Chapter XXIX: The White Man's Will

That night in the camp at the river bend the Indians feasted ravenously, and Reivers, sitting in Tillie's place as new-made chief, looked on without smiling.

"Oh, Snow-Burner!" said the oldest man at last. "What is it you want with us? Our furs? Speak. We obey your will."

"Furs are good," replied Reivers, "when a man has nothing else, but gold is better, and the gold that another man has is best of all."

The old man cackled respectfully.

"Oh, Snow-Burner! Do you come to us for gold? Do you think we would sit here without meat if we had gold? No, Snow-Burner. What we have you can have. Your will with the tribe from the oldest to the youngest is our law. We owe you our lives. The strength of our young men is yours; the wisdom of our old heads is yours. But gold we have not. Do not turn your frown upon us, Snow-Burner; you must know it is the truth."

"Since when," said Reivers sternly, "has my friend, old Little Bear, dared say that the Snow-Burner has the foolishness of a woman in his head? Do you think I come seeking gold from you? No. It is the strength of your young men and the wisdom of your old heads that I want. I seek gold. You shall help me find it."

Little Bear raised his arms and let them fall in the eloquent Indian gesture of helplessness.

"White men have been here often to seek for gold. The great Snow-Burner once was one of them. They have digged holes in the ground. They have taken the sand from creek bottoms. Did the Snow-Burner, who finds caribou where there are none, find any gold here? No. It is an old story. There is no gold here."

Reivers leaned forward and spoke harshly.

"Listen, Little Bear; listen all you people. There is gold within three days' march from here. Much gold. Another man digs it. You will find it for me. I have spoken."

Silence fell on the tepee. The Indians looked at one another. Little Bear finally spoke with bowed head.

"We do the Snow-Burner's will."

Nawa, the youngest and strongest of the hunters, turned to Reivers respectfully.

"Oh, Snow-Burner, Nawa serves you with the strength of his leg and the keenness of his eyes. Nawa knows that the Snow-Burner sees things that are hidden to us. Our oldest men say there is no gold here. Other white men say there is no gold here. The Snow-Burner says there is gold near here.

"The Snow-Burner sees what is hidden to others. Nawa does not doubt. Nawa waits only the Snow-Burner's commands. But Nawa has been to the settlements at Fifty Mile and Dumont's Camp. He has heard the white men talk. They talk there of a man who carries gold like gunpowder and gold like bullets, instead of the white man's money.

"Nawa has talked with Indians who have seen this man. They call him 'Iron Hair,' because his hair is black and stiff like the quills of a porcupine. Oh, Snow-Burner, Nawa knows nothing. He merely tells what he has heard. Is this the man the Snow-Burner, too, has heard of!"

Reivers looked around the circle of smoke-blackened faces about the fire. No expression betrayed what was going on behind those wood-like masks, but Reivers knew Indians and sensed that they were all waiting excitedly for his answer.

"That is the man," he said, and by the complete silence that followed he knew that his reply had caused a sensation that would have made white men swear. "What know you of Iron Hair, Nawa?"

"Oh, Snow-Burner," said Nawa dolefully, "our tribe knows of Iron Hair to its sorrow. Two moons ago the big man with the hair like a porcupine was at Fifty Mile for whisky and food. He hired Small Eyes and Broken Wing of our tribe to haul the food to his camp, a day's travelling each way, so he said. The pay was to be big. Small Eyes and Broken Wing went. So much people know. Nothing more. The sledges did not come back. Small Eyes and Broken Wing did not come back. So much do we know of Iron Hair. Nawa has spoken."

"Once there were men in these tepees," said Reivers, looking high above Nawa's head. "Once there were men who would have gone from their tepees to follow to the end the trail of their brothers who go and do not come back. Now there are no men. They sit in the tepees with the women and keep warm. Perhaps Small Eyes and Broken Wing were men and did not care to come back to people who sit by their fires and do not seek to find their brothers who disappear."

"We have sought, oh, Snow-Burner," said Nawa hopelessly. "Do not think we have only sat by our fires. We sought to follow the trail of Iron Hair out of Fifty Mile----"

"How ran the trail?" interrupted Reivers.

"Between the north and the west. We went to hunt our brothers. But a storm had blotted out the trail. Iron Hair had gone out in the storm. Who can follow when there is no trail to see?"

"Once," resumed Reivers in the tone of contempt, "there were strong dog-drivers and sharp eyes here. They would have found the camp of Iron Hair in those days."

"Our dogs still are strong, our young men drive well, our eyes are sharp even now, Snow-Burner," came Nawa's weary reply. "We searched. Even as we searched for the caribou we searched for the camp of Iron Hair. We found no camp. There is no white man's camp in this country. There is no camp at all. We searched till nothing the size of a man's cap could be hidden. The white men from Dumont's Camp and Fifty Mile have searched for the gold which white men are mad for. They found nothing. At the settlements the white men say, 'This man must be the devil himself and go to hell for his gold, because his camp certainly is not in this world where men can see it with their eyes.'"

"And the caribou were not in this world, either?" mocked Reivers.

Nawa shook his head.

"White men, too, have looked for the camp of Iron Hair."

"Many white men," supplemented old Little Bear. "White men always look when they hear of gold. They find gold if it is to be found. The earth gives up its secrets to them. Snow-Burner, they could not find the place where Iron Hair digs his gold."

"Nawa and his hunters could not find the caribou," said Reivers.

There was no reply. He had driven his will home.

"Oh, Snow-Burner," said Nawa, at last, "as Little Bear has said, we do your will."

"Good;" Reivers rose and towered over them. "My will at present is that you go to your tepees. Sleep soundly. I have work for you in the morning."

He stood and watched while they filed, stooped over, through the low opening in the tepee wall. They went without question, without will of their own. A stronger will than theirs had caught them and held them. From hence on they were wholly subservient to the superior mentality which was to direct their actions. Reivers smiled. Old MacGregor had felt safe in telling about the mine; a strange man had no chance to find it. But MacGregor did not know of Tillie's people.

Reivers suddenly turned toward the fire. Tillie was standing there, arrayed in buckskin so white that she must have kept it protected from the tepee smoke in hope of his coming. At the sight of her there came before Reivers' eyes the picture of Hattie MacGregor's face as she had looked up at him when he was leaving the MacGregor cabin. The look that came over his face then was new even to Tillie.

"You, too, get out!" he roared, and Tillie fled from the tepee in terror.