that amazed him. All the Indian said was, “Who are you, white man? How
come you here?” A simple question in curiously accented English. It was
the voice that surprised Hugh. Weak, high pitched, almost squeaking, such
a voice as the boy had never heard in an Indian before, it was
ludicrously incongruous with the size and appearance of the evil giant.
Instantly the spell in which Ohrante had held him was broken. So great
was the revulsion of feeling that Hugh actually wanted to laugh. Luckily
he realized that to take any notice of the giant’s weak point would
surely arouse his bitterest hatred. Self-possession regained, Hugh
controlled his features and answered steadily. He had had plenty of time
that long afternoon to plan the story he was to tell.
“I am Hugh McNair. I came here by accident. High winds drove me out of my
course and against the great rocks yonder.” He jerked his head in the
direction of the mouth of the bay. “My canoe was wrecked, all my winter
supplies lost, my comrade drowned.” He paused, rather surprised at the
readiness with which he told his false tale. Ordinarily Hugh was
truthful, inclined to regard a lie as a coward’s refuge, but he had no
intention of divulging his true name and purpose to his father’s
bitterest enemy.
Ohrante seemed to consider the reply. Then he spoke again. “Minong far
from mainland,” he said in his bad English. He was suspicious of the
tale, but the boy was prepared for doubt.
“We were going from the New Fort at the Kaministikwia,” Hugh went on to
explain. “We had sold our furs and had all our supplies for the winter.
Also we were very sleepy. We had drunk deep and we did not take care
where we went. Then came the wind.”
Hugh was watching Ohrante’s face closely, but he could not tell whether
the Iroquois believed the story or not, or indeed how much of it he
understood. He made no reply except a queer little sound in his throat.
Because of his high-pitched voice, that sound could not be called a
grunt, and Hugh was at a loss to know whether it meant assent, disbelief
or contempt. Before he could add anything more to his story, the giant
turned abruptly away, walked over to the fire and seated himself on a
log.
Immediately one of his followers removed the pot, and, with a
long-handled, crudely carved wooden spoon, ladled out a generous portion
of the stew into a birch bark dish. The chief received the dish in
silence and commenced to eat, picking out the bits of meat on the point
of his knife, and taking up the rice on the flat of the blade. After he
had finished the more solid part of the food, he drank the soup and
passed the dish back to be refilled.
The other Indians, eight in number, stood or sat about in silence. Not
until the chief had finished his second portion and had signified, by
turning the empty dish upside down on the ground, that he had had enough,
did they venture to approach the kettle, each with his own bark or wooden
bowl. Ohrante said something to the squat man who had been one of Hugh’s
captors, pointing to the boy as he spoke. At once the man, carrying his
own dish of stew, went over to the captive, seated himself cross-legged
beside him, took up a piece of meat on the point of his knife and held it
to Hugh’s lips. In this way he fed the lad about half the contents of the
dish, reserving the rest for himself for fear the kettle might be empty.
Neither the wooden dish nor the knife blade was very clean, but Hugh was
too hungry to be particular. He could have eaten more, but he was
thankful to get anything. Whatever the fate in store for him, he was
apparently not to be starved to death. He risked asking for a drink,
making signs to explain his meaning, and the Indian brought him some
water from the lake in a bark cup.
Ohrante did not speak to Hugh again that night, or show any further
interest in him. He was left lying bound and was not even given a
blanket. Early in the evening, Ohrante retired alone to the smaller of
the two wigwams, and a little later the others, all except the young
fellow with the malicious grin, crowded into the larger dwelling. The
young Indian, rolled in a dirty blanket, lay down on the opposite side of
the fire from the prisoner.
Hugh’s arms and legs had grown so numb that he no longer felt the galling
of the cords, but he was very sore and uncomfortable from lying on the
hard ground. He had no wish to sleep, he was too eager to find some means
of escape. If he could bring his bonds in contact with a coal from the
fire, he might burn them enough so that he could pull them apart. He
hitched nearer the flickering blaze and turned on his side towards it.
The light was full on the face of the Indian beyond. Hugh could see that
the man’s eyes were open and fixed upon him. His lips were grinning in
the evil fashion the boy knew all too well.
Hugh settled himself as comfortably as he could and closed his eyes.
After what seemed a long time, the deep breathing of the guard seemed to
prove that he slept. The captive opened his eyes and, cautiously and with
painful effort, rolled nearer to the fire. There was a low grunt from the
Indian. He rose, came over to Hugh, seized him by the shoulder and
roughly dragged him back from the fire. Then he passed a skin rope about
the boy’s body under the arms and tied it to a strong young birch. The
rope was long and did not prevent Hugh from lying down and turning from
side to side, but it effectually anchored him too far from the fire to
put his plan into operation. His guard had probably divined his
intention. So ended the captive’s attempt to escape. There was nothing
left for him but to sleep, if he could, and gather strength and courage
for whatever the morrow might bring. It was long before he slept,
however, and the discomfort of his position waked him frequently. At last
the chill of early dawn refused to let him sleep longer.
He had not long to wait before the camp was stirring. The man with the
scarlet head band set about preparing a breakfast of boiled fish. Hugh’s
guard of the night took his gun and went away somewhere. Breakfast was
eaten at sunrise, and this time Hugh’s hands were unbound that he might
feed himself, but he was left tied to the tree. It was some time before
the numbness wore off so that he could use his hands freely. His first
attempts to manage his food amused the Indians, and the boy felt the
blood rise to his cheeks at their grins and unintelligible gibes.
Breakfast was over when the young fellow with the grin returned. He
talked with Ohrante, and afterwards the chief came over to Hugh and began
to ask questions. Again the boy was almost moved to mirth at the contrast
between the giant’s appearance and his voice. As Ohrante went on with his
questioning, however, Hugh almost forgot the ludicrous voice. His replies
kept his wits busy. The Iroquois wanted to know whether Hugh trapped for
himself or traded with others for furs, whether he sold to the Old
Company or to the New, where he intended to winter and other particulars.
Hugh had believed that he had his story well planned, but several of the
questions were unforeseen, and he was obliged to think quickly and invent
as he replied. Telling a false tale was not such a simple matter this
morning, and he was not at all sure that he made his convincing. After
Ohrante turned away, Hugh was left wondering if his answers had allayed
the giant’s suspicions or aroused them.
XXV
THE CHIEF OF MINONG
Hugh had expected to learn his fate that morning and had braced himself
for the ordeal, but Ohrante paid no further attention to him. With six of
his band the Iroquois left the camp. From where he sat propped against
the birch trunk, Hugh could see the two canoes start up the bay. His
wrists had been bound again and he was tied to the tree. The squat man
and the ugly fellow with the scarlet head band, who had remained to guard
the captive, evidently considered him so secure that he did not need
close watching. Shortly after the canoe had disappeared, both men went
off somewhere out of sight and hearing.
Now was his chance, thought Hugh, if he could only find some way to loose
his bonds. He pulled and wriggled and twisted, but to no avail. His
captors had done their work too well. His struggles only drew the knots
tighter. He sank back inert and disheartened.
“Take heart.”
The whisper was so low Hugh doubted his ears. He turned his head. Prone
on the ground in the shadow of a willow lay a slim figure, the black head
raised ever so little.
“Blaise!”
The head shook in warning. Wriggling like a snake, Blaise drew close.
“Untie me,” Hugh breathed.
“No, not till night. The guards are too near. When all sleep, I will come
again.”
“That may be too late,” Hugh protested.
“They will do nothing to-day. Ohrante wishes to take you to the mainland,
and to-day the lake is rough. Keep a strong heart, my brother.”
Blaise wriggled back to the shelter of the willows, and was gone without
a sound. He was out of the way none too soon. The guttural voice of the
squat man came to Hugh’s ears. In a few moments both guards were back,
carrying a birch basket of fish.
That day was even longer to Hugh than the preceding one. The sun climbed
and descended so slowly it seemed almost to stand still. Though his
guards left him alone several times, he neither saw nor heard anything
more of Blaise. That did not worry Hugh. He knew that somewhere, not far
away, his younger brother was hiding, awaiting the coming of darkness.
The knowledge put new heart and spirit into the prisoner. If only the
Indians did not capture Blaise, there was a good chance of getting away
safely. Hugh felt sure that he did not need to fear violence from his
captors just yet. Blaise had said that Ohrante meant to carry the
prisoner to the mainland. The lad must have had some good reason for
thinking that. Probably he had overheard the Indians’ conversation. In
this manner the captive, propped against the birch, in the thin shade of
its foliage, speculated on the movements and plans of his captors and his
rescuer. To speculate and plan was all he could do.
About the middle of the afternoon one of the canoes returned with Ohrante
and two of his followers. The men who had remained behind prepared a meal
of the fish they had brought in that morning, boiled in the big kettle.
Hugh was given a portion and his hands were again untied that he might
eat. His pleasure in the fresh lake trout was rather spoiled by its
having been sweetened with maple sugar. He had grown well used to eating
his meat and fish without salt, but he had not learned to enjoy the
Indian custom of using sugar instead.
After the meal, Ohrante again approached the boy. For a few moments the
big man stood looking down at him fixedly and in silence, and Hugh strove
to meet the piercing gaze boldly. Presently the giant began to speak. His
English was bad and interspersed with Indian words, at the meaning of
which Hugh could only guess. His speech, as well as the boy could make it
out, was something like this:
“White man, whether the tale you tell is true or false I know not. When I
look at you I think of a white man I knew and hated and took revenge
upon. Yet you are not like him. Your hair, your eyes are pale. It matters
not. I hate all white men. White men are my enemies. When a white man
falls into my hands I treat him as a great chief should treat his
enemies.” He paused to let the words sink in, his dark face hard as
stone.
The impressiveness and dignity of the chief’s deliberate address were
rather spoiled in effect by his ridiculously weak and broken voice, like
the changing tones of a boy, but Hugh could not fail to perceive the
threat conveyed.
“You are mistaken, great chief,” he replied quietly, using as a bit of
flattery the title Ohrante had given himself. “The white men are not the
enemies of the Indians. They wish the Indians no evil, only good. The
white men know no reason why the peace between themselves and the Ojibwas
should not last forever.”
“Ojibwa!” Ohrante made a gesture of contempt. “The Ojibwa may be a slave
of the white men if he wishes. I, Ohrante,”—he drew himself up a little
straighter, keeping his fierce eyes on the boy’s face to observe what
effect the name had—“I, Ohrante, am no Ojibwa. I was born a Mohawk of the
great six nations. Now I and my braves have taken another name, a name
not for the white man’s ears or lips, the name of the ancient race of
warriors and giants who once lived on Minong, the blood of whose chiefs
flows in my body. We will draw others to us, build up a strong nation,
and drive the white men from all the lands about the great waters.” He
made a sweeping gesture with one long, big-muscled arm.
Hugh could scarcely believe his ears. The giant Indian must be insane to
be the victim of such an illusion of greatness. Hugh knew nothing of any
ancient race upon Minong, although Baptiste had told him that the
Indians, in days gone by, were supposed to have come to the island from
time to time for copper. For all he knew, Ohrante might be a direct
descendant of those old miners, but his speech was none the less absurd.
Its vanity and pomposity were in such violent contrast to the weak, nasal
voice in which it was uttered that the boy forgot his own peril in his
desire to laugh. He controlled himself and for a few moments made no
answer. Ohrante also remained silent. As the two gazed into one another’s
eyes, a daring idea entered the lad’s head. Ohrante’s talk of the ancient
race of warriors and giants recalled the tales told by Baptiste and
Blaise and the trick he and his brother had already played upon the big
Mohawk.
“You speak,” Hugh said, “of the ancient race who once lived on this
island. I have heard that the inhabitants of Minong were not human at
all, but were, and indeed still are, spirits and fiends and frightful
creatures unlike man or beast. Once I laughed at those tales, but now
that I am on Minong, I laugh no more. I myself have seen and heard
strange things on this island. If I were not a good Christian, I should
be sore afraid of this enchanted land. Have you seen or heard aught of
those strange beings, great chief?”
Hugh’s eyes were fastened on Ohrante. When he mentioned the spirits and
fiends he noticed a slight change in the huge man’s face. As the boy went
on, Ohrante’s composure was so far shaken that he drew a quick breath and
one of his big hands clenched with a convulsive movement. Hugh was
pleased with his strategy. He had found the giant’s weak spot. Brave he
might be in contact with his fellow men, but of unearthly beings he was
superstitiously afraid. Hugh feigned not to notice, and in a moment
Ohrante had covered his agitation with a show of indifference.
“No, white man,” he lied proudly, “I have heard nothing and I fear
nothing.” Then he changed the subject. “When the waves go down in the
lake out there, we leave Minong. We go to the place of vengeance, where
Ohrante puts all his prisoners to death. On the Island of Torture both
white men and Ojibwas may find the signs and learn how the Chief of
Minong takes vengeance on his enemies. Prepare for the torture, white
man, for not even your white God can save you.” And turning, the big
chief strode away.
“Yet I think He will save me,” Hugh said to himself, “through my brother
Blaise.”
It was after sundown when the other canoe returned, with the four
remaining members of the band. They brought with them a quantity of moose
meat, the best parts of a young animal. Immediately the kettle was swung
over the fire. The odor of the cooking meat was tempting to Hugh’s
nostrils, but he was not offered any. His captors evidently considered
that he had had sufficient food for that day. The whole band feasted on
moose, and the camp did not become quiet until much later than on the
previous night.
Hugh was left tied to the tree, his wrists and ankles bound. No one took
enough pity on him to throw a blanket over him. This time it was the
squat man who lay down by the fire. He must have been very sure the
prisoner could not get away. Moreover the enormous amount of meat he had
eaten made the man especially drowsy. His loud breathing soon proved that
he was sleeping soundly.
Under the birch tree, beyond the light of the flickering fire, Hugh lay,
tense and anxious. He heard the snores of his guard, and other sounds of
heavy slumbering from the larger wigwam. Why did not Blaise come? Except
the breathing of the sleeping Indians and the low ripple of the water on
the beach, not a sound broke the silence of the night. Every sense on the
alert, Hugh waited through the long minutes. It seemed to him hours must
have passed since the guard lay down by the fire.
What was that rustle in the willows? It was the slightest of sounds, but
his ear caught it. Was it only a rabbit? He felt a touch on the rope that
bound him to the tree, then a sharp jerk. The rope sagged down. Fingers
grasped his shoulder and sent a shiver of excitement through his body. A
hand slipped swiftly down his left arm, something cold touched his
wrists, slipped between them. There was another little jerk, and his arms
were free. His numb hands dropped to the ground, began to tingle. He did
not dare to try to raise himself to a sitting position for fear of making
a noise. Then his ankles fell apart, and he knew that bond had been cut
also. Yet, motionless, he waited for orders.
The hand touched his shoulder again. Lips brushed his ear, as a voice
whispered in the softest of hisses, “Roll over and follow.”
Hugh obeyed unquestioningly. As he rolled over, he realized that the cord
was still attached to his left wrist. There came a gentle pull, and he
understood. Blaise had hold of the cord. This was his method of guiding
his brother. Hugh attempted to crawl forward, but his legs and feet were
so numb he found progress difficult. They dragged like logs. He could not
move them lightly and noiselessly, yet he must go noiselessly to escape.
The cord on his wrist slackened. Blaise had sensed the difficulty. His
shoulder brushed Hugh as he crawled back to the latter’s side. In a
moment he was silently but vigorously rubbing and kneading Hugh’s calves,
ankles and feet. Hot prickles of feeling began to course through the numb
legs. After a few moments of stinging pain, the blood was running
normally again, and the numbness was gone. Still the wigwams remained
silent and the squat Indian by the fire snored on. An Indian in his wild
state is commonly supposed to sleep lightly and wake at the slightest
sound, and so he does if he is where there may be danger, and has not
eaten or drunk too much. The Indian is human, however. A full and hearty
meal, accompanied by a sense of security, can cause him to sleep as
soundly as any well fed white man.
XXVI
ESCAPE
Taking the lead again, Blaise crawled cautiously and silently away from
the vicinity of the fire and the wigwams. Hugh, his legs and feet once
more under control, followed close behind, Blaise still guiding him by
the cord attached to his wrist. The half-breed boy seemed able to glide
like a snake without a sound, but Hugh was less experienced in stealth.
In spite of all his care, the bushes he brushed rustled now and then. The
noises were very slight, but each rustle or creak brought the lad’s heart
into his mouth. Yet the Indian by the fire lay still, and no sound came
from the wigwams.
At last the fugitives were far enough from the camp, and well screened by
trees and bushes, so they dared go upright. Blaise had kept his sense of
direction in the darkness and knew where he wanted to go. Turning to the
right, he led Hugh across level ground and through open growth of birches
and poplars. Then he turned again. A little farther on he paused among
some alders, handed Hugh the cord, uttered a low whisper of caution, and
slipped between the bushes.
Hugh carefully pushed his way through, and stopped still. Before him lay
the lake, the ripples lit by the stars and moon. Glancing along the
narrow strip of sand that separated him from the water, he could make out
a dark shape lying above the reach of the waves. It was an overturned
canoe. Blaise had circled about in the woods and had come back to the
shore. A little way beyond the canoe, back from the beach and hidden from
where Hugh stood by trees and bushes, was the Indian camp. This was a
dangerous manœuvre of his younger brother’s and at first Hugh could see
no reason for it. Why had not Blaise led straight back through the woods
and up the ridge? The bateau, to which they must trust to get clear away,
was on the other side of those ridges. _Was_ the bateau still there or
had the Indians found it?
Blaise was moving swiftly along the beach, and, after hesitating a
moment, Hugh followed. He was relieved to find that the alder bushes
still screened them from the camp. They could launch the canoe without
being visible from the wigwams or from the spot where the fire burned.
The canoe was not one of those he had seen Ohrante’s band using, but a
small craft, barely large enough to hold two men. Silently the boys
turned it over, carried it down the beach and placed it in the lake.
Blaise, standing in the water to his knees, held the boat while Hugh
stepped into the stern. The younger boy took his place in the bow, the
paddles dipped.
Hugh had expected to steer around the inner beach and on up the long bay.
He was astonished when Blaise signalled him to go the other way. This was
indeed a risk. The older boy would have protested, had he dared speak
loud enough to make his brother hear. But they were too near the camp to
chance conversation, whatever foolhardy venture Blaise might be planning.
Moreover Hugh knew that the half-breed lad was far from foolhardy and
must have good reason for what he was doing. The elder brother obeyed the
signal and said nothing.
Crouched as far down in the canoe as they could kneel and still wield
their paddles, the two dipped the blades noiselessly. A few strokes and
they were out of the shelter of the fringe of bushes. They were passing
the camp, where the ground was open from lodges to beach. Fearfully Hugh
glanced in that direction. He could make out the dark bulk of one of the
wigwams and near it the dull glow of the dying fire. His guard lay beside
that fire. If the man should wake and raise his head, he could scarcely
fail to see the passing canoe, a dark, moving shape on the moonlit water.
A vigorous but careful stroke, and both lads held their paddles
motionless while the canoe slipped by of its own momentum. It made no
sound audible above the rippling of the water on the pebbles. The squat
Indian slept on.
A clump of mountain ash, leafy almost to the ground, came between the
canoe and the fire. The paddles dipped again. In a few moments the slight
projection, scarce long enough to be called a point, had been rounded.
The wigwams and the fire were hidden by trees and bushes.
Hugh drew a long breath and put more speed into his strokes. The brothers
were moving down the bay, and he realized now the reason for their
manœuvre. Had they struck through the woods to the ridge, they would
inevitably, in spite of the greatest care and caution, have left a trail.
The canoe left no tracks. When they passed out from the narrowest part of
the channel, they were obliged to put strength and vigor into their
paddling, for they were going almost directly against the fresh wind.
They kept as close to the right hand shore as they dared, and so had some
protection. Vigorous and careful handling were necessary, however, to
make headway in the roughening water.
As they went by one of the shallow curves that could scarcely be called
coves, Blaise uttered a little exclamation and pointed with his paddle to
a black object moving on the water. As Hugh looked, the thing turned a
little, and he could make out, in silhouette, great branching antlers. A
moose was swimming from one shore of the little indentation to the other.
“There is meat to last us a long time,” he muttered regretfully, “if only
we dared risk a shot.”
Blaise laughed softly. “We could not shoot if we wished. Neither has a
gun.”
“True. When you set out to find me, Blaise, why didn’t you bring yours?”
The lad in the bow shrugged slightly. “I could not use it without a
noise, and I wished not to be burdened with it. Let us not talk now.
Voices carry far in the night.”
Hugh heeded the warning. As the bay widened, the force of wind and waves
increased. The lads were paddling northeast, almost in the teeth of the
wind. Hugh began to doubt whether they would be able to round the long
point, or even keep on along it much farther. Blaise had no intention of
rounding the point, however. He had another plan. As they passed the twin
coves, where they had camped while they sought for the cache of furs, he
turned his head ever so slightly and spoke.
“Steer into the crack where we carried out the furs.”