Cover
Motionless before her stood a figure wrapped in the usual Indian blanket. p. [100]
TWO ON THE TRAIL
A STORY OF CANADA SNOWS
BY
E. E. COWPER
AUTHOR or "THE MOONRAKERS," "KITTIWAKE'S CASTLE,"
"CREW OF THE SILVER FISH," ETC.
WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY
W. PAGET
LONDON
THE SHELDON PRESS
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. 2
New York and Toronto: The Macmillan Company
1922
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
- [The Log House]
- [A Surprise that Brings Suspicion]
- [Nell Makes up her Mind]
- [The Howl Of The Wolf]
- ["Little Eyes has a Forked Tongue"]
- [Green Eyes in the Darkness]
- [A Midnight Battle]
- [The Mysterious Camp Fire]
- [How the Great Bull Fled for his Life]
- [The Camp on the Wolf's Tooth Rocks]
- [The Hunters]
- [The Flight Continues]
- [A Race For Life]
- [Rifle Shots]
- [In which the Ice Goes out, and the Trail Leads Home]
TWO ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE LOG HOUSE
"Do you suppose anything has happened to him?" asked the boy; "do you, Nell?"
He had been asking that question a great many times a day for a good many days. Every time he asked it his sister said, "Oh no, of course not," and set about any sort of work to prove she was not thinking anxious thoughts. At last, however, her answer was rather slower in coming, and on this particular occasion no answer came till David touched her arm.
"Do you, Nell?" he urged.
"I don't know. I shouldn't think so," she said, but instead of getting busy she sat still and stared at the red-hot stove, her strong hard hands clasped round her knees, and a frown on her forehead--actually doing nothing at all but just think!
This state of things was surprising enough to make "Da," as she called her young brother, more persistent than ever. He was a big, strong, square-shouldered boy of twelve, or thereabouts, and his sister was to him very much what the Captain of the First Eleven might be to a boy in an English school. She was wonderful. She could do anything and everything that he understood and that came into his life, as well--better than anyone he knew. Besides the jobs that men left over--in his experience--and which Nell did as cleverly as the mother who had died about five years before.
Da had entire confidence in her, and who shall say he had not a right to, considering all that he saw and knew about her!
She was fifteen; a head and shoulders taller than himself, and apparently as strong as their father. Her dark red hair was short as his own. That is to say, as short as hair can be where people have no shops and do their own hair-cutting. Her eyes were greenish grey and sharp as the keen, still eyes of the grey lynx that got trapped once in a way in the snares set for mink and martens.
David admired her hair and eyes with all his heart, chiefly because she was the only member of their small family like that--he and his father having darkish eyes and hair. Nell was supposed to have taken after a Scottish ancestress, with a vigorous character, not after the fair little mother with yellow hair and blue eyes; and when people start off like that in an independent manner they usually take a line of their own all through.
In fact, Nell Lindsay was a girl to be trusted; dependable and clever, which was a very good thing, because she needed every bit of it in the present crisis.
She and her young brother were alone in the log house--or shack--more than a hundred miles from any settlement. The two nearest were Abbitibbi House on the lake, away to the eastward, and Brunswick House, north on Moose River. Possibly the distance was equal, and Nell calculated it at a hundred and fifty miles either way.
That is nothing much in a country of railways, or even of good roads, but it is a long way over trackless waste, pathless forest, and snow--without guide, without help from human company.
When Nell did not answer David's persistent questions any longer, it was because she was thinking about the one hundred and fifty miles--and more--that lay between the shack and friends. It was friends she wanted. There were men nearer than that, but Nell was not sure they were friends, and therein lay the whole trouble, you see.
Over all that wilderness of forest and waste, river and lake, there lived trappers who had marked out certain districts as their own particular trapping grounds. Some were Indians, some white men who had taken up this life for the freedom and profit of making money by selling pelts--that is skins--to the traders who bought them up for the big Companies.
It was an understood thing that the trappers did not poach on each other's grounds. If they tried they ran the risk of being shot by the rightful owner. They were rough men, and followed rough laws of their own making.
The traders came round in early spring and bought up the fur. Or perhaps the trappers took great bundles of pelts away to the trading posts, got their money and spent it enjoying themselves to make up for the hardships of winter. But Andrew Lindsay was never one of these. He bought his flour, tea, bacon, and tobacco from the traders, sold his pelts and kept his money, so that after a bit it came to be common talk that he had saved a lot and hidden it in, or near, the log house. He was not the sort of man to imagine that people might think this. He loved the wild lands for the beauty and grandeur, and hated the work of an office and the close life in towns. This feeling had driven him north from San Francisco when he was first married. Here he had been in the Dominion, winter and summer, ever since, but he had not lost sight of the importance of education for his boy, and the money was saving up for that. David was to be an engineer. The years of work had paid very well and Nell knew her father's plan. Also she knew about the money, and that this was perhaps the last winter they would spend in the shack among the woods on the steep hills that ran for over a thousand miles from the northern frontier of Ontario to the Watchish Mountains in North-East Territory. The girl was content either way. Whatever her father decided was right, she thought. The winter was coming to an end very soon--it was the last week in March--and he had gone on his last round to look at traps on the more distant runways. The last, because fur gets thin and poor, and loses its thick beauty when the terrible cold of winter is giving before spring.
And then, when it was the last thing they would have thought of, this blow had fallen--Lindsay had not come back. He had gone out into the glittering light of the snowy world, with his gun, his double-lined fur sleeping bag, and food enough for four days. Eight days had passed, and he had not returned.
Now that is how matters stood on a certain afternoon as the grey dusk began to creep through the trees and close in round the lonely log house. It was a difficult position for the girl, but she never for a moment gave way to impatience.
This house of theirs was as different from an English home as could well be--which mattered not at all to the young Lindsay pair, because they had no idea what an English house was like.
This house was built of rough logs--one big room in the middle and either end partitioned off, thus making two small bedrooms. This was considered luxurious, as most of the trappers had but one room in the shack, for sleeping and eating, and work, too. The walls were just rough logs inside as well as out, the cracks between were stuffed in with mud and the coarse moss that grows up north. Over this skins were hung, on the floor big skins were laid. From the rafters bacon hung and onions grown in the summer. In the corners stood sacks of potatoes and flour. The former is very important food in a country that is frozen up about seven months of the year, because when you cannot get green stuff there is risk of scurvy, and raw potatoes are the cure for that. They must be kept from the least touch of frost, of course, otherwise they go rotten.
On the floor in one corner was a pile of skins smaller and more valuable than the grey wolf, the black bear, and the yellow puma of the hills, that hung on the walls.
As Nell sat by the big stove thinking, her keen eyes wandered from one possession to another. Finally they rested on the dog and considered him thoughtfully.
Now this dog was not the kind you would expect to find in a trapper's hut, because he was close-haired, while the dogs used to pull sledges in all parts of the north lands have thick coats and bushy tails. They are called "huskies" and have a lot of wolf in their composition. In the very far north they train in teams of four up to twelve and are wonderfully clever at their work, taking a great pride in it, and refusing to let other dogs take their place in the line. But if they are strong and clever they are also exceedingly savage, and if one of their number gets badly hurt--so that he cannot defend himself--they set upon him and eat him, just as wolves do when one of the pack is disabled.
"Robin Lindsay," as Nell called him, was in no way that kind of dog. He was nearly black, with a broad chest and smooth, close coat. He had ears that drooped forward like a hound's, a wrinkled forehead, and wise brown eyes. Certainly he was all sorts of dog, but it was all of the best, which mattered a great deal in that terribly lonely place. Andrew Lindsay had brought him home one day, four years ago, having bought him from a man who was going to make an end of what he thought was a useless puppy.
Now he lay on the thick grey skin of a wolf, his nose between his paws--watching Nell's face with little twitches of his thoughtful forehead. He knew there was something the matter, and waited.
"What shall you do, Nell, if Dad doesn't come back to-night?" asked David, stopping in his work of carving a tiny little sled out of wood. "You'll have to do something, shan't you?"
Nell got up from her seat on the bench, walked slowly to the door, slid back the heavy bolt, opened the door and looked out. A raw chill entered and seemed to creep into every corner on the instant. Robin rose to his feet, stalked after his mistress and sniffed the doorstep enquiringly.
"I thought so," said the girl as she shut out the bitter dusk.
"Thought what?"
"I thought it was snowing, and it is."
"I suppose you mean that will wipe out Dad's trail? Is that it?" asked the boy.
"It wouldn't make a scrap of difference to Robin, he'd follow a trail through inches of snow. You simply can't bluff him. He always knows. No, I wasn't thinking about the trail exactly--not in that sort of way, anyhow--it's not much good hunting a trail when you pretty well know where it's going to lead you at the start. I mean, Da, that I guess where Dad is. When I'm certain I'll tell you most likely. Matter of fact I was hoping for snow."
"You were!"
"It'll come in useful if I'm not mistaken," said Nell in a conclusive tone.
David stared at her, puzzled. He believed she was the cleverest girl alive, but he did not even remotely understand what she was talking about. On the face of the situation snow was the most tiresome impediment to any sort of move. He knew it might be expected now, because when the bitterest, glittering frost began to give way to the cold that comes between winter and spring, the snow was softer underfoot and falls might be constantly expected. Slight as the change was, the wind had not the same icy breath. Not that one felt warmer, on the contrary, the faint tinge of damp made the air cold beyond description, but probably there was not quite the same danger of frost-bite for the face and hands.
David knew all these things as a matter of course. He had been born and brought up in the country. But he did not see what the snow could have to do with the present trouble! However, it was better to go on carving his sled than show ignorance, so he waited, glancing up at his sister every few seconds, as she paced slowly away from the stove and back to it again, in a kind of thoughtful sentry-go.
Then Robin growled, deep down in his throat. He had not settled down again on his bed, but sat up watching Nell's promenade. He had lifted his muzzle and sniffed the air with a delicate, sensitive movement as though he were feeling something very gently.
Then he growled--very low and deep.
CHAPTER II
A SURPRISE THAT BRINGS SUSPICION
David sprang to his feet and moved towards the door. Neither he nor the girl said or thought for an instant it might be the missing man, because they knew the dog would not have growled in that case.
It was either a stranger or someone Robin was not fond of.
In a few seconds the crunch of snowshoes came to their ears, and then there was a heavy knock on the door.
David gripped Robin by the skin of his neck. The bristles were standing up along his back, and the boy's hold would have been but a slight check had not the animal been very obedient; he was never savage like a husky. As Nell went forward to the door she shifted into convenient position the little automatic pistol that her father insisted on her wearing at all times.
"Who's there?" she asked, as the knock came again.
"Friend, miss," answered a voice from outside. "News of your dad."
Now the voice was not only rough, but it had a foreign tone to it, and Nell's quick mind instantly jumped to the identity of its owner.
"Stenson," she said, over her shoulder to David, "you know Jan Stenson--the one Dad said was 'more Finn than Swede.' He's partner with Barry Jukes on the location up above Abbitibbi little River. Watch out, Da, we've got to be wide awake. Don't say much."
The big bolt was sliding along as she whispered these words quickly--and in a moment the door opened.
"Won't you step inside, Mr. Stenson? What's your news?"
Mr. Jan Stenson stepped inside, and the dog received a smack from David for growling in an undertone, while the man unstrapped his snowshoes, and set them against the wall. He was a short person, not so tall as Nell, but looked as broad as he was high. Of course the clothes he wore emphasised this appearance: skins with fur inwards, and a sort of cap-like hood to the coat, drawn close round the face by a string, and edged all round with little furry tails to keep the freezing wind from the features--otherwise a man gets frost-bite in the nose or cheeks.
Jan Stenson threw back his hood--or "parka," as it is called--and showed a broad, rather flat face, and close-set eyes that shifted as he talked. Nell asked him to sit down, so he sat on a bench near the stove and smoked tobacco that she offered.
"You can have tea or cocoa," said the girl. "Dad hasn't any use for spirits."
Mr. Stenson chose tea, without thanks. He had a good deal of use for spirits when he could get them--no easy matter in the Dominion!
Then he told the story for which the two were waiting so eagerly.
It seemed that Andrew had reached the border line where his district touched theirs, when he found a very large wild cat caught in a mink trap. Stenson called the beast a "catamount," so Nell knew he meant one of the largest and most savage of the wild cat tribe--about as big as a lynx and in some ways even more powerful. The creature had special value alive--far above the mere skin--because a certain travelling company down east had offered a big price for one--for the Show--uninjured. Therefore it entered Lindsay's mind that here was the chance to do well, and he tried to smother the mad animal down with his sleeping bag, and rope it securely, intending then to free the paw caught in the iron spring. But somehow this plan missed fire. The catamount, frantic with pain, fastened on the man's knee with its terrible fangs and claws, and he was obliged to shoot it, but not before he had suffered very serious injury.
"He made shift to overhaul our shack, but he was about done in. Not a trick left in him. It might be a long job," suggested Mr. Stenson, glancing sideways at the girl, "them catamounts is chock full up with pison--bad as pumas and that like."
"Bad luck indeed," said Nell soberly. "Thank you very much for coming over to tell us. What does Dad want us to do?"
"Looks as though he makes out to have you both over at the Abbitibbi. That's what I come along for--to see if you'd do it. He's got to be done for, sure enough. You and him and the boy can have the shack. It's no odds to me and Barry. There's the wood-house lean-to where we can roll up. We've done worse many's the time. Why not? You think it out and look at it that your Dad wants someone about. It may be weeks if he don't get proper attendance, and he makes out to be off soon as the snow clears. Eh? Well, he won't do that if his leg's left to get worse. Them catamounts is full up with pison."
This was rather a long speech on the whole for Jan Stenson. He did not "make out to talk," as he would have said of himself. But he was apparently earnest about this, and kept on impressing the urgency of it in jerky sentences between puffs at his pipe.
After a pause Nell asked.
"Did Dad send us any message?"
"Said he hoped you'd come along. He don't find no treat in layin' up in a bunk, when he wants to clear up the traps."
"No, poor Dad," agreed Nell thoughtfully. "Let me think." She paused, and sat very quiet as she stroked Robin's smooth head. Under her fingers she could feel his throat move as he growled without sound.
David looked from one to the other as the talk went on. He did not like the trapper, but he thought he and Jukes were very kind in this instance and meant well. He wondered what Nell would do, though it certainly seemed as though there was not much choice in the matter. Presently she broke silence by asking exactly when the accident had occurred. According to Stenson, Lindsay had been nearly a week laid up, but they had been too busy to give notice earlier. The man said nothing about the distance--a matter of thirty miles--because it was not considered anything much in a country of great distances. Men with a sled and a dog team would travel on snowshoes thirty miles a day and more without considering it an out of the way effort. And Stenson was, what is called, "travelling light," with nothing but a pack on his back, consisting of his sleeping blanket, his gun, and some pemmican (dried pressed meat); he was on his way, he said, to a camp of Indian trappers not far to the north-west. They were some wandering Chippewa, or Ojibway Indians, belonging to the tribes on the big lakes, to the south-west. They travelled away in parties hunting and collecting furs, and the trappers often bought these from them for tea, tobacco, and blankets. There was always a lot of exchange going on and Nell, understanding all about it, did not question Stenson's business.
Still ignoring his invitation she offered him bread--the sour-dough bread she made herself--and meat as well as the tea; he ate without comment, his close-set eyes shifting looks to every part of the room, and everything in it. When he had finished he got up. Then the girl said as though the subject had never been dropped:
"I don't see why you and Barry Jukes couldn't get Dad up home with your sled. He'd pay for loss of time if it comes to that. Why not?"
Stenson shook his head. He said the snow was getting soft, and the ground would be much too rough for an injured man. Besides, they'd sold their dogs, and he and Barry didn't "lay-out" to pull such a load added to a camping outfit, because they'd have to make two days, if not three of it.
"You can't go shifting a man in his state," he said, "not without worse to follow. See here, miss, you get your outfit together, and I'll call in for you the third day from now and take you along. You and the boy and the dog--how's that? It won't be for long. Sight of you will mend up that knee fine. Like enough your Dad will make out to come back home with you in ten days or thereabouts, taking it slow and camping. I know you got a hand sled. We can makeshift to load your traps on that. The dog and I can pull and you can take a hand at pushing."
Thus Jan Stenson explained his ideas as he pulled over his parka, dragged on his big fur mitts, and made ready to go out into the dusk.
"When did you say--exactly?" asked Nell.
"Third day from now," he was fastening on his snowshoes in the doorway. "I lay out to make old Ogâ's camp in three hours. I'll get through business to-morrow and come for you morning after. Nine o'clock more or less, we don't want more than one camp--if that."
"All right," agreed Nell, nodding her head, "don't come sooner, because I shan't be ready. There's a lot to do. I can't risk the potatoes freezing--I'll have to put them in fur bags. Well, good night, Mr. Stenson, and thank you for coming."
It was not David's usual habit to remain silent, but he had been so surprised through this queer visit and so entirely astonished at the ending of it that even after the bolt slid into place he only stared at his sister, turning over twenty questions he wanted to ask, but not asking one.
"So that's finished!" said Nell, shutting her teeth together with a snap. Then she threw herself down on the skin rug, leaned her back against the bench, clasped her fingers round her bent knees and concluded, "Now, let me think."
"I wish you weren't always thinking and never saying anything," remarked David. "I want to know about one thousand things, Nell, and you never tell me one! Do you like that chap? I don't, and Robin hates him--bite him, Rob--hey, bite him!"
There was a mix-up on the floor between the big black hound and the boy. When it settled into peace, Nell asked as though nothing had interrupted:
"Why don't you like Stenson?"
"Oh, I don't know. He's a snake and a rotter. His eyes keep on slewing round. He tells lies. When it comes to that why does old Rob hate him? I say, Nell, are you really going to take that trail on Thursday?"
Nell looked at the boy's earnest eyes, and a little twisted smile curled one corner of her firm mouth.
"No," she said.
"No, why--how will you get out of it? I say----"
"Easy enough. We shan't be here, my dear."
"Shan't be here! Where shall we be then?"
David opened his mouth as well as his eyes when the full force of this surprising news began to sink into his mind.
"Well--with any luck--and God's help, my child--we shall be on the trail for Fort St. Louis. Anyway, either that, or to Brunswick House. I mean to strike the lake at the bottom of the Divide, and make the very straightest trail we can down the river, till we hit the Moose----"
"Great snakes!" gasped David, his eyes shining with excitement, "but, look here, old girl--aren't you biting off more than you can chew? It's a pretty big proposition, you know. How far to Fort Louis from here?"
"About two hundred miles, but we shall strike the Moose River before that and then we shall be pretty safe, because there are more folk over there." Nell spoke as though it was all settled in her mind, which was comforting to her astonished brother.
"How do you mean safe?" he asked.
"From this gang. They are up to something, and I guess what it is."
"You do. What is it then?"
"I've no time to explain now," said the girl, jumping up with an energetic spring, "there's a whole heap to do and no time to do it in, for we ought to get a few winks of sleep to-night or we shall be sleepy on the trail." Then seeing another question on David's tongue, she added, "We must get off early to-morrow morning."
CHAPTER III
NELL MAKES UP HER MIND
Nell Lindsay worked like two people that evening. She put the potatoes into fur bags as she said, and went over everything of value in the shack. She could not stop to talk, but David--admiring her more and more--gathered her plans and intentions from what she said as they worked.
"You see, it didn't come upon me all in one moment," she explained, "because I'd been hacking away at this notion for the last four days really. Ever since Dad didn't come, you see, Da. If he didn't come, the only plan was to find out what was wrong from the Chippewas--we could make their camp and ask--and then simply strike the trail for the Fort, because Dad would want us to do that one thing."
David checked with his hands full of potatoes to say:
"But look here--what about Dad now?"
"Well--I don't think I believe all that story. It's got a kind of false feeling in it. Dad may have got his knee hurt, but I'm certain sure, Da, he never meant us to leave this and go over to Abbitibbi Lake with Stenson. I'm sure he never did. Probably he said to Stenson, 'as you're bound for Ogâ's camp, just you look in at the shack and tell them I'm here all right'--do you see, Da? He may be lamed up too much to take the trail for a few days, but I believe that's about the length of it! He only sent us the news. I sort of feel that in my mind."
"But what----"
"I'm coming to that," Nell checked him. "Here, put this against the partition, it's warmer than the outside wall. I don't believe they'll freeze so, Da, the worst of the winter is done." She rested a minute, hands on hips, looking round at her labours. Then she took up the tale of her belief in a much lower voice as though she were afraid of being overheard.
"You know about all that money Dad has been saving up to make you into a real good engineer, don't you, Da? Well, it's hidden in this shack and no one knows where it is but Dad and me. It's a good lot, because Dad just kept the fur money year after year, and we buy things from the traders--you know. I rather wanted him to take it all down to the Settlement, but he wouldn't leave us here before Mother went, nor since--so it just had to stay, you see what I mean. Well, these men must know that. They know Dad's been saving up, and they know the money is somewhere. Now I believe their plan is to get us and Robin out of the house, then they'll come and hunt over every inch and steal it."
"They'd get caught and----"
"They can lay it on the Chippewas--Ogâ's camp isn't so far off. He's been shifting round this district quite a while. Don't you see, Da, they can't do a thing if Dad is here--nor if you and I and Robin are here. It's a trick to keep us out of the shack."
Nell's cheeks were scarlet with the energy of her whispered story. When she reached the end of it they paled again.
"That's how I seem to see it," she concluded, "and I'm so certain that I mean to clear out with all that money and take it to Fort St. Louis. I want to get twenty-four hours' start of Jan Stenson. I rather hope he may think we've got so scared about Dad that we've gone ahead down east to Abbitibbi."
"What about your trail?" suggested David, fervent interest in every line of his face. He was beginning to understand the amazing plan and the full danger that was driving Nell into it.
"I believe the snow will help us. It will cover the trail."
"Great snakes! Now I see why you were looking out for snow! But, Nell, if we stay here till Dad comes can't we guard the money? It's a jolly big thing taking the trail to Fort Louis. Can't we stick it out here?"
Nell shook her head and her eyes wavered a little from her brother's eager gaze.
"I don't think they'd stop short of--well--real wickedness, Da, if they couldn't get the money by a trick. You must remember they've got Dad as a kind of hostage, and they could say, 'If you don't hand over that cash it'll be all the worse for him,' don't you see? Of course, it would be a risk for them, in the end. But men like that chance risks. They could get away up north--or to the States. There's room--why, thousands of miles every way. Ten to one they mightn't be caught."
David realised the position entirely. He was full of sense. Moreover, he had been Nell's companion ever since he could walk and talk, and her common sense was notable. He understood, but said no more, for what was the good of talking? their business now was to act.
"I know exactly what Dad would wish us to do," went on Nell, "clear off with that money. Look how he's worked to get it, because you must be properly educated if you are to get to the top in engineering. The only thing that bothered me for a bit was, if they'd do anything to him, supposing they understand we've gone off like that. I thought and thought, and then I saw they certainly would not, because what would be the sense of risking prison for nothing at all! They'll try and catch us right enough, and make off with the money."
"Oh, you think they'll come after us, do you?" said David, stopping short in his silent by-play of ragging the black dog.
"Rather!" agreed Nell firmly.
David's mouth widened into a grin.
"Do you hear that, Robin?" he said cheerfully. "Then the sooner we jolly well hop it the better, for we've a long, long way to Tipperary."
For hours the brother and sister worked, until indeed David was so sleepy that Nell forced him to undress and roll up in his bunk, where in one minute he was soundly unconscious. That was at one o'clock in the morning, when her neat arrangements were nearly completed.
They were to take the hand sled, to be pulled by Robin and David, and pushed by herself. As a rule, a man who pulls--when there is no dog team--passes a rope over his shoulder and holds the end in his hands, then he drags, bending forward. It is fearfully hard work and slow, too. Nell's inventive mind planned a kind of harness for David, who would go first, "breaking trail" with his snowshoes for the feet of the dog who would be nearest the sled. She would go behind the first part of the way, because of the track towards the stream. It would be necessary to hold back the little loaded sled with strength and judgment. Afterwards, if breaking trail proved too hard for David, she would pull and he should push at the back.
It will be understood that Nell intended to save the most valuable of the skins as well as the money. Fortunately these were, as a rule, the smaller ones--marten, sable, mink, and beaver. She made close packages of these pelts and fastened them on the sled, together with a frying-pan, a billy-can for making tea, a small, sharp axe, and their two sleeping bags, double skins with the fur inwards. For food she took as little as she thought safe--for a reason to be explained presently--and nothing cumbersome--for instance, no flour--only dried beans, bacon, tea, and the compressed meat, called pemmican, which is not very nice, but very nourishing, as it is pressed into little bags and a very little contains a lot of meat.
She took some tobacco as a precaution, supposing they should come across Indians and want to give a present, and she took flint and steel as well as matches, in case the latter got damp by any accident.
Lastly she strapped in place her great treasure, a small Winchester repeating rifle that her father had given her and taught her to shoot with, and ammunition. She had told David she wasn't going to leave it behind to be possibly stolen, but her intention was to use it for the defence of that precious money if need be. Besides the little rifle, both she and David carried automatic pistols; long and careful practice had made them good shots--it is necessary to know how to protect oneself in a wild country.
As Nell sat by the stove making harness from strips of hide she thought a good deal about the money and how she was to hide it. Very little of it was gold. Nearly all was in dollar bills. She passed in review a dozen hiding-places, but dismissed one after another, finally deciding that the only safe place would be upon her own body. Of course, she realised that if she were caught that would be suspected, but they must be put somewhere and she could defend herself. There was one plan that kept on coming back into her mind. That was to hide the money in the log house. Leave it behind carefully concealed, and lead the hunters off on a false trail. She thought of all the places in which it could be put and could not help knowing that any place inside the log house would be bound to be discovered.
At the present time the money was laid in a recess under the floor, which was made of logs, more or less flattened on the top. The hunters could, if they wanted, try everyone of these boards in a fairly short time. They could search the berths, empty out the potato sacks--Nell sincerely hoped they wouldn't because of the potatoes! The only real hiding-place would be a hole in the ground outside the house, but how could she do that when the ground was covered with snow? You can't put back snow without leaving traces of your work, and besides the ground was hard as wood.
The more she went over these things in her mind, the more definitely she saw that she must carry the money.
"They'll come and find we are gone," murmured Nell, ticking off the events with one finger on the spread out fingers of her other hand, "or he will, anyway. He'll think I'm scared about Dad and have gone on ahead--I'll fasten up a paper saying, 'Gone on,' that'll be true, anyway." Her mouth twisted into a smile. "I'll fasten up the paper on the door, outside. Then, he'll break it open most likely, and hunt over every inch of the place. Then, he'll fix up that I've got the money on me. Then, he'll sprint off to Abbitibbi and get there in one day. Then, he'll find we never came and both of them will make out to follow. Two men travelling light can go very fast. They'll just carry a pack--but they'll come back here to get on to our trail like enough, sure to."
She had used up all her fingers, and the busy hands lay in her lap as she thought it all over. There was a shadow over her keen eyes, for she could not hide from herself that the chance was rather a poor one. Indeed, were it not for the two days and more of start there would not be much chance at all.
Two trappers, the hardiest, toughest men on the Continent, used to miles of travel at great speed, travelling light, and following after a big fortune in dollar bills to be had for the taking, were bound to overtake herself and David and the sled! They would not go half as fast, and they must rest--for David's sake. After all, he was only twelve, and no boy of twelve, however strong, can outlast a tough man in his prime.
It was the start she was counting on, and the fact that the men would make so sure of catching them that they might not put out full effort. These trappers would do the distance in four days, going fast--at least, they often did when in haste--while she and David would take eight days. It was not a cheering calculation, but--she was looking at chances, as has been said before. Possibly snow, and a lost trail. Lastly, the farther they two went the more likely would they be to hap on "folk." On the Moose River there were many locations. Life would be stirring. She might strike friends and human dwellings.
Certainly, then, she must carry the money.
CHAPTER IV
THE HOWL OF THE WOLF
Presently Nell stood up and stretched, yawning a little, for she was sleepy. She looked round on her work and knew that all was completed except--the one thing. By a sort of instinct she stood quite still listening. There was no sound, but the crackle of wood in the stove and the sighing of wind round the house. She was glad of that crackling, it had a friendly feeling.
Having satisfied herself that all was safe, and the big bolts shot home into the staples, she took down a pick that they often used for breaking the hard ground, and then dragged back the big black bearskin spread on the floor by the stove. Just as it was rolled up she started nervously--someone moving! She had forgotten Robin, who had followed David into the small room at the end, and now--perhaps hearing strange movements on her part--came back to see what was happening. He walked across in a dignified manner, sat down on his haunches at the edge of the nearest rug, and then, turning his head slowly, gazed at the door.
Poor Nell, rather burdened by the weight of these events, felt a glow of affection towards the wise dog. She had not remembered him oddly enough for quite a long while, except as a little horse for the sled. Now as she looked over at him she knew she had a partner of value. The job seemed much less formidable, and she fixed the sharp point of the pick between the floor boards with a much lighter heart. She knew exactly where the place was, her father had shown her the secret of the hiding-place, one piece fitting over another so neatly and the rough bark hiding joins. A person who did not know would have to get the whole line up on the chance of finding one loose one.
There was the money, tied up in packets and stowed in two bags made of soft deerskin. Nell took it out, and heartily wished there was less of it! It was not heavy, of course, because it was paper. Also, from time to time her father had changed a parcel of small bills for one larger one, so there was not nearly as much as might have been supposed to represent so many years' savings.
Before going to work on the hiding part of the business, the girl put back the log, knocked it firmly into place and put the bearskin over it. Then she gathered up the two bags, and stood holding them thoughtfully as her fingers ran over the bulk and shape of the paper.
At that moment her attention was drawn to Robin by his action. He moved slowly over to the door, and with drooping head blew sniffing breath along the lower part of it. He made no sound, but the hackles on his neck rose stiffly, and the snow squeezing in under the door was blown out by his breath.
Then, from the forest came the far-off howl of a husky dog--or a wolf.
Nell knew that the huskies in an Indian camp will howl in the night for hours. All of them together, too. The most mournful and tragic sound, though they are not unhappy. In the very coldest weather they will bury themselves in the snow--especially when they are on the Long Trail--bury themselves entirely and so sleep warm. But in the camps they will wander round about and in and out, fighting with each other and howling in chorus as their ancestors the wolves must have done in far-away days when all this great snow country was wild as the Barren Lands up in the north near the Circle.
Nell listened, startled. Why should a husky dog be away out there by itself? It was so unlikely that she settled this must be a lone wolf. But why did it howl? They seldom did that unless they were in full cry, a pack of them on the track of a deer. Also wolves were not very plentiful about this part; though, of course, they might come when driven by hunger--ravenous, and savage.
"Well, it doesn't matter," thought the girl, and she spoke to Robin gently. "Only a wolf, old man. He won't interfere with us."
Even as she stopped speaking, the wolf howled again. This time it was nearer. Robin scratched at the foot of the door and snuffed again heavily, but he did not growl. That was reassuring, because Nell knew he would have growled had it been an enemy--but why didn't he growl at a wolf? That seemed odd. Wolf or husky would have been equally objectionable to Robin.
These thoughts flashed through the girl's mind, the while she pushed the leather bags under the package of pelts, looked to the priming of her little weapon, and pulled the hood of her parka up to cover her head and face. Not only for protection from cold did she do this, but for disguise also in a way, because, as she was dressed like a man in leather breeches with the fur inwards and leather moccasins--or leggings with boots to them--being so tall and strong she would at once be mistaken for a man when the parka tails fell round her face.
All this took but a couple of minutes; Nell always moved quickly. Then she grasped the bolt, pushing Robin aside with her foot and talking to him in a low voice.
"We must have a look, eh, boy?" she said. And at that instant the dreary howl came from the back of the log house, close where the wood was thickest and the hill rose steeply.
"Queer," said Nell to the dog, "there's something more in this than meets the eye--for the matter of that, it doesn't meet the eye at all, does it, Robin? Hope it won't wake Da; he'll want to come out if he hears."
But David slept; he was tired.
The girl opened the door and slipped out into the snow. She held Robin by the collar till such time as it might be necessary to let him go, and together they went to the end of the shack.
No one to be seen. No sound but the wind in the dry boughs above. Nell listened intently, then she turned her head and looked back towards the door; after all, it was open and she did not like to go on round the house. Robin must go, she would stop this side.
As her hand loosed from his neck, the big dog bayed once, a deep note, and disappeared into the wood. Nell went back towards the door her ears alert as any wild thing of the woods. Also her eyes! In spite of the darkness, which was thick and starless, the snow made a paler background. On that it seemed to Nell that she saw a moving shadow close to the house. Not tall. Rather close to the ground. She sprang forward swiftly, but the shadow was quicker; she saw it reach the door and slip inside.
The girl was not frightened, but she checked speed and approached the door with extra caution. She could not be sure whether this weird shadow was an animal or a human being. In the latter case the bolt might be shot and herself shut out with David and the treasure within! That would be awkward. She was waiting for Robin, knowing that he would follow that shadow with unerring certainty.
Sure enough, as she crept up to the unclosed door from her side, the black shape of the big dog flashed into view from the other. He had gone round the house with his muzzle to the ground on the trail of the shadow. Straight into the doorway he went before Nell could stop him. With a spring she followed instantly.
There was some light within, because the glow from the stove was diffused, and a candle--Nell made them herself out of deers' fat with a cotton wick--was set on the table as she left it. By this mild radiance she saw, standing on the bearskin before the fire, a curious figure. At least, it would have been curious to a town-dweller, and wild, too.
It was an Indian boy, slim, and active as a goat, complete as one of the Braves--as the men are called--from the feathers in his parka to the beads on his moccasins. He took no notice of Robin--it would have been beneath the dignity of boy or man to show trace of fear of anything--enemy, pain, or danger. But when he saw Nell come in swiftly after the dog, he flung out his right hand straight before him, with the palm towards her. Nell instantly did the same thing. This was a signal of peace and friendship from him, and accepted by her.
Seeing it was friendliness, then, Nell shut the door, fastened it and then turned to this strange intruder. Robin had seated himself on his haunches in his own place and was looking gravely at the two of them as though asking, "What next?"
Nell knew enough of the Chippewa tongue to make herself understood, and the boy, of course, had caught some English from the trappers, but she knew also that it was not etiquette to ask questions of an Indian, however odd the circumstances, so she began by offering him tea and food.
"My brother's feet are weary," she said, "and his throat is dry, for he has come a long way in the dark. Let him sit down by the fire, and there will be peace and friendship in this lodge."
The boy, who was perhaps a little younger than David, bore himself with the curious reserve and caution of a full-grown man of his tribe. He sat down on the bearskin and watched her with the bead-like eyes of a squirrel--or a musk rat. There was no malice in the eyes, only intense curiosity, which must, of course, be hidden, by all rules and habits of Indian "bucks."
Women may be inquisitive, or surprised, but men must not be. Nothing must upset their dignity.
He ate the fried meat and drank the tea that she offered him, and Nell had a distinct impression that he was hungry. When he had finished he set his plate on the floor by his side and spoke in his own language, and always in the rather poetical phrasing of his people.
"The meat is good and the heart of the Lizard is now warm."
"I am glad," said Nell, "the night is long and dark, my brother the Lizard journeyed a long way."
"That is so--but the Lizard is strong, and he has no fear in the dark, because he is the son of Ogâ (the Pickerel). He runs like Kee-way-din, the North Wind, to carry a message to the tall white sister with hair that flames."
Nell tried not to show too much anxiety, but she realised that here was something really important.
"I am glad," she said, "that the heart of my brother the Lizard is right towards me. Ogâ is a great chief, and one day his son will be as tall as the pine trees, and as strong as the grey bear of the Rocky Mountains."
The jet black eyes of the boy glittered with approval of this sentiment. He sat up rigidly, expanding his chest with pride, then he answered:
"The Lizard has a sister and her name is Shines-in-the-Night; when the sun was warm and the chickadee danced in the woods, the tall white sister came to the camp of Ogâ. She looked upon Shines-in-the-Night with the eyes of kindness and gave to her a necklace of blue beads, very beautiful and precious. From that time the heart of Shines-in-the-Night was warm--whichever way she looked she saw only the tall white sister with hair that flames."
Nell nodded, remembering easily the Indian girl with a paler skin than the others, to whom she had talked when she went with her father to buy some skins the previous spring. Also she remembered the blue beads which she had been wearing herself at the time.
"Shines-in-the-Night spoke to the Lizard, and said, 'Go to the lodge of my sister and tell her that the trapper from Abbitibbi, with little eyes that open only half-way, has a forked tongue. His words are not true, and his heart is black.'"
"Shines-in-the-Night is very wise," said Nell in a low voice, "I know."
The Lizard suddenly stood up on his feet.
"Let the tall white sister take the trail," he said, watching Nell with twinkling eyes, "then, when Little Eyes comes to the white man's lodge, there will be none to answer. My white sister will be gone, swift as Ah-tek (the caribou), and Moose-wa (the moose)."
A sudden presentiment overwhelmed the girl.
"When will the man with a forked tongue come from the camp of Ogâ?" she asked.
"He will come to-day--this day that is now awake."
CHAPTER V
"LITTLE EYES HAS A FORKED TONGUE"
In the stillness that followed this answer to her question Nell made a wild calculation in her head. To-day! The boy must mean to-morrow. She said so, eagerly.
"Little Eyes has a forked tongue," repeated the Lizard, with emphasis. "He says one thing, but his heart is false. He spoke to my father, the Pickerel, and he said, 'Take money for these pelts, and have all ready at the day dawn. Give me food also, for I go on the home trail in the morning.' Then Shines-in-the-Night said to me, 'Run with the feet of Ah-tek to the white man's lodge and carry this word from me to the tall white sister, for the heart of Little Eyes is not good towards her.'"
"How does she know?" questioned Nell.
The Lizard made a gesture with his expressive brown hands.
"It is clear to Shines-in-the-Night, as the face of the Forest, or the tune of the River," he said.
"Well," said the girl, with a sort of desperate firmness, "what must be, must be then. We will go as soon as the day breaks. I will wake my brother, we will eat and go."
"That is well," agreed the Lizard evidently satisfied, "the snow will hide the trail, and the great black ninnymoosh (dog) will be your friend." He looked at Robin with grave approval. There was evidently a sympathy between them, though the hound was not familiar.
Nell went over to a locker in which were kept all sorts of small articles and loose oddments, and extracted therefrom a strong clasp knife. It was a good knife, but, more important still, it was a showy knife. It possessed three blades of different sizes, a corkscrew, and a spike, useful for making holes or as a lever, for it was strong. She gave it to the boy, being very careful indeed not to suggest that she was offering payment.
"Will my brother the Lizard take this from my hand, in token that my heart is very good towards him? My brother will some day be a great chief and these little knives shall help him to skin Mak-wa (the bear), after the gun has sent him into the Afterland."
The boy's eyes shone as he took this unexpected treasure. It was a prize of immense value to him, and one that would make him the envy of every other boy for years. Nell was turning over in her mind what on earth she could send to Shines-in-the-Night--for she owed the girl a great deal--her action had been so clever and so swift, founded as it was almost entirely on instinct. She did not possess the things worn by other girls of her age; where no shops are people do not accumulate small matters of dress.
Swiftly she went to her room and opened a box. Turning over her few things she came upon a Christmas card shaped like a little book with a scented sachet inside. Just a very small cushion of satin with a bunch of mignonette painted on it, and a sweet smell of the same flower. On the outside of the cover was a picture of a pretty cottage and holly trees glittering with snow. It was a Christmas card sent to Nell by relations in a far-away land. She was fond of it, but she understood well what it would mean to the Chippewa girl, so she took it to the boy and presented it in a ceremonious manner, a special gift from herself to Shines-in-the-Night.
The Lizard was greatly impressed. Of course, he tried to conceal his wonder and admiration, because a brave must never be surprised. He hid it in his leather shirt, then he went, with startling swiftness and perfectly noiseless, and the girl found herself alone again faced by the necessity of instant flight.
It was three o'clock in the morning, and she wanted to be off in the grey of daybreak.
There was no time to make a careful disposition of the "greenbacks," or dollar bills. She took a broad strip of a pelt, cured soft as silk, tacked the two packets to it with strong stitches of her needle and thread, and fastened it round her waist under her leather shirt. It was the only way she could think of doing it quickly. Later she might invent some new plan. But it all depended on events.
Then she woke David, who grunted rather discontentedly, and then sat up in his blankets.
"What's the good of getting up in the middle of the night," he said; "we've done all the things, and we aren't going till to-morrow."
"We are going to-day, in about half an hour," Nell told him; "something has happened."
"I say--what, what's happened?" David scrubbed his face with both hands to wake himself, he was still rather unbelieving.
"I'll tell you while we are having breakfast," said Nell. "It's very queer and it isn't nice! Things have been happening all night, and now it's just about daybreak."
"I say!" exclaimed the boy again, "then you haven't been to sleep! What a shame!"
"Don't think I could have gone to sleep anyhow. I had such a horribly wideawake mind. Never mind, we'll sleep to-night--let's hope." She laughed and went away.
Less than an hour later the little cavalcade took the trail.
Nell left the house in order because she could not find it possible to leave dirt and confusion. She locked the door outside and put the big key in her pocket. Then she nailed a square of paper on the doorpost, using a stone to drive in the nail. On the paper was printed:
GONE ON. E.L. (for Ellen Lindsay).
"Will he believe that?" asked David, speaking in a whisper, for the grey, thick chill of the morning's dawn rather oppressed him, though the flight did not. He thought the whole thing a mighty spree.
"Not till he's broken open the door," said Nell dryly. "That is the time I'm counting on, you see? He'll break in and hunt every corner of the house for Dad's money. When he can't find it he'll think I've gone on to Dad, at their shack. I'm counting on that, too."
"Jolly lot of counting, and not much really certainty," commented David, making a face. "How's he going to account for breaking the door open and turning the place upside down--I mean when Dad comes back?"
"Oh--he'll say the Chippewas must have done it. It's pretty simple, because Indians do break into shacks sometimes. That'll do for a story if nothing comes of his plan--I mean if he doesn't get hold of the money, anyhow. But you must remember he's laying out to lift that money off us somehow, and if he gets it they'll just vamoose"--by which she meant--"make themselves scarce"--"they won't stop to make explanations."
"Well," said David as he strapped on his snowshoes, "they won't get it."
"No," agreed Nell, "they won't. But they'll make a good try, because when people begin on a nasty job they get kind of involved and have to go on."
"Best thing is not to begin," said her brother in rather a sententious voice.
Nell showed her pretty teeth in a silent laugh.
"Come on," she whispered, as she fastened the harness on her odd steeds. "Off we go, Da, and God bless us all--Dad as well."
The fall of the ground was steepish, but the track was fairly beaten out, because winter and summer it was a path to the stream below. The distance was hardly more than half a mile, and in summer Nell went up and down often for water. In winter they went up and down almost as often for fish, as they had got an ice-hole trap in the stream, which was deepish, though not very wide so early in its course, its source being way up in the mountains at the back of the log house.
Nell's plan was quite definite. She meant to get on the "River" and follow its course to the lake--about thirty miles, perhaps more--cross the lake, get on to the ever-widening river and go on at top speed till their river joined up with the Moose, when they might hope to hit on human habitations.
It was a reasonable plan, but there was one very serious danger--the possibility that "the bottom might fall out of the trail," as the language of the northlands puts it. In other words, that the ice might break and go down-stream--one moving mass, hundreds of miles in length, cracking, heaving, and piling up on itself. That happened every spring. The farther up north you were the later it took place, of course. A few days of sunshine, a milder feel in the wind, and the springs in the hills would begin to trickle into the streams, the streams into the rivers, and up would rise the bursting ice on the swollen water.
Now that was what Nell was dreading most of all. A thaw would make the snow clog, too; there was extra effort when the trail was heavy. As they darted down the hill she sniffed the air like a dog; the snowflakes drifting against her face were rather large and wettish, not like the biting ice powder that drove along in the winter.
A thaw was coming, but she would do this journey before it made the river road impassable.
Down and down they went, Nell hanging back her whole weight to prevent the sled slipping on to Robin's heels. David kept to the outside for the time, giving a hand to steady the load at the worst places. There was nothing top heavy or slack about the packing of the sled. They had been trained to do it to perfection--canvas cover lashed down at the sides as neatly as the mainsail cover of a well-kept yacht.
In ten minutes they had reached the stream and stood firm upon the snow-covered ice. The real journey was beginning.
They stood still to take breath after the scramble of that quick descent. Nell looked back at the track. It was covered already with snow. She felt a thrill of thankfulness that her hope was fulfilled. The marks of the sled runners were not quite gone in places--though they would be soon--but the trail of the dog's feet, and the digs made by the heel of the snowshoes when the weight was thrown back so hard, were already gone. The hard packing of the snow had helped them, and now came fresh snow and blotted out the trail.
On either side of them the banks rose fairly steep, and woods covered the banks. All the world was still and grey, and under the spruce firs the snow carpet lay smooth and untrodden-- dead white with the black boles rising from it.
Their road lay straight ahead by the frozen stream, and the one thing that mattered was haste.
David now took his place as leader. Robin trotted behind him in the traces, muzzle to the ground as he always ran, and Nell pushed at the back. Both she and David wore the round-toed snowshoes that most of the Indians use--not the very long shape like a boat, worn by the plainsmen, and the men who go on the long trail over the vast snow expanses in the far north.
These shoes are made of the green wood of the tamarack, steamed to make it pliable--then the loop can be bowed into the shape of the snowshoe racket. This is bound in place by strips of caribou skin rawhide soaked in warm water, which also binds the ends together. When this is done the shoe is hung up to dry slowly, afterwards holes are made with the red-hot cleaning rod of a rifle which is used for boring, then webbing of caribou rawhide shrinks when it is wet and thus tightens up the shoe when other things would stretch.
Both Nell and David were used to this form of travelling and had long ceased to get the cramps and aches that come to people at the beginning.
Silent as the falling snow down the river path between the deathly stillness of the woods they flew along.
The journey had begun in earnest.
CHAPTER VI
GREEN EYES IN THE DARKNESS
So their flight continued all day, with brief rests for "changing horses," as it were. About twelve o'clock they were very hungry, and Nell decreed a short spell for dinner. They seemed to have the whole world to themselves. There was more brushwood and undergrowth in the woods now, not only fir trees, but many other sorts. More hiding ground for wild animals, too--but that was not a serious danger till the night should make them bold.
Nell unstrapped the little axe and looked about for a dead sapling of a birch tree; when she found it she bent it over double and split the bend with a sharp blow of the axe. Inside was white pith dry as powder; with this and dead sticks they made a small, round, red-hot fire, as the Indians do, first scraping a place bare on the edge of the bank where it was reasonably flat. Then they boiled tea in the billy-can, weak, but hot, putting a little molasses sugar into it to take off the bitterness. Some of this they gave to Robin when it was cooler--he was very fond of tea. For food they ate some pemmican and a bit of Nell's bread. They had brought what they could carry--which was not much, of course--then they would rely chiefly on soaked beans.
"We'll have bacon for supper," said Nell in a comforting voice. It went to her heart, rather, to see David eating the dried meat without a word of complaint; it was not very tempting, because, though nourishing, it was rather tasteless.
Robin had dried fish. That is the main food of dogs in the winter. Of course, when a deer is shot, or rabbits and hares are trapped--or even a fox--they get meat, but you cannot depend on it in the snow time: these creatures get scarce, because the hunting animals destroy them.
Next time they camped it was late afternoon, when the dusk was beginning to shadow the silent forest. They were very tired. Not so tired as an inexperienced pair would have been, but certainly very tired and stiff--the muscles of the legs suffered from these long hours of snowshoe work. But neither of them said a word. David would not have admitted it for the world, and Nell was too thankful for the successful day's journey to complain about aches.
The night camp was a more serious affair than the "dinner" one. First they scraped out a wide place on the bank just below a high pitch of rock. There was a good deal of rock about in places which would mean rapids and waterfalls presently, all sorts of inconveniences to stop the pace of their journey. But in this position they were glad of it, because it seemed to wall them off from the lonely woods, also it made a shelter from the chill wind that moaned through the spaces.
Then they gathered dead wood. At least, David did that while Nell unlashed the load and got out the sleeping bags, the bacon and frying-pan, and big, thick stockings to change into in case their feet were damp--which always was the case, and might mean frost-bite or, at least, serious chill, unless attended to.
They regularly walled themselves in from the forest. On one side was the rock wall, on the other the sled turned up on its side, and so making rather a good barrier in between the snow scraped up into a high fence, while the fourth side was open to the river--their icy, snow-covered road. Not every part of the banks was convertible in this practical way. You could go for long stretches and pass only masses of brushwood and rocks overhanging the course of the stream, but this place Nell's careful eye singled out as just right for a night camp.
First, after this barricading, came the fire and collection of a fine heap of dead wood for the night. Then supper--fried bacon, bread, and tea; then the changing of foot-gear, and finally the two crawled into their fur-lined bags, feet foremost, and drew them up over their heads. That is the only way to keep warm, because otherwise the cold air is bound to creep in somewhere. If you cover your head as well, you may feel a bit stuffy, but you are not cold.
Robin, who had no bushy tail to curl round over his nose and toes as the husky dogs do, came and made his bed between their two bags. And then there was silence in the strange, lonely camp, miles away from a human habitation. The boughs overhead and the over-reaching rock protected them from falling snow, but every now and then a flake sizzled on to the fire. The light of the burning wood cast a pink glow on the snow wall of their barrier, and with all the loneliness and cold there was a sense of comfort and even security.
Nell had arranged the pile of fresh wood close to her head so as to be within reach for replenishing the fire. For a time she could not sleep--in spite of the terribly long day just passed and the sleepless night of work before that. She could not throw off the feeling of responsibility, or that liveliness of mind that made her obliged to keep on following the doings of Jan Stenson in her imagination. Had they escaped him or would he follow?
Twice she rose on her elbow and reached out of her bag to throw handfuls of wood on the fire, both times Robin raised his head to watch her doings, and she saw the shine of the flame light on his deep-set eyes. David was sound asleep, jerking a little and making grunts and distressful noises, as his hardworked muscles reminded him of the day's labour.
Then the girl fell asleep, too, deeply asleep; and the camp was quite still but for the faint crackle of wood as the fire died down.
It was about midnight when Nell was roused by a low growling from the hound. It must have gone on for some time before the girl realised it, because she was aware of it in her dreams after a fashion. But she was so deeply asleep that waking herself was like coming up out of a well, by slow stages.
Then she put her nose cautiously out of her furry nest and gazed round. It was dark, except for the faint paleness of the snow, for of course the rock barricade made a blackness, and the trees were fairly thick above. Of the fire remained only a scatter of red sparks and white ashes.
Nell raised herself to a sitting posture, bag and all, and stayed absolutely quiet, looking about to realise what the trouble was, if any. She did not attempt to put wood on the fire even. She hardly breathed.
From somewhere close, but not on the ground, came a very slight crack, the crack of dead wood. This was nothing, because the weight of snow would break a twig any time, apart from the movings of grey squirrels, chipmunks or other furry things that made shelters in the hollows of trunks. She was not afraid. Indeed, she firmly believed that there was only one event that could shake her peace of mind seriously, and that was the knowledge that the trapper was really on their trail.
She was just going to lie down again when something made her look up at the top of the rock that shielded them on the side they had made their beds. It might have been ten or twelve feet--hardly more--and perpendicular, but a broken surface mostly grown over with the coarse grey tinted moss that deer eat in winter.
At the top, directly above the sleeping-place, shone two pale green lights. They were close together, and terribly bright and evil. They glared out of pitch darkness on the rock top, and Nell felt a shock as she met fully the utter malevolence of the stare. Like the eyes in a picture that seem to follow the person who looks at them, these eyes appeared to meet Nell's horrified gaze, but a moment after she realised that they were most likely watching something else. Then she saw the something else, and that startled her almost as much as the eyes.
Attracted perhaps by the smell of food and the warmth of the glowing embers, another creature of the forest was peering cautiously round the end of the upturned sled. Probably it had been creeping about the silent camp for some time, and hearing no sound ventured to inspect farther.
When Nell had moved to sit up, she had done so with the ease and swift silence of any other woodland dweller. Now she remained as still as sleeping David, except that she shifted one hand very, very gently on to Robin's head--as a check; by the twitch of his forehead she felt his eyes watching. So they stayed, frozen as it were, while the searcher came round the end of the sled and stood still.
It looked very big against the snow, but the girl knew how to allow for the dimness and the uncertain jumps of light from the wood sparks. She was not sure if it was an opossum, a fox, or a big wild cat. Either of the two last would be likely to be hunting at night. Then she saw as it drew nearer that it was carrying some animal in its jaws. It had been hunting in the river bank close by and caught a rabbit, or perhaps a musk-rat, and the warmth had attracted it into the circle of the little camp. It was a cat. A wild cat, of course, one of the great strong specimens that the trappers called catamounts, and quite possibly mate to the one that had bitten Andrew Lindsay. It carried its prey with head held rather high, as a household cat carries a mouse, and it stepped with the same wonderfully cautious delicacy, the big bushy tail drooping. Body close to the ground it crawled forward, and presently crouched, growling over its catch, as a cat growls.
Robin's growl had ceased when Nell touched him. He simply watched in silence, having no desire at all to tackle a wild cat in fair fight! Unless he disabled the enemy at the first onslaught he would get the worst of the battle most likely, and in any case might lose his sight and be torn in rags. He knew all about wild cats and left them, and a few other unpleasant forest people, severely alone.
The girl was not afraid, for she had always heard that a wild cat will never attack first unless it is shut into a confined space or is caught in a trap. Out in the woods it will run--as a rule.
Crouching down, it began to eat the rabbit, stopping every second and staring round with ferocious menace for any enemy. Then it saw the green eyes on the top of the rock, and shrank into itself with a sort of spitting shriek. Robin shifted his position and pressed close to his mistress--the shriek was horrible, undoubtedly.
Nell became uneasy. She did not like those terrible eyes on the rock top, but reasoned in her own mind that the other animal--whatever it was--was interested in the catamount, and neither would interfere with her. Nevertheless, her hand stole to her pistol pocket and she got out the weapon, to be ready.
Now the beast on the rock was hungry, as forest creatures mostly are in the winter. It had been attracted to the camp by the smell of bacon, and probably been sitting up there for hours with the intent patience of a wild thing. The appearance of the cat had changed the attraction. Here was a rabbit, in plain view, and the sight of the other beast eating was too great a provocation.
The pale green eyes seemed to send out flames of rage, and a snarl came from the rock top that was every bit as fiendish as the cat's shriek.
Nell knew pretty well that she had only to throw a handful of sticks on to the smouldering embers to drive both wild beasts into hiding. But with curiosity was mixed a good deal of excitement. She wanted to see what they would do. They were taken up with one another, anyhow, and when you live in the woods, the doings of the creatures become as interesting as very exciting books. Never had it come her way to see a catamount defend its supper--or early breakfast--from a lynx; she fully believed the watcher on the rock top to be that, most savage, perhaps, of all the cat tribe.
CHAPTER VII
A MIDNIGHT BATTLE
For perhaps three minutes the two creatures spat and screamed at each other. David awakened, uncovered his face cautiously and gazed about with interest. Then he murmured:
"I say, Nell, just look!"
"I know," her voice was equally low pitched.
"What'll they do?"
"Oh, run away. The cat won't fight the lynx."
"Is it a lynx? Snakes, what a row! I say, Nell, that cat yells like a slate pencil with a bit of wire in it screaming down a slate. Doesn't it make your teeth feel gritty?" he giggled.
"Hush," warned Nell.
"They don't hear, they are jolly busy. Oh, I say!"
This last "I say" was caused by a new movement on the part of the lynx. It was very hungry, and had no intention of letting that rabbit be eaten by a mere wild cat if anything could be gained by interfering! Evidently it ran or jumped from the rock top to the snow barrier, for the two malevolent green eyes suddenly glared palely from the bank. Then Nell saw the dark crouching shape run round on to the upturned sled. She was sure now it was a lynx, she could distinguish the heavy, powerful hind legs and the bob tail, then in a moment, right across the faint glow of the fire, the flat, wicked face with the tufted ears laid back.
But the great wild cat held on to the rabbit. There was no time to eat, but it would not run, as, of course, the lynx expected. They are terrible creatures and will fight almost anything that does fight in the forest. Their teeth, and the knife-like talons on their powerful hind legs make them dangerous everywhere. Nell wished the cat would run and be done with it all. She put out her hand to the wood pile, meaning to throw some sticks on the fire that glowed dully between them and these dangerous neighbours, when David saw what she intended and urged her not to.
"Don't, Nell, it'll send them off with one jump. Do let's see what they'll do!"
"But, Da----"
"Oh, I know they are awful brutes, but we've never had a chance of seeing a catamount stand up to a lynx. Do wait!"
Nell gave in. All the same, she was not sure it was wise, and she kept a bunch of sticks in her hand ready to beat on the smoulder of the fire with them and so drive about a shower of sparks, supposing the fighters became too unpleasant.
Robin was uneasy, but he remained as before, just watchful. Both Nell and David knew that he would fight a wolf, but not a lynx--not if he could possibly get out of it, anyway.
The wild cat was drawn up into a hoop, looking like a picture of a huge witch cat. It was a picture, too, of rage indescribable, one paw holding down the rabbit, one lifted, as it screeched at the crouching lynx on the top of the sled. Every tooth in its stretched, open mouth was bare, and its ears lay flat and close. The face of the lynx was like a wicked mask in front of its hunched-up body.
Then, in a second the suspense was over, and the noise that followed was like nothing Nell had ever heard in all her years of forest life. The silence of the woods seemed to be split and shaken by the hideous yowls and screeches of the furious beasts as they struggled for a mastery. Most people have heard two cats fight. If that can be imagined at least twenty times worse, and in the profound stillness of winter night in a snow-laden forest, that is what the girl and boy heard.
The bodies of the two wild creatures rolled, bounded, and spun in one raging ball. No one could have told which was which.
David scrambled to his feet, bag and all, and leaned against the rock watching, too intent to notice Nell's actions. She did what she had wanted to do in the first place, threw a handful of dried sticks on the twinkling red ashes. Amongst the sticks were some dead birch saplings. These burst into a flame almost on the instant, and a rush of crackling light streamed up into the air, making the tree boles look pink, like the rosy tinted snow.
In that same instant Nell saw that the cat was uppermost, with teeth fastened in the face of the lynx. He would not give way, but the lynx was killing him by terrible strokes of those razor-like claws which were lashing at the soft underpart of the catamount's body.
This she saw in a sort of instantaneous vision. Then the leaping flame did its work. With one spasmodic movement the mad beasts fell apart. The lynx ran away, crouching close to the snow, with a curious hunched movement of his strong hind legs, and the great cat disappeared in two bounds, leaving a trail of dark stains on the snow. He was shockingly hurt.
"Oh, I say, why did you, Nell?" cried David.
"I wasn't going to have the catamount killed," said his sister firmly. "I loathe lynxes. Their faces are as wicked as demons. I believe they are demons."
"Cats are pretty well as bad. It was a catamount that bit Dad, Stenson said."
"It was in a trap," Nell excused the cat briskly. "Of course they're savage, they are wild animals, but I didn't want that lynx to triumph. Who got the rabbit? It was the cat's own rabbit."
"Poor rabbit," said David.
Then they both laughed. It was such a very mad sort of scene, as Nell said.