LAUGHING MARY
Hugh sat in his little room for a long time that night, reviewing his
adventures of this scant half day in Rudolm. He found it very difficult
to decide what to do, in the light of this unexpected turn of his
affairs, the disappearance of the two Edmonds. Of one thing he was hotly
certain, that John Edmonds had not vanished of his own will. The very
fact of Hugh’s being there, urged to come by both the brothers, showed
that their absence was entirely unplanned. He was less certain, however,
of the chances of their ever coming safe home again. Linda Ingmarsson
was sure they would, but she was only one woman holding her opinion
against a score of men. He wished that he could make some effort of his
own to find his friends, wished it more and more as he went slowly over
the situation and realized how desperate it was. What could he do, a
boy, alone, knowing nothing of woodcraft and the cruel mysteries of the
forest? Nothing, reason told him plainly, absolutely nothing.
Quite evidently he must go back to that cousin in New York who was to
help him if things went wrong. That things had gone wrong, from the
moment of his getting off the train, onward through his terrifying
interview with Half-Breed Jake, was not to be denied. This seemed to be
one of the few certain facts in the whirling confusion of his affairs.
He recollected now how the friendly porter had felt misgivings as to the
length of his stay in Rudolm and had reminded him that the train that
would carry him back to the world he knew, would go through at six
o’clock in the morning. After long pondering, he decided to take it.
Just as he was about to go to bed he heard a sound at the window, a
handful of pebbles striking against the glass. He got up to look out and
saw some one standing on the doorstep below.
“It is I, Jethro Brown,” called a cautious voice. “Can you come down? I
want to talk to you.”
Hugh took up his candle and stole on tiptoe down the stairs. All of the
Ingmarssons were sound asleep. He contrived to shoot back the bolts and
open the front door without a sound. The clerk from the hotel, looking
more lank and awkward than ever in the candle light, stood waiting
outside.
“I saw your window was bright and I had some things to tell you,” he
said. “I am sorry to bring you down.”
Hugh blew out the candle and they sat down together on the doorstep.
“It is all right,” he said; “you wouldn’t have found me to-morrow. I am
going away early in the morning.”
“Going?” echoed the other in a tone of the greatest disappointment and
dismay. Then he heaved a deep sigh.
“Well,” he remarked, “I suppose it is the only thing you can do, but
somehow I had kind of hoped you were going to stay.”
“Why?” Hugh stared in astonishment, for what difference could it make to
any one whether he remained in Rudolm or went away?
Jethro sat staring at the ground between his feet and shuffled them
uneasily several times.
“That Half-Breed Jake has been at the hotel all evening,” he said at
last. “He has been talking a long time about the Edmonds boys and how
they have disappeared because they had to. It is true that John’s books
at the bank were pretty badly mixed and they have had an expert up to go
over them, but nothing has been proved yet, one way or the other. It
seemed to me, at last, that Jake talked rather too much. He always hated
the Edmonds boys, they were too square and honest and they had blocked
him more than once in some of his devilment. If there is a mean or a
cruel or a crooked way of doing a thing, he will do it. That’s Jake.”
“But why is every one so afraid of him?” inquired Hugh. “He is only one
man against all of you.”
“It is just part of living here to be afraid of him, I suppose, and to
try to keep out of trouble with him,” Jethro answered slowly. “The
Indians fear him so much that they will do anything he says; he
understands them as very few men do and he uses his knowledge to get
what he wants. A man who can control these Chippewas has a lot of power.
There is a white deer that ranges these woods once in a long time and is
supposed to bring bad luck. The Indians have a saying that whoever sees
the white deer or opposes Half-Breed Jake is sure to die inside a year.”
“But the Swedes have better sense than that!” exclaimed Hugh.
“The Swedes are very superstitious too, and once they are convinced of a
thing it is hard to make them change. And it does seem that whoever
stands in Jake’s way is cursed with bad fortune until he gives it up.
There are only a few that ever dared stand out against him, such as the
Edmonds boys, and where are they?”
Hugh sat quiet, watching the moon come up over the eastern rim of the
valley. He found Jethro as talkative as the Swedes were silent, but he
felt no very great interest in these accounts of Half-Breed Jake, a man
whom he instinctively hated and would, he hoped, never see again. Only
wonder as to why Jethro wished him to stay in Rudolm and what all these
details had to do with himself, held his lagging attention.
“Do you see that road,” Jethro went on heatedly, “that road yonder that
leads over the hill? That would have meant a lot to the people here, but
it came to nothing. It was to be built through the woods as far as
Jasper Peak and would have opened up the country at the upper end of the
lake. Jake stopped it. He calls all that country his, and is bound to
keep the fishing and the hunting and trapping for himself. He killed the
plan with open threats and secret lies: at first the men went at it with
a rush, but in the end somehow the whole thing fell through. It was the
first time he ever scored a real victory off Oscar Dansk.”
Hugh turned, his interest caught at last.
“That is one person I want to know about,” he said. “Who is this Oscar
Dansk?”
“He is Linda Ingmarsson’s younger brother,” Jethro answered. “You know
that much and it is hard to tell you a great deal more. Oscar isn’t like
the rest of us. I don’t quite know what to say about him; he is always
dreaming about something big, some way. His father must have been quite
a great person back in Sweden; he was poor to the end of his life, just
as every one in Rudolm is poor, but you can see that Oscar and Linda are
not quite the same kind of people as the rest.”
“He doesn’t live here in Rudolm?” Hugh said.
“Not now, he lives out beyond Jasper Peak. He is proving up on some kind
of a claim, homesteading, right in the country that Half-Breed Jake
calls his. He was here in April when war was declared and went down
pell-mell to Duluth to enlist, wanted to go into the Navy, I think,
these Swedes all do. But they wouldn’t take him, or for the army either,
I don’t know why. He came back in a few days, looking grim and set and
not saying a word to any one. He went right off into the woods again and
we’ve scarcely seen him since. It was a cruel disappointment, I think,
as bad as when he couldn’t build his road.”
“But why did he care so much about the road?”
Hugh’s curiosity about that mysterious highway had grown greater and
greater, yet even now it was not to be satisfied.
“He had something big in his mind,” Jethro said vaguely, “so big I never
quite understood it. He was a fellow who could always see farther than
the rest of us, I think. John Edmonds used to say he did, although even
he lost faith in the plan about the road at last, and that nearly broke
Oscar’s heart. Some people even said they had quarreled, but I don’t
believe it. Oscar wasn’t the sort to bear a grudge.”
Jethro thrust his hands deep into his pockets and turned at last to face
Hugh squarely.
“That is what I am getting at,” he said. “Oscar Dansk can find John and
Dick Edmonds if any man on earth can do it. But some one would have to
go out through the woods to tell him, otherwise it might be weeks before
he hears what has happened. And the only person to go is you.”
“I?” cried Hugh in amazement, “_I?_ Why, that’s impossible.”
“All right,” said the other briefly, “I was afraid maybe you would take
it that way. Of course, after all, you oughtn’t to try it. Well,
good-night.”
He shambled off into the dark, leaving Hugh still staring in
astonishment. He wished that he had not said quite so decisively that
the plan was impossible, so that at least he might have heard more of
it. How strange it was that, after leading up to the subject so long,
Jethro should have dropped it so quickly. Probably he himself knew that
it was impossible as well as did Hugh.
Very slowly he went up to bed, still wondering. It was in vain that he
tried to compose his mind to sleep: he could not, for thinking of what
Jethro had said. For an hour he tossed and turned and puzzled and
pondered. At last he got up and went to the window, thinking that he
might feel sleepy if he sat there for a while.
The moon was very bright now, so that all the little square houses
showed plainly, as did the white expanse of the empty street. Nothing
stirred in all of the sleeping town; the very quiet and peace did indeed
make him feel drowsy almost at once. He yawned a great yawn and was just
about to turn from the window when a moving shadow caught his eye. Some
one was coming down the deserted street, some one who walked noiselessly
but swiftly and with great determination. It was a woman, he could see,
an Indian squaw, with broad, bent shoulders and heavy dark hair. Even at
that distance and in the deceiving moonlight he felt certain that it was
the woman he had seen before, Laughing Mary.
She turned in at the gate and came hurrying up the path, but she did not
reach the door. Two men followed her, one lithe and stooping, the other
tall and moving with great strides—there was no doubt in Hugh’s mind
that it was Half-Breed Jake. He seized the woman by the shoulder and
whirled her about just as, very plainly, she was on the point of
mounting the doorstep and knocking at the door. There followed an
altercation, whispered, yet so full of fierceness and passionate gesture
that Hugh, at his window, could feel the fury of their quarrel even
there. It was almost like watching a dance of shadows, so noiseless did
they manage to be, although now and then he caught a low-voiced
sentence, couched in guttural Chippewa, and once, to his surprise, he
heard his own name, spoken very distinctly by Laughing Mary.
She was not smiling now but speaking volubly, gesticulating, urging and
insisting something, to which Jake slowly and determinedly shook his
head. She kept pointing to the bale of furs still under his arm and
seemed to be voicing her desire with such violence in the face of his
continued refusal that finally, in angry impatience, he raised his arm
as though to strike her. She winced and cowered, but still persisted,
advancing her dark wrinkled face almost into his to utter her last word.
Whatever she said seemed to have effect, for Jake’s arm dropped to his
side and, muttering angrily, he stooped down to open his pack and give
her what she demanded. What the coveted article was, Hugh could not see,
for the Indian husband, Kaniska, was standing in the way.
Then all three went out quickly through the gate, as silent and as swift
as ghosts. For the first time, Hugh noticed that Jake, who walked
behind, moved with a slight unevenness in his giant stride.
It had grown so late that Hugh in spite of his curiosity and excitement
was sleepy at last. He lay down again, going over and over once more the
puzzles of the day. What ought he to do? What had these strange people
to do with him? Why did Jethro say that he was the only one to go on
that impossible errand, why did the fellow not go himself? If there were
really a chance of his helping the Edmonds boys, Hugh would have risked
anything gladly, but this plan was such absolute madness! No, thought
Hugh, he had made up his mind, he would not change it again, he would go
to-morrow.
He arose at five, packed his belongings and, on hearing Linda stirring
in the kitchen, went down to explain to her. She heard him through in
silence and without protest.
“I suppose you must know best,” was her only comment.
When he made an attempt to thank her for all her kindness, she refused
to listen.
“The Edmonds boys are my friends,” she said, “and for them I would do
much. This was nothing.”
She came to the door to bid him good-by and stood watching him as he
went down the path to the gate. The morning mist lay heavy in the little
valley and stretched upward in wreaths over the hills. The air was cold,
so that he turned up his coat-collar and walked very briskly. Once he
looked back and saw that Linda Ingmarsson had come out to the gate and
stood leaning over it almost as though she were about to call him back.
She made no sign, however, so he turned once more and walked on toward
the station. He found that he was early, that the little building was
still locked and that he must sit down on the narrow bench at the edge
of the platform and wait. The mist lifted, little by little, until he
began to see the miles of blue water, the hills and the vast unbroken
forest sweeping down to the water’s edge. How would it be, he thought
with a shudder, to be lost in that unending maze of green?
Presently he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and around the corner
of the building. He glanced up quickly and saw that it was Jethro Brown
again, wearing a dingy straw hat on the back of his head and carrying a
suitcase. He loitered at the other end of the platform and would not
have come near, but Hugh arose from his seat and went straight to him.
“You must tell me,” he said, “why you thought I was the only one to
carry that news to Oscar Dansk. I have thought of nothing else all
night.”
Jethro flushed.
“I shouldn’t ever have spoken of it at all,” he stammered, “I don’t know
what possessed me. I just got to thinking and felt that something ought
to be done, that some one ought to go. But I should not have come to
you, of course you couldn’t do it.”
“If I did go,” Hugh persisted, “how would I ever find the way?”
He did not really know himself why he asked the question.
The other turned and pointed.
“You would follow that road to the top of the hill and where it ends you
would find a trail that runs across the range of forest beyond. It leads
to a little Chippewa village on Two Rivers; there’s an Indian boy there,
Shokatan, who could guide you the rest of the way. He got to be quite a
friend of mine when he came in to the Indian school near here and he
knows English, though he probably won’t be willing to speak it now. I
could give you a letter and I know he would help you.”
It was plain that Jethro had thought it all out.
Hugh still stood pondering.
“Why don’t any of the Swedes go?” he asked, “aren’t they willing?”
“They are willing enough,” Jethro returned, “but they have given up.
They say there is no hope. Once they have made up their minds there is
no changing them.”
“And why,” questioned Hugh bluntly, “don’t you go yourself?”
“Oh,” Jethro answered simply, “I forgot to tell you that. Of course I
would go only I am leaving to-day. I’ve enlisted. I’ve got my orders.
I’m going to Fort Snelling.”
“Oh,” cried Hugh, “how did you manage? My father wouldn’t let me. How
old are you?”
“I am a little under age but I made them take me,” replied Jethro.
“There wasn’t much trouble about getting consent, I haven’t any one that
my going would make any difference to.”
Hugh’s whole view of the affair underwent a sudden and tremendous
change. If Jethro was going to the war, why, that made everything
different! He must think and think quickly, for, far off among the
hills, he heard the whistle of the approaching train.
“Well,” Jethro said, breaking into his reverie, “I will be taking the
forward coach when the train comes in, so I may not see you again.
Good-by.”
He reached out his huge, red hand and Hugh shook it, still half dazed.
“Did you write that letter to the Indian?” he said, and, as the other
nodded, “Give it to me. I haven’t decided yet but I—I might need it.”
Jethro pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to him.
“No, no,” he cried, immediately after, “it is not the right thing at all
for you to go. Do not think about it again. Here’s the train. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” said Hugh, still in doubt, “good-by and good luck.”
Jethro strode away down the platform just as the big locomotive came
thundering in. Hugh was turning slowly toward the Pullman coaches at the
further end when he heard quick short footsteps behind him and little
Carl Ingmarsson very red and breathless came panting up.
“I wanted to say good-by,” he said; “we never knew you were going until
Mother told us.” He laid his square, firm little hand in Hugh’s.
“It was good of you to come,” returned Hugh. “What did your mother say
about my going?”
“She didn’t say much,” Carl replied, “I think she had been crying.”
“Crying?” echoed Hugh; “why?” This seemed the most amazing thing of all
the surprises that had come to him.
“I think she didn’t want you to go,” the little boy answered, “I don’t
understand it. She doesn’t often cry.”
So there was more than one person who wanted him to help and was
confident of his success. And even Half-Breed Jake and Laughing Mary
seemed to feel that he was in some way involved in the matter. Should he
go or stay? Time was passing.
The grinning porter looked at him doubtfully, then picked up his stool
and climbed up the steps of the last car. The long train, with its
shining brass rails, hooded vestibules and sleepy passengers peering
from the windows, looked as though it had come from another world than
this wild, wooded country where such strange things could come to pass.
The brakeman glanced inquiringly over his shoulder and shouted,
“All aboard!”
The bell began to jangle, the wheels creaked and groaned, the heavy cars
slowly gathered headway—there was still time to run and catch the last
step, but Hugh did not move. The line of cars, with a final echoing
whistle, slid away into the morning mist and disappeared behind the
shoulder of a hill, leaving him behind, committed at last to his
adventure.