THE SMOKE SIGNAL
When Jean awoke the next morning she was stiff and sore. She longed to
stay there all day and rest. But Kitty informed her that they must
move on at once, for not only were the slashers hot upon their trail,
but that a storm was coming, and they would need better shelter than
their rude brush lean-to could give. In a short time Sam returned and
reported that their pursuers were floundering about in a valley several
miles away. They had evidently lost the trail, and it would take them
some time to find it again.
"Will they keep on following us?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha," Sam replied. "Stop bimeby, mebbe. See?" and he laid his
hand upon his musket.
"Will you shoot them?"
"Mebbe. Bimeby."
"Oh, you mustn't!" and Jean shuddered. "That would be murder."
"White man kill Injun all sam' dog. Ugh!"
"Would they?"
"A-ha-ha. Sam know."
"You killed one white man, remember. But you must not kill any more.
Will you promise me?"
"Sam no say. See bimeby."
After Jean had eaten a hurried breakfast, the few belongings were again
packed up, and once more they started forward. The morning was cold,
and the trees were swaying and creaking like great masts at sea beneath
a whipping wind. Jean shivered as she bravely and patiently followed
Sam through that trackless wild. All through the morning they toiled
onward, and the afternoon was waning when the rain swept down upon
them. It froze as it fell, and ere long the ground was covered with a
coating of ice. At times Jean slipped and would have fallen but for
Kitty, who caught her by the arm and helped her over the rough and
treacherous places. The clothing of the three wayfarers soon became
stiff with the frozen rain, and resembled ancient armor. But still
they pressed onward, and night was again shutting down when another and
a larger lake burst suddenly into view.
On the shore of this fine body of water were several Indian lodges,
completely deserted. To Jean they looked cold and forbidding, so very
glad was she when Sam led the way to a dense thicket of young fir and
spruce trees. Nestling in their midst was the cosiest lodge Jean had
ever beheld. In fact, it consisted of a couple of lean-tos, facing
each other, between which was an open space a few feet in width. This
latter served as the fire-place, the smoke ascending through the
opening above.
In a short time a bright fire was burning, and Jean comfortably
ensconced upon the blankets and furs. Not a drop of rain touched her,
for the roof of this abode was covered with long strips of birch bark.
This, so Kitty explained, would be their home until the streams froze
hard enough to carry them. How pleasant it was to Jean to lie there
and rest. She felt that she could not endure another day of travel
through the forest. She had been tired the night before, but it was
little compared to now. Every bone in her body ached, and her feet
were sore and blistered. It was good to lie there listening to the
rain beating its tat-too upon the roof, and watching the smoke
scurrying upwards. She could hear the wind howling among the trees,
and vainly striving to force an entrance into their snug retreat.
Nearby Sam had his cache among the lower branches of four spruce trees,
and high enough from the ground to be safe from prowling animals. From
this he brought down some provisions, including a piece of moose meat,
tea, and a little flour. With the latter Kitty baked several bannocks
before the fire, which tasted especially good to Jean after her sole
diet of meat. These were eaten with the honey of wild bees which the
Indians had gathered during the summer.
"These are good," Jean remarked, as she helped herself to a second
bannock. "Where did you get this honey?"
Kitty laughed as she pointed to her husband, who was dragging in
several large sticks.
"Sam get'm last summer. Bees bite Sam, see?" and she put her hands to
her face and neck. "Sam head beeg. Hurt." Again she laughed at the
recollection of her husband's swollen face.
When Sam had finished his task of bringing in the wood, he squatted
before the fire and ate his supper. Then he brought forth a plug of
tobacco, whittled off several slices with his hunting-knife, filled his
blackened pipe, and lighted it with a small brand from the fire. His
wife did the same, and soon the two were smoking in great contentment.
Jean, watching, thought how little it took to satisfy such people.
Their belongings were few, and their places of abode many. She longed
to know more about these two Indians, why they were living apart from
their tribe, and whether they had any children. They must have mingled
with white people, for they readily understood everything she said,
although they themselves spoke in broken English.
She thought of these things the next morning as she and Kitty were
comfortably seated near the fire. The rain had ceased during the
night, the clouds had rolled away, and the ice-laden trees, touched by
the sun, shone and sparkled with surpassing loveliness. It seemed like
fairy-land to Jean when she first looked forth that morning, and she
exclaimed with delight. From the lake to the high peak off toward the
west millions of icy diamonds had caught the bright beams, and were
scintillating their glory far and wide.
"I never saw anything like it" Jean told Kitty. "Have you seen it?"
"A-ha-ha, me see'm," the Indian woman replied without the least sign of
enthusiasm. "Kitty see plenty. Trail bad. Ice heavy. Branch hang
down. Bad. Ugh!"
"Perhaps it will keep back those men who are following us," Jean
suggested. "They may not be able to get through the forest."
Kitty shook her head as she looked out upon the lake.
"Ice no stop white man. Trees beeg, no ice, trail good. Sam come
bimeby. Sam know."
"Where is Sam now?"
"Sam watch slashers. Sam gone long tam. Come bimeby."
"What will he do if the white men come here?"
"White man no come."
The woman rose to her feet and looked off to the high peak in the
distance. Then she sat down near the opening where she could watch the
hill without too much trouble. Jean wondered at this, although she
made no comment. No doubt she would understand in time.
"Have you lived long in this place?" she asked.
"Two, t'ree winter, mebbe."
"Where do you live in the summer?"
"Many place; Wá-sit-um-ó-wek; Wu-las-tukw; Beeg Lake, some tam."
"Where is Big Lake?"
"Way dere," and Kitty motioned westward. "Go dere bimeby."
"You often meet white people, I suppose?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Do you and Sam always travel alone? Are there other Indians around
here?"
"Plenty Injun sometam'. See'm bimeby, mebbe." Again she glanced
toward the distant hill.
"Have you any children?" Jean asked.
"No babby now. Babby all die."
"But Pete has children, has he not?"
"A-ha-ha. Pete plenty babby."
"Why, then, did he bring his baby to me when its mother died? Why did
not you take care of it?"
Kitty looked quizzically at the girl before replying.
"Dane no tell, eh?" she queried.
"Tell what?"
"Why Pete leave babby."
"No, he never told me. Perhaps he didn't know."
"Pete know. Pete find out 'bout King George peep'l. See?"
Noticing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, the woman smiled.
"Pete no sure 'bout white peep'l," she continued. "Pete leave leetle
babby. All good t' leetle babby. Pete trust King George peep'l. Pete
no forget."
A new light now came into Jean's mind, and she partly understood why
the baby had been left at the settlement. It was simply a plan on
Pete's part to learn whether the Loyalists were worthy of his trust and
special attention. Never for an instant had she thought of such a
thing. When that little waif had been brought to her home that night
of the wild storm, she and old Mammy had taken it to their hearts, and
had done all they could for its welfare. But how much it had meant to
her. Pete had spread the word abroad among his own people, and because
of the care of a little Indian child, she herself had been saved from a
terrible fate. She thought of the arrow Dane had given her. She knew
that it had a great deal to do with her rescue, but not all. The care
of the baby was back of that. But did Dane know? Had he any idea that
the baby and the arrow were so closely connected? Was that the meaning
of his words when he had given her the arrow? Did he think that some
day she might need protection, and that the Love-Token would prove of
great value?
"Dane told you about this, didn't he?" and she touched the brooch.
"A-ha-ha. Dane tell Injun."
"And you knew me by this?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun know all sam' white woman take care babby."
She paused abruptly, sprang to her feet, and pointed excitedly to the
high hill.
"See! See!" she cried. "Pu-kut! Pu-kut!"
Jean hastened to her side, and her eyes followed the woman's
outstretched arm. Up on the dazzling, sun-crowned peak a wreath of
smoke was ascending beyond the tops of the highest trees. It rose
straight into the air like a tall shaft ere it spread and fell in wavy,
fairy-like curls, and slowly disappeared from view.
"What is it?" the girl asked, feeling certain that it meant something
important.
"Slashers come," Kitty explained. "Sam call Injun."
"Now I understand," Jean replied, while a great fear smote her heart.
"The slashers are near, and Sam wants help; is that it?"
"A-ha-ha. Smoke call Injun."
"Will the Indians see it?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Will they know what it means?"
"Injun know."
"But suppose there are no Indians near?"
"Plenty Injun see pu-kut. Beeg hill. Injun know."
"Will the Indians come?"
"Bimeby."
"In time to save us from the slashers?"
"Mebbe. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."
Curiously and anxiously Jean watched that signal flaring from the high
hill. She asked Kitty many questions, and learned how in times of
danger the Indians sent up the smoke-wreath from certain hill tops. At
night a blazing fire was used, and in this manner news was carried many
miles in a remarkably short time.
Several hours wore slowly away as the two anxious women kept watch upon
the hill. When at length the smoke ceased to ascend. Kitty's face
brightened.
"Sam come soon," she said. "Injun come bimeby."
"How do you know?" Jean asked.
"Injun mak' pu-kut. Injun say 'come.'"
"Did the Indians reply by sending up smoke? Is that what you mean?"
"A-ha-ha. Sam come soon. Injun bimeby."
And in this Kitty was right, for in less than an hour Sam appeared
before them. He smiled as he entered the lodge, laid aside his musket,
and helped himself to some meat from a pot near the fire. As he ate,
he told about the slashers. They were not far away, and were waiting
to make the attack that night. How he learned this he did not explain,
and Jean asked no questions. It was sufficient for her that he knew,
and she had great respect for his knowledge of the ways of the wild,
and his practical common sense.
Slowly the afternoon edged into evening. The Indians were late in
coming, and often Sam cast anxious glances along the shore of the lake.
Several times he made short journeys into the forest, lest the enemy
should come upon them unawares. Jean, too, was greatly agitated.
Suppose the slashers should arrive, what could Sam do alone? What
would become of her? She recalled Dane's words that night at Portland
Point when he had saved her from Seth Lupin. "Do you know how
beautiful you are?" he had asked. "If you don't, 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." That was months ago, but she remembered
every word. She thought then that Dane had spoken rather plainly, and
had told him so. But she knew now how well he understood the risks she
would run, and that he was speaking for her welfare. Oh, if Dane and
the rangers were with her in the forest how soon they would put the
slashers to rout, and take her home. But they were far off, so her
only hope lay in the arrival of the Indians, from where she did not
know.