"More fools they to go into the Athabasca," declared the mountaineer.
"Bigger fools to send another brigade there this year when they needn't expect help from us," interjected a third trader.
"You don't say they're sending another lot of men to the Athabasca!" exclaimed the winterer.
"Yes I do—under Colin Robertson," affirmed the third man.
"Colin Robertson—the Nor'-Wester?"
"Robertson who used to be a Nor'-Wester! It's Selkirk's work since he got control of the H. B."
"Robertson should know better," said the northerner. "He had experience with us before he resigned. I'll wager he doesn't undertake that sort of venture! Surely it's a yarn!"
"You lose your bet," cried the irrepressible Fort William lad. "A runner came in at six o'clock and reported that the Hudson's Bay brigade from Lachine would pass here before midnight. They're sooners, they are, are the H. B. C's.," and the clerk enjoyed the sensation of rolling a big oath from his boyish lips.
"Eric Hamilton passing within a stone's throw of the fort!" In astonishment I leaned forward to catch every word the Fort William lad might say.
"To Athabasca by our route—past this fort!" Such temerity amazed the winterer beyond coherent expression.
"Good thing for them they're passing in the night," continued the clerk. "The half-breeds are hot about that Souris affair. There'll be a collision yet!" The young fellow's importance increased in proportion to the surprise of the elder men.
"There'll be a collision anyway when Cameron and Grant reach Red River—eh, Cuthbert?" and the mountaineer turned to the dark, sharp-featured warden of the plains. Cuthbert Grant laughed pleasantly.
"Oh, I hope not—for their sakes!" he said, and went on with the story of a buffalo hunt.
The story I missed, for I was deep in my own thoughts. I must see Eric and let him know what I had learned; but how communicate with the Hudson's Bay brigade without bringing suspicion of double dealing on myself? I was turning things over in my mind in a stupid sort of way like one new at intrigue, when I heard a talker, vowing by all that was holy that he had seen the rarest of hunter's rarities—a pure white buffalo. The wonder had appeared in Qu'Appelle Valley.
"I can cap that story, man," cried the portly Irish priest who was to go north in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" He paused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if I had been struck.
"What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows up north see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our own voices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"—he waved towards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of the universe—"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad."
I sat down abashed.
"Yes, a white squaw," repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, white ladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make a mistake."
"There's a difference between squaws and white ladies," persisted the jolly father, all unconscious that he was emphasizing a difference which many of the traders were spelling out in hard years of experience.
"I've seen papooses that were white for a day or two after they were born——"
"Effect of the christening," interrupted the youth, whose head, between flattered vanity and the emptied contents of his drinking cup, was very light indeed.
"Take that idiot out and put him to bed, somebody," commanded Cameron.
"For a day or two after they were born," reiterated the priest; "but I never saw such a white-skinned squaw!"
"Where did you see her?" I inquired in a voice which was not my own.
"On Lake Winnipeg. Coming down two weeks ago we camped near a band of Sioux, and I declare, as I passed a tepee, I saw a woman's face that looked as white as snow. She was sleeping, and the curtain had blown up. Her child was in her arms, and I tell you her bare arms were as white as snow."
"Must have been the effect of the moonlight," explained some one.
"Moonlight didn't give the other Indians that complexion," insisted the priest.
It was my turn to feel my head suddenly turn giddy, though liquor had not passed my lips. This information could have only one meaning. I was close on the track of Miriam, and Eric was near; yet the slightest blunder on my part might ruin all chance of meeting him and rescuing her.
* * *
CHAPTER VIII
THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE
The men began arguing about the degrees of whiteness in a squaw's skin. Those, married to native women, averred that differences of complexion were purely matters of temperament and compared their dusky wives to Spanish belles. The priest was now talking across the table to Duncan Cameron, advocating a renewal of North-West trade with the Mandanes on the Missouri, whither he was bound on his missionary tour. To venture out of the fort through the Indian encampments, where natives and outlaws were holding high carnival, and my sleepless foe could have a free hand, would be to risk all chance of using the information that had come to me.
I did not fear death—fear of death was left east of the Sault in those days. On my preservation depended Miriam's rescue. Besides, if either Le Grand Diable or myself had to die, I came to the conclusion of other men similarly situated—that my enemy was the one who should go.
Violins, flutes and bag-pipes were striking up in different parts of the hall. Simple ballads, smacking of old delights in an older land, songs, with which home-sick white men comforted themselves in far-off lodges—were roared out in strident tones. Feet were beating time to the rasp of the fiddles. Men rose and danced wild jigs, or deftly executed some intricate Indian step; and uproarious applause greeted every performer. The hall throbbed with confused sounds and the din deadened my thinking faculties. Even now, Eric might be slipping past. In that deafening tumult I could decide nothing, and when I tried to leave the table, all the lights swam dizzily.
"Excuse me, Sir!" I whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "You're Father Holland and are to go north in my boats. Come out with me for a moment."
Thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'Pon my soul! Strapping fellows like you shouldn't need last rites——"
"Please say nothing! Come quickly!" and I gripped his arm.
"Bless us! It's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose and followed me from the hall.
In the fresh air, dizziness left me. Sitting down on the bench, where I had lain the night before, I told him my perplexing mission. At first, I am sure he was convinced that I was drunk or raving, but my story had the directness of truth. He saw at once how easily he could leave the fort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offered to come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept Hamilton.
"But we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart out whenever the brigade appears," declared the priest, casting about in his mind for means to forward our object.
"The canoes are all locked up. Can't you borrow one from the Indians? Don't you know any of them?" I asked with a sudden sinking of heart.
"And have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? No—no—that won't do. Where are your wits, boy! Arrah! Me hearty, but what was that?"
We both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, but darkness hid anyone who might have been listening.
"Hm!" said the priest. "Overheard! Fine conspirators we are! Some eavesdropper!"
"Hush!" and remembering whose window it was, I held him; for he would have stalked away.
"Are you there?" came a clear, gentle voice, that fell from the window in the breaking ripples of a fountain plash.
The bit of statuary had become suddenly animate and was not so marble-cold to mankind as it looked. Thinking we had been taken for an expected lover, I, too, was moving off, when the voice, that sounded like the dropping golden notes of a cremona, called out in tones of vibrating alarm:
"Don't—don't go! Priest! Priest! Father! It's you I'm speaking to. I've
heard every word!"
Father Holland and I were too much amazed to do aught but gape from each other to the dark window. We could now see the outlines of a white face there.
"If you'd please put one bench on top of another, and balance a bucket on that, I think I could get down," pleaded the low, thrilling voice.
"An' in the name of the seven wonders of creation, what for would you be getting down?" asked the astonished priest.
"Oh! Hurry! Are you getting the bench?" coaxed the voice.
"Faith an' we're not! And we have no thought of doing such a thing!" began the good man with severity.
"Then, I'll jump," threatened the voice.
"And break your pretty neck," answered the ungallant father with indignation.
There was a rustling of skirts being gathered across the window sill and outlines of a white face gave place to the figure of a frail girl preparing for a leap.
"Don't!" I cried, genuinely alarmed, with a mental vision of shattered statuary on the ground. "Don't! I'm getting the benches," and I piled them up, with a rickety bucket on top. "Wait!" I implored, stepping up on the bottom bench. "Give me your hand," and as I caught her hands, she leaped from the window to the bucket, and the bucket to the ground, with a daintiness, which I thought savored of experience in such escapades.
"What do you mean, young woman?" demanded Father Holland in anger. "I'll have none of your frisky nonsense! Do you know, you baggage, that you are delaying this young man in a matter that is of life-and-death importance? Tell me this instant, what do you want?"
"I want to save that woman, Miriam! You're both so slow and stupid! Come, quick!" and she caught us by the arms. "There's a skiff down among the rushes in the flats. I can guide you to it. Cross the river in it! Oh! Quick! Quick! Some of the Hudson's Bay brigades have already passed!"
"How do you know?" we both demanded as in one breath.
"I'm Frances Sutherland. My father is one of the Selkirk settlers and he had word that they would pass to-night! Oh! Come! Come!"
This girl, the daughter of a man who was playing double to both companies! And her service to me would compel me to be loyal to him! Truly, I was becoming involved in a way that complicated simple duty. But the girl had darted ahead of us, we following by the flutter of the white gown, and she led us out of the courtyard by a sally-port to the rear of a block-house. She paused in the shadow of some shrubbery.
"Get fagots from the Indians to light us across the flats," she whispered to Father Holland. "They'll think nothing of your coming. You're always among them!"
"Mistress Sutherland!" I began, as the priest hurried forward to the Indian camp-fires, "I hate to think of you risking yourself in this way for——"
"Stop thinking, then," she interrupted abruptly in a voice that somehow reminded me of my first vision of statuary.
"I beg your pardon," I blundered on. "Father Holland and I have both forgotten to apologize for our rudeness about helping you down."
"Pray don't apologize," answered the marble voice. Then the girl laughed. "Really you're worse than I thought, when I heard you bungling over a boat. I didn't mind your rudeness. It was funny."
"Oh!" said I, abashed. There are situations in which conversation is impossible.
"I didn't mind your rudeness," she repeated, "and—and—you mustn't mind mine. Homesick people aren't—aren't—responsible, you know. Ah! Here are the torches! Give me one. I thank you—Father Holland—is it not? Please smother them down till we reach the river, or we'll be followed."
She was off in a flash, leading us through a high growth of rushes across the flats. So I was both recognized and remembered from the previous night. The thought was not displeasing. The wind moaned dismally through the reeds. I did not know that I had been glancing nervously behind at every step, with uncomfortable recollections of arrows and spear-heads, till Father Holland exclaimed:
"Why, boy! You're timid! What are you scared of?"
"The devil!" and I spoke truthfully.
"Faith! There's more than yourself runs from His Majesty; but resist the devil and he will flee from you."
"Not the kind of devil that's my enemy," I explained. I told him of the arrow-shot and spear-head, and all mirth left his manner.
"I know him, I know him well. There's no greater scoundrel between Quebec and Athabasca."
"My devil, or yours?"
"Yours, lad. Let your laughter be turned to mourning! Beware of him! I've known more than one murder of his doing. Eh! But he's cunning, so cunning! We can't trip him up with proofs; and his body's as slippery as an eel or we might——"
But a loon flapped up from the rushes, brushing the priest's face with its wings.
"Holy Mary save us!" he ejaculated panting to keep up with our guide. "Faith! I thought 'twas the devil himself!"
"Do you really mean it? Would it be right to get hold of Le Grand Diable?" I asked. Frances Sutherland had slackened her pace and we were all three walking abreast. A dry cane crushed noisily under foot and my head ducked down as if more arrows had hissed past.
"Mane it?" he cried, "mane it? If ye knew all the evil he's done ye'd know whether I mane it." It was his custom when in banter to drop from English to his native brogue like a merry-andrew.
"But, Father Holland, I had him in my power. I struck him, but I didn't kill him, more's the pity!"
"An' who's talking of killin', ye young cut-throat? I say get howld of his body and when ye've got howld of his body, I'd further advise gettin' howld of the butt end of a saplin'——"
"But, Father, he was my canoeman. I had him in my power."
Instantly he squared round throwing the torchlight on my face.
"Had him in your power—knew what he'd done—and—and—didn't?"
"And didn't," said I. "But you almost make me wish I had. What do you take traders for?"
"You're young," said he, "and I take traders for what they are——"
"But I'm a trader and I didn't——" Though a beginner, I wore the airs of a veteran.
"Benedicite!" he cried. "The Lord shall be your avenger! He shall deliver that evil one into the power of the punisher!"
"Benedicite!" he repeated. "May ye keep as clean a conscience in this land as you've brought to it."
"Amen, Father!" said I.
"Here we are," exclaimed Frances Sutherland as we emerged from the reeds to the brink of the river, where a skiff was moored. "Go, be quick! I'll stay here! 'Twill be better without me. The Hudson's Bay are keeping close to the far shore!"
"You can't stay alone," objected Father Holland.
"I shall stay alone, and I've had my way once already to-night."
"But we don't wish to lose one woman in finding another," I protested.
"Go," she commanded with a furious little stamp. "You lose time! Stupids! Do you think I stay here for nothing? We may have been followed and I shall stay here and watch! I'll hide in the rushes! Go!" And there was a second stamp.
That stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong men and sent us rowing meekly across the river.
"Did ye ever—did ever ye see such a little termagant, such a persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest almost breathless with surprise.
"Queen of courage!" I answered back.
"Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!"
She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the reeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening between oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was no sound but the lashing of water against the pebbled shore and we lay in a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats should come abreast.
We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland coming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across its path and Father Holland waved the torches overhead.
"Hist! Hold back there—have a care!" I called.
"Clear
the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear—or we fire!"
"Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would not alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat.
"Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded.
"A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who are you?" growled the voice.
"Answer—quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respect holy orders; and I succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe.
"Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond reach.
"Give 'im a bullet!" called another.
"For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch aloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a missionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur's Eric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and he caught the edge of their craft in his right hand.
"Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone steel-shod.
"Let go—is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'r imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute, or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an' ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give polite questions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? For shame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?"
Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passed from man to man.
"Hamilton's far ahead—above the falls now," answered the steersman.
"Then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned Father Holland not yet appeased, "deliver this young man's message!"
"Tell Hamilton," I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a band of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that and he'll reward you well!"
"Vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll track your soul to the furnace."
Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe was lost in the darkness.
Lords of the North Page 9