THE WARNING
Dane walked as in a dream along the trail to the lake. Something had
come into his life during the last half hour which had wrought a subtle
mystic change. He did not try to analyse it, as he had never
experienced such a feeling before. He only knew that back there where
the land slopes to the harbour he had beheld a vision which had
thrilled his entire being. The face and form of the girl with the
large questioning eyes were all that he saw as he hurried on his way.
Everything else was blotted from his mind, even the urgency of his
important mission. The spirit of the wild was upon him, and an
overmastering impulse was surging through his heart. He must see her
again; he must look upon her face; he must hear her speak. His passion
was intense. It was a living fire, the ardour of a great first love.
The Indian noted the change which had come over his master, and
wondered. He made no comment, however, as he squatted upon the ground,
slowly turning a wooden spit on which a fat duck was roasting over a
small fire. Dane sat down upon a log, with his eyes upon Pete,
although in fact he was hardly aware what he was doing, for his
thoughts were elsewhere.
When the duck was at last cooked, the Indian divided it, and gave half
to Dane.
"Fine bird, dat," he remarked. "Me shoot him on wing. Taste good, eh?"
"Does it?" Dane asked, rousing for a minute from his reverie. He then
relapsed into silence.
"What de matter?" Pete presently asked. "See sometin', eh?"
"Why, what makes you think there is anything the matter?" the young man
queried.
"Dane so still. Dane no talk, no smile, no eat. Dane seek, mebbe.
Bad medicine, eh?"
Dane laughed and looked at his companion.
"I am all right, Pete," he assured. "But I've seen and heard great
things to-day. I also knocked out two slashers, while the third ran
away."
"A-ha-ha, good," the Indian grunted. "Dem all slashers in beeg canoe,
eh?" and he motioned toward the harbour.
"No, no; they are King George's people. They were driven out of their
own homes, and have come here. There are thousands of them, so I
learned."
"All stay here?"
"Some will, but many will go up river, and settle on the land."
"Ugh! too many white men dere now. Chase Injun, kill moose, ketch
feesh. Injun all starve."
"Don't you worry about that," Dane replied. "These are all King
George's people, so they will treat the Indians right."
"Mebbe so," and Pete shook his head in a somewhat doubtful manner. "Me
see bimeby."
At length Dane rose to his feet, and looked over toward the harbour.
The sun had disappeared beyond the far distant hills, and dusk was
stealing up over the land. A stiff breeze was drifting in from the
Bay, chilly and damp. Dane thought of the Loyalists in their wretched
shacks, and of the ones who had no shelter at all. He longed to know
how they were making out, and especially her who was so much in his
mind.
"You stay here, Pete, and keep guard," he ordered. "I'm going to see
how King George's people are making out."
"Come back soon, eh?" the Indian asked.
"I shall not be long, Pete. You get camp fixed up for the night, and
keep the fire going."
"A-ha-ha. Me feex t'ings, a'right."
Leaving the Indian, Dane hurried away from the lake, descended into the
valley, and climbed the hill on the opposite side. By the time he
reached the height above the waterfront, the dusk had deepened into a
weird darkness. Here he paused and looked down upon the strange scene
below. Hundreds of camp-fires, large and small, emitted their fitful
ruddy glow, while beyond, the lights of a score of anchored ships were
reflected in the wind-ruffled water. A murmur of many voices drifted
up to the silent watcher on the brow of the hill, mingled with shrill
cries of children, and the sound of beating hammers, as weary men
worked late at their rude dwellings.
Down into this Babel of confusion Dane slowly made his way. He passed
the spot where he had met the Major, and he looked eagerly for the girl
who had won his heart. But she was nowhere to be seen, although a
small fire was burning near the shack, before which the colored woman
was keeping watch, swaying her body, and humming her favourite psalm.
Farther down the hill the people had settled closer together, and as
Dane moved through this strange medley of shacks, brush houses, tents,
sails fastened to sticks driven into the ground, and other rude
contrivances, he realised for the first time the sadly-pathetic
condition of these outcast people. Although many of them were hidden
from view, he could see numbers huddled about their fires, and children
wrapped in blankets asleep upon the ground, while here and there tired
mothers were nursing and soothing their fretful babes.
Little attention was paid to the young courier as he moved from place
to place, except an occasional glance at his curious costume. In fact,
most of these exiles were strangers to one another, as they had come on
different ships, and had only met for the first time on the day of
their landing. The ones who had sailed on the same vessels, and had
thus become acquainted, naturally kept together as much as possible.
But they were all comrades in distress, sufferers in a common cause,
united by the golden bond of sympathy.
Down by the water men were sorting out and piling up their household
effects, which had been carelessly dumped upon the shore. But others
not so engaged were gathered in little groups around camp-fires, either
discussing their present prospects, or relating their experiences on
the vessels, and their hardships during and after the war. To some of
these tales Dane listened with wide-eyed wonder, and a burning
indignation in his heart. What stories he would have to tell when he
went back to his woodland home.
All that he heard, however, was not of a sad or gloomy nature. These
sturdy men enjoyed humorous yarns, and as Dane listened to several, he
joined in the laughter that ensued. One, especially, appealed to him.
It was told by a big strapping fellow, who hitherto had taken little
part in the talk.
"Your yarns can't equal that of the shoemaker of Richmond, Virginia" he
began. "When the rebels were passing through the town he stood in the
door of his house and cried out 'Hurrah for King George.' He followed
the soldiers to a wood, where they had halted, and began again to
hurrah for King George. When the commanding officer and his aides had
mounted and were moving on, the shoemaker followed, still hurrahing for
King George. The officer, therefore, ordered that he should be taken
to the river and ducked. This was done, and he was plunged several
times under the water. But whenever his head appeared above the
surface he would shout for King George. He was then taken to his own
house, where his wife and four daughters were crying and beseeching him
to hold his tongue. The top of a barrel of tar was knocked off, and
the man was plunged in headlong. He was then pulled out by the heels,
and rolled in a mass of feathers, from a bed which had been taken from
his own house, until he presented a strange, horrible sight. But
through it all, whenever he could get his mouth open, he would hurrah
for King George. He was then driven out of the town, and the officer
warned him that he would be shot if he troubled them again. That is
the story as it was told me, and I think it a mighty good one."
Dane longed to hear more tales of that wonderful land, and of the great
fights which had taken place. But just then a strange sound startled
him. It was the roll of a drum, followed almost immediately by the
shrill notes of several fifes. He could not see the musicians, as they
were some distance away to the left. But he knew what they were
playing, for he was quite familiar with the tune and words of the old
fireside song. A sudden silence fell upon the little band around the
fire. Bronzed faces became grave, and more than one man's eyes grew
misty with honest tears.
Barely had the notes of this tune died away when the men were roused to
action by the stirring strains of the National Anthem. They sprang to
their feet as one, and stood at attention. Somewhere a strong voice
took up the words, and in an instant all over that hillside hundreds of
men and women were singing as they had never sung before.
God save our gracious King,
Long live our noble King,
God save the King.
Though driven from their homes; exiles in a strange land; surrounded by
unknown dangers, and with a most uncertain future, nothing could dampen
their spirit of loyalty to their King across the sea.
To Dane this was all wonderful. He longed to see the musicians, and to
watch them as they played. He walked over in the direction from which
the music had come, and had almost reached what he supposed was the
spot, when he suddenly stopped. There before him he beheld the real
object of his visit. She was seated on the ground before a fire, with
several children gathered about her. They were all listening with rapt
attention to some story she was telling them. Dane was held spellbound
at the pretty scene before him. He could look upon the girl to his
heart's content without being seen, for he was sheltered by a cluster
of rough, tangled trees. In all his life he had never beheld such a
beautiful face. He longed to know her name, and to hear her speak. He
recalled the glance she had given him with her expressive eyes ere they
had dropped before his ardent gaze. But he knew that he was nothing to
her, and no doubt she had never thought of him again. How could he
leave without finding out who she was, and where she was going? But
she was a complete stranger to him, and he had no right to approach any
nearer. It would be much better to worship at a distance and await a
favourable opportunity.
Presently he was aroused by a slight noise near at hand. Glancing
quickly around to his right, his keen eyes detected the form of a man
slinking along among the bushes. Dane could not see his face, but from
his attitude it was quite evident that the girl near the fire was the
object of his special attention. At length he stopped, and, crouching
behind a small pile of brush kept his eyes fixed upon the unsuspecting
girl.
Dane was now thoroughly aroused, and he was about to spring forward and
demand an explanation for the man's suspicious actions, when the
crouching figure rose suddenly to a standing position, and then stepped
quickly forward. The reason was at once apparent, for glancing toward
the fire, Dane saw that the girl had just left the children to their
parents' care with the evident intention of returning home. In order
to do so, it was necessary for her to cross an upper portion of the
hillside, considered too rough and rocky for any one to pitch his
abode. There was not the slightest semblance of a trail, but the girl
had traversed the place several times that day, so was quite sure of
her way. Nevertheless, she glanced somewhat anxiously around as she
hurried onward, especially so where the bushes and scrubby trees stood
the thickest.
Dane followed the man who was slinking along after the girl, and for a
while he was able to keep him in view. Then he disappeared among the
trees, and as Dane stepped quickly forward so as not to miss him
altogether, a sudden cry of fear fell upon his ears. That it came from
the girl he was well aware; telling plainly that she was in need of
help. He leaped at once to her assistance, and in another minute he
saw her struggling in the arms of her assailant, and trying to free
herself from his grasp. The next instant Dane was by her side, while a
blow from the clenched fist of his right hand sent the cowardly villain
reeling back among the trees. Then like a tiger Dane was upon him, his
fingers clutching his throat as he pinned him to the ground. The
fallen man fought and struggled desperately to tear away that fearful
vise-like grip, but all in vain. At length his striving ceased, and
his body relaxed. Then Dane unloosened his hold, and looked at the
girl.
"Shall I kill him?" he asked.
"No, no!" was the startled reply. "That would be terrible!"
"But he tried to harm you. If I kill him, he won't have a chance to
try again."
"Let him go," the girl pleaded. "Perhaps this will teach him a lesson."
Dane, however, hesitated. A passionate impulse urged him to make an
end of such a cowardly creature. The spirit of the wild was strong
upon him, and his nature craved complete satisfaction. How could it be
otherwise? Steeped for years in the ways of the wilderness, he had
become a part of all that he had seen and heard. He knew how the
beasts of the forest and the monarchs of the air dealt with their prey.
He had at times watched two great bull moose locked in deadly combat,
until one had gone down to defeat and death. And around campfires at
night he had listened to rough men as they related tales of terrible
fights, grewsome murders, and sudden deaths. Everywhere he turned it
was the same savage struggle, with only one outcome, the survival of
the strongest, and death to the vanquished.
While he thus sat upon the fallen man's body, reasoning with himself
what to do, the girl touched him lightly upon the arm.
"Let him go," she urged. "You wouldn't kill a man when he is down,
would you? That would be cowardly."
This appeal had an immediate effect, and slowly, though somewhat
reluctantly, Dane rose to his feet.
"He deserves to be killed," he growled. Then he touched the man with
the toe of his right foot. "Get up, you brute," he ordered.
This command was at once obeyed. The defeated assailant scrambled to
his feet, and started to move away. But Dane caught him roughly by the
arm, and faced him sharply around.
"Just a word," he began. "You get clear this time, you devil, whoever
you are. But if you lay hands on this young woman again I'll break
every bone in your body. You won't escape, for I am Dane Norwood, the
King's Arrow, and what I say I mean. Get out of this now as fast as
you can."
The next instant the man was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.
"Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?" the girl impulsively asked.
"You have saved me from that creature. I didn't know that he was here."
"Who is he?" Dane asked. "And where did he come from?"
"He is Seth Lupin, a man I hate and fear. He must have come on one of
the other vessels, most likely as a stowaway. He is not a Loyalist,
for he was a coward during the war, and has no right to be numbered
among us. I am sure that daddy does not know he is here, and I am
almost afraid to tell him for fear he might do something desperate to
the villain. But, then, we shall soon be away from this place, so it
is hardly likely that Seth will follow us."
They were walking slowly now, picking their way with difficulty across
the rough hillside. Dane's soul was athrill in the presence of this
girl who had affected him in such a wonderful manner. It was almost
too good to be true that he had rescued her, and was now so close to
her.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Up river, I believe. But just where I do not know. Daddy hasn't
drawn his lot of land yet."
"What is your name?"
"Jean."
"I like it. But Jean what?"
"Sterling."
"Did you ever live in the woods?"
"No. This is my first experience."
"Do you think you will like it? Won't you be afraid?"
"I am going to do my best to like it. And why should I be afraid?"
"Because of men, especially the slashers; that's why."
"Who are the slashers?"
"Rebels who oppose the King's men in cutting masts. They wander
everywhere, slashing as they go, and ruining the forests."
"But why should I be afraid of them? They have never heard of me."
"But they will soon hear of you, though." Dane stopped abruptly, and
laid his hand upon her arm. "Say, do you know how beautiful you are?"
Jean was somewhat startled by this strange question.
"What makes you ask that?"
"Because if you don't know, then you are not aware of your danger.
That villain, Lupin, knows of your beauty, so he followed you here.
The slashers and others will soon know, too, and I might not always be
on hand. This is just a friendly warning."
Jean's heart was beating rapidly, while the darkness hid her flushed
face.
"T-thank you," she stammered. "I think I understand your meaning,
although I am not used to such plain words, especially from a stranger.
But I feel I can trust you."
"In a country such as this we use plain language, Miss Sterling. I
have warned you of your danger because I am deeply interested in your
welfare. You can trust me, for, thank God, I have had a noble mother's
training, and was taught to respect women. But, we are almost at your
home, so I must leave you."
"Forgive me," Jean begged, as Dane was about to hurry away. "I
appreciate what you have told me and done for me to-night, I shall
always remember your kindness, and I hope to see you again."
"I hope so, too, and soon at that," was the fervent reply.
Dane hardly knew how he reached the lake. He felt that he had made a
fool of himself. Never before had he spoken to a girl in such a
straightforward manner. What must she think of him?
"I could not help it," he told himself. "She needed to be warned. She
doesn't realise her danger. She can't surely know how beautiful she
is."