RUN-ALL-DAY AGAIN MAKES USE OF THE RED FEATHERS
The cry from the lake was heard by Run-all-day and other early risers
in the little village. It was also heard by Jumping Wolf’s enemies,
who had camped, for the night, on the other side of the lake. But they
could not answer it, for they had no canoes.
Run-all-day looked in the direction of the cry and detected the human
figure on the distant ice-pan. He saw it fall, move slightly, and then
lie quiet. He lifted his great canoe of bark, which, fortunately, he
had repaired with resin the day before, in preparation for the spring
journey, and carried it to the shore. He shouted for his paddle; and,
in a moment, Singing Bird came running from the lodge, with two paddles
on her shoulder. She, too, had seen and heard the sufferer out on the
drifting ice.
“Let me go with you, and paddle in the bow,” she begged.
As the water was smooth and the ice scattered, the chief nodded his
permission. In another second the great canoe was in the water and the
white paddles were plying and flashing.
At last the canoe slid softly alongside the pan of ice on which the
stranger lay, face-downward.
“Come, friend. We will give you a softer bed than that,” cried
Run-all-day.
The young man stirred slightly, but did not raise his head. The bow of
the canoe was within a few feet of him; so the girl leaned forward and
prodded him sharply with her paddle.
“Harder! Harder!” cried the chief. “If we do not wake him now, perhaps
he may never wake. Look, there is blood on the ice.”
Singing Bird reached out again and jabbed the stranger’s ribs with
determination but inconsiderable force. At the third jab, he drew
himself up on his knees and looked at them with a wide but dim glance.
He gazed at the chief and then at the girl.
“I do not know you,” he said, slowly. “You are not from my village. Why
did you hunt me so?”
“We are your friends, lad, and we did not hunt you,” replied
Run-all-day. “Crawl over here and get into the canoe.”
The young man did as he was told, but in a dazed, half-hearted manner.
“Steady,” cried the chief. “Don’t step on the gunwale. There now, lie
down.”
Then Singing Bird pushed the bow of the canoe away from the flat
ice-pan with its great, red stain of blood. She wondered what the
stranger’s story would be, and her young heart fluttered at the
adventure; but she paddled none the less diligently for all that.
Silently crouched in the cover of the woods, the men who had so
recently been in murderous pursuit of Jumping Wolf beheld the rescue of
their quarry. They were six in number; for, after Jumping Wolf’s first
stand against them on the barren, they had returned to the village for
reinforcements, carrying their wounded. They had taken up the chase
again, with a strong party, urged to the deed by the brother of the
dabbler in magic who had slain the old chief and who had been slain, in
turn, by Jumping Wolf. But this worthy brother had not joined in the
long chase himself. It was wiser and more comfortable to sit at home
and plan new campaigns. Now the pursuers were tired of the hunting.
They had lost their bravest man by Jumping Wolf’s arrow, the night
before. Another had been wounded. They were in a strange country and
longed for their own lodges and cooking-fires. So, when they saw the
great canoe put out from the opposite shore, and the rescue of their
intended victim from the ice, they retreated cautiously and then faced
southward and westward for their own country.
Jumping Wolf lay in a raging fever for days. More than once his feet
were at the very edge of the long, dark trail which leads, at last, to
the hunting grounds beyond the setting sun. But he was well nursed, in
a quiet lodge, by old Blowing Fog and Singing Bird. Red Willow brewed
herb-waters for him, when she could spare the time from her babies; and
all the old men and women in the village gave medical advice, which
Blowing Fog told them to keep for their own ailments. The commencement
of the northward journey was delayed for two weeks by the stranger’s
illness, for Run-all-day would not risk the life he had saved for so
small a matter as an early settlement in their summer lodges. But some
of the cod-fishers grumbled, and even talked of parting from the other
villagers and going about their affairs without the sanction of their
chief.
“Go, if you wish,” said Run-all-day. “But if you do, you need not
return to this snug village when the frost comes. You will have to find
another chief then, and another hunting-ground, and build new lodges.”
After all, they reflected, Run-all-day was a mighty warrior, a friend
of magicians. Also, the valley was warm for a winter camp, and the
surrounding forests were rich with game. So they agreed that it was
better to lose a few cod-fish than their membership in the village and
the protection of their big chief.
When the fever had burned itself out of Jumping Wolf’s brain and the
awful weights and pains had passed from his chest, he told his story to
his new friends. No one doubted a word of the tale. Run-all-day was so
moved to anger against the distant villagers, that, had his awe of the
red feathers been less, he would have put them within his moccasins and
flown southward, to strike terror into those treacherous hearts. But,
as it was, he vowed that Jumping Wolf had his love and protection for
as long as he wanted them.
“Let me be one of your people, chief,” said the young man. “You waked
me from the awful sleep, gave me care and medicine, and turned my feet
from the long trail. Only my own father and my mother, when I was a
small baby, ever showed me such love as you and your people have shown
me. When I am strong again I will hunt and fight for you and your
house.”
So Jumping Wolf, the fugitive from the south, became a warrior of
Run-all-day’s little clan.
The water was still high in the lakes and rivers, but clear of ice,
when Run-all-day and his people at last set out on the northward
journey. Now the days were warm, and the willows were bursting their
silver buds. The alders were fragrant with yellow blossoms. The snow
had faded away, save from the darkest recesses of the forest, and
many furtive blooms shone from the moss that floored the woodland
valleys. Geese and duck and brant had returned to their northern
breeding-places; plover and snipe piped and flew, and the burnished
kingfisher flashed along the river, from point to point, grinding out
discordant warnings, at the approach of the canoes.
They travelled swiftly, though forced to make many portages by the
strength of the swollen water. It was Run-all-day’s intention to
go all the way to the great bay of salt water into which the River
of Three Fires runs, making his summer camp there so as to keep his
village intact. He was proud of his chieftainship. A greater and not
less honest ambition than to kill salmon was astir in his manly heart.
He dreamed of a strong clan, mighty in peace and in battle, with
himself as its head and the friendship of Wise-as-a-she-wolf for its
protection. He knew that the future held great adventures; that a day
of reckoning must come between the evil and the honest in every part
of the island. He knew that Wise-as-a-she-wolf was the enemy of every
worker of evil, and he knew that this meant that every other magician
in the land, great or small, was the secret enemy of his friend and
master. Never before had Run-all-day called a man his master, even in
his thoughts; but his brave and steadfast heart had gone out to the
good magician. He would fight his master’s battles, when need came, and
he would see that his people did not shirk the fray.
He told his ambition to Red Willow, who was not in the least displeased
with it. She did not think her husband uncommonly clever, but she was
sure that he was wise; and wisdom is a finer thing than nimbleness of
wit.
“I shall not be the least of my family,” said Run-all-day. “The world
shall hear of me as a warrior and chief. I will care for my people as
I care for my family; and there will be talk of my name around the
cooking-fires long after my bones have been covered with the heavy
stones.”
“You plan too far ahead, chief,” cried Red Willow, tenderly. “Let us
not contemplate the talk of the villages, an hundred summers hence.”
On the third evening the whole party camped about a mile above the
great falls. There would be a long carry, next morning, around that
roaring, smoking tumult of black rocks and white waters. By the clear,
early light they would drop down, keeping close to the shore, to a
point as near the top of the falls as they dared. But now, with the
twilight deepening every moment, it was safer to land well out of reach
of the torn currents. The chief’s canoe had leaked slightly during the
day; so, while the others made camp, he unloaded it and repaired it
with the mixture of melted fat and gum which he had invented for the
purpose.
Very early next morning, before the elders were astir, two of the
chief’s little boys, one of eight years of age and the other of six,
stole from their beds to play. No day was long enough for playtime,
so they must begin at the breaking of dawn. They ran over to their
father’s big canoe. It lay with its bow at the edge of the water,
empty. They played about it for a few minutes, jumping in and out,
and sometimes pretending to paddle, each with a little stick. It was
not long, however, before the elder of the two began shoving at the
stern of the canoe. The six-year-old joined him in the good work. What
was the fun of playing ashore when the river lay so near? Now was the
time to put pretence away and voyage forth like full-fledged warriors.
The canoe touched the water--advanced into the current inch by inch.
Now half its length was afloat and the black water tugging at it. The
children pushed and heaved, strong with the fire of adventure. They
were helped by a current that slanted outward from the shore at this
point, turned toward mid-stream by an eddy just below. At last the
canoe slipped free, and the children scrambled aboard with a shout of
delight; and the slanting current laid hold of the bark and swung it
gaily away.
Old Green Bow, attracted by their shout of glee, was the first to
discover the children’s danger. He saw the great canoe, riding high on
the water, swing in mid-stream and speed down the racing river. He saw
the little heads above the gunwale, and the little arms dipping the
sticks over-side, as if they would hasten the canoe on her course to
the churning falls below. Green Bow’s wits were hopelessly muddled at
the sight. He stared, open-mouthed and blank with horror. Then he ran
to the edge of the shore and waved his arms frantically and foolishly
after the speeding craft. At last a shrill cry broke from him.
When Run-all-day saw what the matter was, his tanned face went pale as
the bark of the distant canoe. Uttering a low cry, he sprang for one
of the heavy skin-covered boats of his followers, and began unloading
it with desperate energy. Even as he worked, the canoe bearing the
children rounded a wooded bend and flashed from sight. He was about to
hurl the skin-covered craft into the current, still half loaded, when
Red Willow touched his arm.
“Quick! Here are the red feathers,” she cried.
He slipped them into his moccasins, snatched a paddle from the ground,
and leaped into the air; and the clustered villagers shouted as he
rushed through space and beyond their sight, like a great bird. He did
not follow the river, but slanted upward and passed over the wooded
bluff ’round which the canoe, with its precious freight, had so lately
disappeared. He marked it again in an instant, in a sweep of his
vision, still unwrecked, but dashing, unsteered, where the water flung
itself into white crests against a thousand scattered boulders. The
roar of the falls was in his ears, and he saw its crown of spray not
half a mile beyond the racing canoe.
He swooped downward and forward, with all the speed of the magic
feathers. It was plain to see that no human skill and strength could
save the good canoe from that mad tumult, so he loosed hold of the
paddle. It fell in the water and swirled away. Next moment he was low
above the canoe. His flying feet touched the trembling structure. Close
ahead spouted a fountain of white water. The children were lying flat
on their faces, sobbing in an agony of fear. He snatched one, then the
other, to his breast and let the doomed canoe go from under his feet.
He rose a little distance, clasping his children firmly, and watched
the canoe fling itself into the white water, emerge bottom-up and
swing on, a battered wreck, toward the hungry falls. He had not been
a second too soon. He uttered a loud cry of thanksgiving, turned, and
set his feet strongly to the currents of the morning air. And when the
villagers saw him top the wooded point, with his double burden, they
shouted again, and danced wildly with up-flung arms.