CHAPTER VII
LIEGES OF THE WILD
Lieges of the most gigantic trust the world would ever see, the Hudson'sBay men filled Dunvegan's trading room when the long northern twilightfell upon the post. From above the chief trader's desk the Company'scoat-of-arms, roughly carved on an oaken shield, looked down upon itshardy followers. The bold insignia seemed symbolic of the supremacy, thepower, the privilege invested in that mighty institution.
Well might the Company pride itself on the sovereignty of a vast domain.Well might the Factors call themselves true lords of the North! Therights King Charles the Second had granted them extended over aterritory of two and one-quarter million square miles, an empireone-third the size of Europe. All other subjects of the Crown wereexpressly forbidden to visit or trade in this immense tract. Violationof the edict meant that trespassers ran the risk of sudden decease underthe judgment of the Company's servants. For these were entrusted notonly with the absolute proprietorship, supreme monarchy, and exclusivetraffic of that undefined country known as Rupert's Land, whichcomprised all the regions discovered or to be discovered within thegates of Hudson's Strait, but also with the power of life and death overevery aborigine or Christian who adventured there.
The only exemption along this line had been made a century after theerection of the corporation in 1670, consisting primarily of gallantPrince Rupert and his dare-devil associates, when provision of letterspatent was made for those of the kingdom of New France, who had pushednorthward to the shores of Hudson's Bay, whereby any actual possessionsof any Christian prince or state were protected and withheld from theCompany's operation. These claims were confirmed in 1697 by the Treatyof Ryswick, only to be abandoned by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Butstill voyageurs of the adventurous heart wet their paddle blades in theSaskatchewan's sinuous waters, winding on the far quest of peltriestoward the barrier of the Rockies. Conquest and cession interrupted suchoverland enterprises, but shrewd English business heads began latersystematically to direct these undertakings till the pursuit finally ledto the formation in 1783 of the Northwest Fur Company of Montreal.
Secure in its possession, strong in its kingship until now, the Hudson'sBay institution suddenly saw a dangerous rival invade its hithertounmolested precincts, and the whole energy of the vast corporation wasdrawn upon to combat the ever encroaching Nor'westers. It was not to besupposed that the first lords of the North who had thrown their postsfar across the basin of the Coppermine would give ground before theyounger organization. Nor was it credible that the adventurers, who hadascended the Mackenzie to the grim Arctic Ocean and pushed down to thePacific by scaling the Rocky Mountains would stand aloof from aliterally open country which would glut them with gain. One company'sdesires were as compelling as the other's. In temerity and endurancethey were equally matched. The only issue could be a violent and bloodycompetition till one giant broke the hold of the adversary.
In the very heart of the contention, in one of the richest tradingdistricts, Malcolm Macleod found himself locking arms with theredoubtable enemy of his corporation. These were the days of suddensurprises and stern reprisals; of secret plottings and bloodyskirmishes. A Hudson's Bay fort was beleaguered; a Nor'west fur trainsacked. Or, again, it was a stroke in the dark when a picket was wipedout, or an entire brigade destroyed.
Ably seconded by Bruce Dunvegan, the Factor upheld the interests ofOxford House and the Hudson's Bay Company with an iron hand. The problemof the Nor'west advance faced him. Black Ferguson, one of the rivalorganization's leaders, had established a footing in the KatchawanValley and built a fortified post, Fort La Roche, which was now thestronghold of the Nor'westers in that country. From there by secrettrysts in which only a wayward girl would have indulged, Black Fergusonhad enticed Macleod's daughter from under his very nose--enticed anddeserted!
Alone in his council room Malcolm Macleod's black wrath boiled under thepowerful insult. He had never seen Black Ferguson, but he promisedhimself that he should soon feast his eyes upon the Nor'wester trussedup in thongs with the fear of swift death confronting him. Macleod wasonly biding his time till Dunvegan should rear up Fort Kamattawa, thenew post with which he intended to shut out Nor'westers from theKatchawan Valley. With Kamattawa as a base he would wipe Fort La Rocheoff the district.
The same possibility was being discussed by Bruce Dunvegan and his menas they smoked their evening pipes in the hazy light of the tradingroom.
"Give me the least opportunity to strike the Nor'westers in the Valley,and I'll strike hard enough to crush Black Ferguson's fort," the chieftrader declared. "When Kamattawa is finished, the Factor expects tocapture La Roche, but if we ever get a chance in the meantime, we'lltake it, and take it quick. Eh, men?"
They nodded grimly. They loved deeds more than words, and Bruce knewthey were as eager as himself.
Sandy Stewart, the Lowland Scot of the canny head, at length brokesilence, quitting his pipe long enough to utter a brief sentence: "We'llno be shuttin' oor eyes as we build." His own gray eyes twinkledcraftily through the steel haze of the Company's tobacco.
Pete Connear was sprawling in sailor's attitude, his back on a bench,his knees drawn up to his chin. He shifted his legs to speak.
"Why not send a spy among them?" he suggested. "There are lots ofstrange men in our service who could play the part."
"Too dangerous," commented the chief trader seriously. "Any man whoenters an enemy's fort these days is putting his neck in a noose.Moreover it's impossible on both sides. The Nor'westers trust nostranger. Neither do we."
"We trusted yon gossoon Follet," put in Terence Burke, who had a broguewhich was hard to smother.
"Bah! he's a fool."
"He talks loike a lawyer whin he plases. I think he's a deep wan."
"It's his idiocy. Gaspard is harmless. You see they could no more put aspy into Oxford House than we could employ a traitor to mingle in theirranks at La Roche. We must watch for our opening, daylight or dark, andcatch Black Ferguson dozing. I'd give a thousand castors to lay hands onhim right now!"
Basil Dreaulond emitted a low chuckle and beat his moccasin with thebowl of his pipe.
"Nobody don' nevaire catch dat man," he observed. "Ferguson mooch toosmart; he got de heart lak wan black fox. De fellow w'at goin' git debes' of heem mus' spik wit' _le diable_, yes!"
"Faith," Burke laughed, "he'd be spakin' wid his-self 'cause it's thedivil in per-rson is me frind Black Ferguson. Oi clapped eyes on himwanst at Montreal."
"What did he look like, Terence?" asked Pete Connear. Even as theFactor, none of the other men had seen the troublesome Nor'wester atclose range. The nearest vision they had had of him was in the gun-smokeof a skirmish or in the semi-darkness of a midnight raid.
"Fair as a Dane wid the same blue eyes," the Irishman answered.
"Listen till that, would ye!" cried Stewart. "An' why maun they gaecallin' him 'Black' Ferguson?"
"Hees soul," explained Dreaulond tersely. "Everyt'ing dis man do beblack as _diable_. Tak' more dan wan t'ousand pries' confess heem out ofhell!"
"Kind of brother to Captain Kidd, or a cousin of old Morgan's, eh!"remarked Pete Connear. "Pretty figure to have leading the other side.I'd think the Nor'west Company would put a decent man in charge."
"He's just the sort they want," Dunvegan declared. "They know they'rebeyond their rights and trespassing on ours. They want a man who willstop at nothing. In Black Ferguson they have him!"
Even as Dunvegan finished speaking a scuffle arose at the door.
"What's that?" the chief trader demanded.
"Sounds like a husky," observed Pete Connear.
They could hear snarling and groaning with now and then a whimper offear as from a frightened animal.
"No, it's a human voice," declared Dunvegan. He strode across the roomand kicked up the latch.
The door swung back swiftly and in bounded the weird shape of GaspardFollet, the little idiot. He dashed forward as if propelled from acatapult, but the chief trader's pere
mptory voice halted him.
"Stop," Dunvegan commanded. "What in Rupert's name is the matter withyou?"
Gaspard stood speechless. His owlish eyes glared in a perfect frenzy ofreal or simulated terror, and he hopped from one foot to the other inthe center of the floor, hunching his dwarfed shoulders with a horrid,convulsive movement.
For the most part amazed silence struck the men, but Maskwa, the Ojibwayfort runner, regarded Follet with the superstition of his race andjabbered in guttural accents.
"The Little Fool has seen a god," he asserted in Ojibway. "He has spokenwith Nenaubosho!"
"_Non_," was Basil Dreaulond's more commonplace explanation. "De mad_giddes_ bite heem. Dis Gaspard goin' crazy lak' dose yelpin' beas'."
But the chief trader bade them speculate in silence.
"Speak, Follet," he urged. "Take a long breath and you'll get it out.Something's tried your nerves!"
"Ah!" gasped the Fool between his chattering teeth. "I have beenfrightened. I have been frightened." He crossed himself a score of timesand shut out an imaginary vision by holding claw-like fingers before hisgreat, staring eyes.
"Speak out," ordered Dunvegan sternly. "Where have you been all day? Ihaven't seen you since Pierre Lazard put you out of the Mission Housethis morning."
"In the Black Forest," answered the dwarf. "I went in a canoe to bealone, for they put me out of the chapel. Who was it? Oh, yes, oldPierre. I will remember that. I went in a canoe and I saw a devil."
"What was it?" asked Bruce, smiling.
"I--I forget." Gaspard beat his forehead in a vain attempt atrecollection.
The chief trader was well acquainted with the Fool's frequentpilgrimages here and there, his harmless adventures, his constant lapsesof memory. Where others sometimes doubted, he believed Follet'simbecility was genuine. Else why was it kept up?
"You had better do your wandering within the stockades," he advised."The woods aren't altogether safe for pleasure jaunts."
"Who would harm a silly head?" mumbled Gaspard.
"That's no protection. Your head might be taken off first and its sanityinquired into afterwards. That's a peculiar habit these roamingNor'westers have."
"The Nor'westers!" echoed Gaspard Follet, in a strident scream, hiswhole face lighting with the gleam of certain knowledge born ofsuggestion. "One of them was the devil I saw in the Black Forest in thewinter cabin. Name of the Virgin, how he frightened me! Now I rememberwell. It was the worst of them all. Any of you would have run as I did.Don't tell me you wouldn't! Ferguson sits in yon cabin!"
The floor shook with the spring of the men to their feet. Dunvegan hadinstantly leaped the length of the room and lifted the dwarf in hishands, shaking him to search out the truth of the statement.
"Do you lie?" he cried tensely. "Speak! Is this an idiot's fancy?"
Gaspard wriggled. His face no longer bore vacancy of expression. Theflush of real intelligence mantled it.
"No, by the cross," he vowed. "I speak truth. I know what I saw. If youthink I lie, take me there. Should the Black Nor'wester not sit in thecabin as I say, you may kill me."
Because Gaspard Follet was above all things a coward, this offer forcedimmediate conviction upon the group. As the chief trader set the foolupon his feet, he turned and saw Malcolm Macleod's form bulking broad inthe doorway.
"You have heard?"
"I have heard." The Factor's tone boomed out, savage, exultant. Theorder that followed was given with a swiftness as sinister as it wasexplicit.
"Take a dozen men," he directed briefly. "Bring me the Nor'wester,living or dead. You understand?" Again he spaced the words for them:"Living--or--dead!"
Clement Nemaire swung wide the stockade gates. Bearing a forty-foot furcanoe, Dunvegan and his men filed out on their mission. The entranceclosed behind the mysterious going.
"_Bon fortune_," whispered Nemaire.