THE HAND OF THE RED DEATH
On the evening of the third day after his parting with Ick Far and
McKeever on the bank of the McQuesten, Connie Morgan inched his way
through a thick growth of aspens that fringed a narrow beaver meadow
from whence floated the sounds of an Indian village. For an hour he
had proceeded cautiously, guided by the sounds, and now, crawling
stealthily through the bush, he could see the twinkling lights of
many camp-fires. Husky dogs howled in concert, babies cried, and
from one of the dark, conical tepees came the monotonous sound of a
drum. The boy edged nearer. Forsaking the friendly shelter of the
aspen copse for the high lush grass of the open ground, he wriggled
snakewise toward the dark shadow of a tepee fifty yards distant.
Behind him the thicket loomed black with its promise of concealment,
and in front, fires flared, dogs barked and howled, and now and then
the boy caught scraps of hoarse guttural, as blanketed forms moved in
and out among the fires.
Connie had seen Indian villages before--had eaten and slept in them,
but some way, this camp seemed different. An indefinable something,
like an all-pervading spirit of doom, seemed to hover over the
village and include the entire valley in its miasmal embrace. Even
the mute figures of the squaws humped about the fires spoke absolute
dejection and helpless apathy toward the inevitable. Unconsciously
Connie shuddered, and little tickley chills crawled up and down his
spine. As if to add to the depression and intensify the portent of
evil, a weird wraith-like fog, grey and chill and clammy, crept up
the valley and settled upon the village of tepees. Again Connie
shuddered and drew closer, as the humped figures blurred beside the
fires where the flames burned a sickly yellow and glowed weak and
hazy through the chill fog-mist.
Suddenly the incessant pom, pom, pom of the drum was stilled, a fire
larger than the rest glowed out, and blanketed forms in groups, and
twos, and threes emerged from tepees and moved silently toward it.
The squaws retired to the outer fires and Connie watched the
fog-wraith eddy and swirl in their wake and settle heavily, like
molasses poured from a jug.
Creeping cautiously from tepee to tepee, the boy worked his way
toward the big fire. Now on hands and knees, now flattened into the
trampled grass, as a dark form stalked past within reach of his hand.
The fire blazed sullenly before the door of a tepee, the sides of
which were thickly hung with caribou hides fantastically painted with
ochre of dark red and saffron. Connie flattened himself close
against the base of this tepee and watched the stolid, imperturbable
faces of the Indians who squatted in a circle about the fire. "A
council," he muttered, "I wonder where Rickey is?"
Suddenly, from the interior of the tepee close at his ear, sounded
the beating of the drum, and a moment later a strange figure leaped
into the circle of the firelight--a figure gaunt and fierce-eyed, and
naked save for a gee-string, and several long necklaces of claws and
teeth, and the dried bodies of birds. For fully a minute the figure
stood motionless--rigid--gazing far into the fog as if to penetrate
the secret of its thick, clammy silence. Then, wailing forth the
words of a weird chant, he began slowly to dance, lifting each bare
foot in turn and bringing it down with a peculiar thud. Faster came
the words of the chant, and faster thudded the feet upon the ground,
while the man's long black hair switched about the grease-glistening
shoulders like a black banner of death. The words of the chant died
down, the dancing ceased and, with a weird and solitary incantation,
before the fire, the medicine man opened a small buckskin pouch and,
passing from one to another of the assembled Indians, touched each
upon the forehead with an eagle's feather which he had produced from
his medicine bag. This ceremony over, he grunted an order and four
young bucks arose and passed into the tent, from which they emerged a
few moments later bearing between them the form of a man trussed hand
and foot with caribou-skin thongs. They deposited their burden at
the feet of the medicine man and Connie caught the malevolent gleam
of the glittering black eyes as the naked savage peered into the
upturned face that returned the stare with a white man's laughing
sneer. The man was Corporal Rickey, and for a moment Connie could
scarcely restrain the impulse to dash into the circle and free his
bound comrade. But the boy bided his time, and with clenched fists
awaited the next move. The medicine man was haranguing the Indians
in their own language, not a word of which the boy could understand,
yet he knew from the gestures that the words boded no good for the
future of Corporal Rickey. Eagerly Connie scanned the faces of the
squatting Indians and, with a thrill of hope, read disapproval upon
the faces of many of the older men. The medicine man had evidently
reached the climax of his argument, for he ceased speaking and,
stooping swiftly, caught a blazing brand from the fire. Slowly--very
slowly he advanced to the bound feet of the captive. Then, for the
first time, Connie saw that the feet were bare--saw, also, that which
caused the hot blood to rush to his head in a red surge of rage--the
medicine man in the act of applying the flaming brand to the naked
soles of Corporal Rickey's feet.
With no thought for consequences, the boy threw caution to the wind,
sprang into the fire-light, and with one kick hurled the blazing
torch full into the face of the stooping medicine man. Instantly the
air was filled with red sparks and the frenzied shrieks of the naked
savage, as, with hair ablaze, he clawed and slapped wildly at the
glowing sparks that clung close and bit deep into his grease-smeared
flesh.
[Illustration; "With one kick Connie hurled the blazing torch full
into the face of the stooping medicine man."]
"Good work!" yelled Rickey. "Well, Jumpin' Jerushelam, if it ain't
the kid!"
The Indians were on their feet, now. Some springing to the
assistance of the discomfited medicine man, and others advancing
threateningly upon the diminutive figure that had leaped so suddenly
out of the fog.
"Look alive, kid! Where's the others?" The voice of Rickey was low
and tense, and Connie whispered quickly:
"I'm alone. Can they talk English?"
"Some of 'em--a little. They trade on the Mackenzie."
Without answering, the boy faced the Indians who were closing about
him, urged on by the frantic medicine man. He held up a small hand
and, for an instant, the red men hesitated. The boyish voice cut
clear, in tones of authority: "Stop! The first man that moves,
dies!" The Service gun flashed from its holster and the firelight
glinted ominously on its blue-black barrel as the hesitating Indians
glanced uncertainly from one to the other.
"You can't get away with it, kid!" warned Rickey. "It's the old
dervish, yonder. He's got 'em all gloomed up to die anyhow." His
words were drowned in a flood of unintelligible vituperation, as the
medicine man urged the Indians on. But, either the bucks knew they
had plenty of time, or none cared to hasten his forthcoming journey
to the Happy Hunting Ground, for despite the medicine man's raving,
the Indians evinced a noticeable reluctance to obey. Pressing his
momentary advantage, Connie again addressed them, his voice
unconsciously falling into the oratorical swing he had heard at
council fires beyond the Yukon.
"I am the medicine man of the white men. From beyond the mountains I
come to conquer the Red Death." Slipping the revolver into its
holster, he advanced until he faced the medicine man, and in his
voice was no tremor of fear: "Your lips speak lies. Your heart is
bad. Your medicine is no good. My medicine is strong. The Yellow
Knives shall live. I have spoken."
At the words of the boy, the naked savage forgot for a moment the
pain of his many burns and, drawing himself erect, addressed the
Indians:
"The white men have come to the land of the Yellow Knives. They have
seen that the land is good. The lakes and the rivers are full of
fish. The forest is full of game. There is much fur. They would
take the land for their own. Death! Death to the Yellow Knives!
The white men's medicine is strong. They call upon the Evil Spirits
that dwell in the caves at the home of the South Wind. The Evil
Spirits journey to the land of the Yellow Knives, and behold the hand
of the Red Death is upon us--and we die! Our women and little
children die also--and none shall be left alive. Only when the
medicine of the red men is stronger than the medicine of the white
men shall the Yellow Knives be freed from the hand of the Red Death.
Only when the bodies of the white men are burned with fire will the
Evil Spirits flee in fear from the land of the Yellow Knives, and the
Red Death depart from our lodges. I, Spotted Dog, have spoken."
Connie was quick to see that the man's words had carried weight with
the Indians, and once more his young voice rang clear as he glanced
fearlessly into the circle of scowling faces:
"Yellow Knives, you have heard the great lie from the lips of your
medicine man. His heart is black, and he speaks with a forked tongue
when he says only when the bodies of the white men are burned will
the Red Death depart from your lodges. Hear me, now--and you shall
live, and your women and children shall live, and the Red Death shall
depart from your lodges forever."
He reached into his pocket and produced the package of vaccination
points, which he held aloft. "See! The little medicine arrows of
the white men! Whoever is wounded upon the arm by the little arrow
fears not the Red Death. A little wound like the scratch of a
twig--in a few days a small sickness--and never more can the Red
Death harm him. If my lips have spoken a lie, then shall you burn
me, and my brother, also." Swiftly he rolled back the sleeve of his
coat and of his shirt and bared his arm upon which, still red from
recent vaccination, a scar showed plainly in the flare of the
firelight. "See, it is the sign of the medicine arrow! The Red
Death cannot harm me!"
Suddenly he whirled upon the medicine man: "Come, we shall see who
speaks with the forked tongue! It shall be the test. Together we
will go into a lodge of the Red Death. We shall pick out the man
most festered, upon whom the hand of the Red Death lies heaviest, and
we shall touch with our hands his sores, and shall breathe his
breath, and stay in his lodge for an hour. Then shall we wait eight
sleeps--and these shall be the judges. Before the eighth sleep, you
shall be stricken, and the hand of the Red Death shall be upon you,
and I shall be unharmed. If my words are true, then all shall be
wounded upon the arm, for I have arrows for all--and they shall live."
Connie ceased, and Corporal Rickey, who had listened to the words,
saw that the Indians were divided among themselves. With a great
effort he wriggled to a sitting posture and called loudly: "White
Eagle!" At the sound, an old Indian advanced a step and remained
motionless, while Rickey spoke in a loud voice: "You, and not yonder
lying fool are Chief of the Yellow Knives. Speak, now. You have
heard the words of truth from the lips of my brother. You have been
to the posts. You are very wise, and you know the white men of the
rivers--the factors, and the traders of fur. Have they not dealt
fairly with you? And is not the plan of my brother a fair one? We
still remain in your power. If my brother has lied, you may burn us."
The chief glanced over the faces of his people and his eye fell upon
the face of the medicine man, who seemed in no wise anxious to accept
Connie's challenge. And then he spoke, slowly, and with much wisdom:
"You have listened, oh, Yellow Knives, to the words of Spotted Dog,
the medicine man. You have listened, also, to the words of the small
white man. Spotted Dog says death shall overtake all the Yellow
Knives, and our wives, and our children. The white man says the
Yellow Knives shall live. Is death better than life?"
Slowly he rolled back the sleeve of his heavy Hudson's Bay Company
shirt. "We must all die--Spotted Dog has spoken. If we be wounded
with the little medicine arrows, we shall live--the small white man
has spoken. If we must die, one small wound upon the arm is nothing.
If, by one small wound, and one small sickness, we shall live--what
is one small wound? Life is better than death, and we can do no
worse than die--and Spotted Dog says we shall die anyway."
He extended his arm toward Connie. "Come, we shall be wounded upon
our arms, and we shall bring in our squaws and papooses." A volley
of protest surged from the lips of Spotted Dog--but the star of the
medicine man had set--White Eagle silenced him with a gesture, and,
motioning to the young men, ordered them to bind him and throw him
into his lodge.
"We weary of your howling," spoke the chief. "Not one life has it
saved in the village. When the white man has finished with us, you
shall go with him to the tepee of Long Raven, who is covered with the
sores of the Red Death, and you shall touch him with your hands, and
we shall see whose medicine is strong." The young men bound Spotted
Dog and carried him howling to his lodge and pitched him into its
blackness.
One by one, following the lead of their chief, the braves of the
Yellow Knives bared their arms and allowed Connie to scratch the skin
with the tiny vaccination points. Then the squaws and papooses were
herded to the fire and it was long past midnight when Connie
scratched the last arm and returned the remaining points to his
pocket. Then he turned to White Eagle and extended his hand:
"Your words are words of wisdom. The Red Death will depart from your
lodges. Only those already sick shall die. Loose, now, my brother.
We shall remain among you until the danger is past. We shall carry
food to the sick, and bury those who die, that the Yellow Knives need
not visit the lodges of the Red Death."
And White Eagle himself stooped and cut the thongs and, as Rickey
rose stiffly, he spoke:
"You are free to move about the village, only do not seek to escape.
My young men will watch you, and if you leave the village, you shall
surely die. If at the end of eight sleeps none of those who are
wounded have been stricken with the Red Death, then will the Yellow
Knives swear a great friendship for the white men, and you may return
to the land of your people. But, if these are stricken, then shall
you both be burned. Come, we shall take Spotted Dog and the small
white man to the lodge of Long Raven." But when they entered the
lodge of Spotted Dog, they found it empty--and Spotted Dog was
nowhere to be found.
"I always said it!" exclaimed Sergeant McKeever, as he lay propped on
his elbow upon a couch in the barracks at Dawson, and listened to
Corporal Rickey's account of what happened that night at the council
fire of the Yellow Knives, "Brains an' nerve is worth more than beef,
anyways you take it."
"Sure are!" assented Rickey, chuckling with laughter. "You should of
seen that medicine man dancin' around with his hair all a-fire,
howlin' bloody murder, an' a-clawin' at the sparks that settled over
his greasy hide like a swarm of red-hot mosquitoes." And his
laughter was echoed by a dozen or more officers who had listened to
the tale, until Connie felt his face redden under their approving
glances. And then, from the doorway, where he had stood a silent and
an unseen listener, the Superintendent himself stepped into the room
and laid a kindly hand on Connie's shoulder:
"Great work, son. We are proud of you, in the Mounted." Which was a
very long speech of approbation for the Superintendent to make. And,
later, when the long envelope went southward in the mail, bearing his
official report to general headquarters in far-off Regina, the name
of Special Constable Connie Morgan was mentioned for extraordinary
bravery in the rescue of Corporal Rickey from the Yellow Knife
Indians.