The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada

  CHAPTER XII.

  A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT.

  That night we pitched our camp on a wooded island in a small lake,erecting, as was the usual custom, a couple of lean-tos of bark and firboughs. Gummidge owned the traveling outfit and the factor of Fort Yorkhad provided Baptiste and myself with what we needed in the way ofweapons and ammunition. We were all well armed, for none journeyedotherwise through the wilderness in those days. But at this time, andfrom the part of the country we had to traverse, it seemed a mostunlikely thing that we would run into any peril. However, neitherGummidge nor I were disposed to relax the ordinary precautions, and whenwe retired we set one of the voyageurs to watch.

  This man--Moralle by name--awakened me about two o'clock in the morningby shaking my arm gently, and in a whisper begged me to come outside. Ifollowed him from the lean-to across the island, which was no more thana dozen yards in diameter. The night was very dark, and it wasimpossible to make out the shore, though it was less than a quarter of amile away. A deep silence brooded on land and water.

  "What do you want with me?" I asked sharply.

  "Pardon, sir," replied Moralle, "but a little while ago, as I stoodhere, I heard a low splash. I crouched down to watch the better, and outyonder on the lake I saw the head and arms of a swimmer. Then a pebblecrunched under my moccasins, and the man turned and made off as quietlyas he came."

  "You have keen eyes," said I. "Look, the water is black! A fish made asplash, and you imagined the rest."

  "I saw the swimmer, sir," he persisted doggedly.

  "You saw a moose or a caribou," I suggested.

  "Would a moose approach the island," he asked, "with the scent of ourcamp fire blowing to his nostrils?"

  This was true, and I could not deny it.

  "Then you would have me believe," said I, "that some enemy swam out fromthe mainland to spy upon us?"

  "It was a man," the voyageur answered, "and he was swimming this way."

  "I will finish your watch, Moralle," said I. "Give me your musket, andgo to bed. Be careful not to waken the others."

  He shuffled off without a word, and I was left to my lonely vigil. I haddetected a smell of liquor in Moralle's breath, and I was disposed tobelieve that his story had no more foundation than the splashing of afish. At all events, while I paced the strip of beach for two hours, Isaw or heard nothing alarming. There was now a glimmer of dawn in theeast, so I wakened Baptiste, bidding him without explanation to take myplace, and returned to the lean-to for a half-hour's sleep.

  It was broad daylight when Gummidge roused me. The fire was blazing andthe voyageurs were preparing breakfast. Flora and Mr. Gummidge werekneeling on a flat stone, dipping their faces and hands into the crystalwaters of the lake. The wooded shores rose around us in majesticsolitude, and I scanned them in all directions without discovering anytrace of human occupation. I made no mention of the incident of thenight, attaching no importance to it; nor did Moralle have anything tosay on the subject.

  Sunrise found us embarked and already some distance down the lake. Wewere in the heart of the woods, and the wild beauty of the Great LoneLand cast its mystic spell upon all of us.

  The morning was yet young when we passed from the lake into one of itsmany outlets. This was a narrow stream, navigable at first, but quicklybecoming too shallow and rocky for our further progress. So we left thewater, and there was now a portage of two miles over a level stretch offorest, at the end of which we would strike the Churchill River at apoint twenty miles above Fort Royal.

  We started off rapidly, Baptiste and the three other voyageurs leadingthe way with the canoe on their shoulders. The paddles and a part of theload were inside, and Gummidge and I carried the rest. The women had noburdens, and could easily keep pace with us.

  "Have you passed this way before?" asked Gummidge.

  "Only once," I replied, "and that was some years ago."

  "The place reminds me of the enchanted forests one reads of in old fairytales," said Mrs. Gummidge.

  "I wish we were out of it," exclaimed Flora. "It has a sad anddepressing influence on me."

  Something in her voice made me turn and look at her, and she quicklyaverted her eyes.

  "What's that?" cried Gummidge, an instant later. "Don't you see? Thereit lies, shining."

  I darted past him to the left of the path and at the base of a tree Ipicked up a hunting knife sheathed in a case of tanned buckskin. We allstopped, and Lavigne, one of the voyageurs, left the canoe to hiscomrades and took the weapon from my hand. He examined it with keen andgrave interest.

  "It is just such a knife as the men of the Northwest Company carry," hedeclared.

  "Yes, you are right," assented Gummidge; and I agreed with him.

  For a minute or more Lavigne searched the ground in the vicinity,creeping here and there on all-fours. Then he rose to his feet with theair of one who has made an unpleasant discovery.

  "Indians have passed this way within a few hours," he announced, "and awhite man was with them. They went toward the northwest."

  Gummidge and I were fairly good at woodcraft, but the marks in the grassbaffled us. Yet we did not dream of doubting or questioning Lavigne'sassertion, for he was known to be a skilled and expert tracker. Redskinsand a Northwest man together! It was a combination, in these times ofevil rumor, that boded no good. I remembered Moralle's tale of theswimmer, and I felt a sudden uneasiness.

  "We must be careful," said Gummidge. "This is a fine neighborhood for anambuscade."

  I glanced at Flora, and by her pale and frightened face I saw she wasthinking of the same thing that was in my own mind.

  "Do you suppose he is near us, Denzil?" she asked, stepping close to myside.

  "Impossible," I replied. "Cuthbert Mackenzie is hundreds of miles awayin Quebec. Do not be afraid. There is no danger, and the river is notfar off."

  But my assuring words were from the lips only. At heart I felt thatMackenzie was just the sort of man to have followed us to the North--athing he could easily have done by land in this time. Gummidge took asserious a view of the matter, though for different reasons, and heapproved the precautions I suggested.

  So when we started off again, our order of march was reversed andotherwise changed. Gummidge and I went ahead single file, with, ourmuskets ready for immediate use. The women came next, and then thecanoe; we had put the luggage into it, and the voyageurs did not grumbleat the extra load.

  Less than a mile remained to be covered, and I was alert for attack withevery foot of the way. But no Indian yells or musket-shots broke thestillness of the forest, and I was heartily glad when we emerged on thebank of the Churchill. Only twenty miles down stream to Fort Royal! Nofurther thoughts of danger troubled us. Swiftly we embarked, and swungout on the rushing blue tide.

  After the first five miles the scene changed a little. The rivernarrowed, and grew more swift. The hills receded right and left, and astrip of dense forest fringed the banks on either hand. A dull roar inthe distance warned us that we were approaching well-known and dangerousfalls, where it would be necessary to land and make a brief portagethrough the woods.

  Closer and closer we swept, and louder and louder rang the thunder ofthe rapids. The voyageurs began to make in a little toward the leftshore, and just then a musket cracked shrilly from the forest on thatside. Gardapie, who was immediately in front of me, dropped his paddle,and leaped convulsively to his feet He clutched at his bleeding throat,gave a gurgling cry of agony, and pitched head first out of the canoe,nearly upsetting it as he slid off the gunwale.