A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT.
That night we pitched our camp on a wooded island in a small lake,
erecting, as was the usual custom, a couple of lean-tos of bark and fir
boughs. Gummidge owned the traveling outfit and the factor of Fort York
had provided Baptiste and myself with what we needed in the way of
weapons and ammunition. We were all well armed, for none journeyed
otherwise through the wilderness in those days. But at this time, and
from the part of the country we had to traverse, it seemed a most
unlikely thing that we would run into any peril. However, neither
Gummidge nor I were disposed to relax the ordinary precautions, and when
we retired we set one of the voyageurs to watch.
This man--Moralle by name--awakened me about two o'clock in the morning
by shaking my arm gently, and in a whisper begged me to come outside. I
followed him from the lean-to across the island, which was no more than
a dozen yards in diameter. The night was very dark, and it was
impossible to make out the shore, though it was less than a quarter of a
mile away. A deep silence brooded on land and water.
"What do you want with me?" I asked sharply.
"Pardon, sir," replied Moralle, "but a little while ago, as I stood
here, I heard a low splash. I crouched down to watch the better, and out
yonder on the lake I saw the head and arms of a swimmer. Then a pebble
crunched under my moccasins, and the man turned and made off as quietly
as he came."
"You have keen eyes," said I. "Look, the water is black! A fish made a
splash, and you imagined the rest."
"I saw the swimmer, sir," he persisted doggedly.
"You saw a moose or a caribou," I suggested.
"Would a moose approach the island," he asked, "with the scent of our
camp fire blowing to his nostrils?"
This was true, and I could not deny it.
"Then you would have me believe," said I, "that some enemy swam out from
the mainland to spy upon us?"
"It was a man," the voyageur answered, "and he was swimming this way."
"I will finish your watch, Moralle," said I. "Give me your musket, and
go to bed. Be careful not to waken the others."
He shuffled off without a word, and I was left to my lonely vigil. I had
detected a smell of liquor in Moralle's breath, and I was disposed to
believe that his story had no more foundation than the splashing of a
fish. At all events, while I paced the strip of beach for two hours, I
saw or heard nothing alarming. There was now a glimmer of dawn in the
east, so I wakened Baptiste, bidding him without explanation to take my
place, and returned to the lean-to for a half-hour's sleep.
It was broad daylight when Gummidge roused me. The fire was blazing and
the voyageurs were preparing breakfast. Flora and Mr. Gummidge were
kneeling on a flat stone, dipping their faces and hands into the crystal
waters of the lake. The wooded shores rose around us in majestic
solitude, and I scanned them in all directions without discovering any
trace of human occupation. I made no mention of the incident of the
night, attaching no importance to it; nor did Moralle have anything to
say on the subject.
Sunrise found us embarked and already some distance down the lake. We
were in the heart of the woods, and the wild beauty of the Great Lone
Land cast its mystic spell upon all of us.
The morning was yet young when we passed from the lake into one of its
many outlets. This was a narrow stream, navigable at first, but quickly
becoming too shallow and rocky for our further progress. So we left the
water, and there was now a portage of two miles over a level stretch of
forest, at the end of which we would strike the Churchill River at a
point twenty miles above Fort Royal.
We started off rapidly, Baptiste and the three other voyageurs leading
the way with the canoe on their shoulders. The paddles and a part of the
load were inside, and Gummidge and I carried the rest. The women had no
burdens, and could easily keep pace with us.
"Have you passed this way before?" asked Gummidge.
"Only once," I replied, "and that was some years ago."
"The place reminds me of the enchanted forests one reads of in old fairy
tales," said Mrs. Gummidge.
"I wish we were out of it," exclaimed Flora. "It has a sad and
depressing influence on me."
Something in her voice made me turn and look at her, and she quickly
averted her eyes.
"What's that?" cried Gummidge, an instant later. "Don't you see? There
it lies, shining."
I darted past him to the left of the path and at the base of a tree I
picked up a hunting knife sheathed in a case of tanned buckskin. We all
stopped, and Lavigne, one of the voyageurs, left the canoe to his
comrades and took the weapon from my hand. He examined it with keen and
grave interest.
"It is just such a knife as the men of the Northwest Company carry," he
declared.
"Yes, you are right," assented Gummidge; and I agreed with him.
For a minute or more Lavigne searched the ground in the vicinity,
creeping here and there on all-fours. Then he rose to his feet with the
air of one who has made an unpleasant discovery.
"Indians have passed this way within a few hours," he announced, "and a
white man was with them. They went toward the northwest."
Gummidge and I were fairly good at woodcraft, but the marks in the grass
baffled us. Yet we did not dream of doubting or questioning Lavigne's
assertion, for he was known to be a skilled and expert tracker. Redskins
and a Northwest man together! It was a combination, in these times of
evil rumor, that boded no good. I remembered Moralle's tale of the
swimmer, and I felt a sudden uneasiness.
"We must be careful," said Gummidge. "This is a fine neighborhood for an
ambuscade."
I glanced at Flora, and by her pale and frightened face I saw she was
thinking of the same thing that was in my own mind.
"Do you suppose he is near us, Denzil?" she asked, stepping close to my
side.
"Impossible," I replied. "Cuthbert Mackenzie is hundreds of miles away
in Quebec. Do not be afraid. There is no danger, and the river is not
far off."
But my assuring words were from the lips only. At heart I felt that
Mackenzie was just the sort of man to have followed us to the North--a
thing he could easily have done by land in this time. Gummidge took as
serious a view of the matter, though for different reasons, and he
approved the precautions I suggested.
So when we started off again, our order of march was reversed and
otherwise changed. Gummidge and I went ahead single file, with, our
muskets ready for immediate use. The women came next, and then the
canoe; we had put the luggage into it, and the voyageurs did not grumble
at the extra load.
Less than a mile remained to be covered, and I was alert for attack with
every foot of the way. But no Indian yells or musket-shots broke the
stillness of the forest, and I was heartily glad when we emerged on the
bank of the Churchill. Only twenty miles down stream to Fort Royal! No
further thoughts of danger troubled us. Swiftly we embarked, and swung
out on the rushing blue tide.
After the first five miles the scene changed a little. The river
narrowed, and grew more swift. The hills receded right and left, and a
strip of dense forest fringed the banks on either hand. A dull roar in
the distance warned us that we were approaching well-known and dangerous
falls, where it would be necessary to land and make a brief portage
through the woods.
Closer and closer we swept, and louder and louder rang the thunder of
the rapids. The voyageurs began to make in a little toward the left
shore, and just then a musket cracked shrilly from the forest on that
side. Gardapie, who was immediately in front of me, dropped his paddle,
and leaped convulsively to his feet He clutched at his bleeding throat,
gave a gurgling cry of agony, and pitched head first out of the canoe,
nearly upsetting it as he slid off the gunwale.