being followed, and had made no attempt to hide his trail. He had gone
up over the rocks and into the bit of woods, and his track was plain to
the Indian. The latter advanced cautiously, the boys equally noiseless,
a short distance behind. They had taken but a few steps among the spruce
trees, when they were arrested by the sound of voices. There was more
than one man on the island then, although there had been but one in the
boat The voices were speaking French, one with the guttural accent of
the Indian, the other in flowing, mellow tones. Even if the three had
not had good evidence that Le Forgeron Tordu was dead, they would never
have taken that rich, deep pitched voice for his rough, cracked one.
Silently but rapidly, Nangotook slipped forward again, the boys
following until he turned and signaled them to halt. After taking a few
more steps among the trees, he stopped also.
The mellow voice was speaking, and the boys could hear it plainly. It
was a pleasing voice of refined accents, and it spoke excellent French,
the French of a man of breeding and education. Even Jean Havard, who was
well educated for a Canadian lad of his time and boasted of his pure
French blood, did not speak like that. He could make out the unseen
man's words distinctly.
"God will surely bless you through all your days," the voice said.
"Moreover I will see to it, if you will take me safely to the Grande
Portage, that you shall be well rewarded in material things as well.
Flour, blankets, traps for your hunting, whatever you need or want of
such things you shall have. But better than all will be the blessing of
God upon you, for saving the life of His servant to carry on His
glorious work, and to labor a little longer for the good of your own
people."
The speaker ceased, and for a moment there was silence. Then the other
man answered, but his words, spoken in a hoarse voice and guttural
accents, were not distinguishable. While the second man was speaking,
Nangotook crept forward again. Carefully he slipped between two spruce
trees and peeped out from among the branches. He saw before him a rude
wigwam in a small natural rock opening. In front of the wigwam stood the
tall, black-gowned form of a Jesuit priest in conversation with an
Indian. The Indian's back was towards Nangotook, but the Ojibwa did not
fail to recognize him.
"Eh bien, I will be ready in a moment," said the priest in his deep,
mellow voice.
He turned to go into the shelter. Instantly the Cree's whole aspect
changed. He crouched, muscles tense, then leaped forward, like a forest
cat, knife raised. But Nangotook was ready for him. His arrow was on his
bowstring. Before the Windigo's knife could reach his unsuspecting
victim, the bowstring twanged, and the flying arrow pierced the
murderer's back a little to the left of the spinal column. He sprang
back as if recoiling, then fell forward on his face.
XXXII
THE UPROOTED TREE
So instantaneous and noiseless were the Windigo's spring and Nangotook's
arrow, that the priest suspected nothing until the thud of the body upon
the ground startled him. He turned to find the Cree lying outstretched,
the arrow sticking from his back, while the fierce face of the Ojibwa
appeared among the spruce branches. Seizing the gold cross that hung on
the breast of his black gown, the priest held it out towards the
newcomer, and gazed at him for a moment with steady and fearless eyes.
Then, without speaking, he knelt beside the fallen Cree. It took him but
a moment to ascertain that the man was dead. His eye fell upon the
outstretched hand clenching the knife. An expression of horror crossed
his fine and sensitive face, and he glanced quickly up at Nangotook,
with a look of doubt and questioning.
The Ojibwa had stepped out from among the trees, his weapon lowered. As
the priest looked at him, the fierceness faded from the Indian's face.
Speaking humbly, like a servant to his master or a child to his teacher,
he addressed the Jesuit. "Blame me not, good Father," he said, "that I
have slain that murderer with an arrow in the back as I might have
killed Maheengun, the wolf, or Besheu, the lynx, when he was mad with
the blood thirst. His knife was out. Before a dead leaf fell from that
birch tree he would have plunged the knife in your body. He is a
Windigo, in league with the evil one and hungering for human flesh.
Already he has killed and eaten one man, an evil man to be sure, but a
white man and his master."
As Nangotook finished speaking, the two boys, came out from the spruces.
Jean sprang forward, pulling off his toque, and knelt before the
missionary for his blessing, while Ronald, Scotch Protestant though he
was, showed his respect by removing his hare skin cap and standing
silent.
When he had given Jean his blessing, and the latter had risen to his
feet, the priest looked searchingly into the lad's face and said
gravely, "Who are you, my son, and these your companions, and how came
you here? Surely you were sent of God to save the humblest of His
servants from death at the hands of this poor, crazed savage."
"It is Etienne you should thank for that, reverend Father," Jean
answered quickly, "but indeed I believe God led us here, and just in
time, for----"
But the priest interrupted him, to speak to the Indian. Nangotook had
squatted down by the body of the Cree, and had turned it over to make
sure the man was dead. Then he had unlocked the Cree's fingers from his
knife, had felt its edge and had just made a motion with the blade
towards the neck of the fallen man, when the Jesuit's quick eye noted
his action.
"My son," he said sternly, "what is it that you would do? Would you
mutilate the body of the man you have killed?"
The Ojibwa looked up into the priest's grave face, and hastened to
excuse and explain his action. "The man is a Windigo, good Father," he
said. "Windigos are in league with the evil one and are hard to kill.
This one seems to have died easily enough, but unless his body is cut to
pieces, he may come to life again at any moment and slay us all."
"Nay, my child," the Jesuit answered less sternly, for he understood
that the Indian's purpose, however mistaken, was a sincere one. He was
not moved merely by a desire to avenge himself on the helpless body of a
foe. "Nay, you need have no fear that the spirit of this poor, misguided
child of the forest will return to animate his body. Already his soul
has gone to other realms to await judgment for its sins. He was
possessed of an evil spirit indeed. Though he spoke fair enough and
promised to take me to the Grande Portage, I saw the madness in his eye
and would not have trusted him, had he not seemed to be sent of God to
deliver me from this desolate place. But even for such as he there may
be forgiveness, when he has suffered his meed of punishment. I forbid
you to mutilate his body. Instead, you and your companions shall kneel
with me and pray for the soul of this poor savage, who has been struck
down in the moment of his sin, without time for repentance."
Nangotook submitted docilely enough, kneeling beside the priest and
remaining reverently silent through the latter's brief prayer.
There was not soil enough on the little island to dig a grave in, so
Nangotook and his companions, at the missionary's command, placed the
body of the Cree in a hole between the rocks, blocked up the opening
with stones and branches, and threw a little earth and leaf mold over
the whole. The simple burial service over, they were about to proceed to
the canoe, when Jean noticed that the priest's face had turned very
white and that he swayed a little and caught at a tree for support.
"You are ill, Father," he exclaimed, and then, guessing the reason for
the other's weakness, he added, "Perhaps you suffer from hunger. If so,
we are amply provided with meat and will prepare some for you at once."
"Thank you, my son," the Jesuit answered with a faint smile. "I do
indeed suffer from hunger, for I have eaten nothing but roots and bark
for several days."
His strength exhausted, he was glad to sink down on the ground in front
of the wigwam, while the boys and Etienne prepared a meal. The
missionary had been too long without hearty food to take anything but a
little caribou broth. After he had eaten, he satisfied the boys'
curiosity by telling them how he came to be in such a desperate
situation.
He had been returning from a trip to an Indian mission on Lake Nipigon,
beyond the head of Nipigon Bay, and was bound for another mission on the
south shore, traveling in a small canoe with three Indians. They had
been delayed by the bad weather, and, anxious to get on, had left their
camping place at the foot of Thunder Cape in the night, after the wind
had gone down. But the fog had caught them. All their landmarks were
blotted out, and the Indians tried to steer by the wind. The air was
unusually still, the light breeze coming in little puffs, which must
have been variable in direction. The travelers went out of their course,
and when the wind rose and began to blow the fog in driving sheets, they
were close to Minong. Driven by the storm, they took refuge on the first
land they sighted, the little island where the priest was now telling
his story. There they remained throughout the northeaster. They were
short of provisions, and one of the Indians, who was sick before they
left Thunder Cape, died. The other two were sullen and more or less
unmanageable. The missionary suspected that they had been tampered with
at Lake Nipigon by a medicine man who hated the priest, for the latter's
teachings were diminishing the Indian shaman's power over his fellows.
Father Bertrand had reason to believe that the medicine man had told the
Indians the "black gown" was an evil magician and would bring disaster
upon them. The bad weather and other misfortunes of the journey and the
sudden, mysterious sickness that had overtaken one of the crew and had
ended in his death, bore out the medicine man's prophecies. Though the
missionary did everything he could to restore his companions'
confidence, they grew more and more sullen and suspicious. To their
superstitious fears was added the hatred felt by one of the men, whom
Father Bertrand had reprimanded for a heavy sin. He worked upon the
fears of the other Indian, to convince him that misfortune would pursue
them as long as they remained in company with the black gown. So it
happened that, the second night after the storm ceased, when the wind
had gone down and traveling was possible, the two Indians stole away
while the priest was sleeping, taking the canoe and the few provisions
that remained, and leaving the missionary without food or weapons.
Father Bertrand was a young man, not many years from France and
unskilled in woodcraft of any kind. But even if he had known how to
build a canoe, he was without knife or ax. Moreover there were no large
birch trees and no white cedars on the island suitable for the purpose.
He tried to fell trees for a raft by burning them at the base, but was
not successful. Indeed he came near to setting the woods on fire and so
destroying his only shelter. There was no game of any kind, not even
gulls, and he had no line or net for fishing. Roots and bark were his
only food. As a flag of distress, he fastened one of his undergarments
to a bare limbed tree. He did not know that the land he could see from
his island was Minong, but supposed himself to be somewhere near the
northwest shore of the lake. Though it was late in the season, he hoped
that some passing voyageur or Indian might see the signal. If no one saw
it, then he knew he must perish, and he resigned himself to God's will,
though he admitted that he could not but feel regret that the work he
had but just begun should be cut off so soon.
When the Cree appeared, Father Bertrand did not like his looks, for
there was a furtive fierceness in his manner that betokened treachery
and a wildness in his eye that suggested madness, but the priest hoped
nevertheless that this doubtful looking savage might prove the
instrument of his rescue. The Cree told him that he was not near the
northwest shore, as he had supposed, but off the island of Minong. On
the offer of a generous reward, he promised to take the missionary to
Grande Portage. But even greed was not strong enough to overcome the
Windigo's appetite. The canoe he had left on the beach contained no
provisions of any kind, so it was evident that he had either consumed
all of his gruesome stock or had lost part of it in some way. The guns
had been lost too, or thrown away as useless when the ammunition was
gone, for he was armed only with a knife.
When the missionary had finished his tale, the two boys told him theirs.
They made no attempt to hide the purpose of their adventure, for they
instinctively trusted the grave, fine faced priest. That he could betray
their trust did not occur even to Ronald who had no particular love for
Jesuits, though he admired their courage and devotion. When Jean related
how the three had been obliged to give up the search at last, and
frankly expressed his regret and sorrow at their failure to find the
golden island, Nangotook interrupted suddenly.
"Nay, little brother," he exclaimed. "You say the journey has failed
because we have not reached the Island of Yellow Sands. It is not so. If
we had not come on this journey, we could not have saved the life of the
good Father, and he would have starved here on this island. Is not the
saving of one good life better than the finding of much gold?"
"You are right, Etienne," replied Jean, flushing, ashamed that the
Indian should have to teach him such a lesson.
The priest smiled in a kindly manner upon them both, then said gravely
to the Ojibwa, "You speak well, my son, and I think you have grasped
somewhat of the teachings of the fathers who gave you your education. It
is true that you have just performed a deed of violence, but it was a
necessary deed, and one that will bring reward and not punishment, for
you slew not in revenge or in lust or even to save your own life, but
the life of another. Rest assured that God will bless you for the deed,
and, as for myself, I will give you such material reward as I am able."
"I want no reward, Father," Etienne answered almost indignantly. "I did
not sell you your life. I only ask," he added more humbly, "that you
will remember a poor Ojibwa in your prayers."
"Rest assured that I shall always do that," Father Bertrand replied
earnestly. "I will pray that God's mercy and blessing and guidance may
be with you and with these two lads, all the days of your lives."
The four were silent for a few minutes, the boys and the Indian deeply
impressed by the Jesuit's words and manner. Then the priest turned to
Jean and said questioningly, "You have not told me, my son, why you and
your companion are so eager to find gold. In youths of your age desire
for honor, achievement and glory seems more natural than a longing for
riches. Take care that you do not let the sin of avarice possess your
souls."
"Indeed it is not avarice, Father," replied Jean. Eager to justify both
himself and his companion, he told of the plans they had made for the
use of the gold.
Father Bertrand listened thoughtfully, and when Jean had finished, said
with a kindly smile that seemed to light up his stern face, "Your
reasons do you credit, especially yours, Jean Havard, since you seek
wealth for others rather than for yourself. But your comrade's ambition
is also a justifiable one, if he use only right means to attain it. Your
dislike of the evil methods of the fur-traders and your hesitation in
following them are a credit to your consciences. It may be that the
trade is necessary and legitimate, but I, myself, have learned, in the
short time that I have been in the Indian country, that there is much in
the manner of carrying on that trade that is wrong and evil and will
bring heavy punishment both on the traders themselves and on the savages
they corrupt. However, it is not of the fur-trade I intended to speak,
but of your own fortunes. You are disappointed that you have not found
the gold, but perhaps I can show you something that may allay that
disappointment, and bring to you some increase of fortune if not the
great riches you have been seeking."
With that the missionary rose and led the way through the patch of woods
towards the farther end of the island, which the lads had not visited.
Curious about his meaning, they followed close at his heels.
That end of the island, which was exposed to the wind and waves of the
open lake, rose high from the water and, except for a cluster of trees
in a depression, was almost bare rock. The clump of trees had fared hard
in the northeaster, for several had been broken off and one, the largest
spruce on the island, had been uprooted and tipped over. The priest
climbed over a tangle of fallen trunks, holding up his black gown that
it might not catch in the branches. The boys followed wondering. He
pointed to the base of the uprooted spruce. The roots had grown about a
large boulder, and, in its fall, the tree had partly overturned the
rock, revealing its under side.
The lads gave gasps of astonishment and dropped on their knees beside
the boulder. The exposed surface was of almost solid copper, but that
was not what caused their exclamation. Through the copper ran two thick
veins of another, lighter colored metal.
"Silver, pure silver," exclaimed Ronald. The veins so recently exposed
had scarcely tarnished, and there was no mistaking the metal.
"Yes," replied the priest. "It is silver and that is not all of it. Look
in the hollow there, and you will find other veins. Indeed I have spent
some time examining these rocks, and I believe there is much of the
metal near the surface. How much there may be underneath no man can
tell. It may be there is wealth here, though not such wealth as your
golden island would yield. What there is is yours, however. I, the
discoverer, will freely make over to you all my rights in it. I know
little of metals. Perhaps it would be well for you to examine this end
of the island for yourselves before you leave it. You will probably be
able to learn more from it than I could."
XXXIII
THE MINE
The two lads made as thorough an examination of the bare end of the
island as they could without pick or drill. A vein with side branches,
which Ronald was sure was composed of pure silver, ran the length of the
barren end. Whether the vein extended under the woods the full length of
the island, they could not tell, but as they traced it to the very edge
of the growth, its further extension seemed almost certain. Through the
clear water off the outer end of the island, they could see on the rock
bottom black patches with a greenish tinge, that Ronald believed marked
the course of the vein in that direction. In the canoe they followed
those patches until the water became so deep that they could trace them
no longer. Both boys were sure they had found a valuable mine, and they
were nearly as excited and enthusiastic as if they had come upon the
Island of Golden Sands itself. Their failure to find the gold, and the
hardships and perils of their long trip, with its heart-breaking delays
and disappointments, were almost forgotten in the joy of this sudden and
unexpected discovery. Silver was not gold to be sure, but it was the
next thing to it, as Jean said. The journey had not been fruitless or in
vain. They had saved the life of Father Bertrand, and, as Nangotook had
said, "the saving of one good life was better than much gold," and
through the priest they had found a rich silver mine. They had come off
well from the adventure, and if they could reach Grande Portage safely,
they would have good cause to be well satisfied and profoundly thankful.
So it was with light hearts that they launched the two canoes and
prepared to put off for the shore of Minong.
The day was too far advanced and the wind too strong to make a start for
Grande Portage advisable, but none of the four wanted to camp on the
little island, where bad weather, if there should be more of it in store
for them, would leave them marooned. As Jean said, they could not eat
silver, no matter how rich the mine might be. So they paddled part way
up a deep harbor that cut into the end of Minong, and camped on its
shore. They found both the fishing and hunting good, and had no
difficulty occupying their time for the rest of the day.
The wind went down in the night, and the next day dawned calm, bright
and frosty, a fine autumn morning, the best possible weather to traverse
the open lake. Firm ice over the shallower water along shore, the
evergreens gleaming with white frost, and the sight of a hare whose coat
was almost wholly white, were warnings to the travelers that real winter
was not far away. Indeed the snow and ice of the last northeaster had
not melted in the shady places, and the weather was constantly growing
colder.
They started early, after a hearty but hasty breakfast. They had
discussed taking both canoes, but had decided they could make better
time with one. So they selected the boat they had made themselves, as it
was better built and slightly larger than the one Le Forgeron and the
Cree had used. Their own boat had been intended for only three people
and was well filled with four, but their baggage took up little space.
Their possessions, besides the supply of dried meat, consisted of
nothing but the caribou hide, some hare skins, their bows and arrows,
and a small bundle containing the priest's vestments and the necessary
articles for celebrating the mass. In high spirits they paddled out into
the open lake, blades keeping time to
"La fill' du roi d'Espagne,
Vogue, marinier, vogue."
The fact that all went so well that day Jean laid to the rescue of the
priest and his presence in the canoe. Etienne agreed with this view, but
probably felt also, though he did not give expression to the thought,
that the spirits of the lake had ceased to oppose them, now that they
had definitely given up the search for the golden sands and had turned
towards the shore. Apparently he did not trouble his mind with the
thought that the manitos might feel any concern over the silver mine.
Whatever causes the different members of the party might assign for
their good fortune, everything surely went successfully. The breeze
remained light, the sky blue, during the whole of the trip to the
northwest shore, and along its bays, points and islands to the Grande
Portage. They reached their destination before night, and caused great
surprise when they paddled through the bay and up to the shore in front
of the trading post of the Northwest Fur Company, the same post the two
lads had left, with the fleet bound for Montreal, so many long weeks
before.
The boys had decided before reaching the Portage just how much of their
adventures they would tell, and what they would leave untold.
Accordingly they said nothing whatever of the Island of the Yellow Sands
or of the silver ore they had found. They had made the trip, they
admitted, in search of a rich island mine they had heard of, but, not
knowing its exact location, they had failed to find it. They made no
mention of gold, leaving the others to infer that it was copper or
silver they had been seeking. They told of seeing Le Forgeron Tordu and
his Cree companion and of the fate of both, but did not indicate in any
way that the Frenchman had been in pursuit of them or had tried to
injure them. They left out of their narrative Etienne's captivity and
the burning of the woods on the island. As Ronald said, "The man is dead
and his fate was a horrible one. Why blacken his memory now that it can
do us no good? Unless we should be charged with his death, and that is
not likely, we do not need to be telling the whole of the story."
A swift Indian messenger was leaving the post early next morning with
reports and letters for Montreal, and the boys seized the opportunity to
write to their relatives and tell them of their safety. For the two lads
to accompany the messenger was out of the question, for the Indians and
half-breeds, who made the mail trips for the Company, went at such a
pace and with such tirelessness that no one untrained for the work could
possibly keep up with them. Indeed no one messenger could go the whole
distance at such speed. The mail changed hands at each post, fresh men
carrying it on. Even had the lads not been tired and worn with their
long trip, and with the starvation and exposure they had endured, they
would have found the journey with the messengers impossible. There was
nothing for them to do but to await a more favorable opportunity.