THE BURNING OF CHRISTO’S WIGWAM.
The Monday following his return from the hunt Norman resumed work at
Mr. Stark’s, and on his way there in the morning he saw Christo, the
praying Indian, sitting in his doorway smoking his blackened pipe
with complacent ease. As he had not seen the red man for some time,
he stopped to speak to him, little realising under what different
circumstances they were next to meet. Though the Pennacook was inclined
to be morose over the misfortunes of himself and his race, he had
learned to like the lad. On this occasion Christo seemed very glad to
see him, and asked him particularly about his hunt to Pawtuckaway, and
his eye kindled with some of its old-time fire as he spoke of the deer
hunts his tribe had made in that vicinity in the years gone by.
“Were the deer very plenty there then, Christo?”
“Many moose; many bear; good hunting grounds.”
Though he usually carried his dinner, that day Norman went home for
his noonday meal. He was seated at the table, eating, when he and his
grandfather saw Gunwad, with two strange men, coming up the road.
Expecting that the deer reeve was about to pay them another visit, they
were relieved to see him keep on past the house. When he was about to
pass out of sight, however, he stopped in the middle of the road, to
shake his fist toward them and stamp his foot in evident rage.
“He disna want tae cum within reach o’ my staff!” exclaimed Mr.
MacDonald, moving uneasily on his seat.
“Never mind him, grandfather; he is not worth a thought.”
“He’s a fit hireling for the British usurpers!”
“Nay, grandfather, now you do an honest body of men an injustice.
Gunwad is no more the representative of the Tyngs men than――”
“Tut, tut, laddie! I houp the Woodranger has got nane o’ his simple
jabberings into yer noddle.”
“I try to do all justice, grandfather. It is possible the English will
show that they have better rights here than we and our friends. It is
a foolish quarrel, and it seems to me we are being made into catspaws
for those higher in power. But don’t let anything I have said worry
you. Mr. Stark tells me the Tyngs men are planning to raise their
meeting-house the last of the week. He is going to the raising, and I
think I shall. I believe it is the duty of all to turn out, for they
have had a hard time in getting it.”
“A’ their ain faut, laddie. They hae nae business here. I’m feart ye
hae got ideas intae yer heid that are nae healthy.”
Leaving Norman to return to Mr. Stark’s as soon as he had finished his
dinner, let us keep in sight of Gunwad, whose purpose in coming to
Namaske was to make another attempt to find and arrest Christo. He had
good reasons to believe he should be successful this time, as he had
been informed from a reliable source that the red man was again at home.
Accordingly, though he approached with somewhat more boldness than
before, he advanced with some caution toward the humble abode, which
again had every appearance of being deserted.
“If the red fool has run away this time I’ll scour th’ woods till I
find him!” muttered the deer reeve, as he continued to draw nearer with
his companions. A little later he was no longer in doubt. Christo was
again missing!
“The coppery sneak somehow got wind I was comin’!” he exclaimed. “But
he can’t be fur away; he’s hidin’ somewhere in th’ woods. Mebbe he’s
watchin’ us, and thinks he can keep foolin’ me in this way. I calculate
two can play at some sich game. I’ll tear down his ol’ shanty afore
I’ll go back empty-handed this time. I hev a scheme thet’ll call him
in. Jes’ ye wait a minnit.”
The deer reeve then scraped together a few leaves and small sticks from
the edge of the forest, and with his flint and steel and tinder-box,
which every man carried in those days, he quickly set fire to the
combustible pile.
“Ain’t ye afeerd ye’ll excite the onery cuss to fire on us?” asked one
of his companions, who could see that this was a dangerous course to
pursue.
“It would be the dearest shot he ever fired,” replied Gunwad. “Get me
some more underbrush, so the fire’ll rise higher. Ha, ha! nobody would
shed enny tears ef th’ ol’ bark hull itself should burn.”
He had barely uttered the words when a puff of wind caught up the pile
of burning matter and carried it through the opening leading into the
cabin. Fanned then by the wind, the blaze spread rapidly right and left.
“For the Lord’s sake, Gunwad!” cried his companions, “put it out before
the old hut burns up!”
Then, seeing the deer reeve showed no inclination to stop the fire, one
of them started forward to do so, when Gunwad caught him by the arm and
held him back, saying:
“Let it burn, Bedlock! It’s the best sight I have seen for many a day.
If that don’t call th’ red fool home, I don’t know what will. Let’s
get back where we sha’n’t ’tract so much ’tention.”
Gunwad seemed really pleased at the result of his work, and he watched
the fire streaming higher and higher, until the home of Christo was
fairly enveloped in the flames. While the three stood gazing on the
burning wigwam, without lifting a hand to extinguish the fire, new
actors appeared on the scene.
The newcomers were none other than Norman and the Woodranger, the
latter having come along just as our hero was starting to return to Mr.
Stark’s. They had barely exchanged greetings before the fire arrested
their attention, and, realising the direction from whence it appeared,
they hurried toward the place. But they reached the scene too late to
save the dwelling, which, being little more than a bark shell, had
burned quickly.
The presence of Gunwad, who had not been able to get out of sight in
season to escape the eyes of the forester, suggested to him that the
deer reeve had knowledge of the cause of the fire, and he said:
“Did you, like us, Goodman Gunwad, get here too late to save the red
man’s home?”
“’Pears to me yer eyes oughter tell ye,” replied the deer reeve, who
moved uneasily under the other’s close scrutiny. “I reckon there won’t
be any tears shed over th’ cleanin’ up. Th’ fool might hev stayed at
home.”
“Where is Christo?”
“I don’t know as I’m obleeged to keep track o’ th’ red nigger.”
“I can ne’er dissemble, Gunwad,” said the Woodranger, with more
directness, as if the truth was evident to him, “I hope you ne’er had
any hand in this. I say it for your sake, and for the sake o’ every man
in Harrytown.”
“Bah! Th’ ol’ shell weren’t worth what has already been said. The red
was never overfriendly to me, or any white man, for that matter, except
it was _ye_.”
This insinuation was lost upon the Woodranger, who continued to make
the deer reeve uneasy by his steady look.
“It isn’t the worth o’ the building, Gunwad, but the principle at
stake. It was all the abiding-place the last o’ the red race had. Here,
in sight o’ his ancestral home, he had hoped to pass the remainder o’
his natural days in peace. So he told me. I cannot dissemble, Gunwad,
but to me it seems a greater wrong to fire the simple dwelling o’ this
untutored red than it would be to set torch to the proudest home in the
king’s land. Alack a man! I’m sorry to see this and to know――”
“As it happens, I did not set fire to th’ miserable ol’ wigwam!” broke
in Gunwad, who moved away, muttering under his breath words he was
careful the other should not hear.
“I am glad to hear you say that, Gunwad, for I feared me you had
committed an indiscretion which would work you naught but evil. If you
know how the fire caught, I would advise you to see the unhappy red
man, and explain it to him.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind!” exclaimed the deer reeve, who the
next minute disappeared from the scene with his companions following at
his heels.
“I’m sorry o’ this,” said the Woodranger to Norman, when the others had
left them standing alone by the smoking ruins. “I fear me it bodes harm
to the white settlers along the valley. It is just sich amazements as
this, as keeps the reds on edge.”
“But there is peace with the Indians now, Woodranger, and has been
since Lovewell’s victory over the Pequawketts.”
“Soon to be broken, lad, soon to be broken, I fear me. Alack a man!
if the whites would remember that they are civilised, and not lower
themselves to the level o’ savages in treating with ’em, far less o’
innocent blood would be shed. But there’s no reason in an angry man’s
heart, and one like Gunwad will kindle more fires than a hundred better
men can put out.”
“Gunwad has gone down by the house,” said Norman, who could not forget
that fact. “I hope he will not trouble grandfather, who is easily
aroused at sight of him.”
“I read your thoughts, lad. Go on to your work, and I will see this
Gunwad does not vex the old man.”
“Thank you, Woodranger. I shall feel safe if you are near him. I
suppose I must go on to Mr. Stark’s. The days are short at this season
of the year.”