When an opening on the left revealed what appeared to be a sheltered bay, they turned in. Between two points lay two tiny islets, one so small it could hold but five or six little trees. Paddling between the nearer point and islet, the boys found themselves in another much narrower channel, open to the northeast, but apparently closed in the other direction. Going on between the thickly forested shores,—a dense mass of spruce, balsam, white cedar, birch and mountain ash,—they saw that what they had taken for the end of the bay was in reality an almost round islet so thickly wooded that the shaggy-barked trunks of its big white cedars leaned far out over the water. The explorers rounded the islet to find that the shores beyond did not quite come together, leaving a very narrow opening. Paddling slowly and taking care to avoid the rocks that rose nearly to the surface and left a channel barely wide enough for the bateau to pass through, they entered a little landlocked bay, as secluded and peaceful as an inland pond.
“We couldn’t find a better place,” said Hugh, looking around the wooded shores with satisfaction, “to wait for the weather to clear. We are well hidden from any canoe that might chance to come along that outer channel.”
The little pond was shallow. The boat had to be paddled cautiously to avoid grounding. Below the thick fringe of trees and alders, the prow was run up on the pebbles.
“We might as well leave the furs in the boat,” Hugh remarked.
“No.” Blaise shook his head emphatically. “We cannot be sure no one will come in here. The furs we can hide. We ourselves can take to the woods, but this heavy bateau we cannot hide.”
“I’m not afraid anyone will find us here.”
“We thought there was no one on Minong at all. Yet we have heard a shot and a call and have seen a canoe.”
“You’re right. We can’t be too cautious.”
While Hugh unloaded the bales, Blaise went in search of a hiding place. Returning in a few minutes, he was surprised to find the boat, the prow of which had just touched the beach, now high and dry on the pebbles for half its length. Hugh had not pulled the boat up. The water had receded.
“There is a big old birch tree there in the woods and it is hollow,” Blaise reported. “It has been struck by lightning and is broken. We can hide the furs there.”
“Won’t squirrels or wood-mice get at them?”
“We will put bark beneath and over them, and we shall not leave them there long.”
“I hope not surely.”
Blaise lifted a bale and started into the woods. Hugh, with another bale, was about to follow, when Blaise halted him.
“Walk not too close to me. Go farther over there. If we go the same way, we shall make a beaten trail that no one could overlook. We must keep apart and go and come different ways.”
Hugh grasped the wisdom of this plan at once. He kept considerably to the left of Blaise until he neared the old birch, and on his return followed still another route. He was surprised to find that the water had come up again. The pebbles that had been exposed so short a time before were now under water once more. The bow of the bateau was afloat and he had to pull it farther up.
“There is a sort of tide in here,” he remarked as Blaise came out of the woods. “It isn’t a real tide, for it comes and goes too frequently. Do you know what causes it?”
“No, though I have seen the water come and go that way in some of the bays of the mainland.”
“It isn’t a true tide, of course,” Hugh repeated, “but a sort of current.”
Going lightly in their soft moccasins, the two made the trips necessary to transport the furs. They left scarcely any traces of their passage that might not have been made by some wild animal. Hugh climbed the big, hollow tree which still stood firm enough to bear his weight. Down into the great hole in the trunk he lowered a sheet of birch bark that Blaise had stripped from a fallen tree some distance away. Then Hugh dropped down the bales, and put another piece of bark on top. The furs were well hidden. From the ground no one could see anything unusual about the old tree.
Returning to the shore, the two pushed off the boat and paddled to another spot several hundred yards away. There Hugh felled a small poplar and cut the slender trunk into rollers which he used to pull the heavy bateau well up on shore where it would be almost hidden by the alders.
Night was approaching and the wooded shores of the little lake were still veiled in fog. The water was calm and the damp air spicy with the scent of balsam and sweet with the odor of the dainty pink twin-flowers. On the whole of the big island the boys could scarcely have found a more peaceful spot. The woods were so thick there seemed to be no open spaces convenient for camping, so the brothers kindled their supper fire on the pebbles above the water-line, and lay down to sleep in the boat.
The night passed quietly, unbroken by any sound of beast, bird or man, until the crying of the gulls woke the sleepers in the fog-gray dawn. Chilled and stiff, they threw off their damp blankets and climbed out of the bateau. By dint of much patience and a quantity of finely shredded birch bark, a slow fire of damp wood was kindled, the flame growing brighter as the wood dried out.
After he had swallowed his last spoonful of corn, Hugh remarked, “If we are held here to-day, we must try for food of some kind. We haven’t hunted or fished since we left the mainland, and our supplies are going fast.”
Blaise nodded. “We need fire no shots to fish.”
Fishing in the little pond did not appear promising. When the boys attempted to paddle through the passageway, they ran aground, and were forced to wait for the water to rise and float the boat. The same fluctuation they had noticed the day before was still going on. Luck did not prove good in the narrow channel, and they went on into the wider one between the long point and the row of islands. The fog was almost gone, though the sky was still gray. Would the weather permit a start for the mainland?
Turning to the northeast, they went the way they had come the preceding afternoon. As they approached the end of the last island, they realized that this was no time to attempt a crossing. Wind there was now, too much wind. It came from the northwest, and the lake, a deep green under the gray sky, was heaving with big waves, their tips touched with foam. The bateau would not sail against that wind. To try to paddle the heavily-laden boat across those waves would be the worst sort of folly.
Turning again, they went slowly back through the protected channel, Hugh wielding the blade while Blaise fished. Luck was still against them. Either there were no fish in the channel or they were not hungry. On beyond the entrance to the hiding place, the two paddled. Passing the abrupt end of an island, they came to a wider expanse of water. They were still sheltered by the high, wooded ridges to their right, where dark evergreens and bright-leaved birches rose in tiers. In the other direction, they could see, between scattered islands, the open lake to the horizon line. Misty blue hills in the distance ahead, beyond islands and forested shores, indicated another bay, longer and wider than the one theOtterhad entered.
Blaise, who was paddling now, raised his blade and looked questioningly at Hugh. The latter answered the unspoken query. “I am for going on. We have seen no signs of human beings since that canoe, and we need fish.”
Blaise nodded and dipped his paddle again. As they drew near a reef running out from the end of a small island, Hugh felt his line tighten. Fishing from the bateau was much less precarious than from a canoe. Without endangering the balance of the boat, Hugh hauled in his line quickly, swung in his fish, a lake trout of eight or ten pounds, and rapped it smartly on the head with his paddle handle. He then gave the line to Blaise and took another turn at the paddle. In less than ten minutes, Blaise had a pink-fleshed trout somewhat smaller than Hugh’s.
Then luck deserted them again. Not another fish responded to the lure of the hook, though they paddled back and forth beside the reef several times. They went on along the little island and up the bay for another mile or more without a nibble. It was a wonderful place, that lonely bay, fascinating in its wild beauty. Down steep, densely wooded ridges, the deep green spires of the spruces and balsams, interspersed with paler, round-topped birches, descended in close ranks. Between the ridges, the clear, transparent water was edged with gray-green cedars, white-flowered mountain ashes, alders and other bushes, and dotted with wooded islands. Far beyond the head of the bay blue hills rose against the sky. The fishing, however, was disappointing, and paddling the bateau was tiresome work, so the lads turned back.
As they passed close to an island, the younger boy’s quick eye caught a movement in a dogwood near the water. A long-legged hare went leaping across an opening.
“If we cannot get fish enough, we will eat rabbit,” said the boy, turning the boat into a shallow curve in the shore of the little island. “I will set some snares. If we are delayed another day, we will come in the morning to take our catch.”
Tying the boat to an overhanging cedar tree, the brothers went ashore. On the summit of the island, in the narrowest places along a sort of runway evidently frequented by hares, Blaise set several snares of cedar bark cord. While the younger brother was placing his last snare, Hugh returned to the boat. He startled a gull perched upon the prow, and the bird rose with a harsh cry of protest at being disturbed. Immediately the cry was repeated twice, a little more faintly each time. Hugh looked about for the birds that had answered. No other gulls were in sight. Then he realized that what he had heard was a double echo, unusually loud and clear. Forgetting caution he let out a loud, “Oh—O.” It came back promptly, “Oh—o, o—o.”
“Be quiet!” The words were hissed in a low voice, as Blaise leaped out from among the trees. “Canoes are coming. We must hide.”
He darted back into the woods, Hugh following. Swiftly they made their way to the summit of the island. The growth was thin along the irregular rock lane. Blaise dropped down and crawled, Hugh after him. Lying flat in a patch of creeping bearberry, the younger lad raised his head a little. Hugh wriggled to his side, and, peeping through a serviceberry bush, looked out across the water.
The warning had been justified. Two canoes, several men in each, were coming up the bay. The nearest canoe was not too far away for Hugh to make out in the center a man who towered, tall and broad, above the others. The boy remembered the gigantic Indian outlined against the sky, as his canoe passed in the early dawn. He saw him again, standing motionless, with folded arms, in the red light of the fire.
Blaise, close beside him, whispered in his ear, “Ohrante himself. What shall we do?”
If the canoes came down the side of the island where the bateau was, discovery was inevitable. For a moment, Hugh’s mind refused to work. A gull circled out over the water, screaming shrilly. Like a ray of light a plan flashed into the boy’s head.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “Keep still. Remember the ‘Bay of Spirits.’”
Swiftly Hugh wriggled back and darted down through the woods to the spot where the bateau lay. He crouched behind an alder bush, drew a long breath, and sent a loud, shrill cry across the water. Immediately it was repeated once, twice, ringing back across the channel from the islands and steep shore beyond. Before the final echo had died away, he sent his voice forth again, this time in a hoarse bellow. Then, in rapid succession, he hooted like an owl, barked like a dog, howled like a wolf, whistled piercingly with two fingers in his mouth, imitated the mocking laughter of the loon, growled and roared and hissed and screamed in every manner he could devise and with all the power of his strong young lungs. The roughened and cracked tones of his voice, not yet through turning from boy’s to man’s, made his yells and howls and groans the more weird and demoniac. And each sound was repeated once and again, producing a veritable pandemonium of unearthly noises which seemed to come from every side.
Pausing to take breath, Hugh was himself startled by another voice, not an echo of his own, which rang out from somewhere above him, loud and shrill. It spoke words he did not understand, and no echo came back. A second time the voice cried out, still in the same strange language, but now Hugh recognized the names Ohrante and Minong and then, to his amazement, that of his own father Jean Beaupré. For an instant the lad almost believed that this was indeed a “Bay of Spirits.” Who but a spirit could be calling the name of Jean Beaupré in this remote place? Who but Blaise, Beaupré’s other son? It was Blaise of course, crying out in Ojibwa from up there at the top of the island. He had uttered some threat against Ohrante.
Suddenly recalling his own part in the game, Hugh sent out another hollow, threatening owl call, “Hoot-ti-toot, toot, hoot-toot!” The ghostly voices repeated it, once, twice. Then he wailed and roared and tried to scream like a lynx. He was in the midst of the maniacal loon laugh, when Blaise slipped through the trees to his side.
“They run away, my brother.” The quick, flashing smile that marked him as Jean Beaupré’s son crossed the boy’s face. “They have turned their canoes and paddle full speed. The manitos you called up have frightened them away. For a moment, before I understood what you were about, those spirit cries frightened me also.”
“And you frightened me,” Hugh confessed frankly, “when you shouted from up there.”
A grim expression replaced the lad’s smile. “The farther canoe had turned, but the first still came on, with Ohrante urging his braves. Then I too played spirit! But let us go back and see if they still run away.”
Hugh sent out another hoarse-voiced roar or two and Blaise added a war whoop and a very good imitation of the angry cat scream of a lynx. Then both slipped hurriedly through the trees to the top of the island and sought the spot where they had first watched the approaching canoes. The canoes were still visible, but farther away and moving rapidly down the bay.
“They think this a bay of demons,” Hugh chuckled. “The echoes served us well. But what was it you said to them, Blaise?”
“I said, ‘Beware! Come no farther or you die, every man!’ They heard and held their paddles motionless. Then I said, ‘Beware of the manitos of Minong, O Ohrante, murderer of our white son, Jean Beaupré.’”
“Blaise, I believe itwasOhrante who killed father.”
“I know not. The thought came into my head that if he was the man he might be frightened if he heard that the manitos knew of the deed. And he was frightened.”
“Did he order the canoe turned?”
“I heard no order. He sat quite still. He made no move to stay his men when they turned the canoe about. Ohrante is a bold man, yet he was frightened. That I know.”
“Was it one of those canoes we saw yesterday, do you think?”
“It may be, but Ohrante was not in it. He is so big, far away though they were, we should have seen him.”
“We couldn’t have helped seeing him. I wonder if they came around the end of the long point. How could they in such a sea?”
“It may be that the waves have gone down out there. See how still the water is in here now.”
“Then we can start for the mainland. We must go back. The canoes are out of sight.”
“No, no, that would be folly. If they go straight out of this bay all will be well, but we know not where they go or how far or where they may lie in wait. No, no, Hugh, we have frightened them away from this spot, but we dare not leave it ourselves until darkness comes.”
The small island was scarcely a half mile in circumference, and it did not take Hugh and Blaise long to explore it. Its only inhabitants appeared to be squirrels, hares and a few birds. Breakfast had been light, and by mid-afternoon the boys were very hungry. The lighting of a fire involved some risk, but they could not eat raw fish. On a bit of open rock at the extreme upper or southwest end of the island, they made a tiny blaze, taking care to keep the flame clear and almost smokeless, and broiled the fish over the coals. The meal put both in better spirits and helped them to await with more patience the coming of night.
The evening proved disappointing. The sun set behind black clouds that came up from the west. The water was calm, the air still and oppressive, and above the ridges lightning flashed. The prospect of making a start across the open lake was not good. Yet in one way the threatening weather served the lads well. The night was intensely dark. The lightning was too far away to illuminate land or water, and this black darkness furnished good cover. When they pushed off from the little island, they could see scarcely a boat’s length ahead.
Close to the shores of the islands and the long point, they paddled, avoiding wide spaces, which were, even on this dark night, considerably lighter than the land-shadowed water. As he sat in the stern trying to dip and raise his paddle as noiselessly as his half-brother in the bow, Hugh felt that the very bay had somehow changed its character. That morning the place had seemed peaceful and beautiful, but to-night it had turned sinister and threatening. The low hanging, starless sky, the dark, wooded islands, the towering ridge, its topmost line of tree spires a black, jagged line against the pale flashes of lightning, the still, lifeless water, the intense silence broken only by the far-away rumble of thunder and the occasional high-pitched, squeaking cry of some night bird, all seemed instinct with menace. The boy felt that at any moment a swift canoe, with the gigantic figure of Ohrante towering in the bow, might dart out of some black shadow. Frankly Hugh was frightened, and he knew it. But the knowledge only made him set his teeth hard, gaze keenly and intently into the darkness about him and ply his paddle with the utmost care. What his half-brother’s feelings were he could not guess. He only knew that Blaise was paddling steadily and silently.
In the thick darkness, the older boy was not quite sure of the way back to the hidden pond, but Blaise showed no doubt or hesitation. He found the channel between the point and the chain of islands, and warned Hugh just when to turn through the gap into the inner channel. When it came to feeling the way past the round islet and through the narrow passage, Hugh ceased paddling and trusted entirely to Blaise. The latter strained his eyes in the effort to see into the darkness, but so black was it on every hand that even he had to depend more on feeling with his paddle blade than on his sense of sight. It was partly luck that he succeeded in taking the boat through without worse accident than grating a rock. He did not attempt to cross the little pond, but ran the bateau up on the pebbles just beyond the entrance.
Hugh drew a long sigh of relief. They were back safe in the hidden pond near the cache of furs. The sense of menace that had oppressed him was suddenly lifted, and he felt an overpowering physical and mental weariness. Blaise must have had some similar feeling, for he had not a word to say as they climbed out of the bateau and pulled it farther up. In silence he lay down beside Hugh in the bottom of the boat. In spite of the rumbling of the thunder, and the flashing of the lightning, the two boys fell asleep immediately.
The storm passed around and no rain fell, but the sleepers were awakened towards dawn by a sharp change in the weather. The air had turned cold, wind rustled the trees, broken clouds were scudding across the sky uncovering clear patches. The morning dawned bright. The little pond was still, but it was impossible to tell what the weather might be outside. The only way to find out was to go see. Their adventure of the day before had made the boys more than ever anxious to get away from Isle Royale at the first possible moment. Yet the thought that Ohrante might be lurking somewhere near made them cautious. They hesitated to leave their hiding place until they were sure they could strike out across the lake. To load the furs and start out, only to be obliged to turn back, seemed a double risk.
“If the lake is rough it is likely that Ohrante and his band have not gone far,” Blaise remarked. “They may be in this very bay.”
“That does not follow,” Hugh replied quickly and with better reasoning. “There was a long interval between the time when we saw them and the coming of the storm-clouds. Because the lake was rough in the morning is no sign it was rough all day. They must have come in here from somewhere, and we know that the wind changed. The water in the bay was as still as glass last night. Ohrante was surely well frightened and I have little doubt they made good speed away from the Bay of Spirits.” Hugh was silent for a few moments. Then he asked abruptly, “What would happen if we should encounter Ohrante? He can’t know what brought us here, and we have done him no harm. Why should he harm us when he has nothing against us?”
“He has this against us, that we are the sons of Jean Beaupré.”
“He doesn’t know we are.”
“He knows me. He has seen me more than once and knows me for the son of my father. Ohrante forgets not those he has seen.”
“I didn’t know he knew you. He can’t know me. Probably he doesn’t even know that father had another son. I’ll go alone in the bateau, Blaise, down the channel, and see how the lake looks.”
“No, no,” Blaise objected. “You must not take such a risk. If you go out there, I will go too.”
“That would spoil the whole plan. If Ohrante catches sight of you, it will be all up with both of us. He doesn’t know me. If he glimpses me, he may even be afraid to show himself. He may think me one of a party of white men, and he is a fugitive from justice.”
Blaise shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, at any rate,” Hugh protested, “I shall have a better chance if you aren’t with me. I don’t believe I shall see anything of Ohrante or his men, but I run less risk alone. I will be cautious. I’ll not expose myself more than I can help. Instead of going out along the point by water, I’ll paddle across the channel and then take to the woods. I can climb to the top of the ridge, under cover all the way, and look out across the lake. It can’t be very far up there. I shall be back in an hour. You must stay here and guard the furs.”
The expression of the younger lad’s face betrayed that he did not like this new plan much better than the first one, but he voiced no further objection.
Hugh pushed off the bateau, waved his hand to the sober-faced Blaise, and paddled through the narrow waterway and out of sight. After his brother had gone, Blaise picked his way along the shore of the pond and into the woods to the cache. He found no signs of disturbance around the old birch, and, climbing up, he looked down into the hollow. The rotten wood and dead leaves he and Hugh had strewn over the bark cover seemed undisturbed. Satisfied that the furs were safe, Blaise climbed down again. He was reminded though that Hugh still had the packet. He wished he had asked his elder brother to leave it behind.
The half-breed boy waited with the patience inherited from his Indian mother. But when the sun reached its highest point he began to wonder. Surely it could not take Hugh so long to cross to the point, climb to the top and return. From experience of untracked woods and rough ridges, Blaise knew the trip was probably a harder one than Hugh had imagined, but the latter was not inexperienced in rough going. Unless he had encountered extraordinary difficulties, had been obliged to go far around, or had become lost, he should have been back long before. The possibility that Hugh had become lost, Blaise dismissed from his mind at once. With the ridge ahead and the water behind him, only the very stupidest of men could have lost himself in daylight. That he had come to some crack or chasm he could not cross or some cliff he could not scale, and had been compelled to go far out of his way, was possible. Blaise had come to know Hugh’s stubborn nature. If he had started to go to the top of the ridge, there he would go, if it was in the power of possibility.
There seemed to be nothing Blaise could do but wait. Even if he had thought it wise to follow his elder brother, he had no boat. Sunset came and still no Hugh. The lad felt he could delay action no longer.
The pond was in the interior of a small island. Blaise made up his mind to cross to the shore bordering on the channel that separated the island from the long point. Through the woods he took as direct a route as he could. The growth was thick, but there was still plenty of light. In a very few minutes he saw the gleam of water among the trees ahead. He slipped through cautiously, not to expose himself until he had taken observations. His body concealed by a thick alder bush, he looked across the strip of water, studying the opposite shore line.
The shore was in shadow now and the trees grew to the water. Letting his eyes travel along foot by foot, he caught sight of the thing he sought, a bit of weather-stained wood, not the trunk or branch of a dead tree, projecting a little way from the shadow of a cedar. That was the end of the bateau. Hugh had crossed the channel, had left his boat and gone into the woods.
Slipping between the bushes, Blaise glanced along his own side of the channel, then made his way quickly to the spot where a birch tree had toppled from its insecure hold into the water. With his sharp hatchet, the boy quickly severed the roots that were mooring the fallen tree to the shore. Then, with some difficulty, he succeeded in shoving the birch farther out into the channel and climbing on the trunk. His weight, as he sat astride the tree trunk between the branches, pulled it down a little, but the upper part of his body was well above water. The channel was deep, with some current, which caught the tree and floated it away from shore. Like most woods Indians and white voyageurs, Blaise was not skilled in swimming, but the water was calm and, as long as he clung to his strange craft, he was in no danger of drowning. Leaning forward, he cut off a branch to use as a paddle and with it was able to make slow headway across. He could not guide himself very well, and the current bore him down. He succeeded with his branch paddle in keeping the tree from turning around, however. It went ashore, the boughs catching in a bush that grew on the water’s edge, some distance below the spot where the bateau was drawn up in the shelter of the leaning cedar.
When Hugh passed out of the narrow channel into the wider one, he ran his eyes searchingly along the opposite shore, alert for any signs of human beings. Then he looked to the right and left, up and down the channel and the shores of the small islands. He saw nothing to cause him apprehension. Putting more strength into his paddle strokes, he crossed as quickly as he could, and ran the bateau in beside a leaning cedar tree with branches that swept the water. The bow touched the shore, and Hugh climbed out and made the boat fast. He felt sure it would be concealed from down channel by the thick foliage of the cedar. From up channel the bateau was not so well hidden, but this place seemed to be the only spot that offered any concealment whatever, so he was forced to be content. He would not be gone long anyway, and he was well satisfied that Ohrante and his band would not return soon to the Bay of Manitos.
This was by no means the first time Hugh had been through untracked woods and over rough ground, yet he found the trip to the ridge top longer and more difficult than he had expected. The growth, principally of evergreens, was dense and often troublesome to push through. The bedrock, a few feet from shore, was covered deeply with soft leaf mould and decayed wood and litter, forming a treacherous footing. Sometimes he found it firm beneath his feet, again he would sink half-way to his knees. Wherever a tree had fallen, lightening the dense shade, tangles of ground yew had sprung up. The rise on this side of the point was gradual compared with the abrupt cliffs of the northwest side, but the slope proved to be, not an unbroken grade, but an irregular succession of low ridges with shallow gullies between. By the general upward trend, occasional glimpses of the water behind him, and the angle at which the sunlight came through the trees, Hugh kept his main direction, going in as straight a line as he could. Under ordinary circumstances he would have used his hatchet to blaze his way, so that he might be sure of returning by the same route, but he hesitated to leave so plain a trail. It was not likely that Ohrante would come across the track, but Hugh was taking no chances. If the giant Iroquois should come down the channel and find the bateau, a blazed trail into the woods would make pursuit altogether too easy. Though he was in too great a hurry to take any particular care to avoid leaving footprints, Hugh did not mark his trail intentionally and even refrained from cutting his way through the thick places. The whole distance from the shore to the summit of the highest ridge probably did not exceed a mile, and did not actually take as long as it seemed in the climbing.
He hoped that he might come out in a bare spot where he could see across the water, but he was disappointed. The ridge was almost flat topped and trees cut off his view in every direction. Going on across the summit, however, he pushed his way among the growth, to find himself standing on the very rim of an almost vertical descent. He looked directly down upon the tops of the sturdy trees and shrubs that clung to the rock by thrusting their roots far into holes and crannies. Beyond stretched the lake, rich blue under a clear sky. A little to his left, a projecting block of rock a few feet below offered a chance for a better view. He let himself down on the rock and took an observation. The lake was not too rough to venture out upon, when the need of crossing was so great. He noted with satisfaction that the breeze was only moderate. The direction, a little east of north, was not unfavorable for reaching the mainland, though steering a straight course for the Kaministikwia would be impossible.
Hugh turned to climb back the way he had come down. He gave a gasp, almost lost his footing, and seized a sturdy juniper root to keep himself from falling. Directly above him, on the verge of the ridge, stood a strange man, from his features, dark skin and long black hair evidently an Indian,—but not Ohrante. It flashed through Hugh’s mind that on level ground he might be a match for this fellow. They were not on level ground though. The Indian had the advantage of position. Moreover Hugh’s only arms were the hatchet and knife in his belt. The Indian carried a musket ready in his hand. That he realized to the full his advantage was proved by the malicious grin on his bronze face. There was no friendliness in that grin, only malevolence and vindictiveness.
Hugh knew himself to be in a bad position. Probably the Indian was one of Ohrante’s followers, and they were a wild crew, outlaws and renegades, their hand against every man and every man’s hand against them. The picture of the prisoner being tortured in the firelight crossed the boy’s mind in a vivid flash, and a shudder crept up his back. Then the grin on the Indian’s face sent a wave of anger over Hugh that steadied him. He must be cool at all costs and not show fear.
Moving a step, to a more secure footing, he looked the fellow straight in the eyes. “Bo jou,” Hugh said, using the corruption of the French “Bon jour” common among traders and Indians.
“Bo jou, white man,” the other replied in French.
Both were silent for a moment. Hugh did not know what to say next and the Indian seemed content to say nothing. Suddenly Hugh made up his mind, resolving on a bold course.
“What is this place?” he asked. “Is it island or mainland?”
“Ne compr’ney,” was the only answer.
Hugh took the phrase to be an attempt to say that the other did not understand. He repeated his questions in French, then tried English, but the Indian merely stared at him, the sardonic grin still distorting his lips, and replied in the same manner. Either he really did not understand, the two French phrases being all the white man’s speech he knew, or he did not wish to talk. Yet Hugh made another attempt at conversation.
“I was driven here in the storm last night,” he volunteered, “and my canoe wrecked and my companion drowned. We were on our way down shore from the New Fort with our winter supplies, but they are all lost. What is this place? I never saw it before and I do not like it. This morning I heard strange sounds, unlike any I ever heard made by man or animal. The devil was at large I think,” and he crossed himself in the French manner.
During the speech Hugh had kept his eyes closely fixed on the Indian’s face. He thought when he mentioned the strange sounds that he detected a quiver of interest, but it was gone in an instant. The fellow merely repeated his singsong “Ne compr’ney.” There was no use saying more. Determined not to show that he expected or feared any violence, Hugh started to climb up the projecting rock. Somewhat to the boy’s surprise, the Indian made no move to stop him. However, he kept his gun ready for instant use.
After gaining the top Hugh was in a quandary how to proceed. He did not believe the man’s intentions were friendly. Would it be wise to strike first? At the thought, his hand, almost unconsciously, sought his knife. Before he could grasp the handle, the Indian made a swift movement, and the end of the musket barrel rested against Hugh’s chest. The flint-lock musket was primed and cocked, ready to fire. Resistance was useless. Hugh stood motionless, looked the fellow in the eye and feigned anger.
“What do you mean?” he cried, trying to make his meaning plain by his voice and manner even though his captor could not understand the words. “What do you mean by threatening me, a white man, with your musket?”
The gun was moved back a trifle, but the bronze face continued to grin maliciously. To show that he was not afraid, Hugh took a step forward, and opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were not uttered. As his weight shifted to his forward foot, he was seized from behind, and thrown sidewise, his head crashing against the trunk of a tree.
Blaise had no difficulty finding the place where Hugh had gone into the woods. The white boy thought he had been careful about leaving a trail, but to the half-breed lad the indications were plain enough. Most of the tracks were such as might have been made by any large animal, but Blaise knew Hugh had landed at this spot intending to go directly to the ridge top. The younger boy was confident that trampled undergrowth, prints in the leaf mould, freshly broken branches, were all signs of his brother’s passage.
At first he followed the trail easily, but the long northern twilight was waning. As the darkness gathered in the woods, tracking grew increasingly difficult. Blaise had no wish to attract attention by lighting a torch. As he penetrated the thick growth, he was not only unable to find Hugh’s trail, but was obliged sometimes to feel his own way and was in grave doubt whether he was going aright. Coming out into a more open spot, where several trees had fallen, he examined, as well as he could in the dim light, the moss-covered trunks for some sign that Hugh had climbed over them. A fresh break where the decayed wood had crumbled away under foot, a patch of bruised moss, the delicate fruiting stalks broken and crushed, were enough to convince him that he was still on the right track.
Alternately losing the trail and finding it again, he came to the summit of the ridge. Crossing the top, he found himself on the rim of the cliff, but not in the same spot where his brother had come out. He had missed Hugh’s trail on the last upward slope, and was now a hundred feet or more to the left of the projecting block of rock. For a few minutes Blaise stood looking about him. He glanced out over the water, noting that the sky was partly cloud covered. He could make out the low point, and he realized that the rock shore with the fissures must lie almost directly below him. The twin coves, where he and Hugh had camped, could not be far to the left. Blaise was not concerned just now with either place, he was merely obeying the Indian instinct to note his whereabouts and to take his bearings.
The lad was at a loss how to proceed. That Hugh had reached the rim of the ridge somewhere along here seemed more than probable. Where had he gone then? Blaise could scarcely believe that his elder brother had attempted to climb down that abrupt descent. If he had gone down there and through the woods and over the rocks to the water, he could have got no better view of the open lake,—and Hugh had been in haste. No, he had certainly not gone down there of his own accord. If he had started back the way he had come, what had happened to him? Blaise shook his head in perplexity. Of only one thing was he sure. Some disaster had overtaken Hugh. Had he made a misstep and plunged down the cliff, or had Ohrante something to do with his disappearance?
The first thing to do, Blaise decided, was to search along the ridge top for some further sign of Hugh or of what had befallen him. He turned to the right and made his way along as close to the edge as he could, stooping down every few paces to seek for some clue. The night was lighter now, for the moon had come out from behind the clouds. When he reached the spot just above the projecting rocks, Blaise stopped still. There was no need to search for signs here, they were quite plain. The moon shone down on the little open space where Hugh and the strange Indian had confronted one another. It was clear to the half-breed boy that there had been a struggle. The gray caribou moss was crushed and trampled and torn up by the roots. A branch of a little jackpine on the edge of the opening showed a fresh break and hanging from that branch was a torn scrap of deerskin. But that was not all. Lying on the moss, in plain sight in the moonlight, was a small, dark object, a bit of steel such as was commonly used with a piece of flint for fire making. Blaise picked up the steel. It was the one Hugh carried, beyond doubt.
What did those marks of struggle mean? They were too far back to indicate that Hugh had lost his footing and slipped over the edge, seizing the tree to keep himself from falling. No, that was quite impossible, for the jackpine grew at least ten feet from the rim of the cliff. Had Hugh fought with some animal? Blaise knew of no animal likely, at that season of the year, to make an unprovoked attack upon a man. He felt sure that Hugh had too much sense to strike first with knife or hatchet at a bear or moose. Moreover if an animal had slain him it would scarcely have carried him away. Every indication pointed to an encounter, not with a beast, but with a man. Hugh must have come across Ohrante or some of his followers. Had they killed him or taken him prisoner? If they had killed him they would not have troubled to take away his body. They would have taken his scalp and gone on their way,—unless of course they had thrown him over the cliff. Blaise looked down the abrupt descent, now bathed in moonlight. Should he seek down there for Hugh or in some other direction? He decided to look around a little more before attempting to climb down.
Almost immediately he found further traces. Beyond the jackpine more crushed moss and broken bushes and trampled undergrowth showed plainly that someone, more than one man probably, had gone that way not many hours before, had gone boldly and confidently, careless of leaving a trail. Blaise dropped on his knees to make a closer examination. The moonlight helped him, and he soon came to the conclusion, from the shape of a footprint impressed clearly in a bit of loose earth, that one man at least had gone in that direction, whether he had come that way or not. The print was too large for Hugh’s foot, but, a little farther on, Blaise found another smaller track that he thought might be Hugh’s. It pointed the same way as the larger print.
The beginning of the trail was now plain, but could he follow it in the darkness of the woods? He must try anyway. He would go as far as he could, taking care not to lose the tracks.
Blaise did not succeed in following far. No longer was he aided by any knowledge of the general direction those he was pursuing would be likely to take. Under the trees the moonlight was of little assistance. He soon lost the tracks and was compelled to go back to the starting point. He tried again and lost the trail a second time. A white boy, in his anxiety and impatience, would probably have persisted in the hopeless attempt, and would have lost the trail and himself. But Blaise was part Indian. Anxious though he was over Hugh’s fate, he knew when to wait as well as when to go forward. By daylight he could doubtless find the trail easily, and could cover in a few minutes ground that in darkness might take him hours, if he could find his way over it at all. He seated himself on a cushion of dry caribou moss near the rim of the ridge to wait, sleeplessly and watchfully.
Dawn came at last. When the light was strong enough to make it possible to find his way through the woods, Blaise again took up the trail. The tracks he had started to follow and had lost in the first bit of dense growth, led him, not through, but around the thick place, into a sort of open rock lane bordered with trees and running along the ridge top. To his great surprise, when he reached the end of the open stretch, he came upon a clearly defined trail. It was not merely a track made by one or two men coming and going once. It gave evidence of having been travelled a number of times. The soft moccasins of the Indian do not wear a path as quickly as the boots of the white man, but this trail was well enough trodden to be followed easily. No blazes marked the trees and no clearing had been done other than the breaking or hacking off of an occasional troublesome branch. The men who made that trail had gone around the obstacles, instead of cutting through or removing them, but any white man who knew anything of woods’ running could have followed it.