A SURPRISE THAT BRINGS SUSPICION
David sprang to his feet and moved towards the door. Neither he nor the
girl said or thought for an instant it might be the missing man, because
they knew the dog would not have growled in that case.
It was either a stranger or someone Robin was not fond of.
In a few seconds the crunch of snowshoes came to their ears, and then
there was a heavy knock on the door.
David gripped Robin by the skin of his neck. The bristles were standing
up along his back, and the boy's hold would have been but a slight check
had not the animal been very obedient; he was never savage like a husky.
As Nell went forward to the door she shifted into convenient position
the little automatic pistol that her father insisted on her wearing at
all times.
"Who's there?" she asked, as the knock came again.
"Friend, miss," answered a voice from outside. "News of your dad."
Now the voice was not only rough, but it had a foreign tone to it, and
Nell's quick mind instantly jumped to the identity of its owner.
"Stenson," she said, over her shoulder to David, "you know Jan
Stenson--the one Dad said was 'more Finn than Swede.' He's partner with
Barry Jukes on the location up above Abbitibbi little River. Watch out,
Da, we've got to be wide awake. Don't say much."
The big bolt was sliding along as she whispered these words quickly--and
in a moment the door opened.
"Won't you step inside, Mr. Stenson? What's your news?"
Mr. Jan Stenson stepped inside, and the dog received a smack from David
for growling in an undertone, while the man unstrapped his snowshoes,
and set them against the wall. He was a short person, not so tall as
Nell, but looked as broad as he was high. Of course the clothes he wore
emphasised this appearance: skins with fur inwards, and a sort of
cap-like hood to the coat, drawn close round the face by a string, and
edged all round with little furry tails to keep the freezing wind from
the features--otherwise a man gets frost-bite in the nose or cheeks.
Jan Stenson threw back his hood--or "parka," as it is called--and showed
a broad, rather flat face, and close-set eyes that shifted as he talked.
Nell asked him to sit down, so he sat on a bench near the stove and
smoked tobacco that she offered.
"You can have tea or cocoa," said the girl. "Dad hasn't any use for
spirits."
Mr. Stenson chose tea, without thanks. He had a good deal of use for
spirits when he could get them--no easy matter in the Dominion!
Then he told the story for which the two were waiting so eagerly.
It seemed that Andrew had reached the border line where his district
touched theirs, when he found a very large wild cat caught in a mink
trap. Stenson called the beast a "catamount," so Nell knew he meant one
of the largest and most savage of the wild cat tribe--about as big as a
lynx and in some ways even more powerful. The creature had special value
alive--far above the mere skin--because a certain travelling company
down east had offered a big price for one--for the Show--uninjured.
Therefore it entered Lindsay's mind that here was the chance to do well,
and he tried to smother the mad animal down with his sleeping bag, and
rope it securely, intending then to free the paw caught in the iron
spring. But somehow this plan missed fire. The catamount, frantic with
pain, fastened on the man's knee with its terrible fangs and claws, and
he was obliged to shoot it, but not before he had suffered very serious
injury.
"He made shift to overhaul our shack, but he was about done in. Not a
trick left in him. It might be a long job," suggested Mr. Stenson,
glancing sideways at the girl, "them catamounts is chock full up with
pison--bad as pumas and that like."
"Bad luck indeed," said Nell soberly. "Thank you very much for coming
over to tell us. What does Dad want us to do?"
"Looks as though he makes out to have you both over at the Abbitibbi.
That's what I come along for--to see if you'd do it. He's got to be
done for, sure enough. You and him and the boy can have the shack.
It's no odds to me and Barry. There's the wood-house lean-to where we
can roll up. We've done worse many's the time. Why not? You think it
out and look at it that your Dad wants someone about. It may be weeks
if he don't get proper attendance, and he makes out to be off soon as
the snow clears. Eh? Well, he won't do that if his leg's left to get
worse. Them catamounts is full up with pison."
This was rather a long speech on the whole for Jan Stenson. He did not
"make out to talk," as he would have said of himself. But he was
apparently earnest about this, and kept on impressing the urgency of it
in jerky sentences between puffs at his pipe.
After a pause Nell asked.
"Did Dad send us any message?"
"Said he hoped you'd come along. He don't find no treat in layin' up in
a bunk, when he wants to clear up the traps."
"No, poor Dad," agreed Nell thoughtfully. "Let me think." She paused,
and sat very quiet as she stroked Robin's smooth head. Under her
fingers she could feel his throat move as he growled without sound.
David looked from one to the other as the talk went on. He did not like
the trapper, but he thought he and Jukes were very kind in this instance
and meant well. He wondered what Nell would do, though it certainly
seemed as though there was not much choice in the matter. Presently she
broke silence by asking exactly when the accident had occurred.
According to Stenson, Lindsay had been nearly a week laid up, but they
had been too busy to give notice earlier. The man said nothing about
the distance--a matter of thirty miles--because it was not considered
anything much in a country of great distances. Men with a sled and a
dog team would travel on snowshoes thirty miles a day and more without
considering it an out of the way effort. And Stenson was, what is
called, "travelling light," with nothing but a pack on his back,
consisting of his sleeping blanket, his gun, and some pemmican (dried
pressed meat); he was on his way, he said, to a camp of Indian trappers
not far to the north-west. They were some wandering Chippewa, or
Ojibway Indians, belonging to the tribes on the big lakes, to the
south-west. They travelled away in parties hunting and collecting furs,
and the trappers often bought these from them for tea, tobacco, and
blankets. There was always a lot of exchange going on and Nell,
understanding all about it, did not question Stenson's business.
Still ignoring his invitation she offered him bread--the sour-dough
bread she made herself--and meat as well as the tea; he ate without
comment, his close-set eyes shifting looks to every part of the room,
and everything in it. When he had finished he got up. Then the girl
said as though the subject had never been dropped:
"I don't see why you and Barry Jukes couldn't get Dad up home with your
sled. He'd pay for loss of time if it comes to that. Why not?"
Stenson shook his head. He said the snow was getting soft, and the
ground would be much too rough for an injured man. Besides, they'd sold
their dogs, and he and Barry didn't "lay-out" to pull such a load added
to a camping outfit, because they'd have to make two days, if not three
of it.
"You can't go shifting a man in his state," he said, "not without worse
to follow. See here, miss, you get your outfit together, and I'll call
in for you the third day from now and take you along. You and the boy
and the dog--how's that? It won't be for long. Sight of you will mend
up that knee fine. Like enough your Dad will make out to come back home
with you in ten days or thereabouts, taking it slow and camping. I know
you got a hand sled. We can makeshift to load your traps on that. The
dog and I can pull and you can take a hand at pushing."
Thus Jan Stenson explained his ideas as he pulled over his parka,
dragged on his big fur mitts, and made ready to go out into the dusk.
"When did you say--exactly?" asked Nell.
"Third day from now," he was fastening on his snowshoes in the doorway.
"I lay out to make old Oga's camp in three hours. I'll get through
business to-morrow and come for you morning after. Nine o'clock more or
less, we don't want more than one camp--if that."
"All right," agreed Nell, nodding her head, "don't come sooner, because
I shan't be ready. There's a lot to do. I can't risk the potatoes
freezing--I'll have to put them in fur bags. Well, good night, Mr.
Stenson, and thank you for coming."
It was not David's usual habit to remain silent, but he had been so
surprised through this queer visit and so entirely astonished at the
ending of it that even after the bolt slid into place he only stared at
his sister, turning over twenty questions he wanted to ask, but not
asking one.
"So _that's_ finished!" said Nell, shutting her teeth together with a
snap. Then she threw herself down on the skin rug, leaned her back
against the bench, clasped her fingers round her bent knees and
concluded, "Now, let me think."
"I wish you weren't always thinking and never saying anything," remarked
David. "I want to know about one thousand things, Nell, and you never
tell me one! Do you like that chap? _I_ don't, and Robin hates
him--_bite_ him, Rob--hey, bite him!"
There was a mix-up on the floor between the big black hound and the boy.
When it settled into peace, Nell asked as though nothing had
interrupted:
"Why don't you like Stenson?"
"Oh, I don't know. He's a snake and a rotter. His eyes keep on slewing
round. He tells lies. When it comes to that why does old Rob hate him?
I say, Nell, are you really going to take that trail on Thursday?"
Nell looked at the boy's earnest eyes, and a little twisted smile curled
one corner of her firm mouth.
"No," she said.
"_No_, why--how will you get out of it? I _say_----"
"Easy enough. We shan't be here, my dear."
"Shan't be _here_! Where shall we be then?"
David opened his mouth as well as his eyes when the full force of this
surprising news began to sink into his mind.
"Well--with any luck--and God's help, my child--we shall be on the trail
for Fort St. Louis. Anyway, either that, or to Brunswick House. I mean
to strike the lake at the bottom of the Divide, and make the very
straightest trail we can down the river, till we hit the Moose----"
"Great snakes!" gasped David, his eyes shining with excitement, "but,
look here, old girl--aren't you biting off more than you can chew? It's
a pretty big proposition, you know. How far to Fort Louis from here?"
"About two hundred miles, but we shall strike the Moose River before
that and then we shall be pretty safe, because there are more folk over
there." Nell spoke as though it was all settled in her mind, which was
comforting to her astonished brother.
"How do you mean _safe_?" he asked.
"From this gang. They are up to something, and I guess what it is."
"You do. What is it then?"
"I've no time to explain now," said the girl, jumping up with an
energetic spring, "there's a whole heap to do and no time to do it in,
for we ought to get a few winks of sleep to-night or we shall be sleepy
on the trail." Then seeing another question on David's tongue, she
added, "We must get off early to-morrow morning."