THE LINE IN THE SAND
Taking with them the two ringleaders and two other rebels as witnesses,
the victors marched back to the settlement. There was no need for
secrecy now, so the forest re-echoed with shouts, laughter and songs of
the care-free rangers. They were somewhat disappointed at the outcome
of the affair, as they longed for a fight with the plotters. But down
in their hearts they knew that Davidson had taken the wisest course in
dealing with the Indians. With Flazeet and Rauchad out of the way,
they felt certain that the gang would give no further trouble.
The Colonel found it impossible to keep up with his companions, so he
and Dane walked more slowly some distance in the rear. It was
difficult for the young courier to restrain his steps, as he longed to
speed like the wind to the one he believed was anxiously awaiting his
coming. But he would not leave the Colonel who was weary after his
trying experience.
"This has been too much for me," the latter confessed, as he paused and
rested for a few minutes. "I am sorry to detain you, for I know how
you long to be on ahead with the others. It is good of you to stay
with me."
"Don't you remember our agreement?" Dane asked.
"What agreement?"
"The one we made out in the hills, of course, that 'While the grass
grows, the sun shines, and the water flows we will be friends.' Friends
help one another, do they not? Although I am anxious to get to the
settlement, yet I could not think of leaving you to lose yourself in
the woods. I would never forgive myself, and what would Jean think of
me?"
"She thinks a great deal of you now, young man, and I believe you are
worthy of her regard."
"I hope I am, and for her sake, at least, I am glad that my life has
been clean. I have travelled in strange ways, and lived at times among
base and vicious men, but I have always kept myself apart from their
evil doings. I owe it all to my mother's teaching and influence."
"She must have been a noble woman," the Colonel remarked, as he resumed
his journey.
"She was," Dane replied, "and I know of but one who resembles her. You
know to whom I refer. Until I met Jean, I thought that my mother was
the only one who reached my ideal of what a woman should be. Since
meeting her, I have been very happy. Without her, the world would be
very dreary to me. But perhaps you cannot fully understand what I
mean."
"I understand better than you imagine," was the quiet reply. "When I
say that Jean is just like her mother, you can be assured that I
understand exactly what you mean."
The Colonel was very tired when he at length reached the settlement.
He and Dane were both surprised at the silence which reigned about the
place. They had expected to hear sounds of the rangers and others
making merry over the success of their march against the rebels. But
everything was as quiet as a funeral, causing an ominous feeling to
steal into their hearts. Had anything of a serious nature happened
during their absence? they asked themselves, although they did not
express their thought in words. What was the meaning of those little
groups of men and women talking so earnestly? And why was Davidson
advancing alone to meet them? Something surely was wrong.
As, Davidson approached, they noted the serious expression upon his
face. The Colonel stopped, and with fast-beating heart waited for the
purveyor to speak.
"We have been watching for you," Davidson began. "I am afraid you are
very tired."
"I am somewhat weary," the Colonel replied. "But, tell me, is anything
the matter? What is the meaning of this strange quietness? And why do
you meet us like this?"
"We are anxious about your daughter," Davidson explained. "She has
been missing since last night."
At these words a cry escaped Dane's lips, and he wheeled impetuously
upon his leader. But the Colonel did not utter a sound. His face grew
white as death, and his body trembled. He stared at the ranger as if
he had not heard aright. Then he raised his left hand, and pressed it
to his forehead.
"You say that Jean is missing?" Dane asked. "What has happened to her?
Tell me, quick."
"Yes, she has disappeared, and no one here knows what has become of
her."
With a groan Dane looked beseechingly at Davidson.
"Surely some one must have seen her," he declared. "Was she alone?
Was she out on the water? Was she in the woods? Perhaps she is lost,
and is wandering about trying to find her way home."
"That is not it, Dane. She was visiting at one of the houses early
last night, and stayed for about an hour. She left there for home, and
has not been seen since."
Dane made no reply. His brain was in a tumult. He tried to think, to
find some solution to the problem. Jean was gone! Where had she gone?
What had happened to her? His thoughts suddenly darted to Lupin, the
cowardly villain. Then he recalled what he had heard a few nights
before on the river as that mysterious canoe sped by in the darkness.
"Seth's looking after the plans," were the final words which had
reached his ears. Had those plans anything to do with Jean's
disappearance? he asked himself. Forgotten was everything else as with
lightning rapidity these thoughts surged through his mind. He came to
himself with a start, and was surprised to see that the Colonel had
left him, and was with Davidson at the door of his own house. He
hurried after him, and entered the house just as the bereaved father
dropped upon a seat near the table, and buried his face in his hands.
He went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"I will find Jean," he said. "Don't get too much discouraged."
"You will find Jean?" the Colonel eagerly asked. "Have you any idea
where she is?"
"I do not know, but Pete and I will find her."
At these words Old Mammy lifted her bowed head. She had been swaying
to and fro, and moaning in the most doleful manner.
"Oh, Mistah Dane, find Missie Jean," she pleaded. "Bring back my sweet
lamb. I'se 'fraid de Injuns or bears has toted her off. Oh! oh! oh!
What will I do wifout my darlin' chile!"
"We will find her, Mammy, never fear," Dane comforted. "Get some food
ready, and Pete and I will begin the search at once."
"I'll have it ready fo' yo' in a jiffy, Mistah Dane," and the old woman
toddled to her feet. "I'se been cookin' all day fo' I knew de men
would come back wif big ap'tites. I'll put up 'nuff to las' yo' fo' a
week."
In another minute the faithful servant was busy filling a capacious
basket with the good things she had stored away in the cupboard. Dane
turned to Davidson, who had been talking with the Colonel.
"Where is Pete?" he asked. "I have not seen him since coming back."
"He is down on the shore," was the reply. "He went there as soon as he
heard the news, and has been there ever since."
Dane walked to the door and looked out. Down among the trees he saw
the Indian, moving slowly around, with eyes intent upon the ground.
Leaving the house, Dane hurried across the open, and he had almost
reached the native when the latter dropped upon his hands and knees,
and examined something he had just discovered.
"Have you found anything?" Dane asked.
"A-ha-ha," Pete replied, lifting his head, and holding forth a tiny
shred of cloth.
Dane seized it and examined it most carefully, while his heart gave a
great bound.
"It is a piece of Jean's dress!" he exclaimed. "I would know it among
a thousand. Where did you find it?"
"On dat," and the Indian laid his hand upon a sharp-pointed prong which
jutted out from the great root of a fallen tree. "White woman carried
off, eh?"
"It seems like it, Pete. Her dress must have caught on that snag.
Have you found anything else?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun track, see," and he pointed to the ground just in
front of him.
Dane stooped and without much difficulty he was able to discern the
imprint of a moccasined-foot where it had pressed a small mound of
sand. He straightened himself up and looked around.
"Any more such tracks, Pete?"
"A-ha-ha, down on shore. Canoe come dere. Injun carry off white
woman, eh?"
"There is no doubt about it. And we've got to find her. Are you ready
to help me?"
"A-ha-ha, Pete ready. Pete get canoe, eh?"
"All right, and I'll be with you in a few minutes."
Half an hour later Pete's canoe, the old reliable, which the rangers
had brought back to the settlement, was again headed up river. Dane
sat astern and drove his paddle into the water with the force of a
Titan. He had been greatly stirred at times in the past, but never
such as now. The blood surged madly through his veins, and the muscles
of his bared arms stood out like whips of steel. He thought of the
cowardly attack upon the helpless girl, the one he loved better than
life. Where was she now? Perhaps already she had become the victim of
Seth Lupin. The idea was horrible, and his paddle bent as the
glittering blade carved the water. But the base Lupin should not
escape. He would track him, if necessary, to the farthest bounds. He
would find him, and when he had found him . . .
The sun of the now shortened day dipped below the far-off western
horizon. A chilly breeze drifted up with the tide. Gradually the
trees along the shore became indistinct. The stars tumbled out one by
one. Silence reigned on water and land. But still the canoe sped
noiselessly onward. Not once had Dane spoken to the Indian; his mind
was too much occupied with other things. The picture of a white head
bowed with grief as he had last seen it at the settlement, rose before
him. What agony of soul was that silent man now undergoing. He
emitted a slight groan, which caused Pete to glance quickly around.
"Dane seek, eh?" he queried.
"Not sick, Pete; only mad. I'm in hell."
"A-ha-ha, me know. Bad, eh?"
Dane's only reply was a more vigorous stroke than ever, which caused
the canoe to quiver as it leaped forward. He was too much excited as
yet to form any definite line of action. He thought only of the Indian
encampments along the river and the various tributaries. Surely at one
of these he would find out something which would guide him in his
search. There was no time to be lost. Winter was not far away, and
the river would soon be frozen from bank to bank. Already the wild
geese had gone South in great wedge-like battalions, and any day the
wild nor'easter might sweep down, and with the blast of its cruel
breath strike rivers, lakes, and babbling brooks into a numbing silence.
For days and nights they continued their search. From camp to camp
they sped with feverish haste, but not a clue could they find. The
Indians had heard nothing of the missing girl, and Dane's heart sank
within him at each fresh disappointment. What was he to do? Where was
he to go? These were the questions he asked himself over and over
again. Both he and Pete were weary, for they had slept but little, and
had only eaten what they could obtain at the various encampments. How
much longer could they continue? Soon the river would be frozen, and
then the search would have to be carried on by land. And all this time
what untold hardships was Jean undergoing, providing she was still
alive?
At length when hope was almost gone, an Indian passing up river gave
him a glimmer of light. He had been at the mouth of the Washademoak
the night the white girl had been carried off. A strange canoe had
passed by swiftly in the darkness, and he had heard a slight moan of
distress. This was all, but it aroused in Dane a new spirit of hope.
There might yet be time to follow this clue, and the Washademoak was a
likely place to hide the girl.
It was morning, and they were far up the river when this information
was received. The setting sun found them resting upon the shore not
far from the entrance to the Washademoak. They had just finished their
frugal supper, and were about to continue on their way, when the white
sails of the little schooner _Polly_ hove in sight, bearing steadily up
stream. Captain Leavitt was on deck, and catching sight of the two
rangers, he hailed them. As the vessel approached, Dane and Pete
launched their canoe, and awaited her coming. The wind was not strong,
and when the _Polly_ at last drew near, they could see the deck filled
with men, women, and children. In another minute the canoe was
alongside, and Captain Leavitt leaning over the starboard rail.
"Hello, Dane," he accosted. "You're just the man I'm on the lookout
for. Here's a letter from Davidson. I didn't expect to find you so
easily. Any word of the missing girl?"
"Not much, Captain. We have a slight clue, though. What's the news at
Portland Point?"
"Stirring times there, Dane. The town is building up fast, and more
people have arrived." He then lowered his voice. "These are some of
the late-comers. They are going up river to settle."
"At this time of the year?" Dane asked in surprise.
"Yes, and mighty hard luck, isn't it? We are bound for St. Anne's, but
I question whether we can make it with this cold weather upon us. I
must get back before the river freezes. Some are following in open
boats, just think of that! I don't know what will become of them."
Dane's eyes turned to the Loyalists who were watching him and Pete with
considerable curiosity. They formed a most pathetic group of people
shivering there upon deck. They seemed weary almost to the point of
exhaustion, and yet in their eyes and bearing could be observed a
spirit that nothing could daunt.
"Did Davidson get the prisoners down all right?" Dane asked as he was
about to let go of the rail.
"Yes, they're waiting trial now. But that letter will tell you all
about it."
In another minute the canoe was adrift, and the Loyalists were waving
their hands as the _Polly_ sped on her way. Dane at once opened the
letter, and read its contents. As he did so, his face became very
grave, and a spirit of rebellion welled up within him.
"Look at this, Pete," and he held forth the letter as soon as he had
stepped ashore. "Davidson has ordered us both to Fort Howe."
"Why?" the Indian asked.
"To tell what we heard at the Wedneebak. We are wanted as witnesses
against Flazeet and Rauchad. What do you think of that?"
"We go, eh?"
"How can we? What about Jean?"
"Dane always go when chief call, all sam' wild goose, eh?"
"I always have, Pete. But it is different now. Jean needs me. She is
in danger. She may be cold. She may be hungry. She may be----"
Dane did not finish his sentence, for Pete had suddenly stooped, and
with a small stick was drawing a line upon the sand, east by west.
"See," he said, "King dere," and he touched the ground on the south
side of the line with the point of his stick. He did the same on the
north side, adding, "white woman dere. King, white woman, eh?"
"That's just it, Pete. It's between Jean and the King, between love
and duty. I must think it out. You sleep."
For over an hour Dane paced up and down the shore, his mind rent by
conflicting emotions. He was in the King's service, and it was his
duty to respond whenever called. But why did not Davidson leave him
alone now? What right had he to send for him when he knew of the
importance of his mission in searching for the missing girl? At times
he felt inclined to disobey the summons. He could make a living in
some other way. It was not necessary for him to remain in the King's
service. Some one else could do the work. But each time a voice
whispered that such a course would not be honourable. He had not yet
taken his discharge, and so was not free. How could he ever again face
Davidson and the rangers? They would consider him a traitor, and he
well knew how they would discuss him around their camp fires. To them
his deflection from duty would be an unpardonable offence. They would
condone almost anything rather than disloyalty to the King. Duty to
him overshadowed every other matter, even that of the heart.
As Dane paced up and down thinking of these things, his mother's words
flashed into his mind. "Be always loyal to God and the King above all
things," she had impressed upon him. "The King is God's anointed one,
and he rules by divine right." Dane had never doubted this, neither
did he do so now. But he had since learned that love, too, is a divine
thing, and cannot lightly be disobeyed. What is the King to me? he
asked himself. A mere name. But Jean is a living reality. The King
lives in luxury, and has millions to look after his interests. But
Jean is now wandering somewhere in the wilderness, in great need, and
with no one to help her. Why should I not go to her first of all? I
can live without the King, but not without Jean.
The more he thought, the fiercer became the battle. Night had closed
around him, and the steadily increasing nor'east wind sang the prelude
of a coming storm. Dane glanced at the moon riding high above the tops
of the pointed trees. He knew the meaning of its overcast appearance,
and the circle which surrounded it. There was no time to be lost. He
must decide at once. But which should it be? Pete was asleep, and the
fire was low. Mechanically he stooped and threw a few sticks upon the
hot coals. As the flames leaped up they illuminated the ground for
some distance around. They brought into clear relief the line made by
the Indian upon the sand. This primitive symbol arrested his
attention, and a sudden fancy entered his mind. Picking up a small
stick, he wrote in the sand on the south of the line the word "King,"
and on the north "Jean." These he compared with critical eyes.
"Same number of letters in each," he mused. "One stands for duty, the
other for love. K-i-n-g, J-e-a-n," he spelled. "They both sound good,
and have a fine ring about them. I am bound to both, and must decide
now. Oh, Lord, which shall it be!"
The perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, so intense was
his emotion.
"I can't decide against Jean!" he groaned. "And I can't be disloyal to
the King!"
Again his mother's words came to his mind. "Be loyal to God and the
King above all things." How would she choose if she were in his place?
Yes, he knew. Not for an instant would she have hesitated. For a few
minutes he stood staring straight before him. His face was pale, and
his hands clenched hard, and his lips were firmly compressed. At
length he turned, walked over to where Pete was lying, and touched him
upon the shoulder. The Indian opened his eyes and looked around.
"Come, Pete, it's time we were away."
"Where, Dane?"
"Down to the Fort."
"Geeve up white woman, eh?"
"Give her up? No," Dane savagely replied. "I'll never give her up.
But don't ask me any more questions now."
In a few minutes they were on their way, wind and tide being
favourable. They had gone but a mile, when rounding a bend a big camp
fire upon the shore attracted their attention. People were moving
about, and these Dane surmised were the Loyalists Captain Leavitt had
mentioned who were following in open boats. Some were seated before
the fire in a most dejected manner. The cries of children reached him,
accompanied by women's soothing words. Dane had no desire to stop, for
his own trouble was all that he could now endure. So on the canoe
sped, past the forlorn exiles, and forward to the Fort beyond.