Lords of the North

  CHAPTER XX

  PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS

  He who would hear that paradox of impossibilities--silence becomevocal--must traverse the vast wastes of the prairie by night. As amother quiets a fretful child, so the illimitable calm lulls tumultuousthoughts. The wind moving through empty solitudes comes with a sigh ofunutterable loneliness. Unconsciously, men listen for some faintrustling from the gauzy, wavering streamers that fire northern skies.The dullest ear can almost fancy sounds from the noiseless wheeling ofplanets through the overspanning vaulted blue; and human speech seemssacrilege.

  Though the language of the prairie be not in words, some message issurely uttered; for the people of the plains wear the far-away look ofcommunion with the unseen and the unheard. The fine sensibility of thewhite woman, perhaps, shows the impress of the vast solitudes mostreadily, and the gravely repressed nature of the Indian least; but allplain-dwellers have learned to catch the voice of the prairie. I,myself, know the message well, though I may no more put it into wordsthan the song love sings in one's heart. Love, says the poet, isinfinite. So is the space of the prairie. That, I suppose, is why bothare too boundless for the limitation of speech.

  Night after night, with only a grassy swish and deadened tread over theturf breaking stillness, we journeyed northward. Occasionally, like thechirp of cricket in a dry well, life sounded through emptiness. Skulkingcoyotes, seeking prey among earth mounds, or night hawks, liltingsolitarily in vaulted mid-heaven, uttered cries that pierced the vastblue. Owls flapped stupidly up from our horses' feet. Hungry kiteswheeled above lonely Indian graves, or perched on the scaffolding, wherethe dead lay swathed in skins.

  Reflecting on my experiences with the Mandanes and the Sioux, I wasdisposed to upbraid fate as a senseless thing with no thread of purposethrough life's hopeless jumble. Now, something in the calm of theplains, or the certainty of our unerring star-guides, quieted my unrest.Besides, was I not returning to one who was peerless? That hope speedilyeclipsed all interests. That was purpose enough for my life. Forthwith,I began comparing lustrous gray eyes to the stars, and tracing a woman'sfigure in the diaphanous northern lights. One face ever gleamed throughthe dusk at my horse's head and beckoned northward. I do not think herpresence left me for an instant on that homeward journey. But, indeed, Ishould not set down these extravagances, which each may recall in hisown case, only I would have others judge whether she influenced me, orI, her.

  Thus we traveled northward, journeying by night as long as we were inthe Sioux territory. Once in the land of the Assiniboines, we rode dayand night to the limit of our horses' endurance. Remembering theHudson's Bay outrage at the Souris, and having also heard from Mandanerunners of a raid planned by our rivals against the North-West fort atPembina, I steered wide of both places, following the old Missouri trailmidway between the Red and Souris rivers. It may have been because wetraveled at night, but I did not encounter a single person, native orwhite, till we came close to the Red and were less than a day's journeyfrom Fort Gibraltar. On the river trail, we overtook some Hudson's Baytrappers. The fellows would not answer a single question about eventsduring the year and scampered away from us as if we carried smallpox,which had thinned the population a few years before.

  "That's bad!" said I aloud, as the men fled down the river bank, wherewe could not follow. Little Fellow looked as solemn as a grave-stone. Heshook his head with ominous wisdom that foresees all evil but refuses toprophesy.

  "Bother to you, Little Fellow!" I exclaimed. "What do you mean? What'sup?"

  Again the Indian shook his head with dark mutterings, looking mightysolemn, but he would not share his foreknowledge. We met more Hudson'sBay men, and their conduct was unmistakably suspicious. On a suddenseeing us, they reined up their horses, wheeled and galloped off withouta word.

  "I don't like that! I emphatically don't!" I piloted my broncho to aslight roll of the prairie, where we could reconnoitre. Distinctly therewas the spot where the two rivers met. Intervening shrubbery confused mybearings. I rose in my stirrups, while Little Fellow stood erect on hishorse's back.

  "Little Fellow!" I cried, exasperated with myself, "Where's FortGibraltar? I see where it ought to be, where the towers ought to behigher than that brush, but where's the fort?"

  The Indian screened his eyes and gazed forward. Then he came down with athud, abruptly re-straddling his horse, and uttered one explosiveword--"Smoke."

  "Smoke? I don't see smoke! Where's the fort?"

  "No fort," said he.

  "You're daft!" I informed him, with the engaging frankness of a masterfor a servant. "There--is--a fort, and you know it--we're bothlost--that's more! A fine Indian you are, to get lost!"

  Little Fellow scrambled with alacrity to the ground. Picking up twosmall switches, he propped them against each other.

  "Fort!" he said, laconically, pointing to the switches.

  "L'anglais!" he cried, thrusting out his foot, which signified Hudson'sBay.

  "No fort!" he shouted, kicking the switches into the air. "No fort!" andhe looked with speechless disgust at the vacancy.

  Now I knew what he meant. Fort Gibraltar had been destroyed by Hudson'sBay men. We had no alternative but to strike west along the Assiniboine,on the chance of meeting some Nor'-Westers before reaching the company'squarters at the Portage. That post, too, might be destroyed; but wherewere Hamilton and Father Holland? Danger, or no danger, I must learnmore of the doings in Red River. Also, there were reasons why I wishedto visit the settlers of Fort Douglas. We camped on the south side ofthe Assiniboine a few miles from the Red, and Little Fellow went to someneighboring half-breeds for a canoe.

  And a strange story he brought back! A great man, second only to theking--so the half-breeds said--had come from England to rule overAssiniboia. He boasted the shock of his power would be felt fromMontreal to Athabasca. He would drive out all Nor'-Westers. Thispersonage, I afterwards learned, was the amiable Governor Semple, whosucceeded Captain Miles McDonell. Already, as a hunter chases a deer,had the great governor chased Nor'-Westers from Red River. Did LittleFellow doubt their word? Where was Fort Gibraltar? Let Little Fellowlook and see for himself if aught but masonry and charred walls stoodwhere Fort Gibraltar had been! Let him seek the rafters of theNor-Westers' fort in the new walls of Fort Douglas! Pembina, too, hadfallen before the Hudson's Bay men. Since the coming of the greatgovernor, nothing could stand before the English.

  But wait! It was not all over! The war drum was beating in the tents ofall the _Bois-Brules_! The great governor should be taught that even theking's arms could not prevail against the _Bois-Brules_! Was there smokeof battle? The _Bois-Brules_ would be there! The _Bois-Brules_ hadwrongs to avenge. They would not be turned out of their forts fornothing! Knives would be unsheathed. There were full powder-bags! Therewas a grand gathering of _Bois-Brules_ at the Portage. They, themselves,were on the way there. Let Little Fellow and the white trader join them!Let them be wary; for the English were watchful! Great things were to bedone by the _Bois-Brules_ before another moon--and Little Fellow's eyessnapped fire as he related their vauntings.

  I was inclined to regard the report as a fairy tale. If the half-breedswere arming and the English watchful, the distrust of the Hudson's Baymen was explained. A nomad, himself, the Indian may be willing enough toshare running rights over the land of his fathers; but when the newcomernot only usurps possession, but imposes the yoke of laws on the native,the resentment of the dusky race is easily fanned to that point whichcivilized men call rebellion. I could readily understand how theHudson's Bay proclamations forbidding the sale of furs to rivals, whenthese rivals were friends by marriage and treaty with the natives,roused all the bloodthirsty fury of the Indian nature. Nor'-Westers'forts were being plundered. Why should the _Bois-Brules_ not pillageHudson's Bay posts? Each company was stealing the cargo of its rival, asboats passed and repassed the different forts. Why should the half-breednot have his share of the booty? The most peace-loving dog can be seta-fighting; and the fight-lovi
ng Indian finds it very difficult indeed,to keep the peace. This, the great fur companies had not yet realized;and the lesson was to be driven home to them with irresistible force.

  The half-breeds also had news of a priest bringing a delirious man toFort Douglas. The description seemed to fit Hamilton and Father Holland.Whatever truth might be in the rumors of an uprising, I must ascertainwhether or not Frances Sutherland would be safe. Leaving Little Fellowto guard our horses, at sundown I pushed my canoe into the Assiniboinejust east of the rapids. Paddling swiftly with the current, I kept closeto the south bank, where overhanging willows concealed one side of theriver.

  As I swung out into the Red, true to the _Bois-Brules'_ report, I sawonly blackened chimneys and ruined walls on the site of Fort Gibraltar.Heading towards the right bank, I hugged the naked cliff on the sideopposite Fort Douglas, and trusted the rising mist to conceal me. Thus,I slipped past cannon, pointing threateningly from the Hudson's Baypost, recrossed to the wooded west bank again, and paddled on till Icaught a glimpse of a little, square, whitewashed house in a grove offine old trees. This I knew, from Frances Sutherland's description, washer father's place.

  Mooring among the shrubbery I had no patience to hunt for beaten path;but digging my feet into soft clay and catching branches with bothhands, I clambered up the cliff and found myself in a thicket not astone's throw from the door. The house was in darkness. My heart sank ata possibility which hardly framed itself to a thought. Was theapparition in the Mandane lodge some portent? Had I not read, or heard,of departed spirits hovering near loved ones? I had no courage to thinkmore.

  Suddenly the door flung open. Involuntarily, I slipped behind thebushes, but dusk hid the approaching figure. Whoever it was made nonoise. I felt, rather than heard, her coming, and knew no man could walkso silently. It must be a woman. Then my chest stifled and I heard myown heart-beats. Garments fluttered past the branches of myhiding-place. She of whom I had dreamed by night and thought by day andhoped whether sleeping, or waking, paused, not an arm's length away.

  Toying with the tip of the branch, which I was gripping for dear life,she looked languorously through the foliage towards the river. At firstI thought myself the victim of another hallucination, but would not stirlest the vision should vanish. She sighed audibly, and I knew this wasno spectre. Then I trembled all the more, for my sudden appearance mightalarm her.

  I should wait until she went back to the house--another of my brave vowsto keep myself in hand!--then walk up noisily, giving due warning, andknock at the door. The keeping of that resolution demanded all mystrength of will; for she was so near I could have clasped her in myarms without an effort. Indeed, it took a very great effort to refrainfrom doing so.

  "Heigh-ho," said a low voice with the ripple of a sunny brook tinklingover pebbles, "but it's a long day--and a long, long week--and a long,long, long month--and oh!--a century of years since----" and the voicebroke in a sigh.

  I think--though I would not set this down as a fact--that a certainsmall foot, which once stamped two strong men into obedience, now ventedits impatience at a twig on the grass. By the code of easternproprieties, I may not say that the dainty toe-tip first kicked theoffensive little branch and then crunched it deep in the turf.

  "I hate this lonely country," said the voice, with the vim of water-fretagainst an obstinate stone. "Wonder what it's like in the Mandane land!I'm sure it's nicer there."

  Now I affirm there is not a youth living who would not at some time givehis right hand to know a woman's exact interpretation of that word"nicer." For my part, it set me clutching the branch with such ferocity,off snapped the thing with the sharp splintering of a breaking stick.The voice gave a gasp and she jumped aside with nervous trepidation.

  "Whatever--was that? I am--not frightened." No one was accusing her. "Iwon't go in! I won't let myself be frightened! There! The very idea!"And three or four sharp stamps followed in quick succession; but she wasshivering.

  "I declare the house is so lonely, a ghost would be live company." Andshe looked doubtfully from the dark house to the quivering poplars. "I'drather be out here with the tree-toads and owls and bats than in therealone, even if they do frighten me! Anyway, I'm not frightened! It'sjust some stupid hop-and-go-spring thing at the base of our brains thatmakes us jump at mice and rats." But the hands interlocking at her backtwitched and clasped and unclasped in a way that showed the automaticbrain-spring was still active.

  "It's getting worse every day. I can't stand it much longer, looking andlooking till I'm half blind and no one but Indian riders all day long.Why doesn't he come? Oh! I know something is wrong."

  "Afraid of the Metis," thought I, "and expecting her father. A finefather to leave his daughter alone in the house with the half-breedsthreatening a raid. She needs some one else to take care of her." This,on after thought, I know was unjust to her father; for pioneers obeynecessity first and chivalry second.

  "If he would only come!" she repeated in a half whisper.

  "Hope he doesn't," thought I.

  "For a week I've been dreaming such fearful things! I see him sinking ingreen water, stretching his hands to me and I can't reach out to savehim. On Sunday he seemed to be running along a black, awful precipice. Icaught him in my arms to hold him back, but he dragged me over and Iscreamed myself awake. Sometimes, he is in a black cave and I can't findany door to let him out. Or he lies bound in some dungeon, and when Istoop to cut the cords, he begins to sink down, down, down through thedark, where I can't follow. I leap after him and always waken with sucha dizzy start. Oh! I know he has been in trouble. Something is wrong!His thoughts are reaching out to me and I am so gross and stupid I can'thear what his spirit says. If I could only get away from things, theclatter of everyday things that dull one's inner hearing, perhaps Imight know! I feel as if he spoke in a foreign language, but the wordshe uses I can't make out. All to-day, he has seemed so near! Why does henot come home to me?"

  "Mighty fond daughter," thought I, with a jealous pang. She was fumblingamong the intricate draperies, where women conceal pockets, andpresently brought out something in the palm of her hand.

  "I wouldn't have him know how foolish I am," and she laid the thinggently against her cheek.

  Now I had never given Frances Sutherland a gift of any sort whatever;and my heart was pierced with anguish that cannot be described. I was,indeed, falling over a precipice and her arms were not holding me backbut dragging me over. Would that I, like the dreamer, could awaken witha start. In all conscience, I was dizzy enough; and every pressure ofthat hateful object to her face bound me faster in a dungeon of utterhopelessness. My sweet day-dreams and midnight rhapsodies trooped backto mock at me. I felt that I must bow broken under anguish or else steelmyself and shout back cynical derision to the whole wan troop oftorturing regrets. And all the time, she was caressing that thing in herhand and looking down at it with a fondness, which I--poor fool--thoughtthat I alone could inspire. I suppose if I could have crept awayunobserved, I would have gone from her presence hardened and embittered;but I must play out the hateful part of eavesdropper to the end.

  She opened the hand to feast her eyes on the treasure, and I cranedforward, playing the sneak without a pang of shame, but the dusk foiledme.

  Then the low, mellow, vibrant tones, whose very music would haveintoxicated duller fools than I--'tis ever a comfort to know there aregreater fools--broke in melody: "To my own dear love from her everloyal and devoted knight," and she held her opened hand high. 'Twas mybirch-bark message which Father Holland had carried north. I suddenlywent insane with a great overcharge of joy, that paralyzed all motion.

  "Dear love--wherever are you?" asked a voice that throbbed with longing.

  Can any man blame me for breaking through the thicket and my resolutionand discretion and all?

  "Here--beloved!" I sprang from the bush.

  She gave a cry of affright and would have fallen, but my arms were abouther and my lips giving silent proof that I was no wraith.
br />   What next we said I do not remember. With her head on my shoulder and Idoing the only thing a man could do to stem her tears, I completely losttrack of the order of things. I do not believe either of us was calmenough for words for some time after the meeting. It was she whoregained mental poise first.

  "Rufus!" she exclaimed, breaking away from me, "You're not a sensibleman at all."

  "Never said I was," I returned.

  "If you do _that_," she answered, ignoring my remark and recedingfarther, "I'll never stop crying."

  "Then cry on forever!"

  With womanly ingratitude, she promptly called me "a goose" and otherirrelevant names.

  The rest of our talk that evening I do not intend to set down. In thefirst place, it was best understood by only two. In the second, it couldnot be transcribed; and in the third, it was all a deal too sacred.

  We did, however, become impersonal for short intervals.

  "I feel as if there were some storm in the air," said FrancesSutherland. "The half-breeds are excited. They are riding past thesettlement in scores every day. O, Rufus, I know something is wrong."

  "So do I," was my rejoinder. I was thinking of the strange gossip of theAssiniboine encampment.

  "Do you think the _Bois-Brules_ would plunder your boats?" she askedinnocently, ignorant that the malcontents were Nor'-Westers.

  "No," said I. "What boats?"

  "Why, Nor'-West boats, of course, coming up Red River from Fort Williamto go up the Assiniboine for the winter's supplies. They're coming in afew days. My father told me so."

  "Is Mr. Sutherland an H. B. C. or Nor'-Wester?" I asked in the slang ofthe company talk.

  "I don't know," she answered. "I don't think he knows himself. He saysthere are numbers of men like that, and they all know there is to be araid. Why, Rufus, there are men down the river every day watching forthe Nor'-Westers' Fort William express." "Where do the men come from?" Iquestioned, vainly trying to patch some connection between plots for araid on North-West boats and plots for a fight by Nor'-West followers.

  "From Fort Douglas, of course."

  "H. B. C.'s, my dear. You must go to Fort Douglas at once. There will bea fight. You must go to-morrow with your father, or with me to-night," Iurged, thinking I should take myself off and notify my company of theintended pillaging.

  "With you?" she laughed. "Father will be home in an hour. Are you sureabout a fight!"

  "Quite," said I, trembling for her safety. This certainty of mine hasbeen quoted to prove premeditation on the Nor'-Westers' part; but Imeant nothing of the sort. I only felt there was unrest on both sides,and that she must be out of harm's way.

  Truly, I have seldom had a harder duty to perform than to leave Francesalone in that dark house to go and inform my company of the plot.

  Many times I said good-by before going to the canoe and times unnumberedran back from the river to repeat some warning and necessitate anotherfarewell.

  "Rufus, dear," she said, "this is about the twentieth time. You mustn'tcome back again."

  "Then good-by for the twenty-first," said I, and came away feeling likea young priest anointed for some holy purpose.

  * * * * *

  I declare now, as I declared before the courts of the land, that inhastening to the Portage with news of the Hudson's Bay's intention tointercept the Nor'-Westers' express from Fort William, I had no otherthought but the faithful serving of my company. I knew what sufferingthe destruction of Souris had entailed in Athabasca, and was determinedour brave fellows should not starve in the coming winter through mynegligence.

  Could I foresee that simple act of mine was to let loose all thepunishment the Hudson's Bay had been heaping up against the day ofjudgment?