AT BAY
So intent was Grey upon listening for any sound from the Indians that he
did not notice Donnie rise to his feet and toddle toward him. But when a
small hand touched him, he started and looked quickly down upon the
forlorn little figure standing near.
"Hello, laddie," he said, placing one hand upon the boy's shoulder.
"What's wrong now?"
But the child did not reply. He only stood there looking intently
upward. Then Grey noticed how drawn and pinched was his face, while his
large eyes gazed straight into his with the pathetic expression of a
dumb animal. Stooping, he lifted the waif in his strong arms, and
pressed him close to his heart.
"Poor laddie! poor laddie!" he murmured. "Your lot is certainly a hard
one. But never mind, I'll defend you to the last."
"I wants my mamma. Oh, take me to my mamma," moaned the child, as he
laid his head trustingly on his rescuer's arm.
"I shall take you to your mamma, little one," Grey replied. "All the
Indians and white men in the North will not take you from me now."
"Dood man," whispered Donnie sleepily. "I love 'ou, dood man. I'll pray
to Dod for 'ou, dood man."
In a few minutes the weary, tired eyes closed, and then Grey laid him
upon the ground, and taking off his own jacket he wrapped it carefully
about the child. This done he paced slowly up and down listening
anxiously for any sound from the silent forest around. Once he thought
he heard the Indians coming, and he was about to place Donnie upon the
raft, and hurry down-stream. But hearing nothing more he decided to wait
a while longer. Night had by this time deepened, and the whole forest
was brooding in a sombre shade. Upon the alert ear must he now depend.
What was keeping Dan? he wondered. Why this delay? Had something
befallen the trapper?
While Grey thought on these things a slight noise to the right aroused
him. Grasping his rifle he tried to peer into those gloomy reaches. A
twig snapped, and then silence. He was sure that someone was
approaching. Presently a peculiar low call of a bird sounded upon the
air, and Grey's heart lightened, for he recognised the signal which Dan
had taught him some time before to be used in time of need. At once Grey
responded with the same call, and a moment later the trapper appeared
before him.
"Gee whiz!" he panted. "I got mixed up somehow, an' lost me bearin's,
an' have been flounderin' around fer some time. I nearly ran full
ag'inst a bunch of Injuns on the shore up yon, an' jist had time to
creep back under cover. They're gittin' ready to come down-stream after
us in their canoes to head us off, so we must git outer this like
lightnin'. But say whar's the kid; did ye git 'im?"
"Yes, he's right here," and Grey stooped and lifted the sleeping child
in his arms. "But can we run the stream through the darkness? Would it
not be better to let the Indians pass, and try to evade them on land?"
"An' starve in the meantime wanderin' about with this kid? Not on yer
life. If the Injuns once git ahead of us we might as well give up fust
as last. But we're not goin' to give up. We're goin' down this river,
dark as it is. Then, if they do overtake us we'll give 'em the hottest
reception they ever got. Is yer gun all right?"
"Yes, the magazine's full."
"How many ca'tridges?"
"Belt full, except for the ones in the rifle."
"Good. Mine's jist the same. Aha, we'll show 'em a thing or two if
they're not keerful. They're not foolin' with jack rabbits this time."
In a few minutes they had loosened the raft from its moorings, and were
bearing steadily down-stream. Provided with two long slender sticks Grey
and Dan managed to steer their frail craft without much difficulty. The
current was strong, which held the raft in deep water, and swung it
safely around the numerous sand-bars which lined the river. Donnie slept
soundly on his hard rough bed, covered with Grey's jacket, with his head
pillowed upon Dan's buckskin coat. Little did the bereaved and
heart-broken mother at Big Glen know where her darling boy was sleeping
this night, nor the efforts of two brave and great-hearted men on his
behalf.
No sound broke the stillness as steadily the raft surged forward at the
rate of three miles an hour. Slowly the moon rose and swung clear of the
horizon. The river for the most part lay wrapped in shadow from the
closely crowding forest. But here and there where the trees were low and
thin, bright shafts of light shot downward, which falling athwart the
rippling water caused it to glitter like polished steel.
Dan, who was standing well astern, kept his eyes fixed upon those
gleaming places. In fact ever since embarking his eyes and ears had been
strained to their utmost in an effort to detect some sign of their
pursuers. At length he started, and reached instinctively for his rifle
lying close at hand.
"They're comin'!" he hoarsely whispered to his companion. "The divils
are after us!"
Grey looked back, and was able to see dark specks in the distance where
the moon shone bright. Fleeting spectres they were, appearing and
disappearing, yet drawing steadily nearer.
"What are we to do?" he replied. "We can't fight here, and they'll be
upon us in a few minutes."
"Make fer the shore, quick," Dan commanded, and suiting the action to
the word he gave the raft a vigorous shove which sent her reeling toward
the bank.
With some difficulty they were able to make a landing, and while Dan
held the raft Grey carried Donnie quickly ashore. There was now no time
to lose, for the Indians were almost abreast of the place. Then a wild
blood-curdling yell of derision fell upon their ears. The pursuers had
expected to overtake the raft in midstream. They feared the deadly
rifles of the pale faces, and followed silently and cautiously. But when
they saw them make for land, and disappear among the trees they gave
full vent to their savage delight. What could two men and a little child
do against such overwhelming odds?
And as Grey and Dan sped forward, carrying Donnie by turns, they felt
how almost hopeless was their position. But they determined to fight to
the last, and looked anxiously as they ran for some place where they
could make a firm stand. Ere long several large boulders were seen, and
the sight brought a new hope into Dan's heart.
"We're somewhar near that cave," he panted, "an' if we once git in thar
I'll riddle some of them d--d redskins like a sieve."
Presently they reached the open trail, and to the left appeared the dim
forms of the two giant shafts of stone.
"Run fer it!" breathed the trapper to Grey, who was now carrying the
child. "I'll foller a little behind to cut off them varmints if they
come too near. Give me yer gun."
With Donnie enfolded in his arms, and head bent, Grey ran as he had
never run before. So much depended upon that last lap--the honour of the
Force, the safety of a little child, the happiness of a home far away,
and their own lives. And he could run as well as fight, this hound of
the North. He was not running because he was afraid, but that he might
fight the better later on. How interminably far away seemed those huge
columns. Would he ever reach them? He felt his strength growing weaker,
for his burden was heavy. Suddenly a report split the air, and a bullet
whistled past his head. The effect was magical. Forgotten was his
weariness. It nerved him to greater effort, and his feet fairly spurned
the ground. How he maintained his footing on that rough and crooked
trail he could not tell. But not once did he fall, and at last to his
relief he beheld the cave but a few rods away. He glanced back, and saw
Dan nimbly speeding after. He was near to shelter now, and as he hurried
by the nearer column a bullet spat against the hard stone, telling
plainly that the Indians were not far behind, although somewhat astray
in their aim.
Having deposited Donnie within the mouth of the cave, he leaped back,
seized his rifle from the trapper, and took up his position on the
opposite side of the column. Peering cautiously forth he was able to
discern several forms lurking in the distance, which he knew to be the
baffled Indians.
"What do you say if we pick a few of them off, Dan?" he remarked. "It
might teach the others a lesson, and send them back wiser than they
came."
"Don't do it, pardner," was the reply. "Ye don't know them Big Lakes.
We mustn't shoot unless they come at us fust."
"But, man, we can't stay here very long. We haven't a scrap of grub
left, and what about that poor child? Listen to him now crying there in
the cave as if his heart would break. What are we to do?"
"I don't really know, pardner," and Dan ran the fingers of his right
hand through his long hair. "Seems to me we're in a trap."
"Can't we make peace with the Indians?" Grey questioned. "What have they
against us? We never harmed them."
"We pinched the kid, though. Give 'im up, an' mebbe, then, they'd leave
us alone."
"Not otherwise?"
"Ye bet yer life, no."
"But they won't have him," cried Grey fiercely. "At least not as long as
there's any life in my body."
Dan looked grimly around, and his eyes rapidly scanned the beetling wall
of rock towering high above them.
"In a place like this," he slowly drawled, "with grub, water an'
ammunition, two of us could stand off a bunch of redskins without any
trouble. They can't come down atop of us, an' if they begin pokin' their
noses around the front door we'll hand 'em somethin' purty hot. But
seems to me they won't come very close. They don't like this place, as I
told ye afore, so I guess they'll keep at a distance an' try to starve
us out."
"I'd rather face the whole bunch of them, and die fighting like a man,
than starve to death here."
Gloomily Grey uttered these words. He was weary after his long tramp and
want of sleep. Little food had he eaten since the night before, and
there was now no prospect of any for the coming day. He thought of
Donnie, who would certainly cry for something to eat. He and Dan could
stand starvation and hardships, but to listen to an innocent child
pleading for a mere morsel of bread which could not be supplied, would
be maddening.
The trapper surmised the thoughts which were throbbing through his
companion's mind. He glanced at the tall, erect figure standing before
him, and noted the expression of determination upon his strong, tense
face. He realised how hard it was to keep such a spirit as his within
bounds. He had often secretly marvelled why this sturdy limb of the law
should follow him, an old trapper, so implicitly, and yield so readily
to his will. But Dan did not know that Grey had been trained to obey as
well as to command, and that the former is at times the wiser course to
pursue.
The sobbing of the child at the mouth of the cave still continued. It
was a pleading, pathetic cry, and sounded strangely unnatural from those
dark depths.
"Ye'd better go to the laddie, pardner," Dan remarked. "Ye might be able
to comfort the poor chap a little. I'll keep watch, an' call ye if
necessary."
Grey found Donnie standing just within the deep shadow of the high wall
of rock. The blackness of the cave had frightened him, and he had moved
toward the light outside. His little form was quivering with deep sobs,
and he gave a cry of joy as Grey drew near, and dropped upon the ground
by his side. Placing his arms tenderly about the boy, he drew him to his
heart, and tried to soothe his fears.
"I wants my mamma," Donnie moaned. "Take me to my mamma."
"Yes, dear, just as soon as I can," comforted Grey. "You will trust me,
will you not?"
"Ya. But I wants my mamma. Why doesn't she tum to her 'ittle boy-boy?"
"She can't come just now, but she will after a while."
"Then I wants Malin. Oh, where is Malin?" and he started suddenly up.
"Me saw her go away, and she would not tum back to Donnie."
"You love her, do you not?" Grey queried.
"Ya, me love Malin. Do 'ou?"
"Yes, yes, little one, I love her, too."
"Den me love 'ou," and Donnie threw his arms about Grey's neck. "But I
wants Malin, too. Oh, please take me to Malin."
"She is not far away, dearie, and is waiting for you."
Grey spoke bravely for the child's sake. There was no need to alarm the
lad now. But his heart was heavy. He thought of the Indians prowling
around outside. Then his mind turned to Madeline. What was her
condition? he wondered, after her terrible experience in the river.
Suppose she-- He crushed back the thought. No, it could not be possible.
He could not imagine Madeline, his Madeline, lying in that house cold in
death. All his old doubts and fears were swept away like chaff before
the wind. His love for her filled, his heart with an overwhelming
intensity. Let her be what she might, he loved her still, and would love
her to the end. She had been sinned against, cruelly and wilfully, he
felt sure of that. He saw her as in days gone by; the trim lines of her
form, her dark-brown hair, and large affectionate eyes, looking up so
trustingly into his. His hands clinched, and his teeth ground hard
together.
"Some villain has done this," he muttered. "There has been dark work in
connection with this matter. Surely there is a God in Israel who will
avenge that innocent woman and this poor child."
Listening attentively he found that Donnie was fast asleep, with his
curly head leaning against his breast. Grey's arms closed slightly in a
loving embrace. The feeling of affection which had stolen into his heart
when he had rescued him from the icy waters below Klikhausia Rapids
burned now like a flame. He realised that this child was unconsciously
playing an important part in his life. The boy had suffered much, and
been cruelly wronged, but for all that he had been the guiding star
which had led him to his long-lost loved one.
And while Grey crouched upon the ground with the child in his arms, the
trapper stood outside with rifle in hand, and eyes keenly alert. The
sun rose slowly above the tree tops, and at its appearing the slinking
Indians crouched back among the trees, like tigers lying in wait for
their prey.