The Fiery Totem Part 14

Alf turned questioningly to the Scotsman.

"Get to work and break off as many branches as you can," was the reply to the look. "Haggis, you've got your tomahawk? Well, cut down a lot o'

these straight poplars. I'll give a hand to the laddie."

It was not long before the sharp axe had laid p.r.o.ne a number of young poplars and partly lopped them, while Mackintosh and Alf had torn down a number of maple and other leafy branches that would lie fairly flat.

These were gathered to the edge of the muskeg.

"You're no' feared to take a bit o' risk for your friend's sake?" the man then asked, turning a look of confidence to the boy.

"Afraid?" echoed Alf contemptuously. "Tell me what to do, and--well, I'd give my life for Bob!"

"That's as it should be," returned Mackintosh approvingly. "'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.' I would offer to do this myself, only I'm a great heavy gowk, and Haggis is no' much better. But you're light as a feather compared with us. Now we'll put two o' these poles like the sides o' a ladder; then some o' the branches cross-ways. And you'll go out and build farther as we hand them to you. Can you do this?"

"Of course," replied Alf firmly.

"And don't hurry. Work sure and steady. The turf will stand the weight with only you on it. And when you reach Bob, you'll spread the branches all round. The rest I leave to you."

To Alf it seemed hours before even the first section of the ladder was completed, but he did his best to control his impatience, knowing well the value of Mackintosh's advice; and at last came the moment of joy when he was ready for the second poles to project from the ends of the first ones, and a fresh supply of branches. But it was a tedious undertaking at the best, made doubly so by anxiety to reach the end; for each time the supply of building material was exhausted he had to creep back for more, as the men dared not trust their weight far from the edge of the muskeg.

All this time Bob was watching the work as a starving man feasts his eyes upon the nearness of food and drink.

Now and then Alf spoke encouraging words, but he did not relax his energies, nor did the sufferer make answer except once, when he stirred himself to say pluckily--

"It's--all--right, Alf. I can--hold out--for--some time----"

Yet when the younger lad once glanced ahead of him, the cold sweat broke out over his body, for he saw that his chum had sunk yet farther, and that the weight was dragging down the dog as well.

"I'm coming, Bob! I'll be very soon now!" the lad forced himself to call cheerily.

And, oh! the joy of that moment when at last the bridge was completed, and Alf could bend down to grip his exhausted chum beneath the arms!

"Be careful!" called Mackintosh. "Don't jerk. Pull steady!"

Inch by inch Alf felt the mud release its hold upon its prey, as he strained every ounce of strength to drag his friend from the clammy grip. It was a tremendous effort, for the boy was slight, and the hold of the muskeg added weight to Bob's by no means slender bulk. But at last Arnold's arms were clear, and in time he was dragged so far that he could rest his breast upon the structure.

Then Alf paused for breath. But he did not delay long. He set his teeth and once more resumed his task. Then he made the woods ring with a triumphant "Eureka!" for Bob lay safe upon the bridge!

Bannock barked for joy also, and struggled up to scamper back to his master.

"Just in the nick of time! You've saved my life!" muttered Bob gratefully, when he recovered a little of his strength after a short rest.

Alf's reply was characteristic.

"You'll take a deal of was.h.i.+ng, old man, before you're fit for decent society again!"

The warmth of the sun soon restored some of the old energy to the chilled body, and after a time Bob recovered sufficiently to crawl to safety in the wake of his rescuer.

And when solid land was regained poor old Mackintosh was fairly crying with joy.

"Lads, lads! but G.o.d's been kind to us this day!" he was saying, while the tears ran down his manly, weather-beaten cheeks. Then he made all laugh by suddenly starting with a look of horror in his face as he exclaimed--

"Ma conscience! But the birds will be burnt to cinders by this time!"

CHAPTER XII

CRAFTY TACTICS

So unexpected had been Thunder-maker's tactics and so immediate the response of his people, that the attack was over before the Englishmen were well aware that it had begun. Not that any foreknowledge would have availed them much. They were unarmed, while the Dacotahs were both armed and numerous. Still, the average Englishman does not like to be trussed up without showing some marked resistance. It makes him feel small to be trapped without dealing a blow in self-defence.

The place was brilliantly lit with burning brands which many of the Indians had brought, and the camp was in an uproar with the voluble chatter of the men as they crowded round the captives, while Thunder-maker excitedly cried out his story of the affair.

So well did the Medicine Man concoct his lies so as to work upon the feelings of his people that meanwhile it seemed as though the Englishmen were in for a hot time. Indeed, so great was their wrath that knives were already reflecting the flames, and fingers were nervously twitching about the locks of their guns. And all the time Thunder-maker was dancing about in a frenzy of pa.s.sion. He was not brave enough to strike a blow, but he hoped to s.h.i.+ft the responsibility upon the shoulders of his brethren.

What would have been the termination of the scene it is not difficult to decide, had not the old figure of Swift Arrow pushed a way through the seething mult.i.tude and taken a place at Arnold's side, while he faced his people with burning indignation.

"What is this, brothers?" he exclaimed. "Is this how the Dacotahs treat the stranger in their tents?"

"They are witches, not men!" came from many throats, and Thunder-maker added--

"They call me from teepee--call me without words, and fill Thunder-maker with hot fire!"

"Bah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Swift Arrow with utter contempt, as he turned to the last speaker. "Is not Thunder-maker great medicine himself? Has he no weapon to protect himself from magic?"

But the Medicine Man had his reply ready.

"Thunder-maker sleep. When Thunder-maker sleep he have no power against magic." Then he turned to the surrounding Indians with a wild appeal.

"Shall it be, brothers, that the great medicine of the Dacotahs die before arrows of the evil spirits?"

"Kawin![3] Kawin!" was the general reply, and again the knives glistened as they were raised in many hands.

Thunder-maker shrieked with triumph.

"Then save our tribe from the magic of the evil ones!" he cried as he flung his arms upwards and turned to the captives with a fiendish grin of exultation.

The Indians were now worked up to a condition of irresponsible madness.

Another such impulse from the Medicine Man, and the thirsty knives would be quenched.

"Stay!" commanded Arnold suddenly.

So unexpected was the word from that quarter that for the time curiosity superseded frenzy, and all paused to hear what the white man might have to say. And Arnold, seeing the advantage, went on with a calmness that seemed to act like a spell upon the excited minds. "Stay! My white brother and I are not afraid to die, if it be Manito's will that we find the Happy Hunting-ground this night, and if the Dacotahs have so forgotten the brave name of their tribe that they would slay the stranger who came to their tents in trouble. But first tell me: is it the way of the redmen to kill a prisoner without the wish of their chief----"

"Ha!" interrupted Thunder-maker, hissing the exclamation through his teeth, for even now he felt his victims slipping through his hands. "Do not listen, brothers! They are evil spirits--they speak magic words against which nothing prevails. They have forked tongues that dart as fire. Ugh! I spit upon them--dogs!"

The Englishmen met the verbal onslaught as firmly as a rock resists a wave, and Arnold did not so much as look towards the madman, but resumed, in the same even tones as before.