"Well," said Shad, at length, "there's the sun about as high as it
will get to-day, and where's your pretty Indian girl?"
"I been thinkin', now," Bob explained, "she's sure havin' a canoe, an'
could make un t' th' river tilt an' back, by travellin' all night. But
Dick an' Ed an' Bill ain't havin' a canoe, an' if they comes they has
t' walk, an' walkin' they can't make un before some time t'morrer,
whatever. 'Tis like, now, she'll wait t' show un th' way t' where we
be, an' doin' that she won't be comin' till they does t 'morrer."
"Your logic is sound," Shad admitted, "but it's mighty
disappointing."
"There she be!" exclaimed Bob, a moment later, as Manikawan, quite
alone, emerged from the forest hastening toward them, carrying on her
arm two coils of rope--one the coil Bob had left in the first tilt of
the new trail, and which she had observed at the time she found and
carried away Bob's rifle; the other a tracking line which the trappers
had used on their last trip up the river, and which she had discovered
in the river tilt.
"Is it well with White Brother of the Snow and his friend?" she asked,
stepping eagerly forward to the river bank.
"It is, and they are glad to see Manikawan," answered Bob.
"They will do now as Manikawan directs, and they will soon again be
free to hunt the atuk (caribou), the amishku (beaver), and the neejuk
(otter)," she promised.
With this she tied the ropes securely together, end to end, and then
producing a quantity of salmon twine, which she had appropriated for
the purpose from one of the tilts, tied an end of this to one end of
the connected ropes. She now proceeded to coil the twine carefully
upon a smooth flat rock at her feet, after which she drew from her
quiver a long, blunt-nosed arrow, and directly above the feathered end
of the arrow attached the loose end of the twine.
These preliminary arrangements completed, and her plan of rescue ready
for the test, Manikawan stood erect, bow and arrow in position, and a
moment later the arrow flew out across the water and fell upon the
gravelly point.
Ungava Bob sprang forward, seized the twine, still fast tied to the
arrow, and rapidly drew it and the end of the rope attached to the
twine to him, while Manikawan played out the coil.
"Now," said she, "let White Brother of the Snow make the line which he
has received fast and tight to the bow thwart of his canoe.
"White Brother of the Snow and his friend will then place their canoe
into the water with its bow facing the river as it comes down to meet
them. They will paddle hard against the river, for the Matchi Manitu
(bad spirit) beneath the waves will draw them backward toward the
place where the water is white and angry.
"They need not fear. Manikawan holds one end of the rope in her hand.
The other end will be fast to the canoe. Manikawan is strong and she
will not let the Matchi Manitu draw White Brother of the Snow and his
friend down.
"While White Brother of the Snow and his friend paddle, their canoe
will move toward the place where Manikawan stands. Near the shore the
spirits are weaker than where the water is deep.
"When their canoe is near the shore, Manikawan will let it go backward
very slowly to the place where the bank slopes."
Bob ran the end of rope under and around the bow thwart, as Manikawan
directed, knotting it securely, leaving sufficient length to extend
back to the centre thwart, around which he again wrapped it and
finally tied the end. This he did in order that the strain upon the
canoe might be more evenly distributed.
With Shad's rifle and shotgun and their few other possessions in the
canoe, they immediately placed it in the water. Bob held it while Shad
took a kneeling position in the stern, then himself stepped lightly to
his place in the bow, and in an instant they were afloat in the
rushing water, paddling fast and hard in order to relieve the stress
upon the long line, and to keep the canoe head on to the current.
A few moments later they found themselves close under the mainland
bank, with Manikawan letting them slip slowly down to the sloping
rock.
Though the treacherous footing on the steep, slippery incline rendered
it a hazardous undertaking, the landing was safely accomplished, and
the canoe brought ashore.
When Manikawan saw the young adventurers standing before her, her work
of rescue completed and the excitement and uncertainty of the
preceding days and nights at an end, she sank upon the ground, weak,
dazed, and overcome with fatigue.
During sixty hours her only sleep or refreshment had been that
snatched the preceding morning in the tilt, and throughout the entire
period she had been bending herself to almost superhuman effort.
After all, she was but a girl. Human emotions are pretty much the same
the world over, irrespective of race, and Manikawan, the Indian
maiden, was very human indeed in her emotions and the limit of her
physical endurance.
She looked faint and weary, indeed, as Shad and Bob bent over her
solicitously, but presently she indicated her desire to rise; and
slowly, for Manikawan's exhaustion was still apparent, Bob led the way
while the three took a direct course to the tilt on the first lake.
It was not far, and in the course of an hour, mounting a ridge, they
saw the lake shimmering below them and the little tilt nestling among
the trees on the shore.
"How good it looks! Almost homelike!" said Shad.
"Aye, almost homelike," echoed Bob.
At the tilt they made a fire under the trees, and Bob quickly brewed a
kettle of strong tea, and prepared food; and when Manikawan had taken
nourishment, she was sent into the tilt for the rest she so much
needed.
Bob and Shad were still lingering over their meal when they looked up
to find Dick Blake, Ed Matheson, and Bill Campbell staring at them
from the edge of the woods.
"Hello!" cried Shad, jumping up in pleasure to greet their friends.
"Evenin'," said Bob; "set in an' have a drop o' tea an' a bite."
"Well, now, I wern't sure I see straight!" exclaimed Ed, and the three
strode forward. "Here we was thinkin' never t' see you lads ag'in, an'
arguin' who were goin' t' break th' news o' your death t' your folks,
an' there you be, eatin'! Bob, I'm never goin' t' break th' news o'
your death ag'in till I sees you dead. I were doin' it once, an' now I
comes pretty nigh havin' to ag'in;" and Ed nearly shook Bob's arm off
in his delight.
"Aye," Dick explained, while he and Bill followed Ed in the greeting,
"th' Injun lass Manikawan comes an' tells us you lads was drove over
th' falls by Mingens."
"An' we goes out huntin' Mingens," went on Bill, "tryin' t' kill un,
an' would ha' killed un if we'd found un."
"Now, what devilment were she up to? That's what I wants t' know,
tellin' us that. They's no knowin' what a Injun'll do, leastways a
female," declared Ed.
"She was about right, now," said Bob, and he proceeded to relate the
experiences of the preceding days, while Shad now and again
interjected dramatic colour.
"Th' lass were doin' rare fine! Rare fine!" said Ed. "An' we was
thinkin' she's up t' some devilment. But why wern't you shootin' at
th' Injuns from th' canoe when they opens on you? Your repeatin' rifle
would ha' scattered un, Bob."
"I left un in th' tilt by th' first lake above th' river. Shad were
steerin', an' he weren't thinkin' t' use his'n," Bob explained.
"In th' first tilt above th' river?" Ed repeated. "We were in th'
tilt, now, Dick, when we comes through, an' there weren't any rifle
there. Rope an' tent an' other outfit, but no rifle."
"No, there weren't none there," corroborated Dick and Bill.
"Now, 'tis strange," said Bob. "I left un there, didn't I, Shad?"
"Yes, you certainly left it there, on the rear bunk," Shad affirmed
positively.
This puzzled them long, and they were never to learn the truth, for
Manikawan, on her return journey for the ropes, had replaced the rifle
exactly as she had found it, and none but herself ever knew the part
she had played in the river tragedy.
While Manikawan rested in the tilt, and Bill Campbell set out to hunt
ptarmigans for supper, Dick Blake and Ed Matheson in Manikawan's
canoe, and Bob and Shad in Shad's canoe, left upon a reconnoitering
expedition to the tilt from which the two latter were returning on the
day of the Indian attack.
They had no fear now of an Indian surprise, since Ed Matheson had
observed the retreat of the savages to the southern shore, and they
proceeded boldly to their destination.
As anticipated, the tilt had been rifled of its contents, chiefly
flour and pork. The tilt itself, however, had not been burned, and was
otherwise undisturbed.
"They was thinkin', now, t' have un an' t' use un theirselves when
they comes here t' hunt, th' winter," declared Ed. "They thinks Bob
an' Shad's done for. Unless they gets scairt out by th' ha'nts in th'
water--"
"The what?" asked Shad.
"Th' ghosts or spirits they thinks is there. They's wonderful easy
scairt, Injuns is. Oh, I knows th' Injuns; I been havin' trouble with
un before."
"When was you havin' trouble with Injuns, now?" asked Dick
sceptically.
"More'n once," said Ed. "There were th' time, now, I comes t' my tilt
an' finds a hull passel o' Mountaineers--they wan't friendly in them
days, th' Bay Mountaineers wan 't--so many they eats up a hull barrel
o' my flour t' one meal--"
"Now, Ed," broke in Dick, in evident disgust, "you been tellin' that
yarn so many times you believes un yourself. Now, don't tell un
ag'in."
"'Tis gospel truth--" Ed began.
"'Tis no kind o' truth."
"Well, an' you don't want t' hear un, I won't tell un," said Ed, with
an air of injured innocence.
"'What was it, Ed, that happened you?" asked Shad, laughing, for he
had learned to know the peculiarities of these two friends.
"Dick's not wantin' t' hear un, Shad. He gets all ruffled up when I
tells o' some happenin' I been havin' that's bigger'n any he ever has.
I won't tell un now; 'twould make he feel bad, an' I don't want t'
make he feel bad, nohow," said Ed, with mock magnanimity. "But there
were another time--I'll tell you o' this, Shad, an' Dick don't mind?"
"Oh, go ahead an' yarn, if you wants to! But th' Lard'll strike you
dead some day, Ed, for lyin';" and Dick turned toward the canoes in
disgust.
"Now Dick's mad," Ed laughed, "but don't mind he, Shad; he'll get over
un."
"As I was sayin', now, 'twas when I was layin' my trail t' th'
nu'th'ard o' Wanokapow. I gets my tilt built an' all in shape an'
stocked up, an' I goes out one mornin' lookin' t' kill a bit o' fresh
meat. 'Tis early, an' too soon t' set up th' traps, for th' fur ain't
prime.
"I gets a porcupine, which is all I wants, an' comin' down t' my
second tilt about th' middle o' th' forenoon, finds un all afire an' a
band o' twelve Injuns--I counts un, an' they's just a dozen--lookin'
on, an' dividin' up my things, which they takes out o' th' tilt before
they fires un.
"Now I were mad--too mad t' be scairt--an' I steps right down among
th' Injuns, an' when they sees me lookin' fierce an' ready t' kill un
all, they's too scairt t' do a thing or t' run, an' they just stands
lookin' at me.
"Well, I keeps on lookin' wonderful fierce, an' jumps about a bit an'
hollers. It makes me laugh now t' think how that passel o' Injuns
stared! One of un tells me a couple o' years after that they thinks I
gone crazy.
"'Tisn't long till I gets un all so scairt they thinks I'm goin' t'
shoot un all up, an' they's afeared t' run, thinkin' if they does I'll
start right in quick.
"Then I thinks it's time t' break th' news t' un, an' I tells un if
they builds th' tilt up new for me I'll let un off. An' they starts
right in t' build un, an' has un all done before th' sun sets. Th'
same tilt's standin' there yet--'
"Ed!" called Dick, from the canoe, "if you're through yarnin', come on
now an' get started back. It'll be dark now before we gets t' th'
tilt."
It was dark when they reached the tilt. Bill, sitting alone by the
camp-fire, had seen nothing of Manikawan while they were gone, and
none of them ventured to enter the tilt or to disturb her.
But, when they arose from their bed of boughs in the lee of the tent
the following I morning, they found that the fire at their feet had
been renewed while they slept. Manikawan was not in the tilt, but
presently they discovered her, standing upon the pinnacle of rock near
the lake shore, looking toward the glowing East, immovable as a
statue, picturesque and beautiful in her primitive Indian costume.
As the rim of the sun appeared above the horizon and the marvellous
colourings of the morning melted into the fuller light of day,
Manikawan extended her arms before her for a moment, then descended
from her rock, and, observing that her friends were astir, she
approached them, her face glowing with the health and freshness of
youth, and bearing no trace of the ordeal through which she had
passed.
"White Brother of the Snow, the matchi manitu has been cheated. You
have escaped from his power, and you will live long in the beautiful
world," said she, for the first time adopting a more personal and
affectionate form of address. "Manikawan's heart is as the rising sun,
bright and full of light. It is as the earth, when the sun shines in
summer, warm and happy. It soars like the gulls, no longer weighted
with trouble."
"Manikawan is my good sister, and I am glad she is happy," responded
Bob. "White Brother of the Snow and his friend will never forget that
she outwitted the Matchi Manitu. They will never forget what she did."
Ungava Bob and Bill Campbell, sharing the canoe with Manikawan, Dick
Blake and Ed Matheson the canoe with Shad Trowbridge, they reached the
river tilt that evening. Manikawan was radiantly happy, but Bob,
uncertain as to what course she might decide upon, and well aware that
any attempt to send her back to her people would prove quite fruitless
if she chose to remain with them, was much disturbed in mind. He sat
long by the campfire that night, before he joined his companions in
the tent, still undetermined what he should do to rid himself of her.
When morning came Manikawan gave no hint of going until breakfast was
eaten. Then with her customary promptness of action, standing before
Ungava Bob, she announced:
"Manikawan will now return to the lodge of Sishetakushin, her father,
and wait for White Brother of the Snow. He is safe from the Matchi
Manitu. She will wait and be contented. She will know that he is in
the country of her people. She will wait for him till the sun grows
timid and afraid, till the Spirit of the Frost grows bold and strong.
Then White Brother of the Snow will come to the lodge of
Sishetakushin, and there he will rest. Manikawan will prepare for him
his nabwe (stew) and make for him warm garments from the skin of the
atuk."
Without further preliminary or adieu, she lifted her canoe upon her
head and disappeared as unexpectedly as she had appeared.