CHAPTER XXXIV.ON THE WAY.
A visitor of any sort was the last thing we could have expected, and the reader can imagine what a surprise and scare the interruption gave us. We leaped to our feet with such haste that several of the benches wore knocked over, and Christopher Burley, who was in the act of sitting down at the time, landed on the floor with a heavy crash. But there was no occasion for alarm—no need to rush frantically for our muskets. The intruder was not an Indian, not an enemy. In the open doorway, framed against the whiteness of the storm, stood a big, bearded man clad in the winter uniform of the Hudson Bay Company.
And the moment I saw him I recognized an old acquaintance—a hunter who had of late years served at Fort Charter.
“Tom Arnold!” I cried gladly, as I hurried forward to greet him.
“By Jupiter, if it ain’t Carew!” he shouted, clasping my hand. Turning round, he called loudly: “Come in, boys, it’s all right!”
At the bidding five more men stamped noisily into the house, shaking the snow from their clothing, and dragging a well-laden sledge behind them.
“I left these chaps outside, not knowing who might be in the fort,” Tom explained; “but when I listened a bit I reckoned it was safe to enter. I heard a couple of voices that sounded kind of familiar. And no mistakeeither! We’re in luck to find friends and shelter at one stroke. What a snug place you’ve got here!”
A scene of merriment and excitement followed, and hands were clasped all round; for the most of our party and of the new arrivals were acquainted with one another, even Captain Rudstone finding a friend or two.
After a generous glass of wine, Tom Arnold lit his pipe, stretched his feet to the blazing logs, and volunteered explanations, which we had been waiting anxiously to hear. He and his party, it seemed, had left Fort Charter on a hunting trip three days before. On the previous night they had chosen a poor camping-place—it afforded little shelter against the storm, and so, in the morning, they determined to try to reach old Fort Beaver.
“That’s my yarn,” Tom concluded, “and now let’s have yours, Carew. What are you doing in this part of the country, and with a pretty girl in tow?”
As briefly as possible I related all that had happened, from the swift beginning of trouble at Fort Royal to the night when we escaped by the secret passage. Every word of it was new to Tom and his companions, and they listened with breathless interest and dilated eyes, with hoarse exclamations of rage and grief. And when the narrative was finished a gloom fell upon all of us.
“So the country is quiet down your way?” asked Captain Rudstone.
“Yes, as far as Fort Garry and the Red River,” Tom replied. “We had dispatches within a week, and though they mentioned bad feeling and a few rows in which men were killed on both sides, there has been no general outbreak. As for the trouble up north, we hadn’t an inkling of it.”
“Apparently, then,” said the captain, “the attack on Fort Royal was a private grudge—an act of revenge instigated solely by Cuthbert Mackenzie, who stirred up the redskins to help him. There was motive enough, you know, for a man of his nature.”
“It’s likely as you say,” Tom answered, “but at the same time I’m afraid the Northwest Company knew what was on foot, and will declare open war as soon as they hear of the fall of Fort Royal. The Indians may have gone north to attack other forts on the bay, or possibly they will marchto Fort Charter next. We must lose no time in getting back and giving the alarm. This is the worst of news.”
“I am sure there is no danger,” I said hurriedly, noticing that. Flora looked disturbed and anxious. “The Indians must have gone toward Fort York to cut us off; if they had come this way you would have heard of them long ago.”
“Yes, that’s right,” assented Captain Rudstone. “It will be time enough to start in the morning, when the storm will likely be over. If you set off now, you have ten chances to one of perishing in the snow. You can’t do better than share our cozy quarters.”
“I’ll think about it,” Arnold answered doubtfully. “At all events, we’ll have a jolly good feed together, and then we’ll see what the weather promises. I ought to be back at the fort long before to-morrow morning.”
By this time the dinner was ready. Carteret had found a packet of cornmeal that had been overlooked before, and our visitors contributed freely from their own ample store of food. So our spirits brightened a little, and while we ate and drank we chatted of more pleasing things than Indians and warfare. But Christopher Burley was in a sullen mood and showed a very curt manner to Captain Rudstone. Why the latter had cut the law clerk’s speech short so brusquely, and why he had been disturbed by it, were mysteries to which I could find no solution. Indeed, I felt keenly disappointed, for I knew that Burley had been on the point of explaining the task that had brought him out to the Canadas.
The meal over, a surprise was in store for us. We observed that more light shone through the frosted window panes, and Tom Arnold rose and opened the door. He gave a shout that drew most of us after him, and we were amazed to see the change that had taken place in so short a time. Of the howling storm there was not a trace, save the fresh snowdrifts. It was still blowing a little, but no snow was falling, and through the clear air the clouds gave signs of breaking.
“Hurray! We can start now!” cried Tom.
“Yes, if the calm lasts,” added Captain Rudstone.
“What do you think of it?” I asked of Carteret, who was considered an authority on the weather.
The old voyageur sniffed the air for a moment.
“It’s hard to tell in this case, sir,” he replied. “The clouds may break and clear away for good; and then ag’in, the storm may come on as bad as ever, within the hour. But it’s worth risking the chance.”
Some held Carteret’s opinion, and others were in favor of waiting till morning. But in the end the latter were won over, and we decided to start at once. For a little while there was bustle and commotion as the men repacked the sledges, donned their furred coats and snowshoes, and looked to the priming of their muskets.
In less than ten minutes we were ready, and with a last lingering look at the room which had sheltered us so well, we left the house. I saw Captain Rudstone glance keenly at the spot where the cryptogram was hidden, and he muttered something under his breath as he turned away. We passed across the inclosure, out at the ruined gates, and struck off in the direction of Fort Charter. We were soon in a heavy forest, where it was necessary to march two or three abreast. Tom Arnold, Captain Rudstone and another led the way. I was in the next file of three, with a couple of Fort Charter men for company. Flora was a little distance in the rear, strapped to our half-empty sledge, which Baptiste and Carteret were drawing. From time to time I glanced back for a sight of her pretty face looking out from a dainty headdress of fur.
The storm did not recommence, though the clouds, instead of breaking, hung low and heavy over us. We marched as rapidly as possible through the wilderness, gliding over the drifts and dislodging miniature avalanches of snow from the drooping limbs of the trees.
At about three o’clock in the afternoon, when we had covered some six or seven miles, we were filing along a deep and narrow valley, over the bed of a frozen stream. The snow covered the undergrowth and rocks, making a fairly good road. On both sides of us rose mighty hills, densely covered with timber, and seared with granite crags. Of a sudden, from a point slightly ahead on the left, rang the dull report of a musket.
“I’m shot!” cried Tom Arnold, clapping a hand to his arm.
CHAPTER XXXV.RETRIBUTION.
Our first thought was that we had blundered into an ambuscade and that the bluffs to right and left of us swarmed with redskins. Our little column stopped short, confused and panic-stricken, and for a brief instant we stood huddled in the narrow valley like sheep. Our muskets were lifted, but no foes were insight; we expected a withering fusillade to be poured into our ranks.
“They’ve got us, boys!” cried Tom Arnold, who was staring in all directions while he held his wounded arm.
But the silence remained unbroken—and I began to hope that our alarm was groundless—at least, so far as an ambuscade was concerned. Just where the shot had been fired from I could not tell, for the wind had quickly drifted the smoke away; but as I watched alertly I detected a slight movement in the evergreen-clad face of the hill on the left, at a point some distance ahead, and about twenty feet from the ground.
“There is only one redskin,” was my instant reflection, “and he is loading for another shot.”
My gun was at mid-shoulder, and I did not hesitate a second. Taking swift aim at the spot, I pulled the trigger. The loud report was followed by a screech; then the bushes parted, and an Indian pitched out headforemost, landing with a thud in the soft snow.
“Good shot!” cried Arnold. “One red devil the less! But what can the others be about?”
“It’s doubtful if there are any more,” said I.
“By Heavens, Carew I believe you are right!” shouted Captain Rudstone. “We’ve had a scare for nothing. This follow was certainly alone, or his comrades would have blazed away at us before this. I fancied I saw him stir just now—if he’s not dead, we may get some information out of him.”
With that the captain started toward the fallen Indian, keeping his musket ready and darting keen glances right and left. I would have followed him, but at sight of Arnold’s pale face I changed my mind. His left arm was bleeding profusely below the shoulder, and three or four of his men were standing about him.
“Is the bone hit?” I inquired anxiously.
“No; it’s only a flesh wound,” Arnold replied. “But I can’t afford to lose much more blood. Fix me up, some of you fellows.”
Just then Christopher Burley pushed in among us, his countenance agitated and frightened.
“Is the danger over?” he cried.
“Are there no more Indians in the hills?”
Before I could answer him I was tapped on the shoulder, and turning round I saw Flora; she had left the sledge, and her eyes looked into mine calmly and fearlessly.
“Do not be alarmed,” I said. “It seems there was but one Indian.”
“I was afraid we were going to be attacked,” she answered; “but I am not a bit frightened now. See, my hand is steady. Let me bandage this poor man’s wound, Denzil.”
The plucky girl did not wait for permission, but took a knife from one of the men and began to cut away Arnold’s shirt sleeve. I had a large handkerchief in my pocket, which I produced and gave to her. Meanwhile I glanced forward to Captain Rudstone, who was kneeling beside the Indian, with his back turned to us. I saw him look quickly and furtively over his shoulder, and his hands seemed to be actively engaged. I noted this, as I say, but at the time I thought nothing of the incident.
A moment later the captain rose to his feet and turned round. He met my eyes, and his own dropped; for a passing second he looked slightly confused.
“Here’s a queer go, Carew,” he called. “You’ve killed your man, and Ifancy there is something on him that will be of personal interest to you.”
I hurried to the spot, in company with half a dozen others. The Indian lay dead on his side—an elderly, wrinkled savage with a feathered scalp-lock, dressed in buffalo robe, leggings and beaded moccasins. His musket was clutched in his hand, and blood was oozing from a wound in the region of the heart.
“What do you mean, Rudstone?” I asked.
He pointed silently to the redskin’s throat and bending closer, I saw a necklace of the teeth and claws of wild beasts. Something else was strung with it—a tiny locket of smooth gold—and the sight of it made my heart leap. With a single jerk, I tore the necklace loose, and the locket fell in the snow. I picked it up, looked at it sharply, and suspicion became a certainty.
“This is the working of Providence!” I cried hoarsely, “I have committed an act of just retribution. Look: the Indian killed my father nearly six years ago, and now he has died by my hand.”
“I suspected as much,” said Captain Rudstone. “I remembered your speaking of a locket that your father always carried, and that was missing from his body.”
“This is the locket,” I replied. “I know it well! And here lies the murderer! Thank Heaven, I have avenged my father’s death!”
“There is doubtless something in it,” suggested the captain. “Most likely a miniature portrait.”
He looked me straight in the eyes as he spoke, and with an expression of calm curiosity.
“It is the use to which such trinkets are usually put,” he added. “I am glad you have recovered it, Carew. It is a memento to be prized and treasured.”
By this time all of the party were gathered around me; Arnold’s wound had been tightly and deftly bandaged, and the flow of blood checked. A whisper of my strange discovery ran from mouth to mouth, and Florapressed my arm in silent sympathy. There was a solemn hush, and every eye was on me as I fingered the locket in search of a spring, for I knew it opened that way. I must have touched the spot by accident, for of a sudden the trinket flew open. But the inside was quite empty. I could not repress a little cry of disappointment.
“Strange!” muttered Captain Rudstone “I was sure the locket held something! You say you never knew what your father kept in it, Carew?”
“No, he never spoke of it,” I replied. “It was rarely I caught a glimpse of it, though I knew that he always wore it.”
“Have you reason to believe that he kept anything in it?” asked Christopher Burley.
“To tell the truth, sir, I have not,” I answered.
“Ah, that lets light on the matter,” said the captain. “The trinket is probably treasured for itself—for the sake of some old association connected with it.”
“That is very likely,” I assented. “At all events, it is empty now.”
Christopher Burley begged to be allowed to examine the locket, and after a close scrutiny he handed it back to me.
“This is a very curious case, Mr. Carew,” he said, speaking in dry and legal tones. “It resolves itself into two issues. In the first place, the locket may have been empty when your father wore it. In the second place it may have contained something. But if we take the latter for granted, what became of the contents? It is extremely unlikely that the Indian could have found the spring, or, indeed, suspected that the bit of gold was hollow.”
“Which goes to prove,” put in Captain Rudstone, “that the trinket has been restored to Mr. Carew in the same condition in which it was torn from his father’s body. The redskin prized it merely as a glittering adornment to his barbaric necklace.”
“I agree with you,” said I, “and I think it is time we closed so trivial a discussion. Justice has been done and I am satisfied.”
With that I thrust the locket deep into my pocket.
“There is another thing,” said Captain Rudstone; “why did the Indian fire on us? He may have been scouting in advance of a hostile force.”
“I do not think we are in any danger,” I replied. “Indeed, I can offer a solution to the mystery. After my father’s death the murderer was sought for, but his own tribe spirited him away, and I believe he fled to the far West. His relatives declared at the time that he had gone crazy on account of a blow on the head, and believed he had a mission to kill white men. This was likely true. And now, after a lapse of five years, the fellow wandered back to this neighborhood and fired on us at sight.”
Such was my earnest conviction, and for the most part the rest agreed with me. But Tom Arnold was inclined to be skeptical, and shook his head gravely.
“You may be right, my boy,” he said, “but I’m a cautious man, and I don’t think overmuch of your argument. Leastways, the chances are even that your dead Indian belonged to the party who took Fort Royal, and that the whole body is marching on Fort Charter. So off we go for a rapid march, and let every man put his best foot forward.”
“Under any circumstances,” I replied, “whether we are in danger or not, we ought to reach the fort as soon as possible, and at the best we can’t make it before midnight.”
So a little later we were traveling south again, surmounting by the aid of snowshoes, all the rugged difficulties of the wintry wilderness. Flora was strapped on the sledge as before, and we had left the dead Indian—for whose fate I felt not the least compunction—lying where he had fallen.
We marched on for two hours, and then our fear of the weather proved to be well founded. A furious snowstorm came on suddenly, and a violent wind whirled the flakes into our faces; the cold grew intense, and we could not see a yard ahead of us. A more terrific blizzard we had none of us known in the past.
For a little while we floundered on resolutely, blinded and half-frozen, becoming more exhausted each minute. The storm seemed to be getting worse, and we encountered great drifts. There was not a sign by which we could steer in the right direction, and we could not be sure that wewere not traveling in a circle.
“Hold on, boys; this won’t do!” Tom Arnold cried at last. “We can’t go any farther. We must find shelter and lie close until the morning, or until the weather takes a turn.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.A PAINFUL MYSTERY.
But how and where should we seek shelter? Each man, I am sure, asked himself that question uneasily, and the quest grew more hopeless as we groped our way on for a quarter of an hour, our faces set against the stinging cold wind and the biting snowflakes. Arnold was leading, and I was some distance back, trudging alongside of Flora, and trying to keep up her spirits.
But good fortune befell us when we least expected it. Exhausted and half-blinded, we suddenly emerged from the tangled forest on a bit of an open space. Before us was the bed of a frozen stream, now filled up with drifted snow, and from the farther side of it a hill towered steeply, affording almost complete protection from the violence of the wind. A short distance on our left, nestled at the base of another hill, was a little Indian village, long since deserted—a dozen tepees half-buried in the snow, a couple of canoe frames protruding from a drift, and some worn-out snowshoes hanging from a tree.
“By Jupiter! I know the spot,” cried Tom Arnold, in a tone of consternation and astonishment. “I remember the village and the stream! Why, men, we are away out of our reckoning—on the wrong tack altogether. This shows how easily a fellow can get lost in a blizzard, no matter how old a hand he is.”
“We’re in luck, anyway,” said I. “Here is decent shelter, and the hills keep off the worst of the storm. We are safe for the night.”
“And Fort Charter twenty miles away!” grumbled Arnold. “We’ve got to reach it to-morrow, come good weather or bad. All hands to work,” headded sharply. “We’ll make things as snug as possible.”
We set to with a will and the exercise soon warmed our sluggish blood. Some dug out the canoe frames and broke them up for fuel; others cleared the loose snow from half a dozen of the huts, and we were delighted to find them dry inside, and in sound condition. We did not hesitate to build a roaring fire, for we knew that the light could not be seen at any distance, and that if any hostile Indians were in the vicinity the storm would have driven them to camp.
Twilight was falling when we found the abandoned village, and the evening was well advanced by the time our preparations were completed. We cooked and ate supper, and then sat smoking for awhile about the fire. The best of the tepees had been assigned to Flora, and she retired immediately after the meal. The storm was still raging and the snow falling thickly, but our camp was so sheltered by the two great hills that we were almost as comfortable as we had been at Fort Beaver. Yet only a short distance away, to right and left, we could hear the wind shrieking and howling through the open wilderness.
“We had better be turning in, so we can make an early start,” Tom Arnold said finally. “My arm is stiff and sore, and I can’t sit up any longer. How about sentry duty?”
“We mustn’t neglect that,” replied Captain Rudstone. “I volunteer for the first watch.”
The matter was quickly settled. There were to be three watches, Carteret following the captain, and a Fort Charter man named Humphrey taking the last turn. The orders were to pace a short distance right and left of the camp at intervals, and to keep up the fire; each sentry was to rouse the next man at the proper time.
We smoked a last pipe, and turned in leaving Captain Rudstone on guard. We were divided into batches of four, and those who shared my tepee with me were Christopher Burley, Luke Hutter and Duncan Forbes. We huddled close together, wrapped in blankets, and I for one was so tired out that I fell asleep instantly.
I remember nothing more until I was roused, after what seemed a short interval, by a husky shout and a spluttering of angry words. The noise was enough to waken the whole camp, and indeed it did so with amazing rapidity. I rushed outside in alarm, followed by my companions. The graydawn was breaking, and the air was free of snow. The rest of the men were pouring from the tepees, rubbing their drowsy eyes and fumbling with their muskets. I saw Flora’s face, flushed and frightened, peeping from the little doorway of her hut. We all gathered round Tom Arnold, who was pointing to a heap of dead ashes—what was left of the fire.
“We might have been murdered in our sleep!” he cried savagely. “Who’s to blame for this cursed carelessness? I turned out a minute ago, and look what I find! Nobody on guard, and the fire burned to ashes! Humphrey, you scoundrel, you had the last watch! What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I—I wasn’t roused, sir,” stammered Humphrey. “It was Carteret’s place to do that.”
“How could I do it when I wasn’t wakened myself?” exclaimed Carteret. “Naturally I slept sound, thinking I would be called in time.”
“Just my case,” added Humphrey in an aggrieved tone.
“Then Captain Rudstone is the man!” cried Arnold. “Where is he?”
Where indeed? We suddenly became aware that the captain was not among us. We shouted and called his name, but no answer came back. We looked into all the tepees, and found them empty. It was a deep mystery, and our alarm and wonder increased. We glanced at one another with startled and anxious faces. None could throw light on the matter; we had all slept soundly through the night. I questioned Flora, but she was no wiser than the rest of us.
“It’s the queerest thing I ever heard of,” said Arnold. “The man can’t have been spirited away.”
“Perhaps an Indian crept up and tomahawked him,” suggested Malcolm Cameron, “and he’s lying yonder under the snow.”
“No; that is out of the question,” said I. “Captain Rudstone could not have been caught off his guard.”
“It’s my opinion,” declared Arnold, “that he heard some noise in the forest and went to see what it was. He wandered farther from camp than he intended, and got lost in the storm—you can see by the depth of thesnow that the blizzard didn’t hold up till near morning—and ten to one he’s lying stiff and dead under a drift. We’ll search for him till the middle of the morning, and if we don’t find him by then, we must be off to the fort while the weather permits.”
Arnold’s reasoning was not very sound, but no one could offer a more plausible solution to the mystery. While breakfast was preparing some of us fruitlessly explored the vicinity of the camp, and a little later, having fortified ourselves with food and hot coffee, we set off on a more extended search. Christopher Burley and three other men stayed behind with Flora; the rest, divided into four parties, went in as many different directions.
To cut a long tale short, our efforts proved of no avail. One after another the search parties returned—the last one arriving an hour before noon—and all had the same story to tell. The ground had been carefully gone over within a radius of several miles from camp, but Captain Rudstone had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. That Arnold’s theory was correct—that the unfortunate man lay dead under one of the mighty drifts that had formed while the storm raged in the night—we all believed. That he could have voluntarily deserted us was out of the question.
“It would be no use to hunt any longer,” said Arnold, “even if we had the time to spare. Perhaps next spring, when the snow melts, some trapper or hunter will find the body and give it decent burial.”
So, after a sad and hurried dinner, we packed up and resumed our journey. The weather held good, and about midnight we arrived safely at Fort Charter.
I will make but brief mention of our stop at the fort, where we were received and treated with the utmost kindness. As for Captain Rudstone, I need only say that I had grown sincerely attached to him, and felt his loss deeply. Not a scrap of news was waiting for us on our arrival. No couriers had come in, and what was taking place in the North, or whether Andrew Menzies and his party had reached Fort Elk, were matters of conjecture. One keen disappointment I had. Contrary to expectation, there was no priest at Fort Charter, so my marriage with Flora had to be put off indefinitely, as I feared at the time.
But something happened shortly to raise my spirits. The factor of thefort decided to send word down to Fort Garry of the Indian rising and the loss of Fort Royal, and I gladly consented to be his messenger. Moreover, since an attack was far from improbable, and the post was weak, two of the officers seized this opportunity to dispatch their wives to the South, believing from the reports they had heard that the country was safe in that direction.
Preparations were pushed forward, and just three days after our arrival we started on our long march of five hundred miles to Fort Garry through the dead of winter. We numbered fifteen in all, including Flora, and two other women. Christopher Burley, Baptiste and Carteret, and Luke Hutter were of the party. We were well provided with all that was needful—sledges and dogs, provisions and firearms.
CHAPTER XXXVII.REST AND HAPPINESS.
Rat, tat, tat! Thump, thump! Bang!
So noisy and persistent an assault on my door roused me at length from a delicious slumber. I sat up, rubbing my blinking eyes.
“Who’s there?” I called in a drowsy tone.
“It’s nine o’clock, sir,” responded the voice of Baptiste. “I thought you would wish to know it,” he added, and with that he went shuffling down the corridor.
Nine o’clock! And I had slept several hours over my usual time of rising! This was the result of sitting up so late the night before. I was wide awake instantly. I sprang out of bed, broke the thin crust of ice on my basin, and plunged hands and face into the bitter cold water. A brisk rubbing with a towel put me all aglow, and I felt what a good thing it was to be alive. The past, with its perils and hardships, was behind me like a dim dream, and the future was rose-colored in spite of the grim spectre of war that it held over us in those days.
This was to be an eventful morning, in a way, for I had a happy piece ofnews to impart to Flora; I thought of it constantly as I dressed—an operation to which of late I devoted much care and attention. From regions downstairs—I was in the factor’s house—came the rattle of dishes and a murmur of voices. Out of doors the frosty air was filled with the hum of busy human life.
But I forget that I owe the reader an explanation. The day of which I write was the 9th of January, 1847, and just one week after we entered Fort Garry and exchanged the harsh monotony of travel for the comforts of this nourishing post in the western wilderness.
I need dwell but briefly on the interval. The journey from Fort Charter had been severe and trying, protracted by furious storms that held us in camp for days at a time. But we were not attacked on the way—indeed, we saw no signs of Indians—and every one of our little band had come safely down from the North, through the heart of the Great Lone Land. It had been a disappointment to spend Christmas in the wilderness, but our trials were forgotten when we reached the fort.
But of these matters enough for the present. I must return to where I left off, and continue the narrative. When I had finished dressing that morning I went downstairs to the factor’s living room, meeting no one on the way except Christopher Burley, who was too absorbed in thought to return my greeting.
I opened the door softly, and beheld an attractive picture. The sunlight shone on rugs and easy-chairs, on walls hung with tastefully chosen prints, on a table spread for two, with snowy linen and white china. To my relief, the room had but one occupant, and that was Flora. She was standing by the window, and as I entered she turned round quickly. She looked radiantly beautiful in a frock of some pink material with her rich hair coiled in a new and becoming fashion.
“Denzil, how late you are!” she cried, with a roguish pout. “They have all finished breakfast long ago. But I waited for you, sir, and am nearly famished. You do not deserve—”
She got no further, for by this time I was at her side, and had stopped her pretty lips with a kiss—nay, a shower of them.
“Darling, I have news for you,” I said, a moment later.
“Well, what is it?” she asked, blushing as she spoke.
“I had a long talk with Mr. Macdonald last night,” I replied. “A better fellow never lived. I told him all, and—and he is anxious to have a wedding at Fort Garry.”
“Is he?”
“Yes, that’s what he said. It will sort of cheer up things, you know, and—”
“But he has one wife already.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said I. “Listen: he is going to send a man off to-day for the priest, who is visiting a little settlement fifty miles to the south. In a week, if you are willing, we can be married.”
“In a week!” she cried, with mock consternation.
“I am serious,” I replied. “Do not play with me. Think how long I have waited. Say that you will be my wife in a week’s time.”
“You foolish boy!” She nestled closer to me, adding, in a different and tremulous voice: “I am yours, dearest. I will marry you whenever you wish.”
Our lips met, and then I held her at arm’s length, looking into her big, purple eyes, soft and shining with the light of love.
“I am the happiest man in the world,” I said hoarsely.
“You deserve it,” Flora answered.
“And I am glad to feel that we are carrying out the wishes of Griffith Hawke. Poor fellow! he was a true friend; and so was Captain Rudstone. I often think of his sad fate.”
“I never liked Captain Rudstone,” said Flora. “I feared and mistrusted him. And I have seen him looking at you so queerly sometimes, Denzil.”
“Have you?” I replied. “I have noticed the same thing myself. But I can’t believe—”
“Hush! we won’t talk of the past,” Flora interrupted. “But the future worries me, dearest. I am afraid of war breaking out—”
“The cloud will likely blow over,” said I; “but if trouble does come the Northwest Company will quickly get the worst of it. And I forgot to tell you, darling, that Mr. Macdonald has promised me a good post here at Fort Garry.”
“How lovely,” exclaimed Flora. “I don’t want to return to the North, with its bitter memories.”
Just then footsteps were heard approaching, and we drew apart in some confusion. The next instant the door opened and the factor himself appeared, nourishing a paper in one hand.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.GOOD NEWS.
Colin Macdonald, I have omitted to state, was rather more than sixty years of age; a stalwart, bearded, well-preserved Scotchman, who had grown gray in the service of the Hudson Bay Company. He was an old friend of mine, as I had visited Fort Garry on previous occasions.
“Good-morning, Carew,” he began. “Overslept yourself—eh? Miss Hatherton would insist on waiting for you—lucky dog that you are! But here is something that will interest you.”
“Dispatches?” I exclaimed eagerly.
“Right you are.”
“From Quebec, I presume?”
“No; from the North. But sit down and have breakfast, man. You must be half-starved.”
Curbing my impatience, I seated myself at the table. Flora sat on theleft and poured out the coffee. The factor remained standing.
“I must be off directly,” he said. “I knew you would want to hear the news. A special courier came in at daybreak—splendid fellow!—all the way from Fort Charter—left three weeks after your party.”
“From Fort Charter?” I cried. “And what is the news?”
“I hope it is good news,” said Flora.
“Well, yes, what there is of it is good,” replied Macdonald, “and that’s not so much after all. The dispatches come from Fort Charter, and contain information received there from Fort York and other northern posts. For one thing, my prediction was right. The Indians, instead of continuing on the war-path, have disbanded as mysteriously and swiftly as they assembled. A small force, collected from the different forts, has started out to pursue the scattered parties of the enemy.”
“I hope they will succeed,” said I. “Anything about Cuthbert Mackenzie?”
“Yes. That infernal ruffian was the leader, according to Indian spies who arrived at Fort York. But there is little hope of catching him. He is supposed to have fled south with a few followers. By Heaven, sir, if he comes back to the Red River, I’ll arrest him at once! The whole North West Company shan’t hinder me!”
“I’m sorry he escaped!” exclaimed Flora, with flashing eyes. “But tell me, Mr. Macdonald, is there any word of Mr. Menzies and his party?”
“They are all right,” replied the factor. “They reached Fort Elk in safety, and then went on to Fort York. So you see that the North is quiet again.”
“But that won’t avenge the burning of Fort Royal,” I said bitterly, “or the death of so many brave men.”
“The work of retribution will come later,” declared Macdonald; “be assured of that. The governor will leave no stone unturned to seek out and punish the murderers. I wish Lord Selkirk were here; he is the very bones and sinews of the company. I understand that he contemplates an early visit to the Canadas, and this outrage may hasten his arrival. And now I must be going, Carew. When you have finished your breakfast—”
“One moment, sir,” I interrupted. “I suppose there is no news of Captain Rudstone? It is foolish to ask—”
“Oh, but there is! Bless me, I quite forgot to speak of it. Let me see; there was a reference to the matter in the dispatch from Fort Charter. What did he say? Wait—I have it!”
Running his finger down the page of thick yellow paper, covered with scrawly writing, he read as follows:
“... and tell Mr. Carew that we made a further search the next week for his friend Captain Myles Rudstone. A party set out under Tom Arnold and were gone three days. But they found no trace of the unfortunate man, and there can be no doubt that he perished in the storm, and is buried deep under a drift.”
“Poor fellow!” said I. “I hoped he might turn up, but there is no chance of it now.”
“It is a strange case,” replied Macdonald. “I was familiar with Captain Rudstone’s name, but I can’t recall every having met him.”
With that the factor looked at his watch, gathered up his papers, and hurried from the room. Left to ourselves, Flora and I discussed the welcome tidings we had just heard, as well as some matters of a more personal nature. Then, breakfast finished, I reluctantly departed to my day’s work, and a few moments later I was seated at a desk in the clerk’s quarters, with ink, quill, and paper before me; for I was writing a detailed account of the siege and capture of Fort Royal, which to be forwarded to the officials of the company at Quebec.
The breakfast room again; the time nine o’clock that same night. After laborious toil with brain and hand, I was enjoying a well-earned rest. Supper was over long since, and the ladies had retired a few minutes before. A snugger, more cozy place could scarcely have been found in Quebec itself. Two lamps shed a soft light, and a mighty fire roared in the huge stove.
Macdonald and I sat in easy-chairs at opposite sides of a table that waslittered with books and papers, glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and a canister of tobacco. He was smoking a long churchwarden, I a stubby and blackened short one. At a small table at the other end of the room three officers of the fort were playing cards with the silence and attention of old-world gamesters.
“Nearly done with your report?” asked the factor.
“I think another day will finish it,” said I.
“It’s a trying task, no doubt.”
“I would rather be fighting Indians,” I replied. “The work is better fitted for Mr. Burley.”
“Quite so,” assented Macdonald. “By the bye, where is your legal friend to-night?”
“I’ll warrant he’s in the men’s quarters, as usual,” I answered, “on the hunt for information.”
“He’s a queer chap, but sound-headed,” said the factor. “He spoke to me of the matter that brought him to the Canadas, but I couldn’t give him any assistance; I never heard the name of Osmund Maiden.”
I’m afraid it’s a useless search—so many years have passed since the man disappeared.
“I agree with you,” I replied. “But he is a plucky fellow, and sticks on in spite of failure. He deserves to win. I don’t suppose he told you what he wants with the man?”
“No; he was close-mouthed about that, Carew. Fill up your glass again. That rare old Scotch I get straight from Edinburgh, and the tobacco is the best crop of the Virginias. You see, we try to live up to the mark here in the wilderness.”
“Royally,” said I. “I have tasted no such tobacco or whisky since I was in Quebec last.”
We smoked for awhile in silence, and then Macdonald suddenly blurted out:
“If the Northwest people make trouble, my supplies will be cut off.”
“Any news to-day?” I asked.
“A little,” he replied. “It may mean nothing—or much. Certainly our enemies are growing bolder. Last night a lot of half-breeds marched through our colony, making murderous threats and singing war songs.”
“And a week ago two swivel guns and a howitzer were stolen,” said I; “and a week before that there was a brawl up at Isle-a-la-Crosse, in which a man was killed on either side. Mr. Macdonald, the situation is becoming intolerable. How will it end?”
The factor brought his fist heavily down on the table. “In a general fight—perhaps in a war spread over the whole territory,” he declared. “By Heaven! sir, if I had authority from Governor Semple, I would take stern measures at once—I would make the Northwest people show their hand, and then attack and crush them. We have borne insults and affronts too long.”
“I hoped that I was done with fighting,” I replied.
“Ay, you have had more than your share of it. I am sorry for you, Carew. I will hurry on your marriage—I sent for the priest this morning—and then I would advise you to send your wife to Quebec. We shall win in the end, and uphold the supremacy of the company, but not without a struggle, I fear.”
The thought of parting from Flora—of sending her hundreds of miles away from me—made me feel very blue; and the factor’s keen eyes observed this:
“Cheer up,” he said. “We are discussing events that may never occur. Come, what do you say to a little diversion—to a hand at cards?”
“With all my heart,” I assented gladly.
But just then the door slowly opened, and Mr. Christopher Burley slowly entered the room. He was neatly attired in black, and after looking about him he made a low bow.
“I trust I am not intruding,” he said in a dry, precise voice. “I desireto see you particularly, Mr. Macdonald. I have been conversing with some of the older employees of the fort, and I find that through ignorance I overlooked a most important matter during the interview you granted me several days ago.”
“Indeed!” replied Macdonald. “And to what do you refer? Go on; you may speak freely in front of Mr. Carew.”