Therefore, Manikawan in her quest advanced cautiously, at the same
time making, as she advanced, a thorough study of the ground.
She had travelled perhaps two miles, when she discovered a thin curl
of smoke rising over the trees a short distance in advance, and
dropping upon her hands and knees she crawled stealthily forward until
from behind a clump of willow bushes she was afforded a clear view of
the fire and its surroundings.
A deerskin wigwam stood in a clearing, and near the smouldered embers
of a fire two Indians were engaged in making snowshoe frames; but, so
far as she could see, they were the only inhabitants of the camp. It
was evident that the remainder of the party were absent, probably
hunting caribou in the North.
As noiselessly as she had approached, Manikawan now retreated to a
safe distance. With a full understanding of the conditions, she had
quickly and cunningly formulated her plans, and when well out of view
she arose to her feet and boldly approached the camp.
The Indians, with no sign of alarm or surprise, and not deigning
either recognition or greeting, continued at their task, quite
ignoring her presence as she approached. For a moment Manikawan stood
before them in silence; then she spoke:
"I am Manikawan, the daughter of Sishetakushin, whose lodge the men of
the South have visited. Manikawan has come to do honour to the men of
the South. While they talked with Sishetakushin, her father, she heard
how bravely they have guarded the hunting grounds of her people and
theirs. They are brave men and she has come to do them honour.
"She heard how they drove the two white invaders of our country into
the arms of the evil spirits, whose thunderous voices she hears even
now. It was well. White men have come into our land and have made the
spirits angry. When the spirits are made angry they drive away the
caribou. Then the people of the South and Sishetakushin's people are
hungry. The white men have built lodges of trees near the potagan
(portage) of our fathers. They stored these lodges with much tea and
tobacco, flour and pork. Without these things the white man cannot
live, for he is not like our people.
"Other white men are coming to our country. If these stores are left
in the lodges near the potagan of our fathers, the white men will
stay. If they do not have these things, they will go away, for without
them they will be hungry.
"The men of Sishetakushin's people and the men of the South cannot
remove them, for the evil spirits dwell there, and would do them harm.
"But Manikawan is a maiden. The evil spirits will not harm her. She is
too humble for their notice. Manikawan has gone to the lodges of the
white men and has removed the things from the lodges, so that the
white men will not find them when they come.
"The men of the South are brave. They have sent two of the white men
into the arms of the evil spirits. They must be rewarded.
"Manikawan has carried much tobacco and tea and other stores to the
place where the potagan reaches up from the river. These things are
for the men of the South. Let them bring their canoe. Manikawan will
show them the things and they will take them."
The Indians did not deign to reply at once, but presently one of them
said:
"Let Manikawan bring the things to the lodge of the men of the South.
She is a maiden, and it is a maiden's work. It is not the work of a
hunter."
"Manikawan is not of the lodge of the men of the South, and she will
not do this. She will wait at the place where the potagan rises from
the river until the sun is there;" and Manikawan pointed to the
zenith. "If the men of the South do not come, she will go, for she
will believe the men of the South do not need tea and tobacco."
"Let the maiden return to the place where the potagan rises from the
river. Let her wait there. The men of the South will come," said the
spokesman.
Manikawan turned away, down the river bank, by the route she had
ascended. Her progress was dignified and unhurried so long as she
might still be seen by the Indians, but was quickly changed to a run
the moment she was beyond their view.
Glibly she had lied to them and her conscience was not troubled. She
was not a Christian. The savage teaching upheld subterfuge in dealing
with the enemy, and she deemed these Indians her enemies, for had they
not destroyed White Brother of the Snow? And was he not of her people
by adoption.
Immediately Manikawan arrived at the portage trail she looked sharply
about to make certain she was not observed. Then she examined the
rifle behind the bowlder, and, quite satisfied with her inspection,
returned it to its resting place and waited.
She knew that the two Indians, with due attention to their dignity,
would make no haste in their coming, and would doubtless keep her
waiting until the noonday hour which she had designated, but
nevertheless her lookout up the river was never for a moment
relinquished. She watched as a cat watches a hole--from which it
expects the mouse to emerge--ready to pounce upon the unwary prey.
At last she was rewarded. A birch-bark canoe containing the two
Indians came leisurely gliding down the river some hundred yards from
shore. Manikawan, like a beautiful statue, stood tall and straight at
the end of the portage trail. Two paces from her the rifle lay behind
the bowlder.
The Indians, unsuspecting, turned the prow of the canoe toward the
shore where she stood. Still she did not move. The cat waits for its
victim until the victim beyond peradventure is within reach of its
spring. Nearer and nearer drew the canoe. Still Manikawan stood, a
graven image. She was looking out and beyond her intended victims. The
roar of the distant rapids, and the monotonous, thunderous undertone
of the falls were in her ears, and they came to her as beautiful
music. The canoe was now but a hundred feet from shore.
Suddenly, Manikawan sprang, and the astonished Indians beheld the
statue with a menacing rifle at its shoulder. Then came a flash and a
report. The Indians ducked, and the blade of the steersman's paddle,
poised in mid-air, was shattered by a bullet.
Manikawan spoke, her voice ringing out in clear, even tones:
"The men of the South sent White Brother of the Snow and his friend
into the arms of the evil spirits. White Brother of the Snow was of
Manikawan's people. The men of the South are the enemies of
Manikawan's people. They are cowards and they must die."
The Indian at the bow paddled desperately away from shore and the
menacing rifle. The Indian at the stern made equally desperate but
ineffectual attempts with his broken paddle.
Another shot rang out, and the bowman ducked, and ceased paddling as a
bullet sang past his head. Immediately the canoe began drifting, and a
moment later the strengthening current caught it.
Then the Indians, alive to this new danger, disregarding bullets, rose
to their feet and paddled desperately, the one in the stern seeming
not to know that the broken stick he held was useless. They knew that
the evil spirits had reached up for their canoe and were drawing them
down--down--to something worse than death. Their faces became drawn
and terror-stricken.
Faintly, and as a voice far away and unreal, they heard Manikawan's
taunts as she ran down the high banks of the river, keeping pace with
the doomed canoe and its occupants going headlong to destruction:
"The men of the South are cowards. They are afraid to die. The evil
spirits are hungry, and soon they will be fed. Their voices are loud.
They are crying with hunger. The men of the South will feed them."