THE CAPTURE
When Madeline opened her eyes after Grey had left she imagined it was
all a horrible dream. But the sight of Old Meg standing by her side and
her own great weakness of body told her that it was too terribly true. A
shiver shook her form as she thought of Siwash Bill, his impudence, and
insulting request. She longed to inquire about the man who had rescued
her and carried her into the house. What had become of him? she
wondered. She was tempted to ask Old Meg to tell her what she knew. But
each time she hesitated, and found herself unable to form the words
which were trembling upon her lips.
Meg asked no questions about the occurrence of the night. That something
more than usual had taken place she was well assured. But Madeline's
reserved manner restrained even this woman, noted for her boldness and
curiosity. There was some mystery, she believed, concerning this
stranger who had arrived so unexpectedly in Hishu. Did Madeline know
anything about him? Had she seen him before? These thoughts puzzled and
worried her throughout the day. Often she would pause in the midst of
her work and gaze for some time out of the open door.
Most of the day Madeline spent with Donnie. He had awakened feeling
much better, and the wheezing cough had disappeared. He soon became
quite friendly with the woman sitting by his side, who looked upon him
with such big pathetic eyes. Madeline told him simple childish stories,
at which he would often clap his hands with delight. When night arrived
Donnie was much like his former self. Madeline rejoiced to have the
child near her. She knew that Hishu was no place for a boy like this,
and her heart ached to think that such a delicate lad should be so far
away from his parents' tender care. As the darkness deepened, and Donnie
sat in her lap he asked for his mother.
"Why doesn't she tum to me, Malin?" he said. "Why does she 'tay away so
long?"
Such a question Madeline could not answer. She endeavoured to soothe
him, and gently stroked his curly silken hair. Long after he had fallen
asleep she sat by his side and gazed upon the little face. And so the
boy was stolen away, too, she thought. Why should an innocent child be
made to suffer by reason of cruel, wicked men? She recalled Siwash
Bill's vile proposition, and shuddered. She knew something of his
persistency, and of the length he would go to carry out his base
designs. Money and revenge the man wanted. She was sure of that, and had
torn away the lamb from the fold to further his object. What could she
do to save the boy? She longed to seize him in her arms, and hurry off
into the forest; anywhere would be better than Hishu. But this she
realised would be futile. Her face darkened, and her tense hands
gripped each other in her lap as she thought of her own fruitless
attempts in the past. She could not escape from the Argus-eyed Meg, and
what could she do with a little lad in a dreary wilderness, with Siwash
Bill and his gang in pursuit? She thought of Norman, and a flush mantled
her face. Would not he help her? But why should she go to him? He had
kept clear of her; had not even come to inquire after the lad. And yet
she felt it was Norman and no one else who had saved her from Siwash
Bill. Why did he leave so soon? What was the meaning of his strange
behaviour? Was it because he believed her to be--? The words would not
come to Madeline's lips. Would Norman think such things of her, of
Madeline whom he had known and loved in the happy days of old, which now
seemed so far away?
The next day Donnie was well enough to run about the house. Everything
interested him, and his cheery laugh caused even Old Meg's face to
soften with a new light.
"Donnie," said Madeline that evening, "how would you like to walk to the
river with me? I go there sometimes by myself, but would like to have
you this time to take care of me."
Donnie clapped his hands with delight, and chatted incessantly while
Madeline wrapped a small shawl about his body, and tied a hood, much too
large for him, upon his curly head.
Together they soon set off down the trail, Donnie holding Madeline's
hand, and plying her with all sorts of questions.
"Will ou take me home some day, Malin?" he asked.
"I should like to do so, dear," was the reply. "I know your father and
mother must be anxious about you. But what will Madeline do without her
little boy?"
"Oh, ou will tum, too. Ou _must_ tum, and live right wif me. We have a
big, big house. I will let ou sleep in my room, play wif my horse and
tin soldiers. Wouldn't ou like to tum?"
"Very much, dearie," and tears stood in Madeline's eyes at the child's
innocent prattle.
"Is this your home, Malin?" and the lad looked up inquiringly into her
face.
"Why do you ask that, Donnie? Don't you think this is my home?"
"I don't know. But it seems such a funny home. Is dat woman your mother?
And where is your daddy?"
A lump came into Madeline's throat, and she pressed Donnie's hand more
firmly.
"I haven't any father and mother now, Donnie. But I have a home, far,
far away, oh, so beautiful, which I have not seen for a long time."
"Tell me about it, Malin," and the child perched himself upon an old
fallen log which stretched itself along the trail.
By this time they had drawn very close to the river, where the bank was
steep. All around stood the silent forest of firs and jack pines, with
the cold, dark stream drifting noiselessly by. No sense of fear came
into Madeline's heart as she obeyed Donnie's behest. So often had she
come to this place that it was like an old friend, full of understanding
and sympathy.
Seating herself by the lad's side she told about her old home, the house
among the trees, the garden with the many beautiful flowers, where the
birds sang and the bees hummed.
To all this Donnie listened with wide-eyed pleasure, occasionally
interrupting with a question about the birds and flowers.
So engrossed did Madeline become with her story that she forgot how the
time had flown and how late was the hour. Neither did she notice a dark
form gliding silently toward her through the shadowy forest, nor a trim
canoe which had dropped down-stream and was now lying below the bank not
far away.
"Come, Donnie!" she exclaimed; "it's getting dark, and we must hurry
home."
And even as she spoke and rose to her feet, a powerful Indian leaped
from a thicket of trees a few yards away, and arrested her further
movement. Too startled to cry Madeline gave one lightning glance at the
intruder, and then caught Donnie in her arms. At once the child was torn
from her grasp, and borne swiftly to the river by the native.
Forgetting her own danger, and thinking only of the lad, with a cry
Madeline sprang forward. She leaped down the bank toward the canoe,
which was lying near, held close to the shore by a swarthy Indian. Him
she saw not, neither did she notice a figure crouched in the bow, with a
shawl wrapped about her shoulders, watching everything with cruel,
sparkling eyes. Donnie was in the canoe! He was to be taken away, and
she must save him! That was all she could think about. She saw him
struggling in the arms of his captor, and reaching out appealing hands
to her. She beheld the look of terror blanching his little face, and
heard his piercing cry of "Malin! Malin!" ere he was silenced by a dark
hand placed suddenly and roughly across his mouth.
Throwing discretion to the wind Madeline sprang into the canoe, nearly
capsizing it as she did so, and snatched Donnie out of the Indian's
arms. That the latter relinquished the child so readily was at first
somewhat of a surprise. It was soon explained, however, for, upon
turning to step ashore she found that the craft was several yards from
the bank, and drifting down-stream. The Indians had seized their
paddles, and the canoe was now cleaving the rippling water in its onward
sweep.
Madeline at once realised her desperate situation. What did it all mean?
Why was she being taken away? Had some cruel plot been formed against
her?
She looked at her captors. They were calm and alert, swinging their
paddles with a steady rhythmical motion. She glanced around, and the
figure crouched in the bow arrested her attention. A shiver shook her
form as she noted the fierce malicious gleam of the eyes which met her
own. What did that woman mean by glaring at her in such a manner, and
what did that look signify? What had she done to merit such action, and
what lay ahead of her? That great silent river flowed on down into the
vast unknown wilderness--and what then? The thought was more than she
could endure. She looked wildly toward the shore. She clutched Donnie
close to her breast. She scanned the banks for signs of life, some human
being who would come to their rescue. The helplessness of her position
overwhelmed her. Lifting up her voice she gave several wild, piercing
cries for aid, and then sank to the bottom of the canoe, forced down by
strong, rough hands laid fiercely upon her. This insult sent the blood
surging tumultuously through her veins. But what could she do? What
power had she, a woman, against these uncouth natives? She crouched
there in the bottom of the craft, her hands clinched together, and her
dry, clear eyes staring out over the water through the deepening gloom.
She was presently aroused by a movement near her side, and then a little
soft hand stole timidly into her own. Glancing quickly down she noticed
Donnie nestling close to her, and looking up appealingly into her face.
"Malin, I'm cold," he whimpered, and a slight shiver shook his frame. "I
want my mother. Oh, please take me home."
A throb of compunction smote Madeline's heart as she looked upon the
lad. Thinking of her own trouble she had forgotten him.
Drawing the warm shawl from her shoulders she wrapped it carefully about
the lad's body. Nearer and nearer he nestled until he felt quite
comfortable, and leaned his head against her side.
"Tell me a 'tory, Malin," he requested. "I'm very sleepy."
Tell a story! What story could she tell at a time like this, with so
many thoughts surging madly through her brain? And yet here was this
child lying so trustingly by her side, and looking up to her for
comfort.
"What story do you want, dearie?" she asked after a brief pause.
"Tell me 'bout the baby Moses in the ark of bulwushes," replied Donnie,
as he snuggled up closer than ever.
With an effort Madeline forced herself to the task, and there in that
great wilderness, in the midst of fears and unknown dangers, she told
gently and softly the old, old story, which in all ages has thrilled the
hearts of countless children. And as she talked the little head at her
side drooped lower until it touched her lap. The big blue eyes winked
hard in an effort to remain open. But nature was too strong, and ere
long the lad was wrapped in slumber, far beyond all worldly care. As
Madeline looked down upon the sleeping boy, and watched him lying there,
with one little dimpled hand clutching at her dress, a deep, wonderful
love for the child stole into her heart. In the telling of the story she
had been much strengthened. In ministering to another she herself had
been comforted. She knew that the same loving Father who had shielded
Moses so long ago from his enemies was as able and willing to save now
as then. "Oh, Father in Heaven," she prayed, "guard us to-night. Give me
strength to defend this little child, and to restore him safely to his
parents."
Thus all through the long, lonely hours of darkness she remained
crouched in the bottom of the canoe. At times her cramped position was
almost unbearable. But she must not disturb that child lying so calmly
with his head resting upon her lap. But no sleep came to her own eyes.
Her brain was too active for that. The swish of the water as the canoe
sped forward almost maddened her. Occasionally the natives spoke to one
another in their strange guttural language. But Madeline understood not
what was said, and each word rasped forth only tended to increase her
watchfulness and loneliness.
After hours of steady paddling a sharp word of command rang out.
Immediately the canoe was turned toward the shore, and soon the keel was
grating upon the pebbly beach. It was very early in the morning, what
time Madeline could not guess.
Almost mechanically she watched the natives as they left the canoe and
proceeded to build a small fire upon the bank. This accomplished they
proceeded to cook some moose steak they had brought with them.
No one seemed to take any notice of Madeline, and for a while she
remained in the canoe. At length, arousing Donnie, she attempted to rise
to her feet, but sank down again with a slight cry, so numb was her body
from her cramped position. The boy opened his eyes and looked around in
a startled manner.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
"No, dearie," was the reply. "I shall be better soon. Will you help me
out of the canoe?"
At once the little fellow sprang to his feet, took her hand in his, and
proudly led her ashore, and up the steep bank. With difficulty Madeline
made her way by his side, pretending to lean upon him for support. Ere
long the numbing sensation passed away, and she walked slowly around,
watching the men preparing their breakfast.
The Indian woman took no part in their proceedings, but sat upon a stone
a short distance away. She appeared to be gazing far off into space. But
her sharp eyes noted Madeline's every movement.
The latter was strangely fascinated by that silent figure. At times she
was seized with a nameless fear at the thought of what this woman might
be planning down deep in her heart. Of the men, wild and uncouth though
they were, she had little anxiety. Their faces at any rate were not
crafty or cruel. But this woman with that strange light in her eyes made
her tremble with apprehension.
When the breakfast had been prepared Madeline was offered some meat, and
black tea in an old filthy tin can. The sight of the latter almost
sickened her, and she turned away her head in disgust. The meat she
took, ate some, and gave a little to Donnie, who was hungry, and enjoyed
it thoroughly. It did not take them long to complete their frugal meal,
and soon they were all again in the canoe, moving once more down that
sombre stream.
Before long they entered upon a large, broad lake, and, instead of
skirting the shore, the Indians struck straight away to a point of land
dimly seen in the distance. This body of water, some thirty miles long,
by three to five wide, was dotted here and there with small wooded
islands. It was almost completely surrounded by towering, rock-ribbed
mountains, whose peaks, devoid of life, were covered with snow for the
greater part of the year.
Away to the left appeared a huge draw, well known for the violent gales
it frequently vomited forth. Many were the native legends concerning
this place; of the monster of the mountains who made his abode there,
and who when angry would hurl forth his overwhelming spleen upon unwary
navigators.
Often Tonda and his companions cast furtive glances toward the yawning
draw, and drove their paddles with greater energy than ever. On and on
they sped. They reached the mouth of the gap. They came opposite the
place. They were almost past, and the Indians breathed more freely. The
monster was not angry, or had not noticed them. Perhaps he was asleep at
that time of the morning. But, alas! they were doomed to disappointment.
Without one warning sign a gale ripped down the draw with a wild
concentrated fury, and spreading over the lake lashed the water into a
yeasty foam.
With dismay the Indians beheld the onrushing storm, and headed the
canoe for shore. How they did work, and the craft leaped on her way like
a thing of life.
Nearer and nearer they approached the beach. Would they win? Yes. No,
for the tempest struck them full abeam. It whirled and roared about them
in mad glee. It tossed the canoe like a cork, and dashed the water over
the crouching forms.
Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and drew him close to her breast.
His white, scared face looked up appealingly into hers, though he
uttered not a word, nor did a cry escape his lips.
Steadily and calmly the natives plied their paddles, and managed the
canoe with considerable skill. But as they neared the shore the large
ground swells formed a menace to their advance. Into them they ran, for
there was no other course to pursue. From crest to crest they were
hurried, each growing larger as they surged forward. When only a short
distance from land, a wave larger than usual curled angrily right
astern, broke over the canoe, completely submerging everything.
Instantly the craft was caught by another roller, which tossed it
forward, and, retreating, left it stranded upon the beach. At once a
rush ensued. Madeline with Donnie in her arms sped up the bank, with
Nadu in advance. The Indians seized the canoe, dragged it after them
just in time to escape the next breaker which broke, grinning upon the
shore.