the men began arguing about the degrees of whiteness in a squaw's skin. those, married to native women, averred that differences of complexion were purely matters of temperament and compared their dusky wives to spanish belles. the priest was now talking across the table to duncan cameron, advocating a renewal of north-west trade with the mandanes on the missouri, whither he was bound on his missionary tour. to venture out of the fort through the indian encampments, where natives and outlaws were holding high carnival, and my sleepless foe could have a free hand, would be to risk all chance of using the information that had come to me.
i did not fear death—fear of death was left east of the sault in those days. on my preservation depended miriam's rescue. besides, if either le grand diable or myself had to die, i came to the conclusion of other men similarly situated—that my enemy was the one who should go.
violins, flutes and bag-pipes were striking up in different parts of the hall. simple ballads, smacking of old delights in an older land, songs, with which home-sick white men comforted themselves[pg 119] in far-off lodges—were roared out in strident tones. feet were beating time to the rasp of the fiddles. men rose and danced wild jigs, or deftly executed some intricate indian step; and uproarious applause greeted every performer. the hall throbbed with confused sounds and the din deadened my thinking faculties. even now, eric might be slipping past. in that deafening tumult i could decide nothing, and when i tried to leave the table, all the lights swam dizzily.
"excuse me, sir!" i whispered, clutching the priest's elbow. "you're father holland and are to go north in my boats. come out with me for a moment."
thinking me tipsy, he gave me a droll glance. "'pon my soul! strapping fellows like you shouldn't need last rites——"
"please say nothing! come quickly!" and i gripped his arm.
"bless us! it's a touch of the head, or the heart!" and he rose and followed me from the hall.
in the fresh air, dizziness left me. sitting down on the bench, where i had lain the night before, i told him my perplexing mission. at first, i am sure he was convinced that i was drunk or raving, but my story had the directness of truth. he saw at once how easily he could leave the fort at that late hour without arousing suspicion, and finally offered to come with me to the river bank, where we might intercept hamilton.[pg 120]
"but we must have a boat, a light cockle-shell thing, so we can dart out whenever the brigade appears," declared the priest, casting about in his mind for means to forward our object.
"the canoes are all locked up. can't you borrow one from the indians? don't you know any of them?" i asked with a sudden sinking of heart.
"and have the whole pack of them sneaking after us? no—no—that won't do. where are your wits, boy! arrah! me hearty, but what was that?"
we both heard the shutter above our heads suddenly thrown open, but darkness hid anyone who might have been listening.
"hm!" said the priest. "overheard! fine conspirators we are! some eavesdropper!"
"hush!" and remembering whose window it was, i held him; for he would have stalked away.
"are you there?" came a clear, gentle voice, that fell from the window in the breaking ripples of a fountain plash.
the bit of statuary had become suddenly animate and was not so marble-cold to mankind as it looked. thinking we had been taken for an expected lover, i, too, was moving off, when the voice, that sounded like the dropping golden notes of a cremona, called out in tones of vibrating alarm:
"don't—don't go! priest! priest! father! it's you i'm speaking to. i've heard every word!"[pg 121]
father holland and i were too much amazed to do aught but gape from each other to the dark window. we could now see the outlines of a white face there.
"if you'd please put one bench on top of another, and balance a bucket on that, i think i could get down," pleaded the low, thrilling voice.
"an' in the name of the seven wonders of creation, what for would you be getting down?" asked the astonished priest.
"oh! hurry! are you getting the bench?" coaxed the voice.
"faith an' we're not! and we have no thought of doing such a thing!" began the good man with severity.
"then, i'll jump," threatened the voice.
"and break your pretty neck," answered the ungallant father with indignation.
there was a rustling of skirts being gathered across the window sill and outlines of a white face gave place to the figure of a frail girl preparing for a leap.
"don't!" i cried, genuinely alarmed, with a mental vision of shattered statuary on the ground. "don't! i'm getting the benches," and i piled them up, with a rickety bucket on top. "wait!" i implored, stepping up on the bottom bench. "give me your hand," and as i caught her hands, she leaped from the window to the bucket, and the bucket to the ground, with a daintiness, which i thought savored of experience in such escapades.[pg 122]
"what do you mean, young woman?" demanded father holland in anger. "i'll have none of your frisky nonsense! do you know, you baggage, that you are delaying this young man in a matter that is of life-and-death importance? tell me this instant, what do you want?"
"i want to save that woman, miriam! you're both so slow and stupid! come, quick!" and she caught us by the arms. "there's a skiff down among the rushes in the flats. i can guide you to it. cross the river in it! oh! quick! quick! some of the hudson's bay brigades have already passed!"
"how do you know?" we both demanded as in one breath.
"i'm frances sutherland. my father is one of the selkirk settlers and he had word that they would pass to-night! oh! come! come!"
this girl, the daughter of a man who was playing double to both companies! and her service to me would compel me to be loyal to him! truly, i was becoming involved in a way that complicated simple duty. but the girl had darted ahead of us, we following by the flutter of the white gown, and she led us out of the courtyard by a sally-port to the rear of a block-house. she paused in the shadow of some shrubbery.
"get fagots from the indians to light us across the flats," she whispered to father holland. "they'll think nothing of your coming. you're always among them!"[pg 123]
"mistress sutherland!" i began, as the priest hurried forward to the indian camp-fires, "i hate to think of you risking yourself in this way for——"
"stop thinking, then," she interrupted abruptly in a voice that somehow reminded me of my first vision of statuary.
"i beg your pardon," i blundered on. "father holland and i have both forgotten to apologize for our rudeness about helping you down."
"pray don't apologize," answered the marble voice. then the girl laughed. "really you're worse than i thought, when i heard you bungling over a boat. i didn't mind your rudeness. it was funny."
"oh!" said i, abashed. there are situations in which conversation is impossible.
"i didn't mind your rudeness," she repeated, "and—and—you mustn't mind mine. homesick people aren't—aren't—responsible, you know. ah! here are the torches! give me one. i thank you—father holland—is it not? please smother them down till we reach the river, or we'll be followed."
she was off in a flash, leading us through a high growth of rushes across the flats. so i was both recognized and remembered from the previous night. the thought was not displeasing. the wind moaned dismally through the reeds. i did not know that i had been glancing nervously behind at every step, with uncomfortable recollections[pg 124] of arrows and spear-heads, till father holland exclaimed:
"why, boy! you're timid! what are you scared of?"
"the devil!" and i spoke truthfully.
"faith! there's more than yourself runs from his majesty; but resist the devil and he will flee from you."
"not the kind of devil that's my enemy," i explained. i told him of the arrow-shot and spear-head, and all mirth left his manner.
"i know him, i know him well. there's no greater scoundrel between quebec and athabasca."
"my devil, or yours?"
"yours, lad. let your laughter be turned to mourning! beware of him! i've known more than one murder of his doing. eh! but he's cunning, so cunning! we can't trip him up with proofs; and his body's as slippery as an eel or we might——"
but a loon flapped up from the rushes, brushing the priest's face with its wings.
"holy mary save us!" he ejaculated panting to keep up with our guide. "faith! i thought 'twas the devil himself!"
"do you really mean it? would it be right to get hold of le grand diable?" i asked. frances sutherland had slackened her pace and we were all three walking abreast. a dry cane crushed noisily under foot and my head ducked down as if more arrows had hissed past.[pg 125]
"mane it?" he cried, "mane it? if ye knew all the evil he's done ye'd know whether i mane it." it was his custom when in banter to drop from english to his native brogue like a merry-andrew.
"but, father holland, i had him in my power. i struck him, but i didn't kill him, more's the pity!"
"an' who's talking of killin', ye young cut-throat? i say get howld of his body and when ye've got howld of his body, i'd further advise gettin' howld of the butt end of a saplin'——"
"but, father, he was my canoeman. i had him in my power."
instantly he squared round throwing the torchlight on my face.
"had him in your power—knew what he'd done—and—and—didn't?"
"and didn't," said i. "but you almost make me wish i had. what do you take traders for?"
"you're young," said he, "and i take traders for what they are——"
"but i'm a trader and i didn't——" though a beginner, i wore the airs of a veteran.
"benedicite!" he cried. "the lord shall be your avenger! he shall deliver that evil one into the power of the punisher!"
"benedicite!" he repeated. "may ye keep as clean a conscience in this land as you've brought to it."
"amen, father!" said i.
"here we are," exclaimed frances sutherland[pg 126] as we emerged from the reeds to the brink of the river, where a skiff was moored. "go, be quick! i'll stay here! 'twill be better without me. the hudson's bay are keeping close to the far shore!"
"you can't stay alone," objected father holland.
"i shall stay alone, and i've had my way once already to-night."
"but we don't wish to lose one woman in finding another," i protested.
"go," she commanded with a furious little stamp. "you lose time! stupids! do you think i stay here for nothing? we may have been followed and i shall stay here and watch! i'll hide in the rushes! go!" and there was a second stamp.
that stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong men and sent us rowing meekly across the river.
"did ye ever—did ever ye see such a little termagant, such a persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest almost breathless with surprise.
"queen of courage!" i answered back.
"queen of hearts, too, i'm thinking. arrah! me hearty, to be young!"
she must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the reeds when i looked back. we crossed the river slowly, listening between oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. there was no sound but the lashing[pg 127] of water against the pebbled shore and we lay in a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats should come abreast.
we had not long to wait. a canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland coming close to our boat. instantly i shot our skiff straight across its path and father holland waved the torches overhead.
"hist! hold back there—have a care!" i called.
"clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "clear—or we fire!"
"fire if you dare, you fools!" i retorted, knowing well they would not alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat.
"where's eric hamilton?" i demanded.
"a curse on you! none of your business! get out of the way! who are you?" growled the voice.
"answer—quick!" i urged father holland, thinking they would respect holy orders; and i succeeded in bumping my craft against their canoe.
"strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond reach.
"give 'im a bullet!" called another.
"for shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch aloft and displaying his garb. "shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a missionary! ye'd be much better showin' respect to the church. whur's eric hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and[pg 128] he caught the edge of their craft in his right hand.
"let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone steel-shod.
"let go—is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "howld y'r imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "be civil this minute, or i'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! faith an' ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! foine answers ye give polite questions! how d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? for shame to ye. whur's eric hamilton, i say?"
some of the canoemen recognized the priest. conciliatory whispers passed from man to man.
"hamilton's far ahead—above the falls now," answered the steersman.
"then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned father holland not yet appeased, "deliver this young man's message!"
"tell hamilton," i cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a band of sioux on lake winnipeg and to make haste. tell him that and he'll reward you well!"
"vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll track your soul to the furnace."
father holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe was lost in the darkness.[pg 129]
more than once i thought that a shadowy thing like an indian's boat had hung on our rear and the craft seemed to be dogging us back to the flats. father holland raised his torch and could see nothing on the water but the glassy reflection of our own forms. he said it was a phantom boat i had seen; and, truly, visions of le grande diable had haunted me so persistently of late, i could scarcely trust my senses. frances sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. i put muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out—
"an indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. did you see it?"
"no," returned father holland.
"i think we did," said i.
"how can i thank you for what you have done?" i was saying to frances sutherland as we entered the fort by the same sally-port.
"do you really want to know how?"
"do i?" i was prepared to offer dramatic sacrifice.
"then never think of it again, nor speak of it again, nor know me any more than if it hadn't happened——"
"the conditions are hard."
"and——"
"and what?" i asked eagerly.
"and help me back the way i came down. for if my father—oh! if my father knew—he would kill me!"[pg 130]
"faith! so he ought!" ejaculated the priest. "risking such precious treasure among vandals!"
again i piled up the benches. from the bench, she stepped to the bucket, and from the bucket to my shoulder, and as the light weight left my shoulder for the window sill, unknown to her, i caught the fluffy skirt, now bedraggled with the night dew, and kissed it gratefully.
"oh—ho—and oh-ho and oh-ho," hummed the priest. "do i scent matrimony?"
"not unless it's in your nose," i returned huffily. "show me a man of all the hundreds inside, father holland, that wouldn't go on his marrow-bones to a woman who risks life and reputation, which is dearer than life, to save another woman!"
"bless you, me hearty, if he wouldn't, he'd be a villain," said the priest.
