THE CRUEL TRAIL
Standing upon the bank Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and gazed
at the surf beating and chafing against the shore. She was bewildered
and her brain whirled. The wind raved about her, tossing her hair in
wild confusion. Her clothes were wet, and she shivered with the cold.
She looked at the lad lying in her arms. He was very still. It was the
silence of fear, and he gazed up wonderingly into Madeline's eyes. His
lips quivered as he noticed her drawn, tense features. He was about to
cry, when Madeline suddenly bent her head, and rained a shower of
passionate kisses upon the little white face. Tears came to her eyes and
fell upon the boy's soft cheeks.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "What are 'ou crying for? Why
don't 'ou take me home to my mamma?"
"I can't, Donnie," was the sobbing reply. "I would if I could. We are
alone here with these people, and we must cling together. I want you to
be a man, Donnie, and help me to be brave."
For a few brief heart-beats the little lad looked intently into
Madeline's face, his bright eyes filled with a questioning, wondering
light. Then something seemed to dawn across his mind, and placing one
small hand into hers he straightened himself up, and stood proudly by
her side.
"I'll take care of 'ou, Malin," he cried. "I'll fight for 'ou. I'll--"
His words were cut short by a gruff voice near at hand. They both
started and looked quickly around. The Indian woman was standing near,
ordering them to make haste as the men were about to move forward.
Then Madeline noticed that the canoe had been drawn ashore and hidden in
a secret place among the trees. The men were making ready to depart,
with their few belongings thrown over their shoulders. What did it all
mean? She wondered. Why were they leaving the lake, and where were they
going? The water, rough and tumultuous though it was, seemed like a
friend, and to leave it was to abandon hope. She looked away to the left
and beheld a long valley opening up between the shoulders of two
mountain ranges. Through this they were to travel. It seemed to her like
the gate of death, dark and horrible.
Taking Donnie's hand in her own she followed the natives. The trail,
though worn by many feet, was rough. There were rocks, and snags which
had not been removed, and over these the boy at times stumbled. He tried
bravely to keep up with his companion, but his little legs wearied, and
his breath came hard and fast. Madeline looking down saw the effort he
was making to be a man. Compunction smote her heart, so, stooping, she
lifted the lad in her arms and struggled forward. At times the Indians
turned and scowled darkly when she lagged too far behind. But no one
offered to assist her with her burden. When her arms ached she would
place the boy upon the ground for a brief respite, but only to lift him
up again after a few minutes. Thus all through that long day she battled
onward. How her strength endured she could not tell. Often she was at
the point of sinking upon the trail and giving up in despair. But that
little clinging form depending upon her always nerved her to action. For
his sake she would be brave and keep up. She longed to lie down and
rest, for she was very tired. The strain of the night before and the
lack of sleep were telling plainly upon her now. She thought she knew
what it was to be weary, but never anything like this. Her whole body
ached, her eyes were tired, and her long dark lashes would continually
droop. Her head throbbed, and her face was hot and feverish.
"Oh, God!" she mentally prayed. "Why this chastening? Why is the rod so
heavy?"
And still she pressed on. She walked mechanically now--a mere machine, a
human shuttle crawling through the silent web of trees, streams and
hills. And her feet, how they ached! Her shoes were but scant protection
against the cruel snags and stones. She was unaccustomed to long
marches. At times she almost screamed at the pain she endured, but
always with firmly compressed lips she crushed back the cry.
At one terrible moment her foot suddenly struck upon a sharp root, which
caused her to stumble and fall forward full length upon the trail.
Donnie, fortunately, was walking by her side, and he tried to assist her
to her feet. She rose, and gazed about her in a bewildered manner.
Should she go on? The Indians were some distance ahead, and were
becoming impatient at her slowness. Accustomed to the trail they could
not understand such weakness, and in their hearts they despised the
white woman.
Standing there a scene appeared to her, clear and bright as the sun in
the heavens. It was a picture which hung upon the wall of her old home,
showing a weary, thorn-crowned man bearing a heavy cross and sinking
beneath its burden. She saw His sorrowful eyes, and they seemed to be
looking full upon her. So intense was the vision that she gave a
distinct start, caught Donnie once more by the hand and hurried onward.
But now a new courage was hers, and though the trail was no less hard,
nor did her weariness abate in the least degree, some indefinable power
possessed her heart, which wrenched away some of the terrible weight of
despair. An unseen presence seemed to be very near, upholding and
supporting her, for what purpose she could not guess.
It was late in the afternoon when, after climbing a steep hill, the
Indians halted by the side of a swiftly flowing stream, and prepared to
camp for the night. Mechanically she watched them as they moved about.
She could only taste the poorly cooked food thrust before her. She
wished to lie down and rest, no matter where. A small fire had been
built, but this was soon allowed to go out, and when night came upon
them the desolation of the scene almost overpowered her. A thin blanket
was thrown at her feet by one of the Indians. Almost mechanically she
picked it up, and began to prepare for the night. One blanket for two!
She shuddered at the thought. But there was nothing else to do. So
wrapping it carefully about the child where he lay upon the hard ground,
and taking her place by his side, she drew one edge over her own body.
Donnie had been wonderfully brave throughout the day, but the long
journey had made him very weary. Only a few minutes elapsed after he had
taken his place upon his earthen bed ere he was fast asleep.
But not so Madeline. Her eyes would not close. They kept staring up at
the great vault above. How far away seemed the stars, and how cold and
cruel they looked as they twinkled from their lofty positions. A
loneliness which was overwhelming swept upon her. She felt like crying
out in anguish of soul. Was there a God beyond those stars and did He
care? Why did He allow such misery to exist upon His earth which He had
made so beautiful? But as she mused that vision she had seen during the
day came once more to her mind. She saw His thorn-crowned head, and the
sad face and weary eyes. "He knows, He knows," she whispered to herself.
"It was He who said, 'Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest!'"
Donnie moved in his sleep, and called "Mamma, mamma. Why don't 'ou tum
to me?" He started up in afright, looked about, and began to cry.
"Hush, dear," Madeline replied. "You are safe with me."
Then she placed her arms about the lad, and drew him closer to her
breast. Her heart was filled with a passionate yearning for the poor
child, who had been so cruelly torn away from his home. They were
comrades in distress. His curly head was against hers, and she felt the
pressure of his soft cheek. Ere long he was fully reassured, so lying
down again he was soon in slumber deep.
Slowly the time crept by, but no sleep came to her eyes. Though her body
was weary her brain was active. She found herself wondering as to the
meaning of it all. Why was she being thus borne off into the wilderness?
Was it for the sake of the child? She felt there was some other motive,
and that the Indian woman had some sinister purpose in view. Her
lowering face and cruel eyes stood out clear and distinct as she lay
there. She thought, too, of Norman. Where was he, and would he know what
had happened to her? Had he cast her aside as unworthy of his affection?
The night was still and cool. No sound of life broke the intense silence
except the deep breathing of the child close by her side. She longed for
something to break the quietness which reigned, which was almost
maddening her. Presently a slight noise arrested her attention. It was a
light step as of someone approaching. Her heart beat fast, and she
strained her eyes in an effort to pierce the gloom. Soon a shadowy form
became visible. It drew nearer, and then stopped. Slowly it advanced
until it was close by her side, when she recognised the form of Nadu,
the Indian woman. Madeline lay perfectly still now, although her heart
was thumping so loud that she thought it must be heard yards away. The
visitor stood for a few seconds like a statue. Then she stooped down and
peered intently into Madeline's face. The latter closed her eyes and
pretended to be asleep. She almost felt Nadu's warm breath, and pictured
those eyes glaring like fiery balls. When it seemed that she could stand
the strain no longer she heard the woman move away, and when Madeline
opened her eyes the intruder was nowhere to be seen. The darkness had
swallowed her up, and Madeline almost imagined she had seen a vision.
She lay awake for some time after this incident, staring up vacantly at
the stars. At length, however, the tired brain ceased to work, and she
drifted away for a time from care and fear into the beneficent land of
sleep.
And thus they lay, beneath the twinkling lights of heaven, the child and
the woman, two fresh fair flowers, rudely snatched from their natural
abode, to be tossed to and fro by the wild winds of passion and greed
far out into the frontier of a cold, cruel land.