AN ONLY WAY
When Antoine the bear so far forgot himself as to interfere
in his master's affairs, he, as usual, had occasion for
after regret--Pepin saw to that.
The Indians seized their rifles and ran up the slope to
the narrow slit in the cliff that led to their eyrie,
and which on the other side looked out upon the
far-stretching prairie. Pepin, calling Antoine all the
unpleasant names he could think of, told him to follow,
and waddled uphill after the redskins as fast as his late
exertions and his short legs would allow him. The Indians
did not attempt to interfere with his movements. Once
there, he immediately saw the reason of the interruption.
Hurriedly retiring down the hill were three or four men,
but whether whites or breeds it was difficult to determine.
He rather thought he recognised one burly form, and
determined to make sure of the fact that very night. He
thought, however, it was quite excusable for any small
party to retire. Twenty men could have been picked off
by one before they got half-way up. It was as well for
the strangers that the Indians had opened fire so soon,
otherwise some of them might have been left behind.
That night Pepin disappeared without saying a word to
any one. The strange thing was that none of the Indians
saw him go. Two days passed and there was no sign or
trace of him. On the afternoon of the third day, when
the two Indians on guard at the entrance of the Pass were
busily engaged in quarrelling over some sort of rodent,
nearly as large as a rat, Pepin suddenly rose up before
them as if from the earth. They flattened themselves
against the sides of the cliff in order to allow him and
Antoine to continue their royal progress.
Pepin sought out Dorothy. She was at her usual place on
the edge of the precipice that looked down upon the deep,
divided channels of the great river. She turned on
hearing the deep breathing of Pepin and the shambling of
Antoine as they passed over some loose gravel behind her.
She rose to her feet with a little cry of welcome. There
was something in the dwarfs face that spoke of a settled
purpose and hope. Their late awkward meeting was quite
forgotten.
There was a by no means unkindly look on the dwarfs face
as he seated himself beside Dorothy, and told her how he
had slipped out of the Indian camp unobserved three nights
before, and how, going back to Croisettes down the river,
where he had left his mother, he had fallen in with her
friends, who had been rescued by British troops from
Poundmaker's clutches and sent to stay there out of harm's
way while the soldiers pursued the scattered and flying
Indians. Pepin having told them that Dorothy was for the
time being safe, though in Jumping Frog's hands, they of
course wanted to start out at once to rescue her, but
that was promptly negatived by Pepin. Such an attempt
might only precipitate her fate. It had come to his ears
that Poundmaker's scattered band was at that very moment
making back to the strange hiding-place in the cliff,
and that as it would be impossible for them--Douglas and
party--to force the position, they must get Dorothy away
by strategy. He had been to that wild place years before.
There was a steep footpath at the extreme western end,
close to the cliff, which led directly down to the water's
edge. If a canoe could be brought overland on the other
side of the river to that spot, and hidden there, it
would be possible for him and Dorothy to get into it and
escape. They could drift down with the current and land
just above Croisettes. They would, however, have to take
care to get into the proper channel, as one of them was
a certain death-trap. It led through a horrible narrow
canyon, which for some considerable distance was nothing
more than a subterraneous passage. There were rapids in
it, through which nothing could hope to pass in safety.
To be brief, the canoe had been taken to the desired
spot, but Pepin had been enjoined not to resort to it
unless things became desperate. Jacques and Rory had gone
off in search of the British troops, while Douglas and
Pasmore remained where they were in case they would be
required.
Dorothy was jubilant over the scheme and would have
started off at once, could she have got her own way, but
Pepin told her she must retire as usual to her tepee,
where he would come for her if necessity arose.
One hour before dawn and a hundred horrible, pealing
echoes rang out from the mouth of the Pass. The British
had attacked without considering what results might follow
their precipitancy. In point of fact, Bastien Lagrange,
the unstable breed, alarmed by Pepin's unpleasant
prognostications, had developed a sudden fit of loyalty
to the British, and gone off ostensibly to carry a message
to Poundmaker, while in reality he went to search for
the former in order that he might lead them to Dorothy's
prison. Hence the present attack.
Dorothy heard the firing and rose quietly from her couch
of skins. For five minutes she waited in a condition of
painful uncertainty as to the true state of affairs. Then
some one lifted aside the flap of the doorway and Pepin
entered with Antoine close at his heels. He was evidently
perturbed.
"Mam'selle, Mam'selle," he cried, "you must come with me
now. I have hear that Jumping Frog say something to two
of his cut-throats of redskins! Come quickly!"
Without any interruption the dwarf and the girl headed
down the gulley that sloped westward. It was terribly
rough travelling, and, but for following an old and
tortuous path, it would hardly have been possible to
steer clear of the rocks and undergrowth. Suddenly the
gully stopped abruptly on the brink of the terrace,
looking down which brought a thrill of terror to Dorothy's
heart. It was as if a great water-spout had burst on the
hillside and washed out for itself an almost precipitous
channel. A wan dawn-light was creeping on apace, and
Dorothy could see that it was at least six hundred feet
to the bottom of this appalling chute. Pepin muttered
something to himself as he regarded it.
"Have we to go down there?" Dorothy asked, with white
lips.
"So, that is so!" observed Pepin soberly. "If we go back
there is the death that is of hell. If we go on, there
is the death we know or the life which means your father
or your Pasmore for you, and the good mother and the home
for me. There is the canoe at the foot of this hill, and
those we have spoken of down the river at Croisettes. It
is for you to make up your mind and choose."
"Come, Pepin, let us go down," she cried.