three white men toss up his arms and fall over. At that his companions wheeled about, the one leaping upon the sledge, while the other ran toward the dog leader of the team.
“Only two left!” I shouted. “They are coming! Now for a lively race! God help them to reach the fort!”
“By Heavens, sir! they’ll get in if they are quick!” cried Walker, whowas on the other side of the tower. “Hawke knows what to do; he is opening the gates! The men are loading their muskets! They are bringing up the howitzer.”
His last sentence I scarcely heard, for I had already left the loophole and was scrambling down the ladder. The next instant I was at the double gates, one of which had been unbarred and thrown wide open. A dozen men were lined up on each side of the entrance, among them Menzies and the factor.
“Stand back,” Griffith Hawke shouted at me. “Keep the way clear!”
But I edged up to the front, where my view was uninterrupted. How my heart leaped to see the sledge gliding over the snow, the man inside and the one on snowshoes shouting at the plucky, galloping dogs! But they still had one hundred and fifty yards to come, not far behind them, whooping and yelling, firing musket and hurling tomahawks, were at least two score of redskins—the most of them on snowshoes. Crack, crack, crack! They seemed to be aiming poorly, for the sledge swept on, dogs and men uninjured.
“Be ready!” cried the factor: “make room there! The moment the sledge dashes in let the red devils have a volley—muskets and howitzer!”
What happened next, though it was all over in the fraction of a minute, was intensely exciting and tragic. The tower being high up, the men posted there were now opening fire; lusty cheers rose as we saw a couple of Indians go down in the snow.
Bang, bang! a hit this time. The man on snowshoes staggered, reeled, fell over. His comrade turned and shot as the sledge swept on—more than that he could not do. Whether the poor fellow was dead or living we never knew; but nothing mattered the next instant, for the foremost savages reached the spot, and there was the quick gleam of a descending tomahawk.
Fifty yards now to the stockade! In spite of the fire from the tower, the Indians bore on. They let drive another straggling volley, and with a convulsive spring in air, the leading dog of the team dropped dead. In a trice the rest of the dogs, pulled up abruptly, were in a hopeless tangle. The sledge dashed into them, grated sidewise, and tipped over, sending its occupant sprawling on the snow.
I gave the poor fellow up for lost, but his pluck and wits were equal to the emergency. He sprang to his feet, and without looking behind him or stopping to pick up his musket, he struck out for the fort. On he sped, running in a zigzag course, while the now halted Indians blazed away at him, and our men cheered and shouted.
“Watch sharp!” cried Griffith Hawke.
As he spoke the fugitive swerved a little, and ten strides brought him to the gates. He rushed safely past me, and staggered into the inclosure.
Already the baffled redskins had scattered in flight, but they were not to get off so easily. From the marksmen in the watch-tower and at the stockade loopholes, from as many of our eager men as could line up outside the gates, a hot and deadly fire was poured. A way was cleared for the howitzer, and the roar that burst from its iron throat woke a hundred forest echoes.
A great cloud of bluish smoke hid the scene for a moment, and when it drifted and rolled upward, our short-lived opportunity was gone. With almost incredible speed the savages had melted away, and were safe in the shelter of the adjacent timber. They had taken some of their dead and wounded with them, as well as the dogs and sledge; but six or seven bodies lay sprinkled darkly here and there on the snow crust.
Nor were the casualties all on one side, as we now had time to observe. The last volley delivered by the Indians had killed one of our party and wounded two more. The men were for sallying out against the foe, but Griffith Hawke would have none of it.
“The devils are in ambush,” he cried, “and would give us the worst of it. We’ll need our powder and ball later, I’m thinking. Make all secure yonder, and be quick about it.”
I helped to close and bar the gate, and then pushed into the thick of the clamorous crowd that surrounded the escaped traveler. I had fancied I recognized him when he shot by me, and now the first glimpse told me I was right, for the fugitive was none other than Captain Myles Rudstone.
CHAPTER XX.THE LOST LOCKET.
Captain Rudstone was in a temper, and but for the press in front of him he would have dashed at the gates.
“What are you afraid of?” he cried. “Why don’t you pursue the red devils? make an end of them? They’ve killed two of the best voyageurs that ever tramped the woods. My God! what does it all mean?”
“It means war, sir,” answered the factor. “The Northwest Company is at the bottom of the mischief. I entreat you to be calm, Captain Rudstone. The Indians are in force, and it would be sheer madness to try to track them down. I am responsible for the safety of the fort.”
These sober words brought the captain to his senses.
“You are right, Hawke,” he admitted. “I see there is nothing to be done at present. But, by Heaven! sir, I’ll have the blood of a score of redskins for each of those poor comrades of mine. And you say war has broken out? I don’t understand—”
Just then his eyes fell on me, and he held out his hand with a stern smile of welcome. I clasped it warmly.
“So we meet again, Mr. Carew?” he exclaimed.
“I wish it had been under happier circumstances,” said I; “but I am heartily glad to see you.”
“Thank you,” he replied, and his eyes shifted from mine as they had been wont to do formerly. “I have much to be grateful for,” he added, “I might be lying yonder with a bullet in my back and a tomahawk in my skull. It was a narrow escape.”
“You did not come from Fort York?” I inquired.
“No, from the north—from Fort Churchill, at the mouth of the river. I am finished with my errand in this part of the country, and am boundsouth. I had no idea that trouble had broken out until I was attacked on the edge of the timber.”
“I fear you will be detained here for many a day, Captain Rudstone,” said Griffith Hawke. “But come to my quarters, and when you have fed and rested I will give you a full report of all that has happened.”
Turning to me the factor added:
“See to the wounded, Denzil, and make sure that the sentries are properly posted. Then let me know how matters are going. I don’t anticipate any further trouble.”
That Griffith Hawke should put me in virtual command of the fort at such a time and in preference to several officers who were older and of superior rank, caused me some pride and satisfaction; for just now my mind was taken up with sterner things than my hopeless passion for Flora, and what martial spirit was in me had been fired by the prospect of an Indian siege.
After attending to my duties I strode on to the house and entered the cozily-furnished living room. Here logs were blazing in a great fireplace, at opposite sides of which, talking in low tones, sat Father Cleary and Andrew Menzies. The latter’s wife, it may be observed, was Flora’s companion.
At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from their grave and thoughtful faces.
The factor’s eyes seemed to read me through and through, and there was something in the scrutiny that disturbed and puzzled me. He motioned to a chair and I sat down awkwardly.
“All quiet?” he asked. “You have omitted no precautions?”
I told him what I had done, and he and the captain nodded approval.
“A bad storm has set in?” the latter said interrogatively.
“The worst kind of a one,” I replied. “The wind is high, and the snow will drift heavily. The Indians are not likely to attack us in such weather.”
“I wish I could feel sure of that,” Griffith Hawke said doubtfully. “By the way, Denzil, I have reason to believe that white men are among the savages.”
“I am pretty certain that Cuthbert Mackenzie is with them,” said I.
“And others,” broke in Captain Rudstone. “I heard more than one English voice when I was fighting and running for my life yonder.”
“Northwest men!” exclaimed the factor. “By sir, I tell you I am right. To-day’s events amount to an open declaration of war.”
Captain Rudstone blew a thick cloud of smoke and smiled grimly through it.
“I don’t agree with you,” he said, in the tone of one who knows his ground. “The Northwest Company will pot come to open hostilities—they are too crafty for that; but they are at the bottom of this trouble. Their agents have persuaded the Indians to rise, are fighting with them, and Mackenzie is determined to take the fort. Whether he fails or succeeds, his participation will not be proved. The blame will be thrust on your shoulders, Hawke, because of the Indian you shot this morning.”
“That was an unfortunate accident,” the factor admitted uneasily, “and it may serve the purpose you suggest. But I am not afraid that the fort will fall; we can hold out against big odds.”
“You’ll have them,” said the captain. “I’ve no doubt there will be five hundred redskins before the stockade within a day or two, and then they’ll give you sharp work. And a drifting snowstorm will be in their favor.”
“I don’t see it,” replied Griffith Hawke. “What do you mean?”
The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing in particular,” he answered evasively. “By the way, Hawke, when are you to marry Miss Hatherton?”
As he spoke he jerked one arm toward the priest, who was still talking by the fire, and then gave me a swift glance of amused contempt. The factor also turned his eyes upon me, and I felt my face grow hot.
“I am to be married to-morrow,” he replied half-sadly. “At least, that is the present arrangement. But I have been thinking of late—”
He was interrupted, to my vast relief, by the sudden opening of a door behind him. Mr. Christopher Burley entered the room, looking as if he might have just stepped from the legal chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. He had evidently made a careful toilet, his traveling costume being discarded for a suit of sober black.
He nodded severely to Captain Rudstone, who he had seen earlier in the evening, and I observed a slight confusion in the bearing of both, clearly due to the recollection of their quarrel at the Silver Lily. Then, with an affable smile, the law clerk offered me his hand.
“I am pleased to see you, Mr. Carew,” he said. “I learned from the factor that you were here. I predicted that we might meet again, if you remember.”
“I remember well,” said I. “This is a small world, after all. I take it that the quest you spoke of has brought you to the north?”
“You are right, sir,” he replied. “It has led me hundreds of miles through the wilderness, from one fort to another of the Hudson Bay territory—truly a weary round of travel.”
“And with what success?”
“None as yet; but I am not discouraged. From here I go southwest. I feel that I shall succeed in the end. I find that the factor is unable to help me, and it is no doubt needless to ask you—”
“Quite so,” I interrupted. “Osmund Maiden is still an unfamiliar name to me.”
“Captain Rudstone knows the Canadas thoroughly,” said Griffith Hawke. “Perhaps he has run across your man in the past.”
My eyes were on the captain just then, and I fancied he gave a slightstart; certain it is that a sudden flush colored his bronzed face a darker shade, and I remembered that this was not the first time he had shown agitation at the mention of the man Christopher Burley was seeking. But he was instantly himself again, and he calmly twisted his long mustaches as he answered:
“Osmund Maiden! I fancy I have heard the name somewhere in my time. May I ask, sir, what object you have in desiring to find this man?”
“That I may reveal to none save Osmund Maiden himself,” Christopher Burley replied. “But I beg of you to refresh your memory. It will be greatly to your advantage if you can give me any information—”
“Denzil, I have been thinking of something,” the factor interrupted suddenly. “Forgive me, my boy, for alluding to a personal and delicate matter; but I have always fancied that there was some mystery about your father—that his name might have been assumed. I speak thus frankly because Mr. Burley has honored me in part with his confidence—”
“There was no mystery,” I broke in sharply. I was angry with Griffith Hawke, though I knew that he meant well. “My father’s name was Carew,” I went on, “and he had a right to it. Why he left England I cannot say, but his home was in Yorkshire and his parents were dead when he came to the Canadas.”
“Then I am mistaken,” said Griffith Hawke.
“There are Carews in Yorkshire,” added the law clerk. “It is doubtless the same family. Did your father leave no papers?”
“None,” I replied.
“He used to wear a small gold locket about his neck,” declared the factor. “Surely you have seen it, Denzil?”
“I remember it,” I said curtly; “but I do not know what was in it, or what became of it. It was missing when my father’s body was found in the woods.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Christopher Burley in a tone that showed a lack of further interest in the matter.
“Very!” assented Captain Rudstone, who was watching me curiously.
I made no reply. I had just recollected that I had in my pocket a seal ring—a trifle too large to wear—which had been my father’s. I fumbled for it, hoping to put an end to a controversy that was distasteful to me. But before I could find and produce it there were hurried steps outside the house and the door was thrown open with a crash.
CHAPTER XXI.THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
We all turned round and then with one accord sprang to our feet The horror of what we saw held us spellbound and speechless. We did not feel the icy air, the swirl of fine snowflakes that came driving into the room, for in the doorway stood Baptiste, his honest face almost unrecognizable with hot passion, and in each hand he thrust out a ghastly, gory, red-dripping thing of hair and flesh. They were human scalps, and we knew at once from whose heads they had been torn.
“Nom de Dieu!” cried the priest. “The poor wretches!”
“Yes, Valle and Maignon!” Baptiste said thickly, grinding his teeth. “They did not get far, sir, Heaven rest their souls! But a moment ago the red devils flung these bloody trophies over the stockade—none can tell how they crept so near! It is a warning, messieurs, that we are all to be served the same way.”
“My poor voyageurs!” groaned Christopher Burley. “That they should come to such an end! Oh, this barbarous country!”
He suddenly turned sick and faint, and dropping into a chair, he sat there trembling, his face buried in his hands. Father Cleary was crossing himself and muttering piously.
“A thing like this,” cried Captain Rudstone, “is enough to turn a man into a fiend. By Heaven! Hawke, if you say the word, I’ll lead a party out against the savages!”
But the factor did not seem to hear him. He was leaning heavily on a chair, his face the hue of ashes. “My fault—my fault!” he said hoarsely. “I sent the poor fellows to their death. But God knows I believed they would get through safely!”
“We all believed that,” broke in Andrew Menzies.
“Compose yourself, sir! No blame can possibly attach to you.”
Meanwhile Baptiste had been standing in the same attitude. I sharply bade him close the door, and he did so. Then he stepped forward, tossed the reeking scalps on the table, and with a shaking hand helped himself, unbidden, to a stiff glass of rum.
“You need not have brought those hideous things here,” said I.
“I did not come for that alone, Monsieur Carew,” he replied. “I was sent with a message. The Indians intend shortly to attack. It will be well to prepare.”
“We are all ready,” exclaimed Griffith Hawke, roused from his dejection by this intelligence. “But what do you mean, my man? Why do the sentries look for an attack?”
“Sir, the Indians have been making strange signals,” Baptiste answered, “and they were seen from the loopholes and the tower creeping along the edge of the timber in force.”
“The warning is timely,” said Captain Rudstone. “If the savages are prowling about it means mischief, otherwise they would be rigging up a camp against this bitter weather. And no doubt they reckon the storm will be to their advantage, since the driving snow thickens the air.”
The rest of us were of the same mind, and to a man we thirsted for a chance to avenge the foul murder of the two voyageurs. We eagerly donned our fur coats and caps, and began to examine our weapons.
“Mr. Menzies, will you speak to the women before you go,” said the factor. “Tell them not to be alarmed if they hear firing—that there is no danger.”
“And perhaps they will take consolation from your company, FatherCleary,” he added, when Menzies had left the room.
The priest was wrapping himself in furs, and before replying he took his musket from a rack over the fireplace.
“If the women folk need me, I will not refuse,” he said quietly. “I am a man of peace first, but I can fight when occasion requires, and my choice lies that way now, Mr. Hawke.”
“Then come with us, by all means,” assented the factor.
“Nor shall I be left behind,” cried Christopher Burley, showing a spirit that I did not think was in him. “I can handle a gun, sir.”
He did not wait for permission, but borrowed a spare coat that hung on the wall and helped himself to a serviceable musket and a supply of powder and ball.
“Denzil, you had better go ahead and turn the men out,” said the factor. “We will follow shortly.”
I was eager to do this, and, accompanied by Baptiste, I hurried from the house. I thought with uneasiness, as I plodded across the inclosure, that I had seen few worse storms. The snow was falling line and thick, and a stinging, shrieking wind was already heaping it in drifts.
“The redskins will give us trouble, sir,” Baptiste said ominously.
“No doubt,” I assented sharply; “but we could beat off double their numbers. Don’t go and croak among the men, Baptiste.”
The quarters were quite deserted, tidings of the expected attack having emptied them, and I found all the inmates of the fort—save those on duty—assembled near the northeast tower. These included the few Indian employees, who were to be fully trusted. I made a quick round of the loopholes, and learned that all was now quiet, and that no signals or movement had been observed for several minutes. When I returned Griffith Hawke and his little party had arrived, and I communicated the state of affairs to them.
“It is the calm before the storm,” remarked Captain Rudstone. “I’ll wager anything you like the savages are going to rush us.”
We waited five minutes, standing about in scattered group, and listening for some warning from the watch tower. It was the eve of the factor’s wedding—a fact that I recalled with bitter irony as I noted him posted alertly in the pelting snow, musket in hand, expecting shortly to be plunged in the thick of a bloody fray. Far across in the distance a gleam of light twinkled in the window of Flora’s room. What were her thoughts?
A hand tapped me on the shoulder; I turned and saw Christopher Burley.
“It is worse than a London fog, this cold,” he said, with chattering teeth. “I seem to feel it in my bones. How long will we wait, Mr. Carew?”
“That is hard to tell,” I replied. “If you are freezing, go indoors.”
I think he would have taken me at my word, but I had hardly spoken when the brooding silence was shattered by a cry from the watch-tower:
“Look sharp! They are coming on two sides! To the loopholes!”
Here and there a shout was heard, but for the most part the warning was received with a grim calmness that spoke well for the fighting temper of our men. The next instant the air was full of Indian war-whoops—and a more blood-curdling and fearful sound I have yet to hear. Then the savages fired a continuous volley, and the bullets came rattling like sleet against the stockade; some entered at the loopholes, and a cry arose that a half-breed was down.
At the first—such trivial things will a man do at critical times—my attention was taken by Christopher Burley. Elevating his musket in air, he pulled the trigger, and was flat on his back before you could count two. I helped him to rise, and he began to rub his shoulder ruefully.
“It was too heavy a charge,” he said. “Did I kill any one?”
“It’s a mercy you didn’t,” I replied.
I gave him a word or two of instruction, but did not wait to see how far his pluck would carry him. I left him in the act of reloading, and sped to a loophole near the gates, which faced eastward.
The east and north sides were the ones chosen for the assault, and here a good third of our men had already posted themselves. They, and the marksmen in the corner tower were firing steadily. The fusillade, blending with Indian yells and volleys, made an indescribable din. I took a hasty glance without. Through the driving snow, I saw a horde of warriors dashing swiftly forward. There must have been a hundred in sight on that one side, and I knew that we were in for hot work if as many were attacking from the north.
On they rushed, and now some dropped craftily behind lopped-off trunks of trees which were sprinkled plentifully about the clearing. Others sought shelter from the wind-blown heaps of snow, but the greater part made for the stockade. The powder smoke would hide them for an instant, and then I would see them a dozen feet nearer.
The patter of bullets close to my head warned me of the danger I was in, and stirred me to action. I thrust out my musket and fired. I looked in time to see an Indian fling up his arms and fall; right and left of him dark blotches stained the snow. I reloaded, and fired again, shouting with excitement.
To the north and east, and where the tower rose between, was one blaze and crackle of muskets. Smoke hid the snow and savage yells drowned the shrieking of the wind. In spite of the terrific fire, the redskins poured on. A ball sang by my ear, and another sent a shower of splintered wood into my very face. Close on my right a man was shot through the chest; farther to the left I saw a half-breed stagger and fall.
“Steady, men!” rang out the factor’s voice. “Stand firm and make every shot tell!”
I poked my musket through the loophole and pulled trigger. It was next to impossible to miss, so near was the foremost line of savages. I was reloading in frantic haste, when the stockade in front of me creaked and rattled. Above the top rose the heads and shoulders of three painted warriors, and the next instant, with shrill cries, they had leaped into the inclosure.
CHAPTER XXII.HOT WORK.
I was standing so near that the three daring redskins all but fell upon me. As I dodged quickly back, one let fly a tomahawk. I felt it graze my head, and the next instant I had smashed the skull of the howling wretch with the butt end of my musket. Already three more were over the stockade, and the five fell upon our men with desperate fury. The yelling and whooping, the cries of the wounded, made an infernal din. A comrade on my left was shot in the mouth, and dropped writhing to the ground; a half-breed at my very side clapped a hand to his arm and spun round.
But by this time the scrimmage had been seen at a distance, and there was a rally to the spot. Two savages were clubbed to death, and a third fell by Captain Rudstone’s musket. I shot a fourth through the chest, but in spite of the wound, he made at me, and I had to settle him with a blow above the ear.
For one Indian that was slain, however, two fresh ones scrambled into the inclosure. There were as agile as cats, and as daring as panthers. With bullet and tomahawk they assailed us, and we were soon hard-pressed all along the line. There was fierce fighting on the north as well, and so no help could be spared from that quarter. Indeed, I began to fear that the fort would be taken by sheer numbers; and even while I was engaged hand to hand with the painted fiends, I was meditating what steps to take to save Flora.
But when the situation was most critical, several things befell to turn the tide. At great risk a couple of plucky fellows loaded the howitzer—it had been discharged once—and thrusting the muzzle out of one of the boles provided for that purpose, they fired it point-blank into the mass of savages who were coming on to the assault. At the same moment a swivel gun roared a few yards to the left, and the two tremendous reports were followed by shrill yells of agony and consternation.
This appeared to check the rush from without, and of a sudden the top of the stockade showed empty against the skyline. Seeing this, we took heart, and attacked the savages who were inside more furiously thanever. Just then we were joined by half a dozen men from the watch-tower and by four others led by Griffith Hawke. The redskins wavered, fell back, and bolted in panic for their lives. Ten of them we shot down or clubbed, and as many succeeded in scrambling over the stockade. It had been a close shave, but the fort was saved for the present.
“Blaze away, or they’ll be in again!” cried the factor. “Give them a steady volley!”
With ringing cheers we sprang to the loopholes, and fired as fast as we could load and empty. A vigorous fusillade was returned at first, but it soon slackened and straggled, and the whooping of the savages ceased entirely.
It was the same on the north side of the fort. The Indians had not retreated, but they were repulsed and disheartened, and were in no mood for further sacrifice. They lay hidden behind drifted snow and stumps, taking wary shots whenever they fancied they saw an opportunity.
Now we had time to breathe—time to take a welcome spell of rest after our hard struggle. We were all parched and powder grimed, and some of us were bandaging slight wounds. And the victory had cost us dear. Three sorely-hurt men had been carried off to the hospital, and among the dozen or more slain savages who lay in ghastly attitudes on the trampled, blood-soaked snow were four of our plucky defenders, who would never lift musket again. It was a hideous, revolting sight, and the raging storm, the murky gray of the night, lent an added horror to it.
The semi-lull continued, and little attention was paid to the straggling fire of the Indians, though sharp eyes were watching from the tower. Griffith Hawke came up to where I was leaning, breathing hard, on the barrel of my musket.
“Thank God you are all right, my boy!” he said hoarsely. “I never expected those devils would get over the stockade. It was Heaven’s mercy that enabled us to drive them off; but we have lost heavily.”
“Severely, indeed,” I assented. “And so have the Indians. I doubt if they will try that game again. And what was the result at the north side, sir? I believe you had desperate fighting there at the same time.”
“Not so bad as here,” the factor replied; “but pretty nearly. TheIndians broke in, but our fellows were getting the best of it when I left to help you. Menzies was in charge, and—ah! here he comes now.”
The big Scotchman was loading his musket as he approached. He limped badly—a gunstock had struck him on the thigh—and he had a flesh wound in his left arm. He anxiously inquired how many we had lost, and when I told him, he shook his head gravely.
“I have three dead over yonder,” he replied, “and twice as many disabled. The garrison is reduced by nearly a third, and the savages are fighting recklessly! I greatly fear, Hawke, that if they rush the stockade again—”
“We’ll beat them off twice, thrice, four times if need be,” the factor interrupted. “At the worst, we are likely to have a long siege of it.”
He spoke cheerfully and confidently, but none the less I saw a haggard, strained look in his face, as he glanced toward the flickering light in Flora’s window.
By this time the firing was taking a brisker turn, and the three of us separated, Hawke and Menzies striding across to the north side of the inclosure. I went to my old place, and there I remained for a trying half-hour.
Trying is a poor word for the sort of warfare the Indians carried on during that interval. They were scattered about thickly to north and east of the fort, and within close range, but each warrior was cunningly concealed behind a stump or a snow hillock.
How they could see so well is a mystery, but certain it is that they brought their muskets to bear on every loophole of the stockade and the tower. The storm was raging bitterly, but in their furred garments their hide moccasins and leggings, they defied the exposure.
At the first we lost a man killed, and had three wounded. Then we grew more careful, and reconnoitered from what little crevices we could find before we ventured on a shot. Those who had no loopholes kept loading spare muskets and passing them to us, taking our own as soon as we fired. I had several narrow escapes, but by watching for the spurts of flame and smoke and for the limbs that now and then showed darkly against the snow, I killed or disabled half a dozen of the enemy.Baptiste was on my right, and just beyond him was Captain Rudstone.
There was one diversion during the time I speak of, and that from the west side of the fort, where a great clamor of firing and whooping suddenly broke out. I did not dare to leave my post—I was virtually in charge of the east stockade—but Captain Rudstone led half a dozen men to the disturbed quarter. The scrimmage was quickly over, and when the captain returned I got a report from him.
“It’s all right,” he said. “The devils rushed us, but we drove them back by volleys from the loopholes, killing half a score and losing one ourselves. The ground dips down to the fort there, and we had a clean sweep. They won’t molest us on that side again—it was a half-hearted attack, anyway.”
“I wish they would drop the whole thing,” I replied bitterly.
Captain Rudstone shrugged his shoulders.
“You would be a fool to expect it, Carew,” he said. “I am not a bird of ill-omen, but, by Heaven! the redskins are determined to hang on till they take the fort.”
“They’ll have a wait,” said I.
“That’s as maybe,” the captain rejoined. “If there were only the Indians to reckon with! But Northwest men are among them, cleverly disguised; and I doubt not Cuthbert Mackenzie is one of them.”
“I am sure of it,” I asserted.
“He is after revenge—and Miss Hatherton,” the captain went on. “And to my mind, it is a toss up which will make the girl the happier—Mackenzie or Hawke.”
I turned on him fiercely, and I could have struck him with pleasure; he seemed to take a malicious delight in probing my heart wound.
“Is this a time to talk of such things?” I cried. “I wish to hear none of it, Captain Rudstone. Miss Hatherton is nothing to me!”
The captain laughed—a low, sneering laugh—and just then an Indianbullet sang between us.
“A close shave!” he muttered, as he strode off to his loophole.
I turned to mine, and it partly relieved my feelings to get a shot at a feathered scalp-lock, that was bobbing behind a tuft of bushes twenty feet away. I aimed true, and with a convulsive leap a warrior fell sprawling in the open.
My success stirred the savages up a little, drawing a chorus of vengeful whoops, and a straggling shower of lead that pelted the stockade like hail.
Then the fire ceased almost entirely, ami after waiting and watching for five minutes, I concluded to leave my post temporarily and have a look about the fort.
CHAPTER XXIII.THE SECOND RUSH.
I went first to the highest watch-tower, the occupants of which had been better protected than those at the stockade, but for all that I found one poor fellow dead and another badly wounded. Such a true and steady fire had been poured at the loopholes, I was told, that it was as much as the men’s lives were worth to expose themselves sufficiently to take aim. I looked out for a moment, but though I could see vaguely through the driving snow to the dark line of the forest, not an Indian was in sight.
“They have not retreated?” I asked.
“Not them, sir,” a grizzled voyageur remarked, with emphasis. “Every clump of bushes, every stump and snow heap, has a lurking redskin behind it. And the woods yonder are full of ’em, too.”
He had hardly spoken when there was a flash and a report off to the left, followed quickly by one from the right. Both shots were aimed at the stockade loopholes, but they seemed to strike harmlessly, and drewno reply from our men.
“Consarn the devils!” growled the voyageur as he peered into the night. “They don’t show as much as a feather tip.”
“They ain’t lying so long in the snow for nothing,” added another man. “They’ll be at us again with a rush presently.”
“I am afraid they will,” I assented. “Keep a sharp lookout and give us timely warning.”
With that I left the tower and walked along the north side of the fort. I was glad to observe that the men were in confident and even cheerful spirits. Some were loading muskets, while others were bringing bullets and canisters of powder, and, what was more urgently needed at present, pannikins of steaming hot coffee. The latter, I ascertained, came from the factor’s house, and I had no doubt that it was due to the womanly forethought of Flora and Mrs. Menzies.
I could not find Father Cleary, and on making inquiries I learned that he was with the wounded, who had all been taken to the hastily improvised hospital in the men’s quarters. I was told that he had stuck to his post through the fighting, and had done as good and valorous service as any man in the fort.
Mr. Christopher Burley I came upon seated astride of an empty cask, with his musket across his knees. His cap was gone, and his hair was awry; he was scarcely recognizable for a mask of perspiration and powder grime.
“I congratulate you,” I said, “on keeping a sound skin.”
“The same to you,” he replied. “It was indeed a severe and bloody fight. I bore your advice in mind Mr. Carew, and I have fired six shots without discomfort.”
“To what purpose?” I inquired.
“I hope at least that I have hit none of our own men,” he answered with a touch of humor. “I confess I am more handy with a quill than a musket. I have friends in London, sir, who will not believe me when I relate my adventures in this barbarous country. But, alas! I may not live to see England again.”
I thought this more than likely, but did not tell him so.
“Come, come, Mr. Burley!” I replied, “keep up your spirits; don’t yield to depression. You will be spared to stamp many a blue document—to entangle scores of luckless litigants in the meshes of the law.”
I clipped on without waiting to see how he took this sally, and went as far as the northwest angle of the fort. Here I stopped to talk with some comrades who were drinking hot coffee flavored with a dash of rum.
Close by, other men were watching alertly at the loopholes. Occasionally they would fire at some partly exposed Indians, and then dodge back as a straggling volley of bullets pelted the stockade. Over on the east side muskets were cracking in the same desultory fashion. The storm showed no signs of abating. On the contrary, the snow was falling more thickly and in finer flakes, and a bitter wind was constantly heaping it in higher drifts, and blowing it in blinding, eddying showers about the inclosure.
I was about to return to my post, warmed and strengthened by a pannikin of coffee, when a couple of shots rang out. One of the very men to whom I had been talking—a young Scotchman named Blair—reeled and fell heavily, hit by a ball that had entered at a loophole. I bent over him, and saw at once that he was badly hurt. He was shot in the left breast, and blood was oozing from his lips.
“It’s all up with me, Carew,” he moaned. “Let me lie here.”
“Not a bit of it,” I replied. “You’ll pull through, take my word for it. But you must be in the doctor’s hands without delay.”
Three of us picked the wounded man up, and bore him across the yard to the hospital. At the door I relinquished my share of the burden, for the firing had suddenly recommenced so briskly that I feared the savages were meditating a rush.
But the fusillade dwindled to a few shots before I was halfway to the east side, and the next instant, as I was pushing along leisurely, I saw a dark object looming out of the snow twenty feet to my right. It was the figure of a woman. Her back was toward me, and she seemed to have halted in perplexity.
Suddenly she moved forward a little, and with that I was in pursuit, my heart beating fast. As I overtook her she turned round with a start.
“Denzil!” she gasped.
As I had suspected, it was Flora Hatherton. She was muffled in a cloak, a fur cap crowned her pretty face, and in her gloved hands she held a light musket.
“You here!” I exclaimed. “Are you mad, to expose yourself to such danger? Go back!”
“I don’t want to go back,” she said. “Please don’t make me, Denzil.”
“You must,” I answered sharply. “Is it possible that Mrs. Menzies allowed you to do this rash thing?”
“I came without her permission. She thinks I have retired,” Flora replied in a spirited tone. “Let me help to defend the fort, Denzil. I can fire a gun, and I am not a bit afraid, and it is my duty, I feel like a coward these brave men fighting and dying.”
What could I say? The girl’s rashness angered me, but I admired her pluck and courage. I had never loved her so much as I loved her that instant—never so fully realized what the barrenness of my life would be without her. And she was Griffith Hawke’s!
“Flora—” I began.
She seemed to divine my feelings, and of a sudden she shrank a little from me.
“Hush!” she said. “I have been foolish and impulsive, Denzil. I am going back to Mrs. Menzies.”
The mad words were checked on my lips.
“Yes, go!” I answered hoarsely. “Go at once—”
There was the sound of a footfall to one side, and I glanced around to see the factor. How much he had heard I could only surmise; but he stood in silence for a moment, looking from one to the other of us.
“Flora, why are you here?” he asked, and to me his voice seemed cold and harsh.
“I wanted to help to defend the fort,” she answered in faltering tones, “but Mr. Carew stopped me—”
“I fortunately met Miss Hatherton,” I broke in, “and urged her to go back.”
“Quite right,” said the factor. “It is not a woman’s part to fight. Your place is in the house, Flora.”
Without a word she turned and glided rapidly through the snow. Griffith Hawke hesitated, and then started to follow her; but he had not made two steps when a cry rang loudly from the northeast watch-tower:
“The redskins are coming! The clearing is alive with them! Every man to his post!”
The alarm was not a false one, for immediately a fiendish clamor and whooping broke out and scores of musket shots blended in a rattling din. The attack seemed to be directed entirely against the east side, and to that quarter the two of us ran fleetly.
“Spare guns this way!” the factor shouted at the top of his voice. “Stand firm, men!”
The scene that followed baffles description. There was no panic or fright, nor did the men entirely desert the other sides of the fort for the threatened point; but all who could be spared rallied to the north. I felt sure that this second rush would be a more serious business than the first, and I was not mistaken.
I quickly reached the stockade—I did not see what had become of Griffith Hawke—and managed to squeeze my way through to one of the loopholes. At grave risk—for the fire was already heavy on both sides—I peered briefly out. Through the smoke and snow I saw the dusky warriors advancing in great numbers and at close quarters, filling the air with their infernal yells. Some carried felled saplings with the branches lopped off short, the purpose of which was plain.
One glimpse was enough. I began to fire with my comrades, reckless ofthe bullets that whizzed about me. From angle to angle of the north stockade, from the embrasures of the tower, poured a deadly sheet of flame. A howitzer crashed, and then a swivel gun. I fired three times—spare muskets were passed to me—and I drew back from the loophole to reload. By the ruddy flashes I recognized friends—Baptiste and Captain Rudstone, Griffith Hawke and Andrew Menzies, the excited countenance of Christopher Burley in the rear.
“Rake them down,” the factor cried shrilly. “Beat them off if you can. Don’t let them get a footing inside!”
The words were hardly uttered when the stockade groaned and rattled. The savages had reared their rude scaling ladders against it, and by these means some gained the top, while others clambered up with the agility of cats.
It was a most desperate and daring assault, but we met it with the dogged pluck of men who fight for a last chance. We shot half a score of the devils as they clung to the top of the stockade, and speedily finished others who dropped down among us.
They poured over thicker and faster, screeching like fiends, and now we were driven back a little. We fired as long as we could load, and then made an onset with clubbed muskets. The advantage was on our side, the Indians being mostly armed with tomahawks, and though more than a score of them were inside at once, we soon sent them scrambling back, and so checked the incoming tide.
A little handful stuck out to the last, disdaining to flee. They came at us ferociously, and nearly broke through our line. I finished one, and Captain Rudstone and Baptiste killed two more. A fourth Indian—a stalwart, hideously painted savage—carried a musket. He suddenly leveled it and fired, and I heard a sharp cry behind me. I looked round in time to see Griffith Hawke stagger, clutch at the rail and fall heavily.