where the bateau lay. He crouched behind an alder bush, drew a long
breath, and sent a loud, shrill cry across the water. Immediately it was
repeated once, twice, ringing back across the channel from the islands
and steep shore beyond. Before the final echo had died away, he sent his
voice forth again, this time in a hoarse bellow. Then, in rapid
succession, he hooted like an owl, barked like a dog, howled like a wolf,
whistled piercingly with two fingers in his mouth, imitated the mocking
laughter of the loon, growled and roared and hissed and screamed in every
manner he could devise and with all the power of his strong young lungs.
The roughened and cracked tones of his voice, not yet through turning
from boy’s to man’s, made his yells and howls and groans the more weird
and demoniac. And each sound was repeated once and again, producing a
veritable pandemonium of unearthly noises which seemed to come from every
side.
Pausing to take breath, Hugh was himself startled by another voice, not
an echo of his own, which rang out from somewhere above him, loud and
shrill. It spoke words he did not understand, and no echo came back. A
second time the voice cried out, still in the same strange language, but
now Hugh recognized the names Ohrante and Minong and then, to his
amazement, that of his own father Jean Beaupré. For an instant the lad
almost believed that this was indeed a “Bay of Spirits.” Who but a spirit
could be calling the name of Jean Beaupré in this remote place? Who but
Blaise, Beaupré’s other son? It was Blaise of course, crying out in
Ojibwa from up there at the top of the island. He had uttered some threat
against Ohrante.
Suddenly recalling his own part in the game, Hugh sent out another
hollow, threatening owl call, “Hoot-ti-toot, toot, hoot-toot!” The
ghostly voices repeated it, once, twice. Then he wailed and roared and
tried to scream like a lynx. He was in the midst of the maniacal loon
laugh, when Blaise slipped through the trees to his side.
“They run away, my brother.” The quick, flashing smile that marked him as
Jean Beaupré’s son crossed the boy’s face. “They have turned their canoes
and paddle full speed. The manitos you called up have frightened them
away. For a moment, before I understood what you were about, those spirit
cries frightened me also.”
“And you frightened me,” Hugh confessed frankly, “when you shouted from
up there.”
A grim expression replaced the lad’s smile. “The farther canoe had
turned, but the first still came on, with Ohrante urging his braves. Then
I too played spirit! But let us go back and see if they still run away.”
Hugh sent out another hoarse-voiced roar or two and Blaise added a war
whoop and a very good imitation of the angry cat scream of a lynx. Then
both slipped hurriedly through the trees to the top of the island and
sought the spot where they had first watched the approaching canoes. The
canoes were still visible, but farther away and moving rapidly down the
bay.
“They think this a bay of demons,” Hugh chuckled. “The echoes served us
well. But what was it you said to them, Blaise?”
“I said, ‘Beware! Come no farther or you die, every man!’ They heard and
held their paddles motionless. Then I said, ‘Beware of the manitos of
Minong, O Ohrante, murderer of our white son, Jean Beaupré.’”
“Blaise, I believe it _was_ Ohrante who killed father.”
“I know not. The thought came into my head that if he was the man he
might be frightened if he heard that the manitos knew of the deed. And he
was frightened.”
“Did he order the canoe turned?”
“I heard no order. He sat quite still. He made no move to stay his men
when they turned the canoe about. Ohrante is a bold man, yet he was
frightened. That I know.”
“Was it one of those canoes we saw yesterday, do you think?”
“It may be, but Ohrante was not in it. He is so big, far away though they
were, we should have seen him.”
“We couldn’t have helped seeing him. I wonder if they came around the end
of the long point. How could they in such a sea?”
“It may be that the waves have gone down out there. See how still the
water is in here now.”
“Then we can start for the mainland. We must go back. The canoes are out
of sight.”
“No, no, that would be folly. If they go straight out of this bay all
will be well, but we know not where they go or how far or where they may
lie in wait. No, no, Hugh, we have frightened them away from this spot,
but we dare not leave it ourselves until darkness comes.”
XX
HUGH CLIMBS THE RIDGE
The small island was scarcely a half mile in circumference, and it did
not take Hugh and Blaise long to explore it. Its only inhabitants
appeared to be squirrels, hares and a few birds. Breakfast had been
light, and by mid-afternoon the boys were very hungry. The lighting of a
fire involved some risk, but they could not eat raw fish. On a bit of
open rock at the extreme upper or southwest end of the island, they made
a tiny blaze, taking care to keep the flame clear and almost smokeless,
and broiled the fish over the coals. The meal put both in better spirits
and helped them to await with more patience the coming of night.
The evening proved disappointing. The sun set behind black clouds that
came up from the west. The water was calm, the air still and oppressive,
and above the ridges lightning flashed. The prospect of making a start
across the open lake was not good. Yet in one way the threatening weather
served the lads well. The night was intensely dark. The lightning was too
far away to illuminate land or water, and this black darkness furnished
good cover. When they pushed off from the little island, they could see
scarcely a boat’s length ahead.
Close to the shores of the islands and the long point, they paddled,
avoiding wide spaces, which were, even on this dark night, considerably
lighter than the land-shadowed water. As he sat in the stern trying to
dip and raise his paddle as noiselessly as his half-brother in the bow,
Hugh felt that the very bay had somehow changed its character. That
morning the place had seemed peaceful and beautiful, but to-night it had
turned sinister and threatening. The low hanging, starless sky, the dark,
wooded islands, the towering ridge, its topmost line of tree spires a
black, jagged line against the pale flashes of lightning, the still,
lifeless water, the intense silence broken only by the far-away rumble of
thunder and the occasional high-pitched, squeaking cry of some night
bird, all seemed instinct with menace. The boy felt that at any moment a
swift canoe, with the gigantic figure of Ohrante towering in the bow,
might dart out of some black shadow. Frankly Hugh was frightened, and he
knew it. But the knowledge only made him set his teeth hard, gaze keenly
and intently into the darkness about him and ply his paddle with the
utmost care. What his half-brother’s feelings were he could not guess. He
only knew that Blaise was paddling steadily and silently.
In the thick darkness, the older boy was not quite sure of the way back
to the hidden pond, but Blaise showed no doubt or hesitation. He found
the channel between the point and the chain of islands, and warned Hugh
just when to turn through the gap into the inner channel. When it came to
feeling the way past the round islet and through the narrow passage, Hugh
ceased paddling and trusted entirely to Blaise. The latter strained his
eyes in the effort to see into the darkness, but so black was it on every
hand that even he had to depend more on feeling with his paddle blade
than on his sense of sight. It was partly luck that he succeeded in
taking the boat through without worse accident than grating a rock. He
did not attempt to cross the little pond, but ran the bateau up on the
pebbles just beyond the entrance.
Hugh drew a long sigh of relief. They were back safe in the hidden pond
near the cache of furs. The sense of menace that had oppressed him was
suddenly lifted, and he felt an overpowering physical and mental
weariness. Blaise must have had some similar feeling, for he had not a
word to say as they climbed out of the bateau and pulled it farther up.
In silence he lay down beside Hugh in the bottom of the boat. In spite of
the rumbling of the thunder, and the flashing of the lightning, the two
boys fell asleep immediately.
The storm passed around and no rain fell, but the sleepers were awakened
towards dawn by a sharp change in the weather. The air had turned cold,
wind rustled the trees, broken clouds were scudding across the sky
uncovering clear patches. The morning dawned bright. The little pond was
still, but it was impossible to tell what the weather might be outside.
The only way to find out was to go see. Their adventure of the day before
had made the boys more than ever anxious to get away from Isle Royale at
the first possible moment. Yet the thought that Ohrante might be lurking
somewhere near made them cautious. They hesitated to leave their hiding
place until they were sure they could strike out across the lake. To load
the furs and start out, only to be obliged to turn back, seemed a double
risk.
“If the lake is rough it is likely that Ohrante and his band have not
gone far,” Blaise remarked. “They may be in this very bay.”
“That does not follow,” Hugh replied quickly and with better reasoning.
“There was a long interval between the time when we saw them and the
coming of the storm-clouds. Because the lake was rough in the morning is
no sign it was rough all day. They must have come in here from somewhere,
and we know that the wind changed. The water in the bay was as still as
glass last night. Ohrante was surely well frightened and I have little
doubt they made good speed away from the Bay of Spirits.” Hugh was silent
for a few moments. Then he asked abruptly, “What would happen if we
should encounter Ohrante? He can’t know what brought us here, and we have
done him no harm. Why should he harm us when he has nothing against us?”
“He has this against us, that we are the sons of Jean Beaupré.”
“He doesn’t know we are.”
“He knows me. He has seen me more than once and knows me for the son of
my father. Ohrante forgets not those he has seen.”
“I didn’t know he knew you. He can’t know me. Probably he doesn’t even
know that father had another son. I’ll go alone in the bateau, Blaise,
down the channel, and see how the lake looks.”
“No, no,” Blaise objected. “You must not take such a risk. If you go out
there, I will go too.”
“That would spoil the whole plan. If Ohrante catches sight of you, it
will be all up with both of us. He doesn’t know me. If he glimpses me, he
may even be afraid to show himself. He may think me one of a party of
white men, and he is a fugitive from justice.”
Blaise shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, at any rate,” Hugh protested, “I shall have a better chance if you
aren’t with me. I don’t believe I shall see anything of Ohrante or his
men, but I run less risk alone. I will be cautious. I’ll not expose
myself more than I can help. Instead of going out along the point by
water, I’ll paddle across the channel and then take to the woods. I can
climb to the top of the ridge, under cover all the way, and look out
across the lake. It can’t be very far up there. I shall be back in an
hour. You must stay here and guard the furs.”
The expression of the younger lad’s face betrayed that he did not like
this new plan much better than the first one, but he voiced no further
objection.
Hugh pushed off the bateau, waved his hand to the sober-faced Blaise, and
paddled through the narrow waterway and out of sight. After his brother
had gone, Blaise picked his way along the shore of the pond and into the
woods to the cache. He found no signs of disturbance around the old
birch, and, climbing up, he looked down into the hollow. The rotten wood
and dead leaves he and Hugh had strewn over the bark cover seemed
undisturbed. Satisfied that the furs were safe, Blaise climbed down
again. He was reminded though that Hugh still had the packet. He wished
he had asked his elder brother to leave it behind.
The half-breed boy waited with the patience inherited from his Indian
mother. But when the sun reached its highest point he began to wonder.
Surely it could not take Hugh so long to cross to the point, climb to the
top and return. From experience of untracked woods and rough ridges,
Blaise knew the trip was probably a harder one than Hugh had imagined,
but the latter was not inexperienced in rough going. Unless he had
encountered extraordinary difficulties, had been obliged to go far
around, or had become lost, he should have been back long before. The
possibility that Hugh had become lost, Blaise dismissed from his mind at
once. With the ridge ahead and the water behind him, only the very
stupidest of men could have lost himself in daylight. That he had come to
some crack or chasm he could not cross or some cliff he could not scale,
and had been compelled to go far out of his way, was possible. Blaise had
come to know Hugh’s stubborn nature. If he had started to go to the top
of the ridge, there he would go, if it was in the power of possibility.
There seemed to be nothing Blaise could do but wait. Even if he had
thought it wise to follow his elder brother, he had no boat. Sunset came
and still no Hugh. The lad felt he could delay action no longer.
The pond was in the interior of a small island. Blaise made up his mind
to cross to the shore bordering on the channel that separated the island
from the long point. Through the woods he took as direct a route as he
could. The growth was thick, but there was still plenty of light. In a
very few minutes he saw the gleam of water among the trees ahead. He
slipped through cautiously, not to expose himself until he had taken
observations. His body concealed by a thick alder bush, he looked across
the strip of water, studying the opposite shore line.
The shore was in shadow now and the trees grew to the water. Letting his
eyes travel along foot by foot, he caught sight of the thing he sought, a
bit of weather-stained wood, not the trunk or branch of a dead tree,
projecting a little way from the shadow of a cedar. That was the end of
the bateau. Hugh had crossed the channel, had left his boat and gone into
the woods.
Slipping between the bushes, Blaise glanced along his own side of the
channel, then made his way quickly to the spot where a birch tree had
toppled from its insecure hold into the water. With his sharp hatchet,
the boy quickly severed the roots that were mooring the fallen tree to
the shore. Then, with some difficulty, he succeeded in shoving the birch
farther out into the channel and climbing on the trunk. His weight, as he
sat astride the tree trunk between the branches, pulled it down a little,
but the upper part of his body was well above water. The channel was
deep, with some current, which caught the tree and floated it away from
shore. Like most woods Indians and white voyageurs, Blaise was not
skilled in swimming, but the water was calm and, as long as he clung to
his strange craft, he was in no danger of drowning. Leaning forward, he
cut off a branch to use as a paddle and with it was able to make slow
headway across. He could not guide himself very well, and the current
bore him down. He succeeded with his branch paddle in keeping the tree
from turning around, however. It went ashore, the boughs catching in a
bush that grew on the water’s edge, some distance below the spot where
the bateau was drawn up in the shelter of the leaning cedar.
XXI
THE GRINNING INDIAN
When Hugh passed out of the narrow channel into the wider one, he ran his
eyes searchingly along the opposite shore, alert for any signs of human
beings. Then he looked to the right and left, up and down the channel and
the shores of the small islands. He saw nothing to cause him
apprehension. Putting more strength into his paddle strokes, he crossed
as quickly as he could, and ran the bateau in beside a leaning cedar tree
with branches that swept the water. The bow touched the shore, and Hugh
climbed out and made the boat fast. He felt sure it would be concealed
from down channel by the thick foliage of the cedar. From up channel the
bateau was not so well hidden, but this place seemed to be the only spot
that offered any concealment whatever, so he was forced to be content. He
would not be gone long anyway, and he was well satisfied that Ohrante and
his band would not return soon to the Bay of Manitos.
This was by no means the first time Hugh had been through untracked woods
and over rough ground, yet he found the trip to the ridge top longer and
more difficult than he had expected. The growth, principally of
evergreens, was dense and often troublesome to push through. The bedrock,
a few feet from shore, was covered deeply with soft leaf mould and
decayed wood and litter, forming a treacherous footing. Sometimes he
found it firm beneath his feet, again he would sink half-way to his
knees. Wherever a tree had fallen, lightening the dense shade, tangles of
ground yew had sprung up. The rise on this side of the point was gradual
compared with the abrupt cliffs of the northwest side, but the slope
proved to be, not an unbroken grade, but an irregular succession of low
ridges with shallow gullies between. By the general upward trend,
occasional glimpses of the water behind him, and the angle at which the
sunlight came through the trees, Hugh kept his main direction, going in
as straight a line as he could. Under ordinary circumstances he would
have used his hatchet to blaze his way, so that he might be sure of
returning by the same route, but he hesitated to leave so plain a trail.
It was not likely that Ohrante would come across the track, but Hugh was
taking no chances. If the giant Iroquois should come down the channel and
find the bateau, a blazed trail into the woods would make pursuit
altogether too easy. Though he was in too great a hurry to take any
particular care to avoid leaving footprints, Hugh did not mark his trail
intentionally and even refrained from cutting his way through the thick
places. The whole distance from the shore to the summit of the highest
ridge probably did not exceed a mile, and did not actually take as long
as it seemed in the climbing.
He hoped that he might come out in a bare spot where he could see across
the water, but he was disappointed. The ridge was almost flat topped and
trees cut off his view in every direction. Going on across the summit,
however, he pushed his way among the growth, to find himself standing on
the very rim of an almost vertical descent. He looked directly down upon
the tops of the sturdy trees and shrubs that clung to the rock by
thrusting their roots far into holes and crannies. Beyond stretched the
lake, rich blue under a clear sky. A little to his left, a projecting
block of rock a few feet below offered a chance for a better view. He let
himself down on the rock and took an observation. The lake was not too
rough to venture out upon, when the need of crossing was so great. He
noted with satisfaction that the breeze was only moderate. The direction,
a little east of north, was not unfavorable for reaching the mainland,
though steering a straight course for the Kaministikwia would be
impossible.
Hugh turned to climb back the way he had come down. He gave a gasp,
almost lost his footing, and seized a sturdy juniper root to keep himself
from falling. Directly above him, on the verge of the ridge, stood a
strange man, from his features, dark skin and long black hair evidently
an Indian,—but not Ohrante. It flashed through Hugh’s mind that on level
ground he might be a match for this fellow. They were not on level ground
though. The Indian had the advantage of position. Moreover Hugh’s only
arms were the hatchet and knife in his belt. The Indian carried a musket
ready in his hand. That he realized to the full his advantage was proved
by the malicious grin on his bronze face. There was no friendliness in
that grin, only malevolence and vindictiveness.
Hugh knew himself to be in a bad position. Probably the Indian was one of
Ohrante’s followers, and they were a wild crew, outlaws and renegades,
their hand against every man and every man’s hand against them. The
picture of the prisoner being tortured in the firelight crossed the boy’s
mind in a vivid flash, and a shudder crept up his back. Then the grin on
the Indian’s face sent a wave of anger over Hugh that steadied him. He
must be cool at all costs and not show fear.
Moving a step, to a more secure footing, he looked the fellow straight in
the eyes. “Bo jou,” Hugh said, using the corruption of the French “Bon
jour” common among traders and Indians.
“Bo jou, white man,” the other replied in French.
Both were silent for a moment. Hugh did not know what to say next and the
Indian seemed content to say nothing. Suddenly Hugh made up his mind,
resolving on a bold course.
“What is this place?” he asked. “Is it island or mainland?”
“Ne compr’ney,” was the only answer.
Hugh took the phrase to be an attempt to say that the other did not
understand. He repeated his questions in French, then tried English, but
the Indian merely stared at him, the sardonic grin still distorting his
lips, and replied in the same manner. Either he really did not
understand, the two French phrases being all the white man’s speech he
knew, or he did not wish to talk. Yet Hugh made another attempt at
conversation.
“I was driven here in the storm last night,” he volunteered, “and my
canoe wrecked and my companion drowned. We were on our way down shore
from the New Fort with our winter supplies, but they are all lost. What
is this place? I never saw it before and I do not like it. This morning I
heard strange sounds, unlike any I ever heard made by man or animal. The
devil was at large I think,” and he crossed himself in the French manner.
During the speech Hugh had kept his eyes closely fixed on the Indian’s
face. He thought when he mentioned the strange sounds that he detected a
quiver of interest, but it was gone in an instant. The fellow merely
repeated his singsong “Ne compr’ney.” There was no use saying more.
Determined not to show that he expected or feared any violence, Hugh
started to climb up the projecting rock. Somewhat to the boy’s surprise,
the Indian made no move to stop him. However, he kept his gun ready for
instant use.
After gaining the top Hugh was in a quandary how to proceed. He did not
believe the man’s intentions were friendly. Would it be wise to strike
first? At the thought, his hand, almost unconsciously, sought his knife.
Before he could grasp the handle, the Indian made a swift movement, and
the end of the musket barrel rested against Hugh’s chest. The flint-lock
musket was primed and cocked, ready to fire. Resistance was useless. Hugh
stood motionless, looked the fellow in the eye and feigned anger.
“What do you mean?” he cried, trying to make his meaning plain by his
voice and manner even though his captor could not understand the words.
“What do you mean by threatening me, a white man, with your musket?”
The gun was moved back a trifle, but the bronze face continued to grin
maliciously. To show that he was not afraid, Hugh took a step forward,
and opened his mouth to speak again, but the words were not uttered. As
his weight shifted to his forward foot, he was seized from behind, and
thrown sidewise, his head crashing against the trunk of a tree.
XXII
BLAISE FOLLOWS HUGH’S TRAIL
Blaise had no difficulty finding the place where Hugh had gone into the
woods. The white boy thought he had been careful about leaving a trail,
but to the half-breed lad the indications were plain enough. Most of the
tracks were such as might have been made by any large animal, but Blaise
knew Hugh had landed at this spot intending to go directly to the ridge
top. The younger boy was confident that trampled undergrowth, prints in
the leaf mould, freshly broken branches, were all signs of his brother’s
passage.
At first he followed the trail easily, but the long northern twilight was
waning. As the darkness gathered in the woods, tracking grew increasingly
difficult. Blaise had no wish to attract attention by lighting a torch.
As he penetrated the thick growth, he was not only unable to find Hugh’s
trail, but was obliged sometimes to feel his own way and was in grave
doubt whether he was going aright. Coming out into a more open spot,
where several trees had fallen, he examined, as well as he could in the
dim light, the moss-covered trunks for some sign that Hugh had climbed
over them. A fresh break where the decayed wood had crumbled away under
foot, a patch of bruised moss, the delicate fruiting stalks broken and
crushed, were enough to convince him that he was still on the right
track.