Lords of the North Part 10

"Yes I do--under Colin Robertson," affirmed the third man.

"Colin Robertson--the Nor'-Wester?"

"Robertson who used to be a Nor'-Wester! It's Selkirk's work since he got control of the H. B."

"Robertson should know better," said the northerner. "He had experience with us before he resigned. I'll wager he doesn't undertake that sort of venture! Surely it's a yarn!"

"You lose your bet," cried the irrepressible Fort William lad. "A runner came in at six o'clock and reported that the Hudson's Bay brigade from Lachine would pa.s.s here before midnight. They're sooners, they are, are the H. B. C's.," and the clerk enjoyed the sensation of rolling a big oath from his boyish lips.

"Eric Hamilton pa.s.sing within a stone's throw of the fort!" In astonishment I leaned forward to catch every word the Fort William lad might say.

"To Athabasca by our route--past this fort!" Such temerity amazed the winterer beyond coherent expression.

"Good thing for them they're pa.s.sing in the night," continued the clerk.

"The half-breeds are hot about that Souris affair. There'll be a collision yet!" The young fellow's importance increased in proportion to the surprise of the elder men.

"There'll be a collision anyway when Cameron and Grant reach Red River--eh, Cuthbert?" and the mountaineer turned to the dark, sharp-featured warden of the plains. Cuthbert Grant laughed pleasantly.

"Oh, I hope not--for their sakes!" he said, and went on with the story of a buffalo hunt.

The story I missed, for I was deep in my own thoughts. I must see Eric and let him know what I had learned; but how communicate with the Hudson's Bay brigade without bringing suspicion of double dealing on myself? I was turning things over in my mind in a stupid sort of way like one new at intrigue, when I heard a talker, vowing by all that was holy that he had seen the rarest of hunter's rarities--a pure white buffalo. The wonder had appeared in Qu'Appelle Valley.

"I can cap that story, man," cried the portly Irish priest who was to go north in my boat. "I saw a white squaw less than two weeks ago!" He paused for his words to take effect, and I started from my chair as if I had been struck.

"What's wrong, young man?" asked the winterer. "We lonely fellows up north see visions. We leap out of our moccasins at the sound of our own voices; but you young chaps, with all the world around you"--he waved towards the crowded hall as though it were the metropolis of the universe--"shouldn't see ghosts and go jumping mad."

I sat down abashed.

"Yes, a white squaw," repeated the jovial priest. "Sure now, white ladies aren't so many in these regions that I'd be likely to make a mistake."

"There's a difference between squaws and white ladies," persisted the jolly father, all unconscious that he was emphasizing a difference which many of the traders were spelling out in hard years of experience.

"I've seen papooses that were white for a day or two after they were born----"

"Effect of the christening," interrupted the youth, whose head, between flattered vanity and the emptied contents of his drinking cup, was very light indeed.

"Take that idiot out and put him to bed, somebody," commanded Cameron.

"For a day or two after they were born," reiterated the priest; "but I never saw such a white-skinned squaw!"

"Where did you see her?" I inquired in a voice which was not my own.

"On Lake Winnipeg. Coming down two weeks ago we camped near a band of Sioux, and I declare, as I pa.s.sed a tepee, I saw a woman's face that looked as white as snow. She was sleeping, and the curtain had blown up.

Her child was in her arms, and I tell you her bare arms were as white as snow."

"Must have been the effect of the moonlight," explained some one.

"Moonlight didn't give the other Indians that complexion," insisted the priest.

It was my turn to feel my head suddenly turn giddy, though liquor had not pa.s.sed my lips. This information could have only one meaning. I was close on the track of Miriam, and Eric was near; yet the slightest blunder on my part might ruin all chance of meeting him and rescuing her.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LITTLE STATUE ANIMATE

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 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.

"But we must have a boat, a light c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l 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!"

"Hus.h.!.+" 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!"

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.