AT CHIPPEWA BAY
Helen pronounced that exodus from the Red Mill "some hustle;" and really
it was but a brief time that Ruth allowed for packing, dressing, and
getting to Cheslow for the eight-forty-five train, bound north. This was
a through train with sleeping cars, and stopped at Cheslow only on
special occasions. Ruth determined that this was one of those occasions.
She hustled Ben, the hired man, off to town ahead, and by the good
offices of Mercy Curtis a compartment and berth were obtained on that
especial train. Mercy kept the wires hot arranging this for her friend.
Meanwhile, Helen rushed home in her car, packed her trunk and bag, had
them loaded into the front of the car, and drove up the road again to the
Red Mill where she picked up the two Indians and Ruth. Uncle Jabez and
Aunt Alvirah were sorry enough to see Ruth go; but this trip promised not
to be a long one, for the picture should be made in five or six weeks.
The Cameron's chauffeur had been instructed by Helen to "burn up the
road," for there was none too much time before the train was due, and he
did as he was ordered. Indeed, there were ten minutes to spare when they
reached the station platform, and the girls spent that time chatting with
Mercy Curtis leaning out of her window of the telegraph office.
"So, you are off on your travels again," said the lame girl. "I wish I
was a butterfly of fashion, too."
"'Butterfly,'!" scoffed Helen. "Ruth, at least, is no butterfly. She
might be called a busy bee with more truth."
"Ah-ha, Miss Helen!" returned Mercy, shaking her finger, "you are the
improvident grasshopper--no less."
Helen giggled. "Tom says that that old proverb, 'Go to the ant, thou
sluggard;' should read: 'Go to the ant and slug her.' He does not love
work any more than I do."
Again Ruth's expression of countenance was one of disapproval, but she
made no comment on Tom. The train thundered toward the station, slowing
down as though resenting being stopped in its swift career for even a few
moments.
Mr. Curtis, the station master, made a point himself of seeing that the
baggage of the party was put into the baggage car. The conductor and
porter helped the girls aboard, and they found their sections.
Ruth was determined that Wonota should not get out of her sight again,
and the Indian girl was to occupy a berth in the stateroom. Totantora was
to have had the berth; but when he saw it made up and noted the cramped
and narrow quarters offered him, he shook his head decidedly. He spent
the night in the porter's little room at the end of the car, and the
porter, when he found out Totantora was an Indian chief, did not dare
object for fear of being scalped!
The party reached Hammond the following afternoon. Here they alighted
instead of at Redwood, the more popular station of those wishing to reach
the Thousand Islands by way of the electric road to Alexandria Bay. Ruth
and her party were going direct to Chippewa Bay, for it was upon some of
the more northern of the fourteen hundred or more isles that constitute
the "Thousand Islands" that Mr. Hammond had arranged for the film
company's activities at this time.
A big touring car was waiting for the party, for one of the telegrams
Ruth had caused to be sent the evening before was to Mr. Hammond, and
they were glad to leave the Pullman and get into the open air. Totantora,
even, desired to walk to Chippewa Bay, for he was tired of the white
man's means of locomotion. Ruth and Wonota would not hear to this.
"I guess we have eluded Bilby," said the girl of the Red Mill; "but I
shall not feel that Wonota is safe, Totantora, unless you are near her at
all times. You must keep watch of your daughter. She is a valuable
possession."
For once Totantora smiled--although it was grimly.
"A squaw did not use to be counted for much in my nation," he said. "But
Wonota is not like the old squaws."
"Wonota is quite an up-to-date young woman, let me tell you, Mr
Totantora," Helen told him briskly.
The party remained over night at a small hotel at Chippewa Bay; but in
the morning Ruth and her companions entered a motor launch and were
transported to an island where the film producing company had been
established in several bungalows which Mr. Hammond had rented for the
time of their stay.
The water between the small islands was as calm as a mill pond; but the
party caught glimpses from the launch of the breadth of the St. Lawrence,
its Canadian shore being merely a misty blue line that morning. The rocky
and wooded islands were extremely beautiful and as romantic in appearance
as the wilderness always is. Now and then a privately owned island,
improved by landscape gardening into a modern summer estate, offered
contrast to the wilder isles.
The girls spent most of the day in getting settled. No work on the new
picture could be done for a couple of days, and Helen, naturally, looked
for amusement. There were canoes as well as motor boats, and both the
chums were fond of canoeing. Wonota, of course, was mistress of the
paddle; and with her the two white girls selected a roomy canoe and set
out toward evening on a journey of exploration among the closer islands.
One of the largest islands in the group was in sight--Grenadier Island;
but that they learned was beyond the American line. They saw it only from
a distance, keeping close to the New York shore as they did on this brief
voyage. The tall tamaracks and the other trees crowded some of the
islands until they seemed veritable jungles.
Some few, however, were bold and precipitous in the extreme. "Just the
sort of place for pirate dens and robber caves," Helen declared,
shivering gleefully.
"What a romantic puss you are," laughed Ruth.
"Well, those cracks in the rock yonder look so dark and dismal. And there
_might_ be dark-skinned men with red bandanas bound around their heads,
and knives in their belts, along with the rest of the scenery, Ruthie,"
complained Helen.
Wonota stared at her. "Do you mean, Miss Helen, that there are
cholos--are greasers--in these woods? My geography book that I study
shows this country to be far, far from Mexico."
"Oh, my aunt!" chuckled Helen. "She thinks nobody but Mexicans can wear
gay handkerchiefs bound about their noble brows. Wait till you see
sure-enough pirates--"
"That is perfect nonsense, Wonota," said Ruth, warningly. "Helen is only
in fun."
"Ah," said the practical Indian maid, "I understand English--and
American; only I do not always grasp the--er--humor, do you call it?"
"Good!" applauded Ruth. "Serves you right, Helen, for your silly
nonsense."
"The Indians' fun is different," explained Wonota, not wishing to offend
the white girl.
"You are a pair of old sober-sides, that is what is the matter," declared
Helen gaily. "Oh, Ruth! drive the canoe ashore yonder--on that rocky
beach. Did you ever see such ferns?"
They brought the canoe carefully in to the shore, landing on a sloping
rock which was moss-grown above the mark of the last flood. Ruth fastened
the tow-rope to the staff of a slender sapling. Wonota got out to help
Helen gather some of the more delicately fronded ferns. Ruth turned her
back upon them and began climbing what seemed to be a path among the
boulders and trees.
This was not a very large island, and it was well out from the American
shore, but inside the line between the States and Canada. Although the
path Ruth followed seemed well defined, she scarcely thought the island
was inhabited.
As they had paddled past it in the canoe there had been no sign of man's
presence. It had been left in the state of nature, and nothing, it
seemed, had been done to change its appearance from the time that the
first white man had seen it.
Some rods up the ascent Ruth came to an open place--a table of rock that
might really have been a giant's dining-table, so flat and perfectly
shaped it was. She could look down upon Helen and Wonota, and they looked
up and called to her.
"Look out for the pirates!" shouted Helen, with laughter.
Ruth waved her hand, smiling, and, crossing the rock, parted the brush
and stepped out of sight of her friends. Two steps she took through the
clinging bushes when a most surprising figure started up before her.
There was plenty of light, even if the sun had gone down. She was not
uncertain at all as to the nature of the figure that confronted her--that
of a man.
She saw almost instantly that the old man's brown eyes were more like a
child's in expression than like an angry man's. He grinned at her, but
the grimace was involuntary or meaningless.
"Hush!" he whispered. "Hush!"
Ruth remained both quiet and speechless, looking into his wrinkled old
face calmly. She thought he must be a beggar from his clothing, but she
could not imagine him a robber, nor even one of Helen's "pirates." As she
said nothing the old man repeated his sibilant warning:
"Hush!"
"I am 'hushing' just as hard as I can," whispered the girl in return, and
smiling a little now. "Why must I 'hush'?"
"Hush!" he said again, quite as earnestly. "You are in danger of your
life, young woman."
"Not from you, I am sure," she returned. "You would not try to hurt me."
"Hush!" he repeated, looking back over his shoulder into the thicker
wood. "They may come at any moment now. And although I am their king,
they would kill you. You see, kings aren't as powerful now as they used
to be before the war."
"So I understand," agreed Ruth soberly. "But who are you king of--or
what?"
"I am King of the Pipes," whispered the old man. "You don't know what
that means," he added, scanning her puzzled face. "No. And that's the
secret. You cannot be told."
"Oh," murmured Ruth, somewhat amused, yet pitying his evident mental
state.
"Hush!" he said again. "You are in danger. Go away from this place at
once, and don't come here again. If my courtiers see you--Ha! Off with
her head! I shall have to follow the kingly custom. It is not my fault,"
he added, in the same low tone, shaking his head mournfully. "We kings
have to lead our lives, you know."
"It must be a dreadful life, if you have to order people's heads cut off
when they have done you no harm," Ruth ventured.
"But my people would not believe that you would do no harm," he
explained. "I can see that you are quite harmless. But they have not the
intelligence I possess. You understand?"
"Quite," said Ruth. "And I will go right away. Thank you for your
kindness."
"That is right, young woman. Go away. And do not return. It is not safe
here."
"Can't--can't I do anything for you?"
"Hush!" warned the old man. "No, I do not think you can. I do not care to
divide my power with any consort. And, unless you are of noble blood I
could not make you Queen of the Pipes. That would never do. Such a
mesalliance would never do. My people would never stand for it--oh,
never!"
"I quite understand that," said Ruth, having difficulty to keep from
smiling.
"Now go, young woman," the man said pompously. "And do not return."
"I will obey you," said Ruth soberly. "If you are sure I cannot help
you."
"Hush!" he warned her again, waving his hand. "They are likely to come at
any moment. And then--"
The girl backed through the bushes and stepped upon the table-like rock.
She would have bade him good-bye, but he hissed after her another
sibilant "hush!" and disappeared as mysteriously as he had come.
Ruth descended to the canoe and waited until they were well away from the
island before she said a word to the other girls about the queer old man.