THE HOWL OF THE WOLF
Presently Nell stood up and stretched, yawning a little, for she was
sleepy. She looked round on her work and knew that all was completed
except--the one thing. By a sort of instinct she stood quite still
listening. There was no sound, but the crackle of wood in the stove and
the sighing of wind round the house. She was glad of that crackling, it
had a friendly feeling.
Having satisfied herself that all was safe, and the big bolts shot home
into the staples, she took down a pick that they often used for breaking
the hard ground, and then dragged back the big black bearskin spread on
the floor by the stove. Just as it was rolled up she started
nervously--someone moving! She had forgotten Robin, who had followed
David into the small room at the end, and now--perhaps hearing strange
movements on her part--came back to see what was happening. He walked
across in a dignified manner, sat down on his haunches at the edge of
the nearest rug, and then, turning his head slowly, gazed at the door.
Poor Nell, rather burdened by the weight of these events, felt a glow of
affection towards the wise dog. She had not remembered him oddly enough
for quite a long while, except as a little horse for the sled. Now as
she looked over at him she knew she had a partner of value. The job
seemed much less formidable, and she fixed the sharp point of the pick
between the floor boards with a much lighter heart. She knew exactly
where the place was, her father had shown her the secret of the
hiding-place, one piece fitting over another so neatly and the rough
bark hiding joins. A person who did not know would have to get the
whole line up on the chance of finding one loose one.
There was the money, tied up in packets and stowed in two bags made of
soft deerskin. Nell took it out, and heartily wished there was less of
it! It was not heavy, of course, because it was paper. Also, from time
to time her father had changed a parcel of small bills for one larger
one, so there was not nearly as much as might have been supposed to
represent so many years' savings.
Before going to work on the hiding part of the business, the girl put
back the log, knocked it firmly into place and put the bearskin over it.
Then she gathered up the two bags, and stood holding them thoughtfully
as her fingers ran over the bulk and shape of the paper.
At that moment her attention was drawn to Robin by his action. He moved
slowly over to the door, and with drooping head blew sniffing breath
along the lower part of it. He made no sound, but the hackles on his
neck rose stiffly, and the snow squeezing in under the door was blown
out by his breath.
Then, from the forest came the far-off howl of a husky dog--or a wolf.
Nell knew that the huskies in an Indian camp will howl in the night for
hours. All of them together, too. The most mournful and tragic sound,
though they are not unhappy. In the very coldest weather they will bury
themselves in the snow--especially when they are on the Long Trail--bury
themselves entirely and so sleep warm. But in the camps they will
wander round about and in and out, fighting with each other and howling
in chorus as their ancestors the wolves must have done in far-away days
when all this great snow country was wild as the Barren Lands up in the
north near the Circle.
Nell listened, startled. Why should a husky dog be away out there by
itself? It was so unlikely that she settled this must be a lone wolf.
But why did it howl? They seldom did that unless they were in full cry,
a pack of them on the track of a deer. Also wolves were not very
plentiful about this part; though, of course, they might come when
driven by hunger--ravenous, and savage.
"Well, it doesn't matter," thought the girl, and she spoke to Robin
gently. "Only a wolf, old man. He won't interfere with us."
Even as she stopped speaking, the wolf howled again. This time it was
nearer. Robin scratched at the foot of the door and snuffed again
heavily, but he did not growl. That was reassuring, because Nell knew
he would have growled had it been an enemy--but why didn't he growl at a
wolf? That seemed odd. Wolf or husky would have been equally
objectionable to Robin.
These thoughts flashed through the girl's mind, the while she pushed the
leather bags under the package of pelts, looked to the priming of her
little weapon, and pulled the hood of her parka up to cover her head and
face. Not only for protection from cold did she do this, but for
disguise also in a way, because, as she was dressed like a man in
leather breeches with the fur inwards and leather moccasins--or leggings
with boots to them--being so tall and strong she would at once be
mistaken for a man when the parka tails fell round her face.
All this took but a couple of minutes; Nell always moved quickly. Then
she grasped the bolt, pushing Robin aside with her foot and talking to
him in a low voice.
"We must have a look, eh, boy?" she said. And at that instant the dreary
howl came from the back of the log house, close where the wood was
thickest and the hill rose steeply.
"Queer," said Nell to the dog, "there's something more in this than
meets the eye--for the matter of that, it doesn't meet the eye at all,
does it, Robin? Hope it won't wake Da; he'll want to come out if he
hears."
But David slept; he was tired.
The girl opened the door and slipped out into the snow. She held Robin
by the collar till such time as it might be necessary to let him go, and
together they went to the end of the shack.
No one to be seen. No sound but the wind in the dry boughs above. Nell
listened intently, then she turned her head and looked back towards the
door; after all, it was open and she did not like to go on round the
house. Robin must go, she would stop this side.
As her hand loosed from his neck, the big dog bayed once, a deep note,
and disappeared into the wood. Nell went back towards the door her ears
alert as any wild thing of the woods. Also her eyes! In spite of the
darkness, which was thick and starless, the snow made a paler
background. On that it seemed to Nell that she saw a moving shadow
close to the house. Not tall. Rather close to the ground. She sprang
forward swiftly, but the shadow was quicker; she saw it reach the door
and slip inside.
The girl was not frightened, but she checked speed and approached the
door with extra caution. She could not be sure whether this weird
shadow was an animal or a human being. In the latter case the bolt might
be shot and herself shut out with David and the treasure within! That
would be awkward. She was waiting for Robin, knowing that he would
follow that shadow with unerring certainty.
Sure enough, as she crept up to the unclosed door from her side, the
black shape of the big dog flashed into view from the other. He had
gone round the house with his muzzle to the ground on the trail of the
shadow. Straight into the doorway he went before Nell could stop him.
With a spring she followed instantly.
There was some light within, because the glow from the stove was
diffused, and a candle--Nell made them herself out of deers' fat with a
cotton wick--was set on the table as she left it. By this mild radiance
she saw, standing on the bearskin before the fire, a curious figure. At
least, it would have been curious to a town-dweller, and wild, too.
It was an Indian boy, slim, and active as a goat, complete as one of the
Braves--as the men are called--from the feathers in his parka to the
beads on his moccasins. He took no notice of Robin--it would have been
beneath the dignity of boy or man to show trace of fear of
anything--enemy, pain, or danger. But when he saw Nell come in swiftly
after the dog, he flung out his right hand straight before him, with the
palm towards her. Nell instantly did the same thing. This was a signal
of peace and friendship from him, and accepted by her.
Seeing it was friendliness, then, Nell shut the door, fastened it and
then turned to this strange intruder. Robin had seated himself on his
haunches in his own place and was looking gravely at the two of them as
though asking, "What next?"
Nell knew enough of the Chippewa tongue to make herself understood, and
the boy, of course, had caught some English from the trappers, but she
knew also that it was not etiquette to ask questions of an Indian,
however odd the circumstances, so she began by offering him tea and
food.
"My brother's feet are weary," she said, "and his throat is dry, for he
has come a long way in the dark. Let him sit down by the fire, and
there will be peace and friendship in this lodge."
The boy, who was perhaps a little younger than David, bore himself with
the curious reserve and caution of a full-grown man of his tribe. He
sat down on the bearskin and watched her with the bead-like eyes of a
squirrel--or a musk rat. There was no malice in the eyes, only intense
curiosity, which must, of course, be hidden, by all rules and habits of
Indian "bucks."
Women may be inquisitive, or surprised, but men must not be. Nothing
must upset their dignity.
He ate the fried meat and drank the tea that she offered him, and Nell
had a distinct impression that he was hungry. When he had finished he
set his plate on the floor by his side and spoke in his own language,
and always in the rather poetical phrasing of his people.
"The meat is good and the heart of the Lizard is now warm."
"I am glad," said Nell, "the night is long and dark, my brother the
Lizard journeyed a long way."
"That is so--but the Lizard is strong, and he has no fear in the dark,
because he is the son of Oga (the Pickerel). He runs like Kee-way-din,
the North Wind, to carry a message to the tall white sister with hair
that flames."
Nell tried not to show too much anxiety, but she realised that here was
something really important.
"I am glad," she said, "that the heart of my brother the Lizard is right
towards me. Oga is a great chief, and one day his son will be as tall
as the pine trees, and as strong as the grey bear of the Rocky
Mountains."
The jet black eyes of the boy glittered with approval of this sentiment.
He sat up rigidly, expanding his chest with pride, then he answered:
"The Lizard has a sister and her name is Shines-in-the-Night; when the
sun was warm and the chickadee danced in the woods, the tall white
sister came to the camp of Oga. She looked upon Shines-in-the-Night
with the eyes of kindness and gave to her a necklace of blue beads, very
beautiful and precious. From that time the heart of Shines-in-the-Night
was warm--whichever way she looked she saw only the tall white sister
with hair that flames."
Nell nodded, remembering easily the Indian girl with a paler skin than
the others, to whom she had talked when she went with her father to buy
some skins the previous spring. Also she remembered the blue beads
which she had been wearing herself at the time.
"Shines-in-the-Night spoke to the Lizard, and said, 'Go to the lodge of
my sister and tell her that the trapper from Abbitibbi, with little eyes
that open only half-way, has a forked tongue. His words are not true,
and his heart is black.'"
"Shines-in-the-Night is very wise," said Nell in a low voice, "I know."
The Lizard suddenly stood up on his feet.
"Let the tall white sister take the trail," he said, watching Nell with
twinkling eyes, "then, when Little Eyes comes to the white man's lodge,
there will be none to answer. My white sister will be gone, swift as
Ah-tek (the caribou), and Moose-wa (the moose)."
A sudden presentiment overwhelmed the girl.
"When will the man with a forked tongue come from the camp of Oga?" she
asked.
"He will come to-day--this day that is now awake."