CHLOE SECURES AN ALLY
A shout from the bank heralded the appearance of the first scow, which
was closely followed by the two others. When they had landed, Lapierre
issued a few terse orders, and the scowmen leaped to his bidding. The
overturned scow was righted and loaded, and the remains of the
demolished whiskey-kegs burned. Lapierre himself assisted the three
women to their places, and as Chloe seated herself near the bow, he
smiled into her eyes.
"Vermilion was a good riverman, but so am I. Do you think you can
trust your new pilot?"
Somehow, the words seemed to imply more than the mere steering of a
scow. Chloe flushed slightly, hesitated a moment, and then returned
the man's smile frankly.
"Yes," she answered gravely, "I know I can."
Their eyes met in a long look. Lapierre gave the command to shove off,
and when the scows were well in the grip of the current, he turned
again to the girl at his side. Their hands touched, and again Chloe
was conscious of the strange, new thrill that quickened her
heart-beats. She did not withdraw her hand, and the fingers of
Lapierre closed about her palm. He leaned toward her. "Only quarter
Indian," he said softly. "My grandmother was the daughter of a great
chief."
The girl felt the hot blood mount to her face and gently withdrew her
hand. Somehow, she could not tell why, the words seemed good to hear.
She smiled, and Lapierre, who was watching her intently, smiled in
return.
"We are approaching quick water; we will cover many miles today, and
tonight beside the camp-fire we will talk further."
Chloe's eyes searched the scows. "Where are the two who attacked Lena?
Your men captured them."
Lapierre's smile hardened. "Those who deserted me for Vermilion? Oh,
I--dismissed them from my service."
Hour after hour, as the scows rushed northward, Chloe watched the
shores glide past; watched the swirling, boiling water of the river;
watched the solemn-faced scowmen, and the silent, vigilant pilot; but
most of all she watched the pilot, whose quick eye picked out the
devious channel, and whose clear, alert brain directed, with a movement
of the lancelike pole, the labours of the men at the sweeps.
She contrasted his manner--quiet, graceful, sure--with that of
Vermilion, the very swing of whose pole proclaimed the vaunting,
arrogant braggart. And she noted the difference in the attitude of the
scowmen toward these two leaders. Their obedience to Vermilion's
orders had been a surly, protesting obedience; while their obedience to
Lapierre's slightest motion was the quiet, alert obedience that
proclaimed him master of men, as his own silent vigilance proclaimed
him master of the roaring waters.
When the sun finally dipped behind the barren scrub-topped hills, the
scows were beached at the mouth of a deep ravine, from whose depths
sounded the trickle of a tiny cascade. Lapierre assisted the women
from the scow, issued a few short commands, and, as if by magic, a
dozen fires flashed upon the beach, and in an incredibly short space of
time Chloe found herself seated upon her blankets inside her
mosquito-barred tent.
Supper over, Harriet Penny immediately sought her bed, and Lapierre led
Chloe to a brightly burning camp-fire.
Nearby other fires burned, surrounded by dark, savage figures that
showed indistinct in the half-light. The girl's eyes rested for a
moment upon Lapierre, whose thin, handsome features, richly tanned by
long exposure to the Northern winds and sun, presented a pleasing
contrast to the swart flat faces of the rivermen, who sat in groups
about their fires, or lay wrapped in their blankets upon the gravel.
"You have decided?" abruptly asked Chloe, in a voice of ill-concealed
eagerness. Lapierre's face became at once grave, and he gazed sombrely
into the fire.
"I have pondered deeply. Through the long hours, while the scow rushed
into the North, there came to me a vision of my people. In the rocks,
in the bush, and the ragged hills I saw it; and in the swirl of the
mighty river. And the vision was good!"
The voice of the man's Indian grandmother spoke from his lips, and the
soul of her glowed in his deep-set eyes.
"Even now _Sakhalee Tyee_ speaks from the stars of the night sky. My
people shall learn the wisdom of the white man. The power of the
oppressor shall be broken, and the children of the far places shall
come into their own."
The man's voice had dropped into the rhythmic intonation of the Indian
orator, and his eyes were fixed upon the names that curled, lean and
red, among the dry sticks of the camp-fire. Chloe gazed in fascination
into the rapt face of this man of many moods. The soul of the girl
caught the enthusiasm of his words, and she, too, saw the vision--saw
it as she had seen it upon the wave-lapped rock of the river-bank.
"You will help me?" she cried; "will join forces with me in a war
against the ruthless exploitation of a people who should be as free and
unfettered as the air they breathe?"
Lapierre bent his gaze upon her face slowly, like one emerging from a
trance.
"Yes," he answered deliberately; "it is of that I wish to speak. Let
us consider the obstacles in our path--the matter of official
interference. The government will soon learn of your activities, and
the government is prone to look askance at any tampering with the
Indians by an institution not connected with the Church or the State."
"I have my permit," Chloe answered, "and many commendatory letters from
Ottawa. The men who rule were inclined to think I would accomplish
nothing; but they were willing to let me try."
"That, then, disposes of our most serious difficulty. Will you tell me
now where you intended to locate?"
"There is too much traffic upon the river," answered the girl. "The
scow brigades pass and repass; and, at least until my little colony is
fairly established, it must be located in some place uncontaminated by
the presence of so rough, lawless, and drunken an element. As I told
you before, I do not know where my ideal site is to be found. I had
intended to talk the matter over with the factor at Fort Rae."
"What! That devil of a Haldane? The man who is hand-in-glove with
Brute MacNair!"
"You forget," smiled the girl, "that until this day I never even heard
of Brute MacNair."
The man smiled. "Very true. I had forgotten. But it is fortunate
indeed that chance threw us together. I tremble to think what would
have been your fate should you have acted upon the advice of Colin
Haldane."
"But surely you know the country. You will advise me."
"Yes, I will advise you. I am with you in this venture; with you to
the last gasp; with you heart and soul, until that devil MacNair is
dead or driven out of the North, and his Indians scattered to the four
winds."
"Scattered! Why scattered? Why not held together for their education
and betterment? And you say you will be with me until MacNair is
either dead or driven out of the North. What then--will you desert me
then? This MacNair is only an obstacle in our path--an obstacle to be
brushed aside that the real work may begin. Yet you spoke as though he
were the main issue."
Lapierre interrupted her, speaking rapidly: "Yes, of course. Bear with
me, I pray you. I spoke hastily, and without thinking. My feelings
for the moment carried me away. As you see, the marks of the Brute's
hands are still too fresh upon me to regard him impersonally--an
obstacle, as it were. To me he is a brute! A fiend! A demon! I
_hate_ him!"
Lapierre shook a clenched fist toward the North, and the words fairly
snarled between his lips. With an effort he controlled himself. "I
have in mind the very place for your school, a spot accessible from all
directions--the mouth of the Yellow Knife River, upon the north arm of
Great Slave Lake. There you will be unmolested by the debauching
rivermen, and yet within easy reach of any who may desire to take
advantage of your school. The very place above all places! In the
whole North you could not have chosen a better! And I shall accompany
you, and direct the building of your houses and stockade.
"MacNair will learn shortly of your fort--everything is a 'fort' up
here--and he will descend upon you like a ramping lion. When he finds
you are a woman, he will do you no violence. He will scent at once a
rival trading-post and will hurt your cause in every way possible; will
use every means to discredit you among the Indians, and to discourage
you. But even he will do a woman no physical harm.
"And right here let me caution you--do not temporize with him. He
stands in the North for oppression; gain at any cost; for
debauchery--everything that you do not. Between you and Brute MacNair
there can be no truce. He is powerful. Do not for a moment underrate
either his strength or his sagacity. He is a man of wealth, and his
hold upon the Indians is absolute. I cannot remain with you, but
through my Indians I shall keep in touch with you, work with you; and
together we will accomplish the downfall of this brute of the North."
For a long time the two figures sat by the fire while the camp slept,
and talked of many things. And when, well toward midnight, Chloe
Elliston retired to her tent, she felt that she had known this man
always. For it is the way of life that stress of events, and not
duration of time, marks the measure of acquaintance and intimacy.
Pierre Lapierre, Chloe Elliston had known but one day, and yet she
believed that among all her acquaintances this man she knew best.
By the fire Lapierre's eyes followed the girl until she disappeared
within the tent, and as he looked a huge figure arose from the deep
shadows of the scrub, and with a hand grasping the flap of the tent,
turned and stared, silent and grim and forbidding, straight into
Lapierre's eyes.
The man turned away with a frown. The figure was Big Lena.