Lords of the North

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"I can cap that story, man," cried the portly Irish priest who was to go
north in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" He
paused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if I
had been struck.

"What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows up
north see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our own
voices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"--he waved
towards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of the
universe--"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad."

I sat down abashed.

"Yes, a white squaw," repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, white
ladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make a
mistake."

"There's a difference between squaws and white ladies," persisted the
jolly father, all unconscious that he was emphasizing a difference which
many of the traders were spelling out in hard years of experience.

"I've seen papooses that were white for a day or two after they were
born----"

"Effect of the christening," interrupted the youth, whose head, between
flattered vanity and the emptied contents of his drinking cup, was very
light indeed.

"Take that idiot out and put him to bed, somebody," commanded Cameron.

"For a day or two after they were born," reiterated the priest; "but I
never saw such a white-skinned squaw!"

"Where did you see her?" I inquired in a voice which was not my own.

"On Lake Winnipeg. Coming down two weeks ago we camped near a band of
Sioux, and I declare, as I passed a tepee, I saw a woman's face that
looked as white as snow. She was sleeping, and the curtain had blown up.
Her child was in her arms, and I tell you her bare arms were as white as
snow."

"Must have been the effect of the moonlight," explained some one.

"Moonlight didn't give the other Indians that complexion," insisted the
priest.

It was my turn to feel my head suddenly turn giddy, though liquor had
not passed my lips. This information could have only one meaning. I was
close on the track of Miriam, and Eric was near; yet the slightest
blunder on my part might ruin all chance of meeting him and rescuing
her.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE

The men began arguing about the degrees of whiteness in a squaw's skin.
Those, married to native women, averred that differences of complexion
were purely matters of temperament and compared their dusky wives to
Spanish belles. The priest was now talking across the table to Duncan
Cameron, advocating a renewal of North-West trade with the Mandanes on
the Missouri, whither he was bound on his missionary tour. To venture
out of the fort through the Indian encampments, where natives and
outlaws were holding high carnival, and my sleepless foe could have a
free hand, would be to risk all chance of using the information that had
come to me.

I did not fear death--fear of death was left east of the Sault in those
days. On my preservation depended Miriam's rescue. Besides, if either Le
Grand Diable or myself had to die, I came to the conclusion of other men
similarly situated--that my enemy was the one who should go.

Violins, flutes and bag-pipes were striking up in different parts of the
hall. Simple ballads, smacking of old delights in an older land, songs,
with which home-sick white men comforted themselves in far-off
lodges--were roared out in strident tones. Feet were beating time to the
rasp of the fiddles. Men rose and danced wild jigs, or deftly executed
some intricate Indian step; and uproarious applause greeted every
performer. The hall throbbed with confused sounds and the din deadened
my thinking faculties. Even now, Eric might be slipping past. In that
deafening tumult I could decide nothing, and when I tried to leave the
table, all the lights swam dizzily.

"Excuse me, Sir!" I whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "You're
Father Holland and are to go north in my boats. Come out with me for a
moment."

Thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'Pon my soul! Strapping
fellows like you shouldn't need last rites----"

"Please say nothing! Come quickly!" and I gripped his arm.

"Bless us! It's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose and
followed me from the hall.

In the fresh air, dizziness left me. Sitting down on the bench, where I
had lain the night before, I told him my perplexing mission. At first, I
am sure he was convinced that I was drunk or raving, but my story had
the directness of truth. He saw at once how easily he could leave the
fort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offered
to come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept Hamilton.

"But we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart out
whenever the brigade appears," declared the priest, casting about in his
mind for means to forward our object.

"The canoes are all locked up. Can't you borrow one from the Indians?
Don't you know any of them?" I asked with a sudden sinking of heart.

"And have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? No--no--that won't
do. Where are your wits, boy! Arrah! Me hearty, but what was that?"

We both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, but
darkness hid anyone who might have been listening.

"Hm!" said the priest. "Overheard! Fine conspirators we are! Some
eavesdropper!"

"Hush!" and remembering whose window it was, I held him; for he would
have stalked away.

"Are you there?" came a clear, gentle voice, that fell from the window
in the breaking ripples of a fountain plash.

The bit of statuary had become suddenly animate and was not so
marble-cold to mankind as it looked. Thinking we had been taken for an
expected lover, I, too, was moving off, when the voice, that sounded
like the dropping golden notes of a cremona, called out in tones of
vibrating alarm:

"Don't--don't go! Priest! Priest! Father! It's you I'm speaking to. I've
heard every word!"

Father Holland and I were too much amazed to do aught but gape from each
other to the dark window. We could now see the outlines of a white face
there.

"If you'd please put one bench on top of another, and balance a bucket
on that, I think I could get down," pleaded the low, thrilling voice.

"An' in the name of the seven wonders of creation, what for would you be
getting down?" asked the astonished priest.

"Oh! Hurry! Are you getting the bench?" coaxed the voice.

"Faith an' we're not! And we have no thought of doing such a thing!"
began the good man with severity.

"Then, I'll jump," threatened the voice.

"And break your pretty neck," answered the ungallant father with
indignation.

There was a rustling of skirts being gathered across the window sill and
outlines of a white face gave place to the figure of a frail girl
preparing for a leap.

"Don't!" I cried, genuinely alarmed, with a mental vision of shattered
statuary on the ground. "Don't! I'm getting the benches," and I piled
them up, with a rickety bucket on top. "Wait!" I implored, stepping up
on the bottom bench. "Give me your hand," and as I caught her hands, she
leaped from the window to the bucket, and the bucket to the ground, with
a daintiness, which I thought savored of experience in such escapades.

"What do you mean, young woman?" demanded Father Holland in anger. "I'll
have none of your frisky nonsense! Do you know, you baggage, that you
are delaying this young man in a matter that is of life-and-death
importance? Tell me this instant, what do you want?"

"I want to save that woman, Miriam! You're both so slow and stupid!
Come, quick!" and she caught us by the arms. "There's a skiff down among
the rushes in the flats. I can guide you to it. Cross the river in it!
Oh! Quick! Quick! Some of the Hudson's Bay brigades have already
passed!"

"How do you know?" we both demanded as in one breath.

"I'm Frances Sutherland. My father is one of the Selkirk settlers and he
had word that they would pass to-night! Oh! Come! Come!"

This girl, the daughter of a man who was playing double to both
companies! And her service to me would compel me to be loyal to him!
Truly, I was becoming involved in a way that complicated simple duty.
But the girl had darted ahead of us, we following by the flutter of the
white gown, and she led us out of the courtyard by a sally-port to the
rear of a block-house. She paused in the shadow of some shrubbery.

"Get fagots from the Indians to light us across the flats," she
whispered to Father Holland. "They'll think nothing of your coming.
You're always among them!"

"Mistress Sutherland!" I began, as the priest hurried forward to the
Indian camp-fires, "I hate to think of you risking yourself in this way
for----"

"Stop thinking, then," she interrupted abruptly in a voice that somehow
reminded me of my first vision of statuary.

"I beg your pardon," I blundered on. "Father Holland and I have both
forgotten to apologize for our rudeness about helping you down."

"Pray don't apologize," answered the marble voice. Then the girl
laughed. "Really you're worse than I thought, when I heard you bungling
over a boat. I didn't mind your rudeness. It was funny."

"Oh!" said I, abashed. There are situations in which conversation is
impossible.

"I didn't mind your rudeness," she repeated, "and--and--you mustn't mind
mine. Homesick people aren't--aren't--responsible, you know. Ah! Here
are the torches! Give me one. I thank you--Father Holland--is it not?
Please smother them down till we reach the river, or we'll be followed."

She was off in a flash, leading us through a high growth of rushes
across the flats. So I was both recognized and remembered from the
previous night. The thought was not displeasing. The wind moaned
dismally through the reeds. I did not know that I had been glancing
nervously behind at every step, with uncomfortable recollections of
arrows and spear-heads, till Father Holland exclaimed:

"Why, boy! You're timid! What are you scared of?"

"The devil!" and I spoke truthfully.

"Faith! There's more than yourself runs from His Majesty; but resist the
devil and he will flee from you."

"Not the kind of devil that's my enemy," I explained. I told him of the
arrow-shot and spear-head, and all mirth left his manner.

"I know him, I know him well. There's no greater scoundrel between
Quebec and Athabasca."

"My devil, or yours?"

"Yours, lad. Let your laughter be turned to mourning! Beware of him!
I've known more than one murder of his doing. Eh! But he's cunning, so
cunning! We can't trip him up with proofs; and his body's as slippery as
an eel or we might----"

But a loon flapped up from the rushes, brushing the priest's face with
its wings.

"Holy Mary save us!" he ejaculated panting to keep up with our guide.
"Faith! I thought 'twas the devil himself!"

"Do you really mean it? Would it be right to get hold of Le Grand
Diable?" I asked. Frances Sutherland had slackened her pace and we were
all three walking abreast. A dry cane crushed noisily under foot and my
head ducked down as if more arrows had hissed past.

"Mane it?" he cried, "mane it? If ye knew all the evil he's done ye'd
know whether I mane it." It was his custom when in banter to drop from
English to his native brogue like a merry-andrew.

"But, Father Holland, I had him in my power. I struck him, but I didn't
kill him, more's the pity!"

"An' who's talking of killin', ye young cut-throat? I say get howld of
his body and when ye've got howld of his body, I'd further advise
gettin' howld of the butt end of a saplin'----"

"But, Father, he was my canoeman. I had him in my power."

Instantly he squared round throwing the torchlight on my face.

"Had him in your power--knew what he'd done--and--and--didn't?"

"And didn't," said I. "But you almost make me wish I had. What do you
take traders for?"

"You're young," said he, "and I take traders for what they are----"

"But I'm a trader and I didn't----" Though a beginner, I wore the airs
of a veteran.

"Benedicite!" he cried. "The Lord shall be your avenger! He shall
deliver that evil one into the power of the punisher!"

"Benedicite!" he repeated. "May ye keep as clean a conscience in this
land as you've brought to it."

"Amen, Father!" said I.

"Here we are," exclaimed Frances Sutherland as we emerged from the
reeds to the brink of the river, where a skiff was moored. "Go, be
quick! I'll stay here! 'Twill be better without me. The Hudson's Bay are
keeping close to the far shore!"

"You can't stay alone," objected Father Holland.

"I shall stay alone, and I've had my way once already to-night."

"But we don't wish to lose one woman in finding another," I protested.

"Go," she commanded with a furious little stamp. "You lose time!
Stupids! Do you think I stay here for nothing? We may have been followed
and I shall stay here and watch! I'll hide in the rushes! Go!" And there
was a second stamp.

That stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong men
and sent us rowing meekly across the river.

"Did ye ever--did ever ye see such a little termagant, such a
persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest
almost breathless with surprise.

"Queen of courage!" I answered back.

"Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!"

She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the
reeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening between
oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was no
sound but the lashing of water against the pebbled shore and we lay in
a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats
should come abreast.

We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland
coming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across its
path and Father Holland waved the torches overhead.

"Hist! Hold back there--have a care!" I called.

"Clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear--or we fire!"

"Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would not
alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat.

"Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded.

"A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who are
you?" growled the voice.

"Answer--quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respect
holy orders; and I succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe.

"Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond
reach.

"Give 'im a bullet!" called another.

"For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch
aloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a
missionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur's
Eric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and he
caught the edge of their craft in his right hand.

"Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone
steel-shod.

"Let go--is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a
towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'r
imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute,
or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an'
ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give polite
questions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? For
shame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?"

Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers passed
from man to man.

"Hamilton's far ahead--above the falls now," answered the steersman.

"Then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned Father Holland not yet
appeased, "deliver this young man's message!"

"Tell Hamilton," I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a
band of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that and
he'll reward you well!"

"Vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll
track your soul to the furnace."

Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe
was lost in the darkness.

More than once I thought that a shadowy thing like an Indian's boat had
hung on our rear and the craft seemed to be dogging us back to the
flats. Father Holland raised his torch and could see nothing on the
water but the glassy reflection of our own forms. He said it was a
phantom boat I had seen; and, truly, visions of Le Grande Diable had
haunted me so persistently of late, I could scarcely trust my senses.
Frances Sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. I
put muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out--

"An Indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. Did you see it?"

"No," returned Father Holland.

"I think we did," said I.

* * * * *

"How can I thank you for what you have done?" I was saying to Frances
Sutherland as we entered the fort by the same sally-port.

"Do you really want to know how?"

"Do I?" I was prepared to offer dramatic sacrifice.

"Then never think of it again, nor speak of it again, nor know me any
more than if it hadn't happened----"

"The conditions are hard."

"And----"

"And what?" I asked eagerly.

"And help me back the way I came down. For if my father--oh! if my
father knew--he would kill me!"

"Faith! So he ought!" ejaculated the priest. "Risking such precious
treasure among vandals!"

Again I piled up the benches. From the bench, she stepped to the bucket,
and from the bucket to my shoulder, and as the light weight left my
shoulder for the window sill, unknown to her, I caught the fluffy skirt,
now bedraggled with the night dew, and kissed it gratefully.

"Oh--ho--and oh-ho and oh-ho," hummed the priest. "Do _I_ scent
matrimony?"

"Not unless it's in your nose," I returned huffily. "Show me a man of
all the hundreds inside, Father Holland, that wouldn't go on his
marrow-bones to a woman who risks life and reputation, which is dearer
than life, to save another woman!"

"Bless you, me hearty, if he wouldn't, he'd be a villain," said the
priest.

CHAPTER IX

DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY

I frequently passed that window above the stoop next day. Once I saw a
face looking down on me with such withering scorn, I wondered if the
disgraceful scene with Louis Laplante had become noised about, and I
hastened to take my exercise in another part of the courtyard.
Thereupon, others paid silent homage to the window, but they likewise
soon tired of that parade ground.

Eastern notions of propriety still clung to me. Of this I had immediate
proof. When our rough crews were preparing to re-embark for the north, I
was shocked beyond measure to see this frail girl come down with her
father to travel in our company. Not counting her father, the priest,
Duncan Cameron, Cuthbert Grant and myself, there were in our party
three-score reckless, uncurbed adventurers, who feared neither God nor
man. I thought it strange of a father to expose his daughter to the bold
gaze, coarse remarks, and perhaps insults of such men. Before the end of
that trip, I was to learn a lesson in western chivalry, which is not
easily explained, or forgotten. As father and daughter were waiting to
take their places in a boat, a shapeless, flat-footed woman, wearing
moccasins--probably the half-breed wife of some trader in the fort--ran
to the water's edge with a parcel of dainties, and kissing the girl on
both cheeks, wished her a fervent God-speed.

"Oh!" growled the young Nor'-Wester, who had been carried from the
banquet hall, and now wore the sour expression that is the aftermath of
banquets. "Look at that fat lump of a bumblebee distilling honey from
the rose! There are others who would appreciate that sort of thing! This
_is_ the wilderness of lost opportunities!"

The girl seated herself in a canoe, where the only men were Duncan
Cameron, her father and the native _voyageurs_; and I dare vouch a score
of young traders groaned at the sight of this second lost opportunity.

"Look, Gillespie! Look!" muttered my comrade of the banquet hall. "The
Little Statue set up at the prow of yon canoe! I'll wager you do
reverence to graven images all the way to Red River!"

"I'll wager we all do," said I.

And we did. To change the metaphor--after the style of Mr. Jack
MacKenzie's eloquence--I warrant there was not a young man of the eight
crews, who did not regard that marble-cold face at the prow of the
leading canoe, as his own particular guiding star. And the white face
beneath the broad-brimmed hat, tied down at each side in the fashion of
those days, was as serenely unconscious of us as any star of the
heavenly constellations. If she saw there were objects behind her canoe,
and that the objects were living beings, and the living beings men, she
gave no evidence of it. Nor was the Little Statue--as we had got in the
habit of calling her--heartless. In spite of the fears which she
entertained for her stern father, her filial affection was a thing to
turn the lads of the crews quite mad. Scarcely were we ashore at the
different encampments before father and daughter would stroll off arm in
arm, leaving the whole brigade envious and disconsolate. Was it the
influence of this slip of a girl, I wonder, that a curious change came
over our crews? The men still swore; but they did it under their breath.
Fewer yarns of a quality, which need not be specified, were told; and
certain kinds of jokes were no longer greeted with a loud guffaw. Still
we all thought ourselves mightily ill-used by that diminutive bundle of
independence, and some took to turning the backs of their heads in her
direction when she chanced to come their way. One young spark said
something about the Little Statue being a prig, which we all invited him
to repeat, but he declined. Had she played the coquette under the
innocent mask of sympathy and all other guiles with which gentle slayers
ambush strong hearts, I dare affirm there would have been trouble enough
and to spare. Suicides, fights, insults and worse, I have witnessed when
some fool woman with a fair face came among such men. "Fool" woman, I
say, rather than "false"; for to my mind falsity in a woman may not be
compared to folly for the utter be-deviling of men.

With our guiding star at the prow of the fore canoe, we continued to
wind among countless islands, through narrow, rocky channels and along
those endless water-ways, that stretch like a tangled, silver chain with
emerald jewels, all the way from the Great Lakes to the plains.
Somewhere along Rainy River, where there is an oasis of rolling, wooded
meadows in a desert of iron rock, we pitched our tents for the night.
The evening air was fragrant with the odor of summer's early flowers. I
could not but marvel at the almost magical growth in these far northern
latitudes. Barely a month had passed since snow enveloped the earth in a
winding sheet, and I have heard old residents say that the winter's
frost penetrated the ground for a depth of four feet. Yet here we were
in a very tropic of growth run riot and the frost, which still lay
beneath the upper soil, was thawing and moistening the succulent roots
of a wilderness of green. The meadow grass, swaying off to the forest
margin in billowy ripples, was already knee-high. The woods were an
impenetrable mass of foliage from the forest of ferns about the broad
trunks to the high tree-tops, nodding and fanning in the night breeze
like coquettish dames in an eastern ball-room. Everywhere--at the river
bank, where our tents stood, above the long grass, and in the
forest--clear, faint and delicate, like the bloom of a fair woman's
cheek, or the pensive theme of some dream fugue, or the sweet notes of
some far-off, floating harmonies, was an odor of hidden flowers. A
trader's nature is, of necessity, rough in the grain, but it is not
corrupt with the fevered joys of the gilded cities. Even we could feel
the call of the wilds to come and seek. It was not surprising,
therefore, that after supper father and daughter should stroll away from
the encampment, arm in arm, as usual. As their figures passed into the
woods, the girl broke away from her father's arm and stooped to the
ground.

"Pickin' flowers," was the laconic remark of the trader, who had helped
me with Louis Laplante on the beach; and the man lay back full length
against a rising knoll to drink in the delicious freshness of the night.
Every man of us watched the vanishing forms.

"Smell violets?" asked a heterogeneous combination of sun-brown and
buckskin.

"This ground's a perfect wheat-field of violets," exclaimed the
whiskered youngster.

"Lots o' Mayflowers and night-shades in the bush," declared a ragged
man, who was one of the worst gamblers in camp, and was now aimlessly
shuffling a greasy, bethumbed pack of cards.

"Oh!" came simultaneously from half a dozen. Personally, it struck me
one might pick flowers for a certain purpose in the bush without being
observed.

"Mayflowers in June!" scoffed the boy.

"Aye, babe! Mayflowers in June! May is June in these here regions,"
asserted the man. "Ladies-and-gentlemen, too, many's you could pick in
the bush!"

"Ladies-and-gentlemen! Sounds funny in this desert, don't it?" asked the
lad. "What _are_ ladies-and-gentlemen?"

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