AN ARROW OUT OF THE NIGHT
The short Northland day was drawing to a close, when Stane and Helen
came in sight of the cabin again. For the first time since he had known
it, the man felt that the place had a desolate look; and the feeling
was accentuated by the sombre woods that formed the background of the
cabin. Whilst yet a hundred yards from it he gave expression to his
feeling.
"The cabin has a most forlorn look," he said, half-pausing to view it.
Helen, who was very tired, replied, "It certainly looks cheerless in
the darkness, but that is because there is no light. A few sticks in
the stove and the glare of the fire shining through the parchment
window would make it seem cheerful and homey enough."
"But----" he broke off suddenly. "Hark. What was that?"
"I heard nothing," answered Helen.
"Listen," he said.
For perhaps twenty seconds they stood perfectly still, then somewhere
in the wood some unseen creature barked. Stane laughed at himself.
"A fox! I believe I am getting nervous," he said, beginning to move
forward. Helen moved with him, and they entered the cabin together.
Striking a match and lighting a slush lamp which he had devised, Stane
looked round. Things were just as they had left them on their
departure, and he drew a little breath of relief. Why he should do so
he could not have explained, any more than he could have explained the
feeling of apprehension which had overtaken him. A few minutes passed,
and soon the stove was roaring, filling the cabin with a cheerful glow.
Then whilst the girl busied herself with preparations for supper, he
went outside to bring in more wood. On the return journey, as he kicked
open the cabin-door, for a second his slightly stooping form was
outlined against the light and in that second he caught sounds which
caused him to drop the logs and to jump forward, suddenly. He threw the
door to hurriedly and as hurriedly dropped the bar in place. Helen
looked round in surprise.
"What is it?" she asked quickly.
"There is some one about," he answered. "I heard the twang of a
bowstring and the swish of an arrow over my head. Some one aimed--Ah,
there it is!"
He pointed to the wall of the cabin, where an arrow had struck, and
still quivered. Going to the wall he dragged it out, and looked at it.
It was ivory tipped, and must have been sent with great force. The girl
looked at it with eyes that betrayed no alarm, though her face had
grown pale.
"An Indian!" she said.
"Yes," he answered. "And more than one I should fancy. That fox-bark
was a signal. No doubt it gave notice of our return."
"What shall we do?" asked Helen quietly.
"Do!" he answered with a short laugh. "We will have our supper and wait
developments. We can do nothing else. We shall have to wait until
daylight--then we may learn something."
Helen nodded. "Yes, I suppose there is nothing else to do; and a
hostile force outside is no reason why we should die of hunger within."
Calmly, as if hostile Indians were part of the daily program, she
continued the preparations for supper, whilst Stane fixed a blanket
over the parchment window, which was the one vulnerable point in the
cabin. This he wedged with the top of a packing case, which the owner
of the cabin had improvised for a shelf, and by the time he had
finished, supper was almost ready. As they seated themselves at the
table, the girl laughed suddenly.
"I suppose we are in a state of siege?"
"I don't know, but I should not be surprised. It is very likely."
"I feel quite excited," she said. "Do you think we shall have to
fight?"
"It depends what the intentions of our friends outside may be. We shall
certainly have to be on the alert."
"You mean we shall have to keep watch."
"That I think will be necessary. They might try to rush the cabin,
though I do not think they will. It is pretty solidly built."
"Why should Indians attack us?"
"I do not know. They may think that we are interfering with their
hunting-rights."
"Perhaps this hostility explains why the owner of the cabin has not
returned."
"That is possible. This is a good fur country; but he may have felt
that the furs were not worth the risk."
"Yes!" answered Helen, and after a moment's silence asked: "Do you
think those Indians up the lake have anything to do with it?"
"That is more than possible, indeed, it is very likely. I did not like
that old chief. There was a very cunning look in his eyes and it is
very possible that he designs to get rid of both us and Anderton. The
mysterious visitants we have had, and the man in the wood this morning
have a rather ominous look."
"But we shall fight them?"
"Of course! If they are going to fight, we shall fight; though for your
sake I hope that won't be necessary."
"Oh, you must not mind me," was the reply, given with a little laugh.
"The truth is that I think I should rather enjoy a fight."
Stane gave her a quick look of admiration. "I know you will not be
afraid," he said, "and if Anderton gets through it may not be long
before help arrives. Also it must be remembered that we may be
disturbing ourselves unnecessarily. That," he nodded towards the
arrow--"may be no more than the malicious freak of some hunter
returning home, and meant to scare us."
"But you do not think so?" asked Helen, looking at his grave face.
"Well----" he began, but the girl interrupted him.
"You don't," she cried. "I know you don't. You have already admitted
that you think the matter is serious, as I do myself, though I don't
pretend to know anything about Indians. In a situation of this sort the
truth is the best, and I know, we both know, that there is some
occasion for concern. Is not that so?"
"Well," he agreed, "we can't be too careful."
"Then tell me what we must do," she said a little reproachfully, "and
don't make me feel that I am a child."
He considered a moment, then he replied: "We must keep watch and watch
through the night. Not that I think there will be any attack. These
Northern Indians are wonderfully patient. They will play a waiting
game, and in the end make a surprise attack. They will know that now we
are on the alert, and I should not be surprised if for the present they
have withdrawn altogether."
"You really believe that?"
"Honestly and truly!"
"Then for the moment we are safe."
"Yes! I think so; and you can go to rest with a quiet mind."
"Rest!" laughed the girl. "Do you think I can rest with my heart
jumping with excitement? I shall keep the first watch, perhaps after
that I shall be sufficiently tired--and bored--to go to sleep."
Stane smiled at her words, and admiration of her courage glowed in his
eyes, but what she suggested fitted in well enough with his own
desires, and he let her have her way, and himself lay down on his couch
of spruce-boughs, and after a little time pretended to sleep. But in
reality sleep was far from his eyes. From where he lay, he could see
the girl's face, as she sat in the glowing light of the stove. There
was a thoughtful, musing look upon it, but no sign of fear whatever,
and he knew that her courageous demeanour was not an assumed one, but
was the true index of the gay courage of her heart.
Helen was thinking of the face of Miskodeed as she had seen it over her
shoulder, when they were departing from the encampment up the lake. She
had read there a love for the man who was her own companion, and in the
dark, wildly beautiful eyes she had seen the jealousy of an
undisciplined nature. And as she sat in the glowing light of the stove,
she was conscious of a feeling of antagonism to this rare daughter of
the wilds who dared to love the man whom she herself loved. She
understood, from the feelings she herself was conscious of, what must
be the Indian girl's attitude towards herself, and was inclined to
trace the hostility which had suddenly manifested itself to that
source. The girl had been in the neighbourhood of the cabin once, she
was sure of that, and might have come again, probably by some short
path through the woods, her hand, possibly, had drawn the bow and sent
the arrow which had awakened their apprehensions. But in that case, she
asked herself, why had the arrow been directed against her companion
rather than herself?
That she could not understand, and after a time her thoughts passed to
the story which Stane had related to the policeman, and the account of
the forged bill that the latter had given. The two together seemed
absolutely conclusive. What a man had done once on the way of crime, he
could do again, and as her conviction of Gerald Ainley's guilt grew,
she was quite sure that somehow he was the moving spirit in her
companion's deportation from Fort Malsun. He had not expected to see
Hubert Stane, and when the latter had demanded an interview he had been
afraid, and in his fear had taken steps for his removal. Ainley loved
her; but now, if he were the last man left in the world, she would
never----
A sound of movement interrupted her reverie, and she half-turned as
Stane rose from his spruce-couch.
"You have heard nothing?" he asked.
"Nothing!" she replied.
"I will take the watch now, Miss Yardely, and do you lie down and
rest."
"I will lie down," she said with a little laugh, "but I am afraid sleep
will be another matter. My mind is in a ferment."
"You can try at any rate," he said. "I will call you if any untoward
thing occurs."
"You promise?" she asked. "I wouldn't miss one bit of anything that is
happening--not for worlds."
"I promise," he answered with a smile.
"Though I devoutly hope there will be no need for me to keep the
promise."
"I'm not at all sure I do," laughed Helen, and obediently retired to
her screened bunk.
Stane lit his pipe, and seated himself near the stove. He had, as he
had previously told the girl, little fear of any attack developing that
night, and this anticipation proved to be the correct one. The still,
dead hours passed in quietness, and when the grey day broke, he
cautiously opened the cabin-door and looked out. Nothing stirred
anywhere, either in the forest or lakewards. He turned and looked at
his companion who had just emerged from her sleeping place.
"I think we have our little world to ourselves again."
"Whoever made the attack may be lurking in the woods!" said Helen.
"That of course is more than possible, but I do not think it is likely.
It is extremely cold and a night in the open would be anything but
desirable. The attacker or attackers, if from the Indian encampment,
probably returned there. They must know that we can't leave here, and
they will probably try to lull us into a feeling of security, and then
attempt a surprise. Anyway after breakfast we'll beat the neighbouring
coverts, I don't fancy being kept indoors by an enemy who may prove to
be very contemptible."
When breakfast was finished and the necessary morning tasks finished,
Stane, who had been in and out of the hut frequently and had kept a
careful watch on the wood and lake, looked at Helen.
"Do you feel equal to facing the possible danger, Miss Yardely?"
"I am not afraid," answered Helen quickly, "and if I were I wouldn't
own it--or show it, I hope."
"I don't believe you would," replied Stane with a smile. "We will go
out, first on the lake where we can survey the shore; and then along
the path in the woods where we saw that man yesterday."
"About that man," said Helen slowly. "There was something that I meant
to tell you yesterday, but I forgot it again in the excitement of Mr.
Anderton's arrival."
"What was that?" asked Stane pausing in the act of slipping on his fur
parka.
"Well, I had an odd fancy that he was not an Indian."
"You thought he was a white man?"
"Yes," answered Helen, "that idea occurred to me when you spoke of
Indians. The man may have been a native, but in the fleeting glimpse I
had of him he did not give me that impression. Of course I may be
utterly mistaken."
"But what white man would run away from us?" asked Stane, thoughtfully.
"What could possibly be his reason for avoiding us?"
"I don't know," answered Helen, with a quick laugh. "And as it may be
no more than my fancy, the question of the man's racial identity is not
worth worrying over. I merely thought I would tell you what my
impression was."
Stane nodded. "Anyway, white or red he is not going to keep us from our
walk. Are you ready?"
"Quite," she answered, and going outside they slipped on their
snow-shoes, and then made a bee-line out on the lake.
They walked forward for perhaps half-a-mile and halted at a point
whence they got a wide view of the shore. Stane looked up and down the
lake. Its smooth white surface was absolutely without life but for his
companion and himself. Then he scrutinized the shore, point by point,
creek by creek, and Helen also looked carefully.
"No sign of any one," he commented at last. "No camp or fire, we might
be alone in the world. If there is any one he is hidden in the deep
woods, and for the present invisible. I think instead of going back to
the cabin we will make a detour to the point where we surprised the
stranger yesterday."
Stane leading, to break the track in the untrodden snow, they made
their way shorewards and struck it well to the north of the cabin, then
began to work through the woods, keeping a sharp look out as they went.
They saw nothing, however, and when they reached the bushes behind
which the stranger had slipped the previous day, there were no fresh
tracks to awaken alarm. They stood there looking down between the
serried lines of trees. Nothing save the trees was visible, and there
was no sound of movement anywhere. The silence was the silence of
primeval places, and somehow, possibly because of the tenseness of
nerve induced by the circumstances of the walk, the girl was more
conscious of it than ever she had been before.
"There is something inimical in the silence up here," she said in a
whisper, as she gave a little shudder. "One has a feeling as if all the
world of nature were lying in wait to ambush one."
"Nature red in tooth and claw," Stane quoted lightly, "only up here her
teeth are white, and her claws also. And when she bares them a man has
little chance. But I understand your feeling, one has the sense of a
besetting menace. I felt it often last winter when I was new to the
country, and it is a very nasty feeling--as if malign gods were at work
to destroy one, or as if fate were about to snip with her scissors."
"Yes," answered the girl, still whisperingly, then she smiled. "I have
never felt quite like this before. I suppose it rises out of the real
menace that may be hidden in the woods, the menace of some one watching
and waiting to strike."
"Very possible," answered Stane, flashing a quick look at her. He was
looking for the sign of fear, but found none, and a second later he
said abruptly: "Miss Yardely, I think you are very brave."
"Oh," laughed the girl in some confusion, "I don't know that, but I
hope I am not below the general average of my sex."
"You are above it," he said with emphasis. "And I know that this, even
for the bravest of women, must be rather a nerve-breaking walk."
"I won't deny that I find it so," was the reply. "But I am sustained by
an ideal."
"Indeed?" he asked inquiringly.
"Yes! Years ago I read about some English women in India who were at a
military station when the Mutiny broke out. The regiments in the
neighbourhood were suspected of disloyalty and any sign of fear or
panic would have precipitated a catastrophe. If the women had left, the
Sepoys would have known that they were suspected, so they remained
where they were, attending to their households, paying their ordinary
calls, riding about the district as if the volcano were not bubbling
under their feet, and they even got up a ball in defiance of the
danger. Some people would call the latter mere bravado, but I am sure
it was just a picturesque kind of courage, and in any case it impressed
the Sepoys. Those particular regiments remained loyal--and it was the
behaviour of the white women which saved the situation. And their
courage is my ideal. I have always felt that if I were placed in a
similar situation I would at least try to live up to it."
"You are doing so," answered Stane with conviction. "This situation is
not quite the same, but----" He broke off and looked round the silent
woods, which might well be the hiding-place of implacable enemies, then
added: "Well, it is a test of character and courage!"
"Oh," laughed the girl a little nervously, "you do not know how I am
quaking inwardly."
"I am not to blame for that," he answered laughingly, "you conceal the
fact so well."
In due time they reached the cabin without mishap. They had found no
sign of the enemy of the previous night. If he still lurked in the wood
he kept himself hidden and Stane hoped that he had withdrawn for good.
But he determined to take no chances, and busied himself in the next
few hours with cutting a good store of wood which he stacked in the
cabin. He also chopped a considerable amount of ice which he stored as
far away from the stove as possible. Some cached moose-meat, which was
frozen solid as a board, he hung on the rafters of the cabin, which
themselves were white with frost.
The short day had almost ended when he had completed these tasks, and
he was about to enter the cabin, when through the dusk he caught sight
of a figure, standing among the trees openly watching him. The garb
proclaimed the figure to be that of a woman, and for a moment he was
utterly startled. Then, acting on impulse, he started to walk towards
the watcher, his unmittened hand on the butt of the pistol at his hip.