he who would hear that paradox of impossibilities—silence become vocal—must traverse the vast wastes of the prairie by night. as a mother quiets a fretful child, so the illimitable calm lulls tumultuous thoughts. the wind moving through empty solitudes comes with a sigh of unutterable loneliness. unconsciously, men listen for some faint rustling from the gauzy, wavering streamers that fire northern skies. the dullest ear can almost fancy sounds from the noiseless wheeling of planets through the overspanning vaulted blue; and human speech seems sacrilege.
though the language of the prairie be not in words, some message is surely uttered; for the people of the plains wear the far-away look of communion with the unseen and the unheard. the fine sensibility of the white woman, perhaps, shows the impress of the vast solitudes most readily, and the gravely repressed nature of the indian least; but all plain-dwellers have learned to catch the voice of the prairie. i, myself, know the message well, though i may no more put it into words than the song love sings in one's[pg 298] heart. love, says the poet, is infinite. so is the space of the prairie. that, i suppose, is why both are too boundless for the limitation of speech.
night after night, with only a grassy swish and deadened tread over the turf breaking stillness, we journeyed northward. occasionally, like the chirp of cricket in a dry well, life sounded through emptiness. skulking coyotes, seeking prey among earth mounds, or night hawks, lilting solitarily in vaulted mid-heaven, uttered cries that pierced the vast blue. owls flapped stupidly up from our horses' feet. hungry kites wheeled above lonely indian graves, or perched on the scaffolding, where the dead lay swathed in skins.
reflecting on my experiences with the mandanes and the sioux, i was disposed to upbraid fate as a senseless thing with no thread of purpose through life's hopeless jumble. now, something in the calm of the plains, or the certainty of our unerring star-guides, quieted my unrest. besides, was i not returning to one who was peerless? that hope speedily eclipsed all interests. that was purpose enough for my life. forthwith, i began comparing lustrous gray eyes to the stars, and tracing a woman's figure in the diaphanous northern lights. one face ever gleamed through the dusk at my horse's head and beckoned northward. i do not think her presence left me for an instant on that homeward journey. but, indeed, i should not set down these extravagances, which each may recall[pg 299] in his own case, only i would have others judge whether she influenced me, or i, her.
thus we traveled northward, journeying by night as long as we were in the sioux territory. once in the land of the assiniboines, we rode day and night to the limit of our horses' endurance. remembering the hudson's bay outrage at the souris, and having also heard from mandane runners of a raid planned by our rivals against the north-west fort at pembina, i steered wide of both places, following the old missouri trail midway between the red and souris rivers. it may have been because we traveled at night, but i did not encounter a single person, native or white, till we came close to the red and were less than a day's journey from fort gibraltar. on the river trail, we overtook some hudson's bay trappers. the fellows would not answer a single question about events during the year and scampered away from us as if we carried smallpox, which had thinned the population a few years before.
"that's bad!" said i aloud, as the men fled down the river bank, where we could not follow. little fellow looked as solemn as a grave-stone. he shook his head with ominous wisdom that foresees all evil but refuses to prophesy.
"bother to you, little fellow!" i exclaimed. "what do you mean? what's up?"
again the indian shook his head with dark mutterings, looking mighty solemn, but he would not share his foreknowledge. we met more[pg 300] hudson's bay men, and their conduct was unmistakably suspicious. on a sudden seeing us, they reined up their horses, wheeled and galloped off without a word.
"i don't like that! i emphatically don't!" i piloted my broncho to a slight roll of the prairie, where we could reconnoitre. distinctly there was the spot where the two rivers met. intervening shrubbery confused my bearings. i rose in my stirrups, while little fellow stood erect on his horse's back.
"little fellow!" i cried, exasperated with myself, "where's fort gibraltar? i see where it ought to be, where the towers ought to be higher than that brush, but where's the fort?"
the indian screened his eyes and gazed forward. then he came down with a thud, abruptly re-straddling his horse, and uttered one explosive word—"smoke."
"smoke? i don't see smoke! where's the fort?"
"no fort," said he.
"you're daft!" i informed him, with the engaging frankness of a master for a servant. "there—is—a fort, and you know it—we're both lost—that's more! a fine indian you are, to get lost!"
little fellow scrambled with alacrity to the ground. picking up two small switches, he propped them against each other.
"fort!" he said, laconically, pointing to the switches.[pg 301]
"l'anglais!" he cried, thrusting out his foot, which signified hudson's bay.
"no fort!" he shouted, kicking the switches into the air. "no fort!" and he looked with speechless disgust at the vacancy.
now i knew what he meant. fort gibraltar had been destroyed by hudson's bay men. we had no alternative but to strike west along the assiniboine, on the chance of meeting some nor'-westers before reaching the company's quarters at the portage. that post, too, might be destroyed; but where were hamilton and father holland? danger, or no danger, i must learn more of the doings in red river. also, there were reasons why i wished to visit the settlers of fort douglas. we camped on the south side of the assiniboine a few miles from the red, and little fellow went to some neighboring half-breeds for a canoe.
and a strange story he brought back! a great man, second only to the king—so the half-breeds said—had come from england to rule over assiniboia. he boasted the shock of his power would be felt from montreal to athabasca. he would drive out all nor'-westers. this personage, i afterwards learned, was the amiable governor semple, who succeeded captain miles mcdonell. already, as a hunter chases a deer, had the great governor chased nor'-westers from red river. did little fellow doubt their word? where was fort gibraltar? let little fellow look and see for himself if aught but masonry[pg 302] and charred walls stood where fort gibraltar had been! let him seek the rafters of the nor-westers' fort in the new walls of fort douglas! pembina, too, had fallen before the hudson's bay men. since the coming of the great governor, nothing could stand before the english.
but wait! it was not all over! the war drum was beating in the tents of all the bois-brulés! the great governor should be taught that even the king's arms could not prevail against the bois-brulés! was there smoke of battle? the bois-brulés would be there! the bois-brulés had wrongs to avenge. they would not be turned out of their forts for nothing! knives would be unsheathed. there were full powder-bags! there was a grand gathering of bois-brulés at the portage. they, themselves, were on the way there. let little fellow and the white trader join them! let them be wary; for the english were watchful! great things were to be done by the bois-brulés before another moon—and little fellow's eyes snapped fire as he related their vauntings.
i was inclined to regard the report as a fairy tale. if the half-breeds were arming and the english watchful, the distrust of the hudson's bay men was explained. a nomad, himself, the indian may be willing enough to share running rights over the land of his fathers; but when the newcomer not only usurps possession, but imposes the yoke of laws on the native, the resentment of the dusky race is easily fanned to that point[pg 303] which civilized men call rebellion. i could readily understand how the hudson's bay proclamations forbidding the sale of furs to rivals, when these rivals were friends by marriage and treaty with the natives, roused all the bloodthirsty fury of the indian nature. nor'-westers' forts were being plundered. why should the bois-brulés not pillage hudson's bay posts? each company was stealing the cargo of its rival, as boats passed and repassed the different forts. why should the half-breed not have his share of the booty? the most peace-loving dog can be set a-fighting; and the fight-loving indian finds it very difficult indeed, to keep the peace. this, the great fur companies had not yet realized; and the lesson was to be driven home to them with irresistible force.
the half-breeds also had news of a priest bringing a delirious man to fort douglas. the description seemed to fit hamilton and father holland. whatever truth might be in the rumors of an uprising, i must ascertain whether or not frances sutherland would be safe. leaving little fellow to guard our horses, at sundown i pushed my canoe into the assiniboine just east of the rapids. paddling swiftly with the current, i kept close to the south bank, where overhanging willows concealed one side of the river.
as i swung out into the red, true to the bois-brulés' report, i saw only blackened chimneys and ruined walls on the site of fort gibraltar. heading towards the right bank, i hugged the naked[pg 304] cliff on the side opposite fort douglas, and trusted the rising mist to conceal me. thus, i slipped past cannon, pointing threateningly from the hudson's bay post, recrossed to the wooded west bank again, and paddled on till i caught a glimpse of a little, square, whitewashed house in a grove of fine old trees. this i knew, from frances sutherland's description, was her father's place.
mooring among the shrubbery i had no patience to hunt for beaten path; but digging my feet into soft clay and catching branches with both hands, i clambered up the cliff and found myself in a thicket not a stone's throw from the door. the house was in darkness. my heart sank at a possibility which hardly framed itself to a thought. was the apparition in the mandane lodge some portent? had i not read, or heard, of departed spirits hovering near loved ones? i had no courage to think more.
suddenly the door flung open. involuntarily, i slipped behind the bushes, but dusk hid the approaching figure. whoever it was made no noise. i felt, rather than heard, her coming, and knew no man could walk so silently. it must be a woman. then my chest stifled and i heard my own heart-beats. garments fluttered past the branches of my hiding-place. she of whom i had dreamed by night and thought by day and hoped whether sleeping, or waking, paused, not an arm's length away.
toying with the tip of the branch, which i was[pg 305] gripping for dear life, she looked languorously through the foliage towards the river. at first i thought myself the victim of another hallucination, but would not stir lest the vision should vanish. she sighed audibly, and i knew this was no spectre. then i trembled all the more, for my sudden appearance might alarm her.
i should wait until she went back to the house—another of my brave vows to keep myself in hand!—then walk up noisily, giving due warning, and knock at the door. the keeping of that resolution demanded all my strength of will; for she was so near i could have clasped her in my arms without an effort. indeed, it took a very great effort to refrain from doing so.
"heigh-ho," said a low voice with the ripple of a sunny brook tinkling over pebbles, "but it's a long day—and a long, long week—and a long, long, long month—and oh!—a century of years since——" and the voice broke in a sigh.
i think—though i would not set this down as a fact—that a certain small foot, which once stamped two strong men into obedience, now vented its impatience at a twig on the grass. by the code of eastern proprieties, i may not say that the dainty toe-tip first kicked the offensive little branch and then crunched it deep in the turf.
"i hate this lonely country," said the voice, with the vim of water-fret against an obstinate stone. "wonder what it's like in the mandane land! i'm sure it's nicer there."[pg 306]
now i affirm there is not a youth living who would not at some time give his right hand to know a woman's exact interpretation of that word "nicer." for my part, it set me clutching the branch with such ferocity, off snapped the thing with the sharp splintering of a breaking stick. the voice gave a gasp and she jumped aside with nervous trepidation.
"whatever—was that? i am—not frightened." no one was accusing her. "i won't go in! i won't let myself be frightened! there! the very idea!" and three or four sharp stamps followed in quick succession; but she was shivering.
"i declare the house is so lonely, a ghost would be live company." and she looked doubtfully from the dark house to the quivering poplars. "i'd rather be out here with the tree-toads and owls and bats than in there alone, even if they do frighten me! anyway, i'm not frightened! it's just some stupid hop-and-go-spring thing at the base of our brains that makes us jump at mice and rats." but the hands interlocking at her back twitched and clasped and unclasped in a way that showed the automatic brain-spring was still active.
"it's getting worse every day. i can't stand it much longer, looking and looking till i'm half blind and no one but indian riders all day long. why doesn't he come? oh! i know something is wrong."
"afraid of the metis," thought i, "and expecting her father. a fine father to leave his daughter[pg 307] alone in the house with the half-breeds threatening a raid. she needs some one else to take care of her." this, on after thought, i know was unjust to her father; for pioneers obey necessity first and chivalry second.
"if he would only come!" she repeated in a half whisper.
"hope he doesn't," thought i.
"for a week i've been dreaming such fearful things! i see him sinking in green water, stretching his hands to me and i can't reach out to save him. on sunday he seemed to be running along a black, awful precipice. i caught him in my arms to hold him back, but he dragged me over and i screamed myself awake. sometimes, he is in a black cave and i can't find any door to let him out. or he lies bound in some dungeon, and when i stoop to cut the cords, he begins to sink down, down, down through the dark, where i can't follow. i leap after him and always waken with such a dizzy start. oh! i know he has been in trouble. something is wrong! his thoughts are reaching out to me and i am so gross and stupid i can't hear what his spirit says. if i could only get away from things, the clatter of everyday things that dull one's inner hearing, perhaps i might know! i feel as if he spoke in a foreign language, but the words he uses i can't make out. all to-day, he has seemed so near! why does he not come home to me?"
"mighty fond daughter," thought i, with a jealous pang. she was fumbling among the intricate[pg 308] draperies, where women conceal pockets, and presently brought out something in the palm of her hand.
"i wouldn't have him know how foolish i am," and she laid the thing gently against her cheek.
now i had never given frances sutherland a gift of any sort whatever; and my heart was pierced with anguish that cannot be described. i was, indeed, falling over a precipice and her arms were not holding me back but dragging me over. would that i, like the dreamer, could awaken with a start. in all conscience, i was dizzy enough; and every pressure of that hateful object to her face bound me faster in a dungeon of utter hopelessness. my sweet day-dreams and midnight rhapsodies trooped back to mock at me. i felt that i must bow broken under anguish or else steel myself and shout back cynical derision to the whole wan troop of torturing regrets. and all the time, she was caressing that thing in her hand and looking down at it with a fondness, which i—poor fool—thought that i alone could inspire. i suppose if i could have crept away unobserved, i would have gone from her presence hardened and embittered; but i must play out the hateful part of eavesdropper to the end.
she opened the hand to feast her eyes on the treasure, and i craned forward, playing the sneak without a pang of shame, but the dusk foiled me.
then the low, mellow, vibrant tones, whose very music would have intoxicated duller fools than i—'tis ever a comfort to know there are greater[pg 309] fools—broke in melody: "to my own dear love from her ever loyal and devoted knight," and she held her opened hand high. 'twas my birch-bark message which father holland had carried north. i suddenly went insane with a great overcharge of joy, that paralyzed all motion.
"dear love—wherever are you?" asked a voice that throbbed with longing.
can any man blame me for breaking through the thicket and my resolution and discretion and all?
"here—beloved!" i sprang from the bush.
she gave a cry of affright and would have fallen, but my arms were about her and my lips giving silent proof that i was no wraith.
what next we said i do not remember. with her head on my shoulder and i doing the only thing a man could do to stem her tears, i completely lost track of the order of things. i do not believe either of us was calm enough for words for some time after the meeting. it was she who regained mental poise first.
"rufus!" she exclaimed, breaking away from me, "you're not a sensible man at all."
"never said i was," i returned.
"if you do that," she answered, ignoring my remark and receding farther, "i'll never stop crying."
"then cry on forever!"
with womanly ingratitude, she promptly called me "a goose" and other irrelevant names.
the rest of our talk that evening i do not[pg 310] intend to set down. in the first place, it was best understood by only two. in the second, it could not be transcribed; and in the third, it was all a deal too sacred.
we did, however, become impersonal for short intervals.
"i feel as if there were some storm in the air," said frances sutherland. "the half-breeds are excited. they are riding past the settlement in scores every day. o, rufus, i know something is wrong."
"so do i," was my rejoinder. i was thinking of the strange gossip of the assiniboine encampment.
"do you think the bois-brulés would plunder your boats?" she asked innocently, ignorant that the malcontents were nor'-westers.
"no," said i. "what boats?"
"why, nor'-west boats, of course, coming up red river from fort william to go up the assiniboine for the winter's supplies. they're coming in a few days. my father told me so."
"is mr. sutherland an h. b. c. or nor'-wester?" i asked in the slang of the company talk.
"i don't know," she answered. "i don't think he knows himself. he says there are numbers of men like that, and they all know there is to be a raid. why, rufus, there are men down the river every day watching for the nor'-westers' fort william express." "where do the men come from?" i questioned,[pg 311] vainly trying to patch some connection between plots for a raid on north-west boats and plots for a fight by nor'-west followers.
"from fort douglas, of course."
"h. b. c.'s, my dear. you must go to fort douglas at once. there will be a fight. you must go to-morrow with your father, or with me to-night," i urged, thinking i should take myself off and notify my company of the intended pillaging.
"with you?" she laughed. "father will be home in an hour. are you sure about a fight!"
"quite," said i, trembling for her safety. this certainty of mine has been quoted to prove premeditation on the nor'-westers' part; but i meant nothing of the sort. i only felt there was unrest on both sides, and that she must be out of harm's way.
truly, i have seldom had a harder duty to perform than to leave frances alone in that dark house to go and inform my company of the plot.
many times i said good-by before going to the canoe and times unnumbered ran back from the river to repeat some warning and necessitate another farewell.
"rufus, dear," she said, "this is about the twentieth time. you mustn't come back again."
"then good-by for the twenty-first," said i, and came away feeling like a young priest anointed for some holy purpose.
i declare now, as i declared before the courts[pg 312] of the land, that in hastening to the portage with news of the hudson's bay's intention to intercept the nor'-westers' express from fort william, i had no other thought but the faithful serving of my company. i knew what suffering the destruction of souris had entailed in athabasca, and was determined our brave fellows should not starve in the coming winter through my negligence.
could i foresee that simple act of mine was to let loose all the punishment the hudson's bay had been heaping up against the day of judgment?
