UNDERCURRENTS
For some time after the plotters had left the room Nadu, the Indian
woman, sat quietly in the corner. No longer were her fingers busy, for
the buckskin jacket had been laid aside. Other things occupied her mind.
She could hear the murmur of voices in the adjoining store, and
recognised the men. It was quite dark now, for the moon had not risen.
Presently Nadu thrust her hand beneath her blanket, and clutched the
handle of the sharp knife concealed there. Running her fingers across
the blade she noted with satisfaction the keenness of the edge and the
sharp needle-like point. Drawing the weapon forth she hid it deftly
within the folds of a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. Rising to her
feet she moved softly across the room, quietly opened the door, and
slipped out into the night.
To the right flowed the river, its banks lined with cottonwood trees and
jack pines. Through these she glided like some weird spectre.
Occasionally she stayed her steps to listen, but all was silent. After a
while she paused, and crept to the edge of the clearing. There before
her was the dim form of a house, with a light shining from one of the
windows. For some time Nadu remained crouched upon the ground. The
light seemed to fascinate her, and when once it disappeared she started
to her feet, and crept forward like a tiger ready to spring, but slunk
back again when the light reappeared.
At length her eyes sought the East, where a faint glow was visible in
the sky close to the horizon. It was the first signal of the moon, which
soon would be rising full and bright over the land. This Nadu well knew,
so creeping from her place of concealment she sped across the open, and
moved warily around the log building until she came near to the window
from which the light was streaming. Then standing a little to one side
she peered in through the small panes of glass, until her eyes rested
upon a slight form bending lovingly over a little child lying asleep
upon the bed.
No feeling of tenderness smote Nadu's breast at the scene which met her
gaze. Jealousy and hatred held her in thrall. Before her was the woman
who was making her life a hell; the one who had crossed her path, and
who was alienating the affections of her husband, the squaw man. Had she
not noticed it for days, nay, weeks now? Did not all the pride of her
race rebel at the neglect and ignominy which were bestowed upon her? But
him she blamed not. The woman alone was the cause, and now her eyes
dilated as she looked through the curtainless window. Once Madeline
turned half around as if she intuitively knew of that lowering face.
Then Nadu had shrunk back, fearful lest she should be observed.
During the whole of this time the Indian woman firmly clutched the
knife beneath her blanket. Its touch gave her a degree of satisfaction,
and often her fingers caressed the keen blade as her eyes gloated over
the pale-faced woman in the room.
The moon had now risen, and was flooding the whole landscape with its
silver beams. To the left the trees of the forest threw out their long
trailing shadows. Nadu glanced uneasily in their direction. How sombre
and gruesome they appeared! The whole air seemed to pulsate with strange
forebodings. Nadu was no coward. She belonged to a tribe which knew not
fear. The Big Lake Indians had never retreated from a foe. They could
die with a smile and a song, but knew not how to yield. And Nadu was a
child of the bravest. Had not her mother often related to her the story
of that terrible night when her father had led forth the Big Lake
warriors and had driven back a band of Dog Rib Indians from beyond the
mountains? The fighting had been fierce, and several had been slain, her
father among the number. How Nadu's heart had thrilled as she dreamed of
that scene, until the spirit of her father was hers. But on this night
it was detection she feared. She had a purpose in view, and until that
was accomplished she must be wary.
With one long lingering look through the window she moved away from the
house, and glided across the open to the edge of the forest, until her
form was hidden by the dark shadows. Here she paused, and squatting upon
the ground kept her eyes fixed upon the light pouring from the house.
And not many minutes did she have to wait ere Siwash Bill came creeping
along. She saw him peering in through the window, and approach the door.
Then when she beheld Madeline standing there, and noticed the two
talking together, the fire of rage and jealousy leaped to a white heat.
Formerly she had believed that the pale-faced woman was entirely at
fault. Now she knew that Bill was much to blame. He had come to the
place to see this woman. She had loved the squaw man with all the
affection of her passionate nature. She had waited upon him like a
slave, and his curses she had received without a murmur. All this she
could endure, for he was hers, and her love was deep. But now--She
clutched the knife more firmly, and, waiting no longer, sped through the
shadows, plunged into the forest, and reached the river. A trail, worn
smooth, wound along the bank. This she followed up-stream for the space
of fifty yards. Then she paused and listened. Hearing nothing but the
rapid beating of her own heart she was about to continue on her way,
when a faint sound fell upon her ears. She glanced quickly toward the
river, but only the silver sheen of the ripple-less surface met her
eyes. She believed she had been mistaken, and was about to proceed when
again the sound was heard, much more distinct now. Something was down
there along the shore within the shadows of the trees, she felt sure of
that. At first she thought it might be only a wild duck, or a muskrat
besporting itself in the water. This idea was soon dispelled, however,
for presently she was able to detect the soft rhythmical dip of paddles.
Moving behind a small jack pine, she crouched upon the ground and
waited. Who could it be, she wondered, approaching at such an hour of
the night? Was it friend or foe? It could not be any of the Hishus, for
they had all gone up-stream. Could it be the Big Lake Indians? She
thought of the conversation in the house, and of what Shifty had said
about the trouble between the tribes, and of Hishu Sam's return. Were
the Big Lakes coming in force to attack the settlement, to murder the
inhabitants, seize the supplies in the store, and then sweep on to
surprise the Hishus in their camping grounds! Well did she know the
remorselessness and tiger-like swiftness of the Big Lakes when once
aroused to action.
A sudden impulse seized her to dart forward and give warning of the
invaders. She rose partly to her feet, but immediately sank back again.
Why should she go? The Hishus were nothing to her, and the white
men--ugh! What did she care for them now? Had they not treated her like
a dog, and Bill worst of all? Let him go to the white woman; of what
avail would she be to him if the Big Lakes came?
Such were the thoughts which beat through her brain as she crouched
there with her straining eyes fixed upon the river. The sounds were
becoming more distinct, and ere long she was able to discern the dim
outline of something moving slowly over the water. Nearer and nearer it
approached until the faint shape of a canoe could be discerned, with
two forms seated therein. Stealthily and shadowy it glided forward, and
passed the place where she was crouched.
Nadu arose, and crept silently along the trail. On and on the canoe
moved until it came opposite the store. Here it drew into shore at a
little opening which led to the water's edge. Nadu watched the strangers
while they made the craft fast to an old root. Then they crept warily
through the trees toward the settlement. Her first thought was to follow
after, and ascertain the object of their visit. But the sight of the
canoe brought to her mind a new idea. With Nadu to think was to act, and
when sure that the men were some distance away she moved quickly from
her hiding place, unfastened the canoe, gave it a gentle push, and
sprang in. Seizing one of the paddles lying in the bottom, with a few
vigorous strokes she headed the canoe up-stream, keeping well within the
shadows. When she had gone about one hundred yards she ran into shore in
a sheltered nook, and made the craft fast to a tree. Having accomplished
this she hurried down the trail, and once more took up her position
close to the spot where the Indians had landed.
Here she waited for some time ere the sound of returning steps rewarded
her patience. Swiftly and softly the two strangers sped down the trail.
Reaching the river they looked in surprise at the place where they had
left the canoe. Then a whispered conversation ensued. That they were
much concerned Nadu could easily tell. Closely she watched them as well
as the shadows would permit. One she recognised, and the sight of his
figure brought a thrill to her heart. It brought back memories of
by-gone years. It was Tonda, the sturdy brave, who had sought her love
ere the advent of Siwash Bill, his successful rival. She had given him
up for the white man, and what had she gained? The roving life, the
fascination of forest, river and lake all had been relinquished. And now
she was a slave, confined to a hateful cabin, to wait upon her brutish
lord and master.
The sight of Tonda stirred Nadu more than was her wont. Would he care to
see her? she wondered. Would he have anything to do with her? Would her
people have her back again after years of absence? The old life was
drawing, appealing, calling her by numerous mystic charms.
As the Indians continued to converse, Nadu stepped quickly forward and
stood by their side. Startled by her sudden appearance, the men raised
their rifles. But Nadu lifted her hand, and motioned them not to fear.
"Tonda," she said in a low voice, in the language of the Big Lakes;
"Tonda afraid of a squaw? Why does he tremble? Why does he wish to
shoot? Is Tonda's heart weak?"
"Who speaks?" replied the latter, bending forward to obtain a better
look.
"Has Tonda forgotten? Does he not remember the voice which once was
music to his ears?"
"Nadu! Is it Nadu?" and the man straightened himself up. "What does Nadu
care about Tonda? Nadu has left her people. She has joined the pale
face intruders. She lives now among the Hishu 'dogs.'"
"Ah, ah!" Nadu replied. "Tonda speaks true. The Hishus are dogs, but
they are swift-footed dogs, and do not bark before they bite. Let the
Big Lakes beware, for the Hishu dogs are roused, and their fangs are
long and keen."
"Why does Nadu say all this?" Tonda replied. "Does she not live among
the Hishus, and knows her own people no longer?"
"Nadu is a child of Wabanda. His blood flows in her veins. His spirit is
hers. Nadu has not forgotten her people; she would go back to them. She
would go with Tonda."
"And did Nadu take the canoe?" questioned the latter, as a suspicion of
what had happened to the craft floated into his mind.
"Ah, ah; Nadu knows," was the low reply.
"And will Nadu come to-night?"
Tonda was eager now. This woman was fascinating him as of yore. He
forgot how she had repulsed him for the white man. In her presence he
was as a child.
"Nadu will not go to-night. Two sleeps and Nadu will be ready."
"But why wait so long? Tonda cannot stay."
"Is Tonda afraid of the Hishus? Does he fear their fangs?"
"No, no; Tonda knows not fear. But the Big Lakes are waiting."
"Let them wait," answered the woman. "What does Tonda know about the
Hishus? What has he learned to-night? Nothing. Two sleeps and Nadu will
be here. She knows much."
"And the canoe?" breathed the warrior.
"Let Tonda wait, and he shall have the canoe. He shall have it
to-night."
For a few minutes the two men moved aside and conversed with each other
in low tones. At length Tonda turned toward the woman.
"The Big Lake warriors will trust Nadu," he said. "Let her show them the
canoe, and after two sleeps they will be here."
"Tonda speaks well" was the reply. "Nadu is pleased. She will find the
canoe. Come."