None of the three trappers had ever penetrated the region lying
between the Big Hill trail and the river. They knew that here,
somewhere, Ungava Bob was to lay his new trails, but as to the route
the trails were to take they had no information, for this was a
circumstance that the local evidences of the existence of fur-bearing
animals was to have decided for Bob when he entered the country to
make his initial survey of conditions.
Among the Indians who traded at the Eskimo Bay post there was but one,
an old man, who had any personal knowledge of the region. When a small
boy this Indian had once traversed with his father the now long
disused portage trail; and one day when Ungava Bob and Dick Blake met
him at the post he had, at their earnest solicitation, described to
them the country as he had seen it with the distorted vision of
extreme youth, and as his memory, alloyed with the superstitious tales
of nearly threescore years, recalled it.
It was, he said, a region of many lakes, over which flitted the
phantom canoes of those who had perished in the nearby dwelling place
of evil spirits. In the canoes were the ghostly forms of the victims,
for ever paddling their phantom crafts around the lakes, vainly
striving to escape the torment of mocking, ghoulish spirits which
pursued them. Surrounding the lakes were wild marshes and deep black
forests, which were peopled by innumerable evil spirits for ever
searching for new victims to destroy. Their thunder voices were always
to be heard, low and deep, in a terrible frenzy of unceasing anger,
ever hungry for men to devour.
In analysing this description Dick Blake eliminated the phantom canoes
as the wild creation of imagination, and the thunder voices of evil
spirits he set down as nothing more nor less than the roar of the
great falls of whose existence the Indians had told.
With this elimination he accepted as fact the statement that the
region was sprinkled with many lakes, and that without the assistance
of a canoe these lakes and perhaps some wide marshes would have to be
circumvented by him and his companions before they came upon the river
above the falls, where it was expected the Mingen Indians would be
encountered.
While Dick Blake was the first to declare that the Indians must be
punished for causing the supposed death of Bob and Shad, he was no
more thoroughly in earnest than were his companions.
Normally these trappers were quiet, peace-loving men, who would have
shuddered at the thought of causing human bloodshed; but now, moved
doubtless to a large extent by a natural desire to avenge an outrage
committed upon their friends, they also felt it their plain duty to
mete out punishment to the guilty ones, in order to insure themselves
and other white trappers against further molestation. Unless this were
done there was no guarantee against continued raids upon their tilts,
and there would always be the danger, and even probability, that
sooner or later they would themselves be attacked and shot from ambush
by the emboldened savages.
The trail that Bob had made, leading up from the river tilt and along
the creek which flowed from the first lake, was plainly marked; and
they proceeded with the long, swinging stride characteristic of the
woodsman, rapidly and without a halt, to the point where the trail
entered the lake. Here a wide circuit around the lake shore was
necessary, and it was nearly noon when they fell again into the trail
at the farther end and came upon the first tilt.
"We may's well stop an' boil th' kettle," said Dick, throwing down the
light pack of provisions he carried and mopping the perspiration from
his forehead, for the mid-day sun was warm. "If we were only havin' a
canoe, now, we'd be a rare piece farther. 'Twere a long cruise around
the lake."
"Aye," agreed Ed, "a canoe'd ha' saved us a good two hours. We may's
well put th' fire on outside; 'twill be warm in th' tilt."
"Now I'm wonderin' what th' Injun lass is up to," said Dick, as they
sat down to their simple meal of fried pork and camp bread.
"She's got a canoe. There's her footin' by th' lake, where she makes
her landin'."
"They's no tellin' what an Injun's goin' t' do, but I'm not thinkin'
'twill be much harm, t' th' Mingens with just a bow an' arrer, an'
that's all she has in th' way o' weapons, so far's I makes out,"
declared Ed, adding: "She were a wonderful fine-lookin' lass; now,
weren't she?"
"That she were," agreed Dick, "wonderful handsome--an' wonderful
wild-lookin', too."
"Th' poor lad!" said Ed, after a pause. "He were buildin' th' tilt
yonder, thinkin' o' th' good furrin' he were t' have th' winter, an'
now he's gone. I'm not knowin', Dick, how t' tell his mother. You'll
have t' tell she, Dick; I couldn't stand t' tell she."
"No," objected Dick, "you were goin' an' tellin' she th' time we
thinks th' wolves gets Bob, an' you knows how. You'm a wonderful sight
better breakin' bad news than me, Ed. I'd just be bawlin' with she,
an' she cries; an' she sure will, for 'twill break her heart this
time, an' Bob sure gone."
"Maybe none of us'll be havin' th' chanct," broke in Bill. "They may
be a big passel o' Mingens, and whilst we catches some of un, th'
others won't be sittin' quiet."
"Ed an' me's keepin' a watch for signs," assured Dick, as they arose
to continue their journey. "They ain't been no signs so far, exceptin'
signs o' th' poor lads an' th' Injun lass, an' she were passin' in th'
night, by th' oldness o' her footin'."
"They ain't no danger o' findin' Injuns here, Bill," added Ed. "This
is what they calls th' ha'nted country, an' they'd be too scairt o'
ghosts an' th' devils they thinks is runnin' round loose here t' risk
theirselves."
The long detours made necessary without the assistance of a canoe so
far delayed their progress that, though they had not slackened the
rapid pace set in the morning, night found them upon the shores of one
of the intermediate lakes, with little more than half the distance to
the end of the portage trail behind them.
Here they erected a lean-to at the edge of the forest, as a reflector
for their camp-fire, and as a protection against a light but chilling
breeze that had sprung up with the setting sun; and, all made snug for
the night, they cooked and ate their supper.
Then they lighted their pipes and lounged back upon the bed of spruce
boughs under the lean-to, speculating upon the morrow, and the
probability of an encounter with the Indians.
"What's that, now?" exclaimed Ed suddenly, and cautiously rising and
taking a position beyond the glow of the fire, he stood for several
minutes gazing intently out upon the waters of the wide lake not yet
lighted by the belated moon.
"There 'tis again! Did you make un out, Dick?" he asked, as Dick and
Bill, following Ed's example of cautious exit from the range of the
fire's glow, joined him.
"No, I weren't makin' nothin' out," answered Dick.
"There were somethin' there on th' water," Ed stated positively, when
they presently returned to the lean-to.
"What were it, now? What were it like?" asked Dick.
"I seen un twict, an' 'twere lookin' t' me like a canoe, though I'm
not sayin' so for sure," explained Ed.
"I seen un," corroborated Bill, "but whether 'twere a canoe or no, I'm
noways sure--'twere so far out."
"If 'twere a canoe, 'twere Injuns," declared Ed, "an' if 'twere Injuns
they was seein' our fire, an' they'll be up t' some devilment, now,
before day."
"Be you sartin', now, you seen something?" asked Dick, a note of
scepticism in his voice.
"Sure an' sartin'," insisted Ed. "'Twere movin', an' I'm thinkin'
'twere a canoe, though I'm noways sure."
"'Twere just a loon or maybe a bunch o' geese," said Dick, still
unwilling to believe.
"'Twere movin', an' 'twere lookin' like a canoe t' me," said Bill.
"'Twere certain no loon nor geese either. 'Twere too big."
"An' we better be gettin' out o' here, too," advised Ed. "If 'twere
Injuns--an' I'm noways sure 'twere or 'tweren't--they seen th' fire,
an' th' dirty devils'll be droppin' us off an' we stays here."
"Aye," agreed Dick, "we'll be movin' on. You an' Bill both seein'
somethin', they must ha' been somethin' there, though I weren't seein'
un."
Weary as they were, the three men hastily shouldered their light
packs, and with rifles resting in the hollow of their arms, Ed in the
lead, they stole noiselessly away into the forest.
Two hours of rapid travelling, in the light of the now rising moon,
brought them to the end of the lake. Here they paused to fall upon
their knees and make a critical examination of the shore.
"Here's fresh footin'," Ed finally announced. "A canoe were launched
here since sundown. Th' gravel's wet where th' water splashed up.
They's one track o' a Injun moccasin, an' from th' smallness of un
'twere a woman."
"'Twere sure a woman," both Bill and Dick agreed.
"An' there's th' same footin' goin' t'other way, but 'tis an older
track," Ed continued. "'Twere th' Injun lass we sees to-night goin'
back."
"Now I'm wonderin'," said Dick, as they arose, "what she's goin' back
for? Maybe now, she's lookin' t' meet us t' help her?"
"Maybe," Ed suggested, laughing, "she's finding a hull passel o'
Injuns more'n she wants t' tackle wi' just her bow an' arrer. I were
thinkin', now, a bow an' arrer weren't much t' run up ag'in a band o'
Injuns with, seein' they has guns."
"Whatever 'tis she's up to," suggested Bill, "'tisn't lookin' for us.
She couldn't ha' missed seein' our fire back here on th' shore, an'
she'd ha' known who 'twere an' come over if she's wantin' t' see us."
"You're right," agreed Dick. "She must have seen our fire, and if
she'd wanted t' see us she'd ha' come over. Now I'm wonderin' why she
didn't."
At mid-forenoon the following day the tilt on the last lake, where
Manikawan had snatched a few hours' sleep, was reached, and mounting
the ridge above, the river was discovered beyond.
At the end of the portage trail the three trappers held a hurried
consultation. At length, carefully concealing their packs among the
bushes, and with rifles held in position for instant use, they turned
noiselessly up along the river bank, following the water closely, and
taking almost exactly the course followed the previous morning by
Manikawan.
They were aware that they were now beyond the bounds of the region
avoided by the Indians, and they also had no doubt that the Indian
camp was situated farther up the river, probably at some convenient
landing-place for canoes.
Finally Ed Matheson, who had the lead, halted and held up his hand.
"Smoke," he whispered, sniffing the air. "Aye," whispered Dick, also
sniffing.
Ed now sank to his hands and knees, pausing frequently in his advance
to reconnoitre. Presently he ceased to move, his rifle extended before
him, until Dick and Bill drew along side.
"There's th' fire," he whispered, "an' there's where they was camped,
but it's lookin' t' me as if they's gone."
The smouldering embers of a camp-fire in the centre of the open spot
where the wigwam had stood the previous day, lay directly in front of
them. On a tree hung some unfinished snow-shoe frames, and there were
many signs of a hurried departure.
"What you think?" Dick whispered.
"Th' devils may be hidin' back here," answered Ed. "You an' Bill stay
now, an' watch, whilst I looks."
Very cautiously Ed stole away, and Dick Blake and Bill Campbell waited
patiently for an hour, when they discovered him walking boldly down
toward them.
"They's gone," he announced. "I seen their canoe makin' a landin' on
th' other side where th' river widens, away up above here."
An examination of the camping ground confirmed their conclusion that
the Indians had in some manner learned of their danger and had fled,
evidently in great haste, leaving behind them the snowshoe frames and
some other trifles.
"That's explainin', now, what that sneakin' Injun lass was up to,"
declared Ed.
"What were she up to, now?" asked Dick.
"She were up to this," said Ed: "she were watchin' at th' river tilt
for our comin', an' when we comes she up an' tells th' Injuns we're on
their trail, an' they gets out quick. That's why she weren't stoppin'
when she sees our fire last night, an' we'll never be seein' her
again. She's a Nascaupee, an' it's lookin' now as if th' Nascaupees
an' Mingens'll be workin' t'gether, an' if they be, they'll be layin'
for us, now, an' we got t' look out."
"Aye," agreed Dick, "that's what they'll be doin', now, an' we got t'
look out."
"Well," sighed Ed, as they turned to retrace their steps to the
portage trail, "we may's well get back an' lay our plans. Them Injun
females is worse'n wolverines; they's no trustin' any of un."