The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada

by William Murray Graydon

  CHAPTER XIX.

  ANOTHER VISITOR.

  That the redskins were making an attack in force on the stockade was myfirst and immediate conclusion, but it gave me no great uneasiness sinceI knew how stoutly we were protected. On second thoughts, however, Iobserved that the shots and yells--which were keeping up lustily--camefrom a considerable distance, and I began to suspect that something elsewas in the wind.

  Meanwhile, I had not been standing idle. As soon as I heard the alarm Iran like a deer across the yard. It was the work of an instant to dashinto the quarters and seize my musket. Then I sped on, with a greatclamor rising from every part of the fort and armed men hastening rightand left of me.

  When I reached the gates, where a little group was assembled, no morethan a minute could have elapsed since the outbreak. I passed on to thenearest watch tower--it was near by--and darted up the ladder which ledto the second floor. Here there were good-sized loopholes commanding aview of the north and east fronts of the stockade. Half a dozen men werewatching from them, and above their excited voices I heard the crack ofmuskets and the whooping chorus of savages.

  "What's going on?" I demanded. "They are not attacking the fort?"

  "No, not that, Carew," cried one. "The redskins are chasing some poordevils who were bound here. Ah, they have turned on them! Pluckyfellows!"

  "Will you stand here, sir? Look yonder--quick!"

  It was the voice of Baptiste, who was at one of the loopholes. He maderoom for me, and I peered eagerly out. The view was straight to thenorth, and what I saw turned my blood hot with anger.

  Less than a quarter of a mile away, where the white, moonlit clearingended at a narrow forest road running parallel with the river, thesorely-harassed little group was in plain sight--a sledge, a team ofdogs, and three men kneeling on the snow. They were exchanging shotswith a mass of Indians, who were dancing about on the verge of thetimber, and were for the moment being held at bay. I could see the redflashes, and the wreaths of gray smoke against the dark green of thetrees.

  "They had better make a dash for it," exclaimed Baptiste.

  "Now is their chance."

  "We are all cowards," I cried indignantly. "A party could have dashed outto the rescue by this time."

  "Just my opinion, Carew," said a man named Walker. "But who was to givethe orders? They must come from the factor. He's down at the gates now,and plenty with him."

  "Then I'll get his permission to go out," I cried hotly. "Will youvolunteer, men?"

  But as I spoke--I had not taken my eyes from the loophole--the situationsuddenly took a different turn. The Indians yelled with triumph, and Isaw one of the three white men toss up his arms and fall over. At thathis companions wheeled about, the one leaping upon the sledge, while theother ran toward the dog leader of the team.

  "Only two left!" I shouted. "They are coming! Now for a lively race! Godhelp them to reach the fort!"

  "By Heavens, sir! they'll get in if they are quick!" cried Walker, whowas on the other side of the tower. "Hawke knows what to do; he isopening the gates! The men are loading their muskets! They are bringingup the howitzer."

  His last sentence I scarcely heard, for I had already left the loopholeand was scrambling down the ladder. The next instant I was at the doublegates, one of which had been unbarred and thrown wide open. A dozen menwere lined up on each side of the entrance, among them Menzies and thefactor.

  "Stand back," Griffith Hawke shouted at me. "Keep the way clear!"

  But I edged up to the front, where my view was uninterrupted. How myheart leaped to see the sledge gliding over the snow, the man inside andthe one on snowshoes shouting at the plucky, galloping dogs! But theystill had one hundred and fifty yards to come, not far behind them,whooping and yelling, firing musket and hurling tomahawks, were at leasttwo score of redskins--the most of them on snowshoes. Crack, crack,crack! They seemed to be aiming poorly, for the sledge swept on, dogsand men uninjured.

  "Be ready!" cried the factor: "make room there! The moment the sledgedashes in let the red devils have a volley--muskets and howitzer!"

  What happened next, though it was all over in the fraction of a minute,was intensely exciting and tragic. The tower being high up, the menposted there were now opening fire; lusty cheers rose as we saw a coupleof Indians go down in the snow.

  Bang, bang! a hit this time. The man on snowshoes staggered, reeled,fell over. His comrade turned and shot as the sledge swept on--more thanthat he could not do. Whether the poor fellow was dead or living wenever knew; but nothing mattered the next instant, for the foremostsavages reached the spot, and there was the quick gleam of a descendingtomahawk.

  Fifty yards now to the stockade! In spite of the fire from the tower,the Indians bore on. They let drive another straggling volley, and witha convulsive spring in air, the leading dog of the team dropped dead. Ina trice the rest of the dogs, pulled up abruptly, were in a hopelesstangle. The sledge dashed into them, grated sidewise, and tipped over,sending its occupant sprawling on the snow.

  I gave the poor fellow up for lost, but his pluck and wits were equal tothe emergency. He sprang to his feet, and without looking behind him orstopping to pick up his musket, he struck out for the fort. On he sped,running in a zigzag course, while the now halted Indians blazed away athim, and our men cheered and shouted.

  "Watch sharp!" cried Griffith Hawke.

  As he spoke the fugitive swerved a little, and ten strides brought himto the gates. He rushed safely past me, and staggered into theinclosure.

  Already the baffled redskins had scattered in flight, but they were notto get off so easily. From the marksmen in the watch-tower and at thestockade loopholes, from as many of our eager men as could line upoutside the gates, a hot and deadly fire was poured. A way was clearedfor the howitzer, and the roar that burst from its iron throat woke ahundred forest echoes.

  A great cloud of bluish smoke hid the scene for a moment, and when itdrifted and rolled upward, our short-lived opportunity was gone. Withalmost incredible speed the savages had melted away, and were safe inthe shelter of the adjacent timber. They had taken some of their deadand wounded with them, as well as the dogs and sledge; but six or sevenbodies lay sprinkled darkly here and there on the snow crust.

  Nor were the casualties all on one side, as we now had time to observe.The last volley delivered by the Indians had killed one of our party andwounded two more. The men were for sallying out against the foe, butGriffith Hawke would have none of it.

  "The devils are in ambush," he cried, "and would give us the worst ofit. We'll need our powder and ball later, I'm thinking. Make all secureyonder, and be quick about it."

  I helped to close and bar the gate, and then pushed into the thick ofthe clamorous crowd that surrounded the escaped traveler. I had fanciedI recognized him when he shot by me, and now the first glimpse told me Iwas right, for the fugitive was none other than Captain Myles Rudstone.