THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY
While Jean was crouching there alone in the desolate lodge, several men
were gathered around a small fire over half a mile down stream. They
had been drinking, and their words were loud and coarse. Seth Lupin
was the leader, and he was in great spirits. Three of his companions
were the slashers who had attacked Dane Norwood at Portland Point, and
they, too, seemed much pleased.
These brutes in human forms firmly believed that they were safe from
all prying eyes, and that their words of lust and revenge were lost
amidst the forest depths. Little did they realise that not far away
the form of an Indian was pressed close to the ground, that keen ears
were listening to every word, and that flashing eyes were watching
their slightest movements.
When, however, Lupin at length stepped into the canoe lying on the
shore, and began to paddle rapidly up the river, the prostrate Indian
rose to his feet, and glided swiftly among the trees, straight for the
lodge where Jean was crouching. As the canoe touched the shore a short
distance below the encampment, the native was silently standing near a
large spruce tree. No sooner had Lupin landed, than like a catapult
the Indian was upon him. With a wild gurgling cry of fear the
surprised man reeled back, and tried to ward off the attack. But his
efforts were all in vain, for the Indian's fingers were upon his throat
with a vise-like grip. Notwithstanding his frantic struggles, he was
borne steadily to the ground, and there he lay with his assailant
perched upon his body, and his fingers still clutching hard.
Seth Lupin had run his course. He knew no mercy, so no mercy was
vouchsafed to him. In his diabolical mind he had planned the ruin of
an innocent girl. But in his blind passion he had forgotten that the
Great Avenger of the just uses many strange instruments in defending
His own. He, like others, had left out of consideration the Unknown
Quantity. The mighty forest had witnessed numerous tragedies, but none
more swift and sure than the one this night on the bank of that narrow
inland stream.
Within the lodge Jean heard that wild cry of fear, and it caused her to
spring to her feet in terror. Her eyes stared out into the night, and
unconsciously she lifted her right hand and struck at the blackness as
if to drive it away. Listening intently, she could hear fearful sounds
as of a desperate struggle, and then all was still. What did it mean?
What unknown horrors were surrounding her? With cold clenched hands,
and body rigid with terror, she strained her eyes into the darkness.
She imagined that she could see forms creeping stealthily toward her,
and the faintest outlines of great tree trunks were to her hideous
monsters.
And as she looked and waited, something did appear suddenly before her.
With a cry she started back, and raised both hands to defend herself.
But a voice at once reassured her, causing her heart to leap with hope.
"White woman safe now," it said. "Injun tak' care white woman. Come."
"Who are you?" Jean asked in a trembling voice.
"Me Injun Sam. White woman no 'fraid Sam. Come."
"Will you save me?" the girl asked. "Will you take me home?"
"A-ha-ha. Bimeby. Come."
A feeling of security now swept upon Jean, so leaving the lodge she
followed the Indian, who at once led her away from the river into the
forest. It was difficult to see her guide, and so hard was the walking
that she often stumbled, and several times fell. At length the Indian
took her by the arm.
"Sam help white woman, eh?" he queried.
"Thank you," Jean panted. "You are very good."
With the native's assistance, she was thus enabled to make much better
progress. How strong he was! He kept her from falling, and lifted her
bodily at times over a root or a fallen log. And he was gentle, too,
stopping to rest as they climbed some hill, and speaking words of
encouragement.
"White woman no strong," he said. "White woman all sam' Injun bimeby."
To Jean it seemed as if their journey through the forest would never
end. She was so tired, and her feet very sore. Gradually her strength
and courage weakened, and her steps lagged. At length she stopped, and
her body trembled. She could go no farther. She just wanted to lie
down and rest. Then she tottered, and would have fallen had not the
Indian caught her in his powerful arms.
"White woman all sam' babby," he said. "Injun tote white woman, eh?"
"No, no, you must not carry me!" Jean protested. "I am too heavy."
The Indian's only reply was a grunt of amusement, as he started forth
with the girl in his arms. What a tower of strength he seemed as he
moved through the forest and the night. Not once did he stumble, and
his going was almost noiseless. Jean wondered where he was taking her.
But she did not worry, for this native inspired her with confidence,
and she firmly believed that he was really her friend. Anyway, she was
too tired to think. She only longed to lay down her weary body and
aching head and rest.
The Indian did not have to carry her far, for suddenly a light pierced
the darkness, and in a few minutes they were by a camp-fire. A woman
was standing there, and Jean recognised her immediately as the one she
had met that afternoon, and who had examined the little arrow-brooch.
She glanced quickly at her rescuer, and knew him, too. A sigh of
relief escaped her lips. Never were friends more welcome.
Near the fire was a brush lean-to, and gently the Indian laid the girl
down upon some soft furs and blankets. He smiled with satisfaction as
he did this, and so overcome was Jean with gratitude, that she caught
his great rough brown hand in both of hers, and held it fast. Tears
were in her eyes as she looked upon his honest face.
"Thank you, oh, thank you," she murmured. "You have saved my life.
How can I ever repay you?"
"Sam no want pay," was the quiet reply. "Sam glad save white woman."
The woman now came and knelt by the girl's side. She looked into her
eyes, stroked her tangled hair, and touched the Love-Charm at her
throat.
"Poor babby! Poor babby!" she crooned. "Hard tam, eh? white man bad,
ugh!"
"Why do you say 'white man'?" Jean asked in surprise. "Indians carried
me away. You saw them this afternoon."
Suddenly a suspicion flashed into her mind, which caused her to sit
bolt upright. Did a white man have anything to do with it? And was
that man Seth Lupin? But why had she not seen him? Then she thought
of that wild cry of despair outside the lodge, which had caused her
such terror. She looked into the Indian woman's face.
"Tell me," she said. "Was it Seth Lupin?"
"A-ha-ha. Seth. Bad. Ugh!"
"Where is he now?"
The woman merely shook her head, and spoke a few rapid words to her
husband. She then turned to Jean and placed a light hand upon her
shoulder.
"No mind white man now. Babby tired."
Jean smiled as the woman pressed her gently back upon the soft furs,
and then stooped to take off her shoes. The latter were torn, and her
feet were sore. It felt good to lie there, and to have some one attend
to her needs. When the shoes had been removed, and a pair of soft
moccasins placed upon her feet, she felt more comfortable.
"Why are you so good to me?" she asked. "You are just like a mother."
The woman only smiled in reply, and placed extra rugs about the girl.
She then turned and cut a slice from a piece of moose meat. Through
this she thrust a sharp-pointed stick and held it over the glowing
coals. When it was browned to her satisfaction, she sprinkled it with
a little salt, let it cool for a few minutes, and then handed it to her
guest.
"Eat, eh?" she queried. "Good."
Jean smiled as she took the meat in her fingers and tasted it. She was
hungry, and the steak was tender. It seemed so strange to be lying
there in the wilderness, eating in such a primitive manner. She
thought of her old home in Connecticut, and how carefully her mother
had trained her. She remembered how when a child she had been rebuked
because she had taken a piece of meat in her fingers. But it was the
custom here in the wild, and she rather enjoyed it. And as she ate,
the two Indians watched her with much interest. Such a novelty did she
seem to them, that she could not refrain from smiling.
"Am I eating right?" she asked.
"A-ha-ha," the woman replied. "Babby all sam' Injun bimeby."
"Why do you call me baby? I am very big."
But the woman shook her head.
"White woman no beeg, no strong, no hunt, no feesh, no pack; all sam'
babby."
"Oh, I see," and Jean's eyes twinkled. "I know I cannot hunt, fish, or
pack. But you will teach me, will you not?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun teach babby bimeby. Sleep now."
Jean did feel drowsy, and the bed was so soft and comfortable. For a
while she watched the friendly Indians as they sat near the fire, and
talked low to each other. It all seemed like a wonderful dream--the
leaping flames, the dancing sparks, and the gentle sighing of the wind
in the tree-tops. Her thoughts drifted away to her father and Dane.
How anxious they must be about her. But the Indians would take her
home, and all would again be well. What a story she would have to tell
of her capture and experience in the wilderness. How could she ever
repay her rescuers for what they had done for her? She tried to think
of what she might give them. But her thoughts became confused, and she
drifted oft into a peaceful sleep with the problem unsettled.
Occasionally the Indians turned and watched the girl. When they saw
that she was asleep, they looked at each other and smiled. Then they
brought forth their blackened clay pipes, which they filled and
lighted. For a time they smoked in silence and contentment. At length
they began to converse softly in their own language. That they were
talking about the sleeping girl was evident, for several times they
glanced in her direction. Once Sam ceased in the midst of his talk,
leaped to his feet, and clutched an imaginary object with both hands.
He then squatted down again, and continued his tale of the tragedy that
night by the shore of the forest stream.
When he was through he rose to his feet, picked up his musket, and
looked again at the girl. He then plunged into the night and the
forest, leaving his wife to keep guard alone by the fire. The dawn of
a new day was breaking when he returned and threw two snared partridges
down upon the ground for his wife to prepare for breakfast. But
something more important than birds had kept him abroad that night.
His face was serious, and his eyes glowed with anxiety and anger as he
laid aside his gun, and spoke a few commanding words to his wife.