CHAPTER X.
THE KEEPER AND THE ARROW.
"What mean you?" she broke forth, searching his smiling face. "Is this a jest, sir? Or do you really know—"
"My child," and Radisson caught her to him, touching her brow with his lips, "it is no jest. But we are in grave danger here. Come, greet these noblest of men, and let us begone. The tale I will give you in full at the first chance."
Both the two Mohawks and I had looked on at this scene with no little bewilderment. But as Ruth obeyed him and turned to them with a puzzled smile, the elder, whom we came to know as the Keeper, stepped forward and caught her hand to his lips in right courtly fashion—doubtless learned at Montreal.
"The Yellow Lily need fear not, for we are brothers of the White Eagle," and he glanced at Radisson, then turned to me. His black eyes glittered intensely as they swept over me, but it was his companion, the Arrow, who spoke. Doubtless he put his Mohawk thought into French speech, for the words were abrupt.
"The young man with brave eyes is good to look upon. He is our brother."
"Then we will care for the Yellow Lily together," I smiled at Ruth, using the name they had bestowed upon her. This pleased them hugely, and a smile flickered across their dark faces. Presently they and Radisson were chattering in the strange tongue, and when he turned to us there was doubt in his strong face, for once.
"My children, we are in a narrow path. These twain have lived for two years among the Cree people, daily waiting my coming. But a few days since they had journeyed to the post. Gib, Eoghan and Black Michael had arrived in the boat. No sooner was their story told than men were sent out in all directions in search of us, while among the Chippewas a price was set on our heads in beads and blankets.
"What!" I cried indignantly. "Would they dare—"
"Peace, lad. You know not all the tale, and it is too long to be told here. There is no law in these parts save that of the strongest, and the Keeper and the Arrow set forth to find us. Fortunately, Soan-ge-ta-ha had not heard the news, else he had not let us go so easily. As I will explain later, it is impossible for Ruth to seek the post. The only thing left us is to go with my friends here and find refuge among the Crees to the west. There we shall be safe, for the Crees are old friends of mine. The Mohawks have two canoes hidden a few miles from here. Let us go on with them, and we can take to the water on another river. This will throw off any pursuers until we can find shelter among friends."
I glanced at Ruth, despair in my eyes. She read the look and came to me, putting her hand on my arm.
"Davie, dear, there is naught else to do. Have no fear for me, but let us trust in God. Remember, we have much to talk of and we do not know all that has passed. Are you willing to go into the wilderness with us?"
"Willing?" I burst out, seizing her hand. "Aye, for myself I care naught, Ruth, but for you—is there no other way?"
"There is no other way, my son," returned Radisson gravely.
"Then let us go forth and seek what may betide," I answered bitterly.
There was no time lost. Our few belongings were all ready, and we set out after Radisson who followed in the steps of the Keeper. As for the Arrow, he melted into the bushes and was gone—to scout for danger and to meet us at the canoes, explained the old wanderer.
That march through the forest was one of no little hardship for all of us, but more especially for Ruth and me. There was danger all about us, for at any moment we might come upon parties of Chippewas who were even then searching the forest for trace of us. I walked along as one in a maze, and in truth my poor brain was all bewildered.
What was the meaning of this strange meeting with the two Mohawks? And Radisson's words to them—was Ruth indeed his niece? That was hardly to be credited, methought, for why had he said no word to us before? And in any case, he could know no more of the maid than did I, who had lived all my life beside her. None the less, the matter troubled me.
In point of distance we had not far to go, but the difficulties of the savage forest beset us sorely. Ruth had much ado to prevent her skirts being torn by thorns and jagged branches. At one time we would be pushing through thick-grown saplings, and at another leaping from tussock to tussock of swamp-grass. The Keeper and Radisson, better accustomed to such places, moved like shadows; but had there been any foe near, my crashing must have betrayed our presence beyond a doubt.
Yet all things draw to an end, and the end of our journey was a clear, open lake of good size. Not a hundred yards from where we emerged, The Arrow stood waiting beside the shore, and at his feet were two canoes. Here was a new wonder to me, that the Keeper should have guided us so surely through those trackless woods to the side of his comrade.
But Ruth was fain for rest, and so was I. We sank down beside the canoes, and here Radisson joined us.
"Now," he said with a certain vigor and spring in his voice which was new to me, "I will explain things to you, my children. In the first place, you are verily my sister's daughter, Ruth. It was nigh twenty years ago that I left her in Montreal, new-married to the Sieur de Courbelles, and my last gift to her was that brooch you wear at your throat. See—those are mine own arms upon it! Then I left New France, but she, with her husband, was to join me in London town. I never heard word of her again, my child; there can be no doubt that their ship was driven far north and you alone were saved."
He paused a space, and I saw that Ruth's own little fingers had stolen out to grasp his. But here there came a great light to me.
"Then," I exclaimed, "was that why Gib o' Clarclach was so hasty after Ruth? Nay, but it could hardly have been so, for he had scarce recognized that little brooch!"
"Not that, David," smiled the old man, "but he knew the arms right well, and doubtless he also knew the tale of my sister and her loss by shipwreck. I must tell you, lad, that the man who you know as Gib, whom I know as Jean Lareatt, whom the Indians hereabouts know to their cost as The Pike, is an agent of France—a spy, who serves France or England according as he is best paid. No one knows, or ever will know, just who his masters are. So you see, lad, that if he could lay hold on the maid and fetch her to Paris, they might get me into their clutches again right easily."
"But not that!" I exclaimed angrily. "Frenchmen would never dare go to such extremes with a maid of good birth—"
Radisson's face went black. "No? Wait till you know them as I do, the Jesuit dogs! If you want the truth of it, that man Gib is no man of France so much as he is a paid spy of the Order—the Order that has hounded me, stolen the credit of discoveries, sent forth its men in my place to gain mine honor, and at the last tried to steal this child of my blood!"
And therewith he went on to tell me things I had not dreamed possible. He told of his long trips through the wilderness, of how he had found the "Father of Waters," how his reports had been stolen and altered, his furs stolen from him, and how on the strength of his labors the Jesuits had sent out men of their order to take the credit for his work.
"But why?" asked Ruth with wondering eyes. "Why should they do this thing? Surely there are honorable and good men among—"
"Aye, lass, there are," Radisson made quick response. "But the reason for it is simply that I am none of their faith. When a lad I was taken by the Mohawks and grew up among them. Then I returned to mine own people, but I never forgot my adopted nation. On all my trips I carried Iroquois with me. The Arrow here went to the Detroit with me years before the settlement was founded there. The Keeper was behind me when the Sioux people saw their first white face, and when I was led to the great river in the South."
With that our conversation was ended, for The Arrow approached and warned us that the day was drawing on apace. We made a light meal off some dried venison, after which we embarked in the canoes. In one went The Arrow, Ruth and I, while The Keeper and Radisson embarked in the other, and we followed in their course across the lake to the mouth of a little river that flowed westward.
So it came about that I set my back toward my own people. I sat in the bow, The Arrow in the stern. Whiles we paddled, and whiles floated where the river was more rapid, but Ruth talked ever with us. I could hear her chattering with the stolid man in the stern, who seemed to waken into life at her words, and so we gained some knowledge of these two strange Indians and their ways.
Of the Iroquois confederacy Radisson had already told us much, and of their Long House, which was not unlike the Houses of Parliament in London town. Here the Five Nations sent their delegates to make laws and give judgments, and the highest chief of each nation kept the doors. The Mohawks, who lived farther east than the rest, held the eastern door of that savage parliament, which fact had given the Black Prince his title. I wondered at his name being the same as that of a former prince of England, but the reason therefor I never knew.
As we wended on our way my gloom began to drop from me. I realized how Radisson felt, and the fact that before us lay a great new land where no white man was, thrilled me to the marrow. I drew the good free air deep into my lungs and put away all thought of that villain Gib o' Clarclach; all these plottings were left behind us, and only the open country and friends lay before. What if these friends were red? From the talk of The Arrow, red friends were as good as or better than white.
Since then I have realized more truly just what that terrible journey from the Canadas had meant for the two Mohawks. Alone and unaided they had traversed a wilderness of foes to find the man they loved as brother. When they came to the Cree people they chanced upon traces of him, Radisson being well known to the Crees, and for his sake the strangers had been taken in and provided for. Their prowess soon made them great men among the Crees, whose customs were not so very different, though less bloody; and during the two years they had spent, waiting for Radisson with a firm faith in his coming, their position had been firmly established. All these things came to me not at once, but slowly, during the many days we paddled on, heading toward the west, and then to the north. Our way was slow, because on the third day one of the canoes was ripped on a rock and we had to wait for a hasty patching. The weather was very warm indeed, but cold at night.
So it came about that when pursuit had been left far behind, we were in the Barren Places, as The Keeper named them. And they deserved the name, being of swamp and scrub trees and thickets of saplings; but of game there was plenty. In this place came the danger to Ruth, and here we first encountered the Mighty One, of whom I will have great things to tell in their own place.
One morning Ruth and I had left the camp for an early ramble. I took a fusil, thinking to kill a deer or caribou. We climbed a little hill above the camp and entered the thicker woods, where after a while we became separated, Ruth halting beside some bushes of berries, very good to the taste. I was perhaps a hundred yards from her when I heard a sudden cry.
Whirling about, I saw a wondrous beast plunging toward the lass. Of monstrous build he was, with huge shoulders and head, while great splay-horns added to his frightful mien. In terror, Ruth made shift to get behind a tree, while the monster stood shaking his head and striking the earth with his hoofs.
I had been so startled that for a moment I forgot my fusil. Never had I dreamed of so huge a beast! I shouted at him and ran forward, whereat he came at me speedily. Ruth cried out again, and in mighty fear I raised my weapon, thinking to see fire come from his nostrils at any moment, for I took him as little less than the fiend himself.
But now he had turned again to Ruth, and the little maid was barely keeping the tree between them. In desperation, I poured fresh powder in the pan and aimed again. This time the weapon spoke, and the added powder sent me backward to the ground with the recoil. Those mighty horns seemed to shoot forward and up, the huge body rose in air, and the next I knew was that the terrible beast was standing over me, scraping at me with his horns. Fortunately, they seemed soft, like those of a deer in summer, and I beat frantically at his enormous nose. An instant later I gripped the horns.
With this, the monster lifted his head and me with it. I gave myself up for lost as he pressed me back into a tree, snorting and grunting, but I hung on grimly enough, for I feared the sharp hoofs.
"Run!" I cried to Ruth, whom I could not see. "Run, Ruth!"
I felt my strength going fast. Now the beast had pushed me in through the branches and was striving to grind me against the tree-trunk itself. Vainly did I writhe and twist away, for those huge horns swung and slashed at me, and had they been hard I had died in that moment. As it was, I felt my ribs crushed in, then a terrific pain shot through me, and my grip loosened.
But even as I fell back, a wild yell sounded in my ears, and a blast of powder-smoke swept by my face. The massy horns were gone, and I scraped back against the tree and came to the ground, helpless and broken.