to unravel a ball of yarn, with which kittens have been making cobwebs, has always seemed to me a much easier task than to unknot the tangled skein of confused influences, that trip up our feet at every step in life's path. here was i, who but a month ago had a supreme contempt for guile and a lofty confidence in uprightness and downrightness, transformed into a crafty trader with all the villainous tricks of the bargain-maker at my finger-tips. we had befooled louis into a betrayal of his associates but how much reliance could be placed on that betrayal? had he incriminated diable to save himself? then, why had diable rescued his betrayer? where was louis in hiding? was the sioux wife with her white slave really in the north country, or was she near, and did that explain my morose iroquois' all-night vigils? we had cheated laplante; but had he in turn cheated us? would i be justified in taking diable prisoner, and would my company consent to the demoralization of their crews by such a step? ah, if life were only made up of simple right and simple wrong, instead of half rights and half wrongs indistinguishably mingled,[pg 93] we could all be righteous! if the path to the goal of our chosen desire were only as straight as it is narrow, instead of being dark, mysterious and tortuous, how easily could we attain high ends! i was launched on the life for which i had longed, but strange, shadowy forms like the storm-fiends of sailors' lore, drunkenness, deceit and crime—on whose presence i had not counted—flitted about my ship's masthead. and there was not one guiding star, not one redeeming influence, except the utter freedom to be a man. i was learning, what i suppose everyone learns, that there are things which sap success of its sweets.
such were my thoughts, as our canoes sped across the northern end of lake huron, heading for the sault. the nor'-westers had a wonderful way of arousing enthusiastic loyalty among their men. danger fanned this fealty to white-heat. in the face of powerful opposition, the great company frequently accomplished the impossible. with half as large a staff in the service as its rivals boasted, it invaded the hunting-ground of the hudson's bay company, and outrunning all competition, extended fur posts from the heart of the continent to the foot-hills to the rockies, and from the international boundary to the arctic circle. i had thought no crews could make quicker progress than ours from lachine to point à la croix; but the short delay during the storm occasioned faster work. more voyageurs were engaged from the nipissangue tribes. as soon as one lot fagged fresh shifts came to the relief.[pg 94] paddles shot out at the rate of modern piston rods, and the waters whirled back like wave-wash in the wake of a clipper. except for briefest stoppages, speed was not relaxed across the whole northern end of those inland seas called the great lakes. with ample space on the lakes, the brigades could spread out and the canoes separated, not halting long enough to come together again till we reached the sault. here, orders were issued for the maintenance of rigid discipline. we camped at a distance from the lodges of local tribes. no grog was given out. camp-fire conviviality was forbidden, and each man kept with his own crew. we remained in camp but one night; and though i searched every tent, i could not find le grand diable. this worried and puzzled me. all night, i lay awake, stretching conscience with doubtful plans to entrap the knave.
rising with first dawn-streak, i was surprised to find little fellow and la robe noire, two of my canoemen, setting off for the woods. they had laid a snare—so they explained—and were going to examine it. of late i had grown distrustful of all natives. i suspected these two might be planning desertion; so i went with them. the way led through a dense thicket of ferns half the height of a man. only dim light penetrated the maze of foliage; and i might easily have lost myself, or been decoyed—though these possibilities did not occur to me till we were at least a mile from the beach. little fellow was[pg 95] trotting ahead, la robe noire jogging behind, and both glided through the brake without disturbing a fern branch, while i—after the manner of my race—crunched flags underfoot and stamped down stalks enough to be tracked by keen-eyed indians for a week afterwards. twice i saw little fellow pull up abruptly and look warily through the cedars on one side. once he stooped down and peered among the fern stems. then he silently signaled back to la robe noire, pointed through the undergrowth and ran ahead again without explanation. at first i could see nothing, and regretted being led so far into the woods. i was about to order both indians back to the tent, when little fellow, with face pricked forward and foot raised, as if he feared to set it down—for the fourth time came to a dead stand. now, i, too, heard a rustle, and saw a vague sinuous movement distinctly running abreast of us among the ferns. for a moment, when we stopped, it ceased, then wiggled forward like beast, or serpent in the underbrush. little fellow placed his forefinger on his lips, and we stood noiseless till by the ripple of the green it seemed to scurry away.
"what is it, little fellow, a cat?" i asked; but the indian shook his head dubiously and turned to the open where the trap had been set.
bending over the snare he uttered an indian word, that i did not understand, but have since heard traders use, so conclude it was one of those exclamations, alien races learn quickest from one[pg 96] another, but which, nevertheless, are not found in dictionaries. the trap had been rifled of game and completely smashed.
"wolverine!" muttered the indian, making a sweep of his dagger blade at an imaginary foe. "no wolverine! bad indians!"
scarcely had he spoken when la robe noire leaped into the air like a wounded rabbit. an arrow whizzed past my face and glanced within a hair's-breadth of the indian's head. both men were dumb with amazement. such treachery would have been surprising among the barbarous tribes of the athabasca. the sault was the dividing line between canada and the wilderness, between the east and the west, and there were no hostiles within a thousand miles of us. little fellow would have dragged me pell-mell back to the beach, but i needed no persuasion. la robe noire tore ahead with the springs of a hunted lynx. little fellow loyally kept between me and a possible pursuer, and we set off at a hard run. that creature, i fancied, was again coursing along beneath the undergrowth; for the foliage bent and rose as we ran. whether it were man or beast, we were three against one, and could drive it out of hiding.
"see here, little fellow!" i cried, "let's hunt that thing out!" and i wheeled about so sharply the chunky little man crashed forward, knocking me off my feet and sending me a man's length farther on.
that fall saved my life. a flat spear point[pg 97] hissed through the air above my head and stuck fast in the bark of an elm tree. scrambling up, i promptly let go two or three shots into the fern brake. we scrutinized the underbrush, but there was no sign of human being, except the fern stems broken by my shots. i wrenched the stone spear-head from the tree. it was curiously ornamented with such a multitude of intricate carvings i could not decipher any design. then i discovered that the medley of colors was produced by inlaying the flint with small bits of a bright stone; and the bright stones had been carved into a rude likeness of some birds.
"what are these birds, little fellow?" i asked.
he fingered them closely, and with bulging eyes muttered back, "l'aigle! l'aigle!"
"eagles, are they?" i returned, stupidly missing the possible meaning of his suppressed excitement. "and the stone?"
"agate, monsieur."
agate! agate! what picture did agate call back to my mind? a big squaw, with malicious eyes and gaping upper lip and girdle of agates, watching louis laplante and myself at the encampment in the gorge.
"little fellow!" i shouted, not suppressing my excitement. "who is le grand diable's wife?"
and the indian answered in a low voice, with a face that showed me he had already penetrated my discovery, "the daughter of l'aigle, chief of the sioux."[pg 98]
then i knew for whom those missiles had been intended and from whom they had come. it was a clever piece of rascality. had the assassin succeeded, punishment would have fallen on my indians.
