The next day there was considerable stir at the settlement. The women were busy cooking, while the men spent some time cleaning their muskets and "running" bullets. All felt anxious, and serious faces were seen among the Loyalists. Old Mammy was greatly disturbed, and Jean found it difficult to calm her fears.
"Why, Mammy, you never made such a fuss all during the war when daddy was in danger every day," the girl chided.
"Ah, chile, dat was different. Yer daddy was fightin' white men den. But dese are Injuns, an' dey'll scalp de wounded, an' den tie 'em to a tree an' burn 'em alive. Den dey'll come an' carry off de women fo' wives. I'll die befo' I'll be de wife of any ol' Injun, I sure will."
"Don't you worry, Mammy," Jean assured. "The Indians are not going to come here. The rangers and our men will be able to handle them. I am not one bit afraid."
As the shades of evening were stealing over the land, the men gathered for their march against the enemy. They were a formidable band, and Davidson was much pleased as he watched them fall into line. The Colonel had charge of the little squad of Loyalists, and his old spirit possessed him as he drilled and instructed them for a few minutes in front of his house. The rangers watched this performance with interest, and smiled indulgently.
"I am afraid that won't do much good in wilderness warfare," Davidson reminded. "General Braddock tried it, and you know what happened. However, I am hoping that there will be no fighting, so it won't make much difference."
Half an hour later the men were swinging on their way through the woods. No one spoke, and all walked as warily as possible. As night shut down travelling became more difficult for the men of the settlement, although the rangers seemed as much at home in the darkness as in the daylight. For over two and a half hours they moved steadily forward, and at length stopped by the side of a little brook which flowed down to the river. Here they rested and ate some of the food which they had brought with them. They had not been long here ere a low whistle sounded up the valley. Davidson at once replied, and a few minutes later soft approaching footsteps were heard. Then a dim form emerged from the darkness, and stood in their midst.
"I am glad to see you on time, Dane," Davidson accosted. "How many men did you get?"
"Twenty-five," was the reply. "Pete is bringing them up. I slipped on ahead to see if things are all right."
"Yes, everything is working well so far. Have you found out anything new?"
"Nothing except that some of the rebels have gathered at Pine Lake, and others are expected to-morrow. Pete and I were trailing them to-day, and it was rare sport."
"I hope you were careful, Dane."
"We are always careful, though it wasn't necessary to-day. The Indians were quite cautious, but some of the white men lumbered along like oxen, cursing and complaining at a great rate. Flazeet and Rauchad had quite a time with them, and kept encouraging them with promises of rum and the fun they would have with the Loyalists."
"They'll get a different kind of fun from what they expect," Davidson replied. "And the more rum they swig, the better it will be for us. How far is it from here to the lake?"
"About five miles in a straight course. We can do it easily in an hour and a half."
"Oh, you could do it all right in that time, and less, for that matter. But all here are not so well accustomed to the woods at night. Isn't that so, Colonel?"
"It certainly is," was the emphatic reply. "I shall need two or three hours, for I find the walking very difficult. And, besides, one has to be careful not to make any noise."
"Whatever noise we make will not trouble the rebels," and Davidson laughed. "They'll be sleeping as sound as babies by daylight."
In a short time Pete arrived with the recruits from Kingston, and they were given a hearty welcome. It was a glad meeting for the Loyalists, and they spent several hours in earnest conversation about their various affairs, and exchanging bits of information concerning the old homes they had left. The men from Kingston described the progress they were making in clearing their lands, and building their houses.
Several small fires had been started, and around these the men gathered. The night was cool, and a stiff wind from the northwest swayed the tops of the great trees. Had it not been for the serious business upon which they were bent, the Loyalists would have enjoyed the outing immensely. But the thought of what lay ahead was ever with them. There was something uncanny about this camping-spot in the forest, and they often glanced apprehensively toward the walls of blackness which surrounded them. They were not cowards, for their courage had been fully proved in many a hard fight. Even the Colonel felt somewhat depressed as the night wore on. It seemed weird and unnatural, this mode of warfare against a skulking enemy. If he could only lead his men against the rebels out in the open it would have been different. But this waiting for hours, and with no apparent method of attack, was hard for him to endure.
The rangers, on the other hand, did not mind it in the least. This was their life, and they took it as a matter of course. Dane, especially, was at his ease. He was glad of the rest, as he had been on the move all day. But he was anxious to get through with the job that he might return to Jean. He had asked the Colonel about her, and they had talked apart for some time.
"I hope she is not too much distressed over this affair," he said.
"She is naturally worried," was the reply. "But she has great confidence in the rangers—and in you," he added after a slight pause. "I agree with her, and feel greatly indebted to you and Pete for what you have done. I hope we may be able to settle the rebels once and for all."
"I don't think there is any doubt about it. So far, our plans have worked without a hitch, and Davidson is an old reliable hand at such work. Strategy with him is the main thing, and it has proven useful on many occasions ere this. He always avoids bloodshed as far as possible."
It was a great relief to the weary Loyalists when Davidson at last bestirred himself, and told all to get ready for the march to the lake. The band was at once divided into five groups, each containing several rangers, who were well acquainted with their leader's plans. Dane stayed close by the Colonel, carried his musket, and assisted him when his steps lagged. It was a slow, toilsome journey through the forest on that cold, frosty morning. There were hills to climb, and swamps to cross. It would have been hard work even in the daytime, but night added to the difficulty of the undertaking. The Loyalists, not accustomed to such travelling, often stumbled and tripped over stones and snags. But the rangers walked as if on a beaten highway, and proved of great assistance to the less skilful. No one complained, however, and when any one spoke, it was in a subdued voice. The Colonel strove bravely to hold his own with the younger men. But he was becoming very weary, and more than once he leaned on Dane's arm for support.
"I am sorry to burden you" he said, "but this trip is almost too much for me."
"I am afraid it is," was the reply. "You should have stayed at home and let us attend to the rebels."
"I suppose I should have done that," and the Colonel sighed as he paused for a minute on the brow of a hill they had just climbed. "But I want to do my part. I did it during the war to the best of my ability. Jean was proud of me then, and I do not want her to be ashamed of me now."
Dane was about to reply when a slight sound from one of the rangers sealed his lips. He knew that it spelled danger, and that caution was needed.
"We are close to the lake," he whispered. "It is just over there. We are to remain here for a while."
The men were glad enough to rest, so throwing themselves down upon the ground, they refreshed themselves with some food. Anxiously they awaited the coming of the dawn, and through a break in the trees they often turned their eyes eastward. At length the far-off horizon rose slowly into view, the darkness began to melt away, and objects about them grew more distinct. This was the signal for them to continue their journey, and once again they set their faces toward the lake. It was easier travelling now, and seldom did any one stumble. This was well, for the strictest silence had to be maintained as they neared their goal. They were walking in single file, and the rangers were doubly alert, peering here and there, and listening to every sound.
At length they separated, Dane going alone with the Colonel somewhat to the right. Each ranger took one or two of the settlers, and in another minute all had disappeared among the trees. Dane led the Colonel slowly along, until presently an opening appeared before them.
"It is the lake," Dane whispered. "We must creep now to the edge of the woods, and keep ourselves well hidden."
Dropping upon their hands and knees, they worked their way along until they came right to the border of the forest. Here they stopped, and by the dim light of the morning they could see before them a band of men lying upon the shore, wrapped in their blankets. There were fifty or more, including Indians, and they were sound asleep.
"We've got them this time, all right," Dane again whispered. "Here is your gun; you may need it. We must now wait for Davidson to make the next move."
It was a beautiful spot which the rebels had chosen for their place of meeting. The lake was not large, but it lay like a gem amidst its setting of great dark pines. The shore where the plotters were lying was sandy, and from all appearance they had spent much of the night in a wild carousal. They were huddled in various grotesque shapes, and several were snoring loudly.
In about fifteen minutes a sound, scarcely audible, was heard nearDane's side, and glancing around, he saw Davidson creeping toward him.
"The trap is all set," the leader whispered as he came close. "It only waits to be sprung."
"Are the men all arranged?" Dane asked.
"They are in fine order, and all in line, only a few feet from one another. The Loyalists caught on in no time. I am surprised that the rebels are all asleep. It's a wonder they didn't place some one on guard."
"I believe they did. Look," and Dane motioned to a huddled form somewhat apart from the others. "There is the guard, but the rum must have affected him like it did the rest. Anyway, they were not suspicious, and had no idea that their plot was known."
"Now get ready," Davidson ordered. "We must round up this bunch before any more arrive."
Then from his lips sounded forth a clear peculiar whistle. Almost immediately wild yells from a score of rangers rent the air, followed by ringing cheers of defiance. Dazed and startled, a number of rebels threw aside their blankets, scrambled to their knees, and looked around. Flazeet and Rauchad were the first to comprehend the situation. Yelling to their still sleeping comrades, they leaped to their feet, and were about to seize their muskets, when Davidson sternly ordered them to desist.
"Hands up," he commanded.
The ringleaders instantly obeyed, for they at once recognised the King's purveyor, the one man they so greatly feared. But one dare-devil rebel sprang for his gun a few feet away. He never reached it, however, for from the border of the forest two muskets spoke, and he crumpled in his tracks upon the sand. This was sufficient warning to the rest, and all now awake stood sullenly and silently staring hard at their captors who had come into full view.
"Get over there, and be quick about it," Davidson ordered, motioning to the left.
The rebels at once obeyed, and standing huddled together, awaited further developments. Most of the men had no heart for any opposition, even if they had the opportunity. They had been promised plenty of rum, a good time, and no end of fun with the Loyalists. Such a disastrous outcome as this had been far from their minds. The Indians now realised that they had been led into a trap, and their hearts were full of rage, more against their leaders than their captors. But Flazeet and Rauchad were not in the least repentant. Their eyes and faces expressed their anger and hatred as they watched Davidson coming toward them.
"What is the meaning of all this?" the purveyor asked.
"It's none of your business," Flazeet replied with a savage oath.
"I've made it my business, though, and so have the men with me." A smile lurked about the corners of Davidson's mouth as he watched the confounded rebels. "You didn't expect this, Joe, did you?"
"And why should I? Why can't we meet here without being disturbed? What right have you to come upon us like this? What do you want, anyway?"
"I want you and a few others, and you know very well what for, so don't begin any nonsense."
"This is an outrage," Flazeet stormed. "I always thought this was a free country, where men can meet together if they want to without being held up like this."
"It is a free country, Joe, and we are trying to keep it so. But when men start plotting against peaceable people, they must be restrained. That is the reason why we are here."
"Do you mean to say that we are plotters?"
"Yes, and the meanest kind at that. You have been stirring up the Indians and others for some time. You will be surprised, no doubt, to know that every word that you and Rauchad uttered at your big council by the Wedneebak was overheard and reported to me. I know what you said to the Acadians and the Indians who were there that night, and how you cursed King George. You planned to wipe out the Loyalists, though that was easier said than done."
Flazeet and Rauchad stared dumbfounded at the speaker. Their rage was changing now to a nameless fear. They thought of that night by the Wedneebak when they imagined that only those concerned in the plot were present. Had they been betrayed by one of their number? they asked themselves. They could not believe it, for they had kept in close touch with all the men ever since. There must have been spies surrounding them that night, and this thought sent cold chills up and down their spines, causing their faces to turn a ghastly hue.
Davidson noted their confusion, and smiled. He knew that they were greatly puzzled, and it pleased him. The Acadians and Indians were deeply impressed, and showed it by the expressions of fear and awe upon their faces. Their respect for the King's purveyor had always been great, but they considered him now as more than human. That he knew of every word which had been spoken at their council by the Wedneebak, was beyond their comprehension. That they were completely cowed, Davidson knew. He turned to the Indians and addressed them in their own language. He told them how their false leaders had led them into trouble, and caused them to rebel against King George's people. But if they were willing to behave themselves, he would let them go. He wished to take only the ringleaders with him, and hand them over to Major Studholme at Fort Howe.
"King George will treat you well," he said in conclusion. "There is plenty of land for both you and the white people. You will still have your hunting-grounds, so you and your families will have plenty of food. But if you listen to such men as Flazeet and Rauchad here, and make any more trouble, King George will send soldiers as many as the trees of the forest, and will drive you all out. He does not want to do that. He is anxious to be your great chief, and help you. Are you willing to obey him?"
When Davidson had ended, he waited until the Indians had consulted one another. Then their chief speaker stepped forward, and declared that from henceforth he and the Indians with him would be loyal to King George and make no more trouble. The Acadians also gave a reluctant assent. But as these latter were few, and were by no means representative of the loyal Acadians in the land, Davidson was little concerned about what they said. He was chiefly anxious to have the Indians on his side. The slashers were becoming very troublesome up river, and he wanted to keep the natives from joining them against the King's mast-cutters. By breaking up this band of rebels, he believed that much had been accomplished.
"I am going to treat you well," he told the Indians and Acadians. "I am going to give you back your guns and let all of you go except your leaders here and two or three more. When you have buried that man over there, go home and be forever thankful that you have got out of this trouble as well as you have."
Taking with them the two ringleaders and two other rebels as witnesses, the victors marched back to the settlement. There was no need for secrecy now, so the forest re-echoed with shouts, laughter and songs of the care-free rangers. They were somewhat disappointed at the outcome of the affair, as they longed for a fight with the plotters. But down in their hearts they knew that Davidson had taken the wisest course in dealing with the Indians. With Flazeet and Rauchad out of the way, they felt certain that the gang would give no further trouble.
The Colonel found it impossible to keep up with his companions, so he and Dane walked more slowly some distance in the rear. It was difficult for the young courier to restrain his steps, as he longed to speed like the wind to the one he believed was anxiously awaiting his coming. But he would not leave the Colonel who was weary after his trying experience.
"This has been too much for me," the latter confessed, as he paused and rested for a few minutes. "I am sorry to detain you, for I know how you long to be on ahead with the others. It is good of you to stay with me."
"Don't you remember our agreement?" Dane asked.
"What agreement?"
"The one we made out in the hills, of course, that 'While the grass grows, the sun shines, and the water flows we will be friends.' Friends help one another, do they not? Although I am anxious to get to the settlement, yet I could not think of leaving you to lose yourself in the woods. I would never forgive myself, and what would Jean think of me?"
"She thinks a great deal of you now, young man, and I believe you are worthy of her regard."
"I hope I am, and for her sake, at least, I am glad that my life has been clean. I have travelled in strange ways, and lived at times among base and vicious men, but I have always kept myself apart from their evil doings. I owe it all to my mother's teaching and influence."
"She must have been a noble woman," the Colonel remarked, as he resumed his journey.
"She was," Dane replied, "and I know of but one who resembles her. You know to whom I refer. Until I met Jean, I thought that my mother was the only one who reached my ideal of what a woman should be. Since meeting her, I have been very happy. Without her, the world would be very dreary to me. But perhaps you cannot fully understand what I mean."
"I understand better than you imagine," was the quiet reply. "When I say that Jean is just like her mother, you can be assured that I understand exactly what you mean."
The Colonel was very tired when he at length reached the settlement. He and Dane were both surprised at the silence which reigned about the place. They had expected to hear sounds of the rangers and others making merry over the success of their march against the rebels. But everything was as quiet as a funeral, causing an ominous feeling to steal into their hearts. Had anything of a serious nature happened during their absence? they asked themselves, although they did not express their thought in words. What was the meaning of those little groups of men and women talking so earnestly? And why was Davidson advancing alone to meet them? Something surely was wrong.
As, Davidson approached, they noted the serious expression upon his face. The Colonel stopped, and with fast-beating heart waited for the purveyor to speak.
"We have been watching for you," Davidson began. "I am afraid you are very tired."
"I am somewhat weary," the Colonel replied. "But, tell me, is anything the matter? What is the meaning of this strange quietness? And why do you meet us like this?"
"We are anxious about your daughter," Davidson explained. "She has been missing since last night."
At these words a cry escaped Dane's lips, and he wheeled impetuously upon his leader. But the Colonel did not utter a sound. His face grew white as death, and his body trembled. He stared at the ranger as if he had not heard aright. Then he raised his left hand, and pressed it to his forehead.
"You say that Jean is missing?" Dane asked. "What has happened to her?Tell me, quick."
"Yes, she has disappeared, and no one here knows what has become of her."
With a groan Dane looked beseechingly at Davidson.
"Surely some one must have seen her," he declared. "Was she alone? Was she out on the water? Was she in the woods? Perhaps she is lost, and is wandering about trying to find her way home."
"That is not it, Dane. She was visiting at one of the houses early last night, and stayed for about an hour. She left there for home, and has not been seen since."
Dane made no reply. His brain was in a tumult. He tried to think, to find some solution to the problem. Jean was gone! Where had she gone? What had happened to her? His thoughts suddenly darted to Lupin, the cowardly villain. Then he recalled what he had heard a few nights before on the river as that mysterious canoe sped by in the darkness. "Seth's looking after the plans," were the final words which had reached his ears. Had those plans anything to do with Jean's disappearance? he asked himself. Forgotten was everything else as with lightning rapidity these thoughts surged through his mind. He came to himself with a start, and was surprised to see that the Colonel had left him, and was with Davidson at the door of his own house. He hurried after him, and entered the house just as the bereaved father dropped upon a seat near the table, and buried his face in his hands. He went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"I will find Jean," he said. "Don't get too much discouraged."
"You will find Jean?" the Colonel eagerly asked. "Have you any idea where she is?"
"I do not know, but Pete and I will find her."
At these words Old Mammy lifted her bowed head. She had been swaying to and fro, and moaning in the most doleful manner.
"Oh, Mistah Dane, find Missie Jean," she pleaded. "Bring back my sweet lamb. I'se 'fraid de Injuns or bears has toted her off. Oh! oh! oh! What will I do wifout my darlin' chile!"
"We will find her, Mammy, never fear," Dane comforted. "Get some food ready, and Pete and I will begin the search at once."
"I'll have it ready fo' yo' in a jiffy, Mistah Dane," and the old woman toddled to her feet. "I'se been cookin' all day fo' I knew de men would come back wif big ap'tites. I'll put up 'nuff to las' yo' fo' a week."
In another minute the faithful servant was busy filling a capacious basket with the good things she had stored away in the cupboard. Dane turned to Davidson, who had been talking with the Colonel.
"Where is Pete?" he asked. "I have not seen him since coming back."
"He is down on the shore," was the reply. "He went there as soon as he heard the news, and has been there ever since."
Dane walked to the door and looked out. Down among the trees he saw the Indian, moving slowly around, with eyes intent upon the ground. Leaving the house, Dane hurried across the open, and he had almost reached the native when the latter dropped upon his hands and knees, and examined something he had just discovered.
"Have you found anything?" Dane asked.
"A-ha-ha," Pete replied, lifting his head, and holding forth a tiny shred of cloth.
Dane seized it and examined it most carefully, while his heart gave a great bound.
"It is a piece of Jean's dress!" he exclaimed. "I would know it among a thousand. Where did you find it?"
"On dat," and the Indian laid his hand upon a sharp-pointed prong which jutted out from the great root of a fallen tree. "White woman carried off, eh?"
"It seems like it, Pete. Her dress must have caught on that snag.Have you found anything else?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun track, see," and he pointed to the ground just in front of him.
Dane stooped and without much difficulty he was able to discern the imprint of a moccasined-foot where it had pressed a small mound of sand. He straightened himself up and looked around.
"Any more such tracks, Pete?"
"A-ha-ha, down on shore. Canoe come dere. Injun carry off white woman, eh?"
"There is no doubt about it. And we've got to find her. Are you ready to help me?"
"A-ha-ha, Pete ready. Pete get canoe, eh?"
"All right, and I'll be with you in a few minutes."
Half an hour later Pete's canoe, the old reliable, which the rangers had brought back to the settlement, was again headed up river. Dane sat astern and drove his paddle into the water with the force of a Titan. He had been greatly stirred at times in the past, but never such as now. The blood surged madly through his veins, and the muscles of his bared arms stood out like whips of steel. He thought of the cowardly attack upon the helpless girl, the one he loved better than life. Where was she now? Perhaps already she had become the victim of Seth Lupin. The idea was horrible, and his paddle bent as the glittering blade carved the water. But the base Lupin should not escape. He would track him, if necessary, to the farthest bounds. He would find him, and when he had found him . . .
The sun of the now shortened day dipped below the far-off western horizon. A chilly breeze drifted up with the tide. Gradually the trees along the shore became indistinct. The stars tumbled out one by one. Silence reigned on water and land. But still the canoe sped noiselessly onward. Not once had Dane spoken to the Indian; his mind was too much occupied with other things. The picture of a white head bowed with grief as he had last seen it at the settlement, rose before him. What agony of soul was that silent man now undergoing. He emitted a slight groan, which caused Pete to glance quickly around.
"Dane seek, eh?" he queried.
"Not sick, Pete; only mad. I'm in hell."
"A-ha-ha, me know. Bad, eh?"
Dane's only reply was a more vigorous stroke than ever, which caused the canoe to quiver as it leaped forward. He was too much excited as yet to form any definite line of action. He thought only of the Indian encampments along the river and the various tributaries. Surely at one of these he would find out something which would guide him in his search. There was no time to be lost. Winter was not far away, and the river would soon be frozen from bank to bank. Already the wild geese had gone South in great wedge-like battalions, and any day the wild nor'easter might sweep down, and with the blast of its cruel breath strike rivers, lakes, and babbling brooks into a numbing silence.
For days and nights they continued their search. From camp to camp they sped with feverish haste, but not a clue could they find. The Indians had heard nothing of the missing girl, and Dane's heart sank within him at each fresh disappointment. What was he to do? Where was he to go? These were the questions he asked himself over and over again. Both he and Pete were weary, for they had slept but little, and had only eaten what they could obtain at the various encampments. How much longer could they continue? Soon the river would be frozen, and then the search would have to be carried on by land. And all this time what untold hardships was Jean undergoing, providing she was still alive?
At length when hope was almost gone, an Indian passing up river gave him a glimmer of light. He had been at the mouth of the Washademoak the night the white girl had been carried off. A strange canoe had passed by swiftly in the darkness, and he had heard a slight moan of distress. This was all, but it aroused in Dane a new spirit of hope. There might yet be time to follow this clue, and the Washademoak was a likely place to hide the girl.
It was morning, and they were far up the river when this information was received. The setting sun found them resting upon the shore not far from the entrance to the Washademoak. They had just finished their frugal supper, and were about to continue on their way, when the white sails of the little schoonerPollyhove in sight, bearing steadily up stream. Captain Leavitt was on deck, and catching sight of the two rangers, he hailed them. As the vessel approached, Dane and Pete launched their canoe, and awaited her coming. The wind was not strong, and when thePollyat last drew near, they could see the deck filled with men, women, and children. In another minute the canoe was alongside, and Captain Leavitt leaning over the starboard rail.
"Hello, Dane," he accosted. "You're just the man I'm on the lookout for. Here's a letter from Davidson. I didn't expect to find you so easily. Any word of the missing girl?"
"Not much, Captain. We have a slight clue, though. What's the news atPortland Point?"
"Stirring times there, Dane. The town is building up fast, and more people have arrived." He then lowered his voice. "These are some of the late-comers. They are going up river to settle."
"At this time of the year?" Dane asked in surprise.
"Yes, and mighty hard luck, isn't it? We are bound for St. Anne's, but I question whether we can make it with this cold weather upon us. I must get back before the river freezes. Some are following in open boats, just think of that! I don't know what will become of them."
Dane's eyes turned to the Loyalists who were watching him and Pete with considerable curiosity. They formed a most pathetic group of people shivering there upon deck. They seemed weary almost to the point of exhaustion, and yet in their eyes and bearing could be observed a spirit that nothing could daunt.
"Did Davidson get the prisoners down all right?" Dane asked as he was about to let go of the rail.
"Yes, they're waiting trial now. But that letter will tell you all about it."
In another minute the canoe was adrift, and the Loyalists were waving their hands as thePollysped on her way. Dane at once opened the letter, and read its contents. As he did so, his face became very grave, and a spirit of rebellion welled up within him.
"Look at this, Pete," and he held forth the letter as soon as he had stepped ashore. "Davidson has ordered us both to Fort Howe."
"Why?" the Indian asked.
"To tell what we heard at the Wedneebak. We are wanted as witnesses against Flazeet and Rauchad. What do you think of that?"
"We go, eh?"
"How can we? What about Jean?"
"Dane always go when chief call, all sam' wild goose, eh?"
"I always have, Pete. But it is different now. Jean needs me. She is in danger. She may be cold. She may be hungry. She may be——"
Dane did not finish his sentence, for Pete had suddenly stooped, and with a small stick was drawing a line upon the sand, east by west.
"See," he said, "King dere," and he touched the ground on the south side of the line with the point of his stick. He did the same on the north side, adding, "white woman dere. King, white woman, eh?"
"That's just it, Pete. It's between Jean and the King, between love and duty. I must think it out. You sleep."
For over an hour Dane paced up and down the shore, his mind rent by conflicting emotions. He was in the King's service, and it was his duty to respond whenever called. But why did not Davidson leave him alone now? What right had he to send for him when he knew of the importance of his mission in searching for the missing girl? At times he felt inclined to disobey the summons. He could make a living in some other way. It was not necessary for him to remain in the King's service. Some one else could do the work. But each time a voice whispered that such a course would not be honourable. He had not yet taken his discharge, and so was not free. How could he ever again face Davidson and the rangers? They would consider him a traitor, and he well knew how they would discuss him around their camp fires. To them his deflection from duty would be an unpardonable offence. They would condone almost anything rather than disloyalty to the King. Duty to him overshadowed every other matter, even that of the heart.
As Dane paced up and down thinking of these things, his mother's words flashed into his mind. "Be always loyal to God and the King above all things," she had impressed upon him. "The King is God's anointed one, and he rules by divine right." Dane had never doubted this, neither did he do so now. But he had since learned that love, too, is a divine thing, and cannot lightly be disobeyed. What is the King to me? he asked himself. A mere name. But Jean is a living reality. The King lives in luxury, and has millions to look after his interests. But Jean is now wandering somewhere in the wilderness, in great need, and with no one to help her. Why should I not go to her first of all? I can live without the King, but not without Jean.
The more he thought, the fiercer became the battle. Night had closed around him, and the steadily increasing nor'east wind sang the prelude of a coming storm. Dane glanced at the moon riding high above the tops of the pointed trees. He knew the meaning of its overcast appearance, and the circle which surrounded it. There was no time to be lost. He must decide at once. But which should it be? Pete was asleep, and the fire was low. Mechanically he stooped and threw a few sticks upon the hot coals. As the flames leaped up they illuminated the ground for some distance around. They brought into clear relief the line made by the Indian upon the sand. This primitive symbol arrested his attention, and a sudden fancy entered his mind. Picking up a small stick, he wrote in the sand on the south of the line the word "King," and on the north "Jean." These he compared with critical eyes.
"Same number of letters in each," he mused. "One stands for duty, the other for love. K-i-n-g, J-e-a-n," he spelled. "They both sound good, and have a fine ring about them. I am bound to both, and must decide now. Oh, Lord, which shall it be!"
The perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, so intense was his emotion.
"I can't decide against Jean!" he groaned. "And I can't be disloyal to the King!"
Again his mother's words came to his mind. "Be loyal to God and the King above all things." How would she choose if she were in his place? Yes, he knew. Not for an instant would she have hesitated. For a few minutes he stood staring straight before him. His face was pale, and his hands clenched hard, and his lips were firmly compressed. At length he turned, walked over to where Pete was lying, and touched him upon the shoulder. The Indian opened his eyes and looked around.
"Come, Pete, it's time we were away."
"Where, Dane?"
"Down to the Fort."
"Geeve up white woman, eh?"
"Give her up? No," Dane savagely replied. "I'll never give her up.But don't ask me any more questions now."
In a few minutes they were on their way, wind and tide being favourable. They had gone but a mile, when rounding a bend a big camp fire upon the shore attracted their attention. People were moving about, and these Dane surmised were the Loyalists Captain Leavitt had mentioned who were following in open boats. Some were seated before the fire in a most dejected manner. The cries of children reached him, accompanied by women's soothing words. Dane had no desire to stop, for his own trouble was all that he could now endure. So on the canoe sped, past the forlorn exiles, and forward to the Fort beyond.
With a mingled feeling of anxiety and relief Jean watched the Loyalists and rangers march forth against the rebels. She had no doubt as to the outcome of the undertaking, but she felt uneasy about her father, and how he would stand the journey. On the other hand, she cherished the thought that on the morrow Dane would be with her, and all would be well.
For a while she stood in the doorway, looking out upon the river over which the mantle of night had settled. Mammy was crooning to the Indian baby before the fire. It was an old darky lullaby, and the faithful servant had sung it to her when she was a child. It brought back memories of her youthful days, which now seemed so long ago and like a dream.
"Doan stan' dere, chile," Mammy at length reminded. "Yo'll get yo' deff a col'."
Jean turned, picked up a shawl and threw it over her head.
"I am going to run over to see Mrs. Watson for a while," she said. "Danny was not well to-day, so I am anxious to know how he is getting along. With her husband away, Mrs. Watson must be very lonely tonight."
Mrs. Watson was greatly pleased to see the girl, and offered her a seat near the fire.
"How is Danny?" Jean asked.
"He is much better, I think, and is sleeping soundly," the mother replied, as she stole on tip-toe to the side of the rough cradle, and looked down fondly upon the little white face. "John was so sorry to go away with the baby sick," she continued, coming back to the fire. "I do hope there will be no fighting. Suppose some of our men should be killed!"
"I have great confidence in the rangers, and Mr. Davidson told me that not likely there would be any fighting," Jean comforted. "I believe he has some plan to entrap the rebels."
"Let us hope that he is right," and Mrs. Watson sighed as she rose and placed a big stick upon the fire. "How cold the nights are getting. I wonder how we shall manage through the winter."
"We have plenty of wood, anyway, Mrs. Watson, and so should keep warm. And we have enough meat to last us for months. When thePollybrings our supplies, we shall have an abundance of everything."
"I wonder what can be keeping that boat, Jean. We expected her before this. I hope Captain Leavitt has not forgotten us."
"He will come in time, never fear. We should have news, too, from our old home. How strange it is to be shut off for months with no communication with the great world beyond."
"It is like being buried live, dear. And just think of the long winter ahead, with snow and ice everywhere."
"But we shall make our little world right here, Mrs. Watson. I am looking forward to the winter. We are going to have a cosy, happy time, and lots of fun at Christmas. The children are talking about it already, and I know that wonderful presents are being made. I have been working at mine for some time, and I suppose you will have something for Danny."
Mrs. Watson smiled as she rose and took down a little basket from a rude shelf on the wall. From this she brought forth several little home-made articles, and laid them in Jean's lap.
"John is handy with his knife," she explained, "and made this boat, horse, and cart. He is going to make something else when he gets time. I made that doll out of some odds and ends, and John carved the head. We shall also make some molasses candy of funny shapes. Danny will be delighted. Poor little fellow, he talks so much about Santa Claus, and the things he is going to get."
"I am sure he will not be disappointed," Jean replied, as she examined each present. "You and Mr. Watson have done remarkable work."
For some time they sat and talked before the fire, and when Jean at last rose to go, Mrs. Watson looked at her with admiration.
"This life certainly agrees with you," she said. "I never saw you look better. And you are the envy of all the girls, too. I do not wonder at that."
Jean blushed, for she knew very well to what the woman referred.
"If they envy me, they never show it," was the cheery reply. "They are as kind and sweet to me as can be."
"They couldn't be anything else, dear. They would give worlds to be engaged to a young man like Dane Norwood, and to wear such a brooch as the one he gave you. All the girls look upon him as a hero."
In order to hide her embarrassment, Jean kissed Mrs. Watson and left the house. It was dark outside, but she did not mind this as she had often come that same way alone at night. In fact, no sense of fear entered her mind, for she was thinking of the words she had Just heard. As she raised her right hand and touched the Love-Token at her throat, a feeling of joy thrilled her heart. She recalled the day it had been given to her, and Dane's avowal of love. To-morrow he would be with her again, and her happiness would be complete.
She had gone but half way home when, without the slightest warning, she was seized by strong arms, a big hand was placed over her mouth, and she was borne bodily away. Desperately she struggled to free herself, and made frantic attempts to call for help. But her efforts were all in vain, for those entwining arms held her fast, and that hand still pressed firmly her mouth. At length she ceased her struggles, for a great terror rendered her limp and helpless. She knew that she was being carried through the bushes toward the river. After that she remembered no more until she found herself lying in the bottom of a canoe which was being driven through the water at a great speed. With a startled cry, she raised her head and looked around. Dark though it was, she could dimly see the forms of two men swaying strongly at their paddles.
"Where am I?" she asked in a trembling voice. "What are you going to do with me?"
For a few seconds there was intense silence. Then the men spoke to each other, and although Jean could not understand what was said, she knew from the deep guttural words that her captors were Indians. After a brief conversation, nothing more was said, and the girl had not the heart to question further.
Her fears were now greatly increased. She had heard of people being carried off by Indians, and tales of cruelty and insult worse than death lingered in her mind. What was the fate in store for her? Why had the Indians carried her off? She had not harmed them. The more she thought, the more puzzled she became. She shivered as she sat crouched there. The night was cold, and the wind piercing as it whipped across the water. For protection she drew around her shoulders a blanket which had been placed over her body when she was unconscious. That the Indians must have done this was a faint ray of light in the darkness of her despair. There must be some spark of feeling in their savage hearts, at any rate. She longed to see their faces. Were they hard and brutal, or did they exhibit some signs of friendliness? She thought of Dane and Pete. How soon they would hasten to her assistance if they knew of her trouble. But how would they know where she was? She pictured the consternation of all, and the grief of her father and Dane upon their return home. She knew how the latter would spare no efforts to find her. And her poor father! A moan escaped her lips as she thought of his agony of soul. She looked wildly around, but only the blackness of night could she see. Her eyes sought the stars. How far away and cheerless were those twinkling lights. What did they care for her troubles?
And as she looked, there came into her mind the opening lines of one of the psalms, "Unto Thee lift I up mine eyes, O Thou that dwellest in the heavens." How often she had heard those words at church, but never until now had they meant comfort and hope. They were a light to her in her darkness. There was One who could and would help and to Him alone she must now turn. Bowing her head, she appealed to Him, and asked Him to watch over her, to keep her from all dangers, and to take her safely back home.
A sense of security such as she had never before known possessed her. A great presence seemed near, overshadowing her, and giving her a new strength and courage. Despair was replaced by hope, and she felt that she could face the future with confidence. No longer did the stars seem cheerless. Instead, they were eyes smiling down upon her, telling her to be brave, that the One who guided them in their course would not forsake her. She determined not to lament. She would show the Indians that a white girl could suffer and be strong.
Slowly the dawn of a new day edged into the night, and the stars faded one by one. Jean could see her captors now quite distinctly. They were great stalwart natives, whose faces betrayed neither friendliness nor hostility. They never even glanced at her, but seemed entirely bent upon their work.
As the sun was about to appear above the tree-tops, the steersman headed the canoe for the shore. After they had landed, a small fire was started, and a kettle containing cooked meat was placed over the flames. Jean watched with interest all that was going on around her. This seemed to surprise the Indians, and when she pointed to the kettle, their faces relaxed into the faint semblance of a smile. Presently one of the men dipped a cup into the kettle and handed it to the girl. She took it, not without some hesitation, and after it had cooled a little, placed it to her lips. It tasted good, so she drank it all. The Indian next thrust a sharpened stick into the kettle, and brought forth a piece of the partridge which he placed in her cup. This was tender, and Jean enjoyed it as much as she did the broth. It brought a renewal of strength to her body, and she felt less weary.
Breakfast ended, the Indians took their few dishes to the water, washed and scoured them with sand, and left them upon a big stone for the sun to dry. The cleanliness of these natives was a surprise to Jean, and this touch of civilisation gave her some encouragement. She had often heard of the uncouth Indians, but here were men who could put many white people to shame.
For about two hours they remained there, and while the Indians dozed in the sun, Jean walked up and down the shore, or sat upon a rock looking out over the water. It was a beautiful morning, with not a breath of wind astir, and the mirror-like river reflected the great trees along its border. Where she was she had no idea. That she was some distance inland she felt certain. But how far? Whither was she bound? and what were the Indians going to do with her? Over and over again she vainly asked herself these questions as she gazed pensively out over the water.
All through the morning they continued on their way, and only stopped once to rest and to eat a hurried meal. Then on again, hour after hour, with nothing to break the monotony of vast forests crowding to the very shores. The river was quite narrow now, and very crooked. This led Jean to imagine that they were nearing the headwaters of the St. John, for never once had she suspected that they were ascending one of its tributaries. She was weary, and her body ached from her cramped position. It seemed an age since she had last slept in her own little bed far away. At times during the day her eyes had closed through drowsiness, but she had always aroused with a start. She felt that she must keep awake until night, at least—and what then?
At length, rounding a bend, her eyes rested upon two people standing upon the shore not far ahead. That they were Indians, a man and a woman, she could easily tell. Her captors saw them, too, so they ran the canoe close to where they were standing, and began to converse with them in the native language. That they were talking about her Jean was fully aware, for at times the woman looked at her in a manner not at all unfriendly. They seemed to be disputing about something, and their voices grew quite loud, and their words most emphatic.
Presently the woman stepped up close to the canoe, reached out and touched the little brooch at the girl's throat. "Su-wan! Su-wan!" she exclaimed. After examining it most carefully, she turned upon the captors and addressed them in an angry manner. They merely grunted at what she said, and pushing the canoe from the shore, once more continued on their way. Jean longed to know what had been said, and the meaning of the woman's sudden interest in the little arrow. She looked back several times and saw the two still standing upon the shore. When another bend hid them from view, a great loneliness swept upon her. She felt that those two were friendly, and had rebuked her captors for what they were doing.
For about another hour they pushed forward, the river becoming narrower all the time. Suddenly before them appeared several Indian lodges, entirely covered with great strips of birch bark. The place was evidently deserted, for no sign of life was to be seen. Here the canoe was run ashore, and landing made for the night.
Supper over, one of the Indians handed the captive a blanket, and motioned to the nearest lodge. Jean understood his meaning, took the blanket, and did as she was bidden. The lodge was empty, so placing the blanket upon the ground, she sat down and watched the Indians through the opening which served as a door. A few minutes later her captors pushed off their canoe, stepped lightly on board and started down the river. With fast-beating heart the girl watched them until they had disappeared from view. Then a terrible feeling of desolation came upon her. She was in the wilderness, alone, with untold dangers surrounding her. Had they deserted her? Had the Indians brought her there to perish? The thought was horrible. What had she done to deserve such a fate? With straining eyes she watched the river, hoping to see the Indians return. But night again shut down and they did not come. Certain was she now that they had left her to die. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed out her grief, the first time since her capture. She had tried to be brave, but in all her imaginings she had never dreamed of such a fate as this.
And as she cowered there in the night, listening fearfully to every sound around her, the canoe, bearing her two captors stole noiselessly by, and sped onward through the darkness. The grief and loneliness of the girl meant little to them. Their work was done, they had received their reward, and far off around various camp fires they would relate to their own people the tale of the pale face captive girl.
While Jean was crouching there alone in the desolate lodge, several men were gathered around a small fire over half a mile down stream. They had been drinking, and their words were loud and coarse. Seth Lupin was the leader, and he was in great spirits. Three of his companions were the slashers who had attacked Dane Norwood at Portland Point, and they, too, seemed much pleased.
These brutes in human forms firmly believed that they were safe from all prying eyes, and that their words of lust and revenge were lost amidst the forest depths. Little did they realise that not far away the form of an Indian was pressed close to the ground, that keen ears were listening to every word, and that flashing eyes were watching their slightest movements.
When, however, Lupin at length stepped into the canoe lying on the shore, and began to paddle rapidly up the river, the prostrate Indian rose to his feet, and glided swiftly among the trees, straight for the lodge where Jean was crouching. As the canoe touched the shore a short distance below the encampment, the native was silently standing near a large spruce tree. No sooner had Lupin landed, than like a catapult the Indian was upon him. With a wild gurgling cry of fear the surprised man reeled back, and tried to ward off the attack. But his efforts were all in vain, for the Indian's fingers were upon his throat with a vise-like grip. Notwithstanding his frantic struggles, he was borne steadily to the ground, and there he lay with his assailant perched upon his body, and his fingers still clutching hard.
Seth Lupin had run his course. He knew no mercy, so no mercy was vouchsafed to him. In his diabolical mind he had planned the ruin of an innocent girl. But in his blind passion he had forgotten that the Great Avenger of the just uses many strange instruments in defending His own. He, like others, had left out of consideration the Unknown Quantity. The mighty forest had witnessed numerous tragedies, but none more swift and sure than the one this night on the bank of that narrow inland stream.
Within the lodge Jean heard that wild cry of fear, and it caused her to spring to her feet in terror. Her eyes stared out into the night, and unconsciously she lifted her right hand and struck at the blackness as if to drive it away. Listening intently, she could hear fearful sounds as of a desperate struggle, and then all was still. What did it mean? What unknown horrors were surrounding her? With cold clenched hands, and body rigid with terror, she strained her eyes into the darkness. She imagined that she could see forms creeping stealthily toward her, and the faintest outlines of great tree trunks were to her hideous monsters.
And as she looked and waited, something did appear suddenly before her.With a cry she started back, and raised both hands to defend herself.But a voice at once reassured her, causing her heart to leap with hope.
"White woman safe now," it said. "Injun tak' care white woman. Come."
"Who are you?" Jean asked in a trembling voice.
"Me Injun Sam. White woman no 'fraid Sam. Come."
"Will you save me?" the girl asked. "Will you take me home?"
"A-ha-ha. Bimeby. Come."
A feeling of security now swept upon Jean, so leaving the lodge she followed the Indian, who at once led her away from the river into the forest. It was difficult to see her guide, and so hard was the walking that she often stumbled, and several times fell. At length the Indian took her by the arm.
"Sam help white woman, eh?" he queried.
"Thank you," Jean panted. "You are very good."
With the native's assistance, she was thus enabled to make much better progress. How strong he was! He kept her from falling, and lifted her bodily at times over a root or a fallen log. And he was gentle, too, stopping to rest as they climbed some hill, and speaking words of encouragement.
"White woman no strong," he said. "White woman all sam' Injun bimeby."
To Jean it seemed as if their journey through the forest would never end. She was so tired, and her feet very sore. Gradually her strength and courage weakened, and her steps lagged. At length she stopped, and her body trembled. She could go no farther. She just wanted to lie down and rest. Then she tottered, and would have fallen had not the Indian caught her in his powerful arms.
"White woman all sam' babby," he said. "Injun tote white woman, eh?"
"No, no, you must not carry me!" Jean protested. "I am too heavy."
The Indian's only reply was a grunt of amusement, as he started forth with the girl in his arms. What a tower of strength he seemed as he moved through the forest and the night. Not once did he stumble, and his going was almost noiseless. Jean wondered where he was taking her. But she did not worry, for this native inspired her with confidence, and she firmly believed that he was really her friend. Anyway, she was too tired to think. She only longed to lay down her weary body and aching head and rest.
The Indian did not have to carry her far, for suddenly a light pierced the darkness, and in a few minutes they were by a camp-fire. A woman was standing there, and Jean recognised her immediately as the one she had met that afternoon, and who had examined the little arrow-brooch. She glanced quickly at her rescuer, and knew him, too. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Never were friends more welcome.
Near the fire was a brush lean-to, and gently the Indian laid the girl down upon some soft furs and blankets. He smiled with satisfaction as he did this, and so overcome was Jean with gratitude, that she caught his great rough brown hand in both of hers, and held it fast. Tears were in her eyes as she looked upon his honest face.
"Thank you, oh, thank you," she murmured. "You have saved my life.How can I ever repay you?"
"Sam no want pay," was the quiet reply. "Sam glad save white woman."
The woman now came and knelt by the girl's side. She looked into her eyes, stroked her tangled hair, and touched the Love-Charm at her throat.
"Poor babby! Poor babby!" she crooned. "Hard tam, eh? white man bad, ugh!"
"Why do you say 'white man'?" Jean asked in surprise. "Indians carried me away. You saw them this afternoon."
Suddenly a suspicion flashed into her mind, which caused her to sit bolt upright. Did a white man have anything to do with it? And was that man Seth Lupin? But why had she not seen him? Then she thought of that wild cry of despair outside the lodge, which had caused her such terror. She looked into the Indian woman's face.
"Tell me," she said. "Was it Seth Lupin?"
"A-ha-ha. Seth. Bad. Ugh!"
"Where is he now?"
The woman merely shook her head, and spoke a few rapid words to her husband. She then turned to Jean and placed a light hand upon her shoulder.
"No mind white man now. Babby tired."
Jean smiled as the woman pressed her gently back upon the soft furs, and then stooped to take off her shoes. The latter were torn, and her feet were sore. It felt good to lie there, and to have some one attend to her needs. When the shoes had been removed, and a pair of soft moccasins placed upon her feet, she felt more comfortable.
"Why are you so good to me?" she asked. "You are just like a mother."
The woman only smiled in reply, and placed extra rugs about the girl. She then turned and cut a slice from a piece of moose meat. Through this she thrust a sharp-pointed stick and held it over the glowing coals. When it was browned to her satisfaction, she sprinkled it with a little salt, let it cool for a few minutes, and then handed it to her guest.
"Eat, eh?" she queried. "Good."
Jean smiled as she took the meat in her fingers and tasted it. She was hungry, and the steak was tender. It seemed so strange to be lying there in the wilderness, eating in such a primitive manner. She thought of her old home in Connecticut, and how carefully her mother had trained her. She remembered how when a child she had been rebuked because she had taken a piece of meat in her fingers. But it was the custom here in the wild, and she rather enjoyed it. And as she ate, the two Indians watched her with much interest. Such a novelty did she seem to them, that she could not refrain from smiling.
"Am I eating right?" she asked.
"A-ha-ha," the woman replied. "Babby all sam' Injun bimeby."
"Why do you call me baby? I am very big."
But the woman shook her head.
"White woman no beeg, no strong, no hunt, no feesh, no pack; all sam' babby."
"Oh, I see," and Jean's eyes twinkled. "I know I cannot hunt, fish, or pack. But you will teach me, will you not?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun teach babby bimeby. Sleep now."
Jean did feel drowsy, and the bed was so soft and comfortable. For a while she watched the friendly Indians as they sat near the fire, and talked low to each other. It all seemed like a wonderful dream—the leaping flames, the dancing sparks, and the gentle sighing of the wind in the tree-tops. Her thoughts drifted away to her father and Dane. How anxious they must be about her. But the Indians would take her home, and all would again be well. What a story she would have to tell of her capture and experience in the wilderness. How could she ever repay her rescuers for what they had done for her? She tried to think of what she might give them. But her thoughts became confused, and she drifted oft into a peaceful sleep with the problem unsettled.
Occasionally the Indians turned and watched the girl. When they saw that she was asleep, they looked at each other and smiled. Then they brought forth their blackened clay pipes, which they filled and lighted. For a time they smoked in silence and contentment. At length they began to converse softly in their own language. That they were talking about the sleeping girl was evident, for several times they glanced in her direction. Once Sam ceased in the midst of his talk, leaped to his feet, and clutched an imaginary object with both hands. He then squatted down again, and continued his tale of the tragedy that night by the shore of the forest stream.
When he was through he rose to his feet, picked up his musket, and looked again at the girl. He then plunged into the night and the forest, leaving his wife to keep guard alone by the fire. The dawn of a new day was breaking when he returned and threw two snared partridges down upon the ground for his wife to prepare for breakfast. But something more important than birds had kept him abroad that night. His face was serious, and his eyes glowed with anxiety and anger as he laid aside his gun, and spoke a few commanding words to his wife.