A great stone crashed down, and the lumber bounded and splintered.
Piece by piece the prison bars disappeared, and the cool moonlight
dropped upon me. In vain I tried to move. I could not see my rescuer,
but I realised that he was happily seated at what he thought was the
entrance to my grave. His voice was hoarser, when he bent down to call,
“Rupe! They’re a-comin’ up all round!”
He went on:
“Bide low, while they clear away a bit. They’re screechin’ awful along
the creek, an’ the blue lights are jumpin’ crazy. I knew the dead were
around to-night. Bones were rattlin’ dreadful when I come out. There
was crowds of stiff ’uns a-whisperin’, an’ a-laughin’, an’ a-tumblin’
around in the air, as crazy as sand-bugs. I looked for ye among ’em.
An’ I come out a-calling after ye. Bide a while, boy; I’m restin’ a
piece, afore pullin’ the earth off ye.”
Slowly it came to my tired brain that I was being saved by a madman who
had lost a son bearing my name.
The cunning voice above went on:
“I told ’em I’d find ye, an’ ’twas no use talkin’. I said, ‘Boys all!
Rupe’ll come back one midnight. Ole moon’ll be good and full a-comin’
over yon ledges, an’ ole south wind’ll blow soft, an’ the tree
heads’ll start to jump. I’ll come along the Creek o’ Corpses a-callin’
Rupe, an’ I’ll find me boy. Sure, I’ll find him, an’ we’ll go home
together to the ole home on the lake.’”
The voice had been pathetic, but it altered sharply and became angry.
“She’s ben a-followin’ me ev’ry night, Rupe. She seemed lost to-night,
an’ she looked only a girl. She was a-comin’ this way--a-comin’ after
me, Rupe, a-comin’ to keep you down in the ground. You mind the squaw,
who fit worse’n a man, Rupe. You mind she wounded ye in the leg. You
didn’t see it out. Listen, boy! Listen to ole father!”
His voice became a scream.
“I’ll tell ye, Rupe. There was a man who fit wi’ a bush-axe, an’ doin’
good, I tell ye, a-knockin’ ’em around fine, an’ the squaw made at him.
Eh! like a beast, boy, like a wil’ beast. She’d fixed her few, but
this ’un was too slick. He jumped ’way back, an’ when she come on with
her big cutter he dropped his axe, an’ she dropped--ay, dropped, an’
doubled, an’ kicked once, an’ never used her knife again. I was that
man, Rupe.”
His shrill laughter rang out triumphantly.
“I set down, Rupe, ’cause we was beatin’ ’em fast, an’ I was winded,
being oldish. I got lookin’ around, an’ come to see a stiff’un a-lyin’
close up. He was only a boy, you might say. Wounded ter’ble he was, an’
lettin’ the blood run outer him like smoke outer a stove-pipe. You was
that man, Rupe.”
He cut short his mad laughter, and I heard him move.
Two crooked hands came weirdly through the aperture, and the voice
shouted at me.
For a moment I forgot the madman in the horror of the thought that
Redpath might be near. My feeble heart seemed to be stopping, and a
succession of dreadful screams beat into my ears and realised my dread.
“She’s found us, Rupe! The squaw’s a-comin’!”
I was so fearfully weak that I even laughed at his grotesque fear.
Probably the woman he feared so greatly was some crooked shadow cast by
the moon.
Then another voice came out of the night to tell me that the madman’s
eyes were true--a soft voice, not of the dead, nor of the insane, but
of the loving and living.
“I am hungry, and very tired. I have searched for three days, and this
is the third night. I heard your voice in the bush, and so I have come.”
The world was mine again!
The old man sobbed, and panted, and screamed, and would not allow the
girl to come near. I could hear him running and howling, as she tried
to out-manœuvre him; but I was beyond aiding myself. I could not have
stood or walked had the walls fallen away from me.
“Let me go to him!” pleaded Akshelah; but the maniac, with his
superstitious fears, would not hear of it. “Then I must fight you,”
said my maid.
As I had lately fought Jake Peterssen for her good fame, so now
Akshelah fought the madman for my life.
How long they actually contended I do not know, because Akshelah would
never tell me, but presently a light footstep ran overhead, a lithe
figure dropped through the hole, and Akshelah knelt beside me. She did
not speak, she had not the breath; but she freed my dead arms, and,
supporting my head upon her shoulder, gave me water of life out of a
little bottle. It seemed nothing but a taste, but more might have done
me harm.
She took from her bosom a little meat and bread, which she had brought
from Gull, and though starving herself, had never touched, and fed me
sparingly. She wiped my face, and chafed my arms with her soothing
little hands, and while she worked to restore me I felt something
dripping upon my face from hers. The maniac’s long nails had scored
deep marks upon her cheeks and forehead.
When I awoke from the long sleep into which she had soothed me it was
day. I felt weak and miserably ill, but this illness was due to life
returning, and not lessening; from finger-tips to shoulders my arms
were two separate tortures. Close beside me Akshelah lay curled up in
the sleep of exhaustion, her poor little brown face dreadfully stained
and pinched, and my heart cut me. Had this girl been wise she would
have remained in the shaded encampment among her own people, instead of
following my fortunes, to risk dangers by land and water, privations,
insults, death itself; and for what? Because she fancied I wanted
her? Because she had promised to be always my friend? Because she was
happier with me in danger than in comfort when I was away? Despite
all my ignorance, I thought that this last might prove to be the true
reason.
Directly she woke, worn and wan, the girl began to laugh, and
mirthfully assured me that life was very enjoyable, even when one was
next door to starvation. My maid went on laughing when I expressed
a fear that Redpath might return, and she went on to tell me of the
notices posted about Gull Island, offering a reward for information
concerning me, and of MacCaskill, whom she had left running wild, but
“no good.”
Then she swung herself from the prison, and I passed an anxious hour,
which I employed in trying to use my limbs. I had quite forgotten the
half-breed madman until Akshelah came back.
“He is asleep in the grass, and bitten all over with flies,” she said.
“He is just where I sent him. I hit him like you hit the black man.”
Soon I heard scrapings and whinings, and the feeble voice demanding
where I might be found.
“We are close to the great water,” said Akshelah. “Look at the berries
I have brought you.”
We ate the rich red berries, and drank the sweet water, while the
madman muttered and crawled overhead. When we had done, I declared that
I could move. Akshelah divided her red shawl in the middle, and having
secured the ends, tied one part about me under my arms. Climbing out,
she instructed the guardian of the “grave” to lay hold and pull. Now
that it was daylight, he had lost his great fear of her, and obeyed,
pulling wildly, until I was brought back to liberty.
The stone building stood upon a clear circular space, some four hundred
yards in diameter, the circumference being the dense lumber forest.
Round my late prison a broken circle of huge monoliths occupied the
turf, some erect, some leaning, others recumbent; in later years I
saw in a book an illustration representing a similar circle of such
stones, which this book informed me were to be found at a place called
Stonehenge, somewhere in England. On the south side I could see the
beginning of the dip, which the old man called the Creek of Corpses.
Formerly, I presume, a fight had taken place in the neighbourhood
between the natives and the Hudson Bay Company, and the dead had been
buried along this creek. Redpath had discovered this spot, which formed
the centre of a veritable natural labyrinth, as he had a faculty for
finding out most things, and had conjectured that it would make a safe
and suitable place to entomb me in return for the blow I had given him.
It became a problem how to rid myself of the ragged, hairy old creature
who clung to my arm, babbling unceasingly. At length I decided to
go with him, because he had a log hut near the beach, and I was too
weak to walk any distance. We made our way by easy stages through
the forest, until a strong sheet of light flashed before us, and I
felt that I was indeed alive. I shared all the native love, and in
part their superstition, for the water; and here it was--bright and
beautiful Lake Peace! My exclamation found its echo from the mad hermit
who claimed me for his son:
“You mind it, Rupe? Course you mind it! Round the point, jest roun’
yon tamarac bluff, there’s the ole shanty same as ever. You mind our
fishin’ nights, when the moon was good, an’ how we pulled out the
white-fish? Mind ole Bill Alloway, wi’ his face like a cat-fish? Mind
one time, when we was fishin’, an’ Bill Alloway pulls off his shirt
an’ pants, an’ swims an’ dives around? Sudden, yer line gits a holt
on something big, an’ you pulls an ole cat-fish half outer the water
in the moonlight. ‘Father,’ ye lets out, ‘father! Darned if I haven’t
caught ole Bill Alloway!’”
The old man tumbled upon the grass, laughing, and picked the white moss.
His shanty stood on the edge of the cliff, where the tamaracs overhung
the rocks, and a wonderful white beach, a hundred yards in width, and
fantastically marked with the pattern of webbed feet, ran down to the
lake. The hut was so dirty that we made a camp outside. I quickly
caught some white-fish, thus proving my skill as a fisherman, despite
my failure on the evening when I first met Akshelah. When night had
fallen, the girl left me to find her way to Gull. The old man’s madness
came on again with the moon, and he implored me to escape with him,
so that I had little sleep; but I could not be hard upon the poor
creature, because, had it not been for him, Akshelah would probably
never have found me, or have only done so when Redpath would have been
satisfied with my state.
In the morning, when the lake was a cold grey, and the white mist hung
in ghost-wreaths, Akshelah returned, and brought MacCaskill, weary and
short of breath, with her.
Between the saw-mills and the shingle beach which brought out to Gull
Island was a long building of rough lumber, roofed with shingles.
Over the entrance appeared a long board, bearing in large, irregular
capitals the information, “Tommy’s Restaurant-Hotel.” Underneath hung a
square board, upon which was inscribed the tariff of the house, which
read, according to MacCaskill, exactly as follows:--
Square Meal 25c.
One-Day-Filler 50c.
Gorge 75c.
Straight Drink 20c.
Mixed Drink 25c.
Bed 1dol.
No Bugs, unless you bring ’em.
We reached this rough but isolated hostelry about midnight, the four of
us, because the madman followed me persistently, and we went inside to
rest. MacCaskill explored the silent house, and when he returned, his
face looked as though he had received a fright.
“Come wi’ me,” he whispered. “Take hold of me arm, and walk careful.
Don’t let ’em see you.”
Along the passage were several compartments reserved for gambling, and
we could look into any of these without well being seen, because the
passage was unlighted, and the tobacco smoke inside hung in clouds.
In the compartment indicated by the factor I saw a poker four deep in
their game, and I was able to name each man.
The gamblers were--Jim Morrison, the sailor who had accosted me from
the car my first morning in Gull; Gedeon Leblanc, the half-breed;
Olaffson, the unmitigated scoundrel; and the man who had called himself
Father Lacombe, the well-known missionary of Three Points.