Prime's phrasing of the regret. "I have been a person of pavements and
cement walks all my life, as I suppose you have--of the paved streets
and all that they stand for. Yet I shall go back to them with something
like reluctance. Shan't you?"
She did not reply to the direct question.
"You speak as if you had some assurance that we are approaching the
pavements. Have you?"
"A bare hint. I fished along the river for about a mile down-stream,
spying out the land--or the water--as I went, for future reference. We
can't claim this region by the right of discovery. Somebody has been
here before us."
"You didn't find a house?" she ventured.
"Oh, no; nothing like that. But I did find the stump of a tree, and the
tree had been felled with an axe. It wasn't recently; the stump was old
and moss-grown. But it was axe work just the same."
She laughed softly.
"I don't know whether to be glad or sorry, Donald; for myself, I mean.
Of course, you want to get back to your work."
"Do I?" he inquired. "I suppose I ought to want to. I left a book half
finished in my New York attic."
"How could you do that? I should think such work would be ruined by
having a vacation come along and cut it in two."
"I was sick of it," he confessed frankly. "It was another pen picture of
the artificialities, and I shall never finish it now. I'll write a
better one."
"Staging it in a Canadian forest?"
"Staging it among the realities, at least. And there shall be a real
woman this time."
In his new character of cousin-in-authority, Prime sent Lucetta early to
bed to catch up on her arrears of sleep. After she had disappeared
behind the curtains of the small shelter-tent, he sat for a long time
before the fire smoking the rank tobacco and letting his thoughts rove
at will through the mazes of the strange adventure which had befallen
him and this distant cousin, of whose very existence he had been
ignorant.
More and more the mazes perplexed him, and the coincidences, if they
were coincidences, began to verge upon the fantastic or the miraculous.
Was it by accident or design that they had both chanced to be in Quebec
at the same time? If the plot were of Grider's concocting, did the
barbarian know of the cousinship beforehand? Prime was charitable enough
to hope that he did. It made the brutal joke--if it were a joke--a
little less criminal to suppose that Grider knew of the relationship.
Still, it was all vastly incredible on any joking hypothesis. Taking
the most lenient view of it--that Grider had pre-arranged the assault
upon their liberty and had hired the two half-breeds to pick them up and
convoy them out of the wilderness--it was unbelievable that the
barbarous one, with all of his known disregard for the common humanities
where his Homeric sense of humor was involved, would have turned them
over to the tender mercies of two semi-savages whose character had been
sufficiently demonstrated by the manner of their death.
"It simply _can't_ have been Watson Grider," Prime mused over his sixth
cigarette--he was rolling them now in the label paper of the vegetable
tins, frugally soaked off and saved. "If it had been his joke, he
wouldn't have left it up in the air; he would have followed along to get
the good of it. But if it isn't Grider, who is it, and what is it all
about?"
The riddle always worked around thus to the same tormenting question,
with no hint of an answer; and, as many times before, Prime was obliged
to leave it hanging, like Mohammed's coffin, between heaven and earth.
But when he renewed the fire and rolled himself in his blankets for the
night, he was still casting about for some means of bringing it to
earth.
Figuring it out afterward, he was certain that he could not have been
asleep for more than an hour or two before he was awakened, with the
echo of a noise like volley-firing of some sort still ringing in his
ears. His first impulse was to spring up, but the second, which was the
one he obeyed, was more in keeping with the new character development.
Deftly freeing himself from the blanket wrappings, he reached over to
make sure that one of the guns could be caught up quickly, and lay
quiet.
For some little time nothing happened, and the night silence of the
forest was undisturbed. Just as he was beginning to think that it had
been the mosquitoes, and not a noise, which had awakened him, and was
about to get up and renew the smudge which he had made to windward
before turning in, he heard cautious footsteps as of some one
approaching from the direction of the river.
The measured tread assured him that the footfalls were human, and his
hold tightened mechanically upon the grip of the gun-stock. By this time
he was thinking quite clearly, and he told himself that the militant
precaution was doubtless unnecessary; that there was little chance that
the approaching intruder--any intruder who would be attracted by the
light of the camp-fire--would be unfriendly. Yet it was the part of
prudence to be prepared.
After a moment or two he was able to note that the approaching footsteps
were growing more cautious. At this he rolled over by imperceptible
inchings to face toward the river, drawing the gun with him. It was
useless to try to penetrate the black shadows of the background. The
fire had died down to a mass of glowing embers, its bedtime replenishing
of dried wood blazing up fitfully only now and then to illumine a
slightly wider circle. Prime saw nothing, and, for a time after the
footfalls ceased, heard nothing. But the next manifestation was
startling enough. At a moment when he was beginning to wonder if his
imagination had been playing tricks on him, he heard a curious ripping
sound coming, this time, from behind the inverted canoe.
Silently he rose to his knees with the rifle held low. For shelter, in
case of a shower, the provisions had been placed under the inverted
birch-bark, and he decided instantly that the intruder was trying to
steal them. Not wishing to alarm Lucetta, he got upon his feet and
walked toward the canoe, meaning to put the man behind it between
himself and the firelight.
The manoeuvre was never completed. Before he had taken half a dozen
steps a blinding flashlight was turned upon him from behind the canoe,
and it stopped him as suddenly as if the dazzling radiance had been a
volley from a machine-gun. But the stopping shock was only momentary.
Dashing forward around the end of the canoe, he had a glimpse of a
big-bodied man in a golf cap and sweater crashing his way through the
undergrowth toward the river, and promptly gave chase.
"Grider!--Watson!" he called, but there was no reply. The intruder, as
he ran, had the benefit of his flashlight; Prime could see the momentary
gleams as the runner took a diagonal course which would bring him out a
hundred yards down-stream from a point directly opposite the camp-fire.
Prime collided with a tree, stumbled and fell, and sprang up to call
again. The retreating footfalls were no longer audible, but now there
was another cacophony of noise--the sputtering exhausts of a
motor-boat--and Prime reached the river-bank in time to see the dark
shape of the power-driven craft losing itself in the starlight in its
swift rush down the river.
In the first flush of his rage at what figured as a second heartless
desertion, Prime was strongly tempted to open fire on the retreating
motor-boat and its occupant. This was purely a cave-man prompting, and
before it could translate itself into action the opportunity was gone.
When the motor-boat had disappeared, losing itself to sight and sound,
the breathless pursuer went back to his blankets, swearing gloomily at
the spiteful chance which had opened the door of misfortune by making
him a college classmate of one Watson Grider.
XIV
OF THE NAME OF BANDISH
THE next morning Prime waited until after breakfast before telling
Lucetta about the visit of the intruder, the postponement basing itself
upon a very natural disinclination to re-align himself, even
constructively, with such a brutal humorist as Watson Grider. Indeed,
when he told the story, he omitted to mention the barbarian's name;
would never have mentioned it if Lucetta had not pushed him into a
corner.
"You say you saw the man; was it a stranger, or some one you knew?" she
questioned.
"I couldn't be sure," Prime evaded. "The fire wasn't burning very
brightly, and he had just blinded me with his flashlight."
The gray eyes were regarding him calmly.
"It is to be hoped, Cousin Donald, that you will never have to fib
yourself out of a real difficulty. You prevaricate so clumsily, you
know."
"I wasn't lying," he protested; "really, you know, I couldn't be sure."
"But you thought you recognized him."
"Yes, I did," he admitted doggedly. "I didn't mean to tell you, but I
fancy it doesn't make any great difference now. It was Grider, of
course."
"You are sure?"
"I have just said that I wasn't sure. I didn't see his face. But I saw a
golf cap and a sweater, and Grider wears both upon any and all
occasions; he has even been accused of sleeping in them."
"But why should he come here like that and then run away again?"
"He wanted to find out how his execrable joke was getting along, of
course! I had a mind to fire at him after he got into the boat, and I
wish now that I had. You didn't hear any of the noise?"
"Not a sound." They had taken the cooking utensils down to the river
edge to wash them, and Lucetta scoured for a silent half minute on the
skillet before she picked the one comforting grain of assurance out of
the midnight adventure. "We ought to be obliged to this outrageous
friend of yours for one thing, anyway," she commented. "He has told us
that there are no more rapids to be shot. If he could come up the river
in a motor-boat, we can go down it safely in a canoe."
"That is so," said Prime; "I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if our
patch is sticking all right. Suppose we go and see."
They went to look, and what they saw struck them both dumb. The clamped
patch was still in place, but a glance at the upturned canoe bottom
showed them what the midnight marauder had done and explained for Prime
the cause of the ripping noise he had heard. For a distance fully
one-third of its length the thin sheathing of the canoe had been cut as
if with the slashing blow of a sharp knife.
Prime was the first to find speech, and what he said would have kindled
a fire under wet wood. Then he remembered and made gritting amends. "I
beg your pardon; I couldn't help it, Lucetta. I'm not taken that way
very often, but I should have blown up like a rotten boiler if I
couldn't have relieved the pressure. Did you ever hear of such an
infernally idiotic scoundrel in all your life? I wish to gracious I'd
had the courage of my convictions and turned loose on him with the gun!
He deserves to be shot!"
Lucetta was examining the damaged canoe bottom more closely. "But why?"
she protested. "Why should he follow us up so vindictively, Donald?
Surely it has passed all the limits of any kind of a joke by this time."
"Of a joke?--yes; I should say so! I hate to think it of him, Lucetta--I
do for a fact. If I hadn't seen him I wouldn't believe it was Watson;
but seeing is believing."
"Not always," was the reflective dissent. And then: "This is the work of
a spiteful enemy, Donald; not that of any friend, however harebrained.
It is the work of some one who has a particular object in keeping us
from getting back to civilization."
"We have been over all that ground until it is worn out," Prime broke in
impatiently. "It is Grider; it can't be anybody else; and I wish I had
potted him while I had the chance. But that is a back number now. The
mischief is done and we must repair it if we can. Get your glue-pot
ready and I'll go and hunt for some more of the sticky stuff."
Lucetta was laughing silently.
"We are so humanly inconsistent--both of us!" she commented. "Yesterday
we were almost willing to be sorry because our woods idyll couldn't last
forever; and now we are ready to draw and quarter Mr. Grider--or whoever
did this--because it makes the idyll last a few days longer."
It took them the better part of the day to patch the knife-gash, and,
though the other patch seemed to be holding satisfactorily, they were
doubtful of the results in the more serious hurt. It was impossible to
devise any clamp for the greater rent, but they did their best,
overlaying the fresh patches with clean sheets of the bark and weighting
the whole down with flat stones carried laboriously from the river
brink.
That night Prime slept with one eye open and with both guns where he
could lay his hands upon them quickly. Somewhile past midnight he got up
and built a small fire beyond the canoe as another measure of safety,
locking the stable carefully after the horse had been stolen. When he
went back to his blankets he found Lucetta up and sitting under the
turned-up flap of the shelter-tent.
"Did you hear anything?" she inquired.
He shook his head. "No; I thought I'd light up a little more so that we
couldn't be stalked again as we were last night."
"You are losing too much sleep. Let me have one of the guns and I'll
keep watch for a while."
"What could you do with a gun?" he demanded gloomily.
"I can at least make a noise and waken you if needful."
There was no sleep for either of them for a long time; but after a while
Prime lost himself, and when he awoke it was daylight and Lucetta was
cooking breakfast.
On this day they were fairly out of an occupation. With the stone
weightings removed, the canoe patches seemed to be sticking bravely,
but they still required to be daubed with another coating of the pitch,
which must dry thoroughly before they could venture upon a relaunching.
The small job done, they took turns sleeping through the forenoon, and
after the midday meal Prime went fishing, taking care, however, not to
go beyond calling distance from the glade.
When night came they carried the precious canoe to the exact centre of
the clear space and built a circle of small fires all around it, at the
imminent risk of burning it up or at least of melting the pitch from its
seams. The afternoon had been cloudy and there were indications of a
storm. Prime made the fastenings of the shelter-tent secure and stowed
the provisions under the overturned birch-bark, leaving a space where he
could crawl under himself if the storm should break. For a long time
after supper they sat together beside the cooking-fire. The mosquitoes
were worse than usual, and Prime had provided some rotting wood for a
smudge, in the reek of which they wept in sympathetic companionship.
"Speaking of smoked meat," Prime grumbled, after they had exhausted all
other topics, "that jerked stuff under the canoe hasn't any the best of
us." Then, with a teasing switch to their rapidly disintegrating
clothes: "How would you like to walk into your classroom in the girls'
school just as you are?"
"Just about as well as you'd like to walk down Fifth Avenue under the
same conditions," was the choking reply. "My! but that smoke is
dreadful!"
"It is like the saw-off between any two evils: when you are enduring the
one you think you'd rather endure the other. Let us hope and pray that
this is the last night for us in this particular sheol, at least. I've
heard and read a good bit about the insect pests of the northern woods,
and I have always taken it with a grain of salt. That is another mistake
I shall never make again."
"They were not bad on the St. Lawrence nor in Quebec," observed the
other martyr.
The mention of Quebec started a new subject or, rather, revived an old
one, and they fell to talking of their short experience in the historic
city. One thing leading to another, Prime went more specifically into
his evening excursion with the athletic young fellow who had seemed so
anxious to increase the dividends of the motion-picture houses and the
cafes.
"He was a handsome fellow, and he didn't begin to have the face of a
villain," he commented. "A good talker too. He had travelled--been
everywhere. One of the pictures we saw was a 'Western,' and that brought
on more talk. I remember he told me a lot about his own experience in
the British Columbia mines. It was great stuff. He had been manager and
general factotum for some rich old money-bags--if he wasn't lying to me
and making it all up out of whole cloth."
"He didn't do anything to make you suspect that he might have designs
upon you?"
"Not a thing in the world. He was as frank and open-hearted as a boy.
There wasn't anything peculiar about him except his habit of looking at
his watch every few minutes. I asked him once if I was keeping him from
an appointment, and he laughed and said he wished that I were; wished
that he were well enough acquainted in the city to be able to make
appointments."
"Did he tell you his name?" queried the weeping listener.
"He did, and ever since we woke up and found ourselves back yonder on
the lake shore I have been trying to recall it. It is gone completely.
'Bender' is the nearest I can come to it, and that isn't it."
"Would you know it if you should hear it?"
"I am sure I should. It was a queer name, and I remember thinking at the
time that I would jot it down and use it for the name of a character in
a story--simply because it was so delightfully odd."
"Tell me," she broke in quickly; "was this young man of yours fair, with
blue eyes, and hair that reminded you a little of a hayfield?"
"That is the man!"
"How would 'Bandish' do for the name?" she asked.
"You've got it! That's what it was. How in the name of all that is
wonderful did you know?"
"I was merely putting one and one together to make two," was the quiet
rejoinder. "The young woman I was with that same night was Mrs. Bandish.
She was the one whose careless sleeve-pin scratched my arm and put me to
sleep."
"Then you knew them both?" Prime demanded.
"Only slightly. They claimed to be teachers from some little town in
Indiana. I don't know where they joined our party, but I think it was
before we took the St. Lawrence River boat. Anyway, it was somewhere in
Canada. They were easy to get acquainted with. At first I didn't like
the young woman any too well; there was something about her that gave me
the idea that she was--well, that she was somehow too sophisticated. But
that wore off. She was quick-witted and jolly, and both she and her
husband were the life of the party coming down the big river."
"Do you suppose Grider bribed them to join the party and thus get you in
tow?" Prime asked.
"No, I don't suppose anything of the kind. You are forgetting that Mr.
Grider didn't even know of my existence at that time--if he does now,"
she added, after a moment's hesitation.
"Grider knew, and he knew that we were cousins," Prime insisted. "That
is a guess, but you will see that it will turn out to be the right one.
But even that doesn't explain why he should come up here in the woods
and cut a hole in our canoe, confound him!"
"It doesn't explain a good many things which are much more mysterious
than they were before," said Lucetta; and shortly after that she smoked
her tent blue with a bit of smudge wood and disappeared for the night,
leaving Prime to pull reflectively at a clumsy pipe which he had
contrived to whittle out of a bit of birch wood during the day of
waiting, to smoke and to hope that the threatening rain-storm would
materialize and drown a few millions of the tormenting mosquitoes.
XV
JEAN BA'TISTE
ON a morning which Prime, consulting his notched stick, named as the
twenty-fourth of July, they gave the canoe patches another daubing of
pitch for good luck, relaunched their argosy, loaded the dunnage, and
began to learn the art of paddling anew--the relearning being made
strictly necessary by the new green-wood paddles.
From a boisterous mill-race in its upper reaches, their river had now
subsided into a broad stream with a current so leisurely that they had
to paddle continuously to make any headway. With this handicap their
progress was slow, and it was not until the afternoon of the second day
that they began to see signs to hint that they were approaching the
settlements.
The signs were neither numerous nor indicative of any recent habitancy:
a few old clearings with their stumps weathered and rotting; here and
there a spot luxuriantly green to mark an area where slashings had been
burned; in one place a decaying runway to show where the logs had been
skidded into the river; all these proved that they were not pioneers;
but withal they saw no human being to dispute possession with them.
In the evening of this second day they camped on the right-hand bank a
short distance below one of the old clearings, kindling their night fire
a few yards from the river in a small grove of second-growth pines. The
place was not entirely to their liking; the river-bank was high, and
they could not draw the canoe out without partially unloading it. While
Lucetta was busying herself with the supper, Prime, as a precautionary
measure, made a porter of himself to the extent of carrying a good part
of the dunnage up to the fire, and after thus lightening the canoe he
hauled it out of water as far as the steep bank would permit.
While they were eating supper an unexpected guest turned up. Lucetta was
the first to hear the dip of a paddle in the stream, and a moment later
they both heard the grating of a boat bottom on the sand. Prime sprang
up, rifle in hand, and went to meet the newcomer, prepared to do battle
if needful. When he returned he was followed by a small man, dark,
bearded, and with bead-like black eyes roving and shifty. He was dressed
more like an Indian than a white man; there were fringes on his
moccasins and also on the belted coat, which was much the worse for wear
and hard usage.
"_Moi_, Jean Ba'tiste; I mek you de good evenin', _m'sieu' et madame_,"
he said, introducing himself brusquely, and as he spoke the roving eyes
were taking in every detail of the bivouac camp. Then, with no more ado,
he squatted beside the fire and became their supper guest, saying
simply: "You eat?--good; _moi_, I eat, too."
Since there seemed to be no question of ceremony, Prime made the guest
welcome, heaping his tin plate and pouring tea for him in the spare cup.
The small man ate as if he were half starved, and was saving of speech
during the process, though the roving eyes seemed to be doing double
duty. The meal devoured, he produced a black clay pipe with a broken
stem and uttered a single word, "Tabac'?" and when the want was supplied
he crumbled himself a pipeful from the twist which Prime handed him.
Prime filled his own home-made pipe, and at its lighting the guest began
a curt inquisition.
"W'ere you come from?"
Prime explained without going into any of the kidnapping details.
"You campin' out for fon, mebbe, yes?" was the next query.
"A little that way," said Prime.
"You shoot wiz ze gon? W'ere all dat game w'at you get?"
"It isn't the game season," Prime parried. "We haven't tried to shoot
anything."
"But you 'ave ze gon. Lemme see 'um," holding out a hand for the rifle.
Prime passed over the gun nearest at hand and drew the other one up
within reach. The inquisitive supper guest looked the weapon over
carefully and seemed to be trying to read something in the scratches on
the stock.
"_Vraiment!_ she's one good gon," he commented, passing it back. "W'ere
you get 'um?"
[Illustration: "_Vraiment!_ she's one good gon," he commented.... "W'ere
you get 'um?"]
Prime did not answer the question. He thought it was high time to ask a
few of his own.
"What river is this?" he wanted to know.
"You make canoe on him and you not know dat? She is Mishamen; comes
bimeby to Riviere du Lievres."
"How far?"
"One, two, t'ree day; mebbe more."
"You mean that we will reach a town in two or three days?"
"Mebbe so, if you don' get los'."
Prime exchanged a quick glance with his fellow castaway. Lucetta
signalled "Yes," and he acted accordingly.
"What will you charge to show us the way to the nearest town?" he asked.
The small man did not seem especially eager for money. He was examining
the gun again. "_Moi_, I can't go--too bizzee. W'ere you got dis gon?"
"It came with our outfit," said Prime shortly. "We got it when we got
the canoe."
"And w'ere you got dat canoe?"
The inquisition was growing rather embarrassing, but Prime answered as
best he could.