BEHIND THE BOLTED DOOR
When Thomas Norman fled with his wife and child from the restraining
bonds of civilisation and became the leader of a band of lawless rovers
of the wild, he little realised how far-reaching would be the effect of
his rash and hasty action. In the spirit of revenge he had sown the
wind, but he had forgotten the whirlwind that one day he would be
called upon to reap. For a time he had rejoiced in flaming the embers
of rebellion against the King, thinking thus to get more than even for
his imaginary injury. The war had filled him with delight, and he did
everything in his power to arouse the people, both whites and Indians,
against King George. For a while he was certain of success, especially
when assistance came from the rebelling states in the form of presents
for the Indians and a personal letter from General Washington,
accompanied by belts of wampum. For a time he made remarkable
progress, and so stirred the Indians that at last they started on the
warpath against the English. Ninety canoes filled with warriors headed
down river to ravage the country around Fort Howe. But they were met
by James Simonds, the trader at Portland Point, and a conference was
held along the river. Before giving an answer, the head chief, Pierre
Tomah, said that he must consult the Divine being. So throwing himself
upon his face in the sand, he lay motionless for the space of nearly an
hour. Then rising, he informed the other chiefs that he had been
advised by the Great Spirit to keep peace with King George's men.
After that a treaty was signed at Fort Howe. General Washington's
presents were delivered up, the Indians drank the health of the King,
they were feasted and presented with numerous gifts. All this was a
great blow to Thomas Norman, although he continued to inflame the few
Indians who still remained rebellious as well as the renegade white men.
His wife, a gentle and refined woman, never agreed with him in his
disloyalty to the King. At first she pleaded and reasoned, but at last
gave up in despair, and devoted herself to her simple household
affairs, and the training of her one child, the only comfort of her
solitary life. When at length she left him and he laid her body to
rest at the foot of a big pine tree, he was a heart-broken man. He
understood when it was too late what she had meant to him. Then when
Dane, influenced by his mother's teaching, left him to become one of
the King's rangers, his cup of sorrow was filled to overflowing. For
months after he lived a lonely life within his silent house, dreaded by
the slashers and Indians alike. The latter shunned his solitary abode,
and always spoke of him on rare occasions as the chief with the
"twisted head."
When, however, the English forces were defeated, and the war brought to
a close, Norman's hopes again revived. He became active once more,
feeling certain that the Indians and others would now side with the
conquerors and wrest England's grip from the valley of the St. John
River. The King's mast-cutters had been a source of continual worry to
him. Why should those great pines be used for the royal navy? he
asked. They belonged to the natives and other occupants of the land,
and should be reserved for future needs. The marking of the choicest
trees with the broad arrow filled his heart with bitterness, and his
words so aroused the rebel brood around him that they decided to drive
the mast-cutters out of the country, and put a stop to the business.
The arrival of thousands of Loyalists also stirred him deeply, and he
spread the report, which was readily taken up, that the newcomers would
settle on all the good land, slaughter the game, and force the rightful
owners to leave.
The failure of the attempt upon the Loyalists during the fall, and the
carrying of Flazeet and Rauchad to Fort Howe had only embittered the
rebels who had not taken part in the affair. They roused to action,
and determined to wreak revenge upon the mast-cutters between the St.
John and the A-jem-sek. They had arranged their plans with much
secrecy, but they learned at the last minute that in some mysterious
manner word had reached the rangers, who were hastening to the
assistance of the King's men. There was, accordingly, no time to lose.
They must strike at once, and then vanish into the depths of the forest.
Thomas Norman was well aware of this proposed attack upon the
mast-cutters. Although he did not oppose it, he took little interest
in the matter. In fact, he had very little ambition for anything. He
was feeling somewhat weary during the fall, and the silence of his
house was more depressing than ever. During the lonely days, and still
more lonely nights, he thought much about the past. He knew that he
had made a failure of life, and that he had nothing to live for now.
At times he would endeavor to fan the coals of rebellion by reading
"King Lear," "Timon of Athens," and the story of Old Aeneas. But the
effect was never lasting, and when the artificial stimulation subsided
he was more depressed than ever.
Such was his mood the day he rushed forth from the unbearable
loneliness of his house and encountered the moose. The accident, and
the meeting with the girl had aroused him for a while, and his old-time
spirit of rebellion flared up in his passionate outburst against the
King and the Loyalists. But it was only temporary, and when he learned
that the girl was James Sterling's daughter, he was forced to
capitulate. He made a few spasmodic efforts after that, but the
gentleness of the girl, together with the fact that she knew and loved
Dane, swept everything else away.
His great concern now was about the rebels. They could march against
the mast-cutters if they wished, but he did not want them to see Jean.
He knew what they were like, and when their coarse brutal natures
became inflamed through liquor, there was no telling what they might
do. For this reason he had urged Dave to turn them aside, and induce
them to march straight overland. Of the success of this plan he had
little hope, as the slashers knew of the rum he kept on hand, and for
that they would come, if for nothing else.
So that night as he lay there watching Jean as she sat before the fire,
he listened intently, expecting every minute to hear the voices and
steps of the undesired rebels. Bitterly now he regretted his action in
the past, and almost cursed himself for his blind folly. Several times
he was on the point of warning Jean of her danger. But how could he
tell her, and what good would it do? There was no place where she
could go for protection, and he was helpless to aid her. His only
comfort lay in the hope that he could influence the men by making them
think that she was his daughter. This, he knew, would be but a poor
excuse, and it was hardly likely that they would believe him. They
were well aware that he had no daughter, and would look upon the girl's
presence in the house in one light only. A groan escaped his lips as
he thought of this.
"Are you suffering much?" Jean asked, going to his side. "Is there
anything I can do for you?"
"Not for me, I'm afraid," was the reply. "There is something, though,
that you can do. I may have visitors to-night, and no doubt they will
be hungry. Do you think you could carry those provisions into this
room? I don't want the men to disturb you. I hope those sacks will
not be too heavy."
"I think I can do it," Jean replied. "Where shall I put them?"
"As near the door there as possible. And the rum; don't forget that, I
was going to ask you to pour it out in the snow for fear that the men
might drink too much. But that might not be wise. They know I have
it, and if they do not get it they might become ugly."
It took Jean some time to carry and drag in the supplies and stack them
in a corner near the door. She understood fairly well the meaning of
this, and it filled her heart with a nameless fear. This was increased
when she had with difficulty brought in the rum, and stood panting
after the exertion.
"There is a strong bolt on the door of your room," Norman explained.
"It might be well to keep it fastened when the men are here, for one
can never tell what might happen."
"You think there will be danger, then?" Jean asked, as she sat down in
the big chair.
"There is always danger more or less with those men around. When I was
well I could keep them within bounds. But now I am helpless. And,
besides, you are here, and that makes a difference."
"I must keep out of sight, then."
"It might be just as well. I am afraid that Dave has told the men
about you, so they will be anxious to see my--my daughter."
Jean asked no further questions, but her face was very pale and her
heart beat fast. She felt more helpless than she had been when with
her Indian captors upon the river. What could she do to defend
herself? She thought of the guns in the other room, and wondered if
they were loaded. She might use them, but what could one woman do
against a band of lawless men? Anyway, she was determined to do almost
anything to defend herself, if necessary.
Slowly the evening wore away, and anxiously Jean listened to every
sound. The man on the cot slept, and at times muttered words which the
girl could not understand. She felt inexpressibly lonely, and she
often glanced toward the small window as if expecting to see faces
peering in upon her. She did not dare to sleep lest the slashers
should come and catch her off guard. How she longed for Sam and Kitty.
What a comfort they would be.
At length she rose to her feet, crossed the room, opened the door and
looked out. It was not a dark night, but the moon, now almost at the
full, was invisible. A keen wind was driving over the land and it
sounded among the trees the same as it did before the storm she enjoyed
so much in the lodge by the lake. How weird appeared the great trees,
and she imagined she could see menacing forms watching her from their
sombre depths. She knew where lay the trail by which the slashers
would come, and she kept her eyes fixed in that direction. At the back
of the house another trail began, which led to the St. John River, so
Sam had told her, and passed the very place where the mast-cutters were
at work. This to the lonely girl seemed the trail of hope, while the
other was the trail of doom.
She was about to close the door, for the wind was piercing, when
casting a final glance toward the forest, she caught sight of dim forms
moving swiftly and silently toward the house. That they were the
dreaded slashers she had not the slightest doubt. Quickly she shut the
door, and hastened over to the cot. Norman opened his eyes and looked
at her in a dazed manner.
"They are coming!" she cried. "I have seen them!"
"Where are they?" the man asked, rising to a sitting position.
"Just out there," and she motioned to the right.
"Hurry up, then, and go into the other room. Bolt the door, and put
out the light."
Jean needed no further bidding. In another minute she had the door
securely fastened, and the candle blown out. She then took up her
position in a dark corner, where with fast-beating heart she waited to
hear what might take place in the adjoining room.