The Silent Places Part 2

These Indians were of the far upper country. They spoke no English nor French, and adhered still to their own tribal customs and religious observances. They had lingered several days beyond their time for the purpose of conjuring. In fact at this very moment the big medicine lodge raised itself in the centre of the encampment like a miniature circus tent. Sam Bolton addressed the two in their own language.

"We wish to buy many moccasins of your old women," said Sam.

Immediately one of the Indians glided away. From time to time during the next few minutes he was intermittently visible as he pa.s.sed from the dark interior of one wigwam, across the sunlight, and into the dark interior of another.

The older of the two still in company of the white men began to ask questions.

"The Little Father is about to make a long journey?"

"Does one buy so many moccasins for a short?"

"He goes to hunt the fur?"

"Perhaps."

"In what direction does he set the bow of his canoe?"

Suddenly d.i.c.k Herron, who had, as usual, been paying attention to almost anything rather than the matter in hand, darted suddenly toward a clump of gra.s.s. In a moment he straightened his back to hold at arm's length a struggling little boy. At the instant of his seizure the child uttered a sharp cry of fright, then closed his lips in the stoicism of his race.

That one cry was enough, however. Rescue darted from the nearest wigwam.

A flying figure covered the little distance in a dozen graceful leaps, s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from the young man's hands and stood, one foot advanced, breast heaving, a palpitating, wild thing, like a symbol of defiance.

The girl belonged distinctly to the more attractive type; it required but little imagination to endow her with real beauty. Her figure was straight and slim and well-proportioned, her eyes large, her face oval and quite devoid of the broad, high-cheeked stupidity so common in the northern races. At the moment she flashed like a brand with quick-breathed anger and fear.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The child uttered a sharp cry of fright]

d.i.c.k looked at her at first with amazement, then with mingled admiration and mischief. He uttered a ferocious growl and lowered his shoulders as though about to charge. Immediately the defiance broke. The girl turned and fled, plunging like a rabbit into the first shelter that offered, pursued by shrieks of delight from the old squaws, a pleased roar from d.i.c.k, and the laughter of the Indian men themselves.

"May-may-gwan[2]," said the oldest Indian, naming her, "foster sister to the boy you had caught."

[Footnote 2: The b.u.t.terfly.]

"She is Ojibway, then," exclaimed d.i.c.k, catching at the Ojibway word.

"Ae," admitted the Cree, indifferently. Such inclusions of another tribe, either by adoption or marriage, are not uncommon.

At this moment the third Indian approached.

"No moccasins," he reported. "Plenty buckskin."

Sam Bolton looked troubled. This meant a delay. However, it could not be avoided.

"Let the old women make some," he decided.

The Cree old-man shook his head.

"That cannot be. There is not time. We turn our canoes to the Missinaibie by next sun."

Sam pondered again, turning over in his mind this fresh complication.

But d.i.c.k, kicking the earth clods in impatience, broke in.

"Well, we're going by the Missinaibie, too. Let the women make the moccasins. We will accompany you."

"That might be," replied the Indian.

"It is well," said Bolton.

An old woman was summoned. She measured her customers' feet with a buckskin thong. Then they departed without further ceremony. An Indian rarely says farewell. When his business is finished he goes.

"d.i.c.k," said Sam, "you ought not to have broke in there."

"What do you mean?" asked the other, puzzled.

"Suggesting our travelling with them."

"Why?" cried d.i.c.k in astonishment. "Ain't you never travelled with Injuns before?"

"That ain't th' question. Did you notice that third Injun? the one who didn't do any talking?"

"Sure! What of him?"

"Well, he's an Ojibway. Th' rest are Wood Crees. And I miss my guess if he ain't a bad customer. He watched us mighty close, and his eyes are bad. He's sharp. He's one of that wondering kind. He's wondering now who we are, and where we're going, and why we're hitting so long a trail.

And what's more, he belongs to this Jingoss's people in a roundabout sort of way. He's worse than fifty Crees. Maybe he knows all about Jingoss, and if he does, he'll get suspicious the minute we angle down into that country."

"Let's let 'em slide, then," suggested d.i.c.k, impatiently. "Let's buy some buckskin and make our own moccasins."

"Too late now," negatived Sam. "To back out would be bad."

"Oh, well, you're just borrowing trouble anyway," laughed d.i.c.k.

"Maybe, maybe," acknowledged the other; "but borrowing trouble, and then figuring out how you're going to meet it if it comes to you in good earnest, is mighty good woodcraft."

"Sam," burst out d.i.c.k, whose attention had been caught by a word in his companion's first speech, and whose mind had been running on it throughout the ensuing discussion, "did you notice that girl? She's a tearing little beauty!"

CHAPTER FOUR

By now it was nearly noon. The travellers carried the packs they had made up down to the water-side where the canoe lay. Although the Indians would not get under way until the following morning, it had been decided to push on at once, thus avoiding the confusion of a crowded start.

In the course of the morning's business the news of their expedition had noised abroad. Especially were they commiserated by the other runners and post-keepers. During all the winter these men had lived under the frown of the North, conducting their affairs confidently yet with caution, sure of themselves, yet never sure of the great power in whose tolerance they existed, in spite of whom they accomplished. Now was the appointed time of rest. In the relaxation of the thought they found pity for those ordered out of season into the Silent Places.

So at the river's bank Sam Bolton and d.i.c.k Herron, ready for departure, found a group gathered. It was supposed that these men were to act as scouts, to reconnoitre shrewdly in the Enemy's country, to spy out the land, so that in the autumn the Company might throw into the wilderness new posts, to be inhabited during the colder months.

"Look heem Bla'k Bevair Lak," advised Louis Placide; "I t'ink dose Ojibway mak' heem lots marten, mink la bas."

"Lads," said Kern, the trader at Old Brunswick House, "if you're going up th' Missinaibie just cast an eye on my _cache_ at Gull Lake, and see that the carcajaus have let her be."