THE FLIGHT CONTINUES
By this time it is understood what the plan was that Shines-in-the-Night
put before Nell, when the Lizard brought news of the pursuers' nearness.
It was a wonderfully complete plan, because it included the making of a
trail anew from the head of the lake and down the centre to the outlet
of the river. The shrewd mind of the Redskin girl saw the necessity of
this, because Stenson would not have been satisfied with a trail that
began at the Wolf's Tooth Rocks. He would, of course, want to know by
what track the fugitives reached it. The way they had really come the
afternoon before, close to the bank, was partly obliterated by the thaw
and partly defaced by the Lizard, who went back on it for some little
distance till he had destroyed the connection with the camp on the rock.
At first Nell refused to agree, but Shines-in-the-Night made it quite
plain that she and the Lizard would be in no danger.
"Great Chief Oga the Pickerel," she said impressively. "Once Little
Eyes do him bad turn never forgive. Him know that. All time Oga finish
Little Eyes. Police no matter at all then."
It was true. Nell knew that the Red men never forgive an injury and
never forget a friend. If Stenson had killed the girl, no length of
time, no number of years or miles of distance would save him in the end
from the vengeance of Oga.
That made a great deal of difference. She could not have agreed to the
plan if she had believed it would endanger the girl's life.
So she and David accepted the generous offer and one curious thing
happened in connection with this.
When it was settled, she said:
"You are very good to us, Shines-in-the-Night. Your heart is very warm
and kind. We have not thanks enough to give you."
"The tall white sister has given me a great gift," answered the Indian;
"it lies on my heart and keeps it warm towards her. So that no deed is
too much for me."
She put her hand within the leather shirt that she wore under her
blanket, and drew out, almost reverently, the Christmas card that Nell
had sent her. A hole had been made at one corner, and a deer's tendon,
such as Indian women sew with, was passed through the hole, thus hanging
the card round her neck. As she brought it out, the faint, delicate
scent from the sachet pervaded the air and made Robin lift his muzzle
from his paws and wrinkle his nose with little tentative sniffs.
To Shines-in-the-Night this card was the most wonderful and beautiful
thing she had ever seen. She believed it to be a miracle, too, a charm
of great power, and she knew that the possession of it would give her a
sort of status of honour above the other girls and women of the
Chippewas.
Nell knew the Indians, but even she was surprised at the immense
satisfaction this card had given. Just at a critical moment she bound
this girl to her service with a bond almost unbreakable. It was a
strange thing.
After that the action proceeded swiftly.
The time being little beyond midnight they had some hours before the
camp on the south shore would wake. Nell and David took a small compact
bundle each, simply the sleeping bag, a billy-can, a little tea and
pemmican, the object being to travel as light as possible and cover as
much ground as they could in the shortest time. The Indians gave Nell
careful and distinct directions about her journey. She was not to touch
on the lake, but to go along the north side of it through the woods and
cut across the bend of the river on the land. In this way she was to
travel quite ten miles of the stream, but always keeping in the woods.
After that it would be safe for her to take to the course of the ice,
they all thought, but it might depend on circumstances. About that time,
too, she would reach the log house--the bunk house run up for
travellers, where Andrew Lindsay had made a cache. Nell was depending
rather on that for enough food to keep on with. Haste being her one
object, it was not possible to set a wire for a chance rabbit, and
concealment being necessary, they could not fire a gun unless absolutely
forced to do so in self-defence. A shot would ring far in the silent
snow-laden woods.
So that was the plan mapped out by the two girls, and very soon after
that they parted, Nell and David going off east through the scattered
woods of the north shore, the Lizard and his sister going back west,
also on the shore, and dragging the sled, until they arrived at a place
from which it seemed safe to take to the lake again and come down the
centre of it as described, making the trail that was to mislead the
pursuers.
All those long hours till the grey of morning began to make the trees
ghostlike, brother and sister went on and on with Robin. At first they
felt the pleasure of going ahead without the drag of the sled, but about
six o'clock they were very tired, and Nell decreed a short rest, tea,
and a feed. They made a small round fire with great care, boiled some
snow water for tea, ate their dried meat and gave Robin a bit of the
dried fish they carried for him. No bacon. They must wait for the
cache.
Then, rested somewhat, they went on again. They had reached the river
outlet and were cutting across that part round which its course wound.
This was about the time when Stenson was coming down the lake hot on the
trail of the Indians, who were certainly ten miles behind Nell, if not
more.
David was beginning to think it was all right again. He depended
greatly on the Indian girl's ruse, but Nell was very anxious. She could
feel that money at her waist every time she moved, and the
responsibility was a burden. She had taken upon herself to remove it
from the hiding-place, and she had a feeling that she owed it to her
father now to carry her plan through, whatever it cost.
With this dread upon her she put off taking to the river as long as they
could get on by land. But it was harder, slower going--the shoes caught
in snags and roots unless they moved with greatest care, and a long
swing was difficult.
About noon, and after another rest, Nell declared she'd risk it. They
unstrapped their snowshoes, broke a way through the undergrowth and
found the river again--wider, snow-covered for the most part, smooth
going.
They had not come all this way without seeing a forest creature or
two--a rabbit, a mink that was chasing it just as stoats do in England.
The rabbit escaped, thanks to Robin's interference, but the mink did
also.
The climb down the bank brought them up against the land entrance of a
musk-rat's nest, a big heap of sticks and rubbish that looked so
careless, but was so carefully made. They knew that down away under the
ice was a water entrance also, and between the two entrances a nest most
beautifully safe and dry which the mink was always trying to get at.
Nell and David knew of these things and had often seen them, but to-day
was no time to wait and watch. Once on the water--or rather on the
snow-covered ice--they strapped on their shoes and went on again at a
fine pace, considering the thaw, which is most certainly a drawback if
you want to race.
They had counted on reaching the bunk house that night, but they did not
reach it, and they were faced by the inevitable night in the snow with
no food but the tea and dwindling pemmican. It was not quite so cold,
but that was small gain when the wetness was taken into account.
Dripping trees and wet snow!
They would not make a sound of complaint, either of them, though they
were dizzy with weariness and stiff in every muscle. They scraped a
tiny camp free of snow, made a fire with bits of stick and dead leaves,
boiled their water almost mechanically, and after eating all they dared
of the food remaining, crawled into their bags and were asleep in a few
seconds, the two, with the dog between them. So soundly they slept that
no stir among the wild creatures on the banks roused them, nor did the
faint ceaseless trickle of tiny streams running into the river.
The hardest part was waking in the morning to start on again in the raw
chill of the thaw at dawn. No sun, of course. Grey mist, shadows, and
slush!
"Never mind," said Nell, answering their thoughts, because neither had
spoken, "we _must_ reach the bunk house and the cache to-day. Then we'll
have a feast and a rest, and a fire in the stove; they always keep the
fire laid--we shall have to do it for the next that comes along when we
go."
David seized on Robin in a sort of paroxysm of satisfaction. They
rolled about on the ground together, and presently got up very cheerful.
"Da, you're a brick," said Nell, measuring out tea. "I _say_, we are
short. That's the last. And only this to eat! Pity we can't eat Rob's
fish, but we can't; it's like wood."
They made fun of the poor meal, the slush, the stiffness, and the long
miles ahead.
"Come on," said the girl, and they had started before the sun was up.
All the morning they kept on, and then Nell began to recognise certain
landmarks her father had spoken of at different times. The first of
these was the narrowing of the river into a sort of gorge, the sides of
which were steep, rocky, and wooded. David said it was a good thing
they had no sled; that was the "bright side" certainly. But they had
themselves, and it meant a landing, a severe climb and a struggle
through a regular maze of undergrowth. They had to use the little axe,
which they had held to as a necessity and carried strapped to David's
back. Bad as it was, landing was the only way, because the river went
down the gorge in rapids, and the strong stream had begun to force tiny
rivulets over the snow.
About the middle of the afternoon, when David was very silent and Nell
had taken to describing the bunk house, which she declared was close by,
Robin left them. He had become restless a little while back, following
up some trail with persistence, and now he disappeared altogether.
"Never mind," said Nell. It was rather a favourite expression of hers,
always meaning really "never say die!" "He can't possibly lose us, even
if we lose him."
"I say, Nell, look at the big rocks and the jolly hiding holes up
there." David waved a hand towards a sort of fortress above them. "If
the bunk house turns out to be a frost we'd better come back here and
hide. It would be jolly safe."
"Start housekeeping in a cave! All right, but what shall we eat?
Robin? Or the foxes that live up there? We haven't even got a snare."
As they talked they came into a sort of rough track leading from the
heights down to the river. The wood was less dense, and Nell suddenly
checked.
"Da! Oh, Da! See--we are all right! I'd give three cheers only we'd
better not! _There's_ the bunk house, up on the bank above the stream
in that bit of open--see!"
They both stood still, gazing their fill as it were. This meant rest,
warmth, a safe night, food, and in the minds of both a feeling that the
worst was over.
David made extravagant signs of joy--silent signs. Nell's face, which
had been looking very pinched and years older than the fifteen she
counted, seemed to plump out suddenly into roundness. The eyes of the
two met with a sort of mutual congratulation, then their attention was
distracted by a growl, and both looked to see the meaning of the sound.
Not far from them and on higher ground among the rocks stood a black
bear. His little red eyes were fixed on them with a sort of malevolent
irritation. He was very thin, a mere loose hide over bones, and the two
knew that he had waked from his winter sleep in the caves and come out,
desperately hungry, to find nothing to eat, and rather a comfortless
world. He was annoyed.