THE FIRST BLOW
Mechanically Dunvegan counted the dog teams that crossed the valley
before his gaze. Five great sleds he made out, sleds piled high with
huge bales of furs. Two men accompanied each sledge, a driver and an
armed guard. Evidently the train was going into camp under the shoulders
of the Caribou Ridges.
"Strong Father did not think that any of the French Hearts were so
near?" ventured Maskwa quietly.
"No," the chief trader muttered, "I did not. Ah! they are halting. It is
well that they did not get sight of us, Maskwa, for I fancy we could
never catch them if those big teams once started galloping."
The Ojibway nodded gravely as he peered, animal-like, between two large
tree trunks.
"That is why I bade Strong Father keep with the ridge," he replied. "On
the River of the Blazing Pine the French Hearts would have seen us
easily where the valleys meet."
"You knew it was coming?" Dunvegan cried in amazement. "This
Niskitowaney train?"
"Even so, Strong Father."
"How?"
"By the actions of the Little Fool."
"What was Gaspard doing?"
The fort runner pointed to a ledge of rock that jutted out on the
highest point of the hill.
"The Little Fool stood there, waiting," he observed. "He had seen the
fur train of the French Hearts coming and thought to travel with them to
their fort. But soon his thoughts were changed. He saw me and
disappeared in the trees. When I caught him, he had no food or rifle.
Yet I brought them to you, Strong Father.
"He is a little devil as well as a little fool," Maskwa summed up. "He
deserves no pity. Mark you, Strong Father, he has been the right hand of
that wicked French Heart, the Black Ferguson. Does Strong Father
remember the ambush on Caribou Point when we thought to take the leader?
Who brought the news? Who led us there? Who had planned the surprise
with the French Hearts? None but the Little Fool! Who gave them notice
of the movements of our fur trains? The Little Fool! Who warned the
Crees to fall upon you as you journeyed to Kamattawa? Why, Strong
Father, it is always the Little Fool. And his weak brain seems stronger
than the wisdom of the Stern Father and his servants. He has laughed at
us all."
"Yes," grumbled Dunvegan, "he has fooled us for a time. But that time is
gone."
"While the wolf lives, his teeth may still rend," Maskwa philosophized.
"Let the Little Fool die! Else will he work Strong Father greater harm."
The calm suggestion brought an expression of repugnance to the chief
trader's face.
"I can't do that!" he objected.
"It is well," remarked the Ojibway. "I have counseled."
"As a prisoner he cannot do us any harm," Dunvegan persisted.
"I have counseled," Maskwa repeated. "When Strong Father wishes it had
been done he will remember my counsel."
He dismissed the subject with habitual unconcern and devoted a few
minutes to spying upon the camping preparations of the Nor'west fur
train. With the movements of skilled woodsmen they set about it. First
of all, they stepped out of their snowshoe loops and diligently used the
raquettes as shovels, clearing the snow away and banking it up till a
long rectangle of ground lay bare. While some thickly carpeted the
cleared space with balsam brush taken from the foot of the ridge others
chopped dead pines into firewood and built a long stringer of flame the
entire length of the camp ground.
Then the dogs were unharnessed and the sledges drawn up by thongs into
handy trees out of reach of these huskies, who otherwise would destroy
the furs while the men slept. After that the Nor'west drivers and guards
threw themselves down by the fires to prepare their supper of dried meat
and tea, having already stuck the dogs' portion of frozen whitefish upon
twigs to thaw by the fierce blaze.
From the height Dunvegan and Maskwa watched it all.
"They know how to make camp, all right," the chief trader observed.
The Ojibway nodded briefly. "They have also traveled many trails," he
supplemented judicially.
"And since it is a good camp we will not need to change it," continued
Dunvegan significantly.
"It is well," grunted Maskwa. He shook the screening boughs back in
place and turned about, adding: "When the dark falls thickly, we will
come this way again."
The Oxford House men were growing impatient in the increasing cold, but
they received the news of the Nor'west fur train's proximity with
jubilation. The frost was becoming so intense that to do without a fire
even for a few hours proved impossible; so the whole force backtrailed a
mile as a precaution and huddled over a hastily built pyramid of lighted
spruce branches. The Caribou Ridges, looming up, shut off the flames
from the Nor'westers' view. Also, Dunvegan posted an Indian lookout on
the height above the other bivouac to carry warning of any untoward
move. The dogs' jaws were tied with strips of buckskin that they might
not growl or bark, for sounds carried far in the frosty air.
Attention was now paid to Gaspard Follet, and he was placed in the
custody of two Hudson's Bay men, who had orders to shoot him on his
first attempt at escape. He still kept up his pretense of foolish wits,
but a sinister threat from Dunvegan silenced his idiotic whining. The
chief trader did not condescend to parley with Follet nor tell him of
what he was suspected. He simply ordered the dwarf into strict charge.
It was the business of Malcolm Macleod, the Factor, to judge him.
The hour of waiting while the gray twilight thickened to black dark
became oppressive. The Oxford House men chafed under the restraint and
the silence. Other than murmurings and flame noises no sounds came from
around the fire. Terence Burke had soaked himself through and through
with the radiating heat. Complacently he pawed his limbs. Now these
limbs, reinvigorated, cried out for active work as loudly as his hungry
stomach cried for hearty food.
He whispered to Connear: "'Tis a bloomin' wake we're at. Phwat's the use
o' dallyin' loike this? Why don't we take these Nor'west divils by the
scruffs o' their necks an' shake them? They're outnumbered four to wan!"
"Mind your own business," growled Connear. "You keep mixin' yourself up
with every plan that's being made. You're too fresh! Keep your own
place, you Irish lubber, and don't try runnin' the whole show!"
Baptiste Verenne flashed his customary grin, with the attribute of ivory
teeth.
"_Oui_," he commented, "kip de place an' go ver' cautious. Dat's de way
in dis countree. You see, we mus' spring on dose mans _vite_ w'en dey
not t'ink! Geeve dem no taim harness de fas' dogs. Dat's onlee way we
get dem."
"It's a slow sphring," Terence complained. "If the recoil's as slow as
the sphring, bewitch me if divil a thing comes av it."
"Shut up," commanded Connear tersely. "Your mouth's as big as the Irish
sea."
"Yes," snapped Burke, "an' it's swallowed better sailors than yerself."
Baptiste made an angry gesture for quiet and motioned furtively to where
Dunvegan stood silently warming himself on the other side of the fire.
"_Saprie!_ You be stubborn mans!" he snarled contemptuously.
But now the order came to move. Several Indians were left with the
sledges and the newly-made prisoner. The rest of the men filed off in
the direction of the balsam ridge. Its crest was reached silently and in
perfect order. There the men paused at a point directly over the camp
they purposed to rush.
Maskwa, with Dunvegan, surveyed the slope, contemplating the moment of
descent. Far below they could see the line of crackling fire with the
banked snow at the sides glowing pink beneath the blaze. Etched out
dully against each fitful flame, the squatting figures crouched low. At
times a hand was cleanly outlined in the white upper light as it raised
food to mouth. A tea pail passing down the line of men flashed
intermittently.
"Now while they eat is the time, Strong Father," the Ojibway fort runner
murmured. "They think only of their stomachs, and their arms are not
handy. If we are swift and sure on our feet not a shot need be fired."
"Very well," assented Dunvegan. "You lead. I will stay on your heels."
"Let the men make no sound," warned Maskwa. "We go without noise as
close as possible. As soon as their dogs scent us we must spring like
the hungry panther."
The chief trader passed a whispered caution to his retainers.
"Keep close to us," he adjured, "and rush when we rush! Grasp the
fellows and prevent them from shooting! There is no need for bloodshed,
and we cannot afford to lose any of our number. Every man we have will
be needed at Fort Brondel!"
There was a faint, dissatisfied murmur at this command. Fresh in the
minds of the Hudson's Bay men were the accounts given by survivors of
the bloody sacking of the Wokattiwagan and Shamattawa fur trains. They
would have liked a sanguinary reprisal, but they knew better than to
disobey any order of Dunvegan's. So they relinquished their vengeful
anticipations and followed watchfully.
Down the snowy hillside they dropped, noiseless as shadows. No figure at
the fire stirred from its eating; no dog voiced alarm. The balsams were
left behind and the men entered scrubby spruces, where they found
better cover.
The camp was no more than a little dome of light walled in by
impenetrable darkness. The night crowded to its red ramparts, full of
mystery, unreadable, sinister, fear-compelling. And, crowding like the
night, came the Oxford House force, with all the advantage of position
that the inky darkness gave.
Slowly, their nerves growing more tense at every step, they worked
through the spruces. Each yard they advanced increased the strain. A
little drumming noise began to vibrate in the men's throats. An almost
inaudible sound it was, but to their own strained hearing it rose in a
roar. Closer and closer they stole till, seeing their enemies so
plainly, the idea that they themselves must be seen impressed itself
with ever-increasing power.
Maskwa treaded the evergreen aisles like a swift wraith. Holding the
ends of each other's sashes, the rest walked in single file after him.
So great was the curb on their feelings, so suffocating the silence,
that some would have gained immense relief by uttering tremendous
shouts. But they dared not! The first outcry must come from the camp.
The alarm would ring out unexpectedly, and the invaders waited for that
moment and wrestled with their tingling senses.
Forty paces!--the impaled whitefish before the fires looked ludicrously
large, like young sharks. Thirty paces!--the ruddy blaze limned the
dark, lean-featured countenances of the Nor'westers, resting in natural
unconsciousness of impending disaster. Twenty-five!--the nervous tension
snapped with a sudden mental jerk that set every sinew in the men's
bodies tingling!
The suspicious huskies blew loudly and growled. Instinctively the
Nor'west guards reached quickly for their guns, only to be seized by the
shoulders and hurled back into the snow. The camp turned instantly to a
mass of rolling, grappling bodies. Red coals kicked into the banks sent
forth hissing steam clouds. Feet stamped and plunged and twisted here
and there, throwing up white spurts of snow, knocking burning branches
through the air, tripping opponents with savage force.
The struggle took place practically in silence except for the uneasy
snarling of the dogs and the heavy breathing and occasional oaths of the
men. Often a knife blade gleamed redly as it poised for a blow. The thud
of steel on flesh and the groan of pain followed.
Then, bringing the climax of brute savagery, the growling huskies
charged, indifferent whether their chisel-like fangs sliced master or
master's foe. But they had waited too long! The moment when their
assault might have seriously hindered the Hudson's Bay men--in the
initial minute of the fight--was past. A half dozen of Dunvegan's
followers sprang out of the mêlée, and, catching up dog whips, flayed
neutrality through their tough hides.
The cowing of the Nor'westers' huskies was coincident with the
overpowering of the Nor'westers themselves. Held in the grip of two, and
often three, antagonists each of the guards and the Indian drivers was
subdued, bound, and laid beside the raked-up fire.
In a sullen line they lay, beaten but full of stubborn enmity. To that
line Dunvegan added Gaspard Follet when the Company's sledges came on.
The capture of the Niskitowaney fur train was complete.