THE HOODED MAN
The mere suggestion of the possibility of a woman's presence had rudely
broken up the even calm of Ralph and Nick Westley's lives. To turn back
to the peace of their mountain home without an effort to discover so
fair and strange a creature as this White Squaw would have been
impossible.
These men had known no real youth. They had fought the battle of life
from the earliest childhood, they had lived lives as dispassionate and
cold as the glaciers of their mountain home. Recreation was almost
unknown to them. Toil, unremitting, arduous, had been their lot. Thus
Nature had been defied; and now she was coming back on them as
inevitably as the sun rises and sets, and the seasons come and go. They
failed to realize their danger; they had no understanding of the
passions that moved them, and so they hurried headlong upon the trail
that was to lead them they knew not whither, but which was shadowed by
disaster every foot of the way. To them temptation was irresistible for
they had never known the teaching of restraint; it was the passionate
rending of the bonds which had all too long stifled their youth.
Even the dogs realized the change in their masters. Nick's lash fell
heavily and frequently, and the hardy brutes, who loved the toil of the
trace, and the incessant song of the trailing sled, fell to wondering at
the change, and the pace they were called upon to make. It was not their
nature to complain; their pride was the stubborn, unbending pride of
savage power, and their reply to the wealing thong was always the reply
their driver sought. Faster and faster they journeyed as the uncooling
ardour of their master's spirits rose.
The snow lay thick and heavy, and every inch of the wild, unmeasured
trail had to be broken. The Northland giants thronged about them,
glistening in their impenetrable armour and crested by the silvery
burnish of their glacial headpieces. They frowned vastly, yet with a
sublime contempt, at the puny intrusion of their solitude. But the fiery
spirit impelling the brothers was a power which defied the overwhelming
grandeur of the mountain world, and rendered insignificant the trials
they encountered. The cry was "On!" and the dogs laboured as only these
burden-bearers of the North can labour.
The dark day ripened; and, as the dull sun crept out from behind the
greyness, and revealed the frost in the air, the temperature dropped
lower and lower. And the animal world peeped furtively out upon the
strange sight of creatures like themselves toiling at the command of
beings whose voices had not even the power to smite the mountainsides
with boastful defiance as theirs were wont to do.
Then the daylight waned. The sky returned to its greyness as the night
shades rose, and a bitter breeze shuddered through the woods and along
the valleys. The sounds of the forest rose in mournful cadence, and, as
the profundity of the mountain night settled heavily upon the world, the
timber-wolf, the outlaw of the region, moved abroad, lifting his voice
in a cry half-mournful, half-exultant.
Camp was pitched well clear of the forest and a large fire kindled; and
the savage night-prowlers drew forth from the woodland shadows. The men
proceeded silently with their various tasks. Ralph prepared their own
food, and soon a savoury odour tickled the nostrils of those beyond the
circle of the firelight. Nick thawed out the dogs' evening meal and
distributed it impartially, standing over the hungry beasts with a club
to see that each got the full benefit of his portion. It was a strange
sight for the furtive eyes that looked on, and a tantalizing one, but
they dared not draw near, for the fire threatened them, and, besides,
they possessed a keen instinct of caution.
After supper the men rested in spells, one always sitting up by the fire
whilst the other slept in the comfort of his fur-lined "Arctic bag." And
presently the blackness about lightened, and the dark shadows prowling
became visible to the eyes of the sentry. The moon had risen, but was
still hidden somewhere behind the great mountains. Its light had effect,
that was all. And as the night wore on the shadows grew bolder and their
presence kept the sentry ever on the alert. For the most part he sat
still, swathed to the eyes in his furs; he huddled down over the fire
smoking, every now and then pausing to thaw the nicotine in the stem of
his pipe. But his eyes seemed to be watching in every direction at once.
Nor was the vaguest shadow lost to their quick flashing glances.
The dogs, sleeping in their snow-burrows, rested their muscles, dreaming
peacefully of happy hunting-grounds. Their safety was assured under the
watchful eyes of their masters; the forest world had no terrors for
them.
Towards dawn Nick was on the watch. The aspect of the night had quite
changed. The moon, large, full, brilliant, was directly overhead, and
the stars, like magnificent dewdrops, hung richly in the sky. Away to
the north, just clear of a stretch of heaven-high peaks, the
scintillating shafts of the northern lights shuddered convulsively, like
skeleton arms outstretched to grasp the rich gems which hung just beyond
their reach. The moving shadows had changed to material forms. Lank,
gaunt, hungry-looking beasts crowded just beyond the fire-lit circle;
shaggy-coated creatures, with manes a-bristle and baleful eyes which
gazed angrily upon the camp.
Nick saw all these; could have counted them, so watchful was he. The
wolves were of small account, but there were other creatures which
needed his most vigilant attention. Twice in the night he had seen two
green-glowing eyes staring down upon him from among the branches of one
of the trees on the edge of the forest. He knew those eyes, as who of
his calling would not; a puma was crouching along the wide-spreading
bough.
He stealthily drew his gun towards him. He was in the act of raising it
to his shoulder when the eyes were abruptly withdrawn. The time passed
on. He knew that the puma had not departed, and he waited, ready. The
eyes reappeared. Up leapt the rifle, but ere his hand had compressed the
trigger a sound from behind arrested him. His head turned instantly,
and, gazing through the light, drifting fire smoke, he beheld the
outline of a monstrous figure bearing down upon the camp in an almost
human manner. In size the newcomer dwarfed the trapper; it came slowly
with a shuffling gait. Suddenly it dropped to all-fours and came on
quicker. Nick hesitated only for a second. His mouth set firmly and his
brows contracted. He knew that at all hazards he must settle the puma
first. He glanced at the sleeping Ralph. He was about to rouse him; then
he changed his mind and swung round upon the puma, leaving the fire
between himself and the other. He took a long and deadly aim. The
glowing eyes offered a splendid target and he knew he must not miss. A
report rang out, followed almost instantaneously by a piteous,
half-human shriek of pain; then came the sound of a body falling, and
the eyes had vanished. After firing Nick swung round to the figure
beyond the fire. It loomed vast in the yellow light and was reared to
its full height not ten yards away. A low, snarling growl came from it,
and the sound was dreadful in its suppressed ferocity. Ralph was now
sitting up gazing at the oncoming brute,--a magnificent grizzly. Nick
stooped, seized a blazing log from the fire, and dashed out to meet the
intruder.
It was a strange and impressive sight, this encounter of man and beast.
But Nick, with his wide experience, was master of the situation. He
boldly went up to within two yards of his savage and fearless foe and
dashed the burning brand into the creature's face. Down dropped the
grizzly upon all-fours again, and, with a roar of pain and terror,
ambled hastily away into the forest.
"B'ar?" questioned Ralph, from the shelter of his fur bag.
"Yes--an' puma," replied Nick unconcernedly, as he returned to his seat
to await the coming of morning.
And so the long night passed, and the slow day broke over the bleak,
pitiless world. The dogs awoke, and clambered from their warm, snowy
couches. The routine of the "long trail" obtained, and once more the
song of the sled rang out at the heels of the eager beasts.
Nor was the short day and long weary night in such a region without
effect upon the men. A feeling of superstitious uneasiness seized upon
Nick. He said nothing, he was possibly too ashamed of it to do so, but
the dread steadily grew, and no effort of his seemed to have power to
dispel it. As he moved along beside his dogs he would shoot swift,
fearful glances at the heights above, or back over the trail, or on
ahead to some deep, dark gorge they might be approaching. He grew
irritable. The darkness of the woods would sometimes hold his attention
for hours, while the expression of his eyes would tell of the strange
thoughts passing behind them. And Ralph, though more unemotional than
his brother, was scarcely less affected. It was startling in such men,
yet was it hardly to be wondered at in so overpowering a waste.
It was still the morning of the second day. Nick's whip had been silent
for a long time. His eyes were gazing out afar. Sometimes up at the
lowering sky, where the peaks were lost in a sea of dark cloud,
sometimes down, with a brooding fire, into the forest depths. Ralph had
observed the change in his brother and sympathy prompted him to draw up
alongside him.
"What's ailin' ye?" he asked.
Nick shook his head; he could not say that anything ailed him.
"Thought, maybe ther' was somethin' amiss," went on his brother,
half-apologetically. He felt himself that he must talk.
Then Nick was seized with a desire to confide in the only lifelong
friend he had ever known.
"Ther' ain't nothin' amiss, zac'ly," he said. And he got no farther.
"Hah!"
Ralph looked round sharply. It seemed as if something were stirring
about him. He waited expectantly. There was nothing unusual in sight. A
wild panorama of snowy grandeur; mountain and valley and wood, that was
all.
They traipsed on in silence, but now they journeyed side by side. Both
men were strangely moved. Both had heard of the "Dread of the Wild," but
they would have scoffed at the idea of its assailing them. But the
haunting clung, and at each step they felt that the next might be the
signal for a teeming spirit life to suddenly break up the dreadful calm.
They passed a hollow where the snow was unusually deep and soft. The
dogs laboured wearily. They reached the rising end of it, and toiled up
the sharp ascent. The top was already in sight and a fresh vista of the
interminable peaks broke up their view. Without apparent reason Nick
suddenly drew up and a sharp exclamation broke from him. The dogs lay
down in the traces, and both men gazed back into the hollow they had
left. Nick towered erect, and, with eyes staring, pointed at a low hill
on the other side of it.
Ralph followed the direction of the outstretched arm. And as he looked
he held his breath, for something seemed to grip his throat.
Then a moment later words, sounding hoarse and stifled, came from the
depths of his storm-collar.
"Who--who is it?"
Nick did not answer. Both were staring out across the hollow at the tall
motionless figure of a man, and their eyes were filled with an
expression of painful awe. The figure was aggressively distinct,
silhouetted as it was against a barren, snow-clad crag. They might have
been gazing at a statue, so still the figure stood. It was enveloped in
fur, so far as the watchers could tell, but what impressed them most was
the strange hood which covered the head. The figure was too distant for
them to have distinguished the features of the face had they been
visible, but, as it was, they were lost within the folds of the grey
hood.
There came an ominous click from behind. Ralph turned suddenly and
seized his brother's arm as he was in the act of raising his rifle to
his shoulder. The gun was lowered, and the intense face of Nick scowled
at the author of the interruption.
"It's--it ain't a human crittur," he said hoarsely.
"It's a man," retorted Ralph, without releasing his hold.
And the two brothers became silent.
They stood watching for a long time. Neither spoke again, they had
nothing to say. Their thoughts occupied them with strange apprehension
while the dogs sprawled in the snow in the spiritless manner of their
kind when the labour of the traces is not demanded of them. The figure
on the hill stood quite still. The silence of the wild was profound. No
wind stirred to relieve it, and even under their warm furs the two men
watching shivered as with cold.
At last the movement they had awaited came. The Hooded Man turned
towards them. One long arm was raised and he pointed away at a tall
hill. Then his arm moved, and he seemed to be pointing out certain
landmarks for his own benefit. Again, on a sudden, as he fronted the
direction where the brothers stood, he dropped his arm, and, a moment
later, disappeared on the other side of the hill. The two men remained
gazing out across the hollow for some while longer, but as the Hooded
Man did not return they turned back to their dogs and continued their
journey.
Nick shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. Ralph said nothing for
awhile. He was beginning to doubt his own assertion.
The dogs leapt at their breast-draws and the sled moved forward. The two
men ran side by side. When Nick at length spoke it was to reiterate his
fears.
"Ther' wa'n't no face showed," he said abruptly.
"No," replied Ralph. Then he added thoughtfully: "He hadn't no dogs,
neither."
"He was alone, seemly. Ther' wa'n't no camp outfit."
Ralph shook his head and brushed away the ice about his mouth with the
back of his beaver mitt.
There was a painful atmosphere of disquiet about the two men. Their
backward glances spoke far louder than words. Had their mission been in
the nature of their ordinary calling they would possibly have felt
nothing but curiosity, and their curiosity would have led them to
investigate further, but as it was, all their inclinations tended in the
opposite direction. "The Dread of the Wild" had come to them.
When they camped at midday things were no better. They had seen nothing
more to disturb them, but the thoughts of both had turned upon the
night, so long and drear, which was to come; and the "dread" grew
stronger.
After the noon meal Nick harnessed the dogs while Ralph stowed the
chattels. They were on a hillside overlooking a wide valley of unbroken
forest. All was ready for a start and Nick gave a wide, comprehensive
glance around. The magic word "Mush," which would send the dogs headlong
at their breast harness, hovered on his lips, but ere he gave it
utterance it changed into an ejaculation of horror.
"By Gar!" Then after a thrilling pause, "The Hood!"
Ralph, standing ready to break the sled out, turned.
"Hey!" he ejaculated; and horror was in his tone, too.
There, in the hazy distance, more than three miles away, was the dim
figure of the Hooded Man racing over the snow. His course lay on the far
side of the valley and he was to the rear of them.
Nick turned back to the dogs, the command "Mush!" rang out with biting
emphasis, and the dogs and men, as though both were animated by the same
overwhelming fear, raced down the virgin trail. Their pace was a
headlong flight.
Night came, and they camped in the open. The night was blacker, and
longer, more weary and shadowy than the first, by reason of the "dread"
which had now become the "Dread of the Hooded Man." Even thoughts of the
White Squaw took a secondary place in the minds of the brothers, for, at
every turn, they felt that their steps were dogged by that other strange
creature of the wild. When morning came they knew, without looking, that
somewhere, coldly surveying their camp, the grey-hooded figure would be
watching and waiting for them to move on. And sure enough, as the eager
eyes looked out over the snow and forest, the grim, silent figure was
there, watching, watching; but no nearer to them.
That night they came to the Moosefoot Reserve, and both men experienced
such nervous relief as they had never before known. They camped within
sight of the Indian teepees and log huts, but they waited for morning
before they approached the chief.
Over their fire they discussed their plans with seriousness. Neither of
them could speak the Moosefoot language, but they could talk both Sioux
and Cree, and they did not doubt but there would be interpreters about
the chief.
"We'll see him first thing, I guess," said the eager Nick. "Guess them
two black foxes'll fix him good. He'll git a goodish bit o' trade for
'em."
"An' we'll promise him powder, an' slugs, an' essences," said the
cautious Ralph. "We'll get his yarn first an' pay after," he added, as
he sipped his coffee.
Nick nodded.
"We'll fin' that crittur, sure," he said.
And he sat gazing upon the pictures his mind conjured up as he watched
the flaming logs. In every tongue of flame he beheld the glowing face
Victor had told them of, and, as the smoke rolled up into the black
vault of night, he seemed to see the elusive form of the White Squaw
floating in its midst. Ralph's slower imagination was less
fantastically, but no less deeply, stirred.
At daybreak they sought Man-of-the-Snow-Hill's lodge. They found him a
grizzled wreck of extreme age. He was surrounded by his medicine-men,
his young chiefs and his squaws. And by the gathering in the
smoke-begrimed hut they knew that their approach had been made known.
Perfect silence reigned as the white men entered. An Indian silence;
such silence as it would be hard to find anywhere but in the primitive
dwelling. The atmosphere of the place was heavy with the pungent odours
of Killi-ka-nik. Both men and women were smoking it in pipes of red clay
with reed stems, and they passed this sign of friendship from one to
another in solemn fashion. All were clad in the parti-coloured blanket,
and sat hunched upon their quarters more like beasts than human
creatures, yet with that perfect air of dignity which the Indian seldom
loses.
Man-of-the-Snow-Hill alone differed in his dress and attitude. He was
wrapped in a large buffalo robe, and was stretched out upon a pile of
skins to ease his rheumatics, while, spread out before him, were a
number of charms and much "med'cine," which had been so set by his wise
men to alleviate his ailments. In the centre of the throng a fire
smouldered, and the smoke therefrom rose sullenly upon the dense air and
drifted out through a hole in the flat roof. Man-of-the-Snow-Hill
blinked his watery eyes as the strangers entered, and passed his pipe to
his favourite squaw, a buxom, sleepy-eyed beauty who sat upon his right.
Then he grunted intelligently as he saw the visitors deposit their pile
of presents upon the floor, and, in the manner of the neche, seat
themselves beside it.
Ralph spoke his greeting in Indian fashion.
"How," he said.
"How!" replied Man-of-the-Snow-Hill, in a thin, reedy voice. And his
followers echoed the sentiment in chorus.
Then the aged chief held out his hand in further greeting. And each
neche in turn shook the white men by the hand.
The visitors filled and lighted their pipes, and passed their plugs of
tobacco to the others. Then Ralph began to speak in Cree.
"We come far to speak with Man-of-the-Snow-Hill," he began.
The watery-eyed chief shook his head, grunting. The squaws laughed, and
the med'cine-men closed their eyes in sign of not understanding the
tongue in which he spoke. Then a young chief harangued his comrades. He
could understand the tongue and would interpret. The old chief nodded
approval and continued to gaze greedily at the presents.
Now the conversation proceeded quite smoothly.
"We wish to speak with the great Man-of-the-Snow-Hill in private," Ralph
said. "We have much to say, and many presents."
The chief blinked with satisfaction, and grunted appreciation. His lined
face lit up. He waved one shaking arm and his followers reluctantly
departed. All except the interpreter and the chief squaw.
Then Ralph went on. Nick had care of the presents, and on him the
cunning old chief kept his eyes. He opened a large bag of beads and
emptied some on a spread of cheap print. The squaw's eyes smiled
greedily.
"We wish the great chief well," said Ralph, using all the flowery
embellishments of the Cree tongue, "and we would live in peace. We have
tobacco, beads, skins, prints, and blankets. And we would lay them all
at the feet of the great man, the mighty hunter, if he would help us to
find that which we seek."
Ralph signed to his brother and Nick laid out an array of presents and
passed them with due solemnity to the old man.
"Ow-ow!" grunted Man-of-the-Snow-Hill, as he waved the things away to
his squaw. He was not satisfied, and his eyes watered as though he were
weeping.
Then Ralph went on.
"We have come on the 'long trail' through the mountains. And we seek the
White Squaw of the Moosefoot Indians."
The chief remained quite calm, but his bleared old eyes shot a sidelong
gleam at the speaker in which there was little friendliness. No other
movement was allowed to give evidence of disquiet. It is part of the
upbringing of the neche to eschew all outward signs of emotion. The Sun
Dance, when the braves are made, is the necessary education in this
direction. Ralph saw the look but failed to take its meaning. The squaw
watched the white men with keen interest. Nick was groping about in the
depths of a gunny-sack.
Ralph plunged into the fantastic story which he and Nick had prepared.
The language of the Cree helped him, for the natural colouring of the
Indian tongues is as flowery as that of any Eastern race.
"We come from beyond the mountains, from the hunting-grounds of forest
and river where the great fathers of the Moosefoot Indians dwelt. We
come to tell the White Squaw that the land cries out for her, and the
return of the children of the Moose. We come to speak with her of these
things, for the time has come when she must leave her forest home and
return to her own land. Man-of-the-Snow-Hill must show us the way. We
have many presents which we will give him."
"It is well," said the great man, closing his eyes while the water oozed
from between the compressed lids. "The white men are the friends of the
Moosefoot people, and they have many presents. Have they fire-water?"
Nick produced some bottles and the great man reached for them greedily.
But the other withheld them.
"What will Man-of-the-Snow-Hill do for the fire-water?" Ralph asked.
The interpreter passed the word.
"He will send his favourite squaw to guide the white men," he answered
at once. "He can do no more."
A dozen bottles of vanilla essence passed over to the chief. A number of
other presents were handed to him. Then without a word the squaw arose
and accompanied the white men out.
And without further delay the brothers continued their journey. Fleet of
foot, untiring, silent as only an Indian woman can be, the squaw led the
way. North, north; always north they travelled, over hill, through
forest and deep white valley, without let-up to their eager speed. The
superstitious dread which had hitherto so afflicted the white men now
fell away from them. Night came on swift and silent, and camp was
pitched on the edge of a dense forest.
Ere the daylight had quite died out the squaw took the two men to the
crest of a hill. She looked out across the virgin carpet of towering
pines below them and pointed with one blanket-covered arm outstretched.
She was silent while she indicated several points in the vast panorama
before her. Then she tried to tell them something.
But her language was the language of her tribe, and neither of the men
could understand her. Then she spoke in the language of signs, which all
Indians speak so well.
She raised her hand, pointing eastward, till it reached a point directly
overhead. Then she pointed to her feet, and her hand moved slowly in a
northern direction, after which she made a running movement with her
feet. Then she bent her body and appeared to be gazing about her,
searching. Finally she pointed to two very large trees which stood out
apart from their fellows. Then again came the motion of running, which
finished quickly, and she pointed first to Nick's face and then to
herself. After that she stood motionless, with arms folded over her
bosom. And the two men read her meaning.
At daylight they were to start out northward and travel until midday.
Then they were to halt and search the outskirts of the forest until they
found two mammoth trees standing apart. The space between them was the
mouth of a pathway into the heart of the forest. They were to traverse
this path a short distance, and they would discover the White Squaw.
Ralph nodded his head slowly in token of comprehension. He waited to see
if she had aught further to say. But the woman remained standing where
she was, slightly aloof and with her arms folded. Her sleepy eyes were
watching the last dying gleam of daylight away in the west. Suddenly,
out upon the still air, came a doleful cry. It was long-drawn-out and
mournful, but it travelled as mountain cries will travel. It came waving
upon the air with a certain rise and fall in it like the rippling of
water. It rose up, up, and then lingeringly died out. The men listened,
and looked in the direction whence it came, and, as they looked, a
feeling of awe swept over them. In a rush the old "dread" awoke, and
their gaze was filled with the expression of it.
Out to the west the forest lay gloomy, brooding; and within a few
hundred yards of them stood the mighty sentry trees which the squaw had
pointed out. But now between them, breaking up the dead white carpet
which covered the earth, the tall form of the Hooded Man stood
silhouetted. Grim and ghostly he looked, as, motionless, he gazed upon
the watchers.
With the instinct of self-defence which the wild teaches so insistently,
Nick unslung his rifle. Ere Ralph could stay him the shot rang out,
echoing away over the tree-tops. The figure had disappeared, and the
unblemished carpet of snow was as it had been before. Nick stood aghast,
for he was a dead shot. Ralph gazed helplessly at the spot where the man
had stood.
Suddenly Nick gasped.
"It--it ain't human."
And Ralph had no answer to make.
Then presently they turned to where the Moosefoot squaw had stood. She,
too, had gone; vanished as completely as had the Hooded Man. There was
the trail of her snow-shoes ruffling the snow, and the men ran following
it as far as the forest edge; but here they stood. They could follow no
further. Night was upon them. Slowly they returned to camp.
The next day they continued their journey with almost fanatical
persistence. They found no sentry-trees such as the squaw had described.
Forest, yes, but where in that region could they fail to find forest?
The abode of the White Squaw was nowhere to be found.
That night they decided upon their next move in the quiet, terse manner
of men who cannot bring themselves to speak of the strange feelings
which possess them; who are ashamed of their own weakness, and yet must
acknowledge it to themselves.
"An' to-morrow--" said Nick, glancing apprehensively around beyond the
fire, over which they were sitting, fighting the deadly cold of the
night.
"To-morrow?" echoed Ralph.
"Where?" asked Nick, looking away towards the south.
Ralph followed the direction of his brother's gaze.
"Um." And he nodded.
"What--south?"
"South."
"An' the Wh--"
Ralph shook his head, and smoked on solemnly.