REJECTED
The next morning the sky was clear, the tempest having beaten out its
fury during the night. It had been the heaviest storm of the season, and
in fact for several years. The snow was piled high around the lodge, and
it was with difficulty that Klitonda forced his way through the yielding
mass to gain the outer world. It was necessary for him to hasten forth
as the last stick had been thrown upon the fire, and he must seek for
more dry fuel amidst the forest. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees.
They stood shrouded and heavily laden with their white burden. Not a
sound broke the intense silence, and no track of man, beast or bird
marred the snow.
Within the lodge stood Natsatt and Owindia. The former was girt for a
long journey, and a pair of snow-shoes, borrowed from Klitonda, leaned
against the wall. He was holding Owindia's hands in his, and his eyes
were looking lovingly into her blushing downcast face. There was not the
slightest doubt as to the attitude of the two. A love deep and tender
burned within their hearts. They had waited years for such a meeting.
Natsatt had wandered far and wide, but not until he had reached this
spot in the forest did he find the one to whom his heart responded.
"And you will come back--some day?" Owindia was asking. "You will not
forget?"
"Forget? How can I ever forget?" was the passionate reply. "And you will
be waiting for me, will you not, little one? You will be glad to see me?"
"Ah, ah. The days will be like years while you are away. But sometimes I
fear you might never return. Since you came life has been so different.
There is much to live for now. And yet--"
Here she hesitated, and paused.
"What is it?" questioned Natsatt.
"I have been wondering how you, a white man, can love Owindia. There
must be so many maidens of your own race beyond the mountains of the
rising sun. I know so little, while they must be so wise and beautiful."
"Oh, that's what's troubling you," Natsatt laughed, pressing her hands
more firmly in his. "But I am as much an Indian, nay more so, than you
are. I speak several Indian languages better than the English; I was
born in the wilderness, and have spent most of my life there. And I am
going to tell you something now which may astonish you. My father was a
white man, but my mother was an Indian woman. So you see I am what is
called a 'half-breed.'"
Owindia started at these words, and looked keenly into Natsatt's eyes
to make sure that he was speaking the truth.
"But you seem like a white man," she replied. "Maybe you are laughing at
Owindia in your heart."
"No, no, I am not," protested the young man. "What I tell you is true.
People at times will not believe me because I look so much like a
full-blooded white man. But surely you will believe me. Why should I lie
to you?"
"I know now you tell me true when you look at me that way," and Owindia
glanced shyly at him as she spoke. "My heart is, oh, so happy. It sings
all the time."
In response to this Natsatt stooped, and imprinted a fervent kiss upon
her lips. It was the first time that she had known a lover's kiss, and
it thrilled her whole being. Owindia did nothing by halves. She was
a creature of the wild. Her likes and dislikes were strong. When her
heart was stirred it was intense, overwhelming. Lifting her long slender
arms she twined them suddenly around Natsatt's neck, and laid her cheek
against his. Never had she known such real happiness, not even in the
days when her mother had enfolded her in her loving embrace.
And thus all through that day she lived in a world of dreams. Her mind
was ever with Natsatt, and she pictured him speeding over the snow on
his way down to the trading Post.
Her father did not notice her far away look, nor her abstracted manner,
for he himself was lost in a world of deep thought. He sat hour after
hour before the fire with his knees close up to his chin, staring
straight before him. He only bestirred himself to replenish the fire or
to eat his frugal meal which Owindia prepared. He sat in this position
until midnight. Then he rolled himself up in his blanket and slept till
morning. When he awoke his every movement spoke of definite action.
Owindia was surprised to see him set to work to take down the numerous
pelts from the walls and arrange them in two piles. Sometimes he would
stand for a while as if debating with himself into which pile he would
put certain valuable furs. When at last all the skins had been taken
down he tied the two bundles together with stout moose-hide thongs.
Owindia asked no questions. She understood her father's peculiar moods
and knew when to be silent. He would tell her his plans at the proper
time, she felt sure.
Putting on his snow-shoes, and swinging the larger bundle upon his
shoulder, Klitonda left the lodge and strode rapidly across the open
until he came to a place where three trees stood quite close together.
Up among the branches was his cache, where he kept his supply of moose
meat safe from prowling dogs and wolves. Tying a long moose-hide cord
to the bundle, and taking the other end in his hand he climbed one of
the trees to the scaffold of poles above. Then drawing up the heavy
bundle he placed it in the centre of the cache, and with a grunt of
satisfaction returned by the way he had come. Once back in the lodge his
tongue became unloosened.
"Little one," he began, "my heart is much stirred by what the stranger
told us. The white men have come, and have built the trading Post. They
will help us to drive back the Chilcats. As I sat by the fire last night
I saw a strange sight. Klota, your mother, seemed to be standing by my
side, and she was pointing toward the mountains of the rising sun. And
as I looked I saw the passes filled with people of the white race coming
toward me. I am sure now that they are on their way into this country,
and will help us."
"Perhaps you were dreaming, father," Owindia replied.
"No, no, it was no dream. I was awake, and know it was real. So, little
one, we must hurry away from here, and bear the great news to our
people. They will not refuse to rouse to action when I tell them about
the white men, and what they will do for us. I shall take these furs as
gifts to the scattered bands. You must come with me. We shall hasten
away at once, for there is no time to lose."
Owindia knew how useless it would be to argue with her father when once
his mind was settled upon some definite line of action. With a sigh she
gathered up her few belongings, tied them in a small bundle, and took
down her light snow-shoes from two pegs driven into the wall. She did
not cherish the idea of leaving the snug cabin for the long marches
over the dreary wastes of a snow-shrouded land. She wished to remain
where she was, for the hope was strong within her heart that Natsatt
would shortly return, and what would he think when he found the place
deserted? She kept these thoughts to herself, however, and obediently
followed her father out of the cabin, with her small pack suspended over
her shoulders.
Once outside the lodge Klitonda paused and stood for a few moments lost
in thought. Then lifting up his face, he uttered words such as Owindia
had never heard him speak before.
"Great Spirit," he began, "and Klota's Great Father, listen to Klitonda.
Give the Ayana people hearts of fire, and strength of grizzlies of the
mountains, that they may rise and drive back the Chilcats. Send the
white people into this land like the wild geese when the ice leaves the
rivers, and the snow disappears, that they may help us."
He ceased, and stood for a few moments looking straight before him. Then
without another word he strode forward into the sombre forest, with
Owindia following silently after.
For days they threaded their way over the great silent land. Spectres
they seemed gliding through forests, climbing steep hills, winding
along sloping mountain sides, and dotting here and there large inland
lakes. Occasionally they stayed their steps where a few lone hunters and
trappers had their camp. At each place Klitonda would spend the whole
night talking to the eager few gathered about the camp fire. Formerly
one topic, and only one, was the theme of vital importance, and that
was the hated Chilcats. Now the interest was greatly intensified by the
story of the advent of the white men. Deeply interested in his subject,
and a natural orator of much repute among the tribes of the North,
Klitonda as a rule succeeded in imparting to his hearers some of his own
enthusiasm. But, alas, after he left, the fire generally burned low, and
sometimes went out altogether. In the presence of their chief the Ayana
people could be stirred for a time, but the fear of the Chilcats was too
strong for the impression to last.
Klitonda's stay at such places was always short. Miles beyond he knew
there was a large band of Indians, and thither he and Owindia turned
their faces. It was a cold late afternoon as weary with their long
march, they reached the encampment, and here that night Klitonda
related again the marvellous tale he had come so far to tell. For this
moment he had been longing since the day he had started forth from his
lonely lodge in the wilderness. Surely now these hunters would respond
as they listened to the story of the white man, the opportunity for
better trade, and the assistance they would receive in driving back
the Chilcats. But as he talked his keen eyes noted the apathy upon the
faces of those before him. He even detected signs of hostility, which
was different from anything he had ever experienced in their midst.
They had always treated him with marked respect even though they did not
carry out his wishes. When at length he ceased the usual exclamations
of assent were wanting. A deep silence prevailed, which to Klitonda
was most ominous. He could not understand the meaning of such action.
When, however, old Nagu, the crafty medicine man, rose slowly to his
feet, light dawned upon the chief's mind. In this man he saw his bitter
opponent, his violent enemy. He recalled the day, over a year ago, when
he had mortally offended this wily impostor. He had refused to pay the
customary tribute, or "medicine," of valuable furs and skins to this
man. He had told him that his incantations were all a farce, and that
he himself was a useless humbug. For years Klitonda had despised the
vain pretensions of this creature. He had kept his thoughts to himself,
however, and had paid the required tribute, until that day, when roused
by the insolence of the man, he had expressed his feelings in no
moderate terms. Klitonda had yet to learn that the way of the reformer
is hard, and that people held in thrall by the ingrained superstition
of ages, are not easily taught to open their eyes to the bright light
of a new and an ampler day. Such a task at any time is difficult, but
it is increased tenfold when the acknowledged leaders, whether they
be prophets, priests or medicine men are themselves debased, and are
seeking for material gain and personal influence.
And such was Nagu. Those who honoured him, he favoured; but woe betide
the man or woman daring enough to offer any opposition. So standing
there in the midst of his people, he hurled his pent-up anger at
Klitonda. Subtly concealing his own personal injury he upbraided the
chief as the cause of all their present trouble. He had been stirring up
strife, had killed the Chilcat brave, and thus brought upon the Ayana
people the extra vengeance of the coast tribe. And what were they now
to do? The Chilcats were coming in full force, and if Klitonda were not
delivered up terrible would be the consequences.
During his harangue the medicine man had worked himself up to the
highest pitch of fury. He foamed, raved, and gesticulated like a madman,
while all the time his eyes glared upon Klitonda with the most intense
hatred.
During this attack the chief stood like a statue, with Owindia crouching
near at his feet. The latter was terrified by the scene before her. But
not a movement of her father's face betrayed the state of his feelings.
It was only when the medicine man had ceased and the murmurs of approval
had subsided, that he took a step forward, and looked around upon the
assembled natives. A sadness, mingled with pity might have been detected
in his eyes as he stood there. Then he lifted his right arm and pointed
to the medicine man.
"Will the Ayana people listen to such words as that creature has just
uttered?" he asked. "They know it is not Klitonda who is to blame for
all their trouble; it is their own cowardly hearts. Where is the spirit
of our ancestors? Where is the power of our once famous Ayana tribe?
There was a time when the call to battle was like the sweetest of music
to our people. They gloried in war. Klitonda would rouse the Ayana to
action. But they would rather be slaves. They wish to crawl like dogs
at the feet of the Chilcat wolves. Klitonda is your chief. He has never
failed his people yet. He stands here to-night; his daughter is there,"
and he partly turned as he spoke and pointed to the pathetic figure of
Owindia crouching upon the snow. "Take your chief; take his daughter,
and give them to the Chilcats that you may be safe. Then go and tell
your little ones, and when they are grown let them tell their children
that you were afraid to fight; that your hearts were like water, and
your arms like straw, and you gave up your chief and his daughter to
those wolves of the coast. How will it sound? You hunters and trappers,
answer me that. Klitonda is willing to give himself, nay to die for his
people. Here he stands, come and take him."
He paused, and waited for some one to advance. But none moved. What
hunter would dare to lay hands upon that chief, of whose courage and
prowess they were well aware? They did not even look upon his face, but
sat or stood with downcast averted eyes. Their chiefs words had cut
deep, for they knew that they were true. Only the medicine man glared
like a wild beast, but to him Klitonda gave no heed.
The latter waited to see what the people would do. But finding that they
remained silent and inactive, he turned to Owindia and took her by the
hand.
"Come, little one," he said. "Let us get back to the wilderness. Our
people do not want us."
Not a word was uttered, and not a hand was raised as father and daughter
left the camp, and turned their faces toward the black, silent forest.
The chief had come to his own, to help, to uplift them; but his own
received him not. They preferred the flesh pots of serfdom to the
freedom of a larger and a fuller life.
Klitonda was accustomed to discouragements. He could meet death without
a tremor. When face to face with avowed enemies his heart thrilled
with the joy of conflict. But when it came to downright opposition and
repulsion by his own people it was different. Next to Owindia they were
nearest his heart in affection. For them he had toiled and suffered, and
for them he was willing to die. Their pitiable downtrodden condition
moved him deeply. Though he had often lashed the men with stinging words
in the hope of stirring the spirit of manhood within them, there was
really no anger in his heart. He had looked upon their strong, lithe
forms; he had studied them at their games, in which they rivalled with
one another in feats of endurance. Oh, if he could only utilise such
strength in a more worthy cause, how much might be accomplished. He had
watched the bright-eyed comely maidens, and a sadness always filled his
heart, for he knew that the more beautiful they were the sooner would
they be likely to fall captives to the wily Chilcats. Even the little
babes in their moose-skin bags touched him. What trials and sorrows
they had ahead of them--the same life of serfdom as their parents. For
the cowardice of their forefathers the little ones must tread the cruel
trail of affliction.
So on this night of the rejection as he and Owindia pushed speedily on
their way, there was no feeling of bitterness within his heart except
for the medicine man. He knew that that wretched creature had much to do
with his present failure. He himself was free from his dominating power.
But not so the rest of the tribe.
Owindia uttered not a word as she followed her father through the
shadowy forest. She was tired not only in body but also in mind. The
trying ordeal through which they had just passed had almost overcome
her. She knew that now they were exposed to two dangers, one from the
Chilcats; the other, from their own people. Surely no outcasts were ever
placed in a more lamentable position than were these two waifs of the
night.
No word of complaint, no outcry at the injustice done to him, broke from
Klitonda's lips. He was not like the cur, which rushes away at a kick
it has received. He was rather like some lordly monarch of the forest,
which deeply wounded seeks some quiet spot to be alone in its great
agony. No sleep came to his eyes that night. Amid a friendly thicket of
fir trees he made their camp, and while Owindia slept, he either sat
before the fire, or paced restlessly up and down among the trees. He was
most alert, and at every sound he listened intently, partly expecting
an attack from his own people. That they were contemplating handing him
and Owindia over to the Chilcats he had not the slightest doubt. When he
was present with them he knew they had not the courage to seize him. But
under cover of night they might make the attack, expecting to find him
asleep.
All the next day they continued on their journey, back to the lodge in
the wilderness. Owindia was well accustomed to the trail, and did not
find it difficult to keep up with her father. Although grieving over
what had recently taken place, a sweet peace dwelt in her heart. Natsatt
was constantly in her mind, and the thought of him cheered her through
the long hours of the day, and she fell asleep at night thinking of her
lover. Could Natsatt have seen the graceful swing of her lithe form, and
beheld the rich colour of perfect health mantling cheeks and brow, he
would have been more enamoured than ever. Owindia confided none of her
happy thoughts to her father. He was too much engrossed with his own
cares at present. She was content to keep them hidden away within her
own breast, like dew-kissed flowers nestling in some secret dell.
The second night Klitonda was too weary to keep watch. He felt safer
now, and believed that they would not be followed so far into the
forest. He remained for a while, however, after Owindia had fallen
asleep, watching the dying embers. Then he rolled himself up in his warm
wolf-skin blanket, and was soon in slumber deep.