HUDSON'S END.
I do not think that this triumph of The Pike was greatly to his
liking, after all. That speech of The Keeper had staggered him, and
I caught him more than once, in the hours that followed, gazing
steadfastly at the track of the Mighty One across the snows. How
that track came there I know not; the moose must have passed from the
forest to the ridge during the night without being seen or heard,
which was like enough.
So I sat there alone, my head upon my arms, until the thudding of the
arrows had ceased and a single yell from the Chippewas told me that
it was finished. No word or groan had the Mohawk uttered, and the
warriors laid him down beside their own dead and covered him with his
robes in silent respect.
Gib had stood at my side, watching in stony silence all that passed,
and at the end he turned and strode away, entering one of the lodges.
The Chippewas left me to myself, hovering near and conversing in low
tones. The death of the martyr had cast a gloom over the day, and I
saw the Cree woman, Laughing Snow, moving about among the lodges.
For some reason she had not accompanied us in that mad flight, but I
spared little thought on her. I was too full of my grief and rage,
for him who had died.
So dragged away an hour or two. Then Gib reappeared and said
somewhat to his men, who bestirred themselves promptly. I gathered
that with the first darkness they would make an attack on Radisson to
recover Ruth from him, and misdoubted me much that he could hold the
ridge single-handed, or even the pass itself. It was not to be
altogether as Gib had planned, however, for before the afternoon had
gone a murmur of amazement from the Chippewas awoke me from my
lethargy. Glancing up, I saw a single figure advancing over the
snows from the ridge. Halting midway to us, it stopped and held up
both hands, and I recognized Radisson.
Now, at the time, there were only some eight or nine warriors in
camp, the others having gone forth at Gib's command to bring in some
fresh meat. Had the others been here, that which took place had been
next to impossible. Gib strode out and shouted to Radisson to come
forward without fear, assuring him of safety, then he turned back
with a swift word.
"Bind that white man's hands and gag him," was his order, and the
Chippewas obeyed. In a moment I was trussed and gagged, while Gib
flung another blanket over the still form of The Keeper. That he was
up to some deviltry I guessed, but could not fathom his purpose.
Radisson slapped along over the snows, and presently came up to us.
He was unarmed, and as he paused I could see his keen eyes searching
as if for someone who was not visible. It took no great thought to
guess who that someone was, and I thought he looked puzzled.
"Greetings, my brothers," he said courteously enough, paying no heed
to me, but striding to the fire and warming himself. The Chippewas
replied in kind, and Gib smiled craftily.
"Has White Eagle come to surrender himself?" returned the renegade
softly.
Radisson smiled. "Nay, but to demand surrender," was his cool
retort, and he turned to the Chippewas, disdaining to speak with Gib.
"My brothers, the end is near. The Great Spirit is fighting against
you. See, he has led me through the hills by a secret path, and
there on the ridge are gathered the Cree warriors. They were very
eager to send their arrows to you, and I cannot restrain them much
longer."
This created a little stir among the Chippewas, but still Gib smiled
his sneering smile.
"My brothers, last night you captured Brave Eyes and one of the
Brothers of the Thunder. The Yellow Lily was drooping in your hands,
and she has fled to us. If I let loose my warriors, upon you, they
will eat you up and stamp you into the earth as the herds of bison
stamp the grass. But return me your prisoners, and we will go in
peace."
My heart gave a bound of joy. So the Crees had arrived with Swift
Arrow! But Gib replied calmly enough.
"White Eagle, I am not like the fool Englishmen whom you captured in
their forts single-handed in years past. I have not seen your young
men, or heard the sound of their war cries."
Radisson turned and pointed out toward the westering sun that was
turning the snow and hills and trees to crimson and purple. A
guttural exclamation rose from the warriors, and Gib's smile faded
away; for there we saw plainly a dozen dark figures wending toward us
and dark against the sun.
"Your road to the west is cut off," continued Radisson. "Your escape
is impossible. The warriors of Talking Owl have gathered against
you, and if you would not be overwhelmed at once, you must act
quickly. These young men come to join us, and there are others
behind them. Say, my brothers, will you release your captives or no?"
Beneath the stolid calm of the Chippewas it needed no sharp eye to
see that they were wild with fear. Gib's cunning tongue had failed
him for once, and he could naught but gaze out at the little dots
against the sun. They were still a mile or more away, and to detect
more than that they were men was impossible. In that moment it
seemed that Radisson had triumphed utterly, and the oldest of the
Chippewas nodded gravely.
"My father White Eagle is a great warrior. If he will assure us that
these men will do us no harm, will let us go in peace, and if he will
not bring the warriors of Uchichak upon us, then he may take his
captives. But Brave Heart must also be released."
"So it shall be," and I detected nothing of the anxiety that must
have underlain Radisson's calm demeanor. "These men shall not harm
you, my brothers, and those who are with me shall not attack you.
Soan-ge-ta-ha shall return home in safety." Gib started to utter a
bitter protest, but the Chippewas waved him into silence, and pulled
me to my feet, shoving me forward to Radisson. He drew out his knife
to cut my bonds, and asked after The Keeper. It was Gib who made
answer, accepting the situation.
"The Mohawk is out with some of our young men, Radisson. He will be
back shortly, and he shall join you then. Brave Eyes must remain as
he is, lest he attack us, for he is strong."
For an instant Radisson hesitated, and a swift flash of
disappointment ran over his stern face. Then it came to me that he
must have played a desperate game, and vainly I strove to warn him.
The flimsy excuses of the renegade seemed to be accepted, however,
for without a word he stepped forward and led me away, none hindering.
When we had gone a hundred yards from the camp he whipped out his
knife, gave one quick glance to the west, and cut through my bonds.
"Run for it, lad!" he cried. "Some of the Chippewa hunters have met
the others--we are lost unless we break away to the ridge!"
I did not pause to question him, but ran. For a moment I thought we
would be safe enough, but the Chippewas must have been watching that
party to the west also, for we had barely started when from the camp
behind went up a shrill yell of rage, and I heard Gib's shout.
I knew without his telling me that he had tried for one of those
audacious coups which had made his name famous, even as Gib had said.
The Crees had not arrived; the party to the west was the party of the
Chippewas who had been left to guard the retreat, and who for some
reason had come on to join Gib. Had the hunters from the camp not
met them, in plain sight of all, we had got clean away.
As it was, I was handicapped by having no snowshoes, but even so I
could outrun the Chippewas, as I knew well. Then something whistled
over my shoulder, and a gunshot rang out behind us, and another.
Those Chippewas were well armed, doubtless from the post, and in
their rage at being tricked so easily they spared no powder.
I dared not try to jump from side to side, nor could Radisson by
reason of his snowshoes, so we plunged straight for the ridge. The
bullets whistled past us and over, and I had just begun to rejoice
that we had escaped, when I saw Radisson stagger heavily. Then came
wild fear to me, and I reached his side and caught his arm in mine.
"'Tis naught, Davie," he muttered as he ran on, and shook me off.
"We have distanced them--courage! Where is The Keeper?"
Before answering I glanced behind. The Chippewas had spread out, but
were making no further effort to catch us. Another spurt of smoke
darted out, and another bullet sang past faintly. A hundred yards
farther on and we would be out of range, so I waited until we had
gained it, with the ridge near ahead.
"The Keeper is dead," I answered him bluntly enough. "They shot him
to death with arrows at midday."
Radisson stopped short and turned a stricken face to me. Terrible
was that face, unbelieving my tidings, yet with fear and horror
stamped upon it. The old man staggered as he stood, swaying back and
forth, but his eagle-eyes were never brighter and keener.
"Dead? The Keeper dead?" he repeated hoarsely. In a few words I
told him all that had passed. He bowed his head slowly, and two
great tears trickled down over his beard, but no more. When he
raised his countenance again I scarce knew it, so deep-sunken was it
all in a moment, so ghastly pale.
"Come, Davie," he muttered as if his spirit had broken beneath the
weight of sorrow. "Swift Arrow has not yet arrived. We are in bad
case, and--and--I am hard hit."
I caught him with a cry of grief, but he gathered himself together
and once more we went on. My mind was in a whirl, for I knew the old
man was wounded and badly, yet I was thinking more of his terrible
grief than of his wound. And so we came to the ridge again, and when
we reached bare rock Ruth sprang forward and into my arms, Grim
leaping up on me.
"Davie--Davie!" she cried, sobbing, then lifted her face to mine. I
held her for an instant, and kissed her on the brow. But as I looked
across her shoulder to Radisson I bethought me that he was hurt, and
so I loosed her again and would have gone to him, but he stopped me.
"Listen, David! My strength is sore spent--we must leave this cranny
in the rocks for the mouth of the pass, for with the darkness the
Chippewas will be upon us. Stop not for talking, lad, but catch up
the muskets and powder and hasten!" he said.
Seeing that it was useless to irritate him by not obeying, I loaded
myself with the weapons and horns of powder, Ruth helping me bind on
my snowshoes. Radisson stood, swaying a little, but gazing at the
rock walls above as if searching for aid. We set out, Ruth at his
arm, and wended beneath the cliffs toward the mouth of that valley of
shadow through which we had come hither, striking a path through the
great bowlders strewed around while Grim followed sedately. I cast
watchful glances down toward the camp, but Gib seemed to be waiting
for his hunters and for that second party before he moved on us. On
a sudden the old wanderer paused, and his voice rang out as firm as
ever.
"Look! The Mighty One has come again to lead us!"
And there in the snow were the tracks of that gigantic moose, fresh
and new-made, and leading toward the mouth of the valley! We
followed them as speedily as might be, and in ten minutes more the
great rock walls had towered above and closed us in. Ruth had come
to my side now, and she pressed close to me in fear.
The track suddenly turned away from those old tracks of ours, to one
side of the rocks. Without hesitation Radisson followed, until we
came to where the moose had milled around and around in the snow,
possibly to make a bed--but as Radisson firmly believed, to point us
to something. And great fear came upon me when Ruth gave a little
cry and showed a long, narrow cleft in the black rocks at our side.
"Said I not that he was leading us?" cried Radisson triumphantly.
"It is a cave, lad! There we can stand off the Chippewas as long as
need be. Forward!"
I took out flint and steel, kindled my tinder, and presently had a
roll of birch flaring. Above stretched that cleft in the granite,
silent, black, grim with unseen terrors. I led the way gingerly
enough, for the passage seemed to zigzag before me, as if some giant
hand had smitten into the heart of the cliffs.
Then I paused abruptly, holding my flare high, as the passage opened
out. Surely, it was a cave--small, but large enough to hold us in
comfort. The room was a dozen feet across and at my feet lay a
little store of wood as if someone else had been there, while skins
were piled in the corner. My torch sputtered, and I swiftly lit the
pile of sticks, which flared up instantly, flickering in a draught.
Then at the far end of the chamber I saw a second opening, smaller
than the first, and clad in darkness.
"We have an hour," muttered Radisson thickly, as he sank down upon
the skins. "What is this place?"
"Let us tend your wound first," I besought him, whereat Ruth gave a
little cry and came to his side.
"Oh, are you hurt?" she exclaimed softly, catching his head as he
sank back. "Where is The Keeper?"
"He has gone before me," returned Radisson with more strength. "Nay,
let be, lass. You can do me no good now, for I have come to the end
of the trail. Eat of the food that is left, both of you; we will
have need of all your strength ere morning, lad."
We obeyed him, while Ruth heard the story of The Keeper's passing,
and wept as she ate until the tears choked her. Radisson spoke,
dry-eyed and smiling, with Grim curled at his side.
"Lad, see what lies in that farther chamber, for it has taken strong
hold on my mind."
Willing to humor him, I caught up a burning stick and went to the
entrance, which was about mine own height. All was dark beyond,
until I turned a sharp corner of the rock. I near dropped the light,
and my heart leaped in fear, for a great bearded face was staring out
upon me! Then I knew all.
Staring from across a rude table where it sat, was the figure of a
man--in one hand an ancient pistol, in the other a quill, with paper
before it. Upon the table sat a keg, with the word "Hudson" painted
on it, and I needed not to look at that high brow encased in the
frozen drippings from the rock above, to know that here had been the
ending of Henry Hudson.