The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada

  CHAPTER XVII.

  A STRANGE WARNING.

  I had been up late the night before, going over some tedious accountswith the clerks, and it was by no means an early hour when I opened myeyes and tumbled out of bed. It was a clear morning, but bitterly cold.I hurriedly drew on my thick clothing, and was about to leave the room,when I caught sight of an object sticking under the bottom crevice ofthe door which opened on the fort yard.

  I picked it up, and looked at it with interest and curiosity, notunmixed with a vague alarm. What I held in my hand was a flat strip ofbirch bark about six inches square, containing some rudely-paintedscrawls, which I at first took to be hieroglyphics, but which quicklyresolved themselves into the uncouth figures of two men. The one wasclearly a white man, wearing on his head what was evidently intended torepresent the odd-shaped cap of the Northwest Company. The other was anIndian in leggings, blanket and feathers.

  Here was a puzzle, indeed, and I could make nothing out of it. I wassatisfied, however, that it was meant to warn me--to indicate somedanger that threatened myself or the fort.

  "It is a mysterious affair altogether," I reflected. "I can't fathom it.Gray Moose may be the sender, but how did he get the bark under my door?Ah, perhaps he conveyed it by some of the Indians who came to trade;they must have been admitted to the inclosure an hour ago."

  But this explanation was not plausible enough. After some furtherthought, I concluded that the warning came from some of the Indianemployees within the fort, who had learned from their own people of somethreatening danger, and had chosen this means of communicating it. Then,looking more closely at the bark, I discovered in the background a fewrude lines that had escaped my notice before. They were unmistakablyintended for the barred window of the trading room, and of a sudden thesolution to the problem flashed upon me.

  "I was right in the first place," I muttered. "This is the handiwork ofGray Moose, after all. And now, to make sure, I'll set about it quietly,and won't say anything to the factor until my suspicions are confirmed."

  I hastened from my quarters, forgetting that I had not yet breakfasted.I was so intent on my task that I did not even glance toward the upperwindows of the factor's house, where I usually caught a glimpse ofFlora's pretty face at this hour. The birch bark I had tucked out ofsight in my pocket.

  The gates of the stockade were wide open, and within the inclosure anumber of Indians--a dozen or more--were standing in groups aroundsledges packed with furs waiting their turn to be served. They had lefttheir muskets outside, as was the rule when they came to trade. Iglanced keenly at them from a distance, and passed on to the tradinghouse, entering by the private door in the rear.

  Here, looking from the storeroom into the common room beyond, the scenewas a noisy and brilliant one. Half a score of gayly-attired savageswere talking in guttural tones, gesticulating, and pointing, demandingthis and that.

  Griffith Hawke greeted me with a nod. He and two assistants were busilyengaged at the barred window of the partition, receiving and countingbales of skins, passing out little wooden castors, and taking them inagain in exchange for powder and shot, tobacco and beads, and variousother commodities.

  For a few moments I watched the scene sharply, though with an assumedair of indifference. I was satisfied that no Sioux were present. Theywere all wood Indians--as distinguished from the fiercer tribe of theplains--but they were in stronger numbers than was customary at thistime of the year.

  What I was seeking I did not find here. I scanned each face in turn, butall present in the outer room were unmistakably redskins.

  "You are doing a lively business this morning," I remarked to thefactor.

  "Yes; I am having quite a run," he replied. "I can't exactly account forit." In a lower tone he added: "Every man of them is purchasing powderand shot, Denzil."

  This seemed a partial confirmation of my suspicions.

  "It's queer, to say the least," I answered. "I wouldn't sell them much.Tell them you're running short."

  "They won't believe that," said Griffith Hawke.

  "Stay and lend me a hand, Denzil, if you've nothing else to do."

  "I'll come back in a moment," I replied. "I've got a little matter toattend to. I may want you to help me. If I shout for you, close thegrating and run out."

  Griffith Hawke's eyes dilated, and in a tone of astonishment he demandedto know what I meant. But I did not wait to answer him. I slippedunheeding out of the trading house, turned the corner and almost raninto a big savage who was coming from the rear of the inclosure--a placein which he had no business to be.

  He was apparently an Assiniboin brave, decked out in cariboo robe andblanket, fringed leggings, and beaded moccasins. But his cheek boneswere not prominent enough for an Indian, and when he saw me a ruddycolor flashed through the sickly copper of his skin and a menacing lookshone in his eyes.

  And I, at the first glimpse, knew that the fellow was no more of aredskin than myself. I had rightly interpreted the bit of birch bark,which meant that a white man--a spy of the Northwest Company--would befound within the fort disguised as an Indian. I was convinced that theobject of my search stood before me, and I even had a lurking suspicionthat the rogue was none other than Cuthbert. Mackenzie, though he wastoo cleverly disguised for me to feel certain of that fact.

  All this passed through my mind in much less time than it takes to tell.I was on the alert, and let slip no sign that might betray my quest. Andno sooner had our eyes met than the Indian's agitation vanished, and helooked at me with a proud and stolid expression.

  "What are you doing here?" I demanded roughly. "This is not the way tothe trading house. You have no business in this part of the fort."

  The brave's only reply was a guttural "Ugh!" Folding his blanket closerabout him, he began to stride off. This did not suit my purpose.

  "Stop!" I cried. "I want to know what you were doing here."

  "Indian mean no harm," he replied. "Heap nice fort--white man build manyhouses."

  The moment he spoke the last ray of doubt fled from my mind, for to mytrained ear the fellow's voice and accent were but feeble imitations ofwhat they ought to be, and I fancied I could detect a little trick ofmannerism I had observed in Cuthbert Mackenzie. It was time for me toshow the iron hand, and I did not hesitate a second.

  "You may be telling the truth," I said, "but you must give an account ofyourself to the factor. Don't make any disturbance. Come along with mequietly or--" I finished the sentence by displaying a pistol which I haddexterously slipped from my belt.

  I had expected some resistance, and was prepared for it. The Indian'seyes gleamed with anger, and from under his blanket he whipped out aknife. As quickly struck the weapon from his hand and grappled with him.He gave a shrill cry, and I followed it with a loud shout for help.

  What happened next, though it proved to my discomfiture, was as neat andswift a thing as I have ever seen done. From the front of the tradinghouse, and from the inside of the building the Indians came dashing in abody. They made no use of any weapons, but by sheer muscular force theywrested my captive from me and beat me cruelly on the head.

  The thing was over before a man could come to my assistance, thoughplenty were within sight and hearing. Rising dizzily to my feet--I hadbeen knocked down and trampled upon--I saw the daring band of savagesswarming toward the open gates, taking with them the disguised spy,their sledges of furs, and the powder and shot they had just purchased.

  "Help--help!" I shouted, running in pursuit. "Stop them! Don't let themget away!" With shrill cries, the redskins pushed on, and the singlesentry at the gates deserted his post and fled. I heard an outcry behindme, and turning I saw that the factor and half a dozen others had comeup. Griffith Hawke was the only armed man among them.

  "What is the trouble?" he demanded.

  "A spy!" I shouted incoherently. "A Northwest man in the fort, disguisedas an Indian! I am certain it was Mackenzie! They tore him fromme--do
n't let them get him away!"

  "Stop, you rascals!" the factor yelled loudly. "We must have that man!"

  No attention was paid to the command, and lifting his musket, he pointedit at the squirming mass of savages in the gateway. There was a suddenflash, a stunning report, and one of the rearmost Indians dropped.

  "My God! what have I done?" cried Griffith Hawke, his face turning pale."It was an accident--my finger slipped. Don't fire, men!"

  The dead or wounded Indian had already been picked up by his comrades,and only a crimson stain was left on the snow to mark where he hadfallen. The next instant the whole band were outside the stockadeyelling like fiends, and with a crash some of our men flung the biggates to and barred them. A couple ran to the loopholes and peered out.

  "The varmints are in retreat," cried one--"making for the woods on thenorth."

  "And it's a dead body they're carrying with them, sure enough," shoutedthe other.

  By this time the fort was in a tumult, and a crowd surrounded the factorand myself, clamoring to know the cause of the disturbance. So soon asGriffith Hawke could quiet them a little, I told all that I knew, andproduced the strip of birch bark. It was passed about from hand to hand.

  "You read the message right--I know something of Indian characterwriting," said the factor. "Doubtless Gray Moose sent it. A NorthwestCompany's man in the fort as a spy! It is a thousand pities he got away!But are you certain, Denzil, that he was a white man?"

  "I am sure of it," I replied, "and the fact that the Indians rescued himso promptly--"

  "Yes; that proves the existence of some sort of a conspiracy," thefactor interrupted. "But do you know that the spy was CuthbertMackenzie?"

  "I could not swear to it," I admitted, "but I am pretty well satisfiedin my own mind."

  Some of the men were for sallying out to pursue and capture the Indians,but Griffith Hawke prudently refused to permit this.

  "Let well enough alone," he said. "A large force of savages may belurking in the forest, and there will be trouble soon enough as it is. Iregret the unfortunate accident by which I shot one of the Indians, forit will inflame them all the more against us. It is certain, I fear,that they have been won over by the Northwest people, and that theymeditated an early attack on the fort. Thank God, that we got wind of itin time! Come what may, we can hold out against attack and siege! And atthe earliest opportunity we must send word to the south and to FortYork."

  There were sober faces and anxious hearts behind the stockade that day,for there could be no longer any doubt that the long-threatenedstorm--the struggle for supremacy between the rival fur companies--wasabout to break. Nay, for aught any of us knew, open strife might alreadybe waging in the south, or up on the shores of Hudson Bay; a lonely andisolated post was ours on the Churchill River.

  We held a consultation, and decided to omit no precautionary measures.Our store of weapons was overhauled, the howitzers were loaded, thegates and the stockade were strengthened, and men were posted on watch.

  The day wore on quietly, and no sign of Indians was reported. I sawnothing of Flora, but I thought of her constantly, and feared she mustbe in much distress of mind. I confess, to my shame, that it caused mesome elation to reflect that the marriage was now likely to beindefinitely postponed, but there I erred, as I was soon to learn.

  At about four o'clock of the afternoon, when darkness was coming on, Iwas smoking a pipe in the men's quarters. Hearing shouts and a suddencommotion, I ran out in haste, thinking the Indians were approaching;but to my surprise, the sentries were unbarring the gates, and no soonerhad they opened them than in came a couple of voyageurs, followed by twoteams of dogs and a pair of sledges. The two occupants of the latter, inspite of the muffling of furs, I recognized at once. The one was my oldQuebec acquaintance, Mr. Christopher Burley, the London law clerk; theother, to my ill-concealed dismay, was an elderly priest whom I hadoften seen at Fort York.