A VOICE IN THE NIGHT.
I knew no more of what passed until I found myself lying on a pile of
skins, my head throbbing painfully. Opening my eyes, I saw that I
was lying beside a fire, while around me were Chippewas, and standing
over me was my enemy.
"Awake, eh?" said Gib softly, in the old Gaelic, which he spoke with
the Highland burr. There was an evil smile on his crafty face as I
struggled to sit up. For a wonder, I was not bound, which I suppose
he did not deem necessary.
"You are a troublous fighter, MacDonald," he sneered. "But with the
great Radisson dead, you will have hard work to squeeze out of this
pocket of mine."
"Radisson--dead?" I echoed dizzily. The shock of it cleared my head
and I looked up at him. "You lie, Gib o' Clarclach! No dog such as
you could slay Pierre Radisson! His fate lies in higher hands than
yours!"
"So?" he snarled, sudden rage whelming in him. Swiftly, he reached
out and kicked me with a vicious foot. I gathered myself together,
but brown hands gripped me and held me there helpless, while he raved
wildly in his madness. And by that I knew that he had lied, and that
Radisson was not dead. So I laughed at him as they bound me hand and
foot.
More than one of his men seemed wounded beneath their furs, and
beside the fire lay two silent warriors. We were in the center of
the group of lodges, and as there were but half a score of men around
me, I gathered that the rest were scattered through the trees on
watch. There was no sign of Ruth, and with that I set myself to
taunt mine enemy, speaking in the Cree which all his men doubtless
could understand.
"You are a fine leader of men, my brother! Well were you called The
Pike--crafty, cowardly warrior who shuns the shallow water! See, in
our village lies your chief Soan-ge-ta-ha, while our women laugh at
him, and in the snow lies one of his young men, dead. The Cree
knives are sharpened, my brothers, and with them are the knives of
Radisson, the White Eagle, and of his friends, the Brothers of the
Thunder." For this was the name by which the two Mohawks went in all
that north country.
My words, as they were designed, sent a swirl of rage through the
Chippewas, who with a growl turned on Gib. But he, the crafty one,
appeased them swiftly.
"Brave Heart is not hurt, my brothers," he cried. "My medicine tells
me that he is even now on his way to join us. As for you, Brave
Eyes, you lie. The White Eagle has no men with him--only the tall
Mohawk chief."
"Yes, mayhap," I answered, "but these twain are more than a match for
your Chippewa women. You stole upon our village, and what gained
you? Only one poor captive. It was a great raid, worthy of The
Pike, and you have paid for it dearly with your chief and your young
men. And the White Eagle is sharpening his claws, my brothers--out
there in the night somewhere."
My words reached them, and more than my words. For barely had I
finished, when the darkness was split asunder by a musket-shot. The
man beside Gib whirled about and fell into the fire.
"Scatter!" foamed Gib, raging. "Scatter and slay the White Eagle,
fools! Out with the fire!"
The embers were dashed over the snows instantly, and under his rapid
orders the band vanished. Two of them remained to lift me, and they
carried me to the door of one of the lodges, a little apart from the
rest. Gib flung away the flap, and by the light of the lodge-fire
inside I saw the pale, frightened face of Ruth.
"What means this intrusion?" she demanded in French, not seeing me.
"I thought we were to remain unmolested!"
The scoundrel tendered her a low, mocking bow, and stepped aside to
show my figure, as the two braves flung me at her feet. She gave but
a little frighted cry, and stood facing him.
"A meeting of old friends, Mistress de Courbelles." It was the first
time I had heard Ruth's name from other than the lips of Radisson.
"How could I separate such dearly loved ones? See, I bring you a
visitor of great value, and ere long you will have others. So I bid
you good-even."
With this he bowed again and was gone. Outside came his voice giving
sharp orders, and all was still. But Ruth sprang forward and was on
her knees beside me.
"My poor Davie!" she cried, lifting my head in her arms. "Some
water, Laughing Snow!"
From out the shadows moved the figure of a Cree woman--a sister of
Uchichak's, whom the Chippewas had carried away to care for Ruth.
She brought water, and the two of them bathed my wounded head, where
I had been struck down from behind. As they did so, I told them all
that had passed.
"It was the night after you and The Crane left for the hunt," Ruth
told me, "that the Chippewas came. For a little while the old men
held them off, which gave most of the women time to flee. I had just
left my lodge to find the cause of the shouting when Gib's party
broke through. They seized me, set fire to the lodges, and were gone
again. Oh, they treated me kindly enough, Davie, but--but I cannot
bear that smiling, evil face of Gib!"
"Be not afraid, sister," spoke out the Cree woman, stolidly. "The
Crane is a great warrior, and his men must be very near. These
Chippewa women will flee before him like leaves before the wind of
autumn."
"Yes, I think that Gib's plans were all upset by Brave Heart," I
tried to reassure the little maid bravely enough. "But for him, and
for the Mighty One, we had never been here, Ruth. As it is, the
Swift Arrow will bring Uchichak and his men."
"We have been foolish," declared Laughing Snow bitterly. She went on
to tell us how, years ago, it had been rumored that men lived in the
Ghost Hills. By piecing together the fragments of Radisson's tales
and this of hers, Ruth and I gathered that Gib o' Clarclach had
maintained a sort of robber band in these dreaded hills in the old
days, when French and English were at war on the Bay. Gib had
afterwards, when Radisson dwelt in England, made the journey from the
Canadas with d'Iberville and his raiders, and had guided them to the
English posts when the French swept them clean. The villain had
served both sides, lending himself wherever the more gain promised,
and the Cree woman prophesied that once these things were known in
the land, her people would make a war on the Chippewas that would go
down in fable long afterwards. So indeed they did, but these things
came in after years and have no part in this my tale.
There was little sleep for us that night. We had all rested during
the day, I high on the ridge, and Ruth in the lodge, for the trip had
been a hard one. The two women told how they had come through deep
gorges, like those by which we had followed the Mighty One, and how
they had given up all hope of rescue.
Now came something which has ever left a great wonder in my mind--one
of those turns of chance which come in the most desperate straits.
For, when my bonds had been removed, Ruth took from its skin
wrappings a little book and showed it to me.
"I found this in the lodge," she said slowly. "Look upon the
title-page, Davie, and see if I have been dreaming or not. It seems
very hard to believe."
The book was a little leather-bound Bible. As the Cree woman put a
flare of birch on the fire, I held it to the light and opened it.
There in faded ink were words written, and I copy them from the Book
which lies before me as I write. They were in the Dutch tongue, and
as follows:
"To Hendrik, to bear with him always in the desert places, that
he may make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.
From his beloved wife. A.D. 1605."
And under this, in a firm writing that bespoke strength, were the
English words, "Henry Hudson, his book." I stared again, scarce
crediting the thing, then looked up to meet the grave, fearful eyes
of Ruth. We had both heard the story many a time--how the bold
sailor had been set adrift in an open boat, with his son and a few
faithful ones, and how they had vanished. Just a century since,
1610, had this thing taken place, and no word had ever come to
England of Henry Hudson, through all the years between.
"Then," I almost whispered, "think you that this was really his? How
came it here?"
"It speaks for itself," and Ruth dropped beside me and fingered the
Book reverently. "Think of it, Davie! In the midst of the
wilderness, in the midst of foes, to come into an empty lodge and
find this thing! Does it not seem like a message of faith and hope?"
"As to that," I responded, "like enough. But I was thinking on the
marvel of it, Ruth. It must even be that Hudson, who was thought to
have perished in the waters of the Great Bay, escaped to land. Else
how could this Bible have come here? How could Gib have obtained it?
Perhaps from the Indians."
With this I turned to Laughing Snow and questioned her closely. But
she disclaimed all knowledge of the Book, and said that never before
the coming of Radisson had white faces been seen in the northern
lands.
For a time we discussed the wonder, failing to gain any information
from the Cree woman, but my bandaged head hurt painfully, and after
the first surprise I leaned back, faint and weak. Then Ruth took the
little volume, warped and stained with time and sea-water, and read
to us aloud. As she read, she translated into Cree for the benefit
of the other.
I was quite content to lie silently and gaze at her. Very beautiful
she seemed there in the faint fire-glow, which tinged her golden hair
with ruddy hues and likened her grave, sweet face with the rise and
fall of the flames. Her heavy beaver-skins were laid aside, and her
inner dress of soft doeskin was decorated with the beautifully marked
neck-skins of loons, which Radisson had brought her. Porcupine
quills and shell beads fringed her moccasins, while at her throat
gleamed that same little gold brooch which had led us so far and
brought upon us so much trouble.
Through all our journeys I had kept by me that stained and torn
fragment of my father's Bible, and when she had done I wrapped it up
again in the skin with the volume that had been Henry Hudson's, and
gave them into the keeping of Ruth. Barely had we settled back when
the skin flap was pushed aside, and once more Gib o' Clarclach
entered.
"I would have some speech with you, David," he announced, no longer
smiling, but purposeful and shrewd. Closing the door to keep out the
cold, he seated himself on some skins and stared at me across the
fire. I made him no answer.
"My young friend, these Chippewas of mine, I keenly regret, are not
used to the customs of civilized war. Yet they are far ahead of your
Mohawk friends, whom I have seen tie their captives to a tree and
build a fire round about. These Chippewas have another method, which
is quite as effective; for instead of a fire, they shoot arrows until
the victim is like a porcupine with his quills erect. Then they
shoot for the heart."
"Well, have on your murderers," I replied, knowing well that he dared
not for the sake of Soan-ge-ta-ha. "Methinks their chief will suffer
if I do."
"That is exactly the trouble, my bold young friend," he answered me.
"Personally, it matters little to me what becomes of the chief, for
he disobeyed my orders. But his warriors take another view of the
situation. They would have me be fool enough to turn you loose so
that their chief may be restored to them."
"Then they may save their worry," I shot back bluntly enough. "If
you want Brave Heart, give the maid here back."
"Ah, that is impossible," his suave answer irritated me the more.
"For her, we are to receive many fine gifts at the Post--beads and
powder and blankets and--other things. No, I deeply regret that I am
unable to meet your just demand. But on the other hand, as I was
about to propose, unless you consent to parley with Radisson for the
return of the chief, my warriors will insist on using you as a
target."
Ruth stared at him with frighted eyes, but I knew well enough that
the man spoke in deadly earnest. Could I have had my way of it, I
would have bade him do his worst; but a little hand fluttered down to
my wrist, and I could not withstand the unspoken appeal of Ruth.
"Have it your own way, then," I growled. "I suppose you would have
me seek my friends at once?"
"Not till the day, sweet sir," smiled the scoundrel. "My men are all
about, and there is no danger of your two or three eager friends
inflicting any more damage. I do not quite understand how you got in
here, unless you were hunting--no, that could not be either."
He fell to musing, staring at me, whereat I laughed harshly.
"It was no hand of man led us here, Gib o' Clarclach, make sure of
that."
"Then we will even ascribe it to the foul fiend," and he got to his
feet. "Good-even for the last time, mistress!"
When he had gone we sat silent, all three. Presently the Cree woman
fell asleep in her corner and the fire slowly died down to a dim red
glow, while Ruth and I sat hand in hand. On the morrow, it seemed
like, I would go forth and bargain for my worthless skin, leaving her
in the hands of our enemies. Bitterly I cursed myself for a
faint-heart, though I knew full well that ere long Uchichak and his
warriors would turn the tide of affairs.
The long hours passed, and still I sat sleepless, Ruth having fallen
half into slumber, her head resting against my shoulder. I was
staring at the skin wall of the lodge, where it was lashed into the
brush beyond, and was dreaming again of that terrible voyage and of
its ending, when I started suddenly. The glow of the embers had
seemed to strike a spark from the wall--a tiny point of light that
moved across the skin!
In a moment I knew it was a knife-blade slitting the tough hide,
whereat I brought Ruth wide awake. The skin seemed to fall apart in
silence, and through it glared a horrible painted mask and staring
eyes. Ruth clutched my arm, in fright, but a whisper came from the
darkness.
"Brave Eyes! Come swiftly!" And I knew it for the voice of The
Keeper.