The Silent Places Part 19

"Because we fooled him, just as we fooled all the Injuns. We _might_ be looking for winter posts, just as we said. And then if he came up here and told Jingoss we were after him, when really we didn't know beans about Jingoss and his steals, and then this Jingoss should skip the country and leave an almighty good fur district all for nothing, that would be a nice healthy favour to do for a man, wouldn't it! No, he had to be _sure_ before he made any moves. And he didn't get to be sure until he heard somehow from some one who saw our trails that three people were travelling in the winter up through this country. Then he piked out to warn Jingoss."

"I believe you're right!" cried d.i.c.k.

"Of course I'm right. And another thing; if that's the case we're pretty close there. How many more trappers are there in this district? Just one! And since this Chippewa is going back on his back trail within three days after he made it, he couldn't have gone farther than that one man. And that one man must be--"

"Jingoss himself!" finished d.i.c.k.

"Within a day and a half of us, anyway; probably much closer,"

supplemented Sam. "It's as plain as a sledge-trail."

"He's been warned," d.i.c.k reminded him.

But Sam, afire with the inspiration of inductive reasoning, could see no objection there.

"This Chippewa knew we were in the country," he argued, "but he hadn't any idea we were so close. If he had, he wouldn't have been so foolish as to follow his own back track when he was going out. I don't know what his ideas were, of course, but he was almighty surprised to see us here.

He's warned this Jingoss, not more than a day or so ago. But he didn't tell him to skedaddle at once. He said, 'Those fellows are after you, and they're moseying around down south of here, and probably they'll get up here in the course of the winter. You'd probably better slide out 'till they get done.' Then he stayed a day and smoked a lot, and started back. Now, if Jingoss just thinks we're coming _some time_, and not to-morrow, he ain't going to pull up stakes in such a h.e.l.l of a hurry.

He'll pack what furs he's got, and he'll pick up what traps he's got out. That would take him several days, anyway. My son, we're in the nick of time!"

"Sam, you're a wonder," said d.i.c.k, admiringly. "I never could have thought all that out."

"If that idea's correct," went on Sam, "and the Chippewa's just come from Jingoss, why we've got the Chippewa's trail to follow back, haven't we?"

"Sure!" agreed d.i.c.k, "all packed and broken."

They righted the sledge and unbound the dogs' jaws.

"Well, we got rid of the girl," said d.i.c.k, casually. "d.a.m.n little fool.

I didn't think she'd leave us that easy. She'd been with us quite a while."

"Neither did I," admitted Sam; "but it's natural, d.i.c.k. We ain't her people, and we haven't treated her very well, and I don't wonder she was sick of it and took the first chance back. We've got our work cut out for us now, and we're just as well off without her."

"The Chippewa's a sort of public benefactor all round," said d.i.c.k.

The dogs yawned prodigiously, stretching their jaws after the severe muzzling. Sam began reflectively to undo the flaps of the sledge.

"Guess we'd better camp here," said he. "It's getting pretty late and we're due for one h.e.l.l of a tramp to-morrow."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Some time during the night May-may-gwan rejoined them. Sam was awakened by the demonstration of the dogs, at first hostile, then friendly with recognition. He leaped to his feet, startled at the apparition of a human figure. d.i.c.k sat up alert at once. The fire had almost died, but between the glow of its embers and the light of the aurora sifted through the trees they made her out.

"Oh, for G.o.d's _sake!_" snarled d.i.c.k, and lay back again in his blankets, but in a moment resumed his sitting position. "She made her choice," he proffered vehemently, "make her stick to it! Make her stick to it. She can't change her mind every other second like this, and we don't _need_ her!"

But Sam, piling dry wood on the fire, looked in her face.

"Shut up, d.i.c.k," he commanded sharply. "Something in this."

The young man stared at his companion an enigmatical instant, hesitating as to his reply.

"Oh, all right," he replied at last with ostentatious indifference. "I don't give a d.a.m.n. Don't sit up too late with the young lady. Good night!" He disappeared beneath his coverings, plainly disgruntled, as, for a greater or less period of time, he always was when even the least of his plans or points of view required readjustment.

Sam boiled tea, roasted a caribou steak, knelt and removed the girl's damp foot-gear and replaced it with fresh. Then he held the cup to her lips, cut the tough meat for her with his hunting-knife, even fed her as though she were a child. He piled more wood on the fire, he wrapped about her shoulders one of the blankets with the hare-skin lining.

Finally, when nothing more remained to be done, he lit his pipe and squatted on his heels close to her, lending her mood the sympathy of human silence.

She drank the tea, swallowed the food, permitted the change of her foot-gear, bent her shoulders to the blanket, all without the appearance of consciousness. The corners of her lips were bent firmly downward.

Her eyes, fixed and exalted, gazed beyond the fire, beyond the dancing shadows, beyond the world. After a long interval she began to speak, low-voiced, in short disconnected sentences.

"My brothers seek the Ojibway, Jingoss. They will take him to Conjuror's House. But Jingoss knows that my brothers come. He has been told by Ah-tek. He leaves the next sun. He is to travel to the west, to Peace River. Now his camp is five hours to the north. I know where it is.

Jingoss has three dogs. He has much meat. He has no gun but the trade-gun. I have learned this. I come to tell it to my brothers."

"Why, May-may-gwan?" inquired Sam, gently.

She turned on him a look of pride.

"Have you thought I had left you for him?" she asked. "I have learned these things."

Sam uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"What?" she queried with a slow surprise.

"But he, the Chippewa," Sam pointed out, "now he knows of our presence.

He will aid Jingoss; he will warn him afresh to-night!"

May-may-gwan was again rapt in sad but ex alted contemplation of something beyond. She answered merely by a contemptuous gesture.

"But--" insisted Sam.

"I know," she replied, with conviction.

Sam, troubled he knew not why, leaned forward to arrange the fire.

"How do you know, Little Sister?" he inquired, after some hesitation.

She answered by another weary gesture. Again Sam hesitated.

"Little Sister," said he, at last, "I am an old man. I have seen many years pa.s.s. They have left me some wisdom. They have made my heart good to those who are in trouble. If it was not to return to your own people, then why did you go with Ah-tek this morning?"

"That I might know what my brothers wished to know."

"And you think he told you all these things truly?" doubted Sam.

She looked directly at him.

"Little Father," said she slowly, "long has this man wanted me to live in his wigwam. For that he joined Haukemah's band;--because I was there. I have been good in his eyes. Never have I given him favour. My favour always would unlock his heart."