CHAPTER XI
TIDINGS OF WAR
As an auspicious omen on Kamattawa Indian summer came down with itsfragrant sigh and its transient flash of yellow radiance. Then the windsfell strangely mute. Some unseen magic permeated the calm. Earth and airlay breathless with the prophecy of change.
A little cold caress on his tanned cheek, a tang on his lips, a familiartingle in his sinews foretold the prophecy's fulfillment to BaptisteVerenne when he sauntered in one night from his trail-blazing. Heinspected the sullen sky a moment and shook his head as he strodethrough the gates to the blockhouse.
"Wintaire!" he announced briefly to Dunvegan. "She be comin' _vite_ onde _nord_ wind, M'sieu'."
The chief trader tilted his browned face skyward and clutched the airtentatively to get the feel of the weather.
"Not far off! Not far off, Baptiste," he calculated. "It may close inany night, and we'll see a white world when we wake of a morning."
Verenne's arm slanted, pointing over the palisades.
"See dat?" he cried.
A circling wind, the first of many days, eddied the leaves lying againstthe stockade, piled them in a wreath thirty feet high in the air withgentle motion peculiarly distinctive to a close observer, thenruthlessly disintegrated the whole.
"An dat?" Baptiste added.
A whizzing phalanx of wild geese blurred the distant horizon, bored likea rocket from sky to sky, and pierced the invisible distance.
"W'en dey fly dat way," averred Baptiste, "de wintaire right on deretails! She be come _toute suite_, M'sieu'."
And it did! A greasy wrack of clouds masked the sunset. The north windblew out of the Arctic circle with a humming like vibrating wires. Thewraith of desolation went eerily shrieking round and round. Then out ofinky space the snow came down, driving fiercely on a forty-mile gale tosmother the gauntness of the rugged forest in a swirl of white. Forthirty-six hours the frozen flakes pelted the stout stockades. The snowlay in foamy levels in the timber, ten feet deep in the hollows, andwind-packed to tremendous hardness on the ice-bound lakes and rivers.
The days became less strenuous now in Fort Kamattawa. The nights grewlong. The Hudson's Bay men attended to their winter needs andequipments, while the post Indians fashioned snowshoes with nativequickness and skill.
There came a brief, cold, sleety rain which settled the drifts and thesubsequent hard frosts formed a crust that made excellent tripping onthe raquettes. The first tripper over the trail was Basil Dreaulondcarrying Company dispatches on his way to Nelson House. He lurched inone night in the midst of a whistling storm with his dog team and ahalfbreed assistant. The world outside the Fort was a shriekingmaelstrom of snow and cutting blasts. Inside the men sat close togetherabout the roaring fireplace.
So blinding was the tempest that Kamattawa's sentinel in the blockhousetower could see nothing from his frosted windows and did not mark thecourier's approach till Basil and the breed were hammering upon theclosed gates with their rifle-butts. Eugene Demorel slid back theshutter in the watchtower and leaned out, his gun trained on theentrance.
"De password," he bellowed. "Who comes dere?"
"_Diable_ tak' de password," roared Basil who was half frozen. "I'mDreaulond. Open dis gate queeck!"
On the inferno of the elements his words puffed up like faint echoes,but Eugene Demorel knew the courier's tone. The stockade opened for asecond, a raging snowgap in the draught. Basil stumbled into the logstore.
"_Hola, camarade_," they greeted joyously. "How do you like theweather?"
"_Mauvais_," groaned Dreaulond, leaning toward the flames. "_Saprie_,but she be cold!"
Dunvegan took the papers Macleod had sent to him and read them. Theyconcerned ordinary matters of fort routine and gave him no news of thehome post.
"How is everything at Oxford House, Basil?" he inquired withill-concealed eagerness.
"Everyt'ing be quiet," returned the courier. "De Nor'westaires don' movemooch."
His eyes, however, held a hint of private information, and the chieftrader did not miss the glance.
"Come to the trading room when you get warmed, Dreaulond," he requested."I'd like to see you."
"_Oui_," assented Basil. "W'en I get dis cold out ma bones."
Dunvegan disappeared. The Hudson's Bay men volleyed their questions atDreaulond. They were ravenous for word of their kind from whom the busymonths had cut them off. Between questions he slowly revolved before thefireplace, warming his chest, scorching his back, sucking the heat intohis chilled marrow.
"Any news of the Factor's daughter?" Connear asked him.
"_Non!_" Basil frowned and added: "She's wit' Black Ferguson, I bet ondat. She got de spirit of her _pere_. She'd go to La Roche an' mak' heemgeeve her sheltaire."
"And Running Wolf gone over to him, too. We found that out. That whelpThree Feathers made it hot enough for us at Du Loup." Connear spatcopiously into the snarling birch logs and grinned at the remembrance ofthe fight. "How's the English clerk?" he asked after a minute. "Drinkin'any?"
"Dey don' geeve heem any chance," replied Dreaulond. "Dat's de ordairefrom hees parents. An' we don't want drunk mans on de post at dis taimof de great dangaire."
In Basil's tone they discovered an unwonted gravity, as if he hadknowledge of new developments which he was keeping from them.
"What's up?" asked Pete, always interested in secrets. "If there'sanything on foot, let us have it, for it's got to be bloomin' dull here.I miss my grog. I'd give a month's pay for a good glass now."
"I don't know anyt'ing new," the courier returned. "Eef you want togrog, go ovaire to de Nor'westaire. Dey drink her pretty free."
"Yes. Black Ferguson swears by it."
"Dis Black Ferguson wan devil," declared Dreaulond, passing into thetrading room. "Now he be run after Desiree Lazard, but she not be lookat heem!"
From his desk Dunvegan glanced steadily at the courier.
"No letter, Basil?" He bit his lip on the question.
"_Non_," replied his friend. "I'm sorry, me."
"Something's wrong," blurted the chief trader. "Tell me what it is. Hasthe Nor'wester had speech with Desiree?" Dunvegan's voice was strained,his fingers clenched white on the wood of his desk.
"Not dat," Basil explained awkwardly. "De dangaire is in anoderquartaire! Desiree an' dis Edwin Glyndon dey togedder mooch--ver' mooch.All de autumn taim dey canoe, dey walk, dey spik alone. Dat be not mabeezness! _Vraiment_ dat none of ma affair. _Mais_, I t'ink you wantknow, mebbe, an' I be tell you w'at I see. Dey togedder all de taim!"
Dreaulond stepped to the door. His actions like his sentences were briefand full of significance. The chief trader's voice followed him, an odd,low tone the courier had never heard him use.
"Thank you, Basil," was his only comment. "Thank you, for thatinformation."
Alone, he strode immediately into the darkness of his sleeping apartmentwhere he walked the floor, brooding gloomily. Dawn heard his footstepsstill falling.
Three days after Dreaulond's departure for Nelson House Maskwa, theswiftest fort runner in the service, dashed over the bluffs, springingmadly on his long, webbed running shoes. He had out-distanced the trioof breeds following with three dog teams, and he pushed dispatches ofimportance into Dunvegan's hands.
"Half our number leave to-morrow for Oxford House," the chief traderannounced to his retainers as he read. "Men from two of the Nor'westposts, Brondel and Dumarge, have sacked our fur trains from theShamattawa and the Wokattiwagan. The Factor will go to raze FortDumarge. We outfit at Oxford House and move against Fort Brondel."
A cheer hit the rafters. Unprecedented activity followed. The breedsblew in with the exhausted giddes. Recuperation came to these Companydogs with the night's rest, and into the bitter dawn they were haled.The cold struck nippingly at bare fingers that loaded arms andtravelling necessities on the sledges, lashed the moosehide covers overthe provender, and tied the stubborn babiche knots. Likewise the frostsqueezed the hands that harnessed the dogs. The giddes the
mselves whinedand stirred uneasily in the cold. They were eager for the rush thatwould make their blood run warm.
Those of the Fort who were to stay behind helped in the work. Longpractice and consummate skill accomplished starting preparations in theshortest possible time. The dog teams sprang through the gateway at therelease, and a shout of farewell thundered.
"_Bonheur, camarades!_" was the word. "_A Dieu! A Dieu!_"
"_Pour_ Shamattawa! _Pour_ Wokattiwagan!" rang the responses from theloyal Hudson's Bay men.
"_Marche! Marche!_" called the breeds to the _giddes_, and the cavalcadeswung over the long trail.
Law of the North (Originally published as Empery) Page 11