the inner side of the sand-bar that partly concealed the entrance to the
stream. Ever since Etienne had seen Le Forgeron Tordu at Montreal River,
he had taken precautions to select camping places where the three would
not be noticed by any one passing on the lake. If the Twisted Blacksmith
were coming up the shore on some business of his own that had nothing to
do with them, the gold-seekers had no wish to attract his attention. If
he was following them, they hoped to give him the slip. Just as the sun
was setting that night, as Jean was plucking the pigeons and Ronald was
preparing to kindle the cooking fire, their attention was attracted by
the harsh screaming of gulls. Looking out through their screen of
bushes, the lads saw a canoe, about the size of their own, passing a
little way out. It was going north, and contained two men, one evidently
an Indian, the other from his dress a white man or half-breed. The boys
could not see him plainly enough to be sure, but they had little doubt
the white man was Le Forgeron. Etienne was some distance away gathering
bearberry leaves to dry and mix with his smoking tobacco to make
kinni-kinnik. So he did not see the canoe go by.
The sight of the passing voyageurs caused the three to delay going on
until twilight had deepened to darkness, and then they traveled in
silence, and watched the shore closely for signs of a camp. They saw
none, however, ran past the mouth of the Pic without encountering any
one, and landed in a bay a few miles farther on. Ahead of them lay a
very irregular shore with many islands, rocks and reefs, which they did
not dare to try to thread in the darkness.
In spite of their night run, they embarked early and passed through a
labyrinth of islands. In a winding passage they met a canoe containing
an Indian, his squaw, three children and two pointed-nosed, fox-eared
dogs. The boys thought this Indian family particularly unattractive
looking savages. They had very flat faces and large mouths and were
ragged and disgustingly dirty, but they were evidently good-natured and
ready to be friendly, for man, woman and children grinned broadly as
they called out "Boojou, boojou," the Indian corruption of the French
"Bonjour." The man held up some fish for sale, but Nangotook treated him
with dignified contempt, grunting an unsmiling greeting, shaking his
head at the proffered fish, and passing by without slowing the strokes
of his paddle. As he left the Indian canoe astern, he growled out a name
that Ronald could not make out, but that Jean understood.
"Gens de Terre," the boy exclaimed. "These are the shores where they
belong. They seldom go as far south as the Sault. Some call them Men of
the Woods. They are dirty, but very honest. The traders say it is
always safe to give them credit, for rarely does one of them fail to pay
in full. They are good tempered too, but when food is scarce I have
heard they sometimes turn Windigo." The lad shuddered and crossed
himself. Windigo is the Indian name for a man who has eaten human flesh
and has learned to like it. Both Indians and white men believed that
such a savage was taken possession of by a fiend. Men suspected of being
Windigos were shunned and feared by red men and white alike.
The voyageurs made a traverse of several miles, and ran among a cluster
of little islands abreast of Pic Island, a rock peak rising about seven
hundred feet from a partly submerged ridge. Fog, blown by a raw, gusty
wind delayed them considerably that day. After running on a hidden rock
and starting a seam in the canoe, they were finally compelled to camp on
a rock islet near shore. There they dined on blueberries, and slept on
thick beds of moss and low growing blueberry and bearberry plants.
The following day, after a sharp north wind had driven away the fog,
they went on, and passed the Slate Islands, high and blue, seven or
eight miles across the water. At supper time they entered a little cove,
where they were horrified to find signs of a recent tragedy. A canoe was
floating bottom up, the beach at the head of the cove was strewn with
pelts, the sand trampled and blotched with dark patches. Near by were
the ashes of a camp-fire.
Nangotook looked the place over carefully, then remarked, "Awishtoya
been here."
"Why do you say that?" exclaimed Jean. "What makes you think so?"
"Trapper going to Pic with winter's catch," the Indian explained.
"Awishtoya found him, attacked him, killed him maybe," and he pointed to
the blood stains in the sand. "Broke open his packs and took best furs.
These no good," touching one of the abandoned skins with his foot.
"Something of the kind must have happened here," Ronald agreed, "and Le
Forgeron would not be above such a deed. Do you see anything to prove he
did it, Etienne?"
The Ojibwa shook his head. "No need to prove it," he said. "Awishtoya
came this way. Always there are evil deeds where he goes."
From the ashes of the fire and the condition of the sand, the Indian
thought the deed a recent one, committed not longer ago than the night
before, perhaps that very day. The three righted the canoe, but found
nothing about it to show its owner. Though they searched the shores of
the cove, they did not discover the body of the murdered man, if he had
been murdered, or any further traces of him or of the man or men who had
attacked him. The marks in the sand were so confused, indicating a
desperate struggle, that not much could be read from them, but Nangotook
thought there had been at least three men in the affray.
The boys had no desire to linger in the cove. As soon as the evening
meal was over, they launched their canoe, and traveled far into the
night, most of the time against a troublesome head wind. Near the
entrance to what is now called the North Channel, which leads into
Nipigon Bay, they made camp.
The lads were growing very impatient. It seemed to them they never would
reach the Rock of the Beaver, as Nangotook had called the spot where
they were to strike south across the open lake. They were beginning to
wonder if he were taking them clear back to Grande Portage, for they had
now come considerably more than two-thirds of the way. Up to that time
the Ojibwa had given them no hint of the location of the Rock, except to
say that it was on the north shore, but that night he volunteered some
information. "Only one day more," he said, "one good day."
VII
THE ROCK OF THE BEAVER
The next morning at dawn the sky was mottled with scudding clouds driven
by an east wind. The prospect was not promising, but the wind was in the
right direction for sailing, and the voyageurs put out in haste, rigging
their blanket sail. It was their intention to pass outside the islands
that almost block the entrance to Nipigon Bay. They made good time
before the breeze, though the waves followed the frail craft perilously,
and the three were soon well soaked with cold spray. But the wind
changed to the southeast, and dark blue clouds, with slanting lines of
rain below them, began to roll up. The sail had to be lowered, and, as
the wind increased and blew in gusts and squalls, it took all the
canoemen's skill to keep from swamping before they gained the eastern
end of the great Island of St. Ignace.
There they were glad to run into a long bay or cove, protected by high
peaks and ridges on either side and by a small island at the entrance
and another large one, now known as Simpson's Island, across a narrow
channel to the east. To the head of the cove, where a small stream
entered it, they paddled, and found a landing place. There they stowed
the supplies under the canoe, placing them on poles and paddles to keep
them off the wet ground, for rain had begun to fall.
Making camp in the rain is an unpleasant task, but they needed a better
shelter than the small canoe would afford. So they left the beach, and
explored the woods for a good spot where they could build a lodge in the
Indian fashion. A considerable distance back from the water, Etienne
found, at last, a spot level and open enough.
Ronald and Jean cleared the ground, while the Indian cut young birch
trees and stripped larger ones of their bark. Ronald was expert with an
ax and wasted no blows. Bending a sapling over with his left hand, he
gave it a sharp clip, then bending it the other way, another quick
stroke, and it was down. Bushes were cut or pulled up, loose rocks
thrown to one side, troublesome roots grubbed up, and hummocks leveled
with vigorous strokes of the back of the ax. In an incredibly short time
the camping ground was fairly smooth and level. Then Nangotook set up a
frame, thrusting the butts of the trees he had cut into the ground, and
bending together and interlacing the tops. This framework he and the
boys covered with sheets of birch bark, "wig-wass" Nangotook called the
bark. They did not take time to sew the pieces together, but overlapped
them and placed more poles against them to keep them in place. The
ground within the lodge, or "wigwam," as the Ojibwa called it, was
hastily strewn with spruce branches. The shelter was completed none too
soon. Just as Jean was carrying in an armful of the gray moss or lichen
that almost covered many of the spruce trees, hanging down from them and
giving them the appearance of being bearded with age, there came a wild
burst of rain and hail that rattled on the bark walls like bullets.
The rest of that day and night and most of the next day rain fell with
scarcely a pause. The disgusted gold-seekers were compelled to remain
within shelter, going out only long enough to cut wood for the fire and
to catch a few fish.
Late in the afternoon the rain ceased, and the gray clouds showed signs
of breaking. Hares seemed to be plentiful on the island, and Etienne
went out to set some snares, while the two boys climbed up through the
dripping woods, over slippery moss and rocks, to a spot where they could
see out over the lake. The water was still rough, but the wind had
shifted to the north and gave promise of clearing weather. They hoped
they might be able to go on by morning. According to Etienne the Rock of
the Beaver was only a half day's journey away.
On their way back to camp they came suddenly within range of a plump
hare that was feeding on a large red mushroom. Ronald, who was on the
lookout for game, made a lucky shot. Though hare flesh is not at its
best while the animal still wears his gray-brown summer coat, the fresh
meat was more than welcome to the voyageurs. There was other game on the
island, for they saw tracks, half washed out by the rain, that Jean was
sure were those of caribou, and the Indian said there were moose prints
in a boggy place near where he set his snares. When the boys went down
to the bay for water, they found signs that both mink and marten had
been there before them, and in the night they were awakened several
times by the sharp, cat-like snarl of a lynx. They found no indications
that any one had trapped in the vicinity the winter before, however.
The next morning dawned fair with a light breeze, and the adventurers
hastened down to the shore where the canoe lay. Jean gave a cry of
dismay when he turned over the boat. Under it they had left most of the
ammunition and all of the food supplies they did not want to use
immediately. Now everything, except the paddles and the poles, was gone.
"Stolen," cried Jean in great excitement. "Le Forgeron Tordu has been
here, the fiend! It is some of his evil work."
"It is evil work, surely," Ronald answered more quietly, but his blue
eyes hardened and his square jaw set. To break into another man's cache
or steal his provisions was the most serious of offenses in the
wilderness among white men and Indians alike, an offense that might even
be punished with death.
Nangotook, after one glance under the canoe, had set himself to
examining the tracks that led to the water. "One man," he remarked
briefly, "two trips. Other man stay in canoe. Last night or this day
early." The footprints had been made since the rain. There were no signs
that a canoe had been brought ashore, so the Ojibwa inferred that the
boat had remained on the water with at least one man to handle it. To
track the thieves was impossible, for, as the Indian said disgustedly,
"Canoe leave no trail."
There was no way to prove that the Frenchman and his companion were the
thieves. The things might have been taken by some wandering Indians, but
it would have been difficult to convince either Ronald or Jean of such a
probability.
The loss of supplies was very serious, and made it all the more
necessary for the treasure-seekers to make haste to the Island of Yellow
Sands. Fate continued to be against them, however. By the time they
reached the mouth of the cove, the wind, that had been so light at dawn,
had come up and was blowing hard from the worst of directions for them,
the southwest, rolling great waves against the outer rocks of the
island. If they kept to their intended course, they would have to paddle
in the trough. It seemed as if Nanabozho had repented of his former
kindness, and was trying to keep them from their goal as long as he
could.
Etienne took one look out across the water. Then, with a grunt, he
signaled Ronald to turn and run north, up the channel between the end of
St. Ignace and its neighbor island. Once on the north side of St.
Ignace, they would find protection from the wind, though to go that way
would add at least fifteen miles to their journey.
Well sheltered by the high cliffs, that rose steeply from the water, and
the peaks and ridges beyond, the adventurers made good time, and their
hopes rose. Their course led them about twenty miles along the steep and
continuous north wall of the island. Then, at the western end of St.
Ignace, they turned into a narrow strait between that island and the
east cliffs of the long point that forms the western boundary of
Nipigon Bay. Through the strait, with high walls and forest clad slopes
on either side, they paddled for eight or ten miles farther, until the
channel divided into two, at the end of an island. They took the right
hand passage, but, as its opening was towards the southwest, the waves
were running into it so strongly, that they could not go far, and were
soon obliged to seek shelter in a little bay. The boys were disgusted at
the delay, but Etienne's assurance that the Rock of the Beaver was
scarcely more than an hour's travel away raised their spirits.
When, late in the afternoon, the wind and waves having gone down
somewhat, they launched the canoe once more and paddled on down the
channel, their hearts were as light as if the Island of Yellow Sands lay
in sight. Careless whether Le Forgeron might be somewhere within
hearing, Jean started to sing:
"M'en revenant de Saint André,
J'ai vu le loup, le r'nard passer."
"As I was returning from St. André,
I saw the wolf and the fox pass by."
Ronald joined in the chorus,
"L'on, ton, laridon danée,
L'on, ton, laridon dai,"
but the Indian as usual kept silence.
Coming out from the strait, they rounded the point of an island, and
found themselves among small islands and islets. Towards one of the
islets Nangotook directed that the canoe be steered. There was no beach,
so the landing had to be made with extreme care. To keep the canoe from
being battered on the rocks, two of the poles, that lay along the
bottom, were taken up and lashed, one to the bow, the other to the
stern. The larger ends of the poles were placed on a ledge and weighted
down with slabs of rock. In this way the canoe was held safe and steady
in deep water.
As soon as the boat was made fast, Nangotook led the eager lads across
the islet to the outer shore. There he paused and pointed dramatically
to a great rock that towered above their heads. On its gray face was the
crude outline of an animal done in some dull red pigment. The shape of
the figure and especially its trowel-like tail showed plainly that it
was intended to represent a beaver. This was the Rock of the Beaver, the
point from which they were to start south over the open lake.
Nangotook seemed to hold the rough drawing in great respect and
veneration. The Ojibwa nation, like other Indian races, is divided into
a number of clans or families, each supposed to be descended from and
under the protection of some mythical, magical beast or bird. Nangotook
belonged to the Amik or Beaver Clan, and his totem, his protecting
spirit, was the Great Beaver. The figure on the rock was very old, he
said. It had been there in his grandfather's youth, and, although it was
exposed to wind and rain, it had never been obliterated. Ronald thought
it showed signs of having been retouched not long before, for the paint
in some parts was much brighter and fresher than in others, the tail
being particularly distinct. When he pointed this out to Nangotook, the
latter admitted that some of the lines, when they began to grow faint,
might have been repainted from time to time by medicine men.
A little way out from the end of the island another rock rose from the
water. Nangotook explained that, in starting across the lake, the
travelers must keep the outer rock and the one that bore the figure of
the beaver directly in line as long as they could be distinguished, and
go on in the same direction, until the Island of Yellow Sands came in
view. In order to keep the course true, it would be necessary to steer
by the stars, so the trip must be made by night, a clear, calm, starlit
night.
That night was not favorable, for the waves were still too high, so the
three camped on another and more hospitable island, a short distance
from the Island of the Beaver.
VIII
STORM AND WRECK
The next evening was exactly right for the trip. The sky was clear, and
the surface of the lake was scarcely rippled by the light southwest
breeze. The sun had set before the adventurers put off from their
camping place. Nangotook directed their course to the Island of the
Beaver, and ran the canoe up to the same ledge where they had landed the
day before. Bidding the boys remain with the boat, he stepped out on the
rock, but the lads were curious to know his purpose, so Jean followed
him at a respectful distance. Peeping around the corner of the high pile
of rocks, the boy saw the Indian standing where he could command a good
view of the figure painted there. He gazed up at it while he muttered a
few words in his own language. Then he stretched out his arm towards
each of the four points of the compass in turn, threw a sacrifice of
tobacco into the water, and said a few more words in conclusion. Though
the French lad knew something of the Ojibwa tongue, he could not
understand what Nangotook said, but he felt sure that, Christian though
the Indian considered himself, he was praying to the manitos of winds
and waters for protection, a prosperous voyage and a safe return. While
Nangotook was making his offering, Jean slipped hastily back to the
canoe, reaching it before the Ojibwa came in sight.
The western sky was still flushed and bright with the northern
afterglow, when the gold-seekers paddled around the little Islet of the
Beaver. As they left the outer end, Jean caught sight of a thin line of
smoke rising straight up from another island not a quarter of a mile
away. Some one else was camping only a short distance from their own
camp.
Due south they steered. Ronald and the Indian were at the paddles, while
Jean, sitting with his face to the north, kept his eyes on the two
rocks, and warned the others if they swerved in the least from their
course. From time to time, not willing to trust wholly to the boy,
Nangotook turned his head to make sure their course was true. The lads'
hearts were beating fast with excitement, for the great adventure had
really begun. Nangotook was silent and stolid. If he were excited or
eager, apprehensive or fearful of the risk they were running in putting
out into the open lake in search of a place said to be guarded by
spirits, animals and serpents, he gave no sign.
In the clear, light, northern evening, the two high rocks were visible
to the keen sight of the voyageurs until they were a long way out.
Before he lost sight of his landmarks, the Indian took a careful
observation of the sky, where the stars were beginning to appear, that
he might be able to steer by them and hold his course true. He said
that, according to his grandfather's story, the island should be reached
long before dawn. In the hope of catching some glimpse of the land they
sought, the boys had gazed again and again, during the day, out across
the water, but, though the sky was blue overhead, the distance had been
hazy, and no faintest shadow of land was to be seen in that direction.
When they had asked Etienne if the island was ever visible from the spot
where they were, he had said he did not know. He had never seen it, but
perhaps the air had never been clear enough when he had passed that way.
Until after midnight all went well. The night was brilliantly clear, the
canoe moved easily over the ripples, and everything seemed to favor the
adventure. Then the breeze died down entirely. The dip of the paddle
blades alone broke the smooth surface of the water. The air was
unusually warm for night time on Lake Superior, and there was something
ominous in the stillness.
Lightning began to flash low down on the southern horizon, and the
gleams disclosed a bank of clouds. The adventurers increased the
swiftness and strength of their paddle strokes. The distant growling of
thunder reached their ears. As flash after flash lit up the sky, they
could see the clouds growing and spreading. The stars were losing some
of their brilliancy. A light haze seemed to be veiling them. The thunder
rolled louder and nearer, the intervals between flash and sound
decreased. The clouds from south and west were moving more rapidly, and
the breeze was beginning to blow up in fitful puffs and gusts.
The voyageurs did not think of turning back. They had come too far. If
Nangotook's information was correct, the island could not be many miles
away. In the lightning flashes Jean thought he could make out a dark
line on the water far ahead. To go back would be suicidal, for they must
have come considerably more than half-way.
One after another the stars were swallowed up by the clouds. The gusts
of wind grew stronger, the lake was roughening. In a very short time
there would be no stars left to steer by, and the wind was so fitful and
unsteady in direction that it was no guide. The night had grown very
dark, and the lightning revealed nothing but heaving water below and
moving clouds overhead. If Jean had really seen land, the waves now hid
it from view.
Every moment the adventurers thought the storm must break, and yet it
did not. The sky remained overcast, the thunder rolled and grumbled, the
lightning flashed, now overhead, now low on the horizon, first in one
quarter, then in another. But no rain fell. There must be worse coming.
Still it did not come. Would it hold off until daybreak, until they
could see land and reach it?
Even for skilled canoemen there was danger enough. The wind came in
squalls, sending the waves first one way, then another. Nangotook had to
be constantly on the alert to turn the canoe this way and that, a
difficult task in the darkness. As the wind increased and the waves
rolled higher, he ordered the others to cease paddling. One man must
take all the responsibility. He must act so quickly that there was no
time to give orders to another. It was no longer a question of getting
ahead but of keeping the canoe right side up. The buoyant, but frail,
little craft must mount each wave at just the right angle. It must be
held steady when it shot down the other side and through the trough
between. The shifting squally wind made frequent, sudden twists of the
paddle necessary, and to prevent the canoe from careening, the body of
the paddler must be thrown in the opposite direction. The poise of his
body was almost as important as the handling of the paddle. Whatever
happened, Ronald and Jean must remain motionless, never for one moment
shifting their weight unless the Indian so ordered. The whole fate of
the three rested on his skill and judgment.
So they went on and on, in imminent peril every moment, on through the
black night, lit up only by the lightning flashes, which revealed to
them nothing but a world of threatening sky and tossing water. All sense
of direction was gone. Nangotook's only aim was to keep the canoe from
being swamped, and it did not seem as if he could accomplish that feat
much longer. It was not surprising that the two lads, living in that
superstitious age, began to wonder if the spirits of the lake were not
arrayed against them, struggling to keep them from the wonderful island
where the sands were of gold. Had a manito risen out of the water and
promised them a safe return to shore if they would give up their quest,
they would have been glad to agree to anything. But no manito appeared,
and the situation, instead of improving, grew steadily worse.