Many years before, Thoreau had named his aerie stronghold the
Eagle's Nest. The brown-faced people of the trails had changed it
to Devil's Nest. It was not built like the posts, on level ground
and easy of access. Its northern wall rose sheer up with the wall
of Eagle Chasm, with a torrent two hundred feet below that rumbled
and roared like distant thunder when the spring floods came. John
Adare knew that this chasm worked its purpose. Somewhere in it
were the liquor caches which the police never found when they came
that way on their occasional patrols. On the east and south sides
of the Nest was an open, rough and rocky, filled with jagged
outcrops of boulders and patches of bush; behind it the thick
forest grew up to the very walls.
The forest people were three quarters of a mile from this open
when they came upon the trail of the lone caribou hunter. Where he
had stood and looked up at them the snow was beaten down; from
that spot his back-trail began first in a cautious, crouching
retreat that changed swiftly into the long running steps of a man
in haste. Like a dog, Kaskisoon hovered over the warm trail. His
eyes glittered, and he held out his hands, palms downward, and
looked at Adare.
"The snow still crumbles in the footmarks," he said in Cree. "They
are expecting us."
Adare turned to the men behind him.
"You who have brought axes cut logs with which to batter in the
doors," he said. "We will not ask them to surrender. We must make
them fight, so that we may have an excuse to kill them. Two logs
for eight men each. And you others fill your pockets with birch
bark and spruce pitch-knots. Let no man touch fire to a log until
we have Josephine. Then, burn! And you, Kaskisoon, go ahead and
watch what is happening!"
He was calmer now. As the men turned to obey his commands he laid
a hand on Philip's shoulder.
"I told you this was coming, Boy," he said huskily. "But I didn't
think it meant HER. My God, if they have harmed her--"
His breath seemed choking him.
"They dare not!" breathed Philip.
John Adare looked into the white fear of the other's face. There
was no hiding of it: the same terrible dread that was in his own.
"If they should, we will kill them by inches, Philip!" he
whispered. "We will cut them into bits that the moose-birds can
carry away. Great God, they shall roast over fires!" He hurried
toward the men who were already chopping at spruce timber. Philip
looked about for Jean. He had disappeared. A hundred yards ahead
of them he had caught up with Kaskisoon, and side by side the
Indian and the half-breed were speeding now over the man-trail.
Perhaps in the hearts of these two, of all those gathered in this
hour of vengeance, there ran deepest the thirst for blood. With
Kaskisoon it was the dormant instinct of centuries of forebears,
roused now into fierce desire. With Jean it was necessity.
In the face of John Adare's words that there was to be no quarter,
Jean still feared the possibility of a parley, a few minutes of
truce, the meaning of which sent a shiver to the depths of his
soul. He said nothing to the Cree. And Kaskisoon's lips were as
silent as the great flakes of snow that began to fall about them
now in a mantle so thick that it covered their shoulders in the
space of two hundred yards. When the timber thinned out Kaskisoon
picked his way with the caution of a lynx. At the edge of the
clearing they crouched side by side behind a low windfall, and
peered over the top.
Three hundred yards away was the Nest. The man whose trail they
had followed had disappeared. And then, suddenly, the door opened,
and there poured out a crowd of excited men. The lone hunter was
ahead of them, talking and pointing toward the forest. Jean
counted--eight, ten, eleven--and his eyes searched for Lang and
Thoreau. He cursed the thick snow now. Through it he could not
make them out. He had drawn back the hammer of his rifle.
At the click of it Kaskisoon moved. He looked at the half-breed.
His breath came in a low monosyllable of understanding. Over the
top of the windfall he poked the barrel of his gun. Then he looked
again at Jean. And Jean turned. Their eyes met. They were eyes red
and narrowed by the beat of storm. Jean Croisset knew what that
silence meant. He might have spoken. But no word moved his lips.
Unseen, his right hand made a cross over his heart. Deep in his
soul he thought a prayer.
Jean looked again at the huddled group about the door. And beside
him there was a terrible silence. He held his breath, his heart
ceased to beat, and then there came the crashing roar of the
Cree's heavy gun, and one of the group staggered out with a shriek
and fell face downward in the snow. Even then Jean's finger
pressed lightly on the trigger of his rifle as he tried to
recognize Lang. Another moment, and half a dozen rifles were
blazing in their direction. It was then that he fired. Once,
twice--six times, as fast as he could pump the empty cartridges
out of his gun and fresh ones into the chamber. With the sixth
came again the thunderous roar of the Cree's single-loader.
"Pa, Kaskisoon!" cried Jean then. The last of Thoreau's men had
darted back into the house. Three of their number they had carried
in their arms. A fourth stumbled and fell across the threshold.
"Pa! We have done. Quick--kistayetak!"
He darted back over their trail, followed by the Cree. There would
be no truce now! It was WAR. He was glad that he had come with
Kaskisoon.
Two hundred yards back in the forest they met Philip and Adare at
the head of their people.
"They were coming to ambush us when we entered the clearing!"
shouted Jean. "We drove them back. Four fell under our bullets.
The place is still full of the devils, M'sieur!"
"It will be impossible to rush the doors," cried Philip, seeing
the gathering madness in John Adare's face. "We must fight with
caution, Mon Pere! We cannot throw away lives. Divide our men. Let
Jean take twelve and you another twelve, and give Kaskisoon his
own people. That will leave me ten to batter in the doors. You can
cover the windows with your fire while we rush across the open
with the one log. There is no need for two."
"Philip is right," added the Missioner in a low voice. "He is
right, John. It would be madness to attempt to rush the place in a
body."
Adare hesitated for a moment. His clenched hands relaxed.
"Yes, he is right," he said. "Divide the men."
Fifteen minutes later the different divisions of the little army
had taken up their positions about the clearing. Philip was in the
centre, with eight of the youngest and strongest of the forest men
waiting for the signal to dash forward with the log. First, on his
right, was Jean and his men, and two hundred yards beyond him the
master of Adare, concealed in a clump of thick spruce, Kaskisoon
and his braves had taken the windfalls on the left.
As yet not a man had revealed himself to Thoreau and his band. But
the dogs had scented them, and they stood watchfully in front of
the long log building, barking and whining.
From where he crouched Philip could see five windows. Through
these would come the enemy's fire. He waited. It was Jean who was
to begin, and draw the first shots. Suddenly the half-breed and
his men broke from cover. They were scattered, darting low among
the boulders and bush, partly protected and yet visible from the
windows.
Philip drew himself head and shoulders over his log as he watched.
He forgot himself in this moment when he was looking upon men
running into the face of death. In another moment came the crash
of rifles muffled behind log walls. He could hear the whine of
bullets, the ZIP, ZIP, ZIP of them back in the spruce and cedar.
Another hundred yards beyond Jean, he saw John Adare break from
his cover like a great lion, his men spreading out like a pack of
wolves. Swiftly Philip turned and looked to the left. Kaskisoon
and his braves were advancing upon the Nest with the elusiveness
of foxes. At first he could not see them. Then, as Adare's voice
boomed over the open, they rose with the suddenness of a flight of
partridges, and ran swift-footed straight in the face of the
windows. Thus far the game of the attackers had worked without
flaw. Thoreau and his men would be forced to divide their fire.
It had taken perhaps three quarters of a minute for the first
forward rush of the three parties, and during this time the fire
from the windows had concentrated upon Jean and his men. Philip
looked toward them again. They were in the open. He caught his
breath, stared--and counted eight! Two were missing.
He turned to his own men, crouching and waiting. Eight were ready
with the log. Two others were to follow close behind, prepared to
take the place of the first who fell. He looked again out into the
open field. There came a long clear cry from the half-breed, a
shout from Adare, a screaming, animal-like response from
Kaskisoon, and at those three signals the forest people fell
behind rocks, bits of shrub, and upon their faces. In that same
breath the crash of rifles in the open drowned the sound of those
beyond the wall of the Nest. From thirty rifles a hail of bullets
swept through the windows. This was Philip's cue. He rose with a
sharp cry, and behind him came the eight with the battering-ram.
It was two hundred yards from their cover to the building. They
passed the last shelter, and struck the open on a trot. Now rose
from the firing men behind rock and bush a wild and savage cheer.
Philip heard John Adare roaring his encouragement. With each shot
of the Crees came a piercing yell.
Yard by yard they ran on, the men panting in their excitement.
Then came the screech of a bullet, and the shout on Philip's lips
froze into silence. At first he thought the bullet had struck. But
it had gone a little high. A second--a third--and the biting dust
of a shattered rock spat into their faces. With a strange thrill
Philip saw that the fire was not coming from the windows. Flashes
of smoke came from low under the roof of the building. Thoreau and
his men were firing through loopholes! John Adare and Jean saw
this, and with loud cries they led their men fairly out into the
open in an effort to draw the fire from Philip and the log-
bearers. Not a shot was turned in their direction.
A leaden hail enveloped Philip and his little band. One of the
log-bearers crumpled down without a moan. Instantly his place was
filled. Twenty yards more and a second staggered out from the
line, clutched a hand to his breast, and sank into the snow. The
last man filled his place. They were only a hundred yards from the
door now, but without a rock or a stump between them and death.
Another of the log-bearers rolled out from the line, and Philip
sprang into the vacancy. A fourth, a fifth--and with a wild cry
of horror John Adare called upon Philip to drop the log.
Nothing but the bullets could stop the little band now. Seventy
yards! Sixty! Only fifty more--and the man ahead of Philip fell
under his feet. The remaining six staggered over him with the log.
And now up from behind them came Jean Jacques Croisset and his
men, firing blindly at the loopholes, and enveloping the men along
the log in those last thirty yards that meant safety from the fire
above. And behind him came John Adare, and from the south
Kaskisoon and his Crees, a yelling, triumphant horde of avengers
now at the very doors of the Devil's Nest!
Philip staggered a step aside, winded, panting, a warm trickle of
blood running over his face. He heard the first thunder of the
battering-ram against the door, the roaring voice of John Adare,
and then a hand like ice smote his heart as he saw Jean huddled up
in the snow. In an instant he was on his knees at the half-breed's
side. Jean was not dead. But in his eyes was a fading light that
struck Philip with terror. A wan smile crept over his lips. With
his head in Philip's arm, he whispered:
"M'sieur, I am afraid I am struck through the lung. I do not know,
but I am afraid." His voice was strangely steady. But in his eyes
was that swiftly fading light! "If should go--you must know," he
went on, and Philip bent low to hear his words above the roar of
voices and the crashing of the battering-ram. "You must know--to
take my place in the fight for Josephine. I think--you have
guessed it. The baby was not Josephine's. IT WAS MIRIAM'S!"
"Yes, yes, Jean!" cried Philip into the fading eyes. "That was
what I guessed!"
"Don't blame her--too much," struggled Jean. "She went down into a
world she didn't know. Lang--trapped her. And Josephine, to save
her, to save the baby, to save her father--did as Munito the White
Star did to save the Cree god. You know. You understand. Lang
followed--to demand Josephine as the price of her mother. M'sieur,
YOU MUST KILL HIM! GO!"
The door had fallen in with a crash, and now over the crime-
darkened portals of the Devil's Nest poured the avengers, with
John Adare at their head.
"Go!" gasped Jean, almost rising to his knees. "You must meet this
Lang before John Adare!"
Philip sprang to his feet. The last of the forest people had
poured through the door. Alone he stood--and stared. But not
through the door! Two hundred yards away a man was flying along
the edge of the forest, and he had come FROM BEHIND THE WALLS OF
THE DEVIL'S NEST! He recognized him. It was Lang, the man he was
to kill!