THE AMBUSCADE.
The attack was so sudden and unlooked for, and took us at such a
disadvantage, that it was a mercy the half of us were not killed by the
enemy's first straggling volley. For on the instant that Gardapie fell
dead into the river two more shots rang out, and then a third and a
fourth. A bullet whistled by my ear, and another flew so close to
Baptiste that he dropped his paddle and threw himself flat, uttering a
shrill "_Nom de Dieu!_" The women screamed, and Lavigne cried out
with a curse that he had a ball in his right arm.
"Redskins!" I yelled. "Down--down for your lives!"
The canoe was luckily of a good depth, and we all crouched low and
hugged the bottom. The firing had ceased as abruptly as it opened. Not a
shot or a yell disturbed the quiet of the woods on either hand, and but
for poor Gardapie's vacant place, and the splash of blood where he had
been kneeling, I might have thought that the whole thing was a hideous
dream. We drifted on with the current for a moment, while the roar of
the falls swelled louder. Our loaded muskets were in our grasp, but we
dared not expose our heads above the gunwales.
I looked back toward the stern, and saw Moralle tying a bandage on
Lavigne's wounded arm. Gummidge was bareheaded, and he told me
that a ball had carried his cap into the river.
"We're not done with the red devils," he added. "It's a bad scrape,
Carew. I've no doubt the Indians have been won over by the Northwest
people, and hostilities have already begun."
On that point I did not agree with him, but I was unwilling to speak
what was in my mind while Flora was listening. We were between two
perils, and I called out to Moralle for his opinion.
"If the redskins are in any force it will be impossible to land and make
the portage," I said. "We are within a quarter of a mile of the rapids
now. What are the chances of running them safely?"
"I have taken a canoe through them twice," replied Moralle, "and I could
do it again. That is, provided I can paddle and look where I am going.
Shall I try it, sir?"
"No, not yet; wait a little," I answered.
"I don't like this silence," exclaimed Gummidge. "Why did the redskins
stop firing so suddenly? Mark my word, Carew, there's a piece of
deviltry brewing. I'm afraid not one of us will--"
I stopped him by a gesture, and spoke a few comforting words to Flora;
her face was very white, but beyond that she showed no trace of fear.
Then I crept a little past Baptiste, and with the point of my knife I
hurriedly made two small holes below the gunwales of the canoe, one on
each side. I peeped through both in turn, and the curve of the bow gave
me as clear a view ahead as I could have wished.
What I saw partly explained the meaning of the brief silence--scarcely
more than a minute had elapsed since the musket volley. Here and there,
in the leafy woods to right and left I caught a glimpse of dusky,
swiftly moving bodies. We were close upon the falls, and but for the
noise of the tumbling waters I could have heard the scurrying feet of
our determined foes.
"What do you make out?" Gummidge whispered.
"The Indians are running ahead of us through the forest," I replied.
"They expect that we will try the portage, and then they will have us in
a trap. Our only chance is to dash down the rapids."
"It's a mighty poor one," murmured Gummidge; and as he spoke I heard an
hysterical sob from his wife.
"We are not going quite straight," I called to Moralle. "If we keep on
this course we will hit the rocks. A few strokes to the left--"
"I'll manage that, sir," the plucky voyageur interrupted.
I glanced over my shoulder, and saw him rise to his knees and begin to
paddle. He was not fired on, as I had expected would be the case, so
Baptiste and I ventured to lift our heads. As we watched, we held our
muskets ready for the shoulder.
The current was bearing us on swiftly. A short distance below, the
river narrowed to a couple of hundred feet, and here stretched the
line of half-sunken rocks that marked the beginning of the falls. In the
very center was a break several yards wide, and straight for this the
canoe was now driving. There was no sign of the enemy, and it was
difficult to realize that such a deadly peril awaited us.
Bang went a musket, and a puff of bluish smoke curled from the forest on
the left. The ball passed over Moralle's head; he ceased paddling and
dropped under cover. Baptiste did the same, but I kept my head up,
looking for a chance to return the shot. My attention had just been
attracted by a movement between the trees, when Gummidge cried,
hoarsely:
"Keep down, Miss Hatherton! That was a mad thing to do!"
I turned around sharply as Gummidge released his hold of Flora, who, I
judged, had been exposing herself recklessly. I was startled by her
appearance. She looked at me with frightened eyes and parted lips, with
a face the hue of ashes.
"Save me!" she gasped. "I saw him! I saw him!"
"Saw who?" I cried.
"Cuthbert Mackenzie! I am sure it was he, Denzil!" And she pointed to
the right.
I looked hard in that direction, scanning the woods right and left. By
Heavens, the girl had not been mistaken. Through a rift in the foliage,
nearly opposite the canoe, peered a swarthy, sinister countenance and I
recognized the features of Cuthbert Mackenzie. I took aim at him, but
before I could fire he was gone. My brain seemed in a whirl. I had found
the clew--the fiendish clew--to the attack that threatened to cost us
our lives. Bent on revenge, Mackenzie had traveled up country to
intercept us on the way to the fort--to kill me, and to capture Flora.
He had bribed the savages to help him, and he and his ruthless allies
had been in the vicinity of our camp on the previous night.
Swiftly these things coursed through my mind. I tried to speak to Flora,
but my tongue seemed to be held fast. I heard a shot--another and
another. The bullets sang close to my ear.
"Down--down!" warned Gummidge.
"Keep low!" shouted Moralle and Lavigne in one breath.
My brain grew suddenly clear, but I did not heed the friendly advice.
Three shots had missed me, and I knew that the canoe was jerking about
too much with the current to admit of a sure aim the savages.
"Paddle on, Moralle!" I cried. "Faster--faster!"
Meanwhile I watched the right hank, hoping to get another chance at
Cuthbert Mackenzie. Baptiste--brave fellow!--was on the alert with me
but he was scanning the left shore, and a sudden exclamation from him
drew my eyes in the same direction. Ten yards in front, on the edge of
the timber, a redskin thrust his coppery face from the leaves. I fired
as quickly and the savage vanished with a yell of pain.
We were almost upon the rapids, and half a minute more would see us
plunged into the seething, foaming slide of angry waters. To right and
left, where the jagged reef touched the forest, stood three or four
painted redskins, with muskets to their shoulders. And some distance
below the falls, where the water broadened and shallowed, I made out the
feather-decked heads of more Indians. This was a dread and significant
discovery, and I instantly perceived the trap that had been laid for us.
"Keep under cover!" I shouted at the top of my voice.
"Be ready to fight when we pass the rapids! The devils are waiting for
us below, blocking the way! Don't try to paddle, Moralle. The canoe is
headed straight for the rift in the middle. It's sure death if you show
yourself."