When Siwash Bill staggered to his feet he was still dazed by the furious blow which had sent him reeling to the ground. A burning rage filled his heart, mingled with a sense of fear. Who was this man who had so suddenly leaped out of the night with that sledge-hammer fist? His face he had not seen, for there had been no time for that. He looked toward the door, and saw a dark, tall form bearing the unconscious woman in its arms. Then the door closed and he was alone. His first impulse was to rush forward, smash down that wooden barrier and hurl himself upon his assailant. He advanced a few steps, and then hesitated. No, he would wait. He would learn more. And besides, the woman did not want him. She had repelled him. He had made her a liberal offer, and she had scorned him to his face. Slowly he moved away from the building toward the store. He reached the edge of the forest, and, stepping aside a few yards from the trail, sat down upon an old log. He could see the house, and anyone who came out would be quite visible. His small eyes peered forth from among the trees as he sat and watched.
He had not long to wait ere Grey emerged from thebuilding and hurried across the open. The squaw man half rose to his feet as he recognised the constable. His hand slipped to his hip pocket and rested upon the butt of a revolver concealed there. Here was his chance. He would get more than even for the assault which had been made. His face was sore and swollen where the blow had fallen. That insult would soon be wiped out. Grey was near now, almost opposite, and Bill held the weapon in his hand. Another step or two and all would be over. But even as his finger rested upon the curve of the trigger his arm weakened and his hand trembled. A vision flashed before his mind.
With his outward eyes he beheld only one lone man striding forward through the night. He was unaware of danger, and how easy to strike him down. But the squaw man saw more than this. He knew full well that the figure before him represented a power which would scour every valley, hill and region in the whole land to avenge his death. The work of the Mounted Police was well known to him. Years before he had reason to dread their marvellous vigilance. Here in the far North, beyond the bounds of civilisation, he had fondly believed he would be free from their rule. But no, they were following him still. The awe for this body of men which had been instilled into his heart years ago gripped him now as strongly as ever. He thought of the dire consequences should he shoot this lone constable. The idea unnerved him, and caused his arm to drop by his side, while Grey strode forward unconscious of the danger which threatened him among the trees.
A low curse breathed from Siwash Bill's lips as he watched his enemy until he disappeared from view.
"I'm a d— fool, an' a coward!" he muttered as he stepped out upon the trail. "To think that I have let that cur escape! An' yet—" He paused, and his face wrinkled into an ugly scowl. "By G—, he won't git off always as he did this time! He's after me, I know. But maybe he'll git more than he's bargained fer. Oh, yes, my beauty. You got clear to-night with your whole skin. But there are ways, an' I'll defy the whole d— Force!"
Thinking thus he reached his own house, pushed open the door and entered. The place was in darkness. He called for Nadu, but received no reply.
"Where in h— are ye?" he shouted. "Why don't ye answer? Are ye asleep?"
But still no reply.
Fumbling in his pocket he produced a match, struck it and lighted a candle lying near. Holding this in his hand he examined the room. To his surprise the place was empty. Sticking the candle into a hole in the table, he sat down upon a bench and began to collect his thoughts. Where had Nadu gone? It was seldom she left the building at night. He took good care of that. He did not wish her to be wandering around, especially when the Indians arrived from their hunting grounds. Why had she gone during his absence? he wondered. Anyway, she would come back, there was no doubt of that, and he would wait for her. She would not do such a thing again.
Throwing himself upon a rude bunk fastened to the wall, he began to think about the events of the afternoon and night. Ere long he became drowsy, for it was late. He tried hard for some time to keep awake, but his efforts were all in vain, for sleep at length gained the mastery. He did not hear the door open, nor the soft movement of moccasined feet across the room. Neither did he see a lithe form standing by his side, while a pair of piercing eyes, full of a triumphant gleam, gazed down upon his face.
The morning light was stealing in through the little window on the left when Siwash Bill opened his eyes and looked about the room. Realising that he had overslept himself he sprang quickly out of the bunk, and stood over Nadu who was lying on the floor, rolled up in her blanket.
"Get up!" he growled in Indian, at the same time touching her with the toe of his boot in no gentle manner.
Thus rudely aroused Nadu threw aside the blanket, rose to a squatting posture, and eyed her imperious master. The look she bestowed upon him was one of scorn and contempt.
"Where were you last night?" he demanded. "What did you mean by staying out so late? I waited a d— long time for you. See that it doesn't happen again. You don't leave this place at night for a month, so understand that. If you do I'll break every bone in your black body."
At these words Nadu's lips parted in a sarcastic smile.Her teeth gleamed like polished ivory, and her eyes bespoke danger. She was no longer afraid of this man. Her days of slavery were about over.
"Did Bill wait up long?" she queried. "Then Nadu is not happy. But Bill sleeps well."
"Sleep well! Certainly. It was late enough for anyone to sleep well. I want to know where you were, and what kept you out so late. Have any of the Injun bucks come back? If I catch you with any of them, or if you go to their tents, it won't be well for you."
"And was not Bill afraid to sleep well?" the woman answered in her sweetest native tones.
"Afraid? Afraid of what?"
"Does not Bill fear the Big Lakes?"
"The Big Lakes? What are you talking about?" and the squaw man's eyes opened with surprise.
"But does not Bill know that the Big Lakes are all same wolves and foxes? They come up the river; they paddle soft; they wait till night. They come to Hishu; they creep along trail; they go among the cabins; they see much. Is not Bill afraid?"
A slight expression of concern swept across the squaw man's face at these words. He knew of the trouble which existed between the two Indian tribes, and realised what a sudden attack of the wily Big Lakes would mean to his fur-trading business.
"Nadu," he demanded after a minute's thought, "have you seen any of the Big Lakes near Hishu lately?"
"Ah, ah," was the reply.
"When?"
"They came in the night, when Bill was asleep. They paddle soft up the river; they creep up the trail; they see the cabins empty; they laugh. 'Hishu is not strong,' they say. 'Hishu is like a gopher, easy to catch.'"
"And how many of the Big Lakes came?" Bill questioned.
Nadu held up two fingers.
"Bah! Is that all?"
"Ah, ah; all now, but not all by and by."
"And you think more will come later?"
"Ah, ah."
"Did you see the Injuns? Did you speak to them?"
"Ah, ah."
"And are they near Hishu now?"
"Ah, ah."
At any other time Bill would have been furious had Nadu confessed that she had been talking with two Indians from her own tribe, especially at night. But now he was thinking of other things. Although the thought of those Big Lake spies filled him with apprehension, yet they brought to his mind a new idea. They would go back to their own people. Nadu was one of them. She knew their ways and dialect. Why should she not take that boy and go back with the Big Lakes? He had been racking his brain for some plan to get him out of Hishu, and away from that meddlesome stranger. Here was an opportunity which must not be missed. And for Nadu to go, too, would suit his purpose well.She was in his way now. He had made up his mind to win that white woman, and a repulse or two only made him the more determined. He had no doubt about the final outcome of it all, for mingled with Siwash Bill's craftiness and vileness was much personal vanity. He had won Nadu, the choicest flower of the Big Lake maidens, against numerous rivals, and who was this white woman living with Old Meg who could withstand him for any length of time? And when he had won her Nadu would be in the way. She would not endure a pale face rival in the same house. No. Nadu must go—and here was the favourable chance. He need not have her back again, and not likely would she wish to come.
A smile of satisfaction crossed Bill's face as he thought of this scheme, and the solution of two difficult questions.
"Where are the Big Lakes now?" he asked, turning toward Nadu.
"Down the river."
"And will they come back again?"
"Ah, ah, maybe so."
"Will you see them?"
"How can Nadu see them?" was the low reply. "Has not Bill spoken? Has he not said that Nadu must not go out at night?"
"Yes, yes, I know I said that. But I have changed my mind. I want you to meet those Injuns when they come back, and tell them something."
At this Bill looked cautiously around, lowered his voice, and whispered a few words into her ear.
Nadu started slightly, and looked up keenly into the squaw man's face as if to read his inmost thoughts.
"Is not Bill afraid to let Nadu go with the Big Lake braves?" she queried.
"Why should I be afraid?" he parried. "You will be among your own people, and think of the money you will get. You look after that brat until I want him, and you will get the chink."
"How soon?"
"Can't tell for certain. Shifty leaves to-day for Big Glen. It may take a little time."
"Maybe Shifty doesn't get money," suggested the woman.
"No fear of that," was the response. "When that old cuss knows it's either the money or his child's life he'll cough up the dough quicker than h—."
"But maybe Shifty get caught," persisted Nadu.
"No fear of that, either. If hands are laid upon Shifty it's all up with the kid. Old Si knows that. He's had his instructions all in black and white. He's put that d— Yellow-leg upon us, but that doesn't matter. Now will you do as I wish; see those Big Lake spies, pinch the kid and get out?"
Nadu did not reply at once, but sat very still with her head bent, and eyes fixed upon the floor. Of what was she thinking? Had she read Siwash Bill's heart, and the reason which prompted him to send her away withthe child? Did any feeling of jealousy mingle with the joy of escaping from the life of bondage, and returning to her own people? Whatever were the emotions contending within her breast she betrayed not a sign as she lifted up her calm, passive face to the man standing before her.
"Nadu will go," she quietly remarked. "She will meet the Big Lake braves. She will go to her own people, and the pale face baby will go with her."
"Good!" responded Bill, and at once he turned to leave the room. "See that you don't fail, or it won't be well with you."
Nadu waited until the door had closed, and she was sure that Bill was some distance away. Then the expression on her face underwent a marvellous change. The softness and the light faded like the beauty of an evening sky before thick threatening clouds, leaving in their stead fierceness and strange forebodings. Could the scheming squaw man have seen her then he would not have felt so confident of the success of his venture.
When Madeline opened her eyes after Grey had left she imagined it was all a horrible dream. But the sight of Old Meg standing by her side and her own great weakness of body told her that it was too terribly true. A shiver shook her form as she thought of Siwash Bill, his impudence, and insulting request. She longed to inquire about the man who had rescued her and carried her into the house. What had become of him? she wondered. She was tempted to ask Old Meg to tell her what she knew. But each time she hesitated, and found herself unable to form the words which were trembling upon her lips.
Meg asked no questions about the occurrence of the night. That something more than usual had taken place she was well assured. But Madeline's reserved manner restrained even this woman, noted for her boldness and curiosity. There was some mystery, she believed, concerning this stranger who had arrived so unexpectedly in Hishu. Did Madeline know anything about him? Had she seen him before? These thoughts puzzled and worried her throughout the day. Often she would pause in the midst of her work and gaze for some time out of the open door.
Most of the day Madeline spent with Donnie. He had awakened feeling much better, and the wheezing cough had disappeared. He soon became quite friendly with the woman sitting by his side, who looked upon him with such big pathetic eyes. Madeline told him simple childish stories, at which he would often clap his hands with delight. When night arrived Donnie was much like his former self. Madeline rejoiced to have the child near her. She knew that Hishu was no place for a boy like this, and her heart ached to think that such a delicate lad should be so far away from his parents' tender care. As the darkness deepened, and Donnie sat in her lap he asked for his mother.
"Why doesn't she tum to me, Malin?" he said. "Why does she 'tay away so long?"
Such a question Madeline could not answer. She endeavoured to soothe him, and gently stroked his curly silken hair. Long after he had fallen asleep she sat by his side and gazed upon the little face. And so the boy was stolen away, too, she thought. Why should an innocent child be made to suffer by reason of cruel, wicked men? She recalled Siwash Bill's vile proposition, and shuddered. She knew something of his persistency, and of the length he would go to carry out his base designs. Money and revenge the man wanted. She was sure of that, and had torn away the lamb from the fold to further his object. What could she do to save the boy? She longed to seize him in her arms, and hurry off into the forest; anywhere would be better than Hishu. But this she realised would be futile.Her face darkened, and her tense hands gripped each other in her lap as she thought of her own fruitless attempts in the past. She could not escape from the Argus-eyed Meg, and what could she do with a little lad in a dreary wilderness, with Siwash Bill and his gang in pursuit? She thought of Norman, and a flush mantled her face. Would not he help her? But why should she go to him? He had kept clear of her; had not even come to inquire after the lad. And yet she felt it was Norman and no one else who had saved her from Siwash Bill. Why did he leave so soon? What was the meaning of his strange behaviour? Was it because he believed her to be—? The words would not come to Madeline's lips. Would Norman think such things of her, of Madeline whom he had known and loved in the happy days of old, which now seemed so far away?
The next day Donnie was well enough to run about the house. Everything interested him, and his cheery laugh caused even Old Meg's face to soften with a new light.
"Donnie," said Madeline that evening, "how would you like to walk to the river with me? I go there sometimes by myself, but would like to have you this time to take care of me."
Donnie clapped his hands with delight, and chatted incessantly while Madeline wrapped a small shawl about his body, and tied a hood, much too large for him, upon his curly head.
Together they soon set off down the trail, Donnieholding Madeline's hand, and plying her with all sorts of questions.
"Will ou take me home some day, Malin?" he asked.
"I should like to do so, dear," was the reply. "I know your father and mother must be anxious about you. But what will Madeline do without her little boy?"
"Oh, ou will tum, too. Oumusttum, and live right wif me. We have a big, big house. I will let ou sleep in my room, play wif my horse and tin soldiers. Wouldn't ou like to tum?"
"Very much, dearie," and tears stood in Madeline's eyes at the child's innocent prattle.
"Is this your home, Malin?" and the lad looked up inquiringly into her face.
"Why do you ask that, Donnie? Don't you think this is my home?"
"I don't know. But it seems such a funny home. Is dat woman your mother? And where is your daddy?"
A lump came into Madeline's throat, and she pressed Donnie's hand more firmly.
"I haven't any father and mother now, Donnie. But I have a home, far, far away, oh, so beautiful, which I have not seen for a long time."
"Tell me about it, Malin," and the child perched himself upon an old fallen log which stretched itself along the trail.
By this time they had drawn very close to the river, where the bank was steep. All around stood the silentforest of firs and jack pines, with the cold, dark stream drifting noiselessly by. No sense of fear came into Madeline's heart as she obeyed Donnie's behest. So often had she come to this place that it was like an old friend, full of understanding and sympathy.
Seating herself by the lad's side she told about her old home, the house among the trees, the garden with the many beautiful flowers, where the birds sang and the bees hummed.
To all this Donnie listened with wide-eyed pleasure, occasionally interrupting with a question about the birds and flowers.
So engrossed did Madeline become with her story that she forgot how the time had flown and how late was the hour. Neither did she notice a dark form gliding silently toward her through the shadowy forest, nor a trim canoe which had dropped down-stream and was now lying below the bank not far away.
"Come, Donnie!" she exclaimed; "it's getting dark, and we must hurry home."
And even as she spoke and rose to her feet, a powerful Indian leaped from a thicket of trees a few yards away, and arrested her further movement. Too startled to cry Madeline gave one lightning glance at the intruder, and then caught Donnie in her arms. At once the child was torn from her grasp, and borne swiftly to the river by the native.
Forgetting her own danger, and thinking only of the lad, with a cry Madeline sprang forward. She leaped down the bank toward the canoe, which was lying near,held close to the shore by a swarthy Indian. Him she saw not, neither did she notice a figure crouched in the bow, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, watching everything with cruel, sparkling eyes. Donnie was in the canoe! He was to be taken away, and she must save him! That was all she could think about. She saw him struggling in the arms of his captor, and reaching out appealing hands to her. She beheld the look of terror blanching his little face, and heard his piercing cry of "Malin! Malin!" ere he was silenced by a dark hand placed suddenly and roughly across his mouth.
Throwing discretion to the wind Madeline sprang into the canoe, nearly capsizing it as she did so, and snatched Donnie out of the Indian's arms. That the latter relinquished the child so readily was at first somewhat of a surprise. It was soon explained, however, for, upon turning to step ashore she found that the craft was several yards from the bank, and drifting down-stream. The Indians had seized their paddles, and the canoe was now cleaving the rippling water in its onward sweep.
Madeline at once realised her desperate situation. What did it all mean? Why was she being taken away? Had some cruel plot been formed against her?
She looked at her captors. They were calm and alert, swinging their paddles with a steady rhythmical motion. She glanced around, and the figure crouched in the bow arrested her attention. A shiver shook her form as she noted the fierce malicious gleam of the eyes which met her own. What did that woman mean by glaring at her in such a manner, and what did that look signify?What had she done to merit such action, and what lay ahead of her? That great silent river flowed on down into the vast unknown wilderness—and what then? The thought was more than she could endure. She looked wildly toward the shore. She clutched Donnie close to her breast. She scanned the banks for signs of life, some human being who would come to their rescue. The helplessness of her position overwhelmed her. Lifting up her voice she gave several wild, piercing cries for aid, and then sank to the bottom of the canoe, forced down by strong, rough hands laid fiercely upon her. This insult sent the blood surging tumultuously through her veins. But what could she do? What power had she, a woman, against these uncouth natives? She crouched there in the bottom of the craft, her hands clinched together, and her dry, clear eyes staring out over the water through the deepening gloom.
She was presently aroused by a movement near her side, and then a little soft hand stole timidly into her own. Glancing quickly down she noticed Donnie nestling close to her, and looking up appealingly into her face.
"Malin, I'm cold," he whimpered, and a slight shiver shook his frame. "I want my mother. Oh, please take me home."
A throb of compunction smote Madeline's heart as she looked upon the lad. Thinking of her own trouble she had forgotten him.
Drawing the warm shawl from her shoulders she wrapped it carefully about the lad's body. Nearer andnearer he nestled until he felt quite comfortable, and leaned his head against her side.
"Tell me a 'tory, Malin," he requested. "I'm very sleepy."
Tell a story! What story could she tell at a time like this, with so many thoughts surging madly through her brain? And yet here was this child lying so trustingly by her side, and looking up to her for comfort.
"What story do you want, dearie?" she asked after a brief pause.
"Tell me 'bout the baby Moses in the ark of bulwushes," replied Donnie, as he snuggled up closer than ever.
With an effort Madeline forced herself to the task, and there in that great wilderness, in the midst of fears and unknown dangers, she told gently and softly the old, old story, which in all ages has thrilled the hearts of countless children. And as she talked the little head at her side drooped lower until it touched her lap. The big blue eyes winked hard in an effort to remain open. But nature was too strong, and ere long the lad was wrapped in slumber, far beyond all worldly care. As Madeline looked down upon the sleeping boy, and watched him lying there, with one little dimpled hand clutching at her dress, a deep, wonderful love for the child stole into her heart. In the telling of the story she had been much strengthened. In ministering to another she herself had been comforted. She knew that the same loving Father who had shielded Moses so long ago from his enemies was as able and willing to savenow as then. "Oh, Father in Heaven," she prayed, "guard us to-night. Give me strength to defend this little child, and to restore him safely to his parents."
Thus all through the long, lonely hours of darkness she remained crouched in the bottom of the canoe. At times her cramped position was almost unbearable. But she must not disturb that child lying so calmly with his head resting upon her lap. But no sleep came to her own eyes. Her brain was too active for that. The swish of the water as the canoe sped forward almost maddened her. Occasionally the natives spoke to one another in their strange guttural language. But Madeline understood not what was said, and each word rasped forth only tended to increase her watchfulness and loneliness.
After hours of steady paddling a sharp word of command rang out. Immediately the canoe was turned toward the shore, and soon the keel was grating upon the pebbly beach. It was very early in the morning, what time Madeline could not guess.
Almost mechanically she watched the natives as they left the canoe and proceeded to build a small fire upon the bank. This accomplished they proceeded to cook some moose steak they had brought with them.
No one seemed to take any notice of Madeline, and for a while she remained in the canoe. At length, arousing Donnie, she attempted to rise to her feet, but sank down again with a slight cry, so numb was her body from her cramped position. The boy opened his eyes and looked around in a startled manner.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
"No, dearie," was the reply. "I shall be better soon. Will you help me out of the canoe?"
At once the little fellow sprang to his feet, took her hand in his, and proudly led her ashore, and up the steep bank. With difficulty Madeline made her way by his side, pretending to lean upon him for support. Ere long the numbing sensation passed away, and she walked slowly around, watching the men preparing their breakfast.
The Indian woman took no part in their proceedings, but sat upon a stone a short distance away. She appeared to be gazing far off into space. But her sharp eyes noted Madeline's every movement.
The latter was strangely fascinated by that silent figure. At times she was seized with a nameless fear at the thought of what this woman might be planning down deep in her heart. Of the men, wild and uncouth though they were, she had little anxiety. Their faces at any rate were not crafty or cruel. But this woman with that strange light in her eyes made her tremble with apprehension.
When the breakfast had been prepared Madeline was offered some meat, and black tea in an old filthy tin can. The sight of the latter almost sickened her, and she turned away her head in disgust. The meat she took, ate some, and gave a little to Donnie, who was hungry, and enjoyed it thoroughly. It did not take them long to complete their frugal meal, and soon theywere all again in the canoe, moving once more down that sombre stream.
Before long they entered upon a large, broad lake, and, instead of skirting the shore, the Indians struck straight away to a point of land dimly seen in the distance. This body of water, some thirty miles long, by three to five wide, was dotted here and there with small wooded islands. It was almost completely surrounded by towering, rock-ribbed mountains, whose peaks, devoid of life, were covered with snow for the greater part of the year.
Away to the left appeared a huge draw, well known for the violent gales it frequently vomited forth. Many were the native legends concerning this place; of the monster of the mountains who made his abode there, and who when angry would hurl forth his overwhelming spleen upon unwary navigators.
Often Tonda and his companions cast furtive glances toward the yawning draw, and drove their paddles with greater energy than ever. On and on they sped. They reached the mouth of the gap. They came opposite the place. They were almost past, and the Indians breathed more freely. The monster was not angry, or had not noticed them. Perhaps he was asleep at that time of the morning. But, alas! they were doomed to disappointment. Without one warning sign a gale ripped down the draw with a wild concentrated fury, and spreading over the lake lashed the water into a yeasty foam.
With dismay the Indians beheld the onrushing storm,and headed the canoe for shore. How they did work, and the craft leaped on her way like a thing of life.
Nearer and nearer they approached the beach. Would they win? Yes. No, for the tempest struck them full abeam. It whirled and roared about them in mad glee. It tossed the canoe like a cork, and dashed the water over the crouching forms.
Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and drew him close to her breast. His white, scared face looked up appealingly into hers, though he uttered not a word, nor did a cry escape his lips.
Steadily and calmly the natives plied their paddles, and managed the canoe with considerable skill. But as they neared the shore the large ground swells formed a menace to their advance. Into them they ran, for there was no other course to pursue. From crest to crest they were hurried, each growing larger as they surged forward. When only a short distance from land, a wave larger than usual curled angrily right astern, broke over the canoe, completely submerging everything. Instantly the craft was caught by another roller, which tossed it forward, and, retreating, left it stranded upon the beach. At once a rush ensued. Madeline with Donnie in her arms sped up the bank, with Nadu in advance. The Indians seized the canoe, dragged it after them just in time to escape the next breaker which broke, grinning upon the shore.
When Norman Grey flung himself out of Old Meg's house his one burning idea was to seek the man who had insulted Madeline. He half expected to find him where he had left him, and was more than disappointed when no sign of the rascal was to be seen. He hurried along the trail desirous of reaching the store as quickly as possible, and meeting Siwash Bill face to face. Although unarmed the thought of fear or of the possible outcome of a personal affray with such a man never entered his head. But as he walked swiftly forward and the cool night air fanned his hot brow, he realised how unwise would be such a line of action at the present critical condition of affairs. Nothing would be gained, he felt sure, and much harm might be done by indiscreet hastiness. He would wait for a while. Too many things were at stake. He knew how the squaw man would be incensed by the blow he had received, and that he would, no doubt, seek speedy revenge in some underhanded manner.
Thinking thus he reached the forest, and passed by the spot where crouched his enemy with his forefinger slightly pressing the nimble trigger of his revolver. No sense of danger from that quarter came into Grey'smind, and he strode swiftly onward, unaware of the imminent peril which had been so narrowly averted.
The moon was now rising full and broad. A few fleecy clouds were drifting slowly overhead. The land lay silent and sombre. Nature was hushed in a dreamy, mystic repose. Grey paused and gazed upon the scene. His mind cleared, while a new strength and quietness entered his heart. He thought of Madeline. The sight of that slight form and fair face had awakened the vibrant chords of memory. His face had been close to hers as she lay in his arms while he bore her into the house. A great desire had seized him to press his lips firmly to hers, no matter what she might be. How he longed to seize her and bear her away from such a place. But, no, he would not do it against her will. What was she doing here, anyway? Why should she leave a home of comfort for such a desolate region? "Madeline! Madeline!" he breathed. "What does it all mean? Oh, to feel that you are as I left you by that garden gate; that you are the same pure-souled woman as of old!"
He entered the cabin, threw himself into the bunk, and soon fell into a fitful sleep. He was awakened by the rattle of dishes, and a peculiar sizzling sound. Opening his eyes he beheld Buckskin Dan standing before the little sheet-iron stove frying some moose meat. The appetising smell filled the room, making Grey realise that he was very hungry. For a while he lay still and watched Dan as he worked. What an ideal life, he thought, as his eyes roved about the cosy cabin. Whatdid such a man need with the luxuries of civilisation? Here in the wilderness he is free to come and go at will. The land teeming with game, and this quiet abode as a place of retreat. Yet he must be lonely at times, he mused. Now a pleasant companion, a woman for instance, would prove an additional charm. She would have to be pretty and genial, or the situation might not be so fascinating. But, then, such cramped quarters might not suit her. She would need more rooms, and that would necessitate extra furniture. And suppose there should not be always two? That would certainly complicate matters, and affairs at times might not be so congenial.
A slight laugh unconsciously broke from Grey's lips, which caused Dan to turn quickly about. A smile spread over his furrowed face as he noticed that his companion was awake.
"Thought ye was asleep," he remarked, "an' here I've been tiptoein' around the room like a thief fer the last half hour."
"Oh, I've been quietly musing in this comfortable place for a few minutes," Grey replied.
"Wall, is that so? Yer musin' must have been very amusin' from the chuckles ye jist let out."
"It was," Grey replied as he sat up in the bunk. "I was thinking what a change it would make here if you had a wife. I was wondering if it would be as agreeable to you as living alone."
To these words Buckskin Dan made no immediate reply. He seemed to be suddenly interested in the meatthat was now becoming temptingly browned. He laid his few meagre dishes upon the rough table, while Grey washed his face and hands in a tin basin near the door. The latter noted the old man's silence, and feared that he had offended him by his jocular remark. It was only after they had sat down to their breakfast that Dan awoke from his reverie. He looked across the table and fixed his faded eyes upon Grey's face.
"Ye hit me to the quick by that question of yours, pardner," he began. "Ye didn't mean no harm, an' I take yer words kindly. But, young man, ye little realised how that thrust stung."
"I'm sorry," Grey faltered, for the man's impressive manner was affecting him more than ordinary.
"That's all right, pardner. Don't ye worry one mite. Ye axed a fair question. But, my God! how kin I answer? Would I like to have a wife? Would I be happier? Am I happy now, d'ye think? Am I happy wanderin' out on the hills all by meself, an' comin' back to this lonely cabin, with never a face to greet me, an' never a word of welcome? Then, when I'm under the weather, an' somewhat petered out, to lie all day long in this shack with never a gentle voice to ax how I am, no one to do fer me, an' no one to care whether I live or die—d'ye think that is happiness? Young man, git a home, an' git it as soon as possible. Buckskin Dan's been over the trail afore ye, an' he knows a thing or two."
"I'm afraid it's too late," Grey sadly replied.
Dan looked keenly at his companion as if trying to read the purport of his words.
"D'ye mean to tell me," he asked, "that you too have lost?"
"That's about it."
"Dead?"
"No, and yes."
"Ah, livin' yit, then?"
"In a way."
"But she's alive, young man. Remember that's somethin'. Ye've got hope yit; it ain't altogether crushed. Look at me, pardner. Didn't I love the sweetest, fairest lass that ever trod God's earth? But she left me!"
The trapper paused, and an expression of agony came into his face. Grey could find no words; he knew not what to say.
"Yes, she left me," the old man continued, "left me in the bright summer time, forty years ago come next July. She faded like the flowers of the garden. The roses fled her cheeks, the roundness left her face, an' the strength desarted her body. But she loved me to the last, an' her partin' word was to me."
"But surely forty years have healed the wound," Grey responded. "It's been long since then, and many a man would have forgotten."
"Never, young man, never! I kin see her as plain to-day as of old. Out on the hills, an' along the trail, my Nan, my lost Nanette, is always with me."
"And have you lived in the wilderness ever since?" Grey queried.
"Most of the time."
"Don't you often long, though, for civilisation?"
"I uster have a hankerin' that way. But when I saw the young fellers with their sweethearts it made me feel so lonely that I could hardly stand it. I like it better out on the hills with my Nanette. But of late I've been somewhat drawn back to this camp more'n usual. Thar's a lassie over yon at that house which minds me much of my Nan. I caught a glimpse of her one day which made me stan' very still. An' since then I have sot on the edge of the woods an' watched her as she walked along the trail a leadin' to the river. She's jist like her in form—but my Nan was never like her."
"Do you mean the young woman at Old Meg's?" Grey demanded.
"Yes; it's her I mean."
"And what do you know about her?"
"Nothin' fer sartin. It's only suspicion. But why should sich a purty lass be out in a hole like this with a cratur' like Old Meg unless thar was somethin' wrong? Tell me that."
"But haven't you heard anything? What do the men in camp say? Don't they go there?"
Grey had now risen to his feet and was standing near the table looking straight at his companion. His heart was beating fast. He expected to hear the truth fromthis old man. Did he know? Could he tell him anything?
"Yes, the men go thar," Dan replied, noting Grey's excitement. "But I've never axed 'em. When I see her I see my Nanette, an' I want to think it's my Nan livin' over thar an' not—"
"Don't say any more!" cried Grey fiercely, bringing his fist down upon the table with a resounding blow. "You say that you have suffered; that you lost your Nanette long ago. But she left you, and you know she was pure and good when she died. But listen to me. What would be the sufferings of a man who loved a woman whom he believed to be as noble as your Nanette? Loved her with all the true passion of a man's heart. Then lost her, and after years of seeking to find her there, living such a life as that? Could your suffering be compared to his? Far better, don't you think, that your Nanette should be dead than living such a life as that?"
"My God! yes," cried the trapper, as the meaning of the constable's words dawned upon his mind. "But are ye sure she's thar? Mebbe ye've been mistaken."
"Oh, no, there is no mistake. Wouldn't I recognise my Madeline anywhere?"
"Sure, that's only nat'ral. An' so ye tell me she was once like my Nanette? How d'ye account then fer her bein' away up here?"
"I can't. It's a sore puzzle. She was reared in a home of luxury and loving care. Her mother diedwhen she was quite young. She was her father's only comfort, and he planned that at his death the whole of his property, which was large, should go to her. They had relatives in the United States, and Madeline in charge of a trusted friend left England to pay them a visit. On that voyage the steamer was wrecked. Several lives were reported lost, Madeline and her travelling companion among the number. Something always told me that the report was not true, and that Madeline had not been drowned. I could not rid my mind of the idea. It forced itself upon me day and night. That was six years ago, and since then I have travelled far and wide in the hope of obtaining some trace of her. And now to find her there! Oh, God, it is too hard!"
Grey sank upon the bench, and buried his face in his hands. Buckskin Dan watched him compassionately for a while, and thoughtfully stroked his long beard.
"Seems to me thar's somethin' wrong," he at length remarked. "It ain't nat'ral fer sich a lassie, brought up as ye say she was, to be in a place like this. Mebbe if ye had a talk with her she would explain matters."
"I've thought of it," was the slow reply, "but somehow I can't. The first time I saw her enter the house I wanted to rush to her at once. And then last night when she lay unconscious in my arms as I carried her into the cabin the yearning was stronger than ever."
"Young man, what are ye talkin' about?" Dandemanded. "Did ye say she was unconscious? What d'ye mean? What are ye sayin'?"
"I know you must be surprised at my words," Grey responded; then he briefly told the incident of the past night.
Dan said not a word during this recital, but sat bolt upright on his bench. His clinched hands kept moving to and fro by his side, while a deep scowl formed upon his brow.
"The d— skunk!" he ejaculated when Grey ceased. "Oh, if I only had me hands on his measly carcass! An' so he insulted the lassie did he?"
"I should like to know how she is getting along," Grey continued. "But how can I go? If I could feel she is my Madeline as of old, then no power in Hishu could keep me from her side. But I can't go unless I know she wants me. I would like to hear, too, about the boy."
The trapper sat thoughtfully smoking for some time in deep silence. Then he reached out a large hand across the table.
"Put it thar, young man," he said. "Yer tale of sorrow has brought ye very close to me old heart. We're pardners now fer sure. Buckskin Dan don't make friends easy, but when he does it's with links of steel, an' don't ye fergit that. But, come, we've sot here long enough. I jist want to run across to the store fer a little baccy an' ammunition. It'll take only a few minutes. Thar's important bizness ahead of us, an' we ain't got no time to lose."
Buckskin Dan walked slowly along the trail toward the store. The day was young, and the sun was just swinging clear of the far eastern horizon. It was a cool morning, and the mists of night still hung thick over river and valley. Dan's chest expanded as he drank into his lungs great draughts of the fresh, keen air. "It's the only tonic I need," he had often remarked. "Pills an' tablets an' patent trash may suit some, but give me the medicine the good Lord sends fresh from the hills an' mountains. Thar's no p'isin in that, an' it doesn't twist yer stummick into a groanin' hell wuss than some preachers tell us about."
He found Siwash Bill within the store, looking carefully over his supply of rifles and shot-guns.
"Mornin', Dan," was the curt salutation.
"Mornin'," came the brief reply. "Any baccy?"
"Plenty," and the squaw man crossed the room and handed out a big black plug. "What else?"
"Some ca'tridges. I'm 'bout cleaned out."
"Goin' out on the hills to-day, Dan?" queried the storekeeper.
"Guess likely. Saw some big sheep thar t'other day, an' I need them bad, fer my stock of meat's gittin' low."
"Is the stranger goin' with ye?"
"Mebbe so. 'Cordin' how he feels. Wall, so long, I must be off."
Dan did not notice the interested look in Siwash Bill's face when he learned that the trapper was bound for the hills. Neither did he see the squaw man and Windy Pete engaged in an eager conversation in the back room a few minutes later. He strode forward little realising that his few words were acting like fire to tow in two cunning minds within the store.
He reached Old Meg's house, and rapped upon the door. The owner herself appeared, and stood looking curiously out upon the trapper.
"How's the lassie?" Dan blurted forth. He did not like the expression in the woman's face, and longed to get through with his errand as soon as possible.
"What business is it of yours how she is?" was the quick retort.
"Now don't git cranky, woman," Dan replied; "it doesn't work with me."
"Indeed," and Meg gave a sarcastic laugh. "Don't try any of your bluff game here. It doesn't work with me, either."
"I'm not, woman, an' ye'll soon find it out if ye try any foolin'. If anythin' happens to the lassie wot lives with ye, beware. Buckskin Dan isn't in the habit of talkin' simply to hear his own eloquence.I want to know how the gal is feelin' this mornin'. Will ye tell me? Is it yes or no?"
The defiant look on Old Meg's face changed to one of concern. She was becoming uneasy before those steady eyes which seemed to be reading her inmost soul.
"What does the man know?" she mentally asked herself. "What does he mean by such words?" She knew of Buckskin Dan, and for him to visit her on such business was sufficient cause for anxiety. She shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, and tried to evade his look.
"Is it yes or no? I won't ax ag'in."
"Oh, well, if you must know," she flung forth, "she's all right. It takes a deal to upset her."
"Ah, is that so? An' the kid, how is he gittin' along?"
"Better. Out in a day or two. Now, are you satisfied?"
With that the woman slammed the door, leaving Dan to his own thoughts. And those same thoughts were of no light nature which beat through his brain as he wended his way back to his own house. As he had told Grey the evening before, he had been trained in the wilderness to use his eyes and ears, and he might have included his brain, too, for that matter. He used it now right royally as he moved along the trail. His head was bent forward, and his long beard swept his breast. Every movement of his body bespoke a man of action, while his giant stature denoted strength of no ordinary nature. He was a patriarchal giant ofthe wild, where endurance and lustihood mean so much.
A slight sigh of relief at length escaped his lips as if some problem had been suddenly and unexpectedly solved. He entered his cabin, and a smile illumined his face as he beheld Grey busily engaged in putting the room in order.
"What!" he cried. "My mornin's work all done, an' the dishes washed, too! Ye've left nuthin' fer me, pardner."
"Didn't you say," Grey laughingly replied, "that we have important business on hand, and that there's no time to lose? I'm still in the dark as to your meaning, but thought it best to straighten things up here a bit so as to be ready."
"Ye're right, young man, thar is important bizness on hand. But mebbe ye won't agree to my plan."
"You lead on, Dan," Grey replied. "You're the Commanding Officer to-day, and I'll follow you to the death."
"Good!" ejaculated the trapper, as he brought forth the plug of tobacco from his pocket, and began to whittle off several thin slices. "I've been thinkin' much since hearin' yer story, an' thar's only one course I see open."
"And what's that?"
"Git out to the hills after the Hishu bunch of miners. If I kin round 'em up afore they come back and git soaked with Bill's and Meg's p'isined whiskey mebbe I kin do somethin'. Will ye go with me? Wemight run across some game on the way. We'll take a blanket along an' some grub, fer we'll have to spend the night most likely in the open."
"But will it be well to leave Hishu?" Grey queried. "Something might happen to the boy in the meantime, and then how should I feel?"
"Not likely, not likely, young man. The boy's all right, an' the lassie, too, fer I've jist been to inquire."
"What! You were over to the house?"
"Yes; strolled over a little while ago."
"And you say Madeline is all right?"
"Yes, chipper as a young bird."
"Thank God!" fervently broke from Grey's lips. "It's a great relief for me to know that."
"Yes, she'll do fer a while, an' so will the kid. Nuthin' will happen as fer as I kin see until he gits stronger, an' we'll be back fer sure by t'-morrow night at the latest."
"I'll go, then, Dan. But you'll have to loan me a rifle. I left mine over by the rapids."
"Oh, I'll fix ye up all right. Here's a nice light one. She'll spit fire like a wildcat if the right man's behind her."
Half an hour later they emerged from the house, closed the door, and struck a trail, leading in a northeasterly direction away from the river. Dan bore the blanket slung over his shoulder, while Grey carried their scanty supply of food. Little did they think that their every movement was observed from a smallwindow in the store, and that soon after they had headed for the hills the figure of a man stepped lightly across the open and glided along after them. Could they have seen the slinking form keeping so warily out of sight and have read the writing upon the secret chamber of his heart they would not have felt so secure as they moved steadily onward.
It was a beautiful fall morning. The air was clear and bracing. Not a breath of wind stirred the tree tops. Around them stood the mountains, vested to the girdling timber line with snowy robes of dazzling whiteness. Nature was limning her annual masterpiece. A few delicate touches here and there were the only signs of the picture to be completed a few weeks later, with storms raging over the land, streams stricken dumb, and the rasping frost-laden air biting like the whitest of hot iron.
Steadily the two wayfarers sped forward with long, swinging strides. Occasionally a timid rabbit scurried across the trail, and at times the whirr of a startled grouse could be heard a short distance away. For these they paused not. They were forth on a larger quest, for nobler game.
At noon they rested by a small stream, ate their frugal meal, drank of the cold sparkling water, and once more hastened onward. For hours they did not slacken their pace. The sun dipped westward, and the numerous trees were throwing out dark trailing shadows. But darker and more sombre still was that silent figure ever shadowing them from behind. Hadthey looked back at the right moment they might have caught a fleeting glimpse of his presence as he dodged from tree to tree, from rock to rock, or skirted the edge of some wild meadow which they had just crossed.
Dan and Grey talked but little throughout the day, for the trail was hard and not conducive to much conversation.
"How much farther?" panted Grey, as they toiled painfully up a steep incline.
"Not fer now," was the reply. "Gittin' tired?"
"Somewhat. My feet are rather sore from the snags and stones."
"They'll soon heal, pardner, that's one comfort. Now the snags an' stones ye strike out in civilisation hurt fer a long time. But hello! What's this?"
Grey looked quickly up at this exclamation of surprise, and beheld a man coming slowly toward them. He was bent forward, and limped painfully. A small pack was strapped across his shoulders, and in his right hand he carried a rifle.
"It's 'Crusty' Ike, I do believe!" Dan exclaimed. "He's one of the crankiest cusses in the hull region. What in the name of goodness is he doin' here in sich a condition!"
"Hello, Iky," he shouted as they drew near. "What's wrong with ye? Are ye lost, or bughouse?"
The man addressed lifted his eyes and fixed them upon the trapper's face in a mute appeal, but made no reply.
"What's wrong with ye? Why don't ye speak?" insisted Dan.
"Sprained ankle—left behind," came the curt rejoinder.
"Is that so? Too bad, old chap. But yer headin' the wrong way. Ye'd better face about an' hike it into camp."
"No, no!" cried the other most vehemently. "I can't go back! The gold's over there! Jim Stebbins found it. He brought us word. This confounded sprain kept me back. But I'll get there. By God! I'll stake my claim yet! The boys won't get it all."
"But, man alive," replied Dan, "ye're not fit to travel. Ye'll fall on the trail. Ye'll starve. How fer are the others ahead? When did ye start?"
"This morning, and the boys are hiking like the devil."
The trapper stroked his long beard meditatively. He knew what a stampede meant, and the wild excitement which always ensued. No doubt the stampeders would return in a few days, find "Crusty" and take him back with them. He must let this man do the work he intended to do himself.
"Iky, set down a bit," he demanded. "'Twill do ye good. Thar's somethin' I want to tell ye. I won't keep ye long."
Somewhat reluctantly the lame man seated himself by the side of the trail, unslung his pack, and laid his rifle by his side.
"Fire away, then," he grunted, "and don't be long about it, either."
"Now look here, Iky," Dan began. "I'm mighty glad ye've been knocked out to-day."
"The devil! Well, that's cool."
"Jist keep yer mouth shet fer a minute an' I'll explain what I mean. I've known ye fer years, Iky, as a square man, even though ye are cranky at times. Ye're true to the core, which is more'n I kin say of some I've run ag'inst. If ye knew of a mean ugly game bein' put up ag'inst some poor little kid ye would jist explode like a barrel of dynamite, wouldn't ye?"
"My God! yes. You bet your life I would."
"Wall, then, thar's a poor wee lad at Hishu that's been stole away from its home by a set of measly skunks."
"Who are they?" demanded Ike, half rising to his feet, while his eyes blazed with anger. "Tell me the names of the villains, and I'll bring the boys down to Hishu like greased lightning. D'ye know who they are?"
"Yes, Siwash Bill an' his gang: that's who they are."
"Good Lord! An' did they do that? Let me go. Oh, it's Bill, is it? Steal a baby from his mother's arms! I had a little lad of my own once, but he left me long ago. He's always with me in this hell of a land. I can see his sweet face yet, hear his happy laugh, and feel his small soft hand in mine. Oh, why was he taken from me when I wanted him so much?If I had him now I wouldn't be here. I'd be a better man. But for his sake I'd do anything for someone else's child. Let me go. I'll round up the boys."
He jumped to his feet, forgetting for the instant his sprained ankle. A cry escaped his lips and his body writhed with pain.
"I won't go back!" he cried, straightening himself up with an effort. "Don't delay me any longer."
They watched him as he limped slowly along the trail.
"Poor devil!" exclaimed Dan. "His brain's half turned by that lust of gold, an' now wot I've told him has made him completely daft. But it can't be helped. Guess we'd better turn down into that next valley. Thar's a small stream yonder among some heavy timber, whar we kin spend the night. In the mornin' we'll go to the high hills fer some sheep, an' then hike back to Hishu. I've had quite uneasy thoughts all day about the lassie an' the poor little lad. Let's git on, pardner."
Grey sat before the genial fire with his back propped against a large spruce tree. He watched in a dreamy manner the curling flames sending up countless sparks into the night. Buckskin Dan sat a few feet away, puffing slowly at his black, short-stemmed pipe.
The place they had chosen for their camp was near a small stream in the midst of a sturdy growth of soft-wood trees. The moon was rising in the distance, but its bright beams had not as yet flooded the landscape.
"This is comfort," murmured Grey, as he watched the fire seizing with avidity upon the dry pine sticks. "After the weariness of the trail what can be more delightful than a spot such as this? It makes up for much, does it not, Dan?"
"Ay, ay," was the response. "I've often thought the same thing meself as I sat alone by me little watch-fire in the gloom."
"But didn't you find it lonely at times? Did you ever have a creepy feeling that some danger was surrounding you?"
"Can't say that I ever did. But why d'ye ax, pardner?"
"Oh, I don't exactly know. But as I look into the blackness around us an uncanny feeling comes into my heart. Those great sombre trees fill me with strange forebodings. There seems to be danger lurking within their dark depths. I know it is all nonsense, but somehow it depresses me much to-night."
"Yer tired, young man; that's what's the matter with ye. Ye've had very little sleep fer several nights now, an' ye've been over hard trails of late. It's no wonder yer down in the dumps. A good rest will do ye a world of good. So curl up in yon blanket, an' ye'll soon fergit sich things."
"But you must share the blanket with me, Dan. I won't touch it, otherwise."
"Now don't ye bother about that. Sartinly I'll have a piece of it. Thar's enough fer both of us. We'll need it, too, afore mornin', fer the night is chilly."
Nothing loath, Grey stretched himself upon the ground near the fire, and drew the blanket over his body. He listened for a while to the crackling of the fire, and watched the sparks circling and shooting up into the air. He even tried to count them ere they tumbled and disappeared forever. Presently they faded, and in their stead he saw a face—it was Madeline's—just where those sparks should be. She was looking at him with fear in her large eyes. An expression of terror was depicted upon her face. She wastrying to come to him, but something seemed to be holding her back. He tried to go to her, but felt himself bound by some invisible power. He made an attempt to call to her, but words would not come. The perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. He must go, he would break those bonds. He made one mighty effort, and felt the cords loosen. Then the vision faded, and he awoke with a start. He looked around. A few embers were still smouldering near by. Dan was lying at his side asleep, and breathing heavily. The moon was now riding high in the heavens, but the camping ground was shrouded by the shadows of the tall trees.
Grey tried to banish the dream which was still so vivid to his mind. He lay there looking up into the sky through the delicate tracery of countless branches. He blamed himself for his childish apprehension. "What a fool I am," he thought, "to be unnerved by a mere dream! But I really wonder if anything is wrong with Madeline. There was much meaning in dreams long ago, and why should it not be the same to-day? Anyway I shall get back to Hishu to-morrow as quickly as possible. I shall find out then how things are going. I was wrong to leave on this wild-goose chase. It was all nonsense."
He closed his eyes, and turned over on his left side. As he did so a slight noise among the trees arrested his attention. He lifted his head slightly from the bunch of fir boughs which formed his pillow, and listened intently. Hearing nothing, he resumed hisformer posture. "It's only a rabbit or a fox," he said to himself. "Strange that such a thing should startle me." Nevertheless, he moved his head and laid it upon the cool smooth barrel of the rifle lying by his side. The touch was comforting, and he was thankful that he had placed it there.
He now found it impossible to sleep. His eyes would not close, and he kept straining his ears for the faintest sound. His gaze wandered out into the woods among the trees. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the dimness, and he could see fairly distinctly several yards away. Upon one object there he riveted his eyes. He thought he saw it move. Perhaps it was only imagination. It was a stump, no doubt, but it had the appearance of a human being. Presently it moved, he was sure of that, and came a step closer. Then another, and then another. No longer now did Grey doubt that some person was there with malign intent. It was a living object, and that he could face. Whoever it was he was stealing up gradually, and but for that pair of keen, watchful eyes could hardly be detected among the dark tree trunks. Nearer and nearer the form approached, bending somewhat in a wary attitude. In one place a narrow shaft of light shot through the trees. It touched for an instant the slinking figure, and a sudden gleam from polished steel flashed forth. The effect was as an electric shock to Grey's tense nerves. He seized the rifle and sprang to his knees. This sudden action startled the intruder. He paused in his tracks, and then wheeling dashedback among the trees. Quickly Grey brought the rifle to his shoulder and sent a leaden missive after the retreating form. Then all was still. Grey was now thoroughly aroused. A burning rage filled his heart at the thought of the coward who had attempted such a dastardly trick. Quickly reloading his rifle he sprang into the forest in an effort to overtake the assailant. After he had gone some distance he realised the folly of his action. Among the shadows of the trees it would be quite easy for the intruder to hide and shoot him down. Reluctantly he returned to the camping ground, where he found Buckskin Dan standing erect with his rifle in his hand.
"What's the matter, pardner?" he demanded. "What were ye shootin' at? Was it a b'ar?"
"A bear be fiddlesticks!" Grey replied. "Do you think I'd lose a good night's sleep for a bear?"
"What was it then? Ye seem mighty excited."
"It was a sneak, a devil with the form of a man, creeping stealthily upon us with a gleaming knife in his hand. That's what it was."
"Good Lord!" ejaculated the trapper. "A man, d'ye say, with a knife, a creepin' upon us! Are ye sure ye saw aright? Mebbe it was only a shadder."
"A pretty lively shadow, then. I never saw a shadow take to its heels in such a hurry before. A shadow doesn't generally carry a sharp, glittering knife, does it?"
"Wall, no. But things are most deceivin' in thenight. I don't like to doubt yer word, young man. But it's so mysterious. I can't savvey it nohow."
"Are there any Indians in this locality, Dan?" Grey inquired.
"Yes, a few scatterin' ones here an' thar, though most of 'em are off in another direction. But it wasn't an Injun, pardner, ye may set yer mind to rest on that score."
"What makes you so sure of that?"
"Bah, the Injuns in these diggin's wouldn't stoop to sich things. When they're on the warpath it's different. But Buckskin Dan 'ud be the last man they'd injure. He's been too good a friend to 'em, an' they wouldn't tech 'im."
"It must be a white man, then," Grey replied, "and if ever I get my hands on his measly skull he'll need to go on the stocks for repairs. God! How I'd like to have him here now!"
The trapper looked with admiration upon the sturdy form before him. He had little doubt of the outcome should Grey meet with the assailant.
"Come, pardner," he commanded, "you lay down now an' git a few winks of sleep. I've had enough fer an old man, so I'll jist stir up the fire a bit an' keep watch."
"But should I not stay awake, too? That snake may come back."
"Let 'im come. I'd like to set me eyes on 'im jist fer an instant. Old Spit-death here knows a thing or two," and Dan fondly stroked the barrel of his rifle."Many a foamin', frothin' grizzly she's lulled to sleep. Oh, no, don't ye worry. Jist curl up thar, an' fergit everythin'."
Grey found it easy to "curl up," but hard to sleep. He was too much excited, and though at times he did doze off he always awoke with a start, thinking that gliding form was upon him.
Buckskin Dan sat silently near the fire, his rifle lying by his side. He was thinking deeply, and occasionally a deep scowl passed over his face. He was keenly on the alert, nevertheless, and often he peered intently among the trees. It was only when daylight was breaking over the land that he rose from his position, and brought forth some food from a small bag hanging on the limb of a tree.
"Guess we must be movin', young man," he remarked. "Day's dawnin', an' a long trail lies ahead. Better have a snack afore we start."
"I'm going to have a wash first," Grey replied; "it will freshen me up a bit."
Seizing his rifle he hurried down to the stream several yards away, leaving Dan slowly munching his breakfast. Grey had been gone but a short time when he returned, carrying in his hand an old slouch hat.
"What do you think of that?" he inquired. "Do you think now that my trouble was only a nightmare?"
"What is it, pardner?" and Dan paused in his eating.
"Don't you see? A hat with a hole through thecrown of it. My bullet didn't go far astray. I just strolled over to where I aimed last night, thinking I might discover something, and here's the result."