THROUGH THE NIGHT AND THE STORM
In a few minutes the slashers arrived. Jean could hear them quite
distinctly, and her heart sank within her as she listened to their
laughter and rough talk. They were in a merry mood, she could plainly
tell, and although she could not understand all they said, she was well
aware that they were asking for her and the rum. From this she knew
that Dave had told them of her presence in the house, and she wondered
whether they would try to force their way into her room. She glanced
in the direction of the muskets, and although she could not see them,
the thought that they were there gave her some comfort.
Standing where she was it was impossible to hear plainly, so stepping
to the door, she put her ear down close to a crack through which the
light was streaming. She listened intently to all that was taking
place, although at first it was difficult to make out any sense from
the babel of voices. Occasionally she could hear Norman's voice urging
the men to be quiet or to leave the house. That the visitors had found
the rum was quite evident, for she could hear them dipping the mug into
the liquor, followed by expressions of satisfaction.
"Dat's good rum, chief," she heard one say. "Where you get it, eh?"
"Where it all comes from, of course," Norman sternly replied. "You
must not drink too much of it."
"Oh, it'll take more'n dat to knock me out."
"Don't be too sure of that. The mast-cutters are no babies, and you'll
need to be in good condition when you meet them."
"I don't care for no damn mast-cutters. Rum's my best friend when I
fight dem."
"Hear, hear!" another shouted. "Good fer you, Jerry! We're with you
on that. Rum puts hell into us, an' makes us fight like the devil."
"But the mast-cutters can fight, too," Norman reminded. "They are well
armed, remember."
"'Spose they are, what of it? They won't have time to use their guns.
They'll all be asleep when we arrive."
"But what about the rangers?"
"They'll never touch us. We'll have the job done, an' the camp wiped
out before they get there. We're no fools."
"They rounded up Flazeet and his men last fall, though. How did they
hear about that attack?"
"How did they hear? Flazeet talked too much; that was the trouble.
But we're different. We'll not get caught."
"But Davidson has his men everywhere. Perhaps he has already warned
the mast-cutters, so they may be waiting for you."
"Well, let them wait. We'll have that bunch with us from the
Washademoak, an' you know what devils they are to fight."
"When do you expect to meet them?"
"To-morrow sometime. Then at night we'll drop in to see our friends,
the mast-cutters, an' settle up an old score once an' fer all."
What was said further Jean could not distinguish, for several men just
then lifted up their voices in a rough song, showing that the rum was
already taking effect. But what she had heard caused her great
uneasiness. She understood now the object of these men. They were to
march against the mast-cutters, sweep down upon them in the dead of
night, and murder them all. She shuddered as she thought of this.
Something must be done to warn the mast-cutters of their danger. They
were the King's men, and it would not do to allow them to be slain
without a chance of defending themselves. Why should she not go and
give the warning? This idea at first seemed foolish. How could she
find the way? Would she dare to traverse the forest alone? But the
more she thought of it, the more she felt that she was the one who
should undertake the task. If she did not do something she could never
forgive herself. And what would her father say if he knew that she had
hesitated in the path of duty? It was a hard battle she fought as she
crouched there in the dark corner. She pictured to herself the gloomy
forest, the uncertainty of the way, and the struggle necessary before
she could reach the mast-cutters. Cautiously she crept to the little
window and peered out. How dismal and forbidding seemed the forest.
She could see the tree-tops waving and the snow swirling before the
wind. The prospect of going forth alone on such a night was far from
cheerful.
She was about to leave the window when a bearded face was suddenly
pressed against the glass. With a gasp of fear she staggered back, and
fled to the darkness of her corner. And there she crouched, waiting
with wide-staring eyes for what would happen next.
The voices in the adjoining room were becoming louder and more
boisterous. What she presently heard caused her to straighten suddenly
up, and a chill to sweep through her body. The men were calling for
her, and demanding the chief to bring her to them.
"We want the girl," she heard one man say.
"You won't get her," Norman replied. "She is my daughter, and you must
not touch her."
"Your daughter, be damned! You ain't got no daughter. You can't git
that off on us. She's in the other room, an' we want her quick."
What Norman said in reply Jean could not understand, for the noise the
men were making. But she did hear some one trying the door, and
cursing because he could not get it open. She knew now that the
critical moment had arrived. There was no time to lose. She must
leave the place and nee to the shelter of the forest. That was her
only hope.
By the dim light of the dying fire she donned the coat, cap and mitts
that Kitty had made for her. Then seizing her snow-shoes, she
cautiously opened the back door. As she did so she could hear the
other door creaking beneath the weight of several bodies pressing
against it from the opposite side. That it would soon give way she
felt certain, so she must make her escape while there was time.
Stepping out into the night, she looked fearfully around. Seeing no
one, she sped along the trail, and in another minute was within the
sheltering arms of the great forest. Here she paused and looked back.
Nothing could she see but the house standing black and drear in the
midst of the little clearing.
It took her but a few minutes to arrange her snowshoes on her feet, and
she had just straightened herself up from her stooping position when a
crash and a medley of shouts fell upon her ears. She knew the meaning
of these sounds, and her heart beat wildly. The door had been burst
open, and the men were in the room searching for her. Presently she
saw several come out of the house and look around. Waiting to see no
more, she sped along the trail which stretched out before her. Never
had she travelled with such speed, her great fear urging her forward.
Would the slashers follow her? she asked herself. At times she stopped
and listened with the strained attention of a hunted animal. But
nothing could she hear, so encouraged she pressed onward.
At first she did not find the walking difficult, owing partly to her
excitement and the freedom she felt in being away from the house of
dread. She had no trouble in following the trail, for sufficient light
sifted down through the trees to show the beaten track. She wondered
who had travelled that way as she had not heard Norman refer to any one
coming from the great river. She had no idea as to the time of night,
although she hoped that it might be late for then she could look
forward more hopefully to the dawn. That the trail would lead her to
the mast-cutters she had not the slightest doubt, so this gave her
considerable comfort.
She had been travelling about an hour when the snow began to fall.
Among the trees it did not at first impede her progress, but she could
tell by the roaring overhead that a heavy storm was abroad. When
crossing a wild meadow or a small inland lake she experienced some of
the force of the wind, and the snow almost blinded her. She was always
glad when the trail led once more into the shelter of the woods.
At length, however, a sudden weariness came upon her. The walking grew
heavy, and she was finding much difficulty in following the trail.
Occasionally she stepped aside and sank into the deep snow, out of
which she struggled with great effort. Each time it was harder to
extricate herself, and her feet would slip provokingly off the
snow-shoes. And all the time the storm increased in fury, reminding
her of that other storm when she was at the little lake. But it had a
different meaning to her now. As it tore through the branches overhead
it sounded like the voice of destruction rather than grand martial
music. The swaying and creaking trees seemed like an army of monsters
about to fall upon her. The helplessness of her situation overwhelmed
her. What could she do against the fury of the elements? Why had she
ventured forth alone and unaided? It was foolish to think that she
could reach the mast-cutters. But then she knew that the forces of
nature were more merciful than those wretched slashers she had left
behind. Better to fall in the midst of the great forest, and let the
snow enshroud her body, than to allow brutes in the forms of men to lay
their vile hands upon her. But she would win. She must not give up.
She would go on.
Step by step she slowly pushed her way through the forest and the
night. She longed for morning, for the blessed light of day to dispel
the gloomy shades around her. But it was a long time coming, and she
was so weary. Often now she paused to rest, each time longer than the
last. At length she felt that she could go no farther. She could not
find the trail from which she had wandered, and the snow was deep. She
floundered about for a few minutes, and then with a cry of despair she
looked wildly around. What was she to do? She knew that she was lost,
yes, lost in the mighty woods where no aid could reach her. She
thought of the mast-cutters. She must reach them, and warn them of
their danger. What would her father and Dane think if she failed in
her duty? But would they ever know of the efforts she had made? Would
her body ever be found? No, no, it must not be. She would not give
up. She must not die there. The mast-cutters must be warned.
Under the inspiration of this resolve she again started forward. She
pressed bravely on her way, wearily dragging her snow-shoes which now
were so heavy. For a few minutes she moved onward. But her strength
was soon spent, and a great weakness swept upon her. She staggered
from side to side, and fought hard to stand upright. She grew
bewildered, and the trees seemed to be whirling around her. The
roaring of the storm overhead sounded like the voice of a demon mocking
at her despair. She could endure it no longer; she felt that she was
going out of her mind.
"Daddy, daddy! Dane, Dane!" she called, but only the wind replied with
a wild shriek to her passionate appeal for help.
Against a great tree she leaned her tired body for support. But it was
of little assistance in her distress. It could not reach out
sheltering arms, neither could it whisper words of comfort and hope.
Gradually her body weakened, drooped, and then like a tired child she
sank upon the snow at the foot of the lordly pine. The wind continued
its roaring in the trees, and the snow sifting down through their
branches whitened the still, huddled form below.