The Silent Places Part 5

Now abruptly the weather changed. The sky became overcast with low, gray clouds hurrying from the northwest. It grew cold. After a few hours of indecision it began to rain, das.h.i.+ng the chill water in savage gusts.

Amids.h.i.+ps in each canoe the household goods were protected carefully by means of the wigwam covers, but the people themselves sat patiently, exposed to the force of the storm. Water streamed from their hair, over their high cheeks, to drip upon their already sodden clothing. The buckskin of their moccasins sucked water like so many sponges. They stepped indifferently in and out of the river,--for as to their legs, necessarily much exposed, they could get no wetter--and it was very cold. Whenever they landed the gra.s.s and bushes completed the soaking.

By night each and every member of the band, including the two white men, were as wet as though they had plunged over-head in the stream. Only there was this difference: river-water could have been warmed gradually by the contact of woolen clothes with the body, but the chill of rain-water was constantly renewed.

Nor was there much comfort in the prospect when, weary and cold, they finally drew their canoes ash.o.r.e for the evening's camp. The forest was dripping, the ground soggy, each separate twig and branch cold and slippery to the hand. The acc.u.mulated water of a day showered down at the slightest movement. A damp wind seemed to rise from the earth itself.

Half measures or timid shrinkings would not do. Every one had to plunge boldly into the woods, had to seize and drag forth, at whatever cost of shower-bath the wilderness might levy, all the dead wood he could find.

Then the value of the birch-bark envelope about the powdery touch-wood became evident. The fire, at first small and steamy, grew each instant.

Soon a dozen little blazes sprang up, only to be extinguished as soon as they had partially dried the site of wigwams. Hot tea was swallowed gratefully, duffel hung before the flames. n.o.body dried completely, but everybody steamed, and even in the pouring rain this little warmth was comfort by force of contrast. The sleeping blankets were damp, the clothes were damp, the ground was damp, the air was damp; but, after all, discomfort is a little thing and a temporary, and can be borne. In the retrospect it is nothing at all. Such is the indian's philosophy, and that is why in a rain he generally travels instead of lying in camp.

The storm lasted four days. Then the wind s.h.i.+fted to the north, bringing clearing skies.

Up to now the river had been swift in places, but always by dint of tracking or poling the canoes had been forced against the quick water.

Early one forenoon, however, Haukemah lifted carefully the bow of his canoe and slid it up the bank.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The portage struck promptly to the right through a tall, leafy woods, swam neck-high in the foliage of small growth, mounted a steep hill, and meandered over a bowlder-strewn, moss-grown plateau, to dip again, a quarter of a mile away, to the banks of the river. But you must not imagine one of your easy portages of Maine or lower Canada. This trail was faint and dim,--here an excoriation on the surface of a fallen and half-rotted tree, there a withered limb hanging, again a mere _sense_ in the forest's growth that others had pa.s.sed that way. Only an expert could have followed it.

The canoe loads were dumped out on the beach. One after another, even to the little children, the people shouldered their packs. The long sash was knotted into a loop, which was pa.s.sed around the pack and the bearer's forehead. Some of the stronger men carried thus upward of two hundred pounds.

Unlike a party of white men, the Indians put no system into their work.

They rested when they pleased, chatted, shouted, squatted on their heels conversing. Yet somehow the task was accomplished, and quickly. To one on an elevation dominating the scene it would have been most picturesque. Especially noticeable were those who for the moment stood idle, generally on heights, where their muscle-loose att.i.tudes and fluttering draperies added a strangely decorative note to the landscape; while below plodded, bending forward under their enormous loads, an unending procession of patient toilers. In five minutes the portage was alive from one end to the other.

To d.i.c.k and Sam Bolton the traverse was a simple matter. Sam, by the aid of his voyager's sash, easily carried the supplies and blankets; d.i.c.k fastened the two paddles across the thwarts to form a neck-yoke, and swung off with the canoe. Then they returned to the plateau until their savage friends should have finished the crossing.

Ordinarily white men of this cla.s.s are welcome enough to travel with the Indian tribes. Their presence is hardly considered extraordinary enough for comment. Sam Bolton, however, knew that in the present instance he and d.i.c.k aroused an unusual interest of some sort.

He was not able to place it to his own satisfaction. It might be because of Bolton's reputation as a woodsman; it might be because of d.i.c.k Herron's spectacular service to Haukemah in the instance of the bear; it might be that careful talk had not had its due effect in convincing the Indians that the journey looked merely to the establishment of new winter posts; Sam was not disinclined to attribute it to pernicious activity on the part of the Ojibway. It might spring from any one of these. Nor could he quite decide its quality;--whether friendly or inimical. Merely persisted the fact that he and his companion were watched curiously by the men and fearfully by the women; that they brought a certain constraint to the camp fire.

Finally an incident, though it did not decide these points, brought their ambiguity nearer to the surface.

One evening old Haukemah received from the women the bear's robe fully tanned. Its inner surface had been whitened and then painted rudely with a symbolical representation of the hunt. Haukemah spoke as follows, holding the robe in his hand:

"This is the robe of makwa, our little brother. His flesh we all ate of.

But you who killed him should have his coat. Therefore my women have painted it because you saved their head man."

He laid the robe at d.i.c.k's feet. d.i.c.k glanced toward his companion with the strange cast flickering quizzically in his narrow eyes. "Fine thing to carry along on a trip like ours," he said in English. "_I_ don't know what to do with it. They've worked on it mighty near a week. I wish to h.e.l.l they'd keep their old robe." However, he stooped and touched it in sign of acceptance. "I thank my brother," he said in Cree.

"You'll have to bring it along," Sam answered in English. "We'll have to carry it while we're with them, anyway."

The Indian men were squatted on their heels about the fire, waiting gravely and courteously for this conference, in an unknown tongue, to come to an end. The women, naturally interested in the disposal of their handiwork, had drawn just within the circle of light.

Suddenly d.i.c.k, inspired, darted to this group of women, whence he returned presently half dragging, half-coaxing a young girl. She came reluctantly, hanging back a little, dropping her head, or with an embarra.s.sed giggle glancing shyly over her shoulder at her companions.

When near the centre of the men's group, d.i.c.k dropped her hand.

Promptly she made as though to escape, but stopped at a word from Haukemah. It was May-may-gwan, the Ojibway girl.

Obediently she paused. Her eyes were dancing with the excitement of the adventure, an almost roguish smile curved her mouth and dimpled her cheek, her lower lip was tightly clasped between her teeth as she stood contemplating her heavily beaded little moccasin, awaiting the explanation of this, to her, extraordinary performance.

"What is your name, little sister?" asked d.i.c.k in Cree.

She dropped her head lower, but glanced from the corner of her eye at the questioner.

"Answer!" commanded Haukemah.

"May-may-gwan," she replied in a low voice.

"Oh, yes," said d.i.c.k, in English. "You're an Ojibway," he went on in Cree.

"Yes."

"That explains why you're such a tearing little beauty," muttered the young man, again in English.

"The old-men," he resumed, in Cree, "have given me this robe. Because I hold it very dear I wish to give it to that people whom I hold dearest.

That people is the Crees of Rupert's House. And because you are the fairest, I give you this robe so that there may be peace between your people and me."

Ill-expressed as this little speech was, from the flowery standpoint of Indian etiquette, nevertheless its subtlety gained applause. The Indians grunted deep e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of pleasure. "Good boy!" muttered Sam Bolton, pleased.

d.i.c.k lifted the robe and touched it to the girl's hand. She gasped in surprise, then slowly raised her eyes to his.

"d.a.m.n if you ain't pretty enough to kiss!" cried d.i.c.k.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Pretty enough to kiss!" cried d.i.c.k]

He stepped across the robe, which had fallen between them, circled the girl's upturned face with the flat of his hands, and kissed her full on the lips.

The kiss of ceremony is not unknown to the northern Indians, and even the kiss of affection sometimes to be observed among the more demonstrative, but such a caress as d.i.c.k bestowed on May-may-gwan filled them with astonishment. The girl herself, though she cried out, and ran to hide among those of her own s.e.x, was not displeased; she rather liked it, and could not mis-read the admiration that had prompted it. Nor did the other Indians really object. It was a strange thing to do, but perhaps it was a white man's custom. The affair might have blown away like a puff of gunpowder.

But at the moment of d.i.c.k's salute, Sam Bolton cried out sharply behind him. The young woodsman instantly whirled to confront the Chippewa.

"He reached for his knife," explained Sam.

The e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n had also called the attention of every member of the band to the tableau. There could be absolutely no doubt as to its meaning,--the evident anger of the red, his att.i.tude, his hand on the haft of his knife. The Chippewa was fairly caught.

He realised the fact, but his quick mind instantly turned the situation to his profit. Without attempting to alter the malice of his expression, he nevertheless dropped his hand from his knife-hilt, and straightened his figure to the grandiose att.i.tude of the Indian orator.

"This man speaks crooked words. I know the language of the saganash. He tells my brothers that he gives this robe to May-may-gwan because he holds it the dearest of his possessions, and because his heart is good towards my brother's people. But to the other saganash he said these words: 'It is a little thing, and I do not wish to carry it. What shall I do with it?'"

He folded his arms theatrically. d.i.c.k Herron, his narrow eyes blazing, struck him full on the mouth a shoulder blow that sent him sprawling into the ashes by the fire.

The Chippewa was immediately on his feet, his knife in his hand.

Instinctively the younger Crees drew near to him. The old race antagonism flashed forth, naturally, without the intervention of reason. A murmur went up from the other bystanders.

Sam Bolton arose quietly to take his place at d.i.c.k's elbow. As yet there was no danger of violence, except from the outraged Chippewa. The Crees were startled, but they had not yet taken sides. All depended on an intrepid front. For a moment they stared at one another, the Indians uncertain, the Anglo-Saxons, as always, fiercely dominant in spirit, no matter what the odds against them, as long as they are opposed to what they consider the inferior race.