SUPERSTITION LENDS A HAND
When Donald reached Fort James the next afternoon he knew as soon as he
entered the trade shop that something had happened. Philip greeted him
warmly, asked how affairs were progressing at Kenogami, and yet Donald
sensed at once that he was troubled.
In their long years of close association a bond of sincere devotion had
grown between these two, a bond strengthened by the similar tragedies
that clouded their lives. The very thing which had cut off Donald from
the world he desired had bound Philip to exile, and because the case of
each was hopeless there had grown from this common isolation not only
devotion but understanding and the clairvoyance of true sympathy.
"What's the matter?" Donald demanded when he had removed his trail
clothing.
Philip did not hesitate, for he recognized better than his friend,
perhaps, the keenness of the intuitive sense.
"Nee-tah-wee-gan is here," he said.
"Nee-tah-wee-gan!" Donald repeated in amazement.
He had not seen or heard of her since that day she had been waiting
for him outside Corrigal's office at Fort Bruce. But the fact that
interested him most was that she had come to Fort James. She had not
followed him there from Whitefish Lake four years before and he had
often wondered at the terror she had exhibited when he told her he was
going to the larger post.
"It is strange she should come now," he said. "I couldn't understand it
but she has never been here since----You know, I was born here and she
went to Kenogami soon after."
Philip nodded. He had heard the story of the tragedy that befell
Corrigal in the days when he was post manager at Fort James. He knew of
Nee-tah-wee-gan's outburst at Fort Bruce.
"I haven't seen her," he said, "though she has been here a week. She is
living in an old cabin over at the Bay."
"At the Bay!" Donald repeated, and instantly he was alert.
"Yes. She appeared suddenly and Millington has been grumbling about her
being a nuisance. But that's surface talk only. I happened to discover
that he brought her here and is giving her rations."
Donald did not comment, nor did Philip. The Englishman understood what
might be behind this action on Millington's part and inwardly he was
seething because Donald's personal problem had been brought into his
struggle against the Hudson's Bay at this time.
All the north country had its opinion of what had caused Donald's
furious attack upon the old company but Philip alone knew what Evelyn
Layard had guessed--that the rage which had prompted his defiance of
Corrigal in that last interview in Fort Bruce had quickly subsided,
that Donald had returned to the north with the Keewatin Company, not
to gain revenge, not because of hatred of Corrigal, not to humble the
Hudson's Bay, but to prove that in spite of his parentage he could be
as white as any man in fur land.
Philip knew that Donald was seeking to prove his own integrity of
character and that he had adopted the only way open to him. Now, in
Nee-tah-wee-gan's appearance at a crucial time, he saw an attempt
to undermine Donald's morale and suddenly it occurred to him that
Corrigal, not Millington, might be behind it.
"When a man will take such a step to win--" he burst forth.
Donald looked up quickly. He had transferred Philip to Fort James more
to help his friend than to further his own interests, for there, face
to face again with Millington, Philip would have the tonic of success
over a man who had once humbled him.
"You ought to know that Millington will take any sort of despicable
action to win," Donald said. "It doesn't surprise me in the least. Only
he's not going to win out. We'll get to the bottom of this as soon as
possible. I'll get in touch with the Bay to-night."
Philip, seeing that Donald had not connected Corrigal with the matter
in any way, was about to state his suspicions when Donald continued.
"Corrigal will get in after dark and that will make it easier for me to
learn something over there. I saw him on the trail yesterday morning."
"You mean you talked to him?"
"Yes."
"What did he have to say?"
"You know," Donald answered slowly. "I felt rather sorry for him."
"Sorry!" Philip exclaimed.
"In a way. I got his viewpoint. The commissioner has ordered him to get
me back into the service. It is the easiest way out for the Hudson's
Bay, of course, and the hardest for Corrigal."
"What did he tell you?"
"He suggested that it was time we got together. I waited for the only
thing he can say to me and--he didn't say it."
"You don't mean about----?"
"All I ever want from Corrigal is what is due me," Donald interrupted
harshly, "an admission that he made a mistake when he kicked me out."
"He'll never admit that."
"I'm not so sure. I'm beginning to get a new idea of him. He has a lot
of pride, of course, his own and the pride the Hudson's Bay gives a
man. He's got to be licked before he'll see that he is wrong."
"But you're licking him! Every day!"
"Only because he's made a straight fight of it. He could have crushed
us last winter simply by raising the price of fur. He had that weapon
but he didn't use it."
"The commissioner wouldn't let him."
"He could have done it and let the commissioner know afterward. No,
Corrigal started with the idea he could lick me by straight trading. He
didn't and that put him on his mettle. He's out to prove he was right,
just as I am, and he's going to risk everything to do it."
"But my dear fellow!" Philip protested. "You said you felt sorry for
him. What is there in all this that can arouse compassion?"
"I got a glimpse of Corrigal once, the real Corrigal, here at Fort
James. You remember that his wife and baby died when the dwelling house
burned thirty years ago. It was the first time he had been back and it
loosened him up. He talked more than he intended and I could see what
made him what he is.
"I've had another view of him since I left the Hudson's Bay, too. He's
a fur man. He can fight. I thought for a while this fall he had us
going. And he's worked. Old as he is, he's been traveling all the time.
I honestly think he'd kill himself rather than see the company fail in
his district."
"Pig-headed zealot!" Philip exclaimed.
"That's because you've never been one and don't know what it is,"
Donald said with a wistful note that puzzled his friend. "It's all he
has, the Hudson's Bay. It's all he lives for. Its pride is his. If the
company can't win this fight on even terms it will be a defeat he will
feel far more than anything else that could happen. To raise prices
would be an admission of defeat. That's why he hasn't done it."
Philip jumped to his feet and strode across the room, but even the
sudden physical exertion was not sufficient outlet for his wrath.
"You're too damned decent!" he cried. "After what Corrigal has done to
you! After----"
"Phil!"
"After all he's responsible for! Of course he's a Hudson's Bay zealot.
He's deluded himself to salve his conscience. He wants to see you
licked to get you out of his way, out of his sight. He wants to forget
you again, make himself believe that he's----"
"Don't, Phil," Donald interrupted. "I used to feel pretty strongly on
that subject myself. I did all last year. It's what started me, it's
why I told Corrigal I would make him pay. And I intended to."
He had started confidently, his voice steady, but it broke and Philip
whirled from the window to look at him.
"And then I began to understand some things," Donald said slowly.
"I don't blame Corrigal now, for anything. I don't blame any man.
Unless--well, unless a fellow has an object lesson directly before
him, unless he knows exactly what may happen, all the misery he may be
responsible for, it's so easy--so easy to----"
He broke off, staring straight before him. His face was gray and drawn
and Philip, remembering Janet and the change that had come to Donald
after his departure from Fort Bruce a few months before, understood.
But understanding brought no solution. He saw his friend sitting there,
only a few feet away, and yet doomed forever to ostracism. He saw him
going on through life, lonely, hopeless, his fate immitigable.
Yet there shone against the blackness of this future the greatness
of Donald's spirit. Philip marveled at it, and in that moment his
admiration and his love soared to new heights, but as he strove for
some expression of them Donald turned to him.
"What else is Millington doing?" he asked with his habitual briskness.
"It's about time he cut loose with something really crooked."
"You mean he can't stay straight?"
"Yes, and I've picked up a few facts."
Philip was relieved that they were back on normal ground for he had the
Englishman's distrust of emotional situations.
"That's one place where you don't waste sympathy," he laughed. "We
certainly have gotten into him."
"That's why I'm expecting something," Donald said. "I wouldn't be
surprised but that Corrigal is suspicious of Millington, too. I've
learned positively that earlier in the winter Corrigal was satisfied
with the way things were going here at Fort James."
"But that is just when we were getting in our best work."
"Exactly. It means only one thing. Millington fixed his books and
monthly statements."
"But he can't make them come out right next spring."
"He can if he gets a lot of fur in the meantime."
"But if he doesn't?"
"Millington is up against it hard and he knows it. He was sent back
here a year ago only because it was too late for Corrigal to get anyone
else after I left. This year Corrigal couldn't afford to put in a new
man with such a fight on. He had to keep Millington and Millington
knows this is his last chance to make good."
"But what can he do now? We've got nearly half the hunters lined up
solidly and between your trips and those the men have made we've
already bought a lot of fur."
"It is not going to be anything ordinary, or any feeble effort," Donald
assured him. "I'll get busy on it to-night."
Donald's sources of information at each of the three posts where he
was pressing the Hudson's Bay so hard were exceptional. He not only
knew each hunter and each employe of the great company but he had
retained his influence over them despite the fact that he was with the
opposition. His thorough knowledge of the Ojibwa character and language
made it possible for him to learn nearly everything that was going on
in the rival posts without arousing suspicion.
That night he did not return to the dwelling house until late.
"Learn anything?" Philip asked when he entered.
"Yes, but I don't know what to make of it. A Hudson's Bay tripper
brought Nee-tah-wee-gan here a week ago. I couldn't find out where she
came from but the man left without a trade outfit and was gone seven
days."
"That means Millington sent for her, as I said."
"Of course. He brought her here and he's giving her rations and a cabin
to live in, though he grumbles about it and makes threats to turn her
out."
Philip was silent for a few moments.
"You think she means mischief for you?" he asked.
"There's no doubt about it. Nee-tah-wee-gan wouldn't hesitate to do
anything to harm me. But I can't imagine what it can be. She did
everything possible years ago."
The next morning Philip learned that Corrigal had arrived the night
before and had gone on to Whitefish Lake before dawn.
"The thing I have been afraid of has come," he declared when he told
Donald of the district manager's activities. "He's making a quick round
of the three posts, dropping the word that fur prices are to go up when
the hunters are in at New Year's."
"No," Donald answered confidently, "I don't think so. He wouldn't take
so drastic a step right now without carrying out the commissioner's
orders to get me back. Besides, Corrigal isn't going to fight me that
way yet. He still feels that he is going to beat me. No, it's not
Corrigal I'm watching but Millington."
He spent the day in an effort to get information but without result.
Hunters had already begun to arrive and the Indian houses of the
Hudson's Bay and the Keewatin Company were filling up. All the men
brought toboggans piled high with pelts and when that fur was traded,
when the Indians returned to their distant camps, the first half of the
winter's battle would be decided. Success or failure was only three
days distant.
Donald was fully alive to the situation but, though he mingled with the
hunters and learned that he would hold the advantage he had already
gained, he was uneasy. The hunters to whom the Keewatin Company had
issued "debt" signified their intention of meeting the obligation. Many
of those who received "debt" from the Hudson's Bay declared that they
would trade only a part of their fur with Millington.
"I tell you, we've got Millington right!" Philip declared. "Cheer up!
He _can't_ do anything now."
"He's got something up his sleeve," Donald answered. "He's not lying
down and taking this. I know he's ready to spring something but I can't
find out what it is."
"What could it be? There's nothing he can do at this late hour. We
never had so many hunters staying here. And they say they're going to
trade with us," argued Philip.
But Donald refused to be assured. He prowled about the post, talking
to hunters and employes, and that night after dark he again went down
the shore to the Hudson's Bay. It was a risky proceeding, not that
there was any personal danger, but it imperiled his underground lines
of communication. If Millington saw him talking to a Hudson's Bay
employe that man would cease instantly to be a source of information.
Yet he was so certain the situation was serious he dared to do it. His
sensitive intuition foretold trouble.
But he returned with only disconnected bits of gossip. Millington had
spent the entire evening in the dwelling house, reading, an indication
of confidence or of carelessness. Nee-tah-wee-gan had hardly stepped
outside her cabin since her arrival and she had not spoken to any of
the employes. A few of the older ones remembered her but when they had
made advances she covered her head with her shawl and turned away.
"They say she does nothing but sit in her cabin and weep," Donald told
Philip. "I don't understand that. I never knew her to shed tears but
they tell me it's almost like a death wail."
Donald had learned, too, that Millington was preparing for a big feast
the next day, one to which all the Keewatin Indians were invited.
"That's the regular New Year's affair, only he is a day ahead with it,"
Philip said. "But the one we have planned for the next day will be a
jolly sight better."
"I think," Donald said absently as he stared past his friend, "that it
is at the feast that Millington is going to spring his surprise. We've
got to be ready."
At noon the next day the Keewatin post was depopulated. Every hunter
had gone to the Hudson's Bay. Indian-like, they took all they could
get, whether from the company they had deserted or the one to which
they had given their allegiance.
After luncheon Donald and Philip went into the warm living room for an
uninterrupted afternoon with the books and reports. They knew that so
long as free food and free tobacco held out at the Bay not a hunter
would come near them, and that there was nothing they could do to learn
what Millington was planning or to prevent it.
It was thus that they did not see the Indians return before dark, long
before they were expected. The men did not come straggling back but
hurried along in a compact group. Once inside the Keewatin Indian house
they gathered their fur, loaded their toboggans and departed for the
Hudson's Bay post.
Philip's wife saw them from a window. Quite leisurely she finished the
task at hand and then went into the living room and told what she had
seen. Donald and Philip hurried outside just in time to see the last of
the hunters disappear in the thick spruce on a point between the two
posts.
Donald ran at once to the Indian house. It was empty. He went to
the employes' cabins and the trade shop but found only startled and
wondering men and women. No one could give an explanation of what had
happened and he returned to the dwelling house.
"Millington must have offered a price for fur that took them off their
feet," Philip said.
"It's something else," Donald answered. "They never would have reacted
that way. But I can't find out until after dark. We can't send anyone
over there and I can't go myself when I'd be seen. But I'm going to
get into that Hudson's Bay Indian house to-night and learn what has
frightened those hunters."
"Frightened them?" Philip questioned in astonishment.
"Of course. Nothing except fear could have made those men pack up and
leave in a body as they did. Who is that coming?"
A woman was hurrying along the trail from the Hudson's Bay and he
started at once to meet her. He recognized her as the wife of one of
the trippers but when he halted she only glanced at him and went on.
"What has happened over at the Bay?" Donald asked.
She stopped, glanced at him fearfully for an instant and then hurried
on. Donald called after her but she did not even turn. She ran to her
cabin, entered and slammed the door.
Donald was mystified. She was a woman with whom he had often laughed
and joked and upon whom he had always depended for information. Now she
was terrorized in his presence.
"Go over to Joe's cabin and see his wife," he said to Philip when he
returned to the dwelling house. "She's afraid of me and won't talk.
Find out the reason and also what happened over at the Bay."
Philip was gone half an hour and when at last he entered the living
room he stood in the open door staring at Donald for a moment.
"You were right," he said at last. "And it was Nee-tah-wee-gan. Why
does she hate you so?"
"What are you driving at?"
"She's determined to ruin you!" Philip exclaimed. "She's playing into
Millington's hands and she couldn't be doing it blindly. I've known all
the time she was not to be trusted. I've always recognized something
peculiar there and now it's come out."
"Get down to facts," Donald interrupted. "What has she done?"
"She has told all those hunters that you are a _windigo_, an evil
spirit, a cannibal, and that you are liable to eat one of them at any
moment."
Donald seemed to be stunned, as by a blow. He lifted one hand as if in
protest. His lips opened but no words came. His eyes were like those of
a hunted, wounded animal.
"Look here, old chap!" Philip cried. "Don't take it that way. There's
no reason to be afraid of such a story."
"Afraid!" Donald repeated dully. "I'm not afraid. There's nothing to be
afraid of. I'm done for."
"Why, man, what's happened? I never knew you to buckle under like this.
You're not done for. The hunters will never believe it."
"Believe it!" Donald exclaimed harshly. "They won't believe anything
else. I see the whole thing now. Do you think Millington and
Nee-tah-wee-gan haven't planned this well? Do you suppose she doesn't
know Ojibwas and their superstitions and fears? What did you find out?"
"Joe's wife says Nee-tah-wee-gan went to the feast this noon and told
the hunters she had just come from Kenogami. She said you had cheated
Pe-tah-bo, her husband, and that he had conjured you so that you are
now a _windigo_. She said----"
"Go on," Donald commanded when Philip hesitated.
"She said you killed and ate a hunter at Kenogami and that you will do
the same here."
"And her weeping and wailing since she came, that was part of it,"
Donald said bitterly. "She felt that she had lost her son. She did not
want to tell this thing about him. She waited a week and then she saw
that she must protect her own people."
Philip started at his friend's divination of the facts.
"That's exactly as Joe's wife reported it," he said. "But don't
you see, Donald? That's not going to be believed. Everyone knows
Nee-tah-wee-gan, how she hated and persecuted you. No one will believe
her."
"Nee-tah-wee-gan hasn't been here for thirty years and they don't
know her or how she feels toward me," Donald interrupted. "And never
belittle a _windigo_ story. You think you know Indians because you buy
their fur but not one fur trader in a hundred ever really knows an
Indian.
"But I know them. For fourteen years I lived in a wigwam. I know their
superstitions and fears and beliefs because they were once mine. I know
exactly what is going on in the minds of those hunters now and I know
what the mere sight of me would do to them."
"But it's all nonsense, this _windigo_ theory," urged Philip.
"It's not nonsense and it's not a theory. When those hunters were
children their mothers frightened them with _windigo_ stories. When
they grew up they were taught that one man may conjure another--make
a _windigo_ of him. And it's not a theory because there have been
_windigos_--men or women who have become deranged mentally and have
killed and eaten their own people. There was an instance of it here at
Fort James less than twenty years ago."
"But Donald!" Philip protested. "You can't be wrecked by an absurdity."
"I'm wrecked now. Those hunters are throwing their fur at Millington's
head, taking any price he offers, and at daylight they'll be running in
panic to their camps."
"Look here!" Philip cried in sudden inspiration. "You know that an
Indian believes no Indian medicine will touch a white man, that they
can't conjure a white man."
"Exactly," Donald agreed, and the bitterness of his tone wrenched his
friend's heart. "And what am I? An Indian! What a fool I've been! I
thought I could make myself white. I tried. I felt once that I had
succeeded and when the first blow came I refused to see it and kept on.
"But it's been blow after blow until this. Now it's the end. I wish to
God I'd never had that fasting dream. I wish I'd never left Pe-tah-bo's
camp.
"Don't you see? All these years I've thought I had hitched my wagon to
a star and that star was only a spark flying out of the smoke hole of a
wigwam."