THE FALSE PILOT.
To the north of the trappers, approaching, but out of their reach of
vision, a singular train was skimming over the snows. From a distance
one might have supposed it a flight of birds, for no four-footed
creatures could have travelled at that surprising pace.
But it was a procession of _carrioles_, or dog sledges, preceded by two
large ones. These were impelled by the wind alone, caught in sails,
which would be the tent canvas by night, fastened to masts set in the
breadth of the beam like that of an "ice yacht." The runners, on the
principle of a mail coach's, shoes were formed of thin wood turned
up in front; their width prevented the sledges sinking materially.
But the speed was what saved them better from being submerged in the
twenty-five feet dead level snow. Moreover, the steersmen, so to call
them, of the queer craft, were both fitted for their posts. The second
sledge was governed, thanks to the adroit manipulation of a tough pole,
by one of those Scotch-Americans who are the indisputable rulers of
the Northwest. At the cold they never wince; they are sober, prudent,
rather silent than talkative, as firm as a rock in defence, and as
trusty as a dog.
In the foremost snow ship an Indian was pilot and helmsman too. Upon
him depended the lives of all in those two vehicles. Those following
might swerve off from any danger they met by whipping the dogs to turn
quickly.
This savage seemed less thickly clad than the white men, who, however,
crouched down, but he flinched as little from the cutting blast as a
bronze statue. Now and again a whirl of wind caught up the ice crystals
and encircled his erect figure within the cruel clouds. The next moment
he was seen again, his face as sternly set, his eyes as rigidly bent
ahead, as before his disappearance.
The sense of safety he inspired and the glorious thrill which the
rapidity of the course provided left the passengers in a placid joy.
The dog sledges contained the provisions necessary in these uninhabited
wilds, with the hunters, servants, and guards of the party leader.
The second snow ship carried the more valuable property and the "new
hands," who could not be trusted with the semiwild dogs; under the
steersman, it was commanded by the secretary of the chief.
This gentleman was in the foremost conveyance with his daughter and the
most "reliable" men.
He was an important man, as this escort, nearly thirty strong,
abundantly manifested.
Sir Archie Maclan was a retired shipping merchant, enriched by the
Eastern tea and silk trade. He was chairman of a land purchase company
that contemplated founding a city on the line of the British Pacific
Railway. He never invested his money on hearsay, and he would not
ask his friends to do so either. Hence, having volunteered to go and
investigate, at his own expense, the shareholders had voted him thanks
and unanimously approved.
He was a widower, and took with him the sole object of his affection in
his daughter.
Miss Ulla Maclan was one of those fair Northern beauties, born types
of "Norma," though the black-haired and swart-complexioned Italians do
their most to mar our proper conception of that ideal of the druidess.
At the officers' ball at Québec, and the Mayor and Council ball in
Montreal, she had carried away the palms for grace, amiability and
loveliness.
Ofttimes dreamy and somewhat superstitious, Ulla had insisted upon
not being left behind when her father prepared to push west for the
Red River. As she was indomitable, he compromised as usual when they
disputed. He put off the original project till spring; and, in the
meanwhile, assented to her wish to see something of the marvels which
were currently reported of the Yellowstone Basin. By the greatest good
luck, an Indian was at Fort Sailor King who had come up that way.
The officers recommended him. In a few days he had proven himself
weather-wise, brave, devoted, cautious as Sandy Ferguson himself, and
more ingenious than nine out of ten of his race.
Little by little he had risen in esteem till no one was hurt by his
having charge of the patron and his precious daughter, for whom any man
would gladly have died. If there were one exception to this universal
homage to talent in the scorned aborigine, it was the English secretary
of Sir Archie, and that distrust seemed to be caused by a kind of
jealousy at being consigned to the other sailing sledge, remote from
the charming girl. But then, had he exhaled any plaint, who would have
listened to him--a raw Old Country sportsman, who carried his rifle
slung across his shoulders when he went gunning?
There was one drawback to the full enjoyment of the fleet course: the
immense and oppressive silence. All the deer were stripping the trees
of bark and moss in secret coverts; even the Arctic fox kept secluded
behind the tops of trees buried in the snow, so that they seemed mere
topknots of Indians. The dogs wore no bells; the men talked in whispers.
Nevertheless, the complete desert offered no cause for alarm. But
the illimitable white field, the ice-clad mountains, the mighty
wind that hurried the two ponderous sledges onward as if they were
feathers--these struck the rudest with awe as the short day closed in.
As darkness threatened the men brightened in their chat. Visions of
hot tea made lips water, where, alas, the frost seized the moisture
instantly.
For hours the uninterrupted rush had been maintained. Few obstacles
cropped up which the Indian had not avoided with dexterity and warned
his successor of by a sharp cry.
The wind strengthened with the dusk. A faint dark blue line at length
revealed the limit of the snowy plateau. It was so swiftly "lifted"
that in an hour or so all believed they would be camping down in
shelter of a forest which would furnish the welcome fire.
The Indian himself relaxed his muscles, for they saw him faintly smile
too.
All at once he began to murmur, and then to utter audibly a curious
monotonous chant, which amused Miss Maclan. Her father had dozed off in
the warm furs that muffled them both.
"Oh, the Chippeway is singing," she remarked. "What a funny song! I
cannot call it lively, though."
"Lively be hanged!" burst out the Canadian at her elbow, who had never
been so rude before. "It's a death song. Look out, mates. _Au guet,
camarades!_" with a great shout, "This red nigger's turned 'bad!'"
The savage responded to the accusation by a defiant whoop. Fifty
different spots sent up its echo, and what seemed wolves bounded up out
of the snow here and there in the gathering gloom.
It was too late for the hunters to attempt a seizure of the steersman.
Already they were paralyzed, as they had partly arisen, by beholding
the snow plain unexpectedly end in a sheer descent. Two seconds after
the first sledge was over the precipice; in five the second followed.
Three or four men leaped out of this--of the other it was impossible
to do so in time, and it sank in the snow of which their leap broke
the crust. The conductors of the dog sledges began plying their whips,
and the yelping of the dogs rent the frosty air. Upon these fugitives,
scattered on each side, the fifty dark figures shot arrows with almost
a fatal aim.
By night, in about half an hour only, no living representative of the
party seemed forthcoming. Till then the assailing force had not relaxed
their murderous intentions. Dragging the dog sledges to a hollow,
where they could light a fire unobserved, they greedily feasted on the
provisions, with the additional dainty of one of the dogs roasted for
"fresh meat!"
In the morning they descended into the chasm where the Indian guide
had so deliberately wrecked the "canoes-that-slide-on-the-snow." None
of the fallen had survived the descent as far as they could be found
in the snow. They were smothered, or the cold had killed them in the
long night. Over the whites the Indians showed no emotion save a brutal
rejoicing. But it was different when they discovered the body of their
countryman. Not only were they a little perplexed how to regard a
suicide which so profited the tribe, for the Indian rarely commits that
crime, but Sandy Ferguson, chancing to be hurled near the villain, had
dragged himself, though his limbs were dislocated, so as to fall on
him, and had half torn off his scalp when death had fastened his icy
grip on him.
The joy of the victors was thus damped. They sang over their
martyr-hero, and, bestowing on his corpse the prizes he would have won
if alive, gave him a chief's burial.
"He was a great man, and _Ahnemekee_ (the Thunderbolt) gives up his own
trophy, the English gun, to adorn his last sleeping place. May the fear
inspiring Crow nation never know the son who would not do as much to
lead a prey into their grasp. Ahnemekee salutes thee!"
They had rigged up a kind of bed with crosspieces in the united apex of
fern pines. These were within reach of the men on the snow at present.
When the thaws came, the dead Crow, laid upon this platform, would be
forty feet in the air. About him was laid and hung his share of the
spoil due to his long and patient plotting.
In times of distress, the funereal offerings to any Indian of mark may
be as symbolical and worthless, intrinsically, as the cut paper of the
Chinese. But when valuables can be afforded, they themselves are left
with the dead, and dogs and horses are sacrificed.
On the completion of this mournful ceremony the Crows departed, sure
that they had made a clean sweep of the party, so skilfully and
daringly decoyed to their doom by the pretended Chippeway. Not till the
stealing up of the whitened wolves proved they had long since left the
wind untainted with their odour did the rubbish heap of a large decayed
tree move as if a gigantic mole were in operation, and the apprehensive
face of Miss Maclan showed itself.
Apparently she alone had escaped the butchery following the hurling of
the large sledges over into the snowy gulf.
Spilt out, like all the other occupants of the vehicle except two or
three, when it "turned turtle" in its leap, the sail had chanced to
embosom her in its folds as the circularly rising column of cold air
from below caught it and momentarily swelled it out. By this accident
the swiftness was lessened. Nevertheless, the sail was soon snatched
from her and rent to shreds, whilst she landed on the touchwood of the
storm felled cedar.
When she recovered consciousness it was night. She fancied she heard a
voice calling, but that may have been pure fancy. On the height above
she could hear only too plainly the ghoulish merriment of the Indians
over their carouse, and the moans of some wretch being tortured to add
a zest to their regale. All she had heard of the redskin's merciless
treatment of women captives impressed her. She crept still more deeply
into the cavity of the rotten tree, and waited with little hope. Not
a sound to cheer her in her neighbourhood. Absorbed in prayers, to
drive away the poignant anxiety for her father, she did not feel the
intense cold. As for that, she was well garbed in superb furs, the
double clothing which Canadian ladies had chosen for her with their
experience, when she announced her resolve to accompany her father.
When dawn came, her fears were harrowing. Around and even over her
head in her ambush, the ravenous foe scampered and scuttled like the
beasts of rapine and carnage they were. They probed the snow and every
cleft of the rocks to secure the hairy trophies from the hapless
crews of the snow ships. Not one could have been found alive, for at
each unearthing, Ulla judged by the tone that the finders experienced
disappointment. On the other hand, the spoil of the sledges was
embarrassing in its quantity for the band.
She dared not peep out; she dreaded that the feeble blue thread of
condensed breath from her nook would betray her. She did not see,
therefore, that, unable to bear away more than a tenth of the plunder,
the rest was hidden under the precipice.
At last came the time when hunger drove her forth. The desolation and
stillness in this hollow were overwhelming. The snow was trampled
and pulled about by the searchers. Dead bodies, gashed and unlimbed,
strewed the late virgin white expanse, amid the broken boxes and
disrupted cases.
Ulla shuddered to tread among these hideous corpses, where it was
impossible for her to recognise her late companions. To find her father
was a vain idea. She took a smashed tin of meat and some chocolate, and
ate ferociously.
On high, the stars glittered with a cold brightness, which revealed
they saw her misery and grief, but offered no consolation. On the edge
of the precipice, gorged wolves, that had devoured the _voyageurs_ up
there, were lazily contemplating the solitary form with motion in the
wreck, and among the human remains of the expedition so gay and gallant
fifty hours before.
Her ungovernable appetite appeased, and her thirst far from quenched by
sucking a snowball, she mournfully reflected on her plight.
A child of luxury, it was more a nightmare than reality that she could
be here, in the Northwestern desert, the great mass of the Rocky
Mountains looming up beyond, impressive, insurmountable, and on the
other three points, a thousand miles of snow! And she a young girl,
alone!
A company of sappers and miners would have had a week's work in the
ironbound soil under the snow to inter this mangled _débris_ of
mortality. For her to attempt the pious duty was a mockery.
Nevertheless, when the moon rose, a frenzied impulse to veil the poor
creatures, with at least a little shrouding snow, would have set her
in action. But at the first step towards the nearest corpse, with its
trunk bristling with arrows, and its eyeless sockets appealing to the
Creator against the barbarous outrage, Ulla stopped short.
She was fascinated by the spectacle presented at the junction of
protruding pines where the deceptive Indian guide reposed upon the
platform. The moon inundated it with tremulous beams.
Suddenly she was sure that the body was animated. So do the vampires
spring to life when the moon bathes them in radiance. Certainly the
figure sat up cautiously; the pale face was even visible; with a steady
hand some of the trophies which adorned the monument were unhanged
from the branches--the knife of Sandy Ferguson, the English rifle and
cartridge container of her father, diverse appurtenances which had been
left to equip the departing spirit for the happy hunting ground "over
the range" yonder.
Thus armed, the ghastly phantom leaped down, and threatened to march
upon the horrified observer. Already three wolves, descending the face
of the bluff, sniffed danger. As the spectre proceeded, the largest
squatted, and emitted a lugubrious howl. All the others echoed it. For
some minutes the scene was filled with this bloodcurdling concert, loud
enough to have awakened still more dead.
But Ulla did not hear the infernal chorus any longer. On beholding the
course of the appalling apparition to be aimed indubitably at her, the
conviction was too strong for her overtasked nerves. She murmured a
prayer, and turned to flee frantically; but the snow was treacherous,
and she slid down in a soft gap, where the feathery particles closed
over her head.
Perfectly unconscious, she did not hear the supposed Indian halt almost
at the edge of the sealed up cavity which concealed her from even his
eagerly questioning eyes.
"What a terrible tragedy," he exclaimed, with the deepest emotion, in
English.
It was the secretary of Sir Archie.
"All torn to pieces by those odious villains!" he continued. "On the
dead they vented their spite; on the goods they have inflicted all
the wanton damage possible, so that they might not benefit even some
starving traveller who came into this Pit of Abomination. That generous
old gentleman, these brave, patient, devoted, cheerful hunters and
campmen, that young lady never to be too much pitied! It brings the
tears into my eyes--miserable solitary mourner that I am to try to do
so much barbarity justice. Heaven knows that I came out here with no
prejudice against the red man. This same Indian who enlisted merely
to lure the expedition to destruction, accepted my courtesies with a
grateful mien. And yet he was a monster! I glory to have profaned his
resting place--to rob the robber of the weapons with which, God aiding
me, I shall avenge my massacred comrades!"
He perambulated the valley of death till sunrise. He called and
examined every spot with care; but all the time no response was given
him. Then, having made a meal on the height, where the same fatal tale
was displayed in the bones with which the wolves sported, he doggedly
took up the trail of the victors.
But at the woods, where the snow presented a different aspect and
was absent in tracts, he found that the wily savages were not to
be followed by an inexperienced man, however brave, vigorous, and
determined.