Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Bela (Colleen Moore) says to Gladding (Lloyd Hughes):
"Fine surprise um white man."
(_Photoplay Edition--"The Huntress"_) (_A First National Picture_)]
THE HUNTRESS
By HULBERT FOOTNER
AUTHOR OF
_"The Fur Bringers," "The Woman From Outside," "The
Owl Taxi," "Thieves' Wit," "The Substitute
Millionaire," etc._
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with The James A. McCann Company
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright 1922, by
THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FISH-EATERS' VILLAGE 1
II. MUSQ'OOSIS ADVISES 11
III. AT NINE-MILE POINT 21
IV. THE VISITOR 36
V. THE DICE DECIDE 46
VI. A FRESH SURPRISE 57
VII. THE SUITORS 70
VIII. THE LITTLE MEADOW 85
IX. BELA'S ANSWER 98
X. ON THE LAKE 107
XI. THE ISLAND 120
XII. THE NEXT DAY 136
XIII. ON THE RIVER 149
XIV. AT JOHNNY GAGNON'S 164
XV. THE NORTH SHORE 177
XVI. AT THE SETTLEMENT 193
XVII. AN APPARITION 207
XVIII. THE "RESTERAW" 222
XIX. THE NEW BOARDER 234
XX. MALICIOUS ACTIVITY 246
XXI. SAM IS LATE 258
XXII. MUSCLE AND NERVE 267
XXIII. MAHOOLEY'S INNINGS 278
XXIV. ON THE SPIRIT RIVER 290
XXV. CONCLUSION 304
* * * * *
THE HUNTRESS
CHAPTER I
THE FISH-EATERS' VILLAGE
From within the teepee of Charley Whitefish issued the sounds of a
family brawl. It was of frequent occurrence in this teepee. Men at the
doors of other lodges, engaged in cleaning their guns, or in other
light occupations suitable to the manly dignity, shrugged with strong
scorn for the man who could not keep his women in order. With the
shrugs went warning glances toward their own laborious spouses.
Each man's scorn might well have been mitigated with thankfulness that
he was not cursed with a daughter like Charley's Bela. Bela was a
firebrand in the village, a scandal to the whole tribe. Some said she
was possessed of a devil; according to others she was a girl born with
the heart of a man.
This phenomenon was unique in their experience, and being a simple
folk they resented it. Bela refused to accept the common lot of women.
It was not enough for her that such and such a thing had always been
so in the tribe.
She would not do a woman's tasks (unless she happened to feel like
it); she would not hold her tongue in the presence of men. Indeed, she
had been known to talk back to the head man himself, and she had had
the last word into the bargain.
Not content with her own misbehaviour, Bela lost no opportunity of
gibing at the other women, the hard-working girls, the silent, patient
squaws, for submitting to their fathers, brothers, and husbands. This
naturally enraged all the men.
Charley Whitefish was violently objurgated on the subject, but he was
a poor-spirited creature who dared not take a stick to Bela. It must
be said that Bela did not get much sympathy from the women. Most of
them hated her with an astonishing bitterness.
As Neenah, Hooliam's wife, explained it to Eelip Moosa, a visitor in
camp: "That girl Bela, she is _weh-ti-go_, crazy, I think. She got a
bad eye. Her eye dry you up when she look. You can't say nothing at
all. Her tongue is like a dog-whip. I hate her. I scare for my
children when she come around. I think maybe she steal my baby.
Because they say _weh-ti-gos_ got drink a baby's blood to melt the ice
in their brains. I wish she go way. We have no peace here till she
go."
"Down the river they say Bela a very pretty girl," remarked Eelip.
"Yah! What good is pretty if you crazy in the head!" retorted Neenah.
"She twenty years old and got no husband. Now she never get no
husband, because everybody on the lake know she crazy. Two, three
years ago many young men come after her. They like her because she
light-coloured, and got red in her cheeks. Me, I think she ugly like
the grass that grows under a log. Many young men come, I tell you, but
Bela spit on them and call fools. She think she better than anybody.
"Last fall Charley go up to the head of the lake and say all around
what a fine girl he got. There was a young man from the Spirit River
country, he say he take her. He come so far he not hear she crazy.
Give Charley a horse to bind the bargain. So they come back together.
It was a strong young man, and the son of a chief. He wear gold
embroidered vest, and doeskin moccasins worked with red and blue silk.
He is call Beavertail.
"He glad when he see Bela's pale forehead and red cheeks. Men are like
that. Nobody here tell him she crazy, because all want him take her
away. So he speak very nice to her. She show him her teeth back and
speak ugly. She got no shame at all for a woman. She say: 'You think
you're a man, eh? I can run faster than you. I can paddle a canoe
faster than you. I can shoot straighter than you!' Did you ever hear
anything like that?
"By and by Beavertail is mad, and he say he race her with canoes.
Everybody go to the lake to see. They want Beavertail to beat her
good. The men make bets. They start up by Big Stone Point and paddle
to the river. It was like queen's birthday at the settlement. They
come down side by side till almost there. Then Bela push ahead. Wa!
she beat him easy. She got no sense.
"After, when he come along, she push him canoe with her paddle and
turn him in the water. She laugh and paddle away. The men got go pull
Beavertail out. That night he is steal his horse back from Charley and
ride home.
"Everybody tell the story round the lake. She not get a husband now I
think. We never get rid of her, maybe. She is proud, too. She wash
herself and comb her hair all the time. Foolishness. Treat us like
dirt. She is crazy. We hate her."
Such was the conventional estimate of Bela. In the whole camp this
morning, at the sounds of strife issuing from her father's teepee, the
only head that was turned with a look of compassion for her was that
of old Musq'oosis the hunchback.
His teepee was beside the river, a little removed from the others. He
sat at the door, sunning himself, smoking, meditating, looking for all
the world like a little old wrinkled muskrat squatting on his
haunches.
If it had not been for Musq'oosis, Bela's lot in the tribe would long
ago have become unbearable. Musq'oosis was her friend, and he was a
person of consequence. The position of his teepee suggested his social
status. He was with them, but not of them. He was so old all his
relations were dead. He remained with the Fish-Eaters because he loved
the lake, and could not be happy away from it. For their part they
were glad to have him stay; he brought credit to the tribe.
As one marked by God and gifted with superior wisdom, the people were
inclined to venerate Musq'oosis even to the point of according him
supernatural attributes. Musq'oosis laughed at their superstitions,
and refused to profit by them. This they were unable to understand;
was it not bad for business?
But while they resented his laughter, they did not cease to be
secretly in awe of him, and all were ready enough to seek his advice.
When they came to him Musq'oosis offered them sound sense without any
supernatural admixture.
In earlier days Musq'oosis had sojourned for a while in Prince George,
the town of the white man, and there he had picked up much of the
white man's strange lore. This he had imparted to Bela--that was why
she was crazy, they said.
He had taught Bela to speak English. Bela's first-hand observations of
the great white race had been limited to half a score of
individuals--priests, policemen, and traders.
The row in Charley's teepee had started early that morning. Charley,
bringing in a couple of skunks from his traps, had ordered Bela to
skin them and stretch the pelts. She had refused point blank, giving
as her reasons in the first place that she wanted to go fishing; in
the second place, that she didn't like the smell.
Both reasons seemed preposterous to Charley. It was for men to fish
while women worked on shore. As for a smell, whoever heard of anybody
objecting to such a thing. Wasn't the village full of smells?
Nevertheless, Bela had gone fishing. Bela was a duck for water. Since
no one would give her a boat, she had travelled twenty miles on her
own account to find a suitable cottonwood tree, and had then cut it
down unaided, hollowed, shaped, and scraped it, and finally brought it
home as good a boat as any in the camp.
Since that time, early and late, the lake had been her favourite
haunt. Caribou Lake enjoys an unenviable reputation for weather; Bela
thought nothing of crossing the ten miles in any stress.
When she returned from fishing, the skunks were still there, and the
quarrel had recommenced. The result was no different. Charley finally
issued out of the teepee beaten, and the little carcasses flew out of
the door after him, propelled by a vigorous foot. Charley, swaggering
abroad as a man does who has just been worsted at home, sought his
mates for sympathy.
He took his way to the river bank in the middle of camp, where a
number of the young men were making or repairing boats for the summer
fishing just now beginning. They had heard all that had passed in the
teepee, and, while affecting to pay no attention to Charley, were
primed for him--showing that men in a crowd are much the same white or
red.
Charley was a skinny, anxious-looking little man, withered and
blackened as last year's leaves, ugly as a spider. His self-conscious
braggadocio invited derision.
"Huh!" cried one. "Here come woman-Charley. Driven out by the man of
the teepee!"
A great laugh greeted this sally. The soul of the little man writhed
inside him.
"Did she lay a stick to your back, Charley?"
"She give him no breakfast till he bring wood."
"Hey, Charley, get a petticoat to cover your legs. My woman maybe give
you her old one."
He sat down among them, grinning as a man might grin on the rack. He
filled his pipe with a nonchalant air belied by his shaking hand, and
sought to brave it out. They had no mercy on him. They out vied each
other in outrageous chaffing.
Suddenly he turned on them shrilly. "Coyotes! Grave-robbers! May you
be cursed with a woman-devil like I am. Then we'll see!"
This was what they desired. They stopped work and rolled on the ground
in their laughter. They were stimulated to the highest flights of wit.
Charley walked away up the river-bank and hid himself in the bush.
There he sat brooding and brooding on his wrongs until all the world
turned red before his eyes. For years that fiend of a girl had made
him a laughing-stock. She was none of his blood. He would stand it no
longer.
The upshot of all his brooding was that he cut himself a staff of
willow two fingers thick, and carrying it as inconspicuously as
possible, crept back to the village.
At the door of his teepee he picked up the two little carcasses and
entered. He had avoided the river-bank, but they saw him, and saw the
stick, and drew near to witness the fun.
Within the circle of the teepee Charley's wife, Loseis, was mixing
dough in a pan. Opposite her Bela, the cause of all the trouble, knelt
on the ground carefully filing the points of her fish-hooks.
Fish-hooks were hard to come by.
Charley stopped within the entrance, glaring at her. Bela, looking up,
instantly divined from his bloodshot eyes and from the hand he kept
behind him what was in store. Coolly putting her tackle behind her,
she rose.
She was taller than her supposed father, full-bosomed and round-limbed
as a sculptor's ideal. In a community of waist less, neckless women
she was as slender as a young tree, and held her head like a swan.
She kept her mouth close shut like a hardy boy, and her eyes gleamed
with a fire of resolution which no other pair of eyes in the camp
could match. It was for the conscious superiority of her glance that
she was hated. One from the outside would have remarked quickly how
different she was from the others, but these were a thoughtless,
mongrel people.
Charley flung the little beasts at her feet. "Skin them," he said
thickly. "Now."
She said nothing--words were a waste of time, but watched warily for
his first move.
He repeated his command. Bela saw the end of the stick and smiled.
Charley sprang at her with a snarl of rage, brandishing the stick. She
nimbly evaded the blow. From the ground the wife and mother watched
motionless with wide eyes.
Bela, laughing, ran in and seized the stick as he attempted to raise
it again. They struggled for possession of it, staggering all over
the teepee, falling against the poles, trampling in and out of the
embers. Loseis shielded the pan of dough with her body. Bela finally
wrenched the stick from Charley and in her turn raised it.
Charley's courage went out like a blown lamp. He turned to run. Whack!
came the stick between his shoulders. With a mournful howl he ducked
under the flap, Bela after him. Whack! Whack! A little cloud arose
from his coat at each stroke, and a double wale of dust was left upon
it.
A whoop of derision greeted them as they emerged into the air. Charley
scuttled like a rabbit across the enclosure, and lost himself in the
bush. Bela stood glaring around at the guffawing men.
"You pigs!" she cried.
Suddenly she made for the nearest, brandishing her staff. They
scattered, laughing.
Bela returned to the teepee, head held high. Her mother, a patient,
stolid squaw, still sat as she had left her, hands motionless in the
dough. Bela stood for a moment, breathing hard, her face working
oddly.
Suddenly she flung herself on the ground in a tempest of weeping. Her
startled mother stared at her uncomprehendingly. For an Indian woman
to cry is rare enough; to cry in a moment of triumph, unheard of. Bela
was strange to her own mother.
"Pigs! Pigs! Pigs!" she cried between sobs. "I hate them! I not know
what pigs are till I see them in the sty at the mission. Then I think
of these people! Pigs they are! I hate them! They not my people!"
Loseis, with a jerk like an automaton, recommenced kneading the dough.
Bela raised a streaming, accusing face to her mother.
"What for you take a man like that?" she cried passionately. "A
weasel, a mouse, a flea of a man! A dog is more of a man than he! He
run from me squeaking like a puppy!"
"My mother gave me to him," murmured the squaw apologetically.
"You took him!" cried Bela. "You go with him! Was he the best man you
could get? I jump in the lake before I shame my children with a coyote
for a father!"
Loseis looked strangely at her daughter. "Charley not your father,"
she said abruptly.
Bela pulled up short in the middle of her passionate outburst, stared
at her mother with fallen jaw.
"You twenty year old," went on Loseis. "Nineteen year I marry Charley.
I have another husband before that."
"Why you never tell me?" murmured Bela, amazed.
"So long ago!" Loseis replied with a shrug. "What's the use?"
Bela's tears were effectually called in. "Tell me, what kind of man my
father?" she eagerly demanded.
"He was a white man."
"A white man!" repeated Bela, staring. There was a silence in the
teepee while it sunk in. A deep rose mantled the girl's cheeks.
"What he called?" she asked.
"Walter Forest." On the Indian woman's tongue it was "Hoo-alter."
"Real white?" demanded Bela.
"His skin white as a dog's tooth," answered Loseis, "his hair bright
like the sun." A gleam in the dull eyes as she said this suggested
that the stolid squaw was human, too.
"Was he good to you?"
"He was good to me. Not like Indian husband. He like dress me up fine.
All the time laugh and make jokes. He call me 'Tagger-Leelee.'"
"Did he go away?"
Loseis shook her head. "Go through the ice with his team."
"Under the water--my father," murmured Bela.
She turned on her mother accusingly. "You have good white husband, and
you take Charley after!"
"My mother make me," Loseis said with sad stolidity.
Bela pondered on these matters, filled with a deep excitement. Her
mother kneaded the dough.
"I half a white woman," the girl murmured at last, more to herself
than the other. "That is why I strange here."
Again her mother looked at her intently, presaging another disclosure.
"Me, my father a white man too," she said in her abrupt way. "It is
forgotten now."
Bela stared at her mother, breathing quickly.
"Then--I 'most white!" she whispered, with amazed and brightening
eyes. "Now I understand my heart!" she suddenly cried aloud. "Always I
love the white people, but I not know. Always I ask Musq'oosis tell me
what they do. I love them because they live nice. They not pigs like
these people. They are my people! All is clear to me!" She rose.
"What you do?" asked Loseis anxiously.
"I will go to my people!" cried Bela, looking away as if she envisaged
the whole white race.
The Indian mother raised her eyes in a swift glance of passionate
supplication--but her lips were tight. Bela did not see the look.
"I go talk to Musq'oosis," she said. "He tell me all to do."