“He’s got a camp in the bush. Look-a-here, Rupe. He don’t want to see
ye again. He’s got what he came for--”
“He promised to be my partner,” I interrupted.
MacCaskill frowned.
“I guess I’ll be telling you now what sort of an insect a humbug is.”
I listened, as the sun rose up in the sky, until there came to me a
desire for liberty, and a longing to see those things of which the
factor spoke. If I were a strong man, if I were qualified to take a
place among others, why, surely I was wasted in Yellow Sands, and lost
in the bush, among the animals and the Indians. It would be better
to go, even though the parting might make me unhappy for a time.
MacCaskill went on:
“Antoine will go on livin’ on the homestead. I’ll be over once in a
while, and if you do want to come back and waste like old man, why, you
can. But you won’t.”
Then I went away to hunt for Redpath. I was as skilled in tracking as
any Indian, so I quickly picked up the tracks at the entrance to the
bush, and had commenced to follow them, when Akshelah walked sadly from
among the trees. She had been tracking me.
“You are going away,” she said at once, and there was no trace of a
smile upon her face.
“Who told you?” I answered, feeling uncomfortable about her sorrow.
“When a white man goes away, he does not come back. Never! never! He
goes to his own people, and they hold him, and he does not want to come
back.”
“Akshelah,” I said, “my father is dead, and I must avenge him.”
At once the girl’s face changed, even as water will change when the sun
falls across it. Vengeance was a religious duty in her creed, and she
would regard the man who should allow a dead father to sleep unavenged
as something lower than a coward. She smiled again, though the smile
was still sad.
“When you have done your duty, you will come back?” she said very
softly, and I gave her the promise which her heart desired. “Those are
bad men who came to you in the night,” said she. “He who is tall, with
the great face, is a man of lies. The little man, who has a white face
like the belly of a fish, will be moved like sand when it is dry.”
I looked from her expressive face down upon the well-beaten bush path.
Now that she had spoken, I discovered the tracks of two men, and I also
learnt that friends, as well as foes, had watched for me during the
night.
“Listen,” said the girl. “One of the young men saw your enemies coming
over the sand where the river touches the great water, and he came to
tell me. So I told the young man to follow, and he saw the tall man
come to your tepee, but the little man watched where the bush begins.
The tall man came back, and the two went away together.”
I had moved on while Akshelah was speaking, but the girl’s eyes were
keener than mine that day. She picked up a half-burnt match, and
called, “This way the men went.” I joined her, and we passed on through
the bush, seldom stopping, for Akshelah was never in doubt, and scarce
an hour had gone before she whispered to me, “Smoke.” Presently I,
too, caught the acrid odour above the sweetness of the pines. We went
on cautiously, until we heard the cracking of sticks in the fire, and
soon we were beside the camp, and saw a tent set among the pines, and a
small man crouching beside the fire. We walked out, and I called:
“Where is Redpath?”
The little man started round, and his uneasy eyes passed from me to the
girl, and then on blankly to the bush.
“I am Rupe Petrie, his partner,” I went on. “Has he gone to the Fort?”
“Gone shootin’,” said the little man shortly. “Might a-gone to the
Fort. Ain’t my racket.”
“Why are you camping in the bush?” I said. “You can come to my shanty.”
“You may be eaten by flies here,” added Akshelah, somewhat as though
she hoped the thing might come to pass.
The little man made a shuffling reply, and Akshelah availed herself of
his discomfort.
“You are his servant,” she said, with much scorn. “I would not be that
man’s servant if I were a man.”
The listener flushed faintly, and poked at his fire, but he would not
give any answer, so I made to go.
“I have lots of food at the homestead,” I said. “If Redpath wants any
he can come for it. I will share with him as I said I would.” And with
these words we came away.
That evening I went to clean out the cow-byre, and while thus occupied
I saw the tall figure of Redpath come clear of the bush, and after a
certain hesitation, proceed towards my home. I was about to go out and
meet him, when the lessons I had received from MacCaskill that day
advised me to alter my mind. Obviously the man had come to discuss his
plans, and it would only require a few questions for him to discover
that I was in complete ignorance of what was written on the paper he
had taken from my hand the previous night. I slipped at once round
the building, and passed down to the river, and on to the native
encampment. On my return Antoine informed me that Redpath had asked
for some fresh meat, and had taken away with him the greater part of a
quarter of moose.
At the dead of night another visitor came to me. I was aroused from
sleep by a voice whispering hoarsely about the house, and when I had
struck a light a small figure came towards me from the door, and I saw
the white shifting face of Olaffson, the Icelander, for that was the
name of the little man we had found by the camp fire in the bush. He
made a warning motion, and then sat down beside me.
“Say, have you spoke wi’ Redpath?” he muttered. I was still so
surprised at the strangeness of this visit that I did not answer him at
once, and he went on: “He’s no pard of mine, see. I’m with him for what
I make. If I came over to you I should make more, eh?”
“This is a trick of Redpath’s,” I said angrily, forcing myself up.
“He’s waiting outside now?”
“He’s sleepin’ like a dead man,” said the Icelander. “See now. He got
that paper from you, and he knows what’s on it. You know. I don’t. He
carries it on him by day, an’ hides it nights. What d’yer say, eh?”
He little thought that I was as ignorant as himself.
“So you want to give your friend away?” I said.
“Redpath ain’t no friend of mine,” said the little scoundrel. “You
ain’t either; but I surmise you’d pay me better’n he has. I’m square
when I get good pay.”
His white face gleamed unpleasantly by my bedside.
“You want me to show you the place where the gold is?” I suggested,
making a double hazard.
“That’s right. We’d go together an’ fight off Redpath, see! You’re
strong. We’d work the place, share and share, or each for hisself.
Redpath don’t mean you or me neither to have any.”
“There’s enough for all of us,” I said, again at a venture.
“That don’t do for Redpath. He never could share. Gimme a ear, pard. No
listeners.”
The little wretch put his horrid face close to mine, and whispered the
shocking proposal that, as a consideration for my letting him into the
secret, he should murder Redpath in his sleep.
I rose in horror, but when I threatened to throw him out of the house,
the Icelander grinned at me.
“Killin’ a man in the bush ain’t much of a job,” he muttered.
“Get out!” I said. “Get out!”
Olaffson backed slowly.
“If I ain’t wi’ you, I’m wi’ Redpath,” he threatened.
“If you were with me, you would sell me to someone else.”
“Not if you paid me well.”
“Take yourself out of the place!” I cried angrily; and the little
scoundrel went.
By this I made myself the enemy of Olaffson, the Icelander.
Midway between my homestead and the native encampment lay an open
space, where grass and flowers grew strongly, and butterflies played
throughout the day. This had always been a favourite spot of mine. On
the river side an untenanted ant-mound had become covered by natural
green, and this afforded a very comfortable resting-place for one,
and a possible one for two, as Akshelah and I had proved. It was our
favourite meeting-place, and in order that it might not become invaded
by the bush, I had lately given a day to lopping back the encroaching
branches and tendrils, and cutting off the shoots of young trees which
here and there had tried to take possession in the grass.
Upon the following afternoon, or it might have been the early evening,
for I seem to remember that the sun was coming low, I was running to
this open space--running, because I had promised to meet Akshelah, and
I was well after the appointed time. I had been delayed at the Fort.
Truth to tell, MacCaskill was teaching me my letters, and my eagerness
to learn was so great that I had temporarily forgotten my beautiful
country maid. I was nearing our patch of natural garden, when I heard
the sudden sound of a human struggle.
The trained ear does not mistake such sounds, nor can it confuse
them with the stir made by animals fighting or at play. For one
moment I stopped, that I might be sure of my bearings, but while thus
motionless, a cry rang startlingly forth, not of fear, but in defiance,
and it was the cry of Akshelah; but it was cut short, as though a hand
had closed upon her throat.
I had never known what it was to lose control over my strength, but
I had learnt much since my father’s death, so that it became merely
fitting for the animal side of my nature to receive its lesson. The
trees seemed to rise and float away from me; a hot hand inside my body
jumped up to my throat; a mist closed before my eyes, and the sunlight
appeared to glint with a red glow. I felt my feet flying under me, and
the bushes giving or breaking as they went by.
I sprang panting over the ant-mound, and two figures resolved
themselves out of the mist--Akshelah fighting upon her knees, a thin
line of blood joining her nostril and lip, and over her the tall,
leaning figure of Redpath, his great hands holding her throat, his eyes
hideous, and his flabby face white and slimy. I was mad. I was a wild
beast, with no control, and with no human knowledge.
I crossed the interval of grass at one bound--another; and while I
descended, I struck out with my left arm, and my wiry fingers met
the dull, loose flesh of the adventurer with the hard shock of a
great bullet smashing into a tree. I threw myself after the blow, and
when that terrible heat of rage and brute strength had cooled, I was
sprawling across the body of Redpath, and he was stretched as he fell,
making a strange shape along the grass.
Akshelah wiped the blood from her face, and as I rose, she came upon
me; and when I clasped her pretty body in my arms, she kissed me
passionately. And while she kissed me, I wondered how it was that men
set so much store upon gold.
I lifted Redpath’s head. He was breathing heavily; his skin was cold,
and to touch it was like handling a fish.
“Run to the encampment, little squirrel,” I said, calling Akshelah
affectionately after her totem. “Send a boy to bring the Icelander
here.”
The girl came up to me, deliberately wreathed her warm arms about my
neck, lightly caressed my forehead with hers, and went quickly to do my
bidding, without a word.
Then I removed from Redpath’s breast-pocket a case, which contained the
well-preserved piece of paper that had belonged to my father. Sitting
upon the ant-mound, my body still quivering from its late passion, I
awaited the coming of the Icelander.
So I made myself the enemy of Redpath, the Englishman.