"A rabbit-skin,
To wrap his baby bunting in.
They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred. He was
laid on the ironing board.
He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing
tighter and tighter.
What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?
The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam
of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.
Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready
to receive the burden they were to let fall. It was but a little bit of
face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the
men were wearing. Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist
the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were like the
sleeves of another. The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been
drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and
took no notice.
"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board.
"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others.
"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third.
"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed another.
"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt
him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to--
"'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"
This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian
pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are
busy, read to Wilfred his doom.
Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang
him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to
die alone of hunger and cold?
It was an awful moment. The end of the board to which he was bound was
resting on the window-sill.
"Gently now," said one.
"Steady there," retorted another.
"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.
"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence
had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them.
Mathurin alone kept the control.
Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two
men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark
shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw
Wilfred's feet appear at the window. His hand was up to guide the board
in a moment, acting in concert with the men above. They slid it easily
to the ground.
Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and
stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside. It was beyond
his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained. His knife was
soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle.
They looked in each other's faces; not a word was breathed. Wilfred's
hands were freed. He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds
of the rug. Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run
for their lives, straight to Forgill's hut.
Diome saw them coming. He was still leading Vanner's horse. He wheeled
it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and
curvetting between them and the house.
Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was glowing like a
beacon across the snow. It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant
night. The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was
at hand.
The hut was gained at last. The door was shut behind the fugitives, and
instantly barred. Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled
against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether
daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier
hardly knew. But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a
distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.
The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an
experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for
the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,
lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds. No
bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his
scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little
imagine. For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of
British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all
alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the
Blackfoot in his moya yields.
Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished,
for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind
it.
Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight. "They come!
they come!" he cried.
Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention,
and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had
left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.
When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters,
supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until
wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.
At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to
its widest. Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but
none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also.
Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula
relaxed his hold of Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him
by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no
one else could get out over him or release him from the inside.
There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been
locked and barred by Bowkett's orders, and the key was in his pocket.
He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants going out of the
house to interfere with Vanner. It was equally successful in keeping in
the friends who would have gone to his help.
"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.
Another seized on old Pete and shook him because he would not open the
door. In vain Pete protested the key was missing. They were getting
furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing
crescendo.
They seized on Pete and shook him again. They would have the key.
Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate. With one hand holding on
to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog. The blows he aimed
at him with the other were uncertain and feeble.
"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.
He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of
course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he
had saluted him with a low, deep growl. It had watched its chance. It
was paying back old scores. Batiste knew that well.
Another howl of pain from Mathurin.
The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock
that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all
wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the
mechanism of a lock than a baby. Their life had been passed in the
open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their
ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar. A
dozen gun-stocks battered on the door. It was tough and strong, and
never stirred.
Pete was searching everywhere for the key. He would have let them out
gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and
leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.
"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor.
Patience could hold out no longer. There was a shout for Bowkett.
"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother
into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she
thought the old man's life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her
fears.
"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he
gave all his care to his master.
"The boy! Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return
to find him. His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and
trusted in Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.
How could Bowkett leave his bride? He was keeping his hands clean.
There were plenty to do his dirty work. He himself was to have nothing
to do with it, according to Vanner's programme. He would not go.
*CHAPTER XVI.*
_*IN CONFUSION.*_
There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice
Bowkett instantly recognized as Diome's rang out the warning word,--
"The police! The police are here!"
"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly
pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand. The clamouring group
around the door divided before him, as Diome hissed his warning through
the keyhole.
The door flew open. Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying
guests. Each man for his horse. Some snatched up their guns, some left
them behind. Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail.
Their masters sprang upon their backs. Each man leaped upon the first
horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle.
What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors!
such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among
them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every
direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.
Diome put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand. "To the
frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road. We are parting
company; for I go northwards."
Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pete stood staring in the
doorway. "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted,
loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped
off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.
Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake
of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared.
"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspe, with his arm round Wilfred's neck. "I was
back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"
Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight. He was
off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance. He beckoned
to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than
leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.
The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the
two on the ground. He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and
handcuffed Vanner.
Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot. "I was warned there
would be mischief here before morning. I sent my messenger for you, and
watched the house all night. The Indian and the dog were with me. I
saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window. The dog flew on
him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That
other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in
concert with him."
Wilfred shook off Gaspe's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said,
"leave go." His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience
as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am
I? Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run. You meant to save me--I saw it
in your face--and I'll save you. The porch-door stands open, run!"
Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so
deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain. If Mathurin
could not run, the sledge-driver could. He was round the house and
through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the
kitchen-table, to Pete's amazement. Forgill burst out of the
dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was
pushed aside. The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.
Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm. "You should not have done
that," he was saying. "Your dog knew what he was about better than you
did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and
right, but in such circumstances--"
He never finished his sentence. There was Mathurin cowed and trembling
at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up
and his tail wagging in triumph.
Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room.
Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation. "The thieves
among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!" She was stunned.
Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or
foot.
Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow
and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged
struggle. When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew
that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of
a power that was mightier than his own. As Wilfred caught up the bow
and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow
of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for
as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as
seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we
part."
"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was
speaking the Cree was gone. He had vanished with the morning shadows
behind the pine trees.
Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspe, who had
followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back. "It would be but
poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the
noose a second time," he said. "With these hunters lurking about the
place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."
The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the
icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling. It was folly to
linger. Gaspe knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company
of the policeman.
"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.
"Don't say that," retorted Gaspe. "He is sure to come again to Hungry
Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting. You can meet him then."
"I? I shall be at school at Garry. How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.
"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you
can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters. You
know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to
every one of the Hudson Bay stations. You can send what you like by him
to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky
friend."
"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred,
whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.
There was a sudden stillness about the place. A kind of paralysis had
seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of
the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an
individual to leave them until he gave permission." This utter
standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous
confusion which had preceded it. The dread of what would come next lay
like a nightmare over master and men.
Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to
his uncle.
"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will--I will try to do my
duty. Tell me what it is?"
"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or
prevarication. No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to
say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."
Gaspe began to speak.
"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your
friend. Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night
quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."
Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his
breath, "My poor Miriam! I have two to think of--my poor, poor Miriam!"
Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly.
The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.
"Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved
you all. They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do
their worst. They will not be punished for what they were going to do,
but for what they actually did do."
A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril.
His arms went round Gaspe with a clasp that seemed to know no
unloosening. A friend is worth all hazards.
His turn soon came. Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew. She had so
little to tell. "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of
'Thieves!' The men ran. Her husband came back to her, bringing her
invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard
them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!' She supposed the
thieves made off. Her husband had started in pursuit."
In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already
taken. Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled
with his guests. She never looked up. She could not meet the eyes
around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her
guests. Her pale cheeks grew paler.
Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each
other. All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.
Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking. He
looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the
sledge-driver and Pete to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her
hand. There was just one look exchanged between them. Of all the
startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt
Miriam to see him there. The fervency in the pressure she returned set
Wilfred's heart at ease. One determination possessed them both--not to
make a scene.
Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew. She threw
herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that
wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had
remained in the kitchen. Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.
Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no
thieves in the case. Her wedding guests had set upon her little
wanderer in the moment of his return.
Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.
Mathurin protested volubly. He never meant to let them hurt the boy,
but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it
off before they parted.
"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old
man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention
your behaviour to the boy. If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's
end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position. His seizure
in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the
policeman.
Mathurin began to interrupt. He checked him.
"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper
time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come
with me at once.--Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry
on the twenty-ninth."
He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned
around. The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the
morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.
With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind
them. Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the
scene of confusion it presented for himself.
Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing
it. She moved like one in a dream. "I cannot understand all this," she
said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."
She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the
house was secure, and took Pete with her to make up a bed for her
brother in the dining-room. She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as
she passed him, but the words died on her lips.
The men obeyed her without reply. Forgill was afraid to go out of the
house alone. As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head,
observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which
caught 'em. I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes
from, that I do."
Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent
freedom. His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out
from under Aunt Miriam's bed.
There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar.
"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspe, as he
thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof.
"Right enough now," cried Gaspe. "Wilfred, it is a girl."
He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia. Her
dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads
and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal. Her
black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.
"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you
remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"--extending a hand to
each--"because you did not know of it. I crawled in here at the first
alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me. But, I
declare, you men folk have been going on awful. You will be the death
of us all some of these days. I could have knocked your heads together
until I had knocked some sense into you. Put your pappoose in its
cradle, indeed! I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you
know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."
The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and
twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.
"Spoiling all the fun," she added.
"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspe. "We are not
the representatives of last night's rowdyism. My poor friend here is
chief sufferer from it. Only he had a four-footed friend, and a
dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very
ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet. So the tables
were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their
exam."
"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp.
Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there? This is what the day
after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the
kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been
carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled
together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every
one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they
must come back to fetch them. Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to
wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home.
Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from
Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.
When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account
was redoubled.
But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the
little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De
Brunier.
"I have thought it all through," he said. "In the face of the Cree's
warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my
nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it. As soon as he
hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has
been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour. I
want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not
have."
"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next
to Gaspe, I promise you," was the ready answer.
"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued. "I want you to
take him away at once, and send him back to school. You spoke of buying
land; buy half of mine. That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the
money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I
shall feel my boy is safe. As for Miriam, she will still have a good
home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may
settle down."
"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better. It wants the
change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De
Brunier, tapping his own breast.
Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the
worst." But she knew enough without the telling.
When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next
day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered
from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.
"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspe. "And could not we
have Yula too?"
"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam. "It is I who must take care of Yula. He
shall never want a bone whilst I have one. I shall feed him, Wilfred,
with my own hands till you come back to claim him."