THE FETTERED CHIEF
Klitonda firmly believed that Klota's spirit had visited him in the
Chilcat camp, and freed him from the tree. With all the independence
of his spirit, and his hatred to the medicine man, he could not easily
free his mind from the teaching of childhood. He still held many things
in common with his own people. To him there were spirits of air, earth,
mountain, and water. He also retained his belief in his special guardian
animal, the wolf. This creature was his totem, and aided him in the
chase. Seldom had he ever killed a wolf, and to eat its flesh was
something not to be thought of for an instant. A figure of a wolf's head
he had carved with much labour and care upon the bow of his canoe, the
handle of his hunting-axe, his bow, and in fact upon almost everything
he possessed. If he had special success in the chase he somehow felt it
was due to the good wishes of his totem; but if he took few pelts he
believed that his guardian animal was against him. It was, therefore,
only natural that on this night of his deliverance from his enemies the
superstitious influence of generations of ancestors should strongly
possess his heart and mind.
To Klitonda the voice which he heard was the voice of his lost Klota.
Who else could it be there in the very presence of the Chilcats? Never
for a moment did he think of Owindia. He had left her sometime before
near the Post. How could she know that he was a captive bound to a tree?
But had he known it was his daughter who cut the thongs not a step would
he have taken from the place. He would either have carried her off
bodily, or died fighting by her side.
Ignorant of who had really freed him, the chief sped away from the camp
with remarkable swiftness. There was no trail to guide his steps, and in
truth he needed none. He threaded the forest darkness as surely as if
on a well-beaten path. A natural instinct directed him, which he had in
common with the beasts of the forest, and the birds of the air. He at
once set his course not back to the Post but far away westward to where
he believed the Ayana Indians were encamped.
Klitonda's hands were still securely bound behind his back. He tried
several times to rend asunder those gripping thongs, but in vain. His
arms ached from their cramped position, and the fetters were cutting
into his flesh so hard had they been twisted about his wrists. He was
anxious for the darkness to pass, and often glanced eastward for the
first faint light of dawn. It seemed to him a long time in coming,
and when at length he beheld the sky reddening away on the horizon an
expression of pleasure might have been detected upon his face. Slowly
the sky brightened, and the darkness faded. The light tinged the
mountain peaks, and stole quietly down to the valleys below. The long
silent reaches of the great forest felt the touch of dawn, and awoke to
life and action. Birds twittered sleepily among the branches and the
squirrels began a new day of activity and chattering. Occasionally a
belated rabbit scurried through the underbrush on its way to its secret
burrow.
Klitonda was earnestly studying the various objects near at hand as he
hurried on his way. Stones, small and large, arrested his attention. At
times he would pause by the side of a rock and examine it carefully.
Not finding what he was looking for, with a grunt of disgust he would
proceed. His course at length led him to the top of a stretch of rough
country, barren and bleak. A ridge of sharp rocks ran for miles north
and south. Searching about Klitonda at last found a stone which seemed
to suit his mind. Lying prone upon his back he brought his wrists
directly over the flinty edge, and thus endeavoured to saw through the
tough moose-skin thongs. As he could not see what he was doing, the
stone often tore his hands instead of the bonds. The perspiration poured
in great beads from the chief's face as for some time he frantically
struggled to free himself. But the Chilcats knew how to tie a prisoner,
and as the thongs were wound about his wrists in several coils, he found
that all his efforts were in vain. At last he was forced to give up the
attempt as useless. He rose to his feet and looked upon the stone. It
was covered with his blood, and what had he gained? The sight before
him, and the pain he was now enduring aroused him to almost maddening
frenzy. He tore wildly at his bonds until the muscles of his body stood
out like whip lashes. Had not the thongs been of excellent material they
certainly would have been rent asunder by the infuriated chieftain. He
turned and looked back toward the Chilcat camp. No sound did he utter,
but the expression of rage and hatred which glowed in his eyes was more
terrible than many words. What a seething ocean of passion was surging
through the heart and mind of that native of the wilds as he looked. The
indignity of the past night, the wrongs and insults of former years all
came upon him with titanic might. He was standing upon a rock, and his
appearance at that moment was more awe-inspiring than ever. He was the
giant of his race, fighting a battle against overwhelming odds. He was a
Promethean warrior, bound in limb, but free and unfettered in spirit.
Turning at length he left the place of his defeat, and moved with a
quickened pace on his way. The fire burning in his heart was now at
white heat, and he needed action as a vent to his feelings. The sun
came down the valley, and poured its beams upon his uncovered head.
The air became stifling, and his throat dry and parched. He neared the
little stream where the Chilcats had fallen upon him. He almost scented
the water some distance away. Cautiously he approached, and looked
apprehensively around as if expecting to be again set upon. The water
sparkled before him, but ere tasting a drop he looked eagerly around for
the tokens he had dropped the day before. They were there just where
he had left them, having escaped the keen eyes of his Chilcat captors.
He let them lie where they were, and turned toward the little brook.
How good the water looked to this thirsty chieftain as it purled on its
way through a wilderness land. Along its banks the grass grew, and wild
flowers rioted in profusion. How often had the wild beasts found their
way to this stream to slake their thirst. Klitonda, too, had knelt at
that very place and touched his lips to the water. Once he had camped
right near. Klota was with him then, and Owindia was a little baby.
After he had stooped down with much difficulty and satisfied his thirst
he sat for a while upon a stone partly embedded in the earth. He was
thinking of that day, which now seemed so long ago. He remembered how
Owindia had laughed with delight as she pointed to the brook, and tried
to tell them what was in her mind. They had reclined upon the ground
watching her with much pride. Since then what clouds had swept over his
life. Klota was gone, and the Chilcats were in the land more terrible
than ever. The fierce light had faded from his eyes, and a gentle
expression had taken its place. But as he thought about the Chilcats the
old feeling of revenge and hatred returned. He sprang from the rock,
and stepped to where the arrows were lying. He was the chief of the
mountains again, the implacable enemy of the Chilcats.
He looked at the tokens before him, tied firmly together with several
sinews, by Owindia's deft fingers. He could not lift them with his
hands, so stooping he seized the cord with his teeth. In this manner
alone could he carry them, so without another moment's hesitation he
sprang up the slope, leading from the brook, and sped along the trail.
The sun rode high in the heavens, and then dipped away toward the west
as Klitonda paused upon the brow of a steep hill. He knew that his
destination was not far off. The scent of a mountain lake drifted to his
sensitive nostrils. The chief's mind was somewhat uneasy. What if his
people were not there? Suppose they had not yet arrived? He knew how
many lakes there were, and at times it was uncertain where the largest
band of Indians would be gathered. He thought of Owindia, and what might
happen to her and the white men should he have to go farther afield in
search of the Ayana. The distance was long as it was, and it would be
necessary to make haste.
Descending the slope with much swiftness he at length came in sight of
a large lake lying before him like a precious gem in its dark green
setting of fir and spruce trees. Around the edge of the water ran a
shadowy fringe where the silent forest border was mirrored in those
clear liquid depths. Not a ripple disturbed the glassy surface of the
lake, and not a sound could Klitonda hear. He was fearful lest the
Indians were not there. Approaching cautiously he soon obtained a better
view of the shore just below the slope. Then he beheld several thin
columns of smoke rising up phantom-like into the still air. His people
were there! He moved somewhat nearer that he might observe them. It was
possible, he thought, that a band of Chilcats might be fishing in the
lake, and so he must be on his guard. Then he wondered if the Ayana
would welcome him. If the score of hunters who had given him the tokens
were there all would be well. But suppose they were absent!
Creeping still nearer, and crouching behind a thick low-set fir tree
he was able to look right down upon the camp. That they were his own
people he soon observed, and the discovery sent a thrill of satisfaction
through his heart. He watched them for a while ere going down to join
them. There was a large number present, men, women, and children. It
was supper time, and they were cooking fresh fish over the coals. The
appetising smell was wafted up the slope and made Klitonda realise how
hungry he was. He had eaten very little since leaving his own lodge by
the Post. Children were playing quietly along the edge of the lake, and
the hunters were lying upon the ground. The women alone were working. It
was a scene of peace and happiness, such as Klitonda delighted to look
upon. A feeling of pride came into his heart. They were his own people,
and he was their chief. Soon the invaders would be driven out, and no
longer would the Ayana be fearful of their ferocious enemy. They would
dwell in peace, plenty, and safety.
Having observed them for a few minutes Klitonda left his hiding place
and hurried down to the camping ground. His sudden arrival caused
considerable consternation among the Indians. They gathered around him
and gazed wonderingly upon their bound chief, and his bleeding hands. No
questions were asked, and in truth they were not needed. They knew only
too well what had happened, for who could bind their mighty leader but
the Chilcat wolves.
Klitonda's gaze roved swiftly over the hunters. He saw a number of the
young men who had given him the tokens. He said not a word but going to
one dropped the arrows at his feet.
"Cut the thong," he demanded.
"Take the tokens," he continued, when the young man had complied with
his request.
"Give them to the rest of the hunters," he ordered. "Show them the blood
marks upon them. They will know the meaning."
Silently the chief's orders were obeyed, and out of the score of arrows
thirteen were delivered.
"Where are the others?" Klitonda asked.
"At the Great Lake," was the reply. "Two sleeps from here."
Then one of the hunters seized his knife, and stepping up to the chief
was about to cut the thong which bound Klitonda's hands. But the latter
drew back, and shook his head.
"Wait," he said. "Do not free your chief yet. Listen to what he has to
say. The Ayana Indians see these bound hands. Do they know who did it?
Do they realise that the Chilcat dogs are in this land, and did this
deed? The spirit of Klota came to Klitonda when he was tied to a tree
and gave him liberty, and he has come to his own people. The sun shines,
the streams run through the land, and the birds fly in the air. They
are free, but the Ayana people are slaves. How long will this last? The
time has now come, and Klitonda calls the Ayana warriors to arouse, and
drive back the Coast dogs. The white men will help them. Look upon your
chief's hands bound and covered with blood. Klitonda is tired; he has
come a long way. He is hungry. But do not give him any food, do not give
him a place to rest, and do not cut the thongs which bind his bleeding
hands unless the Ayana warriors will follow their chief. He will not
stay, but will leave this camp. There are warriors here who will come
with him," and he looked upon the thirteen young hunters as he spoke,
"but they are not enough. Some of them are away, and cannot get here in
time. Who among the rest will take those blood-marked arrows, and follow
Klitonda?"
There was deep silence for a brief space when the chief had finished
speaking. The hunters looked at one another as if to know who would be
the first to make a move. Presently one sturdy young brave stepped
forward, picked up a token, and walking over stood by the side of the
thirteen pledged warriors. He was immediately followed by another, and
then another until soon all the arrows were taken. A keen interest now
pervaded the entire camp. The bound chief, and the response of the young
men for service had a deep effect upon all. Hunters who were reclining
upon the ground felt their hearts thrill as never before. They saw, too,
the eyes of the women turned upon them in a half-pitying, reproachful
manner. They became ashamed of their own cowardice and inaction. Rising
to their feet several made their way to the side of their chief. Others
followed their example, and in a few minutes every young hunter in the
camp had signified his intention of following Klitonda in his great
march against the Chilcats.