"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me," added Vanner,
sauntering up to the fire.--"Accommodation is scanty here to-night. How
many are there in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspe. "Pete
said four--three men and a boy. Was not it five--three men and two
boys?"
"Yes, five," answered Gaspe.
"You boys must want something to eat," remarked Vanner, carelessly
pushing open the door of the storeroom, and returning with a partridge
pie. "Here, fall to. Where's your chum?"
Gaspe saw the trap into which he was expected to walk. He stepped over
it.
"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gaspe.
"I'll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance,
before I call on a chum to help me. I can tell you that."
"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner.
"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on
the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the
end of it," retorted Gaspe.
"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner,
abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves.
"If you've another to spare I'd like two for myself," persisted Gaspe.
"Then have it," said Vanner. "I am bound to give you a satisfaction.
We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night. Now, where is the
other boy? You can't object to call him. Here is a sausage as long as
your arm. Walk into that."
"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the
undaunted Gaspe, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further.
He went back to his friends.
Gaspe was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment, singing through the
keyhole,--
"St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.
_Honi soit qui mal y pense._"
Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend's voice.
"Keep where you are. Don't come out for anybody," urged Gaspe,
retreating as he heard a noise: but it was only his grandfather
re-entering the porch.
He flew to his side. "What's up?" he asked breathlessly.
"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells me is true. Your
poor friend is fitted with an uncle in this Bowkett after their old
ballad type of the Babes in the Wood."
"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell you a little bit more,"
answered Gaspe, giving his narrative with infinite delight at the
success of his manoeuvring.
The moon shone clear and bright. The tree in the centre of the court,
laden with hoar-frost, glittered in its crystal white like some bridal
bouquet of gigantic size. The house was ablaze with light from every
window. The hunters had turned their horses adrift. They were
galloping at will among the orchard trees to keep themselves warm.
Maxica was wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to ascertain
the size of the party. Mr. De Brunier crossed over to him, to discuss
Gaspe's intelligence, and sent his grandson back indoors, where the
sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of the pies
which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred from his retreat.
Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and walking straight to
Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for admittance.
The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut who did not know
Wilfred personally, was sent by Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.
The man stared. "The master has got his door fastened," he said; "I
can't make it out."
"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De Brunier, repeating his
summons.
"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."
Wilfred opened the door.
Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the
dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders
are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this
place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie
in here, and give this child something to eat."
"With pleasure," returned his visitor.
Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.
"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds. They trusted, as
we all do more or less, to the expression. A good honest character
writes itself on the face. They shook hands.
"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.
"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the
circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he
sent him to the hunters' camp. "Since then," he added, "your nephew has
been wandering among the Indians. It was a Cree who guided him
home--the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."
"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said,"
interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.
"Not one word, uncle. Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred. "He
brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in
the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain
the way in which the warning had been given to him.
Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of
Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not
quite understand all Wilfred was saying.
"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man,
"and one so near to me as Bowkett. What does it mean for Miriam?"
"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
"We are neither judge nor jury. We are not here to acquit or condemn,
but a warning like this is not to be despised. I came to put you on
your guard."
The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb. "It is
my breath. Let me rest a bit. I'll think this over. Come again."
The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could
only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the
morning, or earlier if it were wished. He was at the door, when Caleb
Acland signed to him to return.
"Not a word to my sister yet. The boy is safe here. Tell him he is not
to go out of this room."
Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required
promise. There was one more word. "What was that about buying land? I
might help you there; a little business between us, you understand."
"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort
might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.
"Keep in here. Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be
near," was Mr. De Brunier's parting charge to Wilfred as he went back
into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one
objected to his presence.
The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don't fasten it,
lad!" he exclaimed. "It looks too much like being afraid of them."
Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspe and the sledge-driver at their supper.
Gaspe watched him attentively as they ate on in silence.
Bowkett came out and spoke to them. "I am sorry," he said, "to seem
inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer
you any further accommodation. But the men have a sleeping hut round
the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night. I'll send
one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire."
No exception could be taken to this. The three finished their supper
and were soon ready to depart.
"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De
Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb's hint.
Bowkett summoned his man, and Diome came out with him. He strolled
through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the
weather.
Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote
watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed. The two met.
"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diome. "Keep a
sharp look-out for the boy."
Diome went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony. Maxica stole up to the house.
The travellers were just coming out. He gave Yula a call. Gaspe was
the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them.
It was hard for Gaspe to go away and leave his friend without another
word. He had half a mind to take Kusky with him. He lingered
irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather. Bowkett had opened
the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between
Bowkett's legs.
"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice. "Wilfred got
home, and won't show his face!--won't come out amongst us to have his
dinner and speak to his aunt! What is the meaning of it? What makes him
afraid of being seen?"
There was not a word from Wilfred. It was the feeble voice of his Uncle
Caleb that was speaking:--
"Yes, it is Wilfred come back. I've got him here beside me all safe.
He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly
starved. Don't disturb us. I am getting him to sleep. Tell Miriam she
must come here and look at him. You can all come and look at him;
Forgill and your Diome too. They all know my boy. How has Miriam
managed to keep away?"
"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed
Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were
saying.
"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the
old man quietly.
"That's capital," laughed Gaspe to himself, as he ran after his
grandfather.
They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diome trying to catch the
horse, and gave him a little help by the way.
"You are not going?" he asked anxiously. "I thought you would be sure
to stay the night. You are a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not,
Mr. De Brunier? He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was
shut up. I thought you would know him; so do I. Mrs. Bowkett says the
boy is not her nephew."
"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier
quietly.
"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspe; "I see what they are driving at.
Her husband told her I was the boy. She came and looked at me. Bowkett
knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room, If they could
get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and
declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in."
"You've hit it," muttered Diome. "But they shan't give him lynch law.
I'll not stand by and see that."
"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspe. "Give me one of your English
sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it.
I'll string them on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with it
for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all."
"Not so fast, Gaspard. We should only bring the crisis before we have
raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully. "I saw
many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."
"That is nothing," put in Diome; "we are never without them."
"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms
habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things
are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose."
"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diome, "but he wants me to hold his
horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll
hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in
readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for."
"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a
great mistake. If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests
would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier.
"That's about it," returned Diome. "Now I am going to shut up this
horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment's notice, and
then I'll try for a word with Forgill. He is working so hard with the
carving-knife there is no getting at him."
"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for
us," put in Gaspe.
Diome shook his head. "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he
would let it all out at the wrong time."
"Is the Cree gone?"
"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diome, whistling carelessly as
they parted.
"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you
remember passing a policeman on the road. He was watching for a Yankee
spirit cart, contraband of course. He will have caught it by this time,
and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law. Go back in
the sledge--you will meet him returning--and bring him here. If he
rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe.
As for me, I must keep watch here. No one can leave the house without
me seeing him, the night is so clear. A dark figure against the white
ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the
back of the homestead. Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."
Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the
man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh
horse. This was easily managed. Bowkett was delighted to think the
travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better
half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.
The sledge went round to Forgill's hut. Gaspe wrapped himself in the
bearskin and departed. No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De
Brunier was left behind. He built up the fire and reconnoitred his
ground. In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.
"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as
he gave it a flourish to try its weight. Then he looked to the revolver
in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the
hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking
backwards, with it still in sight--a self-appointed sentry, ready to
challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diome.
He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and
reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally. There
was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the
first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of
consequences. He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the
Indian mind. Revenge is the justice of the savage. It was Maxica's
retaliation that he feared. Diome had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De
Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count. It was clear
he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage. "The moral force
will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he
said to himself. "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants.
I shall find some to second me." He heard the scrape of the fiddle and
the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the
dancers' footsteps.
Hour succeeded hour. The fire in the hut burned low. De Brunier left
his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs. He returned to his watch.
The house-door opened. Out came Diome and crossed to the cattle-sheds.
Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse. He changed his
position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a
few yards of the house. The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave
him an elevation. He was looking down into the court, where the snow
had been partially cleared.
Diome was walking the horse up and down before the door. It was not a
night in which any one could stand still. His impatient stamping to
warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others.
The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the
doorway.
"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can
count on his neutrality; and Diome must know that a word from me would
bring about his dismissal from his new master."
Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter
could ride.
"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be
speeding on his errand. The hour draws near."
As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diome walked
rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's
hut. With cautious steps De Brunier followed.
Diome was standing moodily by the fire. He started.
"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"
"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir. They have made this hut the
rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diome
brightening.
"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
"I was thinking," answered Diome, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is
a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."
"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so
dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.
*CHAPTER XV.*
_*TO THE RESCUE.*_
Diome had no more information to give. "For the love of life, sir," he
entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of
the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye,
Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows. You mean to
hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still. You will be
frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."
His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind. De Brunier
was examining the fastenings of the door. There was a lock, but the key
was with the owners of the hut. There was also a bar which secured it
on the inside. Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney.
"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diome.
"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the
doorpost?"
Diome hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked
in turn.
"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here.
Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside.
Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching
him from the orchard trees. He will listen to that. Two minutes will
be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged
the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey. I must
shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to
me."
"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diome. "He would
smell treachery in a moment. Not for me."
It went hard with Diome to turn against his old companions. It was
clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.
With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed
his tactics.
"I am not in their secrets," protested Diome. "I am only here to hold
his horse. They don't trust me."
"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief.
I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will
probably find I have gone in."
Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet,
if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspe to intercept the
policeman. "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they
can arrive." His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit. He
crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree. No one better
than an Indian for work like that.
The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the
shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the
gloom of the shadows beyond. A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De
Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica
lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs
with which the house was built. They recognized each other instantly,
but not a word was said. They were at the angle of the building where
the logs crossed each other.
Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a
tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid
his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a
whispering gallery. The faintest sound at the other end of the log was
distinctly audible. They tried each corner of the house. The music and
the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long. At
the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and
the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.
The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at
the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound. It was evident both
Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their
guard.
To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to
waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well
that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed
that Vanner had returned.
Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the
other. He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to
the storeroom side. Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own
to the tier above. Some one had entered the storeroom.
"Anything here?" asked a low voice.
"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.
"A woman's ironing board."
"A woman's what?"
"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed
a third impatiently, and they were gone.
But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan. Maxica
was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint
echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the
sledge-bell.
Within the house the merriment ran high. Bridal healths were drank with
three times three. The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the
galloping of the ponies.
Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm. "I am
dizzy with tiredness," she said. "I think I have danced with every one.
I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now. What made him fasten his
door?"
"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's
crotchet, my dear. I have spoken to him. He is all right, and his cry
is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett. "You'll give
Batiste his turn? just one more round."
Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window. Kusky, who
was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept
stealthily to Wilfred's feet.
"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.
The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone
lured Kusky away. Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not
venturing to show himself to he knew not whom. There was a noise at the
window. He remembered it was a double one. It seemed to him somebody
was trying to force open the outer pane.
A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen. Wilfred sprang
upright. Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.
"Look to the door. Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into
the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their
guns as they ran.
The outer window was broken. Through the inner, which was not so
thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man. He knew that
Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.
At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and
frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm. The Cree, who was
holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring.
Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar. The
thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he
was dragged backwards. Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge
stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a
cry. Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the
window, waiting in Vanner's stead. For what? He hardly dared to think.
The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's
gun was pointed at his ear. He drew a little aside and flattened
himself against the building. The gun was fired into the air.
"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier. "They have not seen us yet.
When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least,
unless we hear the sledge-bell first. It is a question of time. The
clock is counting life and death for more than one of us. All hinges on
my Gaspe. Thank God, I know he will do his very best. There is no
mistrust of Gaspe; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in
endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in
whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never
forget my Gaspe."
The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire.
"What is it?" he demanded. "Are the Indians upon us? Where is Miriam?"
Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back.
"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection.
"I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house.
First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."
Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man
as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.
"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but
a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.
"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might. "Let me
go, I tell you; let me go!"
The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett. The room was
full of men.
Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get
him away from his uncle.
"Forgill! Forgill!" he shouted. "Pete! Pete! Help me! help me!"
A pillow was tossed in his face.
"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice
he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin
would really hurt him. He kicked against his captor, and getting one
hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of
the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts. "So it's
Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.
"Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is
a regular mammy's darling for all that. It is Mathurin will put the
pappoose in its cradle. Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its
little head; Batiste can show you how."
In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution.
His frantic struggles were useless. They only provoked fresh bursts of
merriment. Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the
impotency of his rage! He was forced to give in. They bound him in the
sheets.