When I speak of madness, I mean nothing else. From that moment the old man was daft, as it seemed to me. We two led the way, the Mohawks following after the sled, and Radisson set such a place as I never traveled before or since.
The mighty energy of the old man dominated us all. From his words I soon saw that he had become filled with the idea that the Moose had been sent to lead us to Ruth again, until presently the uncanny thought of it laid hold on me likewise. We took up the trail of the raiders, which after a few miles crossed the river and struck off straight for the northeast, with the moose-tracks still following it.
Mile after mile we swung behind us. I wondered at Radisson's words—"where the trail is lost"—for it seemed that a child could follow such a plain, deep track as this. But he had not lived his life in the wilderness for naught. As we went forward, he told of how the raiders must have left before the great storm, and have traveled through it, to spring on the village with Indian cunning when they knew the hunters would be gone.
Their object was plain enough, for Gib thought to get a firm hold on Radisson by the capture of Ruth, and perhaps to sell that advantage to the English or French. Both nations had wronged the terrible old man deeply, and both would be like to go wild when they heard that he was loose in his own land again. In the old days the mere magic of his name, the terror inspired by his countless daring escapades and adventures, had more than once swept the Bay clear of his foes. I have often thought that had the French not betrayed him so shamefully, and had the English not misused his great powers so basely, one nation or the other would ere now have ruled all the land from the Colonies to the Bay. There are wars and rumors of wars in the land, however, and I have even lately heard a wild rumor that our armies have conquered all the Canadas; though this is hardly possible, to my mind. But to return to my tale.
There was some dried meat on the sledge, and this we ate as we traveled, without stop. The Chippewa party, fearful of pursuit, were putting on all speed in a desperate effort to gain the shelter of the Hills before they were overtaken. The trail was fresh, and they could not go faster than did we, for they were handicapped by the sled which bore Ruth.
From Radisson I learned that Gib had cunningly prevented his raiders from injuring the people of the village. He no doubt knew that if Ruth alone were carried off, the Crees would hesitate long before venturing to follow him into the sacred Hills. But the savage instincts of his followers had upset his crafty plans. Soan-ge-ta-ha and another had stolen back to pillage and burn and slay, thinking to catch up easily with the party. But for us they would have done so, and now not even the Ghost Hills would stay the vengeful Crees from the pursuit.
At evening we halted for a brief half-hour, to bait and rest the dogs. Now the weeks of hardening and hunting began to bear fruit, for I had stood that terrific pace nearly as well as the rest. My ribs were still somewhat sore at times, but in the main I was heartier and stronger than ever in my life before.
The rest was grateful to us all, and at this time we loaded the fusils, together with the musket taken from Brave Heart, and covered them carefully on the sled. We might have need of them at any time, and to load was no short work. For some time I had seen no signs of Ruth's sled in the trail we followed, and spoke of it to the Keeper.
"It is there," he grunted. "They are following it, hiding it beneath their tracks."
"That looks as if they were getting ready to lose the trail," put in Radisson. He seemed to give no thought to this possibility, taking it as a matter of course, and the Mohawks only nodded. It seemed strange to me, but I held my peace.
When the Spirit of the Dead began to dance in the sky we took up the march again, goading the weary dogs to the trail. Faint rumbles as of thunder seemed to come from the heavens, but ever we slapped on and on across the snows, while grotesque shadows fell all around us as the lights quivered above in lambent blue and purple flames. It was a wondrous spectacle, far beyond any that I had seen at home, where the lights were a common occurrence, and I gave the Crees small blame for naming them as they did. To an ignorant people those flaring fires of God must indeed have seemed like spirits leaping over the skies.
The deep trail led us straight through forest and wild, open levels of snow. Once we came to a camping-place of the Chippewas, where they too had made a brief halt for food and rest. Far beyond lay the deep forest, and a wide curving line of taller trees tokened that there was some large river before us, or mayhap a lake.
And a lake it proved to be, set in the midst of trees, with a small stream flowing from it. All was ice-coated, swept bare of snow by the wind, and the trail led straight to this sheet of ice. Radisson laughed grimly when we found this.
"Hold up, Davie. We must have a council here. Do you stop with the dogs."
I obeyed, while the others set off in different directions across the ice. They returned quickly enough, and with their first words I knew that the trail was lost.
"They have scattered on the ice," spoke up Swift Arrow. "Three parties have gone away from the farther shore."
Radisson nodded, his deep eyes searching the trees around us.
"Then how do we know which to follow?" I cried in dismay. "Which party took the sled with them?"
"That we know not, lad," he made answer as if to a child. "They have followed after the sled, hiding its track. It might be with any of the three parties. They will swing out in a wide circle and then straight for the hills. No matter which we follow, we lose time. An excellent trick to fool children with, chief."
The Keeper merely grunted, while I stared at them aghast. Why did Radisson take this so calmly? But he gave me no time to question.
"Did you find it?" he asked the Mohawks simply. Swift Arrow made answer.
"The Mighty One's trail goes alone. It goes toward the east, where lies the shadow of the Ghost Hills."
Then in a flash I saw it all. Radisson proposed to abandon the Chippewa trails and follow that of the beast! The belief that the animal had been sent to guide us had overpowered all his woodcraft and subtlety, and I flung out at him in wild protest.
"It is madness!" I concluded angrily. "Better to lose time and still be on the track of the enemy, than to follow a wandering beast!"
"Rail not against the wisdom of old men," exclaimed Radisson sternly, his voice ringing with confidence. "The Mighty One is guiding us, Davie. Do you lead, Keeper, while we come after. We must break trail now, and it will be no light labor."
Raging against the old man's madness, for so I deemed it, I set out with The Keeper to break trail. The Moose plunged straight ahead for the Hills, and his long legs had sunk almost to the shoulder at every step. I wondered how far ahead of us he might be, and when The Keeper knelt down quickly to smell the trail I knew that we must be close upon him.
The fortitude and strength that dwelt in the frame of the old chief was marvellous. We broke the trail by turns, our shoes stamping deep down through the soft crust at each step, until it required every ounce of endurance we possessed to keep on with the labor. Miles of it, hours of it, passed by, and still we kept on at the same terrific pace. At times Radisson and Swift Arrow relieved us, but ever we headed straight for the Ghost Hills, whose tree-clad and rocky summits now rose clear against the lambent sky. As we went, I began to fall into Radisson's way of thinking. Perhaps, after all, that uncanny Moose was leading us, guiding us straight to our goal. And whether it were the silence of these waste and desolate barrens around, or some inner feeling of the night, I gained confidence that He who in truth led us would not let harm come to the little maid.
It seemed hours before we rested again, and this time I flung myself down on a skin from the sled, huddling among the dogs for warmth, and slept. Those three old men must have been made of iron, for when I awakened I saw The Keeper sitting just as I had left him, alert and keen-eyed as ever, while Swift Arrow and Radisson were talking in low tones.
The poor brutes that hauled the sled suffered even more than we did. They were worn to death, and before we started out again, having fed them what we dared from our slender stock of food, we cut up our single robe which had covered the guns, and bound their bleeding feet as best we might. They fell to the trail limping, but there must have been something of the Indian stolidity in them, for all that long march I heard no cry, no whimper, burst from their throats.
Now, for the first time, I thought of Grim. What had happened to him? Where was he? At my questions Radisson smiled.
"He is faithful still, lad. They said in the village that he defended Ruth until Gib would have killed him, when the lass consented to go with them to save his life. Grim stayed ever at her side, and is like enough with her now."
This cheered me mightily, small hope though it were. Well I knew the wiliness of that old sheep-dog, and that while Ruth was endangered he would watch over her even as my father would have done. When I took up the weary labor again it was with better heart and more confident spirit than since the start.
Now we knew that we could not be far from the end of the terrible journey. Or at least my three comrades knew it, for I refused to admit that there was aught save madness in keeping to the moose-track. The snatch of sleep and food had cleared my mind from the influence of the night, and as we slapped on over the snows I railed bitterly at myself for ever having consented to it.
Slowly the hills ahead, purple in the unearthly, flitting lights, drew closer and towered ahead of us. Slowly the wide expanse of snow broke into little rises, then we found ourselves among the first of the Ghost Hills. Before long I knew why they had received that name.
They seemed to break straight out of the ground—great masses of black rock like that on the coast below Rathesby, at home. As we drew among them, still following that gigantic track left plain for us to read, I saw that despite the heavy snow the black masses of rock stood out bare and bleak, closing around us and shutting out the lights above.
The trail led downward now—down in a winding line among the towering crags, and we were passing over still deeper snow, which had drifted from the hills. As we wound through the dark passages a swift, chill wind smote us and cut to the marrow. It was not my first taste of the bitter wind of the Northland, which is infinitely harder to endure than the most silent cold, however great it may be.
Thus we were literally swallowed up in that terrible abyss of rock and snow, and the weird feeling of the place affected even our dogs, who growled and shivered. All was dead silent, except for the rush and howl of the wind, which seemed to shoot down through those narrow pits of darkness, until we could with difficulty stand against it. From somewhere ahead droned out the long, eerie howl of a wolf, drifting to us on the wind. I saw Swift Arrow, ahead of me, pause and throw up his head; then into the teeth of the gale he cast an answering howl—one as perfect as the other, which drew a sharp yelp from the dogs. By this time I comprehended how on board the "Lass" Radisson had so amazed and shamed us all, and had even learned a little of the mimicry myself.
It was fearful to drive ahead through that gale, which sent the icy particles of snow against us like tiny knives, and to know that outside and above, the night was silent and windless. Indeed, there was never any rest within the Ghost Hills, and I could well realize why the Indians dreaded and avoided them.
By now I was more than ever sure that we were not only on the wrong track, but that this Mighty One was sent by the foul fiend to lead us astray and into danger of the worst. The passage of those hills was terrible to the body and to the soul. As we drew deeper into the darkness, weird echoes were set flying by our shoes and the wind and the voices of us. These were not borne past, but seemed to eddy up overhead, as though some flux of the wind caught and whirled them back toward us.
The Keeper had been in the lead, Radisson following. Of a sudden, as we came to a space somewhat lighter, I saw that the chief had vanished! I uttered a single cry that rebounded about in mad echoes, but Swift Arrow gripped me as I turned in terror.
"Peace! Ta-cha-noon-tia has but gone ahead to see what lies before."
With the calm words my fear passed, and I was ashamed. After all, we were in the hand of God, and if He willed that evil should come to us, then it would come. So I quelled my terror and pressed on after the sledge. A moment more, and the passage was done with.
Turning the corner of a sharp cliff, we found ourselves out in the night again, standing on a ridge of bare black rock. At our side stood The Keeper. Behind towered those terrible cliffs, but ahead was a little forested basin, alight with the fires of the sky and stretching ahead to hills in the distance. Radisson turned to the Mohawk with a question.
"My father, the tracks of the Mighty One are lost and I do not see them. But below us are the lodges of warriors."
I looked again at the stretch of wooded country. Sure enough, I could see black groups of something that might well be huts or lodges, but there was no sign of fire to cheer us.
"The Mighty One has led us well," shouted Radisson triumphantly. "We have arrived before them we seek! Let us rest, brothers, and make merry, for we are masters of the stronghold of The Pike, and his fate is in our hands!"
So for the rest of that night we lay in the snow behind the ledge, while over us the wind howled down into the cleft of rocks, and around us the poor weary dogs huddled in shivering groups, for we dared light no fire, and had like to have frozen in the great cold. But the Moose had led us aright, and the madness of Radisson was justified—in part.