Chapter VII: Bonanza (3)

We were both men who had never known defeat; but this was my first serious encounter, while my opponent had won many a hard fight. There was little advantage either way. I was stronger in wind and steadier, but I was having my weak moments, and I knew that if my enemy should get in one of his smashing blows the fight would be over, and he would have added another to a long list of victories. I could not hit with the power he was able to command, because I had not the weight to throw behind a blow. If his arms resembled the trunks of hard-wood trees, mine might have been compared to wire ropes. He could smash me, but I could not smash him.

When he staggered towards me again, a new thought took possession of my brain. If I could not smash I might break. So I went on dodging his blows, and watched my chance to seize him; but he guessed my plan, and evaded my hands with all the cleverness of his science.

I was failing. I had it in me to make one more effort, but I knew it would have to be the last. My opponent could do little beyond holding me out, and I guessed that he, too, was reserving himself for an opening to expend his last gasp of strength. He could not be sure of placing his feet accurately, and more than once I feared he might fall, holding me, and bearing me to the ground by his sheer weight. I could have dropped gladly and gone to sleep, but the thought of Akshelah steadied me. I was fighting for her. Were I to be defeated, I could never appear in Yellow Sands again.

I closed again with Jake Peterssen, though I was sobbing for breath, and a hot pain pricked each side of my body. He met me, and for a few seconds we fought as strongly as though we had come together for the first time. It was the expiring effort of both of us. We had both everything to lose. He braced himself with another groan, and smashed at me straight and strong. I was just able to get back, and then as he came towards me, following his blow with his weight, he overbalanced, and I caught him at last. I caught his arm, and bending, swung him round, though I seemed to be tearing out my heart, and in the midst of the darkness and pain following that awful effort I heard the sharp sound like the cracking of a pistol shot, and the building shook about me again. I had broken his thick right arm!

He was fight to the death. As the darkness lifted I tottered across the sand, while the universe seemed to be roaring in my ears, and he dragged himself up and staggered upright, and lurched towards me, his left arm half-raised, his eyes shut, his jaw dropping. He could do nothing. He could only stand like an ox before its slayer, and though I was stabbed and racked by every effort to find breath, I was able, by virtue of the strength I now began to realise, to come out and hit him for the last time. Full on his exposed neck came my feeble blow, and he went down again, a great heap of black flesh, and lay nearly doubled, motionless, insensible, while the twenty-five seconds were counted out by yells and oaths.

By a final effort I got the mastery over my legs, and stood upright, swaying to and fro, and groping, until the arms of MacCaskill closed in exhilaration about me, and the sweetness of the knowledge of victory breathed into my body the breath of new life.

Out of the revelry about me it dawned upon my understanding that I had won the freedom of the Camp of Gull.

THE OLD STONE RUIN OF THE BUSH

The saloon of the Tecumseh House was doing a heavy business that night, after the noisy supper-hour. I was taken in there, almost by force, to drink with the crowd, and presently the loose shape of Father Lacombe loomed large and black, and went by without stopping, but his eyes cast upon me a glance I could not analyse. One of the lumberers addressed him, and a laugh went up.

“Says he don’t want to git hit be ye!” called the big man, loosening his belt. “Might spoil his priestin’ quite a while.”

After the rest and some food I was myself again. Akshelah kept near me quietly, having done sufficient mischief for one day; but when we three were alone I tried to scold her for having followed us, only to give way when she began to cry. MacCaskill was more hard-hearted.

“Allowin’ you’ve had a hard time, you’ve done a silly trick, anyhow. You’ve done your worst to have young Rupe spoilt and our plans busted.”

“I was lonely,” said the girl defiantly. “And I was unhappy.”

“We all get dolesome,” said the old philosopher, “but we don’t want to kick against it. The trouble is you got it inter your head to come along to Gull, where you mighter known the boy would be called on to fight for ye--”

“I did not know,” began the poor girl, her eyes shining with tears.

“You’ve got your learning now. I guess you’d best set quiet and chew it. Who came along with you?”

“I came by myself,” said Akshelah proudly. “I left my canoe where Kinokumisse touches the white sand.”

“You did the portage from Waterhen on foot?”

“Yes,” said Akshelah, as though it were nothing for a young girl to half-run fifty-seven miles.

“To-morrow you’ve got to get right back again.”

“No,” cried Akshelah, “I will not go, unless you come back to the camp with me!”

“Him, you mean. You don’t give a darn about me.”

Akshelah was honesty itself.

“Yes, I mean him. I came to find him, because we promised to help one another; and if he will not have me I shall go home. But I shall not go to my people. I shall give myself to Muchumeneto at the end of Kinokumisse.”

I knew that this threat of drowning herself was no idle one, so I endeavoured to conciliate the wilful maiden.

“You will go back if I tell you.” I intended my voice to be stern. “We cannot take you with us.”

“I will not. I shall be lonely, and grow old, and you will never come again. I am coming to mend for you, and I will cook your meat, and nurse you if you are sick, and sometimes I shall sing to you; and when you are unhappy I will tell you the story of the little one who conquered the great beast that the Creator was afraid of, and then you will be glad again. I will be like the wind, and you cannot stop the wind from following.”

“Gals are all the same,” said the factor morosely. “I mind Maimie. Tell her to do a thing she didn’t want, and she’d look up and start to cry, and I’d weaken and climb down. You bested Jake Peterssen, Rupe, but you won’t best her.”

“Come here, little squirrel,” was all I said, and Akshelah came like a sunbeam and sat beside me, while the factor grunted and chopped tobacco.

The owner of the house put his head in suddenly.

“Say! there’s a feller wants to see you, Petrie. Got a message for you, and he don’t want er stop. He’s standin’ outside.”

I got up and whispered with MacCaskill.

“Don’t leave the crowd, and you’re safe ’gainst all tricks,” he said.

I went down at once, came to the doorway, and, awaiting me there in the dim light, I found that wicked, white-faced little man, Olaffson, the Icelander.

Naturally, I began to accuse him, but he stopped me by pushing a note into my hand.

“I’ve broke with Redpath,” he said. “That’ll show ye where he is. He’s away from here, an’ left me without a cent.”

I was in a dilemma. I could only read well enough to make out a few words of print, and this scrawl was something beyond me. I handed it back, declaring that it was too dark to see, and at the same time expressing my disbelief in its genuineness.

“All right,” said the Icelander, “I ain’t your friend. I told you that before. Now Redpath’s quit me. See here!”

It was a plan which he held up in the dim light--a plan of water, rocks, and hills. He lowered it quickly, with a grin upon his white face.

“Going to let me join you?” he suggested. “If you don’t move this time, I’ve got a few pards around Gull, and they’ll jump fast enough, and pool their savings.”

I kept my wits about me.

“You won’t catch me with bluff,” I said, for the plan was a different one from that hidden even then in my pocket.

“Mine ain’t a bad copy,” said the Icelander. “I was mindin’ your clothes, you see, when you was scrappin’ wi’ Jake Peterssen; but I ain’t a big man, an’ your pard never saw me at work. You won’t make an offer, eh? I’ve treated you fair. Solong!”

He stepped back from the door, while I tried to think coolly over what he had told me.

“Come up and see MacCaskill!” I called in conciliatory fashion; but the little man replied:

“Two to one in a room ain’t healthy. I’ve got what I want. See you later, maybe.”

He moved back into the rain and the darkness, and I had never a doubt but that he was taking with him the knowledge of my father’s secret. I had only to follow and bring him back, and accuse him of burning down my home. My recently acquired popularity would ensure his conviction; and the little scoundrel deserved hanging.

I ran out, and when Olaffson saw that he was being pursued he took to his heels like a coward, and made for the neck of shingle leading to the mainland. In spite of my recent struggle, I soon began to gain on him. We had drawn away from the shelters, and there was not a soul in sight, while the rain lashed continually.

Coming to a great rock, the Icelander stopped short and dodged round it. I followed, sure of having him; but as I was about to make the turn, a shock came upon me out of the darkness, and before I could recover I was caught from behind, a sack went over my head, and I was borne to the shingle, with the bitter knowledge that I had been tricked, and that Olaffson had been used as a bait to draw me away from the settlement.

I had to abandon the struggle, for there were certainly three men against me. My arms and legs were strapped; a hand sought for and found the plan, and I heard the splutterings of a match, and knew that the paper was being burnt. After a terrible interval I heard the tramp of a heavy beast, followed by the deep snorting of a pack-ox. I was dragged up, and seated upon this beast, one ankle was joined to the other underneath its body, and the ox was started, and tramped on, as it seemed, for hours, until I knew we were well away in the forest, because the ground was hard, and there was no more rain. The ox was prodded constantly, but my captors only spoke in deep whispers, which did not reveal their identity. Olaffson I knew, and Redpath I knew; but who was the third?

I was cold, racked, and half-dead when the beast stopped. I was taken down, too helpless to stand, and carried through scrub and long grass. I was dragged up a wall, and let down upon soft, dry ground. Finally my legs were released, the sack round my body unfastened, and I was abandoned, but so utterly exhausted that I fell at once into a dead sleep, indifferent as to what ill-use might be in store for me.

When I awoke, the first thing that startled me was the utter silence which told me of my isolation. I worked my head and shoulders clear of the sack, and got upon my feet with many a twinge of pain and stiffness. My back was one huge bruise, and my bandaged head throbbed fearfully.

Between a few lengths of lumber, placed above a small aperture in the corner, came the sunlight to laugh at me. This hole was quite three feet above my head. The walls were great blocks of solid masonry, and I wondered at them, because I had never before seen any building which had not been built of wood. I did all I knew to free my wrists, drawing in my breath, dragging, pulling, wearing the straps upon the rough wall; but my pinioners had made no mistake, and I was not the strong man I had been yesterday. Anyhow, a man is a poor creature when his arms are tied behind him.

After a time--how long an interval I do not know, because I think I must have slept again--the silence became broken, the lumber was pulled away, and strong light emptied itself into my prison, making me start and wince, and my eyes run. This new light was again obscured as a big figure let itself through the hole, and descended by means of a rope-ladder, which did not quite reach the ground. My eyes cleared, and I saw under the light the great body and flabby face of the adventurer Redpath.

With one hand clutching the rope, he nodded at me in an altogether friendly fashion, and began at once:

“Good morning, Petrie. Pardon me for intruding upon your privacy; but you may possibly remember that you were not--er--over-courteous to me upon the occasion of our last meeting.” He put out his hand quickly. “I do not wish to recall an unpleasant incident. I have always been a man of forgiving nature, but I will, nevertheless, ask you to place your own small discourtesy against any apparent indiscretion I may now be guilty of.”

He spoke in the easy, well-trained voice of the educated gentleman. He waited, but when I did not speak, he went on:

“I trust you slept well. You must really have been exhausted after that fight. Allow me to congratulate you upon your well-earned victory. Your exhibition of science and strength was an education. The little affairs at a certain London Club which I once attended were quite fifth-rate performances in comparison.”

My tongue was loosened at that, and surprise conquered everything.

“You were watching?”

“And most profoundly interested,” said the adventurer, with soft emphasis. “I was so fortunate as to secure an extremely favourable position from which to view the spectacle. Your blows were perfect models for any--er--prize-fighter to imitate. Concerning their power and their accuracy, this unfortunate mark upon my own forehead furnishes ample testimony. You do not see it? Ah, the light down here is somewhat bewildering. By the way, you must have been wondering how these stone buildings ever came to be here. Perhaps you are interested in archæology? These stone remains take us, I assume, very far back into the past, and I fancy you and I are the first men of culture to light upon them. I should say, from a distinctly elementary knowledge of paleontology, that they were originally erected by fire-worshippers; but as your local knowledge is possibly extensive, I am quite prepared to defer to your opinion.”

He pulled out a cigar, standing before me, and went on smoothly:

“You reserve your judgment? Well, I believe you are wise. These ruins happen to be here, and they serve the sufficiently useful purpose of affording you with shelter, and there can be no conceivable advantage to either of us from determining what people or age saw them spring up. I hope the rain did not come through last night. The roof seems solid enough. Will you smoke? Ah, excuse me! I had not noticed that your arms are temporarily unavailable.”

His manner stunned me. I wanted to shout at him, to curse him, and threaten him, but I was frozen and unmanned by his cynicism, and all I did say was merely, “What do you want with me?”

He seemed surprised.

“I am, like you, my dear Petrie, most desperately dull, and it occurred to me that it would be pleasant to drop in for a chat. There are absolutely no gentlemen in this God-forsaken country. Besides, your father and I were very intimate friends, before he went wrong. I remember your birth well; indeed it was only a slight difference with your father which prevented me from becoming your godparent. You were a fine child, yes, a distinctly fine child, but I remember you would never let me nurse you. In fact, you always showed a remarkable aversion for me.”

His flabby face shook with laughter as he fumbled for a match.

That woke me up, and I said deliberately:

“I guess you’ve got me, Mr. Redpath. You took me foul last night, and you brought me here for your own ends. What’s going to happen to me now, only you and Olaffson know; but unless you covered your tracks well through the forest you’ve done a bad piece of work--”

“My dear fellow,” interrupted the adventurer, “really you must not suggest such things. It is not my fault if I happen to be entirely dominated by that vile little brute Olaffson. It is a disgusting confession for an Englishman to make, but it is none the less a fact. That Icelander does what he likes with me. He twists me round and round his little finger. He insisted on bringing you here, and for my life I dared not cross him. Of course, you find it tedious here,” he went on, relapsing into his former mood; “and it must be decidedly annoying having your arms tied--tightly, if I mistake not? Should you be leaving this place I must, as a friend, warn you against Olaffson. He is a dangerous man, and what is worse, an utterly unscrupulous man.”

“Are you two going to starve me?” I said.

“My dear Petrie, you are indeed in a morbid mood!” was the answer I received.

In my sheer impotence I could have thrown myself against the stone wall. My anger ran away with my prudence at last, and I swore at the man, and cursed him, daring him to approach me, pinioned though I was. He looked really disturbed, and when I had done, for lack of strength, continued softly:

“Too bad, Petrie! That excitement yesterday was too much for you. I fear you suffer from fighting on the brain. But why speak of fighting with me? My dear man, if you and I met in a little friendly bout I am sure I should be unrecognisable to my friends in less than two minutes. But since you have introduced the subject, what is your opinion of this compact little protector?” He pulled a little plated revolver from his hip pocket, and extended it towards me smilingly. “I bought it in Winnipeg as I came through. It is said to be the best, as well as the latest, thing in quick-firing. I carry it loaded, of course, though I understand I am breaking the law of the country by doing so; but I am sure you would be the last to condemn my action, because you know what rascals there are about this land--it contains the scum of the earth, Petrie, I do assure you. Then, you see, I am elderly and weak, and almost as nervous as any old woman.”

He finished this speech with a deprecatory smile, and returned the weapon to its accustomed place in a dexterous fashion, as though well accustomed to the use of it.

“I guess you’re going?” I said, keeping down my madness by a great effort.

“Well, I suppose so. These partings are included among the petty troubles of living. Ah, Petrie, if I were you! Lucky man! young and strong, with all your life ahead. Look at me, old and poor, though, by Gad! it seems only a year ago that I was sent down from Oxford for defying the dons, as they termed it, in their injustice. Well, good-bye, my boy. Take care always to steer clear of Olaffson. By the way, I’m thinking of crossing the lake to hunt for gold.”

He stood in the light, looking down at me slowly.

I could not answer him--I could not! I had no learning and no wit to make reply to this calm, cynical gentleman, who had come merely to enjoy the sight of my degradation. He stepped upon the rope-ladder, pushed himself out, the smoke of his cigar lingering; but before replacing the lumber, his loose face appeared again, and he said:

“If I don’t call again, Petrie, and I fully intend to give myself that pleasure, you will understand that I have been prevented by pressing business. This is such an out-of-the-way place, and of course, it is very difficult to get at. Good-bye, and good luck!” Once more he looked back to shout “The weather’s grand!”

Darkness came after the sunshine, and the night followed, but Redpath did not come back. The hours went by, taking with them another day, and silence and loneliness were my meat and drink. When the night came again I understood more clearly as vitality ebbed out of me. I was abandoned to starvation in this old stone ruin of the bush.

CLERICAL ERRORS

I had shouted for hours, as it seemed to me, in the frail hope of guiding some wandering Indian to my prison, until my throat went dry, and my swollen tongue filled my mouth. The loneliness remained unbroken. My wild voice broke against the stone roof, to fall back upon me in fragments of wasted echoes. All this effort was unprofitable; I was doomed. I was a missing man; my little course was to run out in that mysterious ruin, and my bones were to be added to its antiquities.

That which tormented me more than the desire for vengeance, more even than the fear of death, was my utter helplessness--liberty was so near to me. In my normal state I could so easily have jumped to catch the square hole, and so dragged myself out to the roof; but I was pinioned, and my arms, with all their muscle that I had learnt to be proud of, were the first part of me to die.

I sank slowly into a sleep which was not sleep, until a time came when the pale moon lit and stabbed one shivering ray into my prison. I writhed along the ground like some poor beast which has been shot in the hinder part, and bathed my fevered face in that light. Anything for the world again! My eyes were sore, my half-bandaged wounds stabbed me, red spots spun confusedly wherever I looked. I was afraid of the great loneliness, which suggested the more fearful silence I was about to enter. As I sank towards oblivion I prayed for the sound of a voice, even the growl of a beast or a bird-call, even a sad voice from the grave.

I shook off the stupor, and called aloud once more. It was not a shout for help, but a shout of fear. The horror of the great shadow was over me.

The echoes had hardly settled down into the dust before my nerves, strung to a terrible tension, thrilled and started with the shock of a voice, and my ears caught the answering sound of a feeble cry out of the night.

“Rupe! Boy Rupe!”

“MacCaskill,” I muttered in a delirium.

Animal-like scrapings came against the outer wall; a beating upon the stones, a great groan, and then a mad burst of laughter. Soon an unearthly voice began to sing the song of joy, called the National Anthem of the English. The wild sounds made the night tumultuous:

“_Kitche milweletuk Kinwaish
Pimetesit. O Pimache!_”

How had this native singer found me? How did he know my name?

It was a bright night, and the wind was in the south. On such a night the spirits of the dead are abroad, singing their songs of gladness. I was about to die. I was able to hear, as I came near to join them.

“God save the Queen!” wailed the voice, but now in English. Whether this Queen were a living personage or a tutelary spirit, I did not know. A scream made the air start, and then the sounds made words--“Me son Rupe! Me son!”

Now it dawned upon my failing brain that my father had come back, and because I was not yet dead, I feared to meet him. Cry after cry pierced the moonlight, with some weird laughter, and the sounds of an old man’s trouble. The tumult seemed to me so great that I turned and weakly muttered, “There must be a multitude, and they are all dead.” I tried to turn my voice upward in the call, “Father!”

The wandering voice spoke and answered clearly:

“Comin’, Rupe. Have patience wi’ me, boy. I’ve ben a-lookin’ ev’ry night. Ay, ay, ev’ry night a-lookin’, an’ a-watchin’, an’ a-callin’. Ole father’s found ye.”

I could make nothing of this. My father had only been dead a short time. There was a scuffling upon the roof, and the old spirit went on yelling the National Hymn, and danced to his own mad music. I then heard the angry scratching of his nails upon the roof of my prison.

“They hid the boy away here!” screamed the voice, shrill and cunning. “I tried to stop ’em, but they wouldn’t have it. They said, ‘Git, ole man!’ He was jest tired wi’ fightin’, was the boy. I could tell he’d wake after a while. Rupe!”

I shouted back, alive and conscious at last.

A great stone crashed down, and the lumber bounded and splintered. Piece by piece the prison bars disappeared, and the cool moonlight dropped upon me. In vain I tried to move. I could not see my rescuer, but I realised that he was happily seated at what he thought was the entrance to my grave. His voice was hoarser, when he bent down to call, “Rupe! They’re a-comin’ up all round!”

He went on:

“Bide low, while they clear away a bit. They’re screechin’ awful along the creek, an’ the blue lights are jumpin’ crazy. I knew the dead were around to-night. Bones were rattlin’ dreadful when I come out. There was crowds of stiff ’uns a-whisperin’, an’ a-laughin’, an’ a-tumblin’ around in the air, as crazy as sand-bugs. I looked for ye among ’em. An’ I come out a-calling after ye. Bide a while, boy; I’m restin’ a piece, afore pullin’ the earth off ye.”

Slowly it came to my tired brain that I was being saved by a madman who had lost a son bearing my name.

The cunning voice above went on:

“I told ’em I’d find ye, an’ ’twas no use talkin’. I said, ‘Boys all! Rupe’ll come back one midnight. Ole moon’ll be good and full a-comin’ over yon ledges, an’ ole south wind’ll blow soft, an’ the tree heads’ll start to jump. I’ll come along the Creek o’ Corpses a-callin’ Rupe, an’ I’ll find me boy. Sure, I’ll find him, an’ we’ll go home together to the ole home on the lake.’”

The voice had been pathetic, but it altered sharply and became angry.

“She’s ben a-followin’ me ev’ry night, Rupe. She seemed lost to-night, an’ she looked only a girl. She was a-comin’ this way--a-comin’ after me, Rupe, a-comin’ to keep you down in the ground. You mind the squaw, who fit worse’n a man, Rupe. You mind she wounded ye in the leg. You didn’t see it out. Listen, boy! Listen to ole father!”

His voice became a scream.

“I’ll tell ye, Rupe. There was a man who fit wi’ a bush-axe, an’ doin’ good, I tell ye, a-knockin’ ’em around fine, an’ the squaw made at him. Eh! like a beast, boy, like a wil’ beast. She’d fixed her few, but this ’un was too slick. He jumped ’way back, an’ when she come on with her big cutter he dropped his axe, an’ she dropped--ay, dropped, an’ doubled, an’ kicked once, an’ never used her knife again. I was that man, Rupe.”

His shrill laughter rang out triumphantly.

“I set down, Rupe, ’cause we was beatin’ ’em fast, an’ I was winded, being oldish. I got lookin’ around, an’ come to see a stiff’un a-lyin’ close up. He was only a boy, you might say. Wounded ter’ble he was, an’ lettin’ the blood run outer him like smoke outer a stove-pipe. You was that man, Rupe.”

He cut short his mad laughter, and I heard him move.

Two crooked hands came weirdly through the aperture, and the voice shouted at me.

For a moment I forgot the madman in the horror of the thought that Redpath might be near. My feeble heart seemed to be stopping, and a succession of dreadful screams beat into my ears and realised my dread.

“She’s found us, Rupe! The squaw’s a-comin’!”

I was so fearfully weak that I even laughed at his grotesque fear. Probably the woman he feared so greatly was some crooked shadow cast by the moon.

Then another voice came out of the night to tell me that the madman’s eyes were true--a soft voice, not of the dead, nor of the insane, but of the loving and living.

“I am hungry, and very tired. I have searched for three days, and this is the third night. I heard your voice in the bush, and so I have come.”

The world was mine again!

The old man sobbed, and panted, and screamed, and would not allow the girl to come near. I could hear him running and howling, as she tried to out-manœuvre him; but I was beyond aiding myself. I could not have stood or walked had the walls fallen away from me.

“Let me go to him!” pleaded Akshelah; but the maniac, with his superstitious fears, would not hear of it. “Then I must fight you,” said my maid.

As I had lately fought Jake Peterssen for her good fame, so now Akshelah fought the madman for my life.

How long they actually contended I do not know, because Akshelah would never tell me, but presently a light footstep ran overhead, a lithe figure dropped through the hole, and Akshelah knelt beside me. She did not speak, she had not the breath; but she freed my dead arms, and, supporting my head upon her shoulder, gave me water of life out of a little bottle. It seemed nothing but a taste, but more might have done me harm.

She took from her bosom a little meat and bread, which she had brought from Gull, and though starving herself, had never touched, and fed me sparingly. She wiped my face, and chafed my arms with her soothing little hands, and while she worked to restore me I felt something dripping upon my face from hers. The maniac’s long nails had scored deep marks upon her cheeks and forehead.

When I awoke from the long sleep into which she had soothed me it was day. I felt weak and miserably ill, but this illness was due to life returning, and not lessening; from finger-tips to shoulders my arms were two separate tortures. Close beside me Akshelah lay curled up in the sleep of exhaustion, her poor little brown face dreadfully stained and pinched, and my heart cut me. Had this girl been wise she would have remained in the shaded encampment among her own people, instead of following my fortunes, to risk dangers by land and water, privations, insults, death itself; and for what? Because she fancied I wanted her? Because she had promised to be always my friend? Because she was happier with me in danger than in comfort when I was away? Despite all my ignorance, I thought that this last might prove to be the true reason.

Directly she woke, worn and wan, the girl began to laugh, and mirthfully assured me that life was very enjoyable, even when one was next door to starvation. My maid went on laughing when I expressed a fear that Redpath might return, and she went on to tell me of the notices posted about Gull Island, offering a reward for information concerning me, and of MacCaskill, whom she had left running wild, but “no good.”

Then she swung herself from the prison, and I passed an anxious hour, which I employed in trying to use my limbs. I had quite forgotten the half-breed madman until Akshelah came back.

“He is asleep in the grass, and bitten all over with flies,” she said. “He is just where I sent him. I hit him like you hit the black man.”

Soon I heard scrapings and whinings, and the feeble voice demanding where I might be found.

“We are close to the great water,” said Akshelah. “Look at the berries I have brought you.”

We ate the rich red berries, and drank the sweet water, while the madman muttered and crawled overhead. When we had done, I declared that I could move. Akshelah divided her red shawl in the middle, and having secured the ends, tied one part about me under my arms. Climbing out, she instructed the guardian of the “grave” to lay hold and pull. Now that it was daylight, he had lost his great fear of her, and obeyed, pulling wildly, until I was brought back to liberty.

The stone building stood upon a clear circular space, some four hundred yards in diameter, the circumference being the dense lumber forest. Round my late prison a broken circle of huge monoliths occupied the turf, some erect, some leaning, others recumbent; in later years I saw in a book an illustration representing a similar circle of such stones, which this book informed me were to be found at a place called Stonehenge, somewhere in England. On the south side I could see the beginning of the dip, which the old man called the Creek of Corpses. Formerly, I presume, a fight had taken place in the neighbourhood between the natives and the Hudson Bay Company, and the dead had been buried along this creek. Redpath had discovered this spot, which formed the centre of a veritable natural labyrinth, as he had a faculty for finding out most things, and had conjectured that it would make a safe and suitable place to entomb me in return for the blow I had given him.

It became a problem how to rid myself of the ragged, hairy old creature who clung to my arm, babbling unceasingly. At length I decided to go with him, because he had a log hut near the beach, and I was too weak to walk any distance. We made our way by easy stages through the forest, until a strong sheet of light flashed before us, and I felt that I was indeed alive. I shared all the native love, and in part their superstition, for the water; and here it was--bright and beautiful Lake Peace! My exclamation found its echo from the mad hermit who claimed me for his son:

“You mind it, Rupe? Course you mind it! Round the point, jest roun’ yon tamarac bluff, there’s the ole shanty same as ever. You mind our fishin’ nights, when the moon was good, an’ how we pulled out the white-fish? Mind ole Bill Alloway, wi’ his face like a cat-fish? Mind one time, when we was fishin’, an’ Bill Alloway pulls off his shirt an’ pants, an’ swims an’ dives around? Sudden, yer line gits a holt on something big, an’ you pulls an ole cat-fish half outer the water in the moonlight. ‘Father,’ ye lets out, ‘father! Darned if I haven’t caught ole Bill Alloway!’”

The old man tumbled upon the grass, laughing, and picked the white moss.

His shanty stood on the edge of the cliff, where the tamaracs overhung the rocks, and a wonderful white beach, a hundred yards in width, and fantastically marked with the pattern of webbed feet, ran down to the lake. The hut was so dirty that we made a camp outside. I quickly caught some white-fish, thus proving my skill as a fisherman, despite my failure on the evening when I first met Akshelah. When night had fallen, the girl left me to find her way to Gull. The old man’s madness came on again with the moon, and he implored me to escape with him, so that I had little sleep; but I could not be hard upon the poor creature, because, had it not been for him, Akshelah would probably never have found me, or have only done so when Redpath would have been satisfied with my state.

In the morning, when the lake was a cold grey, and the white mist hung in ghost-wreaths, Akshelah returned, and brought MacCaskill, weary and short of breath, with her.

Between the saw-mills and the shingle beach which brought out to Gull Island was a long building of rough lumber, roofed with shingles. Over the entrance appeared a long board, bearing in large, irregular capitals the information, “Tommy’s Restaurant-Hotel.” Underneath hung a square board, upon which was inscribed the tariff of the house, which read, according to MacCaskill, exactly as follows:--

Square Meal 25c.
One-Day-Filler 50c.
Gorge 75c.
Straight Drink 20c.
Mixed Drink 25c.
Bed 1dol.

No Bugs, unless you bring ’em.

We reached this rough but isolated hostelry about midnight, the four of us, because the madman followed me persistently, and we went inside to rest. MacCaskill explored the silent house, and when he returned, his face looked as though he had received a fright.

“Come wi’ me,” he whispered. “Take hold of me arm, and walk careful. Don’t let ’em see you.”

Along the passage were several compartments reserved for gambling, and we could look into any of these without well being seen, because the passage was unlighted, and the tobacco smoke inside hung in clouds. In the compartment indicated by the factor I saw a poker four deep in their game, and I was able to name each man.

The gamblers were--Jim Morrison, the sailor who had accosted me from the car my first morning in Gull; Gedeon Leblanc, the half-breed; Olaffson, the unmitigated scoundrel; and the man who had called himself Father Lacombe, the well-known missionary of Three Points.

III

ON A FRESHWATER SEA

MORNING

At last the rumbling motion overhead had ceased. The hum of the screw and the beat of the engine, with the back-wash of the water as the keel slipped through, told me that the _Carillon_ had cast off from Gull Harbour, and was away on her north-eastern trip for the Little Peace River.

I rose from my recumbent position behind the fish barrels in the hold, but I went down again, and as promptly as though a pistol had been levelled at my forehead. A couple of sailors stood together in the half-light, and I had recognised them at once as the half-breed Leblanc and the ill-favoured Morrison, who had presumably slipped away together from deck, so soon as their labours were over, that they might discuss certain plans of their own out of earshot.

“Gimme a bite of eatin’ tobaccer,” growled Morrison at the outset, and set me reflecting that the man was always asking for something. I heard the shuffling of cowhide shoes, followed by sundry unhealthy sounds of expectoration, then the same voice said, “There’s a-goin’ to be scrappin’?”

“You min’ yer talk. See, Bill? If you’d ben made wi’ no tongue you’d be better fixed right now.”

I reflected that Leblanc was master here.

“When I talk, I watch who listens. Gimme a drop o’ liquor.”

“Ain’t got none.”

The men shuffled closer to my hiding-place.

“Do we scrap, or don’t us?” demanded Jim Morrison.

“We don’t have to,” said Leblanc. “It’s skin eyes and shut mouth. When they done the findin’, than up we come. See?”

“Say, but what about this Redpath? Teaser, ain’t he?”

“Do what he tells ye, Jim,” said the half-breed, and I could tell by his voice that he was ill at ease. “Redpath don’t have no monkeyin’. If we ain’t clean to him, he’ll start to work an’ snuff us out, same as he’s done to Rupe Petrie. If he says ‘Lick me boots,’ we goter lick. See?”

“Will I talk to Olaffson?” suggested Jim Morrison. “Maybe he’d come useful.”

Leblanc grunted.

“He’ll chalk his own track. There’s only one man, ’sides Redpath, what could spile us, an’ he’s ben spilt hisself. He could have bruke the lot of us, same as he bruke Jake Peterssen.”

“Ole Mac, he ain’t no sort er good?” muttered Morrison.

“No sort, now his pard’s gone.”

“Gimme a match.”

A high-pitched voice came sounding into the hold, and I recognised the cry of Sandy, the mate.

The men separated at once, climbing out of the hold at opposite ends; while I jumped over the barrels, and stretched myself in the open, feeling strong and fit again.

MacCaskill and I had foreseen that the ship would be full of plotting, but I had now learnt that the cross-plots were likely to prove of a more serious nature than we had anticipated.

Leblanc knew something of old Fagge’s secret, and he had taken Morrison into his confidence; while assuming to be in abject submission to Redpath, they were planning how to best him. I was sorry for them.

In determining the position, I made it out to be that Leblanc and Morrison were against everyone; MacCaskill and myself against Redpath and the Icelander, with, incidentally, the two thick-skulled sailors; Redpath always for himself; Olaffson nominally for the adventurer, actually for himself. MacCaskill and myself formed the only genuine alliance, with Akshelah to aid us, and I felt we were good enough to carry the position.

After recognising Redpath under the disguise of Father Lacombe, the factor made the plan to keep me hidden. He had brought me on board the _Carillon_, and stowed me away below the night before sailing; while he had come aboard in the ordinary way with Akshelah, who, of course, could not be induced to return to Yellow Sands.

It was while waiting for the vessel to get well out to sea from Gull that I had overheard the conversation between the two sailors.

Swinging myself up out of the hold, I made along the lower deck, enjoying the prospect of the consternation my presence must cause.

Suddenly a very different voice came to me.

One more step over the greasy boards, and I caught a side glance of the entrance to the engine-room, and my heart went a little faster, because I had seen the abrupt flicker of a black skirt.

Scarcely five yards away, blocking the entry, stood my hereditary enemy, his back towards me, still preserving the disguise of the black-bearded priest.

Without a sound, I seated myself upon one of the numerous barrels, full in the open, the gloom of the ship falling behind me. I knew that Redpath must turn and see me sitting there, silent and motionless, with my eyes fixed upon him. I thought it possible that the sight might scare him pretty badly.

Thus situated, I could hear the adventurer speak, and at the same time I imagined that the engineer could not be very happy at being examined by this particular passenger.

It was impossible to hear Pete’s replies, but Redpath’s questions were sufficiently audible.

“You must often find the heat down here intolerable?” he suggested, in his kindly tones. “Ah, yes, it would reduce a fat man considerably. While the weather remains as at present you must find your duty a pleasure. What? No, I did not observe the sound. My ears are not trained like yours.”

He stepped back until he was quite outside the engine-room, and I made certain that he would turn and discover me. But after listening, he returned to his former position, and went on:

“I suppose we must expect a fresher wind, now that we are approaching the open sea. Ah, I heard it then. What effect does the moving of that lever have?”

He waited for the reply, which was inaudible to me, and continued with increased interest:

“For reducing the pressure. I see. If you desired to lower the speed so as to stop the vessel? Yes. And for starting? Ah, I quite understand. What? Shift the lever gently and gradually, as she gains way. Ah, yes, it is all very interesting, and equally instructive. To a man of my calling, a very full, general knowledge becomes indispensable. It will be obvious to you that at some future date a contingency might possibly befal, which would make it imperative upon me to understand how to control such a vessel as this. The knowledge you are now giving me in an idle moment might well lead to the saving of many precious human lives. Thank you, my son!”

How could the man do it?

A great wave flung itself against the side; and when it had beaten back, Redpath was saying:

“Quite so. I can easily believe that in the hour of danger the engineer’s position becomes especially full of peril. Now, if this fair weather continues, when may I expect to be landed at the mouth of the Little Peace?”

I suppose the engineer referred to the chance of delay, because the adventurer said presently:

“You need not remind me. I know this dangerous lake, with its mysterious storms, which, as you say, spring up suddenly under a clear sky, and vanish with the speed of their coming. I have heard so many sad tales from my own flock, so many poor Indian fishermen lost, so many lumber scows wrecked. It is very pitiful!”

The rascal coughed sanctimoniously. His back was still towards me; I wondered that he had not felt my presence so very near to him.

A big shaft of light fell through the hatchway ahead, and suddenly a couple of burly legs appeared on the ladder in that light. Then Factor MacCaskill trod heavily down, and saw me when he had made a few paces; and he saw also the mock priest between us, and was quick-witted enough to grasp the situation, and clever enough to use it to the full. He checked himself abruptly when a couple of short paces divided him from Redpath, and his glance went heedlessly past the masquerader, to settle upon me with a well-simulated expression of fear and amazement.

“Golden gates of Jerusalem!” called the old fellow, making his voice thick and unsteady, and allowing his pipe to drop upon the deck.

The adventurer swung round between us, and in one moment his face became like the underpart of a fish. The flesh seemed to shrink up under its covering of false hair, and his eyes were like two little pits of oil. He had confessed that his body was weak--he had almost boasted of it--but his will was like steel. For the moment only it bent, and the next was strong again. His eyes left me and settled upon MacCaskill, and the factor looked him back like an honest man, without yielding an inch or ceding a wink. I left my barrel, and stepped forward with all the indifference I could muster.

“Where in the name of everything upon earth have ye sprung from, Rupe?” exclaimed MacCaskill.

“I only stowed myself among the cargo,” I said, for the benefit of listeners. Then I turned towards Redpath and Pete, who put his startled face out of the hot oil-smelling recess, “How are you, father?” I said, with all the confidence of having the stronger hand.

The adventurer stuck to the rules of his game.

“My dear young man!” he exclaimed, with splendid affection, emphasising each syllable with ease and unction. “This is, indeed, a joyful surprise. Why, we have all been in mourning for you!”

AFTERNOON

Lennie’s mask-like face became animated when I was introduced at dinner-time into the deck-cabin where meals were served. Questions began to buzz about my ears like mosquitoes on a damp evening. I told the story of my kidnapping, although I professed to be ignorant of my captors’ names, and when I had said all I intended to, the captain began to talk.

“Jake Peterssen never done it,” he stated. “You beat Jake, an’ he took his beatin’. There wasn’t one madder than him when ’twas told you’d ben misplaced. No, sir, Jake was fair spoilin’ to fix the man what took you foul. He said right through you’d ben took foul. Ain’t that so, Pete?”

Pete acquiesced, and Lennie disregarded his dinner and talked on.

“Well, now, there’s ben strange doings at Gull this trip.” He lowered his voice, peered about, and whispered, “Where’s the father?”

“Outside,” said the steward. “Said he wasn’t wantin’ his grub till some of ye was through.”

Lennie became mysterious.

“Some of ye must have heard tell of Father Lacombe of Three Points. They say he’s a priest what always wants to stretch the days out at work, and don’t have no use for settin’ around. They do say he’s a-goin’ to be next archbishop, ’cause he went to a place called Rome two year ago, a-payin’ calls on ole Father Holiness. Well, now, we don’t give a darn whether he’s goin’ to be archbishop or church-scraper; but here’s the trouble: What’s the father’s racket a-bummin’ around Gull these days on the idle, watchin’ the boys at scrap, and going inter Tommy’s Restaurant wi’ a bad crowd? Tommy wouldn’t get to give him away, ’cause that sort of thing ain’t bis’ness; but some of the boys saw him go in along wi’ toughs. Well, there’s that, an’ there’s the boy bein’ took foul, an’ there’s that steamer.”

It became my turn to ask a question.

“We’d got away from Gull this mornin’, when Sandy sights a steamer runnin’ at the island from the south,” went on Lennie sadly. “She was comin’ full rip, an’ not flyin’ any flag far as we could see. Sandy made out she was the _Firefly_ of the Force, but I’ll take me oath she was the _Sault Ste. Marie_ of the Hudson Bay. Don’t matter which she was. What does she want around Gull, anyhow? This is the only boat that goes to Gull, ’cept the lumber scows.”

Lennie looked round the table sourly, and went on:

“We’re goin’ to have a bad trip. That’s a dead sure thing. When I set down to breakfast before startin’ I found a flap-bug in me porridge. Takes a black dog wi’ a wall-eye to beat that for luck.”

After dinner MacCaskill and I talked upon deck, while Akshelah sat herself in the sun, her deft fingers engaged in repairing certain ravages in my coat. The factor thought that the opposition threatened by Leblanc and Morrison would be more likely to benefit than to injure us. “Sort of divides the aces,” was his comment. He went on to impress upon me the necessity for deceiving Redpath by making him believe that he was deceiving us, and here I had a question to ask, because I wanted to learn how the adventurer had come by his disguise.

“It’s as clear as sky, Rupe, that he brought the fixings along to Yellow Sands,” the factor said. “He’s ben playin’ some lively game down east, or down south, and havin’ to get out at a small hole he fixed himself up as a priest and came north for his health. Likely he didn’t change that rig until he got to Yellow Sands River, and heard tell of ole Petrie. By that time he reckoned he’d show up as his own ugly self.”

I was for telling Lennie the truth, but MacCaskill, who knew the world, pointed out danger. Redpath would never allow himself to be taken without bloodshed. Even if placed under confinement, he would possibly win over the crew by promising to share his secret with them. By this time I began to understand what men will do for “the dirt.” A mutiny might follow, and we should certainly be worsted.

“We’ll have a chance to get ahead of him,” went on the factor. “The _Carillon_ drops us at the Little Peace, and from there we work our way north along the coast.”

He called to Akshelah.

“Know what sort of folk live at the mouth of the river, my gal?”

Akshelah looked up, her eyes full of thought, and said presently:

“If the people of Mekawask are there, they are our friends.”

“They will let us have a big canoe?”

“I will get you a canoe,” said the girl proudly.

“And Redpath will steal one,” added the factor morosely.

“I will tell the tribe,” went on the girl. “They will watch their canoes, and if the man comes to steal, they will shoot at him.”

MacCaskill chuckled, “I guess we’ve got his reverence.”