UNDERCURRENTS.
As Greer disappeared in the darkness several men started in pursuit.
Ambrose was quicker. He flung himself into the opening, and thrust
them back. Though he was on fire with jealousy, he would not go after
Greer, nor let the others go.
He could scarcely have explained why--perhaps because he dimly
apprehended that it was Colina's game to drive him mad with jealousy.
"Let him go," he said thickly. "I will run the mill myself!"
So long as the wheels revolved smoothly and the stream of creamy flour
issued from the mouth of the machine the miller had a sinecure.
Ambrose scowling and grinding his teeth scarcely saw what his eyes were
turned on. His mind was busy outside.
He was sharply recalled to his job by a tearing sound from within the
machinery. The flour came out mixed with bran. The wheels jammed and
stopped.
Ambrose threw out the clutch, and doggedly attacked the problem. It
was cruelly hard to concentrate his mind on machinery while a damnable
little voice in his brain persisted in asking over and over:
"Where are they? What are they doing? How far will rage carry her?"
He contrived to remove the torn frame without much difficulty, but how
to clean out the mass of stuff that clogged every part of the mechanism
defied his ingenuity. Apparently the thing must be taken apart. How
could he hope to put it together by lantern light?
There was a stir at the door, and Duncan Greer slouched in with a
hang-dog scowl. Never in his life had Ambrose been so glad to see a
man. He was careful to mask his joy. He glanced at the boy carelessly
and went on with his work. Duncan came directly to him.
"I'm your man," he muttered. "For keeps, if you want me."
"Sure," said Ambrose, very offhand. "Help me get this thing going,
will you?"
As they worked side by side in the lantern light, Ambrose perceived a
red welt across the boy's forehead and cheek that was momentarily
growing darker. He smiled grimly. Duncan, finding his eyes fixed on
it, flushed up painfully.
"Women are the devil!" he muttered.
A great unholy joy filled Ambrose's breast. In his relief he could
have hugged the boy, and laughed.
"Don't abuse the women, my son," he said grimly. "They have to fight
with what weapons they can. You were warned. You only got what was
coming to you!"
When the machine was running smoothly again, Ambrose went to the door
to reconnoiter.
"They've gone," he said. "I don't think they'll trouble us again
before morning. You can all sleep."
Daybreak and the following hours found Ambrose and his party on the
_qui vive_ for a renewed demonstration from the other side. None was
made.
Neither Macfarlane, Gordon Strange, nor Colina could have mustered a
corporal's guard of the natives to their aid. The breeds in their own
mysterious way had simply disappeared.
Without them, the half dozen whites could do nothing against Ambrose's
strong party. Colina herself had suffered a moral defeat, and required
time to recoup her losses.
In the back of the store the white men and Gordon Strange held lengthy
consultations without agreeing on any course of action. Strange in his
modest way deferred to Macfarlane and the others.
But John Gaviller's absolute sway at the post had sapped the lesser
men's initiative. He was not able to be present, and they were
helpless.
It was decided to send for help to police headquarters at Caribou Lake.
They could not despatch the big steam-boat which had been dismantled
for the winter, but the launch was available.
Gaviller had it to use at the end of summer when the water ran low in
the river. They managed to collect enough half-breeds for a crew;
Masters ran the engine, and Captain Stinson piloted.
Thus in order to send for help the little force had to rob itself of
two of its best defenders. They got away in the middle of the
afternoon. With luck they could be back with the red-coats in two
weeks or three.
Meanwhile the mill was grinding blithely.
Ambrose, who desired at all costs to keep the Indians in ignorance of
what was happening, for fear they might get out of hand, sent Germain
Grampierre to his father's house to get what little flour they had, and
carry it to Watusk to feed the Kakisas for that day.
As far as he could see there was no other communication from one side
of the river to the other. He observed the departure of the launch,
with a calm brow. He guessed its errand, and was not at all averse to
having the police brought down, and the whole matter thoroughly aired.
All day the wheels revolved, and all during the following night,
Ambrose and young Greer watching the machine by turn.
At breakfast time on the second morning the hopper was empty, and the
last bag of flour tied up. They had enough to satisfy the Kakisas
demands, and something besides.
In the center of the shed Ambrose left the miller's tithe in payment,
with an ironical note affixed to one of the bags. The flour was loaded
in the york boat, and the entire party set off in high feather.
Their arrival with the flour at the Indian camp created something of a
sensation. The children came running down to the water, capering and
shrieking, accompanied by the barking dogs.
Men followed, eager to toss the bags to their shoulders. They made a
long procession back to the teepees, the women crowding around,
laughing, gesticulating, and caressing the fat, dusty bags.
By Ambrose's orders the bags were piled up in an imposing array in the
middle of the square. He knew the value of a dramatic display.
The half-breeds who had been on duty for thirty-six hours, scattered to
their homes up and down the river. Simon Grampierre and Tole remained
with Ambrose.
The york boat was left drawn up on the beach below the camp. To this
fact Ambrose traced all the subsequent disasters. But he could not
have foreseen what would happen. The Indians at the sight of so much
food were as candid and happy as children.
When the last bag of flour topped the pile, Ambrose sought out Watusk.
He found the head man as before, evidently awaiting an official
communication, with his dummy councilors on either hand. Watusk's
smooth, flabby face was as blank as a plaster wall.
"I have brought your flour," said Ambrose with a note of exultation
justifiable under the circumstances.
Watusk was not impressed. "It is well," he said with a stolid nod.
Ambrose was somewhat taken aback. An instant told him that Watusk
alone of all the tribe was not glad to see the flour. Ambrose scented
a mystery.
"Where you get the flour?" asked Watusk politely.
"I borrowed Gaviller's mill to grind it," Ambrose answered in kind.
Watusk's eyes narrowed. He puffed out his cheeks a little, and Ambrose
saw that an oration was impending.
"I hope there will be no trouble," the Indian began self-importantly.
"Always when there is trouble the red man get blame. When the fur is
scarce, when summer frost turn the wheat black it is the same. They
say the red man make bad medicine.
"Two white men have a fight, red man come along, know nothing. Those
two white men say it is his fault, and kick him hard. You break open
Gaviller's mill. Gaviller is mad, send for police. When the police
come I think they say it is Watusk's fault. Send him to jail!"
It was evident from this that Watusk was pretty well informed of what
had happened. "How do you know they have sent for the police?" Ambrose
demanded.
Watusk shrugged expressively. "I see the launch go up the river in a
hurry," he said.
In the light of his insolent demand two days before, the Indian's
present attitude was more than exasperating. "This is foolishness,"
said Ambrose sharply. "I sell you the flour. How I got it is my
affair. I take the responsibility. The police will deal with _me_!"
"I hope so," said Watusk smugly.
"I have made out a receipt," Ambrose went on. "You sign it, then
distribute the flour among the people, and give me the men's names so I
can charge them on my book.
"To-morrow I give it out," said Watusk. "To-day I put the flour in
Gaston Trudeau's empty house by the river. Maybe goin' to rain
to-night."
"Just as you like about that," said Ambrose. "When are you going to
pull out for home?"
"Soon," replied Watusk vaguely.
"They tell me it is the best time now to hunt the moose," remarked
Ambrose suggestively. "And the bear's fur is coming in thick and soft.
You have been here two weeks without hunting."
Again Watusk's eyes narrowed like a sulky child's. "Must the Kakisas
got hunt every day?" he asked spreading out his hands. "The people are
weak with hunger. We got eat before we travel."
Ambrose left this interview in a highly dissatisfied state of mind.
Later in the day Watusk must have thought better of his surliness for
he sent a polite message to Ambrose at Simon Grampierre's house,
requesting him and Simon to come to a tea dance that night.
He had borrowed Jack Mackenzie's house for the affair since no teepee
was big enough to contain it. Mackenzie's was the first house west of
the Kakisa encampment.
"Tea-dance! Bah! Indian foolishness!" said Simon.
"Let us go anyway," said Ambrose. "I feel as if there was something
crooked going on. This Indian will bear watching."