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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/44387-0.txt b/44387-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9220b8e --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7403 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44387 *** + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +_WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS_ + +_The Red Feathers_ _$1.50_ +_Brothers of Peril_ _1.50_ +_Hemming the Adventurer_ _1.50_ + + +_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_ _New England Building, Boston, Mass._ + + +[Illustration: "A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS +WILDERNESS"] + + + + +Brothers of Peril + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + +By + +Theodore Roberts +_Author of_ "Hemming, the Adventurer" + +_Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards + +[Illustration: Logo] + +_Boston_ L. C. Page & Company _Mdccccv_ + + +_Copyright, 1905_ +BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY +(INCORPORATED) + +_All rights reserved_ + +Published June, 1905 +Second Impression, March, 1908 + +_COLONIAL PRESS +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U.S.A._ + + + + +Preface + + +During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of +Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings, +selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain, +and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular +battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought +together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory, +was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire--and let +fame go hang! + +The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde +Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. +Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the +aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the +settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was +the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place +remain for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates, +the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships +with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of +founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God, +England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or cripple +the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were +powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of +the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble +fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow +at the inscrutable wilderness. + +The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were +the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first +vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a +greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It +was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to +each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped +into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of +the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of +the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion, +and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless to say, it was +a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers. + +In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the +peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable +signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the +loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the +fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered +priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we +read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the +natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring +shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England, +Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly +treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is +recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in +fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of +his motley captivity. + +Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in +1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a +kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he +says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their +hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow." + +As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions. +An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that +her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that +time--something over a hundred years ago--the race numbered between one +and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water +to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian +Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had +reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a +lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou. +One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant +of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the +interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first +day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the +world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of +one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained +fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago. + +To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears +stories of grassy circles beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams +once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the +turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is +forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded. + +In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in +the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short +years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren, +shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no +mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of +fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than +the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and +women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them +to-day. + +T. R. + +_November, 1904._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + I. A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME 1 + + II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER 9 + + III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 16 + + IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 24 + + V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR 34 + + VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER 43 + + VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE 56 + + VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA 65 + + IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION 73 + + X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX 83 + + XI. THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER 94 + + XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION 104 + + XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE 116 + + XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING 126 + + XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE 133 + + XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF 140 + + XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH 148 + + XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS 156 + + XIX. TWO OF A KIND 164 + + XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER 174 + + XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN 183 + + XXII. BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS 190 + + XXIII. BETROTHED 200 + + XXIV. A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN 207 + + XXV. FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT 217 + + XXVI. PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST 227 + + XXVII. A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS 233 + +XXVIII. THE RUNNING OF THE ICE 241 + + XXIX. WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY + RECEIVES A VISITOR 252 + + XXX. MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF 264 + + XXXI. WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED 273 + + XXXII. THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS + BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED 279 + +XXXIII. IN THE MERRY CITY 287 + + XXXIV. PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, + AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA 294 + + XXXV. THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE 306 + + XXXVI. OVER THE SIDE 317 + +XXXVII. THE MOTHER 323 + + + + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME + + +The boy struck again with his flint knife, and again the great wolf tore +at his shoulder. The eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. +Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. The dark spruces stood +above them, with the first shadows of night in their branches; and the +western sky was stained red where the sun had been. Twice the wolf +dropped his antagonist's shoulder, in a vain attempt to grip the throat. +The boy, pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a dog, and +repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into the wolf's shaggy side. + +At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf lay stretched dead in +awful passiveness. His fangs gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws +and black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet wilderness from the +recesses of the half-shut eyelids. + +For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the fingers of his left hand +buried in the wolf's mane, and his right hand a blot of red against the +beast's side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went down to the +river and washed his mangled arm and shoulder in the cool water. The +shock of it cleared his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the +current to his middle, stooped to the racing surface, and drank +unstintingly. Strength flooded back to blood and muscle, and the slender +limbs regained their lightness. + +By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the paler background of the +eastern sky. A long finger-streak of red, low down on the hilltops, +still lightened the west. A purple band hung above it like a belt of +magic wampum--the war-belt of some mighty god. Above that, Night, the +silent hunter, set up the walls of his lodge of darkness. + +The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of the sky. He might read it, +knowingly enough, for the morrow's rain or frost; but beyond that he +gave it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set about the +skinning of it with his rude blade. He worked with skill and speed. Soon +head and pelt were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his arrows +and bow, he flung the prize across his shoulder and started along a +faint trail through the spruces. + +The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead away from the river by +hummock and hollow; and yet it cunningly held to the course of the +stream. Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed over in the +tree-tops. The voices of the rapids smote across the air with a deeper +note. As the boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, and +sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms silent as shadows faded away +from his path, and questioning heads were turned back over sinewy +shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf and they smelt the +man. They knew that there had been another violent death in the valley +of the River of Three Fires. + +After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, following a path which less +primitive eyes could not have found, the boy came out on a small meadow +bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wigwams, made of birch +poles, bark, and caribou hides, stood about the meadow. In front of each +wigwam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of much wood. The +meadow was almost an island, having the river on two sides and a shallow +lagoon cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of alder-grown +"bottom" by which one might cross dry-shod. The whole meadow, including +the alders and a clump of spruces, was not more than five acres in +extent. + +The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and threw the wolfskin +down before the fire. There he stood, straight and motionless, with an +air of vast achievement about him. Two women, who were broiling meat at +the fire, looked from the shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart +stripling. They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and +admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes appeared frightful enough +in the red firelight, even in death. + +"Ah! ah!" they cried, "what warrior has done this deed?" + +"Now give me my man-name," demanded the boy. + +The older of the two women, his mother, tried to tend his wounded arm; +but he shook her roughly away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. +Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of great names. A +stalwart man, the chief of the village, strode from the dark interior of +the nearest wigwam, and glanced from his son to the untidy mass of hair +and skin. His eyes gleamed at sight of his boy's torn arm and the white +teeth of the wolf. + +"Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the women. "Wolf Slayer," he +repeated; "let this be his man-name--Wolf Slayer." + +So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, at the age of fourteen +years, a warrior among his father's people. + +The inhabitants of that great island were all of one race. In history +they are known as Beothics. At the time of this tale they were divided +into two nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from one another, +breaking the old bond of blood. Each tribe was divided into numerous +villages. The island was shared pretty evenly between the nations. Soft +Hand was king of the Northerners. It was of one of his camps that the +father of Wolf Slayer was chief. + +Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond his generation. For more +than fifty years he had held the richest hunting-grounds in the island +against the enemy. His strength had been of both head and hand. Now he +was stiff with great age. Now his hair was gray and scanty, and +unadorned by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The snows of eighty +winters had drifted against the walls of his perishable but ever defiant +lodges, and the suns of eighty summers had faded the pigments of his +totem of the great Black Bear. Though he was slow of anger, and fair in +judgment, his people feared him as they feared no other. Though he was +gentle with the weak and young, and had honoured his parents in their +old age and loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest warrior +dared not sneer. + +The village of this mighty chief was situated at the head of Wind Lake. +On the night of Wolf Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson +arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three Fires. They +travelled in bark canoes and were accompanied by a dozen braves. The +grandson of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's age. He was +slight of figure and dark of skin. His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer +of strange things, and a maker of songs. He and Wolf Slayer sat together +by the fire. Wolf Slayer held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's +eyes, and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time Ouenwa listened +attentively, smiling and polite, as was his usual way with strangers. +But at last he grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to listen, +in peace, to the song of the river. How could he understand what the +rapids were saying with all this babbling of "knife" and "wolf" in his +ears? + +"All this wind," he said, "would kill a pack of wolves, or even the +black cave-devil himself." + +"There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf Slayer, glancing up at the +trees. + +"There is a mighty wind blowing about this fire," said Ouenwa, "and it +whistles altogether of a great warrior who slew a wolf." + +"At least that is not work for a dreamer," retorted the other, sullenly. +Ouenwa's answer was a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows of +the fire. + +At an early hour of the next morning the great chief's party started +up-stream in their canoes, on the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours +Soft Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's hundred questions. +He had grown somewhat moody in the last year. He gazed away to the +forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded not the high piping +of his dead son's child. His mind was busy with thoughts of the events +of the past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's voice with a +shake of the head. He recalled the sullen smouldering of that stalwart +chief's eyes. He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging craft +beside him. + +"I grow old," he murmured. "The voice of my power is breaking to its +last echo. My command over my people slips like a frozen thong of raw +leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the dull brain of him?" + +The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and warm. The mists drew +skyward and melted in the gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, +across the brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down-bent wings, +skimmed the pebbly shore. A kingfisher flashed his burnished feathers +and screamed his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead of the +voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of the great chief's approach. + +"Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the boy who killed the wolf," +said Ouenwa. + +The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin face was sombre with more +than the shadow of years. + +"Nay," he replied. "His is no empty cry. Beware of him, my son!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER + + +Montaw, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the head of a small bay. His +home was half-wigwam, half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered +with the hides of caribou and partly with a square of sail-cloth, which +had been given him by a Basque fisherman in exchange for six beaver +skins. The walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. Here and +there were signs of intercourse with the strangers out of the Eastern +sea,--an iron fishhook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished +copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was justly proud, for had he +not acquired them at risk of sudden extinction by the breath of the +clapping fire-stick? + +The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth he had been a hunter of +renown and a great traveller, and had sojourned long in the lodges of +the Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that people,--and she had +given him laughter in return for his devotion. Journeying back to his +own hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. At once all his +skill and bravery had been turned to less open ways than those of the +lover and warrior. In little more than a year's time he had driven the +tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even now as he sat before the door +of his lodge, he was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the +fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows he made of jasper, and +some of flint, and some of purple slate. Those of slate would break off +in the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's pets. + +One day a young man from the valley of the River of Three Fires brought +Montaw a string of fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For awhile +they talked together in the sunlight at the door of the lodge. + +"For the chase," said the old man, "I make the long shape of flint, +three fingers wide, and to this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an +arrow will hold in the side of the running deer, and may be plucked out +after death." + +"I have even seen it, father," replied the young man, in supercilious +tones; for he considered himself a mighty hunter. + +"For the battle," continued the arrow-maker, "I chip the flint and +shape the narrow splinters of slate. All three are good in their way if +the bow be strong--and the arm." + +The old craftsman made a song. It was rough as his arrow-heads. + + + "Arrows of gray and arrows of black + Soon shall be red. + What will the white moon say to the proud + Warriors, dead? + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + So, with the skill of my hands, I shape + Arrows of hate. + + "Fly, my little ones, straight and true, + Silent as sleep. + Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow, + What shall I reap? + + "Sorrow will come to their council-fires. + Weeping and fear + Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge, + Year after year. + + "When the moon rides on the purple hills, + Joyous of face, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the chase. + + "When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows + Like a red star, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the war. + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse + Battle and hate!" + + +One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking seaward, his trained +ears caught the sound of a faint call from the wooded hills behind. He +did not turn his head or change his position. But he held his breath, +the better to listen. Again came the cry, very weak and far away. + +"It is the voice of a woman," he said, and smiled grimly. + +Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the east faded into the +desolate gray of the sea. Black, like stalking shadows, stood the little +islands of the headlands. The last of the light died out like the heart +of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again came the cry, whispering +across the stillness. + +"It may be the voice of a child, lost in the woods," said the +arrow-maker. He rose from his seat and entered the lodge. He blew the +coals of his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the burnt ends +of faggots. Then he took in his hand another of his Eastern prizes--a +broad-bladed knife--and started across the tumbled rocks toward the edge +of the wood. Though old, he was still strong and tough of limb and +courageous of heart. Sure and swift he made his way through the heavy +growth of spruce. Once he paused for the space of a heart-beat, to make +sure of his direction. Again and again was the piteous cry repeated. + +The old man kept up his tireless trot through underbrush and swamp, and +displayed neither fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a +narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into the shadow of a clump of +firs. He lay close, and breathed heavily. By this time the moon had +cleared the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilderness. In the air +was a whisper of gathering frost. The water of the little river twisted +black and silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore it, with a +voice of agony. + +The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old craftsman questioned the +farther shore with a gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be something +wrong with the shadows. A bent figure slipped down to the edge of the +stream where the water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and knees +and crawled to the black and unstable lip of the tide. Again the cry +rang abroad, thin and high above the complaining tumult of the current. +The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the stream. At the edge of +the spinning eddy he found a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung +to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare and rounded arm. The +arrow-maker lifted her against his shoulder and bathed her face in the +cool water until her eyelids lifted. + +"Chief," she whispered, "pluck out the arrow." + +He shook his head. His trade was with battle and death, but it was half +a lifetime since he had felt the gushing of human blood on his hands. + +"Father," she cried, faintly, "I pray you, pluck it out. The pain of it +eats into my spirit. It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and +noiseless--and I heard not so much as the twang of the string." + +The old man held her with his left arm. With strong and gentle fingers +he worked the arrow in the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. +Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot touch of it across his +fingers. He had dwelt so long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed +blade came away from the wound, and he clutched it in his reeking palm. +The woman sobbed with mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped into +the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes. + +"It is none of my making," he said. + +He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Returning to her he bound her +shoulder with his belt of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, +he again forded the flashing current of the complaining river. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW + + +Even while the arrow-maker carried the wounded woman, arrows of the same +shape as that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threatening the +little village on the River of Three Fires. For days several war-parties +from the South had been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser +villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft Hand, and possessing +his hunting-grounds. It was a laggard of one of the smaller bands that +had wounded the woman. She had been far from her lodge at the time, +seeking some healing herbs in the forest, and he had fired on her out of +fear that she had discovered him and would warn her people. In her pain +and fright, she had wandered coastward for several miles. + +Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew down toward the little +meadow. Clouds were over the face of the white October moon. A cold mist +floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders, lying low among the +alders at the edge of the clearing, could see the unguarded people +moving about their red fires. There was a scent of cooking deer-meat in +the chill air. The chief of the attacking party lay on the damp grass +and peered between the stems of the alders. He smiled exultantly. A +quick slaughter, and then to a feast already prepared. He and his braves +had enjoyed but poor fare during their long march. + +So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the cooking fires, and turn +to Wolf Slayer. Late of that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in +quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed deserted, and in less +than an hour after his valorous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep +on a warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river flashed in front, +and on three sides brooded the crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun +had set, and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, was red as +fire--or blood. Down-stream, about two hundred yards distant, a sombre +bluff thrust its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at this, and +his eyes widened with dismay. Then they narrowed with hate. Out of the +shelter of the rocks and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came +figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip-deep, shoulder-deep, into +that molten glory. Then they swam; and the ripples washed back from +gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. One by one they stole +from the shadow, swam the radiance, and again sought the shadow. + +The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage had their fingers on him. +Spellbound, he watched close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of +the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the shelter of the trees. +He was old enough to know what this meant, and his heart hurt him with +its pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. He was dismayed +at the sound of his own breathing. He heard the distant rapping of a +woodpecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and the soft breath +of a dying wind; and the familiar sounds filled him with awe. And yet, +but for these sounds, the whole world might be dead and the forest +empty. Thought of the hundred fighting men moving steadily upon the +unguarded homes of his people, with no more warning than the sound of a +swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. But presently the courage +that had helped him slay the wolf came to him, and he thought of the +glory to be won by saving the threatened village. He did not strengthen +his heart to the task for sake of his mother's life and the lives of his +playmates; but because the warriors would call him a hero. Keeping just +within the edge of the woods, he moved up-stream as speedily as he might +without making any sound. He came upon a brown hare crouched beside a +clump of ferns. He might have touched it with his hand, so unaware was +it of his presence. He passed beneath an alder branch whereon perched a +big slate-gray jay. It was not a foot from his back as he crawled under, +and it did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to make sure that +he was not a fox. Sometimes he lay still for a little, listening. He +heard nothing, though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. Twilight +deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. The moon sailed up over the +hills, and long banners of cloud passed across the face of it. + +Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the fires of the village. The +red light flashed on the angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in +darkness. He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely breaking the +calm, black surface. Then he swam, without noise of splashing, and +landed at the foot of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled into +the red circle of one of the fires, and told his news to the braves +gathered around. Men slipped from fire to fire. Without any unwonted +disturbance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, with a fierce +shout and a flight of arrows, the alders were attacked. The invaders +were checked at the very moment of their fancied victory. + +The fighting scattered. Here three men struggled together in the +shallows at the head of the lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and +sank into the black depths. In the open a half-score warriors bent their +bows. Among the twisted stems of the alders they pulled and strangled, +like beasts of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs and +knives, feeling for one another in the dark. Their war-cries and shouts +of hate rang fearfully on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along +the valley. + +In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought like a man. His lack of +stature saved him from death more than once in that fearful encounter. +Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed him altogether, as he +stumbled and bent among the alders. At first he fought with a long, +flint knife,--the work of the old arrow-maker. But this was splintered +in his hand by the murderous stroke of a war-club. He wrenched a spear +from the clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went down before his +unexpected lunge. It rolled over; then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. +An arrow from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled its shaft +among the dry twigs, and struck a glancing blow on the young brave's +neck. He stumbled, grabbing at the shadows. He fell--and forgot the +fight. + +In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wigwams were overthrown, and +about the little fires warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the +encampment was cleared, and saved from destruction; and those of the +invaders who remained beside the trampled fires had ceased to menace. +Along the black edges of the forest ran the cries and tumult of the +struggle. Spent arrows floated on the lagoon. Red knives lifted and +turned in the underbrush. + +Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to the lodges of his people. +Other warriors were returning. They came exultant, with the lust of +fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode arrogantly. Some +crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. Some staggered to the home fires and reeled +against the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer circle of +light. And many came not at all. + +The chief, with a great gash high on his breast (he had bared arms and +breast for the battle), sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of +alders, and at last, returning to the disordered camp, found Wolf +Slayer. With a glad, high shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his +arms and carried him home. The mother met them at the door of the lodge. +In fearful silence the man and woman washed and bound the young brave's +wound, and watched above his faint breathing with anxious hearts. + +"Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn of the dark trail," +whispered the mother. "See, our fires are bright to guide you back to +your own people." + +"Little chief, though this battle is ended, there are many good fights +yet to come," whispered the father. "The fighters of the camp will have +great need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old bear grumbles at +the mouth of his den!--will you not be with us when we singe his fur?" + +"Hush, hush!" cried the woman. + +The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his spirit from the dark +trail. + +"I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, "and the hunting-song +of dead braves was in my ears." + +Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and strength. Not once--not even +at the edge of Death's domain--had his arrogance left him. It seemed +that the days of suffering had but hardened his already hard heart. Lad +though he was, the villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon +them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the camp. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST + + +In the dead of winter--in that season of sweeping winds and aching +skies, when the wide barrens lie uncheered of life from horizon to +horizon--Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. They followed +in the "leads" of the great herds of caribou, going partly for the meat +of the deer and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the Southern +enemy. At the head of this party went Panounia, chief of the village on +the River of Three Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf +Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. Grim tales were told +around the big fire at night. The evil thing which Panounia hatched, +with his bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by night. The hearts +of the warriors were fired with the shameful flame. They dreamed things +that had never happened, and wrought black visions out of the +foolishnesses of their brains. + +"The bear nods," they repeated, one to another, after the chief had +talked to them. "The bear nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. +But for Panounia, surely the men of the South would have scattered our +lodges and led us, captive, to the playgrounds of their children and +their squaws. Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, for is not +our Great Chief an old woman himself?" + +So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, the foxes barked at his +power. The moon heard it, and the silent trees, and the wind which +carries no messages. + +About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft Hand, decided to make a +journey of many days from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the +Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern invasion. His eyes +longed for a sight of the edges of the land and the breast of the great +waters beyond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour of mighty wooden +canoes walled higher than the peak of a wigwam, and manned by +loud-mouthed warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. Some +wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, hinted that the +strangers were gods. He told many wonderful stories to back his +argument. Soft Hand nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head. + +"Would gods make such flights for the sake of a few dried fishes and a +few dressed pelts of beaver and fox?" he asked. + +"The gods of trade would do so," replied the wiseacre. "Also," he added, +"they slay at great distances by means of brown stakes which are +flame-tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced." + +"But do these gods not fight with knives--long knives and short?" +inquired the lad. "I have heard it said that they sometimes fall out +over the ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do." + +"And what wonderful knives they are," cried the old gossip. "They are +coloured like ice. They gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning +against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, and the red blood +follows the edge as surely as the rains follow April." + +"I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, "and in my heart I pray +that they be but men, for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless +companions to our people." + +At that Soft Hand looked up. "Are the seasons not arranged to your +liking, boy?" he asked, quietly. + +"Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; "but strange men promise +better and safer company than strange gods." + +Now he was journeying toward the ocean of his dreaming and the ports of +his desire. His eyes would search the headlands of fog. Out of the east, +and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes of the strangers. But the +journey was a hard one. The boy's only companion was a man of small +stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief could well spare. They +took their way down the frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food +and sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind came out of a +steel-blue sky, unshifting and relentless. The dry snow ran before it +over the level surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across their +path. At the approach of night they sought the wooded shore, and in the +shelter of the firs built their fire. + +During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but a cheerless companion. He +had no heart for any adventure that might take him beyond the scent of +his people's cooking-fires. He considered the conversation of his young +master but a poor substitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant +fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncomforted. He hated the +weariness of the march and dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of +the wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, the voice of some +evil spirit. The barking of a fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. +The howl of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping of a hare in the +underbrush was enough to shake his poor wits with fright. But he feared +the anger of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so held to +Ouenwa and his mission. + +On the third day of the journey the blue sky thickened to gray, the wind +veered, and a great storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes were +large and damp. The travellers turned aside and climbed the bank of the +river to the thickets of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they +broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves a shelter in the heart +of the wood. Into this they drew their sledge of provisions and their +sleeping-bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they could +find--dead twigs and branches, tree-moss and birch bark--and, with his +ingenious contrivance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a blaze. +They roasted dried venison by holding it to the flame on the ends of +pointed sticks. Each cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. All +creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was not a sound save the +occasional soft hiss of a melting snowflake in the fire. The storm +became denser. It was as if a sudden, colourless night had descended +upon the wilderness, blotting out even the nearer trees with its reeling +gray. The old retainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm from +between his bony knees. His eyes fairly protruded with superstitious +terror. + +"What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The awe of the storm was creeping +over his courage like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The +old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa drew closer to him, and +heaped dry moss on the fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle +of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall. + +"Hark!" whispered the old man. Yes, it was the sound of muffled +footsteps, approaching behind the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The +boy's blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. He clutched his +companion with frenzied hands. The fear of all the devils and shapeless +beings of the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling snow loomed a +great figure. It emerged into the glow of the fire. + +"Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with relief. For their visitor was +nothing more terrible than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them +cordially, and told them that, but for the glow of their fire, he would +have been lost. + +"But what are you doing here--an old man and a child?" he asked. + +Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity, and his intention of +dwelling with the great arrow-maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn +wisdom. + +"Then are we well met," replied the other, "for my lodge is not half a +spear-throw from the lodge of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a +father to me since the day he saved my wife from death. Now I hunt for +him, and work at his craft, and have left the river to be near him. My +children play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and meat. Truly +the old man has changed since the return of laughter and friendship to +his lodge." + +The stranger's name was Black Feather. He was taller than the average +Beothic, and broad of shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and +one lock of it, which was worn longer than the rest, was plaited with +jet-black feathers. His garments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins +that reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers of dressed leather, +and leggins and moccasins of the same material. Around his waist was a +broad belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcupine quills. His +head was uncovered. + +Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, and replied, good-naturedly, +and at great length, to the youth's many questions. He told of the +high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen four of these monsters +swinging together in the tide, with little boats plying between them, +and banners red as the sunset flapping above them. He told of trading +with the strangers, and described their manner of spreading out lengths +of bright cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks of strong +drink. + +"Their knives are edged with magic," he said. "Many of them carry +weapons called muskets, which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at +even a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might loose four arrows in +the time that they are conjuring forth the spirit of the musket." + +The storm continued throughout the day and night, but the morning broke +clear. The travellers crawled from their weighted shelter and looked +with gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After a hearty +breakfast, they set out on the last stage of their journey. Their +racquets of spruce wood woven across with strips of caribou hide sank +deep in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at every step. But +they held cheerfully on their way. Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot +Friend, the old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by which they +dragged the sledge passed over the right shoulder of each, and was +grasped in the right hand. After several hours of tramping along the +level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned toward the western +bank and led them into the woods. Presently, after experiencing several +difficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren beyond the +fringe of timber. They ascended a treeless knoll that rounded in front +of them, blindingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend grumbled +and sighed, and might just as well have been on the sledge, for all the +pulling he did. On reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept his +arm before him with a gesture of finality. "Behold!" he said. + +An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's lips, and +died--half-uttered. Before him lay a wedge of foam-crested winter sea +beating out against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and left were +sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave-washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, +and crouching headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness and +shortness of breath for the moment, and surveyed the outlook in silence. +It was many years since he had been so far afield. His little soul was +fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real nature reasserted +itself. He pointed with his hand. + +"Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of two lodges. Good!" + +Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear the old man's cry of joy. + +"I see the edge of the world," he said. + +"But the ships come over it, and go down behind it," replied Black +Feather. + +"That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was filled with his old +impudence at sight of the fire and the lodges. "No canoe would venture +on the great salt water. I say it, who have built many canoes. And, if +they voyaged so far, they would slip off into the caves of the Fog +Devils. I believe nothing of all these stories of the strangers and +their winged canoes." + +"Silence!" cried the boy, turning on him with flashing eyes. "What do +you know of how far men will venture?--you, who have but heart enough to +stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon." + +"I have brought you safely through great dangers," whined the old +fellow. + +Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his visitors cordially, and was +grateful for the kind messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the +gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge and education of Ouenwa. +He set the unheroic Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, +and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa the craft of chipping +flints into shapes for spear-heads and arrow-heads, and the art of +painting, in ochre, on leather and birch bark. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR + + +Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of +Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black +Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled +bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. +Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy +might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of +waters. + +At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many +ships--ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were +in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted, +and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the +English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, _Heart +of the West_. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, +and hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of +those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was +not long before every harbour had its admiral,--in every case the master +of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off +in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages, +whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich +harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting +of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching +the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the +strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the +sea. + +One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the _Heart of the +West_ ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old +craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without +fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on +the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They +displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a +few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the +Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem +of a pipe and blowing fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said +that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he +had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and +exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather +also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth, +a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the +strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted +and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them +places where they might anchor their ships--for it was none other than +Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and +the long sword at his side--surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his +quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was +Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His +father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death, +had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son +inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the +counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much +Ouenwa could detect at a glance. + +Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic. + +"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the +palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of +English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove +entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he +would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and +glinting horizon. + +"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath. + +"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell. + +"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!" + +Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a +keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest. + +"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat. +"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly. + +Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of +caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to +enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of +the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom +of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and, +before the other had time to notice the hesitation, he stepped within. +The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow +that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the +fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the +roof, the big lodge was unilluminated. + +"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against +the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For +answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared +smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre +place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great +bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of +his hand against the Englishman's breast. + +"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade." + +Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out +the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might +look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from +the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets +of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and +all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other +hand, he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to +explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, +however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another. + +After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing +longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, +and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called +to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. +Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the +_Heart of the West_ had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, +he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to +explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the +birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition +and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver +skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the +strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life +of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's +remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear +to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on +the following night. + +The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when +Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot +where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from +Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of +either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and +thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came +to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed +close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing +to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and +laughter were ripe aboard. + +For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. +Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, +with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping +oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under +the stem of the _Heart of the West_. A cheering glow of candle-light +yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a +level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard +Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and +argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail. + +Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, +and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear +the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could +understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and +the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. +Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The +old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his +great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board. + +"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who +be master?" + +"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied +Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips. + +"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, +glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. +"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or +afore the mast,--no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in +Newfoundland." + +"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of +these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me." + +"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman. + +"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand +as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the +table. + +"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, +would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed +above the overturned bottle and glasses. + +Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into +the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of +the head, and sent him crashing to the deck. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER + + +When Trowley recovered consciousness, he was lying in his berth, with a +bandage around his head. Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way +that the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as hate. + +"I hope you are feeling more amiable since your sleep," said Kingswell. + +Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, damned the rum, and asked the +time of day. His recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy +and fragmentary. + +In reply to his question the gentleman told him that the sun was well +up, the fog cleared, and that he was having his boat provisioned for the +coastwise exploration trip. + +"And mind you," he added, grimly, "that the eighty beaver skins which +are now being stowed away in my berth are my property." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. "An' may I ask how ye come by such a +power o' trade in a night-time?" + +"Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He grinned at the wounded skipper +for fully a minute, leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said: "I'll +now bid you farewell until October. Don't sail without me, good Master +Trowley, and look not upon the rum of the Indies when that same is red. +A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might lead to the gallows." + +He turned and nimbly scaled the companion-ladder, leaving the shipmaster +speechless with rage. + +Half an hour later the staunch little craft _Pelican_ spread her square +sail and slid away from the _Heart of the West_. She was manned by old +Tom Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clotworthy. Master Bernard +Kingswell sat at the tiller, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, +extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed amidships and covered +with sail-cloth. The sun was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled +them along at a clipping pace. From a mound above the harbour Black +Feather gazed after them under a level hand. In the little harbour +Trowley's ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others had run out to +the fishing-grounds,--for in those days the fishing was done over the +sides of the ships, and not from small boats. On either side the brown +shores fell back, and the dancing waters widened and widened. White +gulls screamed above and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy +breasts, and inquisitive eyes. + +Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt a great misgiving. But +Kingswell patted him on the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads +at him and grinned. + +Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, high-sterned vessels +rocked and bobbed under naked spars. The great business that had brought +them so far was going forward. Along both sides of every ship were hung +barrels, and in each barrel was stationed a man with two or more +fishing-lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were hauled up, +unhooked, and tossed to the deck behind. As the little _Pelican_ slid +by, the fishers paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their caps. +The masters shouted "God speed" from their narrow quarter-decks, and +doffed their hats. Kingswell waved them gracious farewells; Ouenwa gazed +spellbound toward the widening outlook; and Tom Bent trimmed the sail to +a nicety. + +They passed headland after headland, rocky island after rocky island, +cove after cove. The shores behind them turned from brown to purple, +and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher and the wind freshened. +Kingswell shaped the boat's course a few points to the northward. The +stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged like some less +playful creature. Spray flew over her blunt bows, and the sailors +laughed like children, and called her a brave lass, and many other +endearing names, as if she were human. + +"A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master Kingswell. The commander +nodded, and shifted the tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing +with the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, pale hair +streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, to pick out the course through +a group of small islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He gave +an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet sheet. But Ouenwa did not +share the high spirits of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling +got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. Kingswell glanced at +him. + +"Let it go, lad," he said. "A sailor is made in this way. Tom, pass me +along a blanket." + +With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfortable rest for the boy, and +helped him to a drink of water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold +on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the soaring and sinking +of the _Pelican_ were enough to unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As +for Ouenwa!--the poor lad simply clung to the gunwale with the grip of +despair, and entertained regretful, beautiful visions of level shores +and unshaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly. + +"The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. "Maybe, like as not, a swig +o' rum ud sweeten his bilge, sir." + +Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The rank liquor completed the +boy's breakdown. In so doing it served the purpose which Bent had +intended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, already half a sailor. + +When Ouenwa next took interest in his surroundings, the _Pelican_ had +the surf of a sheer coast close aboard on her port side. She was heading +due north. The sun was half-way down his western slope. Behind the +_Pelican's_ bubbling wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens +lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, and on the right hand, +loomed surf-rimmed islands and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering +yet unchanged hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent was now at the +tiller, and Kingswell was in the bows, gazing intently at the austere +coast. Ouenwa crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, under +the straining sail, and crouched beside him. His head felt light and +his stomach painfully empty, but again life seemed worth living and the +adventure worth while. + +About an hour before sunset the _Pelican_ ran into a little cove, and +her two grappling anchors were heaved overboard. She lay within five +yards of the land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa sprang into the +water and waded ashore. It was a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of +shingle, and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. But at the +base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, grew stunted spruce-trees +and birches. Ouenwa soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course +from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, in a shallow basin +at the foot of the rock, and from there spilled over into the +obliterating sand. + +By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy hacked down a couple of +armfuls of the spruce and birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a +fire. Then he filled a pot from the little well and commenced +preparations for a meal. The other seamen erected a shelter, composed of +a sail and three oars, against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a +convenient boulder, and the commander filled a long pipe with tobacco +and lit it at a brand from the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a +mood to further his young companion's education. Pointing to the roll +of Virginian leaf, from which he had cut the charge for his pipe, he +said, "Tobacco." Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his +comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old Tom Bent, who was watching +Clotworthy drop lumps of dried venison into the pot of water. + +"Boatswain," he said. + +Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term "able seamen," applied to +Clotworthy and Peter Harding. By that time the stew was ready for them. +They were all sound asleep, under their frail shelter, before the last +glimmer of twilight was gone from the sky. + +It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale flood of dawn illumined the +tent and the recumbent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. Tom +Bent and Harding were not in their places. The boy wondered at that, but +was about to close his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet by a +shrill cry that went ringing overhead and echoing along the cliffs. He +darted from the tent, with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. +Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of the beach, with their backs +to the sea, staring upward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces in +the same direction. They were amazed to see about a dozen native +warriors on the cliff above them, fully armed, and evidently deeply +interested in what was going on in the little cove. One of them was +pointing to the _Pelican_, and talking vehemently to the brave beside +him. In two of them Ouenwa recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his father, +the chief of the village on the River of Three Fires. He called up to +them, and asked what brought them so far from their village. + +"We are at the salt water to take the fish," replied Wolf Slayer, "and +we saw the smoke of your fire before the last darkness. But what do you +with the great strangers, little Dreamer?" + +"They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, "and I am voyaging with them to +learn wisdom." + +"What are you talking about?" asked Kingswell. + +The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent and provisions and then +to the boat. "Put in," he said. + +At a word from Kingswell the three sailors quickly dismantled their +night's shelter and carried the sail, the oars, and such food and +blankets as they had brought ashore, out to the _Pelican_. At that the +shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along the cliffs. + +"What does that mean?" inquired Kingswell. + +"Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly. + +"What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" called Wolf Slayer. + +"Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," Ouenwa cried back, with +indignation in his voice. + +"Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, my friend," replied Wolf +Slayer, "or you would not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe." + +Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded so dismally across the +dawn a few moments before, five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared +on the top of the cliff--for the cry was the hunting-call of the tribe. + +"Do you fish with war-bows?" shouted Ouenwa. "And why do you summon to +trade with the cry of the hunt?" + +"You ask too many questions, even for a seeker of wisdom," replied the +other youth, mockingly. + +"Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that the foxes bark with such +assurance?" retorted Ouenwa. + +By this time the _Pelican_ was ready to put out of the cove. Both +anchors were up, and Harding and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. +Old Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with something beside the mast. +Suddenly a bow-string twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the +sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone and, glancing out, +rattled against Harding's oar. Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into +the water. Above them, silhouetted against the lightening sky, they saw +bending bows and downward thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and +a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the warriors on the cliff. The +echoes of the discharge bellowed around and around the rock-girt +harbour. Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke and climbed +aboard, and the seamen pushed into deep water and then bent to their +oars. But the _Pelican_ proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt bows +and comfortable beam. She surged slowly beyond the cloud of bitter smoke +that the musket had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the +voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants--and, behold, the great +warriors were not to be seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as +if the incident were a fine joke; but Ouenwa was hot with shame and +anger. He stood erect and shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He +called upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cowardly faces. He +threatened them with the displeasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of +the English. A figure appeared on the sky-line. + +"You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. "Know you, then, that Soft Hand set +out on the Long Trail four suns ago, when he marched into my village to +dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great chief of the people. So +carry yourself accordingly, O whelp without teeth and without a den to +crawl into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of the totem of the +Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, +your father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling babe." He paused +for a moment, and held out a gleaming knife, with its point toward the +_Pelican_. "The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great lodge," he +cried. + +Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the cliff was lined with +warriors. Like a sudden flight of birds their arrows flashed outward and +downward. + +"Lie down!" cried Kingswell. With a strong hand he snatched Ouenwa to +the bottom of the boat. Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between +the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the naked mast, did not +move. The arrows thumped against plank and gunwale. They pierced the +cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and mast. One, turning from +the rail, struck Bent on the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not +look for the wound. His match was burning with a thread of blue smoke +and a spark of red fire. His clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an +impromptu swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the muzzle. + +"Steady her," he said, softly. "She's driftin' in." + +Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, thrust it to the bottom, +and held the boat as steady as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He +shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors above him. Tom touched +the slow-match to the quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A plume +of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound that shook the boat from stem +to stern, the gun hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of +hate. + +"Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from where he sagged against the +mast. The kick of his musket had hurt him more than the blow from the +arrow. + +Again the _Pelican_ fought her way toward the open waters, with Harding +and Clotworthy pulling lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and +joyful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, through which +the tide was running landward at a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading +his firearm. Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow in his left +hand and an arrow on the string. A breath of wind brushed the smoke +aside and cleared the view. Ouenwa pointed to the beach, and gave vent +to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others looked, and saw a huddled shape +of bronzed limbs and painted leather at the foot of the rock. + +"One more red devil for hell," muttered the boatswain. "I learned mun to +shoot his pesky sticks at a Bristol gentleman." + +As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from the mast, not six inches +from the old man's head. Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The +shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught the boy, and with +all the hate that was in his heart for the big murderer on the cliff. +Every man of the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the flight +of it. They saw it curve. They saw a warrior drop his bow from his +menacing hand and sink to his knees. + +"The wolf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own tongue. "The wolf bites the +moss. Who, now, is the wolf slayer?" + +The Englishmen cheered again and again, and the good boat _Pelican_, +urged forward by triumphant sinews, won through the channel and swam +into the outer waters. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE SILENT VILLAGE + + +As soon as the _Pelican_ was out of arrow-shot of the cliff, the +Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. +Then he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard from Panounia. +After a deal of questioning, sign-making, and mental exertion, the +Englishman gathered the information that treachery and murder had taken +place up the river, and that his young friend hated the new leader of +the tribe with a bitter hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He +looked at the young savage's flushed face and glowing eyes with sympathy +and admiration. His liking for the boy had grown in every hour of their +companionship, and, by this time, had developed into a decided fondness. + +"Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he said, with a light hand on +the other's knee. "Your enemies are my enemies," he continued, "and +we'll fight the dogs every time we see 'em." + +Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He was soothed by the evident +kindliness of Kingswell's tone and manner, though he had failed to +translate his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught the words, +however. They nodded heavily to one another. + +"Ye say the very word what was in my mind, sir," spoke up Tom Bent, +"an', if I may make so bold as to say further, your enemies be your +servants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's enemies must be our +enemies, holus bolus." The other sailors nodded decidedly. "Therefore," +continued Tom Bent, "all they cowardly heathen aft on the cliff has to +reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent an' the crew o' this craft." + +"Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with the smile that always won +him the heart and hand of every man he favoured with it,--and of every +maid, too, more than likely. "But we can't enthuse on empty stomachs. +Pass out the bread and the cold meat," he added. + +For fully two hours the _Pelican_ rocked about within half a mile of her +night's anchorage. Kingswell was not in a desperate hurry, and so his +men pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat clear of the rocks. +A sharp lookout was kept along the coast, but not a sight nor a sound +of the Beothics rewarded their vigilance. + +"They be up to some devilment, ye may lay to that," said Tom Bent. + +At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'east, and the square +sail was hoisted and sheeted home. Again the _Pelican_ dipped her bows +and wet her rail on the voyage of exploration. + +After two hours of sailing, and just when they were off the mouth of a +little river and a fair valley, a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for +running in, but Ouenwa objected. + +"Panounia follow," he said. "He great angry. Drop irons," he added, +pointing to the little anchors. + +"Panounia is wounded. You winged him yourself," replied Kingswell. "He +could not follow us around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming." + +Ouenwa considered the words with puckered brows. They were beyond him. +The commander pointed shoreward. + +"All safe," he said. "All safe." + +"No, no," cried the lad. "All kill. No safe." + +During this controversy the sail had been partly lowered, and the +_Pelican_ had been slowly running landward with the fog. + +Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the seamen with a smile of +whimsical uncertainty. + +"Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," remarked Tom Bent, with his +deep-set eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, +for a moment, on the ancient mariner. + +"Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, and was quickly stowed. +"Let go the anchors," he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the +gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and shut her off from land and +sky. With a last dreary whistle, the wind died out entirely. + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Master Kingswell, "but here is caution that smells +remarkably like cowardice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, +tobacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke was mingling with the +fog. The young commander leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, +like the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit of burning +Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, confined to the wealthy and the +adventurous. The seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, +watched their captain with open interest. When a puff was blown through +the nostrils, or sent aloft in a series of rings, they nudged one +another, like children at a show. By this time the walls of fog had made +of the _Pelican_ a tiny, lost world by itself. Suddenly Ouenwa raised +his hand. "Sh!" he whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from his +mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden river and valley. All +strained their ears, to wrest some sound from the surrounding gray other +than the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. But they could +hear nothing. + +"Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing landward. + +"But we saw no signs of a village," protested Kingswell, gently. + +"Village," repeated the lad. "Ouenwa hear. Ouenwa smell." + +Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff the fog, like hounds +taking a scent on the wind. But their nostrils were not the nostrils of +either hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. They shook their +heads. Kingswell wagged a chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. +The boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed indignantly. + +"Village," he whispered, shrilly. "Village, village, village." + +Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned leniently at the +determined boy. They had great faith in their own noses, had those +mariners of Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, sank +into a moody contemplation of the fog. + +"This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a half-hour of silence. +"Tom, pipe us a stave, like a good lad." + +The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. Presently he cleared his +throat with energy. + +"Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once were," he murmured, "but +I'll do me best--an' no sailorman can say fairer nor that." + +Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, +tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, +with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined +in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon +followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully +melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the +words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune +fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the +suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He +beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands +together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the +ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the _Teressa +Maria_ had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then +Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty. It +was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. +The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old +Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and +of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a +cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing +seaward and westward from the door. + +For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little +company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various +thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid +his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him. + +"Canoe," he whispered. + +The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated--a short rap, +like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all +heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting +out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and +whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. +That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the +hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned +to his seat at the tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla +rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on +his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly +and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and +into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss +of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief. + +The _Pelican_ drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes +and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded +a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and +Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great +matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the +curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the +short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In +the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. +Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and +began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and +peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but +could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing erect, discharged arrow after arrow +at the hidden enemy. + +The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell +passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to +lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the +names of his murdered father and grandfather. + +For a long and weary time the _Pelican_ lay off the hidden land, +shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the +west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the +coast and the open sky. + +"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are +going back to have a look at that village." + +The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the +savages for the fright in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A LETTER FOR OUENWA + + +Two headlands were rounded before the valley of the river opened again +to the eyes of the adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole down +and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten sea. The gradual hillsides, +green-swarded, basked in the golden light. The lower levels of the +valley were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of his habitation, was +disclosed to the voyagers. + +"A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. "I feel a desire stirring within me +to stretch my legs on that grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, +Tom?" + +The old fellow grinned. "'Twould be pleasant, sir, an' no mistake," he +replied--"a little walk along the brook, with our hands not very far +from our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' nater worship." + +The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand well within the mouth of +the river. Harding and Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on +guard, and the other three, fully armed, started along the bank of the +stream. They advanced cautiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of +bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher dropped from its perch above +the water and flew up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend of +the little river and halted short in their track with muttered +exclamations. Before them, on a level meadow between the brown waters of +the stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood half a dozen +wigwams. The place seemed deserted. They scanned the dark edge of the +wood and the brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, expecting to +catch the glint of hostile eyes at every turn. But neither grove nor +hill, nor silent lodge, disclosed any sign of life. + +"Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kingswell, thoroughly perplexed. + +Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half-circle. + +"Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. "Yes, watch us." + +"He means they are lying around looking at us," said Kingswell to the +boatswain. "Rip me, but I don't relish the chance of one of those +stone-tipped arrows in my vitals." + +Tom Bent glanced about him in visible trepidation. Ouenwa noticed it, +and pointed to the seaman's musket. "No 'fraid," he said. "Shoot." + +"What at?" inquired Bent. + +"Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the silent wood, dusky in the +gathering shadows. + +"He wants you to fire into the wood, and frighten them out," said +Kingswell. + +"If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," replied Tom. + +However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its support, aimed at the edge +of the forest beyond the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the +twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose and quivered in the air. +It was answered from the hilltops on both sides of the stream. + +Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was inside the nearest lodge. +Kingswell followed, and found him dismantling the couches and walls of +their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in the looting. Soon each +had all he could handle. They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, +with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward the _Pelican_. They had +rounded the bend of the river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet +them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an indignant whoop and leaped +into the air. His musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against a +stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their bundles and sprang to where +he lay, kicking and spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung +to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing wildly, and vowing +vengeance on the "heathen varment" who had pinked him. + +Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows of the wooded hillside, +and Kingswell hoisted the struggling boatswain to his shoulders and +continued his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged and implored +his commander to put him down, assuring him that he was more surprised +than hurt. But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and did +not release him until they were safe beside the _Pelican's_ bows. Just +then Ouenwa and the sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All +were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired only one arrow, when they +might have annihilated the little party with a volley? + +That night the _Pelican_ lay at anchor in the mouth of the river. Twice, +during the long, eerie hours between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke +his companions; but on both occasions the alarms proved to be false--the +splashing of a marauding otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding +trout. Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and the stream +lay as peaceful and deserted as on the preceding evening. The voyagers +ate their breakfast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared the +light mist from the water, they got up their anchor and rowed up-stream. +Harding and Clotworthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the commander +crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. +The current was strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the twirling +sinews of water. Little patches of spindrift, from some fall or rapid +farther up the river, floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed +beneath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and splashed on either +hand, and sent silver circles rippling to the toiling boat. A moist, +sweet fragrance of foliage and mould and dew filled the air. + +Soon the deserted lodges came into view, standing smokeless and pathetic +between the murmuring river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned +to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of the wigwams. They landed +without incident, and all walked toward the village, with their firearms +ready and their matches lighted. They explored every lodge and even beat +the underbrush. The dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons and +cooking utensils evidently during the night. A village of this size must +have possessed at least six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a +paddle, could they find. + +"All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, pointing up-stream. + +"What be this?" asked Tom Bent, limping toward Kingswell with an arrow +and a small square of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, +pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wigwams. Kingswell +examined it intently, and shook his head. + +"Pictures," he said. "I suppose it is a letter of some kind, in which +their wise man tells us what he thinks of us." + +Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly sketched figures, with +which it was covered, with a scornful twist of his face. + +"Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. "See! Very big! +Bear"--he touched another point of the missive and then tapped his own +breast--"see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He laughed shrilly, and +shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, no." + +"What be mun jabberin' about?" muttered Tom Bent. + +Kingswell explained that the bear stood for Ouenwa's family, and that +the wolf was the symbol of the people who had killed his grandfather. + +The _Pelican_ continued her voyage before noon, and all day skirted an +austere and broken coast. She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, +steering for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded many islands and +braved intricate channels. Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer +cape than any of the day's experience, and Kingswell, who had just +relieved Harding at the tiller, forsook the straight course and headed +up the bay. Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a sheltered +roadstead behind an island and just off a wooded cove. They lowered the +sail and rowed in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent the +night close to the tide, with their muskets and cutlasses beside them, +and the watch changed every two hours. + +Three days later the voyagers happened upon a ship. They ran close in to +where she lay at anchor, believing her to be English, and did not +discover their mistake until the little tub of a brig opened fire from a +brass cannonade. The first shot went wide, and the _Pelican_ lay off +with a straining sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended the +encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy fishing to get up anchor and +give chase. + +Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the incident. "It be the first +time," he said, "that I ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in +Newfoundland. One year I were fishin' in the _Maid o' Bristol_, in Dog's +Harbour, Conception, an', though we was last to drop anchor, an' the +only English ship agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, our +skipper said he were admiral--an', by Gad, so he were." + +But the valorous old mariner did not suggest that they put about and +dispute the admiralty of the little harbour which they had just passed. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION + + +In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly +natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a +bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master +Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three +weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh +until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the +dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the +science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the +malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young +caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was +close upon the end of September when the _Pelican_ again took up her +northward journey. + +Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of +gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the +natives, and he had heard stories of a French sailor having been +wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon +gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the +straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men +shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their +provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent. +So Kingswell headed the _Pelican_ southward. After a week of fair winds, +they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout +little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a +sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three +days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this +unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every +likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the +northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart +of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as +Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired +English helped to keep the company in good spirits. + +It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the +_Pelican_ threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to +the eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not +sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The +drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide. + +Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for +home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed +reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany +finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now +that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur +to him. + +"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us--an' we +are lucky not to be in such dirty company!" + +He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to +Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled +approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as +old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something +to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then--"By God," he cried, +"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty +company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with--with you all," he +finished, lamely. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young seaman with mute indignation +in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly. + +"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted +English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the +seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff +an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if +it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax +cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye." + +"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered +wag of his heavy head. + +Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a +thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further +attention. + +"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell, +cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to +Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the +snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old _Pelican_ right 'round to +St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad +enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the +privateers." + +Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried +venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old +philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone--gone utterly, and +only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood. +What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. +Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for +their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that +immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery. +So the storm-beaten, wave-weary _Pelican_ turned seaward again. + +Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm +of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of +some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by +the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy +river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears +like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew +it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay +at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came +the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and +slept. They were astir with the first gray lights, and before sunrise +were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost +sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and +fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a +fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark +current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across +their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and +swooped down and away. + +They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles--and hard +pulling it was--when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke +beyond a wooded bend. + +"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe +get killed?" + +He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm. + +"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the +stroke, lads--and, Tom, keep your match handy." + +At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and +peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight. +Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along +its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a +little settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the +chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer +azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small +high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung +like a dead body in the brown current. + +Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he +murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a +reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!" + +"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An' +real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain." + +At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of +the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the +river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little +_Pelican_. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself +and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune, +even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore. + +The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and +his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were +strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady +eyes, and herculean shoulders. They doffed their skin caps to the +gentleman adventurer. + +"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and +two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just +two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off +the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They +agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master +Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced +coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with +sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and +halted near by. + +"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys--father and son." With a +casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company. +He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him +affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John--John +Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He +bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed +individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget, +master mariner," he concluded. + +Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and again shook hands with the +elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few +courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them. +Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each +bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his +face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. +Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both +were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was +the taller and thinner of the two. + +D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the +others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget +immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand, +as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company. +Ouenwa and the seamen of the _Pelican_, and the Donnellys and young +Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors. + +"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they +crossed the level of frost-seared grass. + +"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my +strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head chief +of this country. His enemies--barking foxes who name themselves +wolves--pulled him down in the night-time." + +The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and +interest. The story was not news to them, however. + +"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure +enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' +burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when +the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections, +an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was +for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did +for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till +spring, I'm thinkin'." + +"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here +soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder +Donnelly, in guarded tones. + +"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew +plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over." + +Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed +suspiciously. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX + + +Inside the stockade, posted unevenly around three sides of a foot-worn +square, were five buildings of rough logs. From a platform in the +southeast corner two small cannon presented their muzzles to the river. +At the back of this platform, on the southern side of the square, stood +the Donnelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fifteen paces +across the front. Against the western palisade the Trigget cabin and +Captain d'Antons' habitation faced the square. On the north side stood a +fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. In the centre of the yard +bubbled a spring of clear water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook +sparkled away from it, under the stockade and down to the river. The +well was flanked on both sides by a couple of slim birches, now leafless +under the white November sun. + +The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and Skipper Trigget's wife +and daughter--both big, comely women--fed them with the best in the +little plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and Ouenwa were taken to +D'Antons' quarters. The Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and +took blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their couches. Also +he produced a flask of priceless brandy, from which he and Kingswell +pledged a couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The toast was +D'Antons' suggestion. + +Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that he had a matter of +business to attend to, and left his guests to their own devices. The +house was divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou hides, +which were hung from one of the low crossbeams of the ceiling. At the +end of each room a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small +windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre interior. Books in +English, French, and Spanish, a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a +neatly executed drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a table near one +of the windows. Antlers of stags, decorated quivers and bows, painted +hides, and glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the hearth in the +room in which Kingswell and his young companion sat, hung a musket with +a silver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and several knives and +daggers in beaded sheaths. On the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West +Indian shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the same sure metal, +and a heavy sword with a basket hilt hung above D'Antons' bed. + +Kingswell looked over the books on the table. He found that one of them +was a manual of arms, written in the Spanish language; another a work of +navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty thesis on the science and +practice of surgery; and the fourth was a volume as well-loved as +familiar,--Master William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." He took up +this last, and, seating himself with his shoulder to the window, was +soon far away from the failures and daily perils of the wilderness. The +greedy, hard-bitted materialist Present, with its quests of "fish," and +fur, and gold, was replaced by the magic All-Time of the playwright +poet. + +Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into every nook and corner, and +examining the shells, the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on +the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire to his hair, tried to +solve the mystery of the chimney--for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a +lodgeful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. He looked +frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of finding him open to questions, +but was always disappointed. At last the thought occurred to him that +it would be a fine thing to get hold of the great sword above the bed, +and make cut, lunge, and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how to +do on several occasions. So he climbed on to the bed, and, in trying to +clear the sword from its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the +floor. Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm across his body and +his hand on his sword-hilt, and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama +sprawled at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, in tones of +relief. "But you must not handle other people's goods, lad," he added, +kindly, "especially a gentleman's arms and armour." + +Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about to step from D'Antons' +couch to recover the head-piece, when D'Antons himself entered the +cabin. Kingswell turned to him and explained the accident. + +"My young friend is very sorry," he said, "and would beg your pardon if +he felt less embarrassed. However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so +intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watching him. He is +naturally of an investigating turn of mind." + +The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed his white teeth. "It is +nothing, nothing," he cried. "I beg you not to mention it again, or +give it another thought. The old pot has sustained many a shrewder whack +than a tumble on the floor. Ah, it has turned blades of Damascus before +now! But enough of this triviality! I have returned to request you to +come with me to our governor. Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him +to you, as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But he will make his +own apologies, Master Kingswell." + +He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to pass out before him. +Kingswell went first. As Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped +him sharply by the arm, and hissed, "Dog! Cur!" in a voice so low, so +sinister, that the boy gasped. But in a breath the Frenchman was his +affable self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still burning +his ears, almost believed that he had been the victim of some evil +magic. Kingswell caught nothing of the incident. + +Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master Kingswell was ushered into +the governor's cabin, and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The young +Englishman found himself in a dimly lit apartment very similar to that +which he had just left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and +narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. The Frenchman paused +at his elbow. Two figures advanced from the farther side of the room. +He ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace at his command, +for one of the figures was that of a young woman in flashing raiment. +The other was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little past middle +age, with a worn face that somehow retained its air of youthfulness +despite its haggard lines and faded skin. + +"Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kingswell," said the gentleman, +extending his hand and laughing softly. "This is indeed an unlooked-for +pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall--or was it at Beverly?" + +"Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, in a voice of ill-concealed +consternation and surprise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of +half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the other with wide +eyes. Then he caught the waiting hand in a firm grip. + +"Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly that we last met," he +said, evenly. He turned to the girl, who stood beside her father with +downcast eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet hastened to +make her known to the visitor. + +"My daughter Beatrix," he said. "A good girl, who willingly and +cheerfully shares her worthless father's exile." + +Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely hand, and Kingswell, +bending low above it, intoxicated by the sudden presence of beauty and a +flood of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim fingers with a +warmth that startled the lady and brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' +eyes. He recovered himself in an instant. "To see you in this +wilderness--amid these bleak surroundings!" he exclaimed, scarcely above +a whisper. "I cannot realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played at +racquets together in the court at Beverly." + +The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of understanding in her dark, +parti-coloured eyes. + +"I remember," she said. "You have not changed greatly, save in size." +And at that she laughed, with a note of embarrassment. + +"But you have," replied Kingswell. "You were not very beautiful as a +little girl. To me you looked much the same as my own sisters." + +For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his with merriment and +questioning in their depths. Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved +uneasily. + +"Come, come," he said, "we must not stand here all day, like geese on a +village green. There are seats by the fire." He led the way. "Captain, +if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some of Master +Kingswell's adventures," he added, turning to D'Antons. + +"With pleasure," answered the captain. + +"One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph Westleigh. "I have a +young friend--a sort of ward--whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run +over to the men and amuse himself with them." + +As he opened the door and spoke a few kind words to Ouenwa, there was a +sneer on D'Antons' lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. +It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all she could do to +restrain herself from slapping him--for hot blood and a fighting spirit +dwelt in that fair body. She wondered how she had once considered him +attractive. She blushed crimson at the thought. + +Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool between the governor of +the little colony and the maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa +was, and of the time the lad saved him from injury by flooring old +Trowley with his canoe paddle. Then he briefly sketched the voyage of +the _Pelican_, and told something of his interests in the fishing fleet +and in the new land. + +"And you found no indications of gold?" queried D'Antons. + +"None," replied the voyager, "but some splendid copper ore in great +quantities, and one mine of 'fool's gold.'" + +The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. "There are other kinds +of fool's gold than these iron pyrites, I believe," he said, "and one +finds it nearer home than in this God-forsaken--ah--in this wild +country." + +The others understood the reference, and even the polished Frenchman +looked into the fire and had nothing to say. Kingswell studied the +water-bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced piteously at her +father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's life had known much of fool's gold, +and much of many another folly, and something of that to which his +acquaintances in Somerset--and, for that matter, in all England--gave a +stronger and less lenient name. The baronet had lived hard; but his +story comes later. + +"I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," said Kingswell, presently. +"I did not know, even, that you were interested in colonization--and yet +you have been here a matter of two years, so Trigget tells me." + +"Yes, and likely to die here--unless I am unearthed," replied Sir Ralph, +bitterly, and with a meaning glance at Kingswell. "I put entire faith in +my friends," he added. "And they are all in this little fort on Gray +Goose River. My undoing lies in their hands." + +"Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but stoutly, "I hope your trust +has been extended to me,--yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any matter +of--of silence or the like--are our orders. My fellows are true as +steel. My friends are theirs. The young Beothic would risk his life for +you at a word from me." + +The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. He laid a hand on the +young man's knee and peered into his face. + +"Then you are a friend--out and out?" he inquired. + +"To the death," said the other, huskily. + +"And you have heard? Of course you have heard!" + +"Yes." + +"It is not for me to say 'God bless you' to any man," said Sir Ralph, +"but it's good of you. I feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. +I have forgotten my old trick of making pretty speeches." + +Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished that D'Antons, with his +polite, superior, inscrutable smile, was a thousand miles out of sight +of his embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But she did not look +at him. "God bless you--my fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice +so low that he alone caught the words. He had no answer to make to that +unexpected reward. For a little they maintained a painful silence. It +was broken by the Frenchman. + +"You understand, Master Kingswell, that, for certain reasons, it is +advisable that the place of Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from +the knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, slowly and easily. + +"I understand," replied Kingswell, shortly. Captain d'Antons jarred on +him, despite all his faultless and affable manners. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER + + +About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement +on Gray Goose River--Fort Beatrix it was called--the sky clouded, the +voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By +Trigget's advice--and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the +plantation--the pelts and gear of the _Pelican_ were removed to the +storehouse. + +"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your +plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye +couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper. + +"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell. + +Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he +answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out +o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to +spare for your men, what with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and +boat-buildin'." + +So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of +winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he +would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons +expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that, +Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit +him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from +agreeable to the French adventurer. + +When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still +falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil +of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred +by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting +wilderness. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal, +and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two +gentlemen had an hour of private conversation. + +"This Captain d'Antons--what of him?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago, +before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in +London. He was reported rich. He had sailed many voyages to the West +Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold +Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a +child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing +else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her +dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but +here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or +two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little +hand--and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, +lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my +trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all +the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring +voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for +land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A +boat-load of armed men left the pirate--yes, that's what she was, a damn +pirate--and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of +her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he +knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said +was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and +joined our expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with +his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung +to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show +his hoof now and again, I'd like it better--for then we would all be on +our guard." + +"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be +reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell. +"Has he a stake in the colony?" + +The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my +secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended +some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other +reason than that he is in love with my daughter." + +"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly. + +"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had +us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which +he now sues, he accepted my word of honour--mark you, he accepted what I +had scarce the face to offer--that I would not withstand his suit, nor +allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my +hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman." + +"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly. + +"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared +that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his +game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God +that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But +no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword +would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should +kill me, for my men hate him." + +"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell. + +"You do not understand--you cannot understand--how delicate a thing to +keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without +honour," replied the other, sadly. + +"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find +his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St. +John's." + +"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to +escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as +a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years." + +"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind +to it," retorted Kingswell. "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being +billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a +monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of +Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer." + +"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation, +even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I +have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but +that Time may shuffle the pack before long?" + +Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay +gowns--in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled--by which her girlish +beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a +brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were +bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and +dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and +skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To +all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched +her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her +gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner +of the bench by the hearth, gazed at this vision of loveliness with +wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons +and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the +Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a +woman--a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black +Feather's squaw--no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to +note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet. +She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. +But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members +of this flashing young divinity. + +"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the +dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the +great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any +more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked +upon such beauty and such raiment?" + +His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his +amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on +the bench. + +"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not notice you before. So you +are Master Kingswell's ward?" + +Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's +hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question. + +"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell. + +"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress +Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend." + +"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend." + +"And my friend, too?" asked the girl. + +"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so--so--like he called the sky one +morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell. + +"What was that?" she queried. + +"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling. + +"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa. + +Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said. + +"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very +provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss +Westleigh. + +"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles." + +The girl could not deny it, for the table was spread in the same +room,--a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a +fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had +been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard. + +The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china +dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well +served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all +was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence--potent magic enough to a +young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women +of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the +gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate +painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the +vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was +lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, +and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked +puzzled for a moment,--then confused,--then, with a little, +indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder. + +"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a +compliment for, oh, ever so long." She looked across the table at +Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and +darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MEDITATION AND ACTION + + +For hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, reviewing, in his restless +brain, the incidents of that crowded day. His couch was luxurious, +compared to the resting-places he had known since leaving the _Heart of +the West_; but, for all that, sleep evaded him. From the other side of +the hearth Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his alert ears. +He saw the yellow light blink to darkness above the curtain of skins, +when D'Antons extinguished his candle in the other apartment. The red +firelight rose and fell, dwindled and flooded high. The core of it +contracted and expanded, and a straight log across the middle of the +glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like something alive--like +something stirring between sleeping and waking, desiring sleep, yet +afraid to forsake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the hearth it +suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and starting in a deserted hall. +"What is it waiting for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. "What +does it fear? Mayhap the master and mistress are late at a rout, and are +people without consideration for the feelings of their servants." + +From such harmless imagery his mind slipped to the less pleasant subject +of Sir Ralph Westleigh. He recalled what he had seen and heard of the +days of the baronet's glory--of the great places near Bristol, with +their stables that were the envy of dukes, and their routs that lured +people weary and dangerous journeys--of the famous Lady Westleigh and +her jewels--of Sir Ralph's kindliness to great and small alike. His own +father, the merchant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in high +esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and later when a well-grown lad, +had experienced the hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the time +of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy with the baronet's +affairs. During Lady Westleigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. +After her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, and more of +it in distant London, and even in Paris. Stories went abroad of his +heavy gaming and his ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice +and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, working on him +physically to such an extent that he looked a different person when the +heat of the play was on him. Also it played the devil with him +morally--and perhaps mentally. So things took the turn and started +down-hill. Then the run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, +threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numerous clever checks and +parries to avoid disaster. There was a season of hope after the sale of +Randon. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then Beverly was +impoverished to the last oak and the last horse in the stud. The baronet +took his daughter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few merry +months. Then a certain Scotch viscount caught him playing as no +gentleman, no matter how dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman +made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. That was the last known +of Sir Ralph Westleigh and his daughter by any one of the outside world +until the _Pelican_ landed her voyagers before the stockade of Fort +Beatrix on Gray Goose River. + +All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts as he lay awake in +Captain d'Antons' cabin and watched the fire on the rough hearth fall +lower and lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born and bred to +such a different heritage, pained and fretted him more keenly than a +personal loss. The discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience were +accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though that was absurd, as +neither he nor his had helped Westleigh in his descent, nor cried out +against him when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had never, during +those two years after their disappearance, given them more than a +passing thought--and they had been friends and neighbours. He had +experienced no pity for the young and beautiful girl with whom he had +played in the racquet court at Beverly. Like the great world of which he +was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. Two lives, more or less, +were of no consequence in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the +realization of a great sin had come to him. Then, to the anger against +himself was added anger against the world that had dragged Sir Ralph +into this oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into exile. What +had she done to be driven beyond the bounds of civilization, her safety +dependent on the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there was the raw +spot, sure enough! In the little space of time between two risings of +the sun, Kingswell had met a man and marked him for an enemy. Nursing a +bitter, though somewhat muddled, resentment, he at last fell asleep, +guarded from storm and frost by the roof of the very man who had +inspired his anger. + +For the next few days matters went smoothly at Fort Beatrix. It was +evident to even the least experienced of the settlers that the winter +had come to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the frozen earth. The +river was already hidden under a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by +the snow that had mingled with the water while it was freezing. The +little settlement took up the routine of the dreary months. Axes were +sharpened at the great stone in the well-house. The men donned moccasins +of deerskin. They tied ingenious racquets, or snow-shoes, to their feet +and tramped into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud of the axes +jarred across the air, interrupted ever and anon by the rending, +splitting lament of some falling tree. + +Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's orders, and he and Ouenwa +spent much of their time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with +the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled and tireless woodsman, +led them on many weary marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the +caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from ten to one hundred +head, at the approach of winter; but a few remained in the sheltered +valleys. Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the habits of the +deer, and had laid in a supply of dried venison during the summer. +However, whenever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh meat +was enthusiastically received at the fort. Hares and grouse were snared, +as were foxes and other small animals. A few wolves and one or two +wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked safely away in their +winter quarters, and the beavers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, +the hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward for their toil. +But it was work that kept both their brains and sinews employed, and so +was of a deal more worth than the bare value of the pelts and dinners it +supplied. + +One day in early December, when Kingswell, D'Antons, the younger +Donnelly, and Ouenwa were traversing a drifted expanse of "barren," +marching in single file and without undue noise, they came upon another +trail of racquet prints. They halted. They regarded this unexpected +evidence of the proximity of their fellow man with misgivings--for snow +had fallen in abundance, and therefore the trail was new. They glanced +uneasily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir and mounds of +snow-drifted rock with anxious eyes. They strained their ears for some +warning sound--or for the twanging of bowstrings. They saw nothing. They +heard nothing but the disconsolate chirping of a moose-bird in a +thicket close at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail. + +"From the westward, and heading for the river," he said. "Then they are +not from the village on Gander Lake." + +"Big number," remarked Ouenwa. "Ten, twenty, thirty--don't know how +much! Whole camp, I think." + +"Ay," agreed Donnelly, "they sure has packed clear down through two +falls o' snow. Ye could trot a pony along the pat' they has made." + +"Are you on friendly terms with the savages?" inquired Kingswell of +Captain d'Antons. The Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his +lean shoulders. He was not one to speak unconsidered words. + +"Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people from Gander Lake," he +replied, presently. "That is, we have traded with them a number of +times, and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and through him with +old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand is dead now; and these fellows are +evidently from the West. Also, friendship means nothing where these +vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the breath of life to them." + +"Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. "Panounia no good for friend. +He is a murderer. He is a false chief. He make trade--yes, with +war-arrows from the bushes and with knives in the dark. In friendship +his hand is under his robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his +knife. Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch at a fire." + +D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. "There is a time for all things," he +said--"a time for oratory and another time for action. If you are +willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our steps as swiftly and +quietly as may be. It would be wise to warn the fort that a band of the +sly devils is abroad." + +Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker and flushed darkly. Kingswell +intimated his willingness to return immediately to Fort Beatrix by a +curt nod. It was in his heart to administer a kick to Captain Pierre +d'Antons, though just why the desire he could not say. They turned in +their tracks and started back along the twisting, seven-mile trail. +D'Antons led; and the pace he set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was +passed, with no other sound save those of padding racquet and toiling +breath. In the hollows their shoulders brushed the snow from the +crowding spruce-fronds. Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and +scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran. + +At last, all but breathless from the prolonged exertion, the hunters +turned aside from the path and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side +of a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. They crossed the +naked summit with painful caution, bending double, and taking every +advantage of the sheltering thickets. + +"The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons to Kingswell, as they +peered furtively out between the snow-weighted branches. "See! And the +savages are in cover along the river." It was quite evident to Kingswell +that the place had been attacked, and was now in a state of siege. The +platform in the southeast corner of the stockade was protected by +shields composed of bundles of firewood. Men whom he recognized as those +who had been working in the woods earlier in the day moved about within +the enclosure. The wide, snow-covered clearing that had been so spotless +when he had last seen it was trampled and stained here and there by dark +patches. Along the fringe of timber that shut the river from the +clearing, and extended to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner +of the stockade, a Beothic warrior would frequently show himself for a +moment, hoot derisively, and let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the +watchers on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William Trigget +above the shield of the gun-platform. The master mariner shaded his eyes +with his hand and seemed to be scanning the woods along the river and +then the timber in which his own comrades were concealed. He lowered his +hand and ducked quickly--and not a second too soon; for a flight of +arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few stuck, quivering, into the +pickets of the stockade, and many fell within the fort. + +Kingswell turned to D'Antons. "More of them than we thought," he said. +"There must have been a hundred arrows in that volley." + +Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. He did not look at his +companion, and his brow was puckered in lines of thought. If the +Englishman had been able to read the other's mind at that moment, a deal +of future trouble would have been spared him. However, as Kingswell was +but an adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no superhuman powers, he +was content with the Frenchman's nod, and returned his attentions to the +fort. + +Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above which Trigget had so lately +exposed his head, burst a flash of yellow flame, a spurt of white smoke, +and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. A spruce-tree shook in +the wood by the river, and cries of fear and consternation rang across +the frosty air. A score of savages darted from their cover and as +quickly sped back again. Flight after flight of arrows broke away and +tested every inch of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill +screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party of Beothics emerged +into the clearing and dashed for the palisade. They drew their bows as +they ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, with red feathers +in his hair and his right arm bandaged across his breast, Panounia +shouted encouragement and led the charge. They were half-way across the +open when the second cannon spat forth its message of hate. The ball +passed low over the advancing mass and plunged into the timber beyond. +For a second or two, the attackers wavered, a few turned back, then they +continued their valorous onset. They were already springing at the +palisade when the muskets crashed in their faces from half a dozen +loopholes. This volley was followed immediately by another. The savages +dropped back from their futile leapings against the fortification, hung +on their heels for a moment, clamorous and undecided, and then broke for +cover. They dragged their dead and wounded with them, and left +sanguinary trails on the snow. They were within a few yards of the +sheltering trees when one of the little cannon banged again. The ball +cut across the mass of crowded warriors like a string through cheese. + +"Now is our time!" exclaimed Kingswell. "Run for the gate, lads." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE + + +The returning hunters were promptly admitted to the fort. The little +garrison welcomed them joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the +moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they usually ignored. The +party had taken a hundred chances with death in the crossing of the +narrow clearing. Arrows had followed them from the fringe of wood along +the river, like bees from an overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been +scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from his head, pierced +through and through. A hail of missiles had clattered against the gate +as the good timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and chagrin, in +which Ouenwa's name was repeated many times, rang from the retreat of +the defeated warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. Ouenwa's +shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, lifted in Beothic insults. + +Sir Ralph himself was in command of the imperilled fortress. The +excitement had stirred him out of his customary gloom. His eyes were +bright, and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword was at his +side, and he held a musket in his hand. + +"That was their third attempt to get over the stockade," he said to +Kingswell and D'Antons. "They are filled with the very devil to-day. But +I scarcely think that they will come back for more, now that Trigget has +got his growlers into working order." + +"How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman. + +"Why, about three score of them marched up and said they wanted to come +in and trade," replied the baronet, "but, as they seemed to have nothing +to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget warned them off. Then they +went out on the river and began chopping up the _Red Rose_ and the +_Pelican_. At that we let off a musket, and they retired to cover, from +which they soon emerged with reinforcements and tried to carry the place +by weight of numbers." + +"Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that they are yelling?" + +"My name," replied Ouenwa. "They are my enemies." + +"Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this gentleman's battles for +him," remarked D'Antons, with an exaggerated bow to the lad. "Perhaps +this is the explanation of the attack." + +"I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. "They are surprised at +discovering him here. Also they are surprised and displeased at seeing +me again. They have smelled our powder before, as you have heard, I +think." + +"Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," replied the captain, +smiling his thin, one-sided, Continental smile. + +The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He turned on his heel without +any further words. Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence he +was bound for something to eat. + +Panounia and his braves retreated across the frozen river, and did not +show themselves again that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the +improvised gun-shields were repaired and strengthened, and the guns were +again got ready for action. In place of round shot, William Trigget +charged them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead. + +"When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short time, cut a wide swath," +he remarked to Tom Bent. + +"Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turning a hawk-like eye on the +dark edges of the forest. "Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil +make the hay. It be mun's own crop." + +At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Beatrix was looking from +the doorway of her father's cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, +sobbing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. All the bitterness +and insecurity of her position had come to her with overmastering force. +The sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, bedraggled hair, +as he leaned on his musket and talked with her father and the young +Englishman, had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed confusedly, +half her thoughts with the petitions which she made to her God, and half +with the desperate state of her affairs and the features and attitude of +the buccaneer. + +She was disturbed by some one entering the outer room. She recognized +the footsteps as those of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed +her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with skilful fingers, and +opened the door of her chamber. The baronet looked up at the sound. + +"Ah, lass," he said, "we've driven the rascals off. They have crossed +the river." + +With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the room. + +"I do not fear the savages," she cried. "Oh, I do think their knives and +arrows would be welcome." + +"Poor child! poor little lass!" he said, pausing beside her and kissing +her tenderly. "You have been weeping," he added, concernedly. "But +courage, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long months to come. His +fangs are as good as filed, shut off here and surrounded by the snow and +the savages." + +Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had dimmed the finer +conception of his promise to D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and +sighed. + +She laid her face against his coat and held tight to his sleeves. + +"I hate him," she whispered. "Oh, my father, I hate him for my own sake +as much as I fear him for yours. His every covert glance, his every open +attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, out of fear, I must smile and +simper, and play the hypocrite." + +"No--by God!" exclaimed Westleigh, trembling with emotion. Then, more +quietly, "Beatrix, I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is +hateful to me. I despise him. How such a creation of the devil's can +love you so unswervingly is more than I can fathom. I would rather see +you dead than married to him. There--I have broken my word again! Let me +go." + +He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught up his hat and cloak, +and left the cabin. He crossed over to the well-house, where some of the +men were grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly in their +simple talk of work, and battle, and adventure. Their honest faces and +homely language drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from him. +Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the group about the complaining +grindstone. + +"Come," said Sir Ralph, "and look at the cannon." + +He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa followed them. All three +ascended the little platform on which the guns were mounted, by way of a +short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were snugly covered with +tarpaulins that could be snatched off in a turn of the hand. + +"A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked the baronet. "Ay, he is +true as steel." + +He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one of the little cannon. "I +would trust him, yea, and his good fellows, with anything I possess," he +said, "as readily as I trust these growlers to his care." + +Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the wooded bluff that cut into the +white valley and hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the river. +From beyond the point, moving slowly and unsteadily, appeared a +solitary human figure. Its course lay well out on the level floor of the +stream, and the forest growth along the shore did not conceal it from +the watchers. It approached uncertainly, as if without a definite goal, +and, when within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered and fell +prone. + +"What the devil does it mean?" cried Sir Ralph. + +Kingswell shook his head, and questioned Ouenwa. The lad continued to +gaze out across the open. The sun was low over the western hills, and +its light was red on the snow. + +"Hurt," he said, presently. "Maybe starved. He is not of Panounia's +band." + +"How do you know that, lad?" asked the baronet. + +"I know," replied the boy. "He is a hunter. He is not of the war-party. +He is from the salt water." + +"He is usually right when he maintains that a thing is so, without being +able to give a reason for it," said Kingswell, quietly. "And, if he is, +it seems a pity to let the man die out there under our very eyes." + +"God knows I do not want any one to suffer," said the baronet, "but may +it not be a trick of this Panounia's, or whatever you call him?" + +"No trick," replied Ouenwa; and, without so much as "by your leave," he +vaulted over the breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the snow +outside the stockade. Without a moment's hesitation, Kingswell followed. +Together they started toward the still figure out on the river, at a +brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir Ralph recovered from his +astonishment. He quickly descended to the square, and, without +attracting any attention, informed William Trigget of what had happened. +Trigget and his son immediately ascended to the guns and drew off their +tarpaulins. "We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. They saw +their reckless comrades bend over the prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell +lifted the apparently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. +Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually over his shoulder. The +elder Trigget swore a great oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a +leathern palm. + +"Them's well-plucked uns," he added. + +The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. They were too intent on +the approach of the rescuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook +along the woods on the farther shore. But the enemy made no sign; and +Kingswell, Ouenwa, and the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in +safety. The stranger proved to be none other than Black Feather, the +stalwart and kindly brave who had built his lodge beside the old +arrow-maker's, above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. He was +carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with French brandy until he +opened his eyes. He looked about him blankly for a second or two, and +then his lids fluttered down again. He had not recognized either +Kingswell or Ouenwa. + +"Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame Trigget. "Whatever has mun +been a-doin' now, to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, too, +though he be a heathen, without a manner o' doubt." + +"Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but get some of your good +venison broth inside of him," said Master Kingswell. "That's a treatment +that would surely convert any number of heathen." + +While they were clustered about Black Feather's couch, D'Antons entered. +He peered over Dame Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably +surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beothic the centre of +attraction. + +"What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a comedy?" + +His tone was sour, and too bantering for the occasion. + +The baronet turned on him with an expression of mouth and eye that did +not pass unnoticed by the little group. + +"Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, coldly; "and we hope it +will not prove a tragedy." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING + + +Meals were not served in Captain d'Antons' cabin. The little settlement +possessed but one servant among all its workers, and that one was Maggie +Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The care of Sir Ralph's +establishment was all she could attend to. So the men who had no +women-folk of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame Trigget and +her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the Donnelly women. Kingswell and +D'Antons took their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were served by +themselves, with every mark of respect. Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and +Clotworthy shared the Donnellys' board. + +A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kingswell and D'Antons sat +opposite one another at a small table near the hearth of the Triggets' +living-room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French wine stood between +them. D'Antons took up the bottle, and made as if to fill the other's +glass. + +"One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand. + +The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set down the vintage. The +Englishman leaned forward. + +"Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a whisper, "a remark that you +made to-day seemed to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your +remark was in reference to the brushes between the _Pelican_ and a party +of natives during our cruise from the North. Before I take wine with you +to-night, I want you to either withdraw or explain your implication." + +While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed and calmed again. Now +his dark face wore an even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear +now of the expression of cynicism which so often marred them, held the +Englishman's without any sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand +returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered there. Lord, but the +drama lost an exceptionally fine interpreter when the high seas claimed +Pierre d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled--or was it the +wavering of the candle-light? + +"My friend," he said, softly, "how unfortunate am I in my stupidity--in +my blundering use of the English language. Whatever my words were, when +I spoke of having already heard of your fights with the savages, my +meaning was such that no one would take exception to. Did I use the word +heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what I meant. An Englishman +would have made use of a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have +refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I am unfortunate in my +heritage of French and Spanish blood--the blood that is outspoken both +for praise and blame." + +Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflicting emotions. His heart +told him the man was lying. His eyes assured him that he had been +grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the remark concerning the +skirmishes with the Beothics, but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. +His blood surged to his head, and whispered that he was a young fool to +be hoodwinked so easily. His brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity +for the handsome adventurer--for the love-struck buccaneer--went through +him. But it faded at remembrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the +fellow was playing with him. + +"Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, with a smile of infinite +sweetness and shy persuasion. + +With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman pushed forward his glass, +and the red wine swam to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly +cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. He had not the +courage to meet the Frenchman's look when they raised their glasses and +clinked them across the table. Lord, what a calf he was! + +Had he no will of his own? Did he possess neither knowledge of men nor +mother wit? Ah, but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed +face over his plate of stew. + +When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned to Black Feather's couch, +and D'Antons went over to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had +recovered consciousness and swallowed some of Dame Trigget's broth; +also, he had recognized Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in +his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak to disclose anything +of what had happened in Wigwam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. +He lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his quick, bright +eyes, which moved restlessly in questioning scrutiny of the strange +women and bearded men who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one of the +transparent hands and smiled assuringly. + +For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man he had rescued so +courageously from death by starvation. Then, feeling the heat of the +room and the confusion of his thoughts too much to entertain calmly, he +went out into the cold and darkness and paced up and down. All +unknowing, he kicked the snow viciously every step. He was still in a +perturbed state of mind and temper when William Trigget approached him +through the gloom and touched his elbow. + +"Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing close, "but what of that +Injun in there? Be he really sick, or be he playing a game?" + +"He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not playing a game," +replied Kingswell. "But why do you ask? The fellow is a friend of +Ouenwa's, and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors." + +"Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," said Trigget, "an' has +shammed sick just to get carried inside the fort. There be something +goin' on outside, for certain." + +"What?" asked the other. + +Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while standing under the +gun-platform, by a sound of scrambling outside the stockade. He had +crawled noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breastworks about +the guns. He had been able to distinguish something darker than the +surrounding darkness crouched against the palisade under him. The thing +had moved cautiously. He had detached a faggot from one of the bundles +beside him, for lack of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the +black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and the thing had vanished +in the night. + +"It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded Trigget. + +Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the face of this menace from +the hidden enemy. + +"The guards should be doubled," he said. "But come, we must let Sir +Ralph know of it." + +They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin and knocked on the door. +Maggie Stone admitted them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and +Mistress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud to her father by +the light of one poor candle. But the great fire on the hearth had the +place fairly illuminated. + +William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad weather, cool in any risk of +land or sea, was too abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his +story. So Master Kingswell told it for him. + +"The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph. + +"They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, breaking the spell of the +bright eyes that surveyed him. + +"That is well," answered the baronet. "There is nothing else to be done, +at least until morning, but sleep light and keep your muskets handy." + +Kingswell and the master mariner returned to the darkness without. + +"I will stake my word," said Kingswell, "that the place is surrounded by +the devils even now, and that they will try again to get a man over the +wall to unbar the gates." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE HIDDEN MENACE + + +Neither Kingswell nor Trigget found time for sleep that night. D'Antons +also kept awake, though he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His +candle burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a restless night beside +Black Feather's couch. From ten o'clock until two Tom Bent, John +Trigget, and the younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on their +hips and half-pikes in their hands--for a musket would have proved but +an unsatisfactory weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the +dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, another at the gate, and a +third on the roof of the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget moved +continually from one point to another. At two o'clock the elder +Donnelly, Clotworthy, and Harding relieved their companions. But the two +officers remained at their self-imposed duty. + +At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Kingswell, who had been +pacing the length of the riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed +with relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' cabin, when +William Trigget approached him at a run. The master mariner's face was +ghastly above his bushy whiskers. + +"Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily. + +Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and up to the roof, by way of a +rough ladder that leaned against the wall. There, on the outward slope +of the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, sprawled the body +of Peter Clotworthy. + +"What! Asleep!" exclaimed Kingswell, peering close. The light was not +strong enough to disclose the features of the recumbent sentinel. + +"Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied Trigget, "with no chance o' +wakin' this side o' the Judgment-Seat." + +"Dead?" cried the other, sinking to his knees beside the body. He +pressed his hand against the mariner's side, held it there for a moment, +and withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward the growing +illumination of the east, staring at it with wide eyes. "Blood," he +murmured. "Stabbed without a squeal--without a whimper, by Heaven!" Then +he ripped out an oath, and followed it close with a prayer for his dead +comrade's soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard Kingswell had a +hot and ready tongue--and a temper to suit, when occasion offered. + +The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on the roof of the +storehouse for some time. The light strengthened and spread on their +right, and, at last, gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing +and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow below them, which was +otherwise unmarked, they saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined +feet. The marks did not lead to or from the near cover of the woods, but +to the south, around the fort. The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's +murderer had approached close under the stockade, and, after his silent +deed of violence, had jumped a distance of about twenty feet, from the +roof of the store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, evidently +from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, smirched the snow where it +was broken by his fall. From there the steps returned by the same +course, but at a distance of about ten paces from the stockade. + +Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to the colourless, +distorted features of the dead seaman. Then his gaze met Trigget's +deep-set eyes. He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard line, as +if the frost had stiffened them. + +"Poor Clotworthy," he murmured, and swallowed as if his throat were +dry. "Poor devil, knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, +he was clubbed first and then knifed--felled and bled like an ox in a +shambles! Ten nights of this hellishness will account for the whole +garrison." + +With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that there'd be no ten +nights of it. + +They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, been animated by the +fearless spirit of Richard Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and +carried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other inmates of the +little settlement were deeply affected by the sight, and by Kingswell's +story. The younger men were for setting out immediately and driving the +Beothics from the woods on the far side of the river. But the wiser +heads prevailed against such recklessness, arguing that the only thing +to be done was to remain constantly on guard. The women wept. Ouenwa, +trembling with sorrow and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver +beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, in English and Beothic, +that he would avenge this murder as he intended to avenge the murders of +his father and his grandfather. + +The day passed without any sign of the hidden enemy. Kingswell slept +until noon. By evening Black Feather had recovered enough strength to +enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His lodge, and that of +Montaw, the arrow-maker, had been torn down by the followers of Panounia +shortly after the departure of the _Pelican_ from Wigwam Harbour. Montaw +had died fighting. Black Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and +carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife and children also had +been captured and maltreated. The ships in the bay had looked on at the +unequal struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. Upon +reaching the village on the river, Black Feather had been driven to the +meanest work--work unbecoming a warrior of his standing--and his wife +and children had been led farther up-stream, very likely to Wind Lake. +Black Feather had seen the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top of +a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He had bided his time. At +last he had gnawed the thongs with which his tormentors bound him at +night, and had safely made his escape. He could not say how long ago +that was. Days and nights had become strangely mixed in his desperate +mind. He had lived on such birds and hares as he had been able to kill +with sticks. Always he had kept up his journey, shaping his course +toward the salt water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who might +have remained loyal to the murdered chief. But he had met with nobody +in all that desolate journey, until, only the day before, he had +recovered consciousness in Fort Beatrix. + +That night, John Trigget was attacked at his post on the gun-platform, +and in the struggle that ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So +sudden and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark that he fought in +silence, only remembering to shout for help after the savage had +squirmed from his embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by Sir +Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his place. But daylight arrived +without any further demonstration on the part of the enemy. + +By this time the little garrison was bitten by a restlessness that would +not be denied. Even Kingswell and William Trigget were for making some +sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the river. D'Antons, contrary +to his habit, had nothing to say either for or against an aggressive +movement. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously awaiting development; +but, seeing the spirit of the men, he agreed that five of the garrison +should sally forth in search of the enemy. + +"Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," concluded the baronet, wearily, +"though what the devil you'll do with them then is more than I can +venture to predict." + +Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the cannon was taken from +the platform and mounted on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in +turn, was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fastened rammers and +mops and bags of powder and shot. The daring party was made up of Master +Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, and the younger Donnelly. +D'Antons did not volunteer his services on the expedition. The men were +all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and all save Ouenwa had +fastened steel breastplates under their coats. As they marched away, +Mistress Westleigh waved them "Godspeed" with a scarf of Spanish lace, +from where she stood in the open gate between her father and Captain +d'Antons. + +The little party moved down the bank and across the river slowly and +with commendable caution. Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a +sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Donnelly and Tom Bent +followed about ten paces behind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along +on the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which he feared far +worse than he did any number of Beothic warriors. The river was crossed +without accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's retreat. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE CLOVEN HOOF + + +Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping +with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain +d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a +summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After +closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end +of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, +but no warmth whatever. + +"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said. + +He smiled and approached her with every show of deference. + +"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good +baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the +world." + +The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced +the tears past her lids. Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought +that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to +speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but +a dry sob. + +D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat +clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I +have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond +peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and +attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite +unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. +She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced +him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands. + +The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and +amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth +took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked +the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly. + +"This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Beatrix," he said. + +"I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trembling. "Your presence is +distasteful to me." + +"A sudden turn," said he. "Now a month ago, or even a week ago, you +seemed of a different mind. As for the days of our first meeting in +merry London--ah, then your lips were not so unattainable." + +"I hate you," she murmured. "I despise you. I loath you. You taint the +air for me. Dog, to make a boast of having filched a kiss from a +light-hearted girl--who did not know you for the common fellow that you +are." + +"Beatrix," cried the man, "this is no stage comedy. We are not players. +I have asked you, too many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. +You know that your father's life is in my hands. Tell me now, will you +promise to marry me, or will you let your father go to the gallows in +the spring, and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever your +choice, my beauty, you will accompany me to New Spain next summer. It is +for you to say whether you go as my wife or my mistress." + +At that the girl's face went white as paper. But her eyes were steady. + +D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half-ashamed, nay, more than that, of +his words. + +"It would be hard to say," she replied, very softly, "which would be the +most dishonourable position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. That +of your wife, I think, monsieur--for, as your wife, she would be known +by your name." + +His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken insult. He caught her +roughly by the wrists. + +"Nay," she said, "you must be more gentle. You seem to forget that you +are not sacking a defenceless town. Also, you forget that you have not a +friend or a follower in this wilderness, and that any man or woman in +the fort would shoot you down like a dog at a word from me." + +For a little while they eyed each other steadily enough--her face still +beautiful despite the bantering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the +loathing in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, with a +muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her tender flesh, pressing with +all his strength. + +"Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, "you think yourself strong enough +to flout Pierre d'Antons, do you? Strong enough to spurn the protection +of a soldier and a gentleman! Cry now for your girl-faced Kingswell--for +your golden-haired fellow countryman." + +By that even her lips were colourless, and her eyes were wet. "There is +no need," she said, bravely, "for I hear my father at the door." + +D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a backward step. In doing so, his +heel struck the leg of a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang +discordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as Sir Ralph crossed +the threshold. Before either of the men had time to speak, Beatrix +darted forward and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face with +her open hand. Then, without a word of either explanation or greeting to +her father, she passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of the +room, and entered her own chamber. + +"What does this mean, captain?" inquired the baronet, coldly. D'Antons, +scarcely recovered from the blow, strode toward him. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "It means, my fine old cock, that your +neck will be pulled out of joint when we get away from this +God-forgotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have you strung up +to a yard-arm when you were safely in my power? Stab me, but I've been +too soft--and my reward is insults from the wench of an exiled +card-cheat and murderer." + +His voice was raised almost to a scream. His face quivered with passion. +He thrust it within a few inches of the baronet's. + +"Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously. + +"Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. "I cannot abide being bawled at in +my own house, especially by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep +your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a hurt. What's this! +You'd presume?" + +They withdrew on the instant. The two swords came clear in the same +second of time. + +"_Gabier de potence_," cried D'Antons. + +"_Canaille_," replied the baronet, blandly. Evidently the rasp of the +steel had mended his temper. He even smiled a little at his adoption of +his adversary's mother-tongue. + +The men were excellently matched as swordsmen. But not more than half a +dozen passes had been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the room, +crying to them to put up their swords. + +"Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on D'Antons, "go back to your +room, my daughter, and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will +soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy." + +The girl went softly back and closed the door, in an effort to shut out +the rasping and metallic striking of the blades. She prayed, but for +strength to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's soul. She was +afraid--desperately afraid. The truth of her father's skill in French +sword-play had been kept from her. To her he was but a courteous, +middle-aged gentleman who needed her care, and who had been maligned and +robbed by the world into which he had been born. He was a good father. +He had been a loving and considerate husband. She knelt beside her bed +and beseeched God to succour him in this desperate strait. + +In the meantime the fight went on in the outer room with more the air of +a harmless bout for practice than a duel to the death. It was altogether +a question of point and point, in the Continental manner, perfectly free +from the swinging attack and clanging defence of the English style. The +combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. Neither seemed in any +hurry. The thrusts and lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were +delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant leisure. + +"I believe you have the advantage of me by about three inches of steel," +remarked the baronet, diverting a lightning thrust from its intended +course. + +"A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, smiling grimly. + +Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge of a book of verses +which Mistress Beatrix had left on the floor. For a second he was +swerved from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was to feel the +warm blood running down his breast from a slight incision in his left +shoulder. But his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and the +Frenchman found himself more severely pressed than before, despite the +advantage he possessed in the superior length of his sword. The little +wound counted for nothing. + +Just what the outcome of the fight would have been, if an untimely +interruption in the person of Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is +hard to say. Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the victory in +the long run, or perhaps the baronet's excellent composure. In skill +they were nicely matched, though the Englishman displayed superiority +enough to even the difference in the length of the blades. But why take +time for idle surmises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, at the +open door, saw her beloved master engaged in a desperate combat with a +person whom she despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden stain of +blood on her master's doublet. In her hand she held a skillet which she +had just borrowed from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce +herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Captain d'Antons a +resounding whack on the head with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long +sword fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the floor. With a +low, guttural cry, the Frenchman followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, +at the feet of the surprised and indignant baronet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH + + +Master Kingswell and his party returned from their daring reconnoitre +early in the afternoon. They had not met with the enemy, though they had +found the camp and torn down the temporary lodges. After that they had +followed the broad trail of the retreat for several miles, and had +discharged the cannon twice into the inscrutable woods. Their daring had +been rewarded by the capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked +salmon and dried venison. + +Both Kingswell and William Trigget were unable to account for the fact +that the savages had not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In +reality they owed their bloodless victory to the presence of the little +cannon. That third and last discharge of slugs, on the day of the big +fight, had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, and inspired +an hysterical terror in the hearts of the rest. But for that, the hidden +enemy would not have been content with playing a waiting game and with +the attempted killing of one man each night; and neither would they have +retired, so undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. But, +despite their fear of the cannon, they had no intention of giving up the +siege of the fort. They placed trust in the darkness of night and their +own cunning. + +Kingswell and the elder Trigget were drawn aside by Sir Ralph. The +baronet looked less care-haunted than he had for years. + +"D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he whispered, "and behold, the +heavens have not fallen,--nor even the poor defences of this +plantation." He smiled cheerfully. "The great captain alone has come to +grief," he added. "Maggie Stone saved him from my hand by felling him +herself with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically angry at the time, +but am glad now that I did not have to kill the rogue." + +"Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked Trigget, coolly. + +"I grant you that, my good William," replied Sir Ralph, "but he is +harmless as a new-born babe, after all--and we'll see that he remains +so." + +Then he told them the story of the duel, and of what had led to it. +Kingswell flushed and paled. + +"God's mercy!" he cried, "but I would I had been in your boots, sir." + +"You'd have died in them, more than likely," replied the baronet, laying +a hand on the other's shoulder. "D'Antons has a rare knowledge of +swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with." + +"Even so," replied Kingswell, "it would have been--it would have been a +pleasure to die in such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, "But +I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his gimcrackery and +side-stepping. I've seen such gentry hopping and poking for hours, when +one good cut from the shoulder would have ended their tricks." + +The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge of sadness. "Ah, what a +fine thing is the heart of youth," he said, "and the confidence of +youth. I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my dear boy, valour +and confidence are not more than half the battle, after all. The edge is +a fine thing, and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammering of the +first sword; but the point becomes no less deadly simply because one +stout young Englishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were not +that I have won the distinction--beside many a less enviable one--of +being the best swordsman in England, I could not have withstood +D'Antons' play for long enough to make sure of the colour of his eyes." + +Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know which way to turn his +abashed countenance. Both Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him. + +"But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, "that, if it came to a +matter of cutlasses, neither the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long +against either you or Trigget." + +"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, staring over the +baronet's shoulder at nothing in particular, "but I haven't a doubt that +even Maggie Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a match for +me." + +William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. "We must ease the young +gentleman's temper, sir," he said to the baronet. "I have a pair of +singlesticks." + +"Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his hand under Kingswell's arm +and led him into the cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy +compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth immediately felt better +in his pride. + +"Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir Ralph whispered in his ear. +"He is safe in his own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not +over-tenderly, by Maggie Stone." + +Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix on the bench by the +fire. He noticed that she had been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the +brighter for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief expedition +from which he had just returned. He told of the cluster of lodges, the +cooking-fires still burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and +not a human being in sight. + +"And what if you had seen the savages?" she asked. "Surely, four +Englishmen and a lad could do nothing against such a host?" + +"We would have fallen in the first flight of arrows," replied Kingswell. + +"Then why did you risk it?" + +The young man shook his head and laughed. "Some one must take risks," he +said, "else all warfare would come to a standstill." + +The girl was looking down at her hands, and reflectively twisting a +jewelled ring around and around on one slim finger. "And I wish it would +with all my heart," she sighed. "Warfare and bloodshed--they are the +devil's inventions, and strike innocent and guilty alike." + +"Nay," replied Kingswell, "there is more harm done to the innocent in +courts and fine assemblies, and at the sheltered card-tables, than on +all the battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon, and, if he +sometimes lets the good blood with the bad, why, that's just a risk we +must accept." + +Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him squarely. "You preach like a +Puritan," she said, "with your condemnation of courts and play. You +should give my father the benefit of some of your wisdom. His friends +have all been generous with such help." + +Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward minute studied the toes of his +moccasins. Presently he looked up. + +"I am sorry," he said. + +Her glance softened. + +"I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of courts," he added. "I am +ignorant of everything." + +His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed softly. + +"Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. "Nothing is so easily +mended as ignorance." + +He looked at her gravely. + +"I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons in French sword-play," +he said. "Is there nothing that you would teach me?" + +"Embroidery," she replied, "and how to brew a Madeira punch." + +At that moment the baronet opened the door and admitted William Trigget. +The master mariner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket-work +guards under his arm. + +"Does your education commence so soon?" inquired Beatrix of Kingswell. + +"Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of his old confidence. With +the lady's permission and Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell +cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the table. They removed +their outer coats. Trigget was the taller, as well as the heavier, of +the two. Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the dry +whacking of the sticks against one another, varied occasionally by the +muffled thud of wood against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine +display of the English style--slash, cut, and guard, with never a +side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes of it, Trigget cried "enough," +and stumbled out of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. His +shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; Kingswell was without a +touch. + +Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, for that matter, +concealed their astonishment at the result of the bout. "And now, sir," +said Kingswell, "I should like a lesson in the other style." + +The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless blades with blunted +points. After a few words as to the manner of standing, they crossed the +lithe weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from his hand and +sent bounding across the room. He recovered it without a word and +returned to the combat. By this time the light was failing. After about +a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His gray eyes danced, and he +laughed gaily as he picked up his weapon. + +"I see the way of that trick," he said. + +He returned to the one-sided engagement with, if possible, more energy +and eagerness than before. Already he had the attitude and stamping +manner of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his defence again and +again without slipping through. Three times he tried the circular, +twisting stroke with which he had disarmed the novice before without +success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he put out fresh efforts, +and forgot all about his defence. The blades rasped, and rang, and +whispered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's breast, at his throat, +at his eyes; but it never touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was +about to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because of the +gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the insignificant but painful +wound on the baronet's shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, +pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir Ralph dropped his foil to +the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS + + +Captain Pierre d'Antons' injury kept him indoors for ten days. During +that time he saw nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and Ouenwa. +Kingswell could not help feeling sorry for him, in spite of the enmity +and distrust in his heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came by +his cut head to the young Englishman. He knew that the other knew--and +sometimes he wondered how much. He accepted such attentions at +Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make to any invalid, with +what seemed gratitude and humility. But under the mask his blood was +raging. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass of water from the +Englishman, it was as much from the effort of restraining an outburst of +hate as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by now, suspected the +real state of the other's feelings. + +During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the Beothics made three night +attacks on the fort. Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstrations +of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his death and young Trigget had +received the cut on his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was an +attack in force, made in that darkest hour just before the first +stirrings of dawn. By good fortune, both William Trigget and Kingswell +were dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. They both ran to +the gun-platform, and there found Tom Bent desperately engaged with two +savages, who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoulders of their +fellows. The intruders were speedily hurled backward, they and a portion +of the breastworks falling on the devoted heads below. At the moment, +Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the ladder and handed a torch to her +husband. In a second the coverings were pulled from the guns. The +muzzles of the little weapons were declined as far as they would go, and +the fuses were ignited. Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the +enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the torch's +illumination. Both William Trigget and Tom Bent were hit, and fell to +their knees. In the same instant of time the guns belched their flame +and screaming missiles into the wavering mass of savages. A yell of +terror and pain, made up of many individual cries, followed the reports +of the guns like an echo. + +But along the opposite stockade, things were not going so well for the +settlers. About a dozen of the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of +the storehouse, and from there had jumped into the yard, driving Peter +Harding before them. They were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. +Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the edges of the conflict. +Matters were looking serious for the defenders (who by that time were +joined by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Maggie Stone) when the +discharge of artillery across the square turned the courage of the +attackers to water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them were cut +down while endeavouring to escape by way of the ladder against the wall +of the storehouse. The rest got away, but none of them unscathed. With +that the fight ended, though the defenders kept to their posts until +broad daylight. + +In the morning it was discovered that one of the six warriors who +remained within the fort was still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to +D'Antons' cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were not of a serious +nature. Black Feather, who was a convalescent by now, recognized a +bitter enemy in the disabled captive. He was for despatching him +straightway, recalling the bitter days of his slavery and the loss of +wife and children. He was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa +remonstrated with him at some length. + +The little garrison had suffered in the brief engagement. William +Trigget had halted three arrows with his big body. Only one had reached +the flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and hide; but that one +had cut deep into the muscles of his chest, and the others had bruised +his ribs. Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gaping slash in +the side of his neck. Young Peter Harding was laid on his back with a +cracked rib, dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a fair way +to remain on the sick-list for some time to come. + +The dead Beothics were carried out and buried in a shallow grave near +the honest Clotworthy's desolate resting-place. + +It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, that the enemy were +still maintaining the siege, and at even closer range than before. The +continual sight of that evidence of their presence, and the idleness due +to confinement within a few hundred yards of the stockade, began to tell +on the spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of difficulty to +forget the wounded men in such restricted quarters. Bandages and +salves, gruels and plasters, seemed to pervade every corner. Every one +who was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the lack of fresh meat +was beginning to be felt. Sir Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just +after his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his black moods. +Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes were losing something of their +radiance, though she carried herself bravely and cheerfully. + +Master Kingswell, who had a knack with bandages and such, found his time +fully occupied. He inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and +Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the captured Beothic. His only +recreation was a few hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the +Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit happened to be paid +during the day; if in the evening, they sometimes played chess, or, +better still, the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, and the +youth and the maiden bent their young heads above the pieces of carved +ivory. + +Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kingswell detected an +aloofness toward him that had not been noticeable during the first days +of their acquaintance. The thing was very fine--so fine that it was +scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. One of duller perception would +have missed it altogether. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save +in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye and the softer notes +of the voice. But it worried the young man. He felt that he had failed +in something--that she had set a standard for him, and that he had not +risen to it. With native shrewdness, he suspected that she considered +him crude and conceited. He knew that she considered him brave, and that +she admired his courage; but he was equally sure that his prowess with +the singlesticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexterity with the +rapier, did not tell in his favour in her eyes. "Women are evidently as +unreasonable as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried to acquire +a modest demeanour. But the ability to do so had not been born in him, +and no matter how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone in his +clear eyes and self-confidence was in the carriage of head and +shoulders. + +The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell became more affectionate +every day. He recognized the sterling qualities in the youth,--the +honesty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical and mental gifts +of quick eye and wrist and clear brain. He derived no little comfort +from his presence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired son of +the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter had a second guardian. He knew +that the Kingswell blood, though not noble by the rating of the College +of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely as any in England. In +happier times he had known and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity +with the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad-minded merchant's +heart as sound as his self-imported wines. He remembered the wife, too, +as a person of distinction and kindliness. + +For his own part, the baronet realized more surely, with the passing of +each narrow day, that life offered no further allurement to him. The +slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance and defeat of +D'Antons was of no more lasting a quality than the flavour of a vintage. +The Frenchman was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them; and in as +fair a way as himself to leave his bones in the wilderness. Yes, he felt +a twinge of pity for him! He could understand that, to an adventurer +like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very devil,--worse, perhaps, than +the fever of the gaming-table. But of course he felt no regret for +having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's audacious suit. His +regret--if, indeed, he entertained any concerning so recent an event in +his career--was that he had not pricked the buccaneer's bubble of false +power months before--despite the promise he had made him. But as things +had turned out,--as Time had dealt the cards, to use his own words,--the +other's behaviour had allowed him to strike without too flagrant a +breach of his word of honour. He was thankful for that. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +TWO OF A KIND + + +When Pierre d'Antons was able to move about again, he found himself +shunned, without disguise, by every one of the inmates of the fort save +Bernard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no longer under orders to +treat him with respect and obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and +turned their backs when he addressed them. Of course, the door of Sir +Ralph's habitation was closed against him. He spent almost all his time +in his own cabin, with the captured and slowly convalescing Beothic for +companion. He read a great deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a +fit of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, cursing, crying out for a +chance of revenge, with clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, +the Beothic would watch him closely, with understanding in his gaze. The +savage was no linguist; but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every +nationality. + +D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatuation for Mistress +Westleigh. The blow of the skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever +his passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it lacked nothing +in vitality. It was a madness. It was a bitter desire. How gladly he +would risk death, fighting for her--and yet he would not have hesitated +a moment about killing her happiness, to win his own, had an opportunity +offered. Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness were things +apart from what he considered his love for the beautiful English girl. + +In this state of mind he built a hundred wild dreams of carrying her +away, and of ultimately imprisoning her, should she still be averse to +his love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realization of his position +would come over him and set him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, +despite the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and friendly +exterior. He wondered if he could not turn the young man to some use. He +gave the matter his attention. + +One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to Kingswell. All through it +the Englishman was itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his time +than was absolutely necessary under the Frenchman's roof. But the +narrator held him with a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history +of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great family that had fallen +upon lean years; with a ruinous château, a proud and studious father, +and a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams and few pleasures; +with a youth of hard and honourable soldiering wherever the banners of +France led the way; and with an early manhood of high adventure and +achievement in the Western colonies. + +Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's voice fairly trembled with +emotion. He believed no more of the tale than if he had already heard +the truth of the matter--which was, in plain English, that D'Antons was +the bastard of a blackleg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had +spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and had won, by courage +and cunning, to the position of a captain of buccaneers in early +manhood. The achievements in the Western colonies had been matters of +the wrecking and plundering of what others had built; the high +adventures--God spare me the telling of them! + +After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one of his reddest moods. +He was sure that the pink-cheeked youth had not believed a word of his +story--had been laughing up his sleeve at the most touching passages. He +was sorry that he had not twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding +the narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this artistic lying to +such a pig's head! He jumped to his feet, with a violence that almost +startled the Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room like a +madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the walls. He knocked the few +pieces of furniture out of his erratic course, and spilled his books and +papers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without any ringing oaths +or blistering curses. His rage worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes +bleed. It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and his hands, +but found no ease in articulation. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, +from where he had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was such a +daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beothic, crouched fearfully +against the wall, and followed his movements with wide eyes; for, though +a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud was a craven at heart. + +Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and the victim of it sank +languidly into a chair beside the Beothic's couch. He groaned and +shivered. For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden between his +hands. Looking up, his eyes met the eyes of the native. In their furtive +regard, he read that which suggested a new move. Though, owing to an +inborn caution, he had never displayed a knowledge of the Beothic +language to his fellow settlers, and had refrained from using any words +of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea of it during his +sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hitherto he had paid but scant attention to Red +Cloud, for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intolerance toward +uncivilized peoples; but now he leaned forward and spoke kindly to his +companion. + +It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned to D'Antons' cabin. Under +the new order of things, Ouenwa had volunteered his services as +assistant night-guard of the two prisoners--for the Frenchman was +virtually a prisoner. It was their custom to keep watch turn and turn +about, in two hours' vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a +comfortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was also by the hearth. +This precaution was taken for fear of some treachery on the part of Red +Cloud. + +When the two entered the outer room, the fire was burning brightly, and +by its ruddy light they saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to +the wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the door. When the +morning was well advanced, they opened windows and door, and replenished +the fire. Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, and looked +in to see how D'Antons was faring. His fire was out and he was still +abed. Kingswell moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. +What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut in his sleep! He laid +his hand on the shapeless shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding +pelts and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor frantically. His +exclamation brought Ouenwa to his side. The Englishman pointed a finger +of dismay at the demolished dummy. + +"Tricked!" he cried. "Rip me, but what a fine jailer I am!" They rushed +back to the other room and investigated the figure on the Beothic's +couch. That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and bedding. Red +Cloud also had faded away. + +News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the savage went through the +fort like an electric current. The settlers were more interested and +surprised over it than concerned. Even the invalids sat up and +conjectured on the captain's object in fleeing to the outer wilderness, +and the doubtful but inevitable reception by the natives. They could +hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and Red Cloud had gone as +fellow conspirators, remembering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward +the aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions. + +William Trigget shook his head when he heard the story, and rated the +men who had been on duty along the palisade with unsparing frankness. +Sir Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked surprised. + +"It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, "to bundle up a few +blankets into lifelike effigies, and then to slip away while the jailer +is elsewhere spending a social evening." + +Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl steadily; but he failed +to meet her eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "they slipped away while two men were on guard along the +walls, and while the self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' +sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was playing chess with your +ladyship." + +"I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the baronet quickly. "We +have no use for the savage; and as to D'Antons--why, if the enemy kill +him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I cannot help wondering +at him taking so dangerous a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with +the natives at any time, one would have a clue. But he always treated +them like dogs." + +Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the lady, and gave all his +attention to the baronet and the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of +shame had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His eyes, also, showed +a change--a chilling from blue to gray, with a surface glitter and a +shadow behind. + +"You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, "that D'Antons has taken +what he considers the lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to +him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have removed Red Cloud to one +of the other huts." + +"He was kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," said the baronet. + +"I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. "Then I am not the only +scapegrace of the community." + +The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he smiled at the young man. +But the girl did not receive the implication in the same spirit. She +stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising species of bird that +had flown in at the window. + +"Such a remark rings dangerously of insubordination," she exclaimed, +"not to mention the impertinence of it." + +Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and murmured a +remonstrance. It is a wise father that knows his own daughter. Kingswell +turned an expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. Then he +bowed to Sir Ralph. "If I am guilty of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave +your pardon," he said. "As to insubordination--why, I believe there is +nothing to say on that head, as I am a free agent; but I think you +understand, sir, that I and my men are entirely at your service, as we +have been ever since the day we first accepted the hospitality of Fort +Beatrix. My men, at least, have not failed in any duty, whatever my +delinquencies." + +With an exclamation of sincere concern, the baronet stepped close to his +friend and placed a hand on either of his shoulders. + +"Bernard--my dear lad--why all this talk of pardon, and duty, and +delinquencies, and God knows what else? If you believe that I consider +you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me ungrateful indeed." + +His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced Kingswell that the words +were sincere, and so did something toward the mending of his injured +feelings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his manner unbent. He +took his departure immediately after. + +Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door closed behind Kingswell. + +"I do not understand your treatment of him," he said. "Surely you +realize that he is a friend--and friends are not so common that we can +afford to flout them at every turn." He did not speak angrily, but the +girl saw plainly enough that he was seriously displeased. + +"The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she explained, weakly. "How +indignation would have burned within him had some one else allowed the +prisoners to escape." + +The baronet gazed at her pensively for several seconds, and then took +her hand tenderly between his own. + +"You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweeting," he said. "What you +take for conceit is just youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a +clean conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him--not a hint of +it. I am sorry you like him so little, my daughter, for he is a good lad +and well-disposed toward us." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER + + +For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little +garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so +much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from +sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment +of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red +Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave +the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was +of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of +Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter +for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the +greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of +the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be +brought to the rescue of the settlement. So Black Feather had told the +tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed. + +"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none +too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger +brother. + +"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied +the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft +Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and +of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at +the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all +be saved--thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture." + +At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think +Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired. + +Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied, +"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain." + +"What do you know of the black captain?" + +"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will +struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady. +That is all I know." + +"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell. + +Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within +eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the +ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already +without my telling, friend-chief," he added. + +"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other. + +Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin +since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course +he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of +tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the +presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice +of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent +composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved +him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes. + +Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph +welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan +for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was +deeply moved. He took a ring from his own hand and slipped it over one +of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black +Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply +them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for +themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win. + +"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and +the only one, as far as I can see." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the +visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed +low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those +days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, +of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set +forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with +shining eyes. + +"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have +you learned your bravery?" + +Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my +fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell--and +half I gather from your eyes." + +The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his +lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the +shoulder. + +"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your +reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention +my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements +to leave as soon as dusk falls." + +At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned +a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to +leave us, too!" she exclaimed. + +Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw +the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the +note of anxiety in the clear young voice. + +"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would +only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a +poor woodsman--and already our garrison is none too heavily manned." + +"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure +that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need +you." + +Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-concealed surprise. +Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove +to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was +the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he +had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden +fear in the lady's face. + +Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to +Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, +heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and +entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine +apparel. + +"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two +brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond +belief." + +He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor--up and down, up and down, +with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back. + +"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in +the forest to-night--away from the fire." + +She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze. + +"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded +over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their +trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a +good many hours to come." + +Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it +produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The +baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the +strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then +returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she +looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before. +They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels, +and yet dark as the heart of a deep water. + +"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any +suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from +that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly +reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing +instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, +across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang +clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the +firelight. + +At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined +comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he +watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of +the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream. + +The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic +strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not +look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing +of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The +logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the +wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player +stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one +of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own +chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and +the bow like a wand in her hand. + +Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet +with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench. + +"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir." + +With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet +sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of +joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories +and called up more recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied +his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that +Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young +Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood +but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger. + +Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his +thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music +and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the +long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if +lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest +of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the +memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard +her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the +violin? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN + + +Ouenwa and Black Feather turned their faces from the little fort and the +hostile camp beyond the white river, and set bravely forward into the +darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding hummocks, bending and +twisting through the coverts, crossing the open glades like a +shadow--and all without any noise except the scarcely audible padding of +his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close after. They had not gone far +before the snow began to fall and puff around them in blinding clouds. +The trees bent tensely under the lash of the wind. More than one +frost-embrittled spire came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad +held on their journey, for they were both fresh and strong, and eager to +widen the spaces of wilderness between themselves and the camp of +Panounia. + +Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the snow on the leeward side of +a thicket of low spruces, broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire +between the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal repast, and +then rolled themselves in their rugs of skin and fell asleep. They had +no fear that any of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. They +lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for several hours. Then Ouenwa +turned over and yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in an +instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. The white sun was +half-way up the blue shell of the eastern sky. All around the new snow +lay in feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it clung in even +masses, which showed that the wind had died down long before the flakes +had ceased to fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold meat and +bread, swallowed some brandy and water, and resumed their journey. + +Not until the afternoon of the third day following their departure from +Fort Beatrix did the travellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black +Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few paces ahead of Ouenwa, +who caught the first sight of the thin, melting signal of human life. It +wavered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of yards in front. On +their right hand lay the ice-edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On +their left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a mountainous +horizon. In front lay hope, and behind the spur of menace. + +"Is there a village yonder?" asked Ouenwa. + +Black Feather replied negatively. + +"The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his own language, "and there +was no lodge there when last I saw it. We will approach under the +shelter of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the journey a few paces +longer, and perhaps the arrival twenty times safer." + +Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution expressed by his friend. + +"But let us hurry," he said. "Remember that around the stockade the +black captain is ever stirring the courage of the night-howlers." + +At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from the screen of brush +into a tiny clearing on the north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was +not ten yards across at this point. On its white surface ran several +trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which had attracted them to the place +curled up from the apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the +travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the doorway of the lodge. +Ouenwa recognized her as a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and +adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the information to Black Feather. + +"Then we may show ourselves," said the other, "for if this woman was +the great chief's friend you may be sure that death has only +strengthened her loyalty. It is so with women--with the wise and the +foolish alike. A man will stand close to his comrade in the days of his +glory and in the press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the +fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the departed ever before +the matters of the present day. A man must have the reward of his +friend's praise and the joy of his companionship; but a woman makes a +god of the departed spirit and looks for her reward beyond the red +gates." + +Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage reflections, for all he +knew of women was that a radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had +his heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and down the bank, in +silence. + +The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught sight of them +immediately. She turned into the dark interior of the wigwam, but +appeared before they were half-way across the frozen stream, with a bow +in her hand and an arrow on the string. Black Feather and the lad raised +their right hands, palms forward, above their heads, and continued to +advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, but did not relax her attitude +of vigilance. Close to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and +the lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of Soft Hand, and that +his companion was Black Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the +arrow-maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam forsook her post and +advanced to meet them. + +The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft Hand's advisers, was not +attractive to the eye. She was bent hideously, though still of +surprising bodily strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the matted +locks of hair that clung about it and fell over her ears and neck like a +wig of gray tree-moss. Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One +yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of her mouth. Her hands +were claws. Her skin was no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than +was the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. Her garments were +unusually barbaric--lynx-skins shapelessly stitched together and hung +about with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint nearly as long +as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy arms hung naked at her sides, as +indifferent to the nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes. + +"Child," she said, "I heard that you were killed--that Panounia's men +had slain you and a party of English; but that I knew to be false, for I +saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers. So I believed +that you had crossed the great salt water with the strangers." + +Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman listened with the keenest +interest and many nods of the head. + +"It is well," she said. "They are scattered now, some in hiding, some +sullenly obedient to Panounia, and some in captivity. Your need will +bring them together and awake their sleeping courage. I know of a full +score of stout warriors who will draw no bow for Panounia, and who are +all within a day's journey of this spot, but sadly scattered,--yea, +scattered in every little hollow, like frightened hares." + +"Do you live in this great lodge all by yourself?" inquired Black +Feather. + +"My sons are in the forest, seeing to their snares," replied the woman, +eying the tall brave sharply, "but within are a sick woman and a small +child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Panounia's camps." + +She stood aside and motioned them to enter the lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, +with Black Feather close at his heels. Within, it took them several +seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke and shadow. Presently +they made out a couch of fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on +it a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. Both the woman +and the child were gazing at the visitors. The child began to whimper. + +Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang over the fire. He had found +his squaw and one of his lost children. + +The sickness of Black Feather's wife was nothing but the result of +hardship and ill-treatment. Already, under the herb-doctor's care, she +was greatly improved. The meeting with her warrior went far to complete +the cure of the old woman's broths and soft furs. The child was well; +but the woman knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder offspring. + +Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long at the lodge beside Little +Thunder. With the younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they +set out that same day to find the hidden warriors who were against the +leadership of Panounia. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS + + +Back at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary suspense. The wounded men +recovered slowly. The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and the +dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking-fires, melting against the +sky, told of their presence. The inaction ate into the courage of the +English men and women like rust. The boat-building and the iron-working +at the forge were carried on listlessly, and without the old-time spurs +of song and laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent displayed sombre +faces to their little world. + +Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. He was not blind to the +danger of their position, and he continued to do double duty in +everything; but for all that he awoke each day with keen anticipation +for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, dreamed of other things than +the poised menace and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, or any +other city of the outer world, when Beatrix Westleigh was domiciled +within the rough walls of the fort on Gray Goose River? His heart would +not descend to those depths of despondency in which lurk fear and +hopeless anxiety. What power of man, in that wilderness, could break +down his guard and harm the most wonderful being in the world? The +girl's brief season of unkindness toward him was as a cloud that her +later friendliness had dispersed as the sun disperses the morning fog. +He had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, in her eyes, in her +voice, and on several occasions something that had set his heart +thumping in the touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse nor +indifferent to his society, and the glances of her magnificent eyes were +open to translations that set him looking out upon life and that +wilderness through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged D'Antons +draw their rapiers upon him--he would out-thrust, out-play, and +out-stamp them all! Let a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the +fort--he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour on his breast, would +scatter them like straw! And all this because, for the first time in his +life of twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a woman,--and +twenty-one was a fair, manly age in those days. He had won to it +unknowingly, by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So let not +even the oldest of us criticize his attitude toward life. A man's +emotions cannot always be herded and driven by the outward circumstances +of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the mercy of a dog and a +dull countryman. That to which cautious Worldliness has given the name +of madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but a spark of God's own +courage and imagination in the heart of youth: the years having not yet +smothered it with the ashes of cowardice and calculation. + +Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but an assured front to the +world. Now this love that had him so irresistibly in its services only +heightened the confidence of his address toward men and events; but in +the presence of its inspiration it clothed him in unaccustomed and +unconscious meekness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick to +notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of course; for was it not a +greater and a more pleasant matter to have brought a high-hearted, +adventure-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery than to have a +dozen idle courtiers bowing before one, and a dozen sentimental poets +mouthing verses that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any +charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and could not find it in her +heart to regret the beaux of London Town. But she did not know her +heart as the man knew his--and as she knew his. + +One morning they walked together along the river-bank, before the open +gate of the fort. The air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows +along the snow were bluer than the dome of the sky. The girl talked +cheerily; for in the bright daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour +rising from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong and worshipping +man, sword-girt, within arm's length, it was hard to remember the menace +concealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very bright, and the +blood mantled under the clear skin of her cheeks at the wind's caress. +Now and then, for a bar or two, she broke into song. + +Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten firm with his snow-shoes, +after the last storm, expressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. +It was about a hundred yards in length, and broad enough for two persons +to walk in abreast, and firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes +unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with the stockade and the +course of the river at that point. When the turn was made at either end +of the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon and every tree, +every knoll, and hollow. It was done almost unconsciously, as a +traveller instinctively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound of +voices ahead of him on a dark road. + +After a time the girl noticed her companion's vigilance. "What do you +expect to see?" she asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with her +gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, but recovered his wits with +an effort. + +"Nothing," he replied, "or surely we would not be walking here." + +She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she inquired. + +He looked down at her, displayed the desperate condition of his heart in +his eyes, and then looked back again to the strip of woods that +approached them along the back. + +"I am not afraid," he said--and then, with a gasp of dismay, he caught +her and swung her behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against +his sheltering back. + +"We must return to the fort," he said. "Something is going on in that +covert." + +"Come! We will run!" she whispered, pulling at his elbows to turn him +around. + +"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, +and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in +what quarter to look for it." + +She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path +that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, +and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at +the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put +his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The +unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside +the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the +fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to +Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a +war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, +they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate. + +Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making +any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers +on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was +fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without +apparent effect. + +Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his +wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that +really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had +been serving Beatrix as a shield when the arrow struck him. He went the +rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and +his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the +strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of +drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball. + +It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. +He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called +to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her +face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a +quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow +before clasping them in eager fingers. + +"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," +he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her +hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers +drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall +her, God knows!--nay, not so much as a chill--but how could he keep it +in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill +with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her +flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard. + +"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had +nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life--and again, +perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world +to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the +immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender +to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain +like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips--how near +they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. +God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness. + +"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet +madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about +to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and +left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the +figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph. + +"Well, my lad?" inquired the baronet, calmly. + +"Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, hiding his chagrin +and confusion with exceeding skill. + +"You looked just now as if you were expecting me," said the elder. "Come +in, come in. We can talk better by the fire." + +Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He picked up his gloves from +the trampled snow by the threshold, and silently followed the baronet +into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there--which fact the +lover noticed with a sinking of the heart. He was alone with her father, +and evidently under marked suspicion,--a fearful matter to a young man +who aspires to the hand of an angel, and has not yet his line of action +quite laid down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought of his +presumption, called the respectability of his parents and his income to +his aid, and was ready for the baronet when that gentleman turned and +faced him in front of the fire. + +"I love your daughter," he said, with his voice not quite so cool and +manly as he had intended it to be. + +Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back was to the fire, and so his +face was in heavy shadow. + +"I love her very dearly," continued the other. "I believe no man could +love a woman more, for it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre +of my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not exalted, and that she is +the--" + +The baronet raised his hand sharply. + +The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of his sentence more +effectively than a clap of thunder would have done it. + +"Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, "she is the daughter of a blackleg. She +is the daughter of a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken +gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high,--you, the son of a +humble merchant of Bristol." + +Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, with a hardy oath, he +slapped his hand to his hip. + +"Though she were the daughter of the devil himself," he began, and came +to a lame stop. The baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly +smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. Kingswell gave up all +attempt at politic speech. He had his own feelings to express. "Your +daughter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, huskily. +"Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes have been, they can reflect +in no way on her sweetness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not +mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of all on the father of the +most glorious woman in the world. I remember you in your strength,--the +greatest man in the county and my father's noble friend. The world has +taken a twirl since then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, my +heart is with you warmer than my worthy father's ever was." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +BETROTHED + + +That Bernard Kingswell had accepted the baronet's own estimation of his +(the baronet's) character so frankly, in the heat of sentimental +disclosure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than a pang or two. What +else could he expect of even this true friend? He was a broken gamester +and a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict of the law; but +whether or not he was a blackleg was a matter of opinion and the exact +definition of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well disposed toward +him, and that he believed nothing vile or cowardly of him; but, best of +all, he was sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was fortunate +beyond his hoping of the past two years. Should they get clear of the +besieging natives and out of the wilderness, her future happiness, +safety, and position would be assured. As Mistress Bernard Kingswell, +she would live close to the colour and finer things of life again, +gracing some fair house as a former Beatrix had done in other days--to +wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. The mist blurred his eyes +at that memory and dimmed his vision against the rough log walls around +him. + +Another thought came to the broken baronet, as he sat alone by the +falling fire, after Kingswell's departure, and awaited his supper and +the reappearance of his daughter. The thought was like a black shadow +between his face and the comforting fir sticks--between his heart and +the knowledge of a good man's love and protection for Beatrix. Knowing +the girl as he did, he felt sure that she would never leave him, her +exiled father, even at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a +return to his own country meant prison or death to him, she would hold +to the wilderness, thereby leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On +the other hand, should death come to him soon, and in the +wilderness,--by the arrows of the enemy, for choice,--his daughter's +fetters would be filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. The +desire to live out one's time clings about a man's vitals against all +reason. Even an exiled and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless +wilderness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain zest in day and +night and the winds of heaven. With nothing to live for--even with the +scales decidedly the other way--Death still presents an uninviting face. +It may be the inscrutable mask of him that fills with distrust the heart +of the man who contemplates the Long Journey. In that inevitable yet +mysterious figure, showing as no more than a shadow between the bed and +the window, it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how repentant, +to read clear the promise of eternal peace. What dark deed might not be +perpetrated by the shrouded messenger between the death-bed and +Paradise? + +Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and hid the commonplace, +beautiful radiance of the hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he +waited for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and planned for his +daughter's future to the bitter end, seeing clearly that, should the +chances of battle turn in favour of the little plantation, he must +readjust his sentiments toward death. A man of lower breeding and +commoner courage would have groaned in the travail of that thought, and +cursed the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until he heard +his daughter at the door, and then stood up and hummed softly the +opening bars of a Somerset hunting-song. + +Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her face to him. He bent +and kissed her tenderly. For a little while they stood without speaking, +hand in hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. Suddenly the +girl pressed her cheek against his shoulder. + +"What was it," she whispered, breathlessly,--"the matter that held you +and Bernard in such serious converse?" + +"And has your heart given you no hint of it?" he laughed. + +"And why, dear father? What has my heart to do with your talk of guards +and ammunition and supplies,--save that it is with you in everything?" + +The baronet released her hand and, instead, placed his arm about her +slender and rounded waist. "It is a story that I cannot tell you, +sweet,--I, who am your father," he said. "But I think that you shall not +have to wait long for the telling of it, for both youth and love are +impatient. And here comes the good Maggie with the candles." + +During the meal the baronet was more lively and entertaining than +Beatrix had seen him for years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually +untalkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give her undivided +attention to the quiet voice of her heart. The man was equally anxious +to avoid introspection as she to court it. But he, for all his laughter +and gay stories of gay times spent, displayed a colourless face and +haunted eyes behind the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, +glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed tresses, her eyes of +unnamable colour, her throat and lips and brow, were all radiant with +the magic fire at her heart. + +Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a vague ending, sipped +his wine, put down the glass clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the +table. The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the throat. But she +noticed nothing of his change of manner; and presently they left the +table and moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping faggots +across the dogs. Then she filled his tobacco-pipe for him, and lit it +with a coal from the hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his +hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and Maggie Stone opened to +Kingswell. + +Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after greeting him cordially but +quietly, donned his cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few +minutes. "I have a word for Trigget," he said. Then he pulled on his +gloves, pushed open the door, and stepped out to the dark. + +Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone snuffed them, surveyed +the room and its inmates with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced +her unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was as sentimental as +heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and her nature was of an inquisitive turn. +She sighed plaintively as she left the presence of the young couple. + +The door leading to the kitchen had no more than closed behind the +servant than Bernard, without preliminaries, dropped on one knee before +the lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to his lips. She +did not move, but stood between the candles and the firelight, all +a-gleam in her beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at the golden +head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were grave. + +"Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lifting his face or altering his +position,--"dear heart, can it be true?" + +She bent her head a little lower. Her heart seemed as if it was about to +break away from its bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, almost +unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his. + +"Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note of fear in his voice: "Tell +me if I may win you! Tell me if your heart has any promise?" + +Before she could control her agitation sufficiently to answer him, the +outer door of the cabin was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph +stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist and wrenched it sharply. + +"We are attacked," he cried. "They have piled heaps of dry brush along +the palisades--and they have set the stuff on fire! It burns like mad. +Lord, but it looks more like hell than ever!" + +Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of the smoke from the +burning evergreen-needles invaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his +feet, still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at the baronet. +For a second he paused and peered, questioning, into her wonderful eyes. + +"Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. "I love you, Bernard." + +He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every lover knows), and even while +the first brief and tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets +clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and the baronet thrust +sword and hat into Bernard's hands. + +"Come! For God's grace, lad, come and rally the men!" he shouted. + +Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw the shrewd work that +awaited him. He ran to it with a leaping heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN + + +The heaps of brush outside the palisades burned with a long-drawn +roaring, like the note of a steady wind. It was a terrifying sound. The +glare of the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, staining the +trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, staining the faces of the +desperate settlers as if with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the +walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The platform upon which the +guns stood was a mass of flame before any use could be made of the +pieces. The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings and roarings, +flinging orange and crimson showers to the black dome above. The savages +skirmished behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the +blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their muskets through the +singed loopholes, firing low, and taking the chances with heroic +fortitude. Sir Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, with +their swords in their hands and encouragement in speech and bearing. +Both knew that this engagement would be a fight to the finish; and both +felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver commander than Panounia +was against them. + +The ammunition was carried from the storehouse to the shed over the +well, for the fire was already crackling against the log walls of the +buildings. Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of sparks and +burning fragments broke from the gun-platform; and, for the moment, the +warriors were scattered from that side. One of the cannon had exploded. +That corner of the stockade immediately fell and settled to the snow. +Next instant the second gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole +charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them to cover in yelling +disorder. At that the Englishmen cheered, and set about fighting back +the encroaching flames. + +Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn upon at need, must have +dwelt behind the shelter of the spruces; for within a very few minutes +of the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were about the fort +again. Kingswell took note of it, and suspected the inspiration to be +nothing else than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and dazzling +smile. A spur, too, he suspected--the spur of the mongrel Frenchman's +evil sneer and black temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal character +to feel that it would prove but a plaything for such a personality as +the buccaneer's. He looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the +fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire to have the fellow +by the throat, or at the point of his sword, in tones that rang like a +curse. + +Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the well-house. + +He knew where the _Pelican's_ powder lay among the stores, done up in +five canvas bags of about twelve pounds each. With two of these under +his cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from the subsiding red +barrier that still held the enemy from the interior of the fort. By this +time the back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The roofs of the +cabins, deep with snow, were safe; but the rear walls were all in a fair +way of being ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the warriors of +Panounia diligently piled against them. + +Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the square to Sir Ralph, +William Trigget, and all the men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old +boatswain was, by this time, a very active convalescent. Kingswell +whispered a word or two in his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the +wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade. They saw a party of the +enemy gather ominously close to the glowing edge of the breach. +Kingswell passed one of the bags of powder to his companion. "When I +give the word," he said. + +Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into the obstruction, +brandishing spears and clubs, and screaming like maniacs. Kingswell +uttered a low, quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glowing +coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for the shelter of the +well-house at top speed. Tom Bent followed his movements on the instant. +Together they reached the narrow shelter; and, before they could turn +about, the air shook and reeled, as if a bolt of wind had broken upon +them, a blinding flash seemed to consume the whole night, and a puffing, +thumping report stunned their ears. They stumbled against the sides of +the shed, clawed desperately, and fell to the ground. + +When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boatswain regained their senses +(which had left them for only a few seconds), they crawled from the +well-house and stared about them. The square was not so bright as it had +been, and, save for a few huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the +shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the fighting was now farther +away--that the settlers had sallied forth on the offensive. They could +not understand such recklessness; but they decided, without hesitation, +to take the risk. They ran to the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, +coals, wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and blown broadcast. +They crossed the torn ground and headed for the tumult in the fitfully +illuminated spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English shouts mixed +and clashed in the frosty air. On the very edge of the shifting +conflict, the old sailor clutched his master's arm. "Hark!" he cried. +"D'ye hear that now? It be the yell o' that young Ouenwa, sir, or ye can +call me a Dutcher!" + +At the same moment, before Kingswell could reply to Bent's statement, a +club, thrown by a retreating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side +of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. He moaned, as he +toppled over. Then he lay still on the ruddy snow. + + +Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living-room of the baronet's +cabin. Word had reached her that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in +time to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy by the explosions +of the bags of powder. When victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the +hands of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his followers, though spent +from their journey, had made a timely and successful rear attack. + +The girl was radiant. She moved up and down the room, eagerly awaiting +the return of Bernard Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and +laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond peradventure, whom heart, +hands, and lips longed to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, +it would have been her father--even a night ago he would have shared, +equally with the lover, in her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped +from hearth to door, and peered out into the blackness, with no thought +of any of those brave fellows save the lad of Bristol. + +The burning brush had all been trampled out, and the fires in the walls +and stockade had been quenched with water. The little square was dark, +save for the subdued fingers of light from windows and doors. Beatrix +peered from the open door, regardless of the cold. She was outlined +black against the warm radiance inside the room. Her silken garments +clung about her, pressed gently by a breath of wind. She rested a hand +on either upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as if, at a whim, +she would fly out from the threshold. Presently shadowy figures took +shape in the gloom, and she heard her father's voice, and William +Trigget's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught no sound of +Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A sudden fear caught her, and she +stepped out upon the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In a moment +he was at her side, and had an arm about her. + +"Sweeting," he said, "you must stay within for a little. The night is +bitterly cold, and--" + +"But where is Bernard?" she whispered, staring past him. + +"He is with the others," replied the baronet,--"with Ouenwa and his +brave fellows, and the dauntless Trigget." + +He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back to the cabin at the same +time. He closed the door, and laid a wet sword across a stool. + +"What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide eyes and bloodless +cheeks. "Tell me! Tell me!" + +"The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph. + +"Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? How should he be hurt?" + +She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. Could it be that the +High God had been deaf to her prayers? + +Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he knew of Kingswell's +condition was that he still breathed, and that his hat had saved his +head from being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, he did not +know. He braced himself, and smiled. + +"My dear," he said, "he is not seriously hurt, so do not stand like +that--for God's sake!" + +At the last words his voice lost its note of composure, and broke +shrilly. He caught her to him. "Rip me," he cried, "but if you act so +when he is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever gets a real +wound!" + +The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the blood returned +to her cheeks. She clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoulder. +Presently she looked up. + +"Take me to him," she begged, "or bring him here." + +"So you love this Bernard Kingswell?" inquired her father, looking +steadily into her face. + +Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. "Yes," she replied, +quietly. + +The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword from the stool, eyed it +dully, and leaned it against the wall. He was trying to imagine what the +lad's death would mean to his daughter's future; but he could only see +that it would mean a few more years for himself. He started guiltily, +and returned to his daughter. His face was desperately grim. + +"Wait for me," he said. "I'll see how the lad is doing now; and shall +return immediately." + +Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been built for D'Antons, and +which had passed on to Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped +within. He found the wounded gentleman lying prone on his couch, +half-undressed, and with bandaged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, +was beside the still figure. + +"He opened his eyes," whispered the boy; "but see, he has closed them +again. His spirit waits at the spreading of the trails." + +Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen dressings on Kingswell's +head. They were exceedingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had been +cut away from the place of the wound. + +"Your work, Ouenwa?" he inquired. + +The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's pulse. + +"It beats strong," he said. "The heart seems sure enough of the path to +take." + +Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. "He has chosen," he said, gravely. "He +has seen the hunting-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty of +them has not lured him along that trail." + +The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's eyes. "You are a brave +lad, and we are deep in debt to you," he exclaimed. "Your bravery and +wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch your friend a few +minutes longer; I but go to bring another nurse to help you. Then you +may sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT + + +From that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his twenty braves and the +little garrison of Fort Beatrix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought +a confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last attacks upon the +settlement. It consisted of a sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had +torn them from the person of a tall antagonist during a brief +hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the gear had won free, Black +Feather regretted to say. Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, +and sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power over Panounia, +and brought down that wolfish chief's hatred instead. + +On the morning after the battle, the little plantation presented a busy +though sombre appearance to those of its people who were in condition to +view it. Along the woods and rising ground to the north, the snow and +frozen soil were being hollowed to receive the bodies of those slain in +the fight. The dead of the enemy had been carried far into the woods, +and piled together with scant ceremony. The settlers had lost three of +their number,--young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. Four of +the rescuing party were dead and wounded. Tom Bent was on his back +again, and Kingswell's head was ringing like a sea-shell. William +Trigget was cut about the face and sore all over; but he kept on his +feet. + +After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, and the shrouded bodies +lowered therein and covered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's +orders, set about building themselves lodges outside the stockade. It +had been decided that, for mutual support, the friendly Beothics should +camp near the fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With axes +borrowed from the settlement, they soon had the forest ringing with the +noise of their labour. Though they had travelled light, in their hurry +to rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, they had dragged +along with them a few sled-loads of deerskins and birch bark, with which +to cover their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly about the torn +and scorched palisades; for it was a small matter to trim the poles and +fit the pliable roofs across the conical frames. + +The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming the edges of white +barren and black forest and round hill. The stars shone silver above, +and the fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear glowed red +below. In the outer room of the cabin that had been Pierre d'Antons', +Beatrix sat alone by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leaping +flames in the chimney, and his were on the fair lines of her averted +face. The top of his head was so swathed in bandages that he looked like +a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as paper in the unstable +light. His eyes were bright with a touch of fever brought on by his +suffering. His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or two steady +enough and concerned with the present and the room in which he lay, and +then wandering abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and +imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and sentences, but in such a +gabbling style that his nurse could have made nothing of what was +passing in his brain even if she had taken such advantage of his +condition as to try. + +After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed by a profound silence, +he suddenly flung out one arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her +dreaming, and she turned her face back to him from the fire. + +"Twenty days without water," he whispered, distinctly. "Twenty +days--and that beast Trowley is laughing to see my tongue between my +teeth like a squeezed rag." + +The girl caught up a mug of water and held it to his lips. He drank +greedily, and then took hold of her hand. His head was against the +hollow of her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt beside his +low bed. + +"Beatrix," he said, gravely, "let us pretend that you love me." + +She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer to see his eyes. + +"Why pretend, dear heart?" she answered. "I do love you, as you very +well know. Sleep again, Bernard, with your head so--pressed close." + +"I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. The fever was as a fine +haze across the mirror of his brain. + +"It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. +The lad's eyes shone with a clearer light at that. + +"Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he said. "Tell me, or +strength will bring nothing but sorrow. Better death than to find your +kisses a trick of dreaming." + +"Is it not a pleasant dream?" she asked, softly, smiling a little. + +"Ay; to dream so, a man would gladly have done with waking," he replied. +"If it were not in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow the +vision through eternal sleep--as God is my judge." + +"Hush, dear lad," she murmured, "for the heart and the body of Beatrix +are of right Somersetshire stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever--and +the love she gives you will outlast life--as God is our judge and love +His handiwork." And she kissed him again, blushing sweetly at her +daring. And so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, and he with +his bandaged head against her lovely shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered +the cabin, fumbling discreetly at the latch. + +The days passed slowly in the heart of that frozen wilderness between +the white river and the long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. +Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley and rough wood. The +forge rang again with the clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber +with the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long dismayed, and blood +ran more redly to the stir of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained +fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and Mistress Westleigh +recovered all her glory of eyes and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by +all, carried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black Feather, with +his wife and his surviving child in a snug lodge, felt again the zest +and peace of living. Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort in +the days of security. He brooded alone, avoiding even his daughter. His +face grew thinner, and his shoulders lost something of their youthful +vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, dimmed his courage +and his philosophy. The very relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' +supposed overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant endurance. He +counted it a grievance that God had not led him to his death in the last +fight, as he had prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now he +must plan it over again--over and over--in cold reasoning and cold +blood, and alone by the fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon +him at times; and again he would be all repentance, telling his heart +that, no matter how bitter his fate, it was fully deserved. And so, day +by day, the shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed of madness +germinated and took root. + +For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in her father's manner and +habits. The thing disclosed itself so gradually, and she was so intent +upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the baronet had been +variable in his moods, to a certain extent, ever since the beginning of +his troubles--years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw that +something had gone radically wrong in the broken gentleman's mind, and +his knowledge had come about in this wise. + +The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman and warrior, was a still +more ardent seeker after bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had +taught him something of the art of reading. Later, Mistress Westleigh +had carried it further. By the time that Kingswell was safely on the +road to his old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell out a page +of English print very creditably. His primer was one of those volumes of +Master Will Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left behind +him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin to take her turn at tending the +invalid, and found Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youthful +brow painfully furrowed with thought. She took the book from him and +fluttered the pages, pausing here and there to read a line or two. + +"Run away," said she, "and on a shelf beside our chimney you will find a +book with easier words than this contains. There is matter here, I +think, that is beyond a beginner." + +At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow and nodded his sore head +eagerly. + +"Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," he said. + +Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sincere,--as was everything +about him,--Ouenwa left the presence of the lovers and ran across the +snow to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the baronet. That +gentleman looked at him long and keenly, so that the boy trembled and +wished himself out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and a harsh +laugh, "Help yourself, lad," said Sir Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of +books, and, kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the divers +volumes and broad-sheets with which it was piled high. He found a rhymed +and pictured chap-book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the +first verses when a movement behind his back brought him to a sense of +his whereabouts. He turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a +walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust at a spot of resin on +the log wall. The poor gentleman stamped and straddled, pinked the +unseen swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a dashing air. +There was a light in his eyes and a twist of the lips that struck +Ouenwa's heart cold in his side. The light was that which, when seen in +the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides that man from the laws +and responsibilities that are the portion of his fellows. It was the +gleam of idiocy--that sinister sheen that cuts a man from his +birthright. + +The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his +shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with +fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display +in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of +the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a +smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes. + +"'Tis a pretty art--this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a +point of keeping my wrist limber for it." + +"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa. + +Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the +nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already +forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he +began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away +with him. + +"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me." + +Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that +Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to +point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl +of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter +of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping +softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held +the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and +unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear +of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST + + +And now to tell something of the movements of Pierre d'Antons, which, of +late, have been carried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond +the ken of the reader. + +The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night of fire and blood, +knocked the adventurer's fortunes flatter than they had ever been. You +may believe that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that he had +killed him long ago, when the lad threw his followers into the battle. +It was then that D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, and, +with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse back to victory. His +swordsmanship and energy availed him nothing. He missed capture only by +slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugitive from both sides, +he ran to the woods, avoiding the scattered and retreating warriors who +had so lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as he would +have avoided William Trigget or Sir Ralph Westleigh. One of his late +comrades, trailing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beothic curse +after him. Another, better prepared, let fly a war-club, and missed him +by an inch. He slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and the +dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated savages would mean death +and perhaps torture. + +The black captain did not run on any vague course, despite his haste. He +knew where a possibility of help awaited him. He had given his wits to +more than plans of revenge and kidnapping during his sojourn with +Panounia. In winning the men to him, he knew that his hold upon them +would not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the Beothic maiden +Miwandi, he had laid up store against an evil day. But he had not won +her heart simply on a chance of defeat--far from it, for he had not +dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleasant thing in itself to be the +lover of that nut-brown, lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl--for +Miwandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans concerning, the +lady in the fort. She loved the tall foreigner quickly and surely. She +was extravagantly proud of his power over the warriors of her people. He +was her brave, and as such she cherished him openly, to the envy rather +than the criticism of the other women of the encampment. + +Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of Panounia's faction. She +was seventeen years of age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the +skins of some of her people and lighter than that of others. Her hair +was brown and of a silken texture, very unlike the straight locks of the +savages of the great continent to the westward. Her features were good, +and her eyes were full of life and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in +the breasts of more than one of the young bucks of the camp. + +Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men of both parties, shaped +his course for the lodge in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at +his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; instead, a pang of +honest affection for the comely young woman toward whom he was flying +for help stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and Miwandi caught +him in her arms. In a few quick words, he told her of the defeat, and of +the anger of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed him once, +passionately, and then fell to collecting a few things--a quiver of +arrows, a bow, furs, and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. +He accepted it without a word. She bound her snow-shoes to her feet, and +retied the wrenched thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark +lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless sword, damp with blood, +was still in his hand. They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, +and other cries that inspired them to flight. + +They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their breathing. Of the +two, it was the man who sometimes lagged, who often stumbled, and who +cried once that he would rather be captured than strain limb and lung to +another effort. D'Antons had been actively employed throughout the day, +and again during the most desperate passages of the battle, and his +strength was well-nigh exhausted. At last he fell and lay prone. In an +instant the girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shielding his +body from the cold, and revived him with brandy from the scanty supply +in his flask. By that time the dawn was breaking gray under the stars, +and all sounds of the chase had died away. She cut an armful of +fir-branches, and with them and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, +she made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they lay until high +noon, fugitives in a desolate wilderness, with death, in half a dozen +guises, lurking on either hand. + +Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band of Panounia's followers +soon gave up the hunt. Matters were not in condition to be mended by +killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. The defeated savages +had their own wounds to see to, and already too many dead to hide under +the snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing and killing of their +false leader D'Antons, would have to wait. Now, of all those valorous +warriors who had menaced the little fort since the very beginning of +winter, only ten remained unhurt. Panounia was dead. He had breathed his +last in the edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, and +had been carried farther in by one of his men. Thus his death had +remained unknown to the victors; as had also the deaths of many more of +the besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad who had once +boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was desperately hurt. Painfully and +hopelessly, those of the wounded who could move at all, the women, and +the unhurt of the band, retreated toward farther and surer fastnesses. +The wounded who could not drag themselves along were left to perish in +the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. Some bled to death +within the same time. A few lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's +men in the bright daytime,--they were reported as having been found +dead. + +D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced marches, until they reached a +wooded valley and a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed +inland and southward. At last they found a spot that promised shelter +from the bleak winds as well as from prying eyes. There they built a +wigwam of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly plentiful in +the protected coverts around. They soon had a comfortable retreat +fashioned in that safe and voiceless place. + +"It will do until summer brings the ships," remarked D'Antons, busy with +plans whereby he might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. +Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi brave tales of far and +beautiful countries. He spoke of white towns above green harbours, of +high forests with strange, bright birds flying through their tops, and +of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds of great, sharp-horned beasts of +more weight than a stag caribou. + +"Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart-of-Life," she cried. + +So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, should be his queen +in a palace of white stone above a tropic sea. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS + + +Day by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sickness increased. It +strengthened in the dark, like a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day +by day, it grew over the bright surface of his mind and spirit. The +sureness of its advance was a fearful thing to watch. + +By the time March was over the wilderness, with a hint of spring in the +morning skies, the baronet's condition was noticeable to even the +dullest inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman spoke little--and +that little was seldom to the point. It seemed as if he had forgotten +how to smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He walked alone for +hours on the frozen river and through the woods. The Beothics of the +camp before the fort stood in awe of him. At times he treated Beatrix +and Bernard Kingswell as strangers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and +chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners. All day, indoors and +out, he wore a rapier at his side. In the cabin he spent half of the +time inert by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and the rest +of it in sword-play with an imaginary antagonist. + +It was well for Beatrix that she had found Bernard's love before the +fresh misfortune descended upon her. But even with that comfort and +inspiration, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. They had +been such friends; and now he had blank eyes and deaf ears for all her +actions and words. It was twenty times harder for her than to have seen +him struck down by knife or arrow. Death seemed an honest thing compared +to that coldness and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly +about him with the passing of each day. It was as if another life, +another spirit, had taken possession of the familiar body and beloved +features. After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears had any +potency to break through the awful estrangement. Her prayers, her fond +recollections of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the dull +eye. + +By the end of March the busy boat-builders and smiths of the +settlement--and every man save Sir Ralph was either one or the +other--had two new boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts, +of about the capacity and model of the _Pelican_. They were intended for +fishing on the river and the great bays and for exploration cruises. + +William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder as he was a master +mariner, entertained great ideas of fishing and trading more openly than +Sir Ralph had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving out a real home +in the wilderness, and his wife was of the same mind. + +"We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," he said. + +Kingswell promised that, should he win back to Bristol, and find his +affairs in order, he would use his influence in behalf of the settlement +on Gray Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding to the new land. + +"It be rough, God knows," he said, "but it be sort o' hopeful, too. If +they danged savages leaves us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for +spendin' the balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. There be a +grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't turn our backs on, not if we +could help it." + +Kingswell himself was not building any dreams of fixing his lot in that +desolate place; and neither was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on +the subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point overseas. Beatrix, +now despondent at her father's trouble, and again happy in her love, +gave little thought to the future of the settlement, or to any plans for +the days to come, save vague dreamings of an English home. + +March wore along, and in open spaces the snow shrank inch by inch. Then +rain fell; and after that a time of tingling cold held all the +wilderness in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could run over the +snow-fields and the bed of the river without snow-shoes; for the surface +was tough as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, Sir +Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. The mornings lifted +clear silver and pale gold along the east. The evenings faded out in +crimson and saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were lit, +made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thinnest green. And back of it +all, despite the frost, hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and +blossoming trees. + +The lure of the season touched every one in the fort, and the camp +beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's blood like some fabled wine--for what +vintage of France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. It +mounted to his head with a high, unregretting recklessness, and doubled +the madness that already lurked there. Something of his old manner +returned, and for a whole evening he sat with Beatrix and Kingswell and +talked rationally and hopefully. Also, that same night, he played a game +of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees into it clearly and +without fear. He recalled the past without any sign of embarrassment. +But Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a light of derision in +them. + +Very early in the morning, while the stars still glinted overhead, and +the promise of day was no more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir +Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin and slipped out. He was +warmly and carefully dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his sword +free under his arm. Very cautiously he scaled the palisade and dropped +to the frozen crust of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay around +the corner of the fort, so he was safe from detection from that quarter. +He looked about and behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly +into the woods. + +Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, and his soft-shod feet +left no mark on the hard surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and +over, and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust of the wilderness +thawed a little, and here and there the baronet's feet broke through. At +that he began to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt. He +flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, and called for Maggie +Stone to bring him food and drink. He called again and again. He shouted +other names than that of the old servant. In a sudden agony of fear, he +jumped to his feet and plunged through the evergreens. At every third +step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. He screamed the name +of his daughter, "Beatrix, Beatrix"--or was it his dead wife he was +calling? He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen of England who +had been his boon companions in the old days, forgetting that death had +taken some of them away from him, and that the rest, to a man, had +turned of their own accord. Presently he ceased his foolish outcry and +plodded along, with no thought of the course, sobbing the while like a +lost child. + +The sun began its downward journey, and still the baronet, with his +sheathed sword under his arm, staggered across the voiceless wilderness. +Toward mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and he travelled +with less difficulty. Ever and anon his poor eyes pictured a running +figure in an edge of blue shadow before him. At times it was the figure +of the nobleman he had killed in England, in the dispute at the +gaming-table, and again it was a friend,--Kingswell or Trigget, or +another of the fort,--and yet again it was Pierre d'Antons. But no +matter how he strove to run down the lurker, he lost him every time. +Thirst plagued him, and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds of +the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but passed gradually. The west +took on the flame and glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars +pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night gathered her cloudless +darkness over the wilderness; and still the demented baronet followed +his aimless quest. + +Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph Westleigh's departure from +Fort Beatrix, Pierre d'Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden +and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed person in the doorway +of their lodge. The woman cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of +the wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face turned gray as the +ashes around the fire-stone. The unexpected visitor drew his blade, +flung the sheath behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the fugitive +adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and caught up his own sword from where +it lay on a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more in wonder than +anger. + +"Westleigh!" he cried. "What brings you here, you fool--and how many +follow you?" + +The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He reeled a +little, but his eyes changed in their light and colour. + +"I am alone," he said. "Yes, I am alone." His voice was quiet. He seemed +sorely puzzled. D'Antons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he +laughed harshly. + +"So you have hunted me down, old cock," he said, smiling. "You'll find +that the quarry has fangs--in his own den." + +The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. He advanced his rapier. +In a second the fight was on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity +supported the baronet's starving muscles and reeling brain. Then his +thrusts began to go wide, and his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped +him in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life-blood of the last +baronet of Beverly and Randon made a vivid circle of red on the snow of +that nameless wilderness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE RUNNING OF THE ICE + + +It was Beatrix who first discovered her father's flight; but that was +four hours after its occurrence. The fort was soon astir with the news. +Men set out in all directions, in search of the missing one. Half a +dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the hunt. They went east and +west, north and south. The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the +madman's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying Bernard and Ouenwa. +She tried to show a brave face; but something in her heart told her to +expect the worst. The three travelled southward, and shortly before +sunset returned to the fort, unsuccessful. They found that all the other +searchers had got back, save Black Feather and a young brave named +Kakatoc, who had set out together. + +By the merest chance Black Feather and his companion happened upon the +place where the baronet had first broken through the melting crust. With +but little effort they found where he had rested and taken up his +journey again. Farther on, the faintness of the trail put an edge to +their determination to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a +challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it eagerly. But within +two hours of finding the marks, they lost them again. They ranged wide; +and at last Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad of snow +beside a stunted spruce. In several places the branches of the tree +showed where the snow had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It +was enough to keep them to the quest. + +Not in the next day, but in the early morning after that, the two +Beothics happened upon a sheltered valley and a snow-cleared space, with +a fire-stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately stood. As for +signs of blood, there were none. Snow had been deftly spread and +trampled over it. All around the so evident site of a human habitation +the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save for a little path that ran down to +a hole in the ice of the stream. After considering the place, and +shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food they had in their +pouches and turned their feet back to the fort. They passed within a few +paces of a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's body lay +uncovered. But how were they to know it, when even the prowling foxes +had not yet found it out! + +For several days the search was continued by the settlers and their +allies, but all in vain. It was not even suspected that the deserted +camping-place which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so lately +been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons and the blood of the lost +baronet. For a few days longer the business of the settlement lagged, +and the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever-brightening and +mellowing season. Then the axes struck up their chant again, and the +little duties of the common day erased the forebodings of Eternity from +the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress Beatrix could see nothing of +the reawakening of life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the +mist across her eyes. She had loved her father deeply and faithfully, +with a love that had been strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt +toward him the combined affections of daughter and sister and friend. +She had made allowances for the weaknesses of his later years that +equalled the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best-loved +child. She had not been, and was not now, blind to the passion of gaming +that had forced him to exile and an unknown death; but she had forgiven +it long ago. As to the alleged murder that had made such an evil odour +in London, she believed--and rightly--that hot blood and overmuch wine +had been to blame, and that her father's sword had been drawn after the +victim's. + +Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to comfort the bereaved girl. He +urged her to spend much of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for +their future, and to cheer her he built them even more hopefully than he +felt; for he realized that many difficulties were yet to be overcome +before Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two often went on +long tramps through the woods. Their evenings were always spent +together. Sometimes he read aloud to her, and sometimes they played at +chess. One evening she got her violin, and played as wonderfully as she +had on that other occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward without +a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle aside and nestled into his +arms. He held her tenderly, patting the bright hair against his +shoulder, and murmuring broken assurances of his love and sympathy. She +wept quietly for a little while; but when she kissed him at the door, +her face and eyes shone with something of their old light. + +By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced through the shrinking snow +in the open places; but in the woods the drifts continued to withstand +the wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose River was no longer +a broad path of spotless white. Its surface was mottled with patches of +sodden gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might hear a myriad +of tiny voices, some sibilant and some tinkling and liquid, in and under +the enfeebled ice. Up and down the valley, between the knolls and wooded +hills, the little streams were already snarling and roaring, and here +and there flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through all the +wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twilight, midnight, and dawn were +stirred by the falling cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring +fragrance was in the air--the scent of millions of swelling buds and +crimson willow-stems. + +About that time three warriors of the following of the dead Panounia +arrived at the fort, with prayers for peace on their lips and gifts in +their hands. They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, and +Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and two of his chiefs from the +camp. A lengthy business was gone through with, and much strong +Virginian tobacco was burned. Documents were written in English and in +the picture-writing of the natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both +languages. Then they were solemnly signed by all present, and peace was +restored to the great tribe of the North, and protection, trade, and +lands were granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Beatrix and +their descendants. The three visitors went back to their people with +rolls of red cloth and packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and +other useless trinkets on their shoulders. + +Shortly after their departure from the fort, a storm of rain blew up +from the sou'east. All day the great drops thumped on the roofs of the +cabins, on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the sodden snow. +The firs and spruces gleamed clean and black under the drenching +showers. A veil of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods and along +the black tangles of alders and gray fringes of willows. All night the +warm rain continued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along the +pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the fort that the ice in the +river was moving. The settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. +Beatrix was with them. + +"See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," said Kingswell, +pointing eagerly. "And there is an open space. Ah, it has closed again! +How slowly it grinds along!" + +"It will run faster before night," replied the girl, and Ouenwa, who was +versed in the ways of his northern rivers, nodded silently. + +While they watched, admiring the swelling, swinging, ponderous advance +of the great surface, and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony +that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the group and spoke a +few quick words to Black Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and +whispered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Beatrix and Kingswell, +and then questioned Black Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to +the lovers. + +"The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. "Blue Cloud has seen it. He +fears that the water will rise over the flat--and the fort." + +The river continued to rise until evening. After that the waters +subsided a little, great cakes of rotten ice hung stranded along the +crest of the bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. But from up +the valley the thunder of a hidden disturbance still boomed across the +windless air. + +"The jam had broken down-stream," said Ouenwa. + +Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, was satisfied, and retired +to his couch with an easy mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of +the dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but dragged him to the +floor. + +"Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. "Damn, but you sleep like a bear! +The fort is in danger! We must run for higher land." + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to his feet, "but what is the +trouble? Are we attacked?" + +"The river is all but empty of water," replied Ouenwa. "The ice sags in +the channel, like an empty garment. The water hangs above, behind the +third point where we cut the timber for the boats." + +Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed pulling on his heavy +clothes. Though he did not fully understand the threatening danger, he +felt that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs of his deerhide +leggins, Ouenwa told him that warning had reached the fort but a few +minutes before. + +"How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestowing a wallet of gold coins +and some other valuables about his person. + +Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's possessions, threw open +the door and stepped out. + +"Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his shoulder. "And I do not +understand," he added, "for Wolf Slayer hates us all." + +The other, close at his heels, made no comment on that intelligence. He +scarcely heard it, so anxious was he for the safety of Mistress +Beatrix. The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran straight to his +sweetheart's door. It was opened by the maiden herself. She and the old +servant were all ready to leave. + +An hour passed; load after load of stores and household goods was +carried to the low hills behind the fort; and still the river lay empty, +with its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; and still the +unseen jam held back the gathering freshet. The women wept at the +thought that their little homes were in danger of being broken and torn +and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed. + +"It will be no great matter for them to build new cabins in a safer +place," she said to Kingswell. + +He was looking at the natives dragging their rolled-up lodges to higher +ground. He turned, smiling gravely. + +"You have no love for the wilderness?" he asked, "and yet but for this +forsaken place, you and I might never have met." + +She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed face to his tender +regard. + +"So it has served my turn," she said. "Now that I have you, I could well +spare these wastes of black wood and empty barren." + +Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in silence for that confession +ever since their betrothal. Hitherto she had not once spoken with any +assurance of their future together. She had treated the subject vaguely, +as if her thoughts were all with the past and with the tragedy of her +father's death. + +"Would you face the homeward voyage in one of the little boats?" he +asked, softly. + +"Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied. + +"Dear girl," he said, "I think that a stout ship called the _Heart of +the West_ will be setting sail from Bristol, for this wilderness, before +many days." + +"Would the fellow dare return?" she asked; for she had heard the story +of Trowley's treachery. + +"He will think himself safe enough," replied Kingswell. "No doubt he +owns the ship now--has bought it from my mother for the price of a +skiff, after telling her how recklessly he battled with the savages to +save her son's life." + +He laughed softly. "The old rogue will be surprised when I step aboard," +he added. + +Before she could answer him a booming report shook the sunlit air. It +was followed, in a second, by a long-drawn tumult--a grinding and +crashing and roaring--as if the firmament had fallen and overthrown the +everlasting hills. The sagging ice below them reared, domed upward, and +split with clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses, which were +hurled down the stream and over the flats. A thing of brown water and +sodden gray lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow where the +Beothic encampment had stood an hour before. The eastern stockade of the +fort went down beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught. + +All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow raced down the river, and +the air hummed and vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the +released waters had passed; and the fort had suffered by no more than an +exposed side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR + + +Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to +Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a +starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in +which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, +he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie +in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the +settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old +arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa +read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under +such unpropitious circumstances. + +Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the +overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and +could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake, thinking of the +future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought +of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and +comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, +and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more +softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or--or what? He shifted +noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his +pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and +closed with a silent enemy. + +Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a +clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to +the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch +bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame +lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had +the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw +his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English +indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt +and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on +his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into +the darkness. + +A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with +word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and +Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome +news that one of the vessels was the _Heart of the West_. + +Both the new boats and the old _Pelican_ were made ready for the +expedition. Kingswell commanded the _Pelican_, with Ouenwa and six +natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and +Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to +see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh--and, as the boats stole +down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his +hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, +of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix +Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of +Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England. + +The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the +man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which +she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, +and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He +tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that +placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all +that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances +of danger?--the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and +barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings. + +A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the +three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with +English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. +Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for +their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass. + +The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear +of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, +and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward +and looked under the square canvas of the _Pelican's_ big wing. + +"An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, sharply. "Who has taken it upon +himself to improve on my orders?" + +A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, turned and crawled aft. +Then the blanket fell away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an +amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, laughed up at the +commander. + +"Promise to shield me from the wrath of Maggie Stone, when we go back," +she whispered, in mock concern. + +For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and embarrassment in his eyes, +the while Ouenwa hid a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the +queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the morning, under the +grave regard of the Beothic warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow. + +"What authority has Maggie Stone?" he cried. "If any one has a right to +control your actions, surely it is I." + +She slipped to the seat beside him. "And you told me I could not +accompany you--that it would not be safe," she replied. + +"Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain behind," he said. "God knows +it hurt me to refuse your so--so flattering a wish. But you accepted it +calmly, dear heart." + +"I accepted it for what it was worth," she laughed. "I could not shed +tears over a parting which I felt certain was not to take place." Her +face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. "I could not have stayed +in the fort without you," she whispered. "Dear lad, I am afraid to +death whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe this love has made +a coward of me!" + +For a little while there was no sound aboard the _Pelican_ save the +tapping of the reef-points on the swelling breast of the sail, and the +slow creak of the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed ahead, +while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. Then the man stooped his +head close to the girl's. + +"But on this trip," he whispered, "you must obey me--for both our sakes, +dearest. It would be mutiny else." + +"I shall always obey you," she replied--"always, always--so long as you +do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix." + +"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone." + +She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will +rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on +the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue." + +"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and +somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a +thought!" + +Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," +she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a +dozen staid companions, and--" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I +forget that I am penniless," she added. + +Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How +long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he +asked. + +The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, +Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a +wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the _Heart of the +West_, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was +going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other +vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the +mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled +sails to a rosy tint above the green water. + +"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched +beside him in the fringe of spruces. + +A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears. + +"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I +wonder?" + +"You will not be rash, Bernard,--for my sake," pleaded the girl. + +He assured her that he would be discreet. + +It was dark when they got back to the little cove in which the boats +were beached. About midnight, with no light save the vague illumination +of the scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. They moved +with such caution that it took them two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. +They passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix was transferred +from the _Pelican_ to Black Feather's boat, and Tom Bent joined the +commander. A veil of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light as +had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Before them the _Heart of the +West_ loomed dark, a thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights. + +The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft and seaward of the ship. +The _Pelican_ stole in under the looming stern, with no more noise than +a fish makes when he breaches in shallow water. The crew steadied her +beside the groaning rudder with their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart +and peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had peered on a night of +the preceding season. The low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung +from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in silver sticks that bore +the Kingswell crest, burned, with bending flames, on the table. On the +locker under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a boat-cloak +in an untidy heap. The edge of the table was within two feet of the +square stern-window. + +For a little while Kingswell listened with guarded breath. Then, +swiftly and lightly, he pulled himself across the ledge of the window, +scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. Very cautiously he +drew his rapier with his right hand and his dagger with his left. For a +minute or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breathing regularly +and deeply, and harkening to the innumerable creaking voices of the +decks and bulkheads, and the muffled voices and laughter from forward. +For the occasion he had donned the hat, coat, breeches, and boots--all +now stained and faded--in which Master Trowley had last seen him. + +Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the companion ladder just +forward of the cabin door. A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed +above the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the bulkhead with a +resounding crack, and swung, trembling. The bulky figure of Trowley +entered, and the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, and +big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kingswell drew a deep breath, and +composed his dancing nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His +emotions were disconcertingly mixed. + +The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, deny the charge if you +like) seemed to fill the cabin to overflowing with his lurching, great +body. He tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and yanked up the +top of the locker. With muttered revilings at the excessive cost of West +Indies rum, he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its +hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle-light like +diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass as one from which he had often +drunk his grog--a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those articles +the mariner placed on the table, scarcely a foot from the watcher's +head. Next he loaded himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it +at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard heard the puffings +and gruntings with which the deed was accomplished, like half a gale in +his ear. At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his elbows on +the table, gazed for a second at the square window that opened on to the +mysterious gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The liquor gulped +and gurgled in its passage to the glass. The reek of it permeated the +air. + +"Dang it," grumbled the mariner, "d'ye call this rum! Sink me, but it be +half water!" + +However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and smacked his lips at the +end of it as he never would have after a draught of water. + +Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell arose to his feet and +looked down at Master Trowley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his +wide, stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, +but to the staring mariner it seemed a matter of hours. He sprawled on +his low stool, open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerveless on +the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at his feet. + +"Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning across the table he +tweaked the purple tip of Trowley's nose between thumb and finger. To do +so, he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany for a second. The +indignity called forth no more than a gurgle of terror from the master +mariner. Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it within an +inch of the whiskered face. Still the fellow sagged on his stool, unable +to stir a muscle. Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa crawled +through the port, with a coil of light rope in his hand. Tom Bent +followed. Trowley threw off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation +and got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In an instant he was +flat on his back, with a gagging hand across his mouth and another at +his throat. He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely gagged with a +strip of his own boat-cloak. + +Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port, and whispered a word or +two. One by one, four of his braves entered, with their knives +unsheathed. Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly opened the +cabin door. On the port side of the alley-way, beside the companion +ladder, Trowley's mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over him +and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded significantly; and in an +amazingly short time the mate of the _Heart of the West_ was as neatly +trussed up as the master. + +Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the rail, aft, and waved a +lantern in three half-circles. And not long after that, Mistress +Westleigh, Master Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with Canary wine, +in the cabin of the _Heart of the West_. In the waist of the ship the +stout English sailors and the skin-clad Beothics drained their +pannikins, and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. Old Tom Bent +was toast-master; and also he told them an amazing story. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF + + +Shortly before midnight, Tom Bent went quietly about the task of waking +both watches and the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix were +manned, with the muffling oars. The two small anchors by which the +_Heart of the West_ swung in the tide were fished into two of the boats +by hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was accomplished, the ship was +free without so much as a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. +Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the bows of the ship, and +at a signal from a lantern in Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs +to the oars. Then all lights aboard the _Heart of the West_ were +covered, and in the darkness, beside the great tiller, Kingswell caught +his inspiration and his reward to his heart again. + +The girl did not leave the commander's side, but kept watch on the high +poop-deck throughout the journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their +toil, and after them, drawn by lines that were sometimes taut and +sometimes under water, but always invisible in the darkness, the ship +stole like a shape of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. With +the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on signs of life. By that time +she was hidden from Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. The +pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan was manned, and the +anchors were lifted to their places on the forecast rail. Headsails were +set, and the square mizzen was run up. The boats dropped astern and were +made fast, and the weary men climbed aboard the ship. + +All day the _Heart of the West_ threaded the green waterways of the +great Bay of Exploits. A light and favourable breeze lent itself to the +venture. After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blanket, lay down +by the mizzen and fell asleep. She was tired. The easy motion of the +ship, and the song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her fathoms +deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy lullaby. Kingswell rigged a +piece of sail-cloth from the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from +the sun. + +At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray Goose River, was reached. +By sunset the mouth of the river was entered. Just then the wind +failed. The boats were manned again, and the ship taken in tow. + +Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, with the rough blanket +about her dainty body and her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. +Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the shelter of canvas, and +saw that she was smiling in her dreams. How white were her dropped +eyelids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. Her lips were +parted a little, as if to whisper some sweet secret. A strand of her +bright, dark hair was across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the +blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested on the deck. The rosy +palm was upturned. Kingswell stooped lower and kissed it softly. +Standing up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahogany-hued mariner +grinned sheepishly, and gave a hitch to his belt. + +"Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, "but, if the angels in heaven +be half so sweet to look at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in +spite o' the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden harps with +a light heart if--if the equals of herself were a-listenin' on the +quarter-deck." + +Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" said he. "You are in love, Tom +Bent." + +"Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, "for it can't be helped. I'm in love +and awash, and danged near to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to +keep sober in the 'Powdered Admiral' on Bristol dock as within ten +knots, to win'ward or lee'ard, o' your sweetheart, sir." + +"I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bowing gravely. + +Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled away about his duty. He +was mightily pleased with himself at having expressed his admiration for +his young commander's choice in such felicitous terms. He prided himself +on his eye for feminine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank of +the fair one,--and a fairer than Mistress Westleigh he swore by all the +gods of the Seven Seas he had never laid eyes on. + +The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk when the toiling boats +and the tall ship rounded the point, and opened the fort to the view of +the daring cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the anchors +plunged into the brown current. The rattle of the cables through the +hawse-holes awoke Beatrix. She had been dreaming of a great garden in +Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged paths with her father on one +side and her lover on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas +shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and with the clangour of +the running cables in her ears, for a second she did not know where she +was. A vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she recalled the +incidents of the last two days, and was about to crawl from her +resting-place, when the edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell +looked down at her. + +"Wake up," he said. "We are at the fort, and Trigget and Maggie Stone +are coming off in a canoe." + +"Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain matters," she replied. "You +must bear the brunt of Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat +up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way that only a dunce +could fail to comprehend. Under cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he +kissed the warm lips and the bright hair. + +"Trust me," he laughed; and at that moment Trigget and the servant +climbed to the poop by way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He +advanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held a folded paper in his +hand, and that the honest eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist. + +"What is it?" he inquired; for he had entirely forgotten, for the time +being, the manner of Mistress Westleigh's joining with the expedition. + +"Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing him the paper. +"It--it--well, maybe it'll not be o' any use now." + +"Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, tearing it across. + +Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way Sir Ralph went," she +sobbed. "Oh, my beautiful little lady--an' her fit mate for any nobleman +of London town!" + +"What the devil do you mean?" cried Kingswell. Then the truth dawned in +his preoccupied brain. "Dry your eyes," he said. "She is safe and +sound." + +"Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trigget, devoutly. + +"What--the mistress be safe, d'ye say?" cried Maggie Stone, with a +sudden change of face. + +Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being bawled at on the poop of +his recaptured ship, even by an old serving maid. "Your mistress is +safe--and in my care," he said. + +"Indeed, sir?" she queried. "An' may I make so bold as to ax when ye +married Sir Ralph Westleigh's daughter?" + +William Trigget murmured something to the effect that his presence was +required forward, and took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and +stared haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for words fully +expressive of his feelings. His indignation brought a flush to his +cheeks which even the dusk of evening could not hide. + +"Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. "Ay, ye may well redden, after +sailin' away with an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse +into fits." + +The gentleman recovered his power of speech. "My good girl," he said +(and she was a full twenty years older than his mother), "your joy at +hearing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous queer and unseemly +way of expressing itself. You seem to forget that you, the lady's +servant, are addressing the lady's betrothed husband." + +The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts about her. + +"Maybe so," she retorted. "'Twould never have happened in Somerset." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared suddenly from the other side of +the mizzen. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you speak so to Master Kingswell!" + +Anger--quick, scathing anger--rang in her voice. Standing there in her +short skirt, high, beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked +like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and bright beauty. + +"I am ashamed of you," she added; and then, turning quickly, she flung +herself into Kingswell's ever ready embrace. + +Maggie Stone was flustered and somewhat awed by the sudden attack. She +had not been spoken to so for years and years. Would she resort to tears +again, or would she answer back? She was jealous of the girl's love for +Kingswell--and yet she had thanked God many times that that love had +been won by the young Englishman instead of by the swarthy D'Antons. She +sniffed, and mopped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she changed +her mind and bridled. + +"What would the countess, your aunt, say to such behaviour?" she asked. +"Her who watched over ye like a guardian angel in London town." + +Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's hands, faced the carping +critic. + +"And who turned me out of her house at the last of it," she cried, +scornfully. "Who is she, or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? +And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress and the gentleman who +saved you from the knives of the savages? Go back to the fort." + +Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious mistake,--a mistake which, +perhaps, would alienate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a +pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep ladder which stood close +to the starboard side of the ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught +in a loop of rope that had not been properly stopped up to its +belaying-pin. She lurched against the line that ran from the break of +the poop to the bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right herself, +and pitched over into the shadowed water below. She did not even scream. + +Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to the side and jumped +after the foolish old woman. By that time the twilight had left the +river. The current carried him swiftly down-stream, close under the side +of the ship. The water was uncomfortably cold, and his thick clothes +dragged at his limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A disturbance +appeared on the surface of the stream a few yards ahead. With a quick +stroke or two, he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin +shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with fright. Both were pulled +over the gunwale of the _Pelican_ not a moment too soon. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED + + +It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the +good ship _Plover_ and _Mary and Joyce_, when the gray light of dawn +disclosed the fact that the _Heart of the West_ had vanished completely. +What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of +whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths! + +"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner. + +"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate. + +"Cut an' run," suggested another. + +"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin' +else," replied the cook of the _Plover_. + +The captain of the _Mary and Joyce_ scanned the inner harbour and what +he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon +the cliffs and hills and inland woods. + +"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last. + +No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were +searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a +deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the +skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that +Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next +morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from +which to reap the harvest of the great bay. + +To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a +great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, +Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St. +John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife, +to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had +not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in +the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking +now that they had accepted it. + +"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl. + +"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell, lifting the glowing +face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin. + +"Nor I, dear heart," she replied. + +To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter +than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, +inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were +bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, +patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the _Heart of the West_. +The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even +Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet +(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a +beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and +silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny +Beothic always stalked. + +The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked +pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during +the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, +cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master +Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. +He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It +had been as he had hinted to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful +and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, +during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made +such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship +that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of +fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, +Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really +anger him. + +"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to +Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of +joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor +devil. I can afford to be charitable now." + +They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at +the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping +the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's +underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward +Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for +having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts +flitted pleasantly through her mind. + +"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of +the whole thing. + +"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in +Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and--and I was mightily surprised +to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were +bright." + +"Do you mean that you--do you mean that it happened on the first day of +your arrival at the fort?" she queried. + +"Surely," said he. + +"And you loved me then?" + +He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his +ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English +rose-garden. + +"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an +impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so +self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm." + +He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while, +they were silent. + +"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day +you came to the fort, or was it just--just surprise at seeing a--a +civilized girl in so forsaken a place?" + +He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to +kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given +ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your +hands. Was that love, think you?" + +"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but +tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying +water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the +_Heart of the West_. + +"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St. +John's--and then for home." + +The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was +weeping. + +"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded, +and choked with a sob she could not stifle. + +"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked. + +"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered. + +He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the +anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that +held the fate of the mad baronet so securely. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED + + +At nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty-second day of June, the bow +of the _Heart of the West_ was towed around and pointed down-stream by +willing boats and canoes; a light wind filled such sails as were set, +and the voyage was begun. Trigget fired a salute from a new gun which +Kingswell had given him from the armament of the ship. It was answered +by the barking of cannon and the fluttering of sails. + +Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kingswell, and Maggie Stone, aft +by the tiller, which was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly +wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, his great dreams were +assured; and yet a pang of homesickness went through the joy like the +blade of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clustered people along +the meadow and in the boats grow dim,--the faces of William Trigget and +Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear to him. He shouted back +to them in English and in his native tongue, and waved his cap +frantically. The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam around the +wooded point, and meadow and stockade and camp of wigwams vanished like +a picture withdrawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress Westleigh. +Then he walked forward to the break of the poop, and blinked very hard +at nothing in particular in the belly of the maintopsail. + +Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, and the water changed +its tint of amber for wind-roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown +shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, and azure uplands +shone beyond their frowning brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes +of foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever-shifting, +ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along the fading cliffs white sea-birds +circled and settled like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged around +the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of mist, and beating up again +with quivering pinions. + +Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master upon himself. He was as +good a deep-sea navigator as any man on the whole width of the North +Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards were swung around, and +the stout bark headed due east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push +the tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace and sheet, at the +command of that gold-haired youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh +flutter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and lovely beyond +power of description, shone yet more brightly; and her cheeks, already +flushed to clear flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the ship +answered to his will, so would he answer to her whim. It was a pleasant +reflection to the lady; and to realize it she called softly. Without a +glance at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to her side. + +The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful harbour and brave little +town of St. John's was made without accident, though not without +incident. In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, the stump of +a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. A day later, a large vessel that +was evidently employed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest in the +business of the _Heart of the West_. She was not a quarter of a mile +distant when first sighted, for a light fog was on the water. She flew +no flag, and changed her course and altered her speed with sinister +promptness. Kingswell, and every man of the ship's company, knew that +pirates of many nationalities infested those waters during summer. The +worst of the thieves were Turks; and the fishing-ship or store-ship that +was overhauled by those gentry usually lost more than its cargo. +Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards also had a weakness for playing the +part of the bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide-sailed craft, +to the rôle of the fishhawk so unwillingly played by the merchantmen. +Happily for Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore and to +leeward. Both watches were piped up by Tom Bent. The gunners went to +their quarters. Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining +masts and yards. The brave little ship answered willingly to the +pressure, and her cutwater broke the flanks of the waves into sibilant +foam. + +A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix and her old maid, in the +seclusion of that snug cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, +wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains across the thick glass of +the after-port (as if fearing that the eagle glance of one of the +pirates might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then devoted +herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix completed her toilet, threw a cloak +over her shoulders, and climbed the companion. She joined Kingswell by +the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and with a composure that +took no heed of the sailor at the helm, watched the chase with interest. + +"They outsail us," she said, presently. + +Kingswell nodded. "But she'll never get near us on that course," he +replied. "She is for heading us off, and getting to windward. If she +gets to windward of us--Lord, but I scarce think she will." + +He said a word of preparation to the man at the tiller, and then gave a +few quick orders from the break of the poop. In half a minute the _Heart +of the West_ headed out on an easy tack. When every sail was drawing to +his liking, he returned to the girl. + +"How glorious!" she cried. "A good horse, a singing pack, and an old fox +make but slow sport compared to this." + +"We are the fox on this hunting morning," smiled Kingswell. + +"With teeth," she hinted. + +He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was shouldering the wind on the +new course. He looked at the girl. + +"Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, "and soon we'll be gnashing +them." + +Though the _Heart of the West_ sailed well, to windward, the big craft +astern sailed even better. The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing +blue water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure coast to leeward, +made a fine picture under the white sun. As the stranger drew near and +nearer, excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old Trowley bawled +to be set free, that he might not die in the sail-locker like a rat in a +hole. Tom Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt an inch +shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and powder, and was for opening fire at +an impossible range. Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, and +took her forward to a place of greater safety in the men's quarters. + +Along either side of the after-cabin of the _Heart of the West_ ran a +narrow passage. Each passage ended in a blind port, and behind each port +crouched a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing ship. Now +Kingswell blessed the day that a youthful love of warlike gear and a +heart for adventure had led him to add these pieces to the armament of +his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, how Master Trowley had +growled at the delay caused by getting the great guns aboard and +partitioning off the passage. Even his mother had urged him to put more +faith in the great ship which the king was so gracious as to send to +Newfounde Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet. But +Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his way; and now he thanked the +gods of war for it. + +Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their models and rigging and +the laws of nature would allow. They went about often on ever shortening +tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it is safe to say that +her seamanship was no better. Suddenly she luffed until her sails +quivered, and from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with inner cores of +flame. Both shots flew high, and fell ahead of the quarry in brief +spouts of torn water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of the +merchantman opened up, and the sinister muzzles of the guns were run out +with a gust of English cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed +defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and clung to the leaping +waves. + +Kingswell felt the deck jump under his feet. His pulses leaped with the +good planks. "Hit!" he cried--and sure enough, one of the enemy's upper +spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tottered desperately, and +then swooped down on the clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour +later the _Heart of the West_ was spinning along on her old course, and +far astern the stranger lay to and nursed her wound. + +Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows opened in the sheer brown +face of the cliffs, and the people of the _Heart of the West_ caught a +glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. Then the rocky portals +seemed to close, and the spray flew like smoke along the unbroken +ramparts. The ship was put about, and again the magic entrance opened +and shut. + +"I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. "Ye needn't wait for no +duff-headed pilot." + +So the stout ship went 'round again, with a brisk shouting of men at the +braces and a booming of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the +sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and the battery on Signal +Hill. She raced at the towering cliff as if she would try to overthrow +it with her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught his breath. +Beatrix looked away, so fearful was the sight of the unbroken rock that +seemed to swim toward them with a voice of thunder and the smoking surf +along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom Bent were mad. But the boatswain +gripped the big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked an eye +aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, of a sudden, the narrow +passage of green water, spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the +walls of rock slid aside and let them in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN THE MERRY CITY + + +The _Heart of the West_ was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside +the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the +great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant +welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress +Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a +subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never +have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new +arrival carried such a passenger. + +"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink +his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the +worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe." + +He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix +shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the +dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk facings of his +coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier. + +"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular +fancy is for the Church." + +The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to +think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the +combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. +Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?" + +"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell. + +"Ay, we have a parson--a ranting old missionary," replied the +lieutenant. + +"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the +marriage service." + +"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell. + +The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He +was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish +countenance. + +"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in +the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled +good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at +Mistress Westleigh, "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were +brother and sister." + +The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, +and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was +of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds +and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if +he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. +His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike +those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for +his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair +with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box +to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant +made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and +cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated +his name and degree. + +"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, +extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me +more than once in his great house in Bristol,--ay, and treated the poor +sailor like a peer of the realm." + +Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave a brief account of Sir +Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, +and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort +was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its +whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered +plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief +engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress +Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor +was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He +murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in +England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well +do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh--ay, the +young lady's mother--bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, +and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And +she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death +that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil." + +Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness. + +"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, +and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour +day by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, +I can assure you." + +"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in +his staring eyes. + +Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, +the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. +John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception +Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return +within the week. + +"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress +Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good +housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but +we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a +touch of gaiety." + +His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little +settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the +governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There +were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right +and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating +parties on the harbour, and outings among the woods and natural gardens +that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin. + +The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of +her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude +village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the +harbour was her humble and devoted servant. + +Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always +merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant +England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the +garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade +on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the +grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but +seemed to uncover. + +On the eighth day after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_ in the +harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the +boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the +state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy +persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, +after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a +pun on his willingness to marry her. The sally of wit was received by +the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so +far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog. + +The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's +house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers +of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many +more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the _Heart of the West_, where +sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the +commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the +forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon +farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the _Heart of the +West_ down the harbour and through the Narrows. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA + + +The wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, brown barren, gray marsh, +and black wood, which had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable +to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. With the return of +summer, the dark adventurer and the Beothic girl deserted their inland +retreat, and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts far into the +Atlantic. The crown of that cape affords an uninterrupted view to +seaward and north and south across the waters of two great bays. A fire +at night, or a column of smoke in the day, glowing or streaming upward +from that vantage place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing +ship at a distance of many miles. + +The journey proved a long and trying one, through swamps and barrens, +and over rock-tumbled knolls. Streams were forded, lakes +circumambulated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts. Through it all, +the native girl, Miwandi, kept a brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, +however, was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy at times. The +hardships of that wild existence had begun to tell on his body, and the +loneliness to fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress Westleigh +had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving only a mean desire for the +salve of revenge with which to soothe his injured pride. He would wound +her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear oppressed him that his men might +have forgotten his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the two +seasons of silence, to continue their cruising of those northern waters +throughout June and July, as he had commanded. But that doubt only +troubled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his subordinate +buccaneers of the _Cristobal_ was not to be questioned seriously, for it +had been tested in many tight places. Comradeship often forms as trusty +ties between the hearts of pirates as between the hearts of honest +gentlemen. Once grown beyond the temptations of greed and treachery, it +is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for their messmates. + +It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck of the _Cristobal_ +(with Miwandi, of course), and to appear, some fine day, before the +little fort of Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, the +buildings to the torch, and to carry the English beauty away with him. +He felt that his passion for the proud lady might be easily and +pleasantly refired. But he made no mention of Mistress Westleigh to +Miwandi, the Beothic girl. + +After more than a week of hard travelling, the two ascended the wooded +ridge which runs seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim +cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set up their lodge. At the +extremity of the headland, high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and +noddies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones that lay +about. Completed, it looked like an altar reared by some benighted +priesthood to the gods of the wind and the sea. But no such thought +occurred to its architect. His case was too desperate to allow his mind +to indulge in such whimsical fancies. + +While the woman went in quest of food--fish, flesh, or fowl, what did it +matter which?--the man gathered wood and piled it near the queer hearth. +He worked without intermission until Miwandi returned from her foraging +with a string of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a modest fire +within the rough walls of his furnace, and helped the girl clean and +cook the fish. By that time the glow of the afternoon was centred +behind the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the sea; but as +yet the atmosphere held no suggestion of dusk. No sail broke the wide +expanse of dark blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'east a +whale breached and blew its little fountain of spray across the still +line of the horizon. D'Antons and Miwandi noted these things as they +ate, but made no comment upon them. + +For several days after the arrival of the two upon the overseeing +headland, D'Antons made no other use of his furnace than for the cooking +of meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for the walls protected +the flame from the ever-flying winds that prevailed over that exposed +spot. The adventurer knew that he was early for the _Cristobal_. Several +sails were detected; but of them the only heed taken was the precaution +of blanketing the little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The +Frenchman did not desire a visit from fishermen of any nationality +whatever. He might find it difficult to explain his presence in so +unfavourable a spot for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they +would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, what reason could he +give for wishing to stay in his cheerless camp? So he lay low and +watched the passing of more than one stout craft without a sign. + +The time arrived when he must set his signals, despite the risk of +attracting unwelcome visitors. So he closed the front of the furnace +with a boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped with damp +moss and punk, and then laid a large, flat stone over the opening in the +top of the unique structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed a +column of dense smoke to issue into the air, stream aloft and scatter in +the wind. By replacing the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding +that the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let the smoke stream +up, uninterrupted. The signalling would only be resorted to when a +vessel, which might possibly be the _Cristobal_, should be sighted. When +darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die down. A night signal was +unnecessary, as the _Cristobal_, should she keep the tryst at all, was +sure to make an examination of the cape by daylight. D'Antons' last +orders had been strictly and particularly to that effect. + +A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept by the fugitives on +the brow of the cape, and the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times +without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, attracted by the +smoke (which was due to D'Antons' tardy realization that the +approaching ship was not the _Cristobal_) altered her course, sailed +close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. D'Antons and Miwandi +had just enough time, with not a minute to spare, to roll up their +wigwam and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most valuable +belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of tangled spruces and firs. +The boat's crew was composed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from +suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow of the promontory with +fine hardihood, but once there did little but examine the marks where +the lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow the queer +fireplace. They believed that structure to be an altar, built to the +glory of some unorthodox god. Then they retraced their perilous way to +the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back to the ship. D'Antons +stole from his retreat and crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a +glow of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on her northward +course. + +Another week drifted along, and hope wavered in the buccaneer heart. His +gloomy moods began to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged him +to return to the inland rivers--to make peace with her people--to cease +his unprofitable staring at the sea. + +"The sorrow of the great salt water has entered your heart," she said, +"and the moaning of it has deafened your ears to my voice." + +He did not turn his eyes from the undulations of the gray horizon. +"Would you have me rot in this place for the remainder of my life?" he +asked, harshly, in her language. + +The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and reproved her heart for +the image of a god it had set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from +its inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim symbol of hate; she +pressed her face to the coarse herbage, and tore the sod with her +fingers. + +"Miwandi! Come to me, little one," cried the man from the edge of the +cliff. + +Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest smoke. She sprang up +and ran to him. He drew her to his side, and with his right hand pointed +southward across the glinting deep. + +"The _Cristobal_!" he cried. "Good God, I'll stake my life on it!" + +So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of those unmistakable +topsails that his selfish affection for the woman lighted again. He +pressed his lips to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple +creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss. + +While the gray flake of sail expanded on the horizon, Pierre d'Antons +and the woman hurriedly and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, +lit and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and rotten bark. The +thick pillar of smoke arose like a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. +Miwandi busied herself with breaking the wood to the required length and +carrying damp moss. For several minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend +in an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for a few seconds, let it +rise again, broke it again, and again let it stream aloft, +uninterrupted. He had signalled his name according to the code of the +_Cristobal_. + +The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager eyes of the watchers on +the cape. North, east, and south there was no other sail in sight. At +last three flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. The +question was read instantly by D'Antons, who returned to his fire and +interrupted the stream of smoke five times in quick succession. The +translation of that was "All's well. You may approach without danger." + +A message of congratulation appeared promptly against the bellying +foresail of the _Cristobal_; and the watchers saw the rolls of white +foam gleaming like wool under the forging of the bow. + +D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the _Cristobal_. Miwandi was +received without question. The acting commander of the ship was a +grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva,--a fellow steeped in +crime and uncertain of temper, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion +for D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness performed by the +Frenchman years before, in the town of Panama. + +Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and ready for the high +seas again. He asked no questions concerning his adventures until more +than one bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's +travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the best the cabin +lockers contained. Miwandi, too, was reclothed; and the beauty and +softness of the silks that were presented to her fairly turned her +little head. She did not know that the fair French lady for whom they +had been made, in gay Paris, and who had worn them only three months +ago, was somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between the Bahaman +reefs. She knew only that the texture and colours delighted her skin and +her eyes. So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the finery, +toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar fingers. + +In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his friend to close the +door. He had consumed a soup, and was still engaged with the wine. +Silva returned to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push +on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be sure that the door you +considered fastened is fastened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the +table and their heads close together, the more salient incidents of +D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness were rehearsed and keenly listened +to. Silva displayed a prodigious indignation at the story of the +captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress Westleigh. At word +of Sir Ralph's death (and the murder became a desperate duel in the +telling), a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. As to what +he heard of Kingswell--ah, but oaths in two languages were quite +inadequate for the expression of his feelings. + +"We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel--and the gizzard as well," +said he, and drank off his wine. + +"Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, darkly. + +Silva nodded, with a sinister leer. + +"So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade into everlasting +damnation," he said. + +"Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in the attack," warned the +captain. + +So the _Cristobal_ headed northward, and the evil-looking rascals of +her crew were informed that the morrow would bring them some work to +limber their muscles. The information was received with cheers, in which +hearty English voices were not lacking. + +However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape of the _Heart of the +West_, turned the danger away from the little fort. + +"She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, when he sighted the +ship. The old fever awoke in his blood. He longed for the old +excitement. + +"Give chase," he ordered. "The fort can well do without the honour of +our attentions for a little while." + +So the chase was carried on, as has been described in a previous +chapter, and went merrily enough for the _Cristobal_ until the +unexpected shot from the stern of the quarry brought down her +foretopmast and its weight of sail. But before that had happened, +D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new clothes and a great hat, marked +Bernard Kingswell on the poop of the _Heart of the West_. He cursed like +a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship was crippled. + +"The fort may rot of old age in the midst of its desolation," he cried +to Silva, "for what I would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead." + +A few days later, with their spars repaired, they picked up a small +fishing-boat, and learned from the skipper that a great ship from the +north had entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing the virtue of +precaution, they impressed the master and crew and scuttled the little +vessel. Then, with admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far to +seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that hospitable port. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE + + +The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked +back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the +cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so +radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at +the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips. + +"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more. + +Both were brave in marriage finery,--she in a pearl gown of brocaded +silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he +in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's. + +They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple +rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she +whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the +wilderness to the wide east. + +Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind +bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like +polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts +(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates +wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the +days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook +(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked +in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as +bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a +dawning repentance in his sullen blood. + +An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and +stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, +which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days +preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his +wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His +tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures +anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of +his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though he had been named +"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather +than of dreams. + +"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried +Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. + +Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why +should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great +houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for +villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as +Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater +than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you +have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were +brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they +were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country." + +"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you +may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens +have been guilty of ingratitude." + +Beatrix patted the moralist's arm. + +"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with +doubt? Only if he climbs high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain +soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as +ourselves." + +Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell +and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the +rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of +the jibs. The second mate was with him. + +"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell. + +"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent +on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate +saw it and answered it. + +"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, +"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered +Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both +watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. +Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the +glory of England." + +He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news +with an inward sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was +for him. + +"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he +asked. + +She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," +she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety. + +He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He +felt them tremble against his. + +"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and +hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability +of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They +held that the _Heart of the West_ could make a better fight on her +present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or +another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm +their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair +astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, +and put gunnery out of the question. + +"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we +equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that." + +So the _Heart of the West_ held on her course under a press of canvas. + +After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they +went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called +the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their +breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked +up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully. + +"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the +stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made +merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your +lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have +already encountered. My husband,--your captain,--like a true-bred +English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has +promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' +time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of +her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this +brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my +word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can +give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God +and for England." + +She looked down at them, smiling divinely. + +"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman. + +Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and +great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in +the sunlight. + +"God bless you, lady," they roared. + +She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands. + +"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of +the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes. + +The _Heart of the West_ held on her course, breaking the waves in +fountains from her forging bow. The _Cristobal_ raced down upon her with +the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the +merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ every man was at his post, and the +matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second +mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate +stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each +measured and calculated the brisk approach of the _Cristobal_ with +unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the +speed of the wind. + +Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of +the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across +his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done +to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an +order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal. +The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good +ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the +vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart. +Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging +shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The +smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon +the enemy. The _Cristobal_ fell off before the wind in an unaccountable +manner. The _Heart of the West_ luffed, in the hope of bringing her +heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manoeuvre could not be +accomplished, and flew about on her old course. + +"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks +and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked +God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his manacled wrists against the +bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the +fight. + +From that first exchange of round-shot, the _Heart of the West_ escaped +without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the +pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high +between the upper spars of the merchantman. The _Cristobal_, however, +was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third; +for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the +deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of +hers. + +Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails +gave her over her enemy, the _Heart of the West_ raced after the +buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard +guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more, +she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target +of the _Cristobal's_ starboard side. The range was middling; but, even +so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings +and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high +sails above the _Cristobal_, and with a flapping and rending, the +mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards. + +Now the disabled, tillerless _Cristobal_, kept before the wind by a +great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled +wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and +Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell +the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons. + +"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with +a grim smile. + +For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will, +pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining +but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two +of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where +their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie +Stone. + +In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word +that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings. + +"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook. +Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy. +"Cast him loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an +English sailor man." + +Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the _Cristobal_ struck the +teakwood rail of the _Heart of the West_ amidships. A flying splinter +whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat +across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter +and cheers. + +"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one. + +Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the +ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that. + +"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand +in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and +remember only your actions of to-day." + +Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's. + +"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am +in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would +you suggest?" + +Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her +aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +OVER THE SIDE + + +With a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling of spars, the +merchantman's larboard bow scraped along the enemy's side. +Boarding-irons were thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a yell, +the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, and hurled themselves upon +the mongrels who clustered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the +air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met with a softer +resistance. Screams of rage and pain, and shouts of grim exultation, +rang above the conflict. + +Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the thickest of the press, and +laid about him with such desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the +buccaneers hustled each other to get out of his way. + +Kingswell, in the waist of the _Cristobal_, encountered D'Antons, and +claimed him for his own. As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began +the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the wilderness. Kingswell +heard it without comment. The tumult about them gradually subsided, as +man after man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. Sail was +shortened on both vessels, and the victors, sound and wounded alike, +gathered about the two swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of +the watchers. The rough fellows understood that their captain had an old +score to settle with the buccaneer. They were fascinated by the +lightning play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of foot and +hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons snarled an insulting taunt at his +adversary, they cursed softly. When their captain pricked the pirate's +shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration went through them. So intent were +they on the fight that they failed to notice the approach of Miwandi, +the Beothic woman, until she was in their midst. But they became aware +of her presence when she screamed with rage and flung herself upon +Kingswell. + +"Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a futile grab at the mad +figure. + +Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon colouring, wrenched himself +clear of her, avoided the slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged +through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched forward so suddenly and +heavily that the rapier was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The +hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out between D'Antons' +shoulders a full two-thirds of its length. He sprawled on his face, +gulping his last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon knocked +spasmodically on the red planking of the deck. The woman, stunned with +grief, was led away by two of the seamen. + +By the time the duel was over, the long, northern twilight was drawing +to a close. The decks of the _Cristobal_ were cleared of the dead bodies +and the wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was partially +repaired; a few sails were set; and the shattered tiller was replaced. +The prisoners (wounded and bound together, they did not number a dozen) +were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of seven, under the first +mate's command, went aboard the _Cristobal_. Then the boarding-irons +were cast loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to a safe +distance. + +Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove to comfort her, but failed +signally. Her position was evident enough to every one who had seen her +frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter with Kingswell. +Beatrix guessed the story. Her face burned at remembrance of her +one-time companionship with D'Antons--of the days before she fully knew +his nature, and often sat at cards and chess with him in the little +cabin in the wilderness--and of the days before that, when he was one of +her admirers in London. Even now she did not know him for her father's +murderer. Kingswell had decided to keep that to himself, until some day +in the happy future, when the wilderness should be fainter than the +memory of a dream in his wife's mind. + +For three days the ships kept within sight of each other. On the fourth, +a gale of wind drove them apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the +prize, for she had received no serious damage to her hull in the bitter +encounter that had befallen on his wedding-day. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ the wounded improved daily; the prisoners +cursed their irons and their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope +without a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, promoted from +imprisonment to the position of second mate, worked like a Trojan, and +Beatrix and Bernard sped the hours in the high and golden atmosphere of +love and youth. The Beothic woman, however, felt no response in her +heart to the stir and happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a +desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was weary of the sequence of +day and night, night and day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, +without rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were deaf to words of +comfort, even when they were spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She +asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, at sight of her +lover's danger, she accepted the will of her pitiless gods without signs +of either anger or wonder. + +One still night, when the waves rocked under the faint light of the +stars without any breaking of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to +swell the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was startled from +his reveries by a splash close alongside. He called to the officer of +the watch, who had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. They +scanned the sea on all sides and listened intently. They saw only the +black, vanishing crests. They heard only the whispering of the ship on +her way. + +"A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with him. + +In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered to be empty,--no trace of +her was found alow or aloft. + +The remaining days of the passage slipped by without any especial +incident. Winds served. Seas were considerate of the good ship's +safety. No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward voyage. Every +night there was fiddling in the forecastle and the chanting of rude +ballads. And sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, as if the +very heart of happiness were under the sounding-board, and Love himself +in the strings. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE MOTHER + + +Dame Kingswell, the widow of that good merchant of Bristol whom Queen +Elizabeth had knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and looked +down upon a pleasant garden beneath the window. She was alone. Her +garments, though of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore no +personal ornaments save two rings on her left hand, and a chain of gold, +bearing a small cross of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair +was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black as her husband's had +been flaxen. Her complexion held scarcely more colour than her hair. On +her knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly illuminated about the +margins, lay open. But her thin hands were folded over the page, and her +gaze was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time was early evening. +The sunlight was mellow gold. The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the +lawns threw eastward shadows. + +The chamber in which the widow sat was large and scantily furnished. A +few portraits, by masters of the brush, hung along the walls. A +prayer-desk, with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner. + +A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady turned her eyes from the +bright garden below her window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful +girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger advanced quickly, in +a whispering of silks, and in her glowing hands took the widow's +bloodless fingers. + +"My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, "I fear my memory is flitting. +I do not recall your winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir +Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young lady in London?" + +The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale hands lightly and +prettily. + +"My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured. + +The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, in vain, to connect this +lovely creature with any branches of the late knight's family. + +"Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she queried. "Pray do not kneel +there, my dear. Come sit in the window and tell me who you are." + +But the stranger did not move. + +"I am your daughter," she said. "And--oh, do not swoon, my +mother--Bernard is at the door, awaiting your permission to enter." + +The widow closed her eyes for a second, leaning back in her chair. She +recovered herself swiftly and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was +now standing, ready to run to the door and admit her husband. + +"What story is this?" she cried, incredulous. "I have no daughter. And +Bernard, my son, has lain dead in a far land these weary months." + +"Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. "Nay, he is not dead. But let me go +to the door, and you will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your +threshold, happy and well." + +The older woman maintained her hold of her visitor's gown. "And who are +you, to bring me word of my son's return?" she asked, with a ring of +shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, she feared that she was +affording sport to some heartless person; for this sudden tale of her +son's safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken upon her +pensive reveries like an impossible scene out of a play. + +"I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an effort, she pulled her skirts +away from the clutching fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it open, +she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang to where his mother sat, and +caught her up from her chair against his breast. With a glad, +inarticulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung +hysterically. + + +Five days after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_, the _Cristobal_ +sailed into port. By that time the story of her capture was well known +in the town, and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to welcome +her. Master Kingswell put her up for sale. In the end, he bought her +himself, for something more than she was worth. Every penny of the money +Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who had fought and sailed their ship +so valorously on her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and wayward +master mariner, John Trowley, failed to show himself for a share of the +gold. He had not the courage to run a chance of another meeting with +Lady Kingswell. + +Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad Ouenwa, something is +written in the old records in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the +little fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some chroniclers +maintain that the French overpowered it; others are as certain that the +settlers moved to Conception Bay, and there established themselves so +securely that, even to-day, descendants of those Triggets and those +Donnellys cultivate their little crops, cure their fish, and sail their +fore-and-afters around the coast to St. John's. + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Brothers of Peril, by Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44387 *** diff --git a/44387-h/44387-h.htm b/44387-h/44387-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..adf0d3d --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-h/44387-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7544 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Brothers Of Peril, by Theodore Roberts. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} + p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } + #id1 { font-size: smaller } + + + hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; + } + + hr.smler { + width: 5%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 47.5%; + margin-right: 47.5%; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smaller {font-size: smaller;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .box {max-width: 20em; margin: 1.5em auto; border-style: double; border-width: thick; padding: 10px;} + .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + + .poem {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i1 {margin-left: 1em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44387 ***</div> + +<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">BROTHERS OF PERIL</p> + +<p class="bold2">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<h2><i>WORKS OF<br />THEODORE ROBERTS</i></h2> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="decoration" /></div> + +<table summary="works"> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>The Red Feathers</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>Brothers of Peril</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>Hemming the Adventurer</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="decoration" /></div> + +<p class="bold"><i>L. C. PAGE & COMPANY</i><br /><i>New England Building, Boston, Mass.</i></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i004.jpg" alt="A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS WILDERNESS" /></div> + +<p class="bold">"A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT<br />NAMELESS WILDERNESS"</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i007.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + +<h1>Brothers of Peril</h1> + +<p class="bold">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<p class="bold">By</p> + +<p class="bold">Theodore Roberts</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of</i> "Hemming, the Adventurer"</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Illustrated by</i> H. C. Edwards</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Boston</i> L. C. Page &<br />Company <i>Mdccccv</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1905</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page & Company</span><br />(INCORPORATED)</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<p class="center space-above">Published June, 1905<br />Second Impression, March, 1908</p> + +<p class="center space-above"><i>COLONIAL PRESS<br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.<br />Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Preface</h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p>During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of +Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings, +selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain, +and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular +battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought +together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory, +was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire—and let +fame go hang!</p> + +<p>The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde +Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. +Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the +aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the +settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was +the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place +remain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates, +the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships +with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of +founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God, +England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or cripple +the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were +powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of +the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble +fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow +at the inscrutable wilderness.</p> + +<p>The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were +the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first +vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a +greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It +was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to +each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped +into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of +the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of +the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion, +and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> to say, it was +a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers.</p> + +<p>In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the +peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable +signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the +loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the +fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered +priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we +read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the +natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring +shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England, +Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly +treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is +recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in +fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of +his motley captivity.</p> + +<p>Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in +1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a +kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he +says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow."</p> + +<p>As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions. +An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that +her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that +time—something over a hundred years ago—the race numbered between one +and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water +to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian +Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had +reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a +lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou. +One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant +of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the +interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first +day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the +world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of +one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained +fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago.</p> + +<p>To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears +stories of grassy circles <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams +once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the +turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is +forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded.</p> + +<p>In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in +the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short +years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren, +shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no +mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of +fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than +the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and +women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them to-day.</p> + +<p class="right">T. R.</p> + +<p><i>November, 1904.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="left"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> + <td><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Boy Wins His Man-Name</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Old Craftsman by the Salt Water</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Fight in the Meadow</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Ouenwa Sets Out on a Vague Quest</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Admiral of the Harbour</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Silent Village</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Letter for Ouenwa</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">An Unchartered Plantation</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Gentry at Fort Beatrix</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Setting-in of Winter</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Meditation and Action</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Signs of a Divided House</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Trick of Play-Acting</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Hidden Menace</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Cloven Hoof</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Confidence of Youth</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Events and Reflections</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Two of a Kind</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">By Advice of Black Feather</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Seeking of the Tribesmen</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Brave Days for Young Hearts</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Betrothed</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>XXIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Fire-lit Battle. Ouenwa's Return</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Fate Deals Cards of Both Colours in the Little Fort</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Pierre d'Antons Parries Another Thrust</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Grim Turn of March Madness</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Running of the Ice</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXIX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes; and Trowley Receives a Visitor</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Maggie Stone Takes Much Upon Herself</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">While the Spars Are Scraped</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The First Stage of the Homeward Voyage Is Bravely Accomplished</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In the Merry City</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Pierre d'Antons Signals His Old Comrades, and Again Puts to Sea</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Bridegroom Attends to Other Matters Than Love</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Over the Side</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Mother</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">BROTHERS OF PERIL</p> + +<p class="bold">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME</span></h2> + +<p>The boy struck again with his flint knife, and again the great wolf tore +at his shoulder. The eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. +Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. The dark spruces stood +above them, with the first shadows of night in their branches; and the +western sky was stained red where the sun had been. Twice the wolf +dropped his antagonist's shoulder, in a vain attempt to grip the throat. +The boy, pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a dog, and +repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into the wolf's shaggy side.</p> + +<p>At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> lay stretched dead in +awful passiveness. His fangs gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws +and black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet wilderness from the +recesses of the half-shut eyelids.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the fingers of his left hand +buried in the wolf's mane, and his right hand a blot of red against the +beast's side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went down to the +river and washed his mangled arm and shoulder in the cool water. The +shock of it cleared his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the +current to his middle, stooped to the racing surface, and drank +unstintingly. Strength flooded back to blood and muscle, and the slender +limbs regained their lightness.</p> + +<p>By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the paler background of the +eastern sky. A long finger-streak of red, low down on the hilltops, +still lightened the west. A purple band hung above it like a belt of +magic wampum—the war-belt of some mighty god. Above that, Night, the +silent hunter, set up the walls of his lodge of darkness.</p> + +<p>The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of the sky. He might read it, +knowingly enough, for the morrow's rain or frost; but beyond that he +gave it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> about the +skinning of it with his rude blade. He worked with skill and speed. Soon +head and pelt were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his arrows +and bow, he flung the prize across his shoulder and started along a +faint trail through the spruces.</p> + +<p>The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead away from the river by +hummock and hollow; and yet it cunningly held to the course of the +stream. Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed over in the +tree-tops. The voices of the rapids smote across the air with a deeper +note. As the boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, and +sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms silent as shadows faded away +from his path, and questioning heads were turned back over sinewy +shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf and they smelt the +man. They knew that there had been another violent death in the valley +of the River of Three Fires.</p> + +<p>After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, following a path which less +primitive eyes could not have found, the boy came out on a small meadow +bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wigwams, made of birch +poles, bark, and caribou hides, stood about the meadow. In front of each +wigwam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> much wood. The +meadow was almost an island, having the river on two sides and a shallow +lagoon cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of alder-grown +"bottom" by which one might cross dry-shod. The whole meadow, including +the alders and a clump of spruces, was not more than five acres in extent.</p> + +<p>The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and threw the wolfskin +down before the fire. There he stood, straight and motionless, with an +air of vast achievement about him. Two women, who were broiling meat at +the fire, looked from the shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart +stripling. They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and +admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes appeared frightful enough +in the red firelight, even in death.</p> + +<p>"Ah! ah!" they cried, "what warrior has done this deed?"</p> + +<p>"Now give me my man-name," demanded the boy.</p> + +<p>The older of the two women, his mother, tried to tend his wounded arm; +but he shook her roughly away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. +Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of great names. A +stalwart man, the chief of the village, strode from the dark interior of +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>nearest wigwam, and glanced from his son to the untidy mass of hair +and skin. His eyes gleamed at sight of his boy's torn arm and the white +teeth of the wolf.</p> + +<p>"Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the women. "Wolf Slayer," he +repeated; "let this be his man-name—Wolf Slayer."</p> + +<p>So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, at the age of fourteen +years, a warrior among his father's people.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of that great island were all of one race. In history +they are known as Beothics. At the time of this tale they were divided +into two nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from one another, +breaking the old bond of blood. Each tribe was divided into numerous +villages. The island was shared pretty evenly between the nations. Soft +Hand was king of the Northerners. It was of one of his camps that the +father of Wolf Slayer was chief.</p> + +<p>Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond his generation. For more +than fifty years he had held the richest hunting-grounds in the island +against the enemy. His strength had been of both head and hand. Now he +was stiff with great age. Now his hair was gray and scanty, and +unadorned by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> snows of eighty +winters had drifted against the walls of his perishable but ever defiant +lodges, and the suns of eighty summers had faded the pigments of his +totem of the great Black Bear. Though he was slow of anger, and fair in +judgment, his people feared him as they feared no other. Though he was +gentle with the weak and young, and had honoured his parents in their +old age and loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest warrior +dared not sneer.</p> + +<p>The village of this mighty chief was situated at the head of Wind Lake. +On the night of Wolf Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson +arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three Fires. They +travelled in bark canoes and were accompanied by a dozen braves. The +grandson of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's age. He was +slight of figure and dark of skin. His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer +of strange things, and a maker of songs. He and Wolf Slayer sat together +by the fire. Wolf Slayer held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's +eyes, and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time Ouenwa listened +attentively, smiling and polite, as was his usual way with strangers. +But at last he grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to listen, +in peace, to the song of the river. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> could he understand what the +rapids were saying with all this babbling of "knife" and "wolf" in his ears?</p> + +<p>"All this wind," he said, "would kill a pack of wolves, or even the +black cave-devil himself."</p> + +<p>"There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf Slayer, glancing up at the +trees.</p> + +<p>"There is a mighty wind blowing about this fire," said Ouenwa, "and it +whistles altogether of a great warrior who slew a wolf."</p> + +<p>"At least that is not work for a dreamer," retorted the other, sullenly. +Ouenwa's answer was a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows of +the fire.</p> + +<p>At an early hour of the next morning the great chief's party started +up-stream in their canoes, on the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours +Soft Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's hundred questions. +He had grown somewhat moody in the last year. He gazed away to the +forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded not the high piping +of his dead son's child. His mind was busy with thoughts of the events +of the past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's voice with a +shake of the head. He recalled the sullen smouldering of that stalwart +chief's eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>. He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging craft +beside him.</p> + +<p>"I grow old," he murmured. "The voice of my power is breaking to its +last echo. My command over my people slips like a frozen thong of raw +leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the dull brain of him?"</p> + +<p>The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and warm. The mists drew +skyward and melted in the gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, +across the brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down-bent wings, +skimmed the pebbly shore. A kingfisher flashed his burnished feathers +and screamed his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead of the +voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of the great chief's approach.</p> + +<p>"Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the boy who killed the wolf," +said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin face was sombre with more +than the shadow of years.</p> + +<p>"Nay," he replied. "His is no empty cry. Beware of him, my son!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER</span></h2> + +<p>Montaw, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the head of a small bay. His +home was half-wigwam, half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered +with the hides of caribou and partly with a square of sail-cloth, which +had been given him by a Basque fisherman in exchange for six beaver +skins. The walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. Here and +there were signs of intercourse with the strangers out of the Eastern +sea,—an iron fishhook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished +copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was justly proud, for had he +not acquired them at risk of sudden extinction by the breath of the +clapping fire-stick?</p> + +<p>The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth he had been a hunter of +renown and a great traveller, and had sojourned long in the lodges of +the Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that people,—and she had +given him laughter in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>return for his devotion. Journeying back to his +own hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. At once all his +skill and bravery had been turned to less open ways than those of the +lover and warrior. In little more than a year's time he had driven the +tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even now as he sat before the door +of his lodge, he was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the +fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows he made of jasper, and +some of flint, and some of purple slate. Those of slate would break off +in the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's pets.</p> + +<p>One day a young man from the valley of the River of Three Fires brought +Montaw a string of fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For awhile +they talked together in the sunlight at the door of the lodge.</p> + +<p>"For the chase," said the old man, "I make the long shape of flint, +three fingers wide, and to this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an +arrow will hold in the side of the running deer, and may be plucked out +after death."</p> + +<p>"I have even seen it, father," replied the young man, in supercilious +tones; for he considered himself a mighty hunter.</p> + +<p>"For the battle," continued the arrow-maker,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> "I chip the flint and +shape the narrow splinters of slate. All three are good in their way if +the bow be strong—and the arm."</p> + +<p>The old craftsman made a song. It was rough as his arrow-heads.</p> + +<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Arrows of gray and arrows of black</div> +<div class="i1">Soon shall be red.</div> +<div>What will the white moon say to the proud</div> +<div class="i1">Warriors, dead?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint,</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of slate.</div> +<div>So, with the skill of my hands, I shape</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of hate.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Fly, my little ones, straight and true,</div> +<div class="i1">Silent as sleep.</div> +<div>Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow,</div> +<div class="i1">What shall I reap?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Sorrow will come to their council-fires.</div> +<div class="i1">Weeping and fear</div> +<div>Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge,</div> +<div class="i1">Year after year.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"When the moon rides on the purple hills,</div> +<div class="i1">Joyous of face,</div> +<div>Then do I give, to the men of my tribe,</div> +<div class="i1">Heads for the chase.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows</div> +<div class="i1">Like a red star,</div> +<div>Then do I give, to the men of my tribe,</div> +<div class="i1">Heads for the war.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>"Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint,</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of slate.</div> +<div>Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse</div> +<div class="i1">Battle and hate!"</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking seaward, his trained +ears caught the sound of a faint call from the wooded hills behind. He +did not turn his head or change his position. But he held his breath, +the better to listen. Again came the cry, very weak and far away.</p> + +<p>"It is the voice of a woman," he said, and smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the east faded into the +desolate gray of the sea. Black, like stalking shadows, stood the little +islands of the headlands. The last of the light died out like the heart +of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again came the cry, whispering +across the stillness.</p> + +<p>"It may be the voice of a child, lost in the woods," said the +arrow-maker. He rose from his seat and entered the lodge. He blew the +coals of his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the burnt ends +of faggots. Then he took in his hand another of his Eastern prizes—a +broad-bladed knife—and started across the tumbled rocks toward the edge +of the wood. Though old, he was still strong and tough of limb and +courageous of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> heart. Sure and swift he made his way through the heavy +growth of spruce. Once he paused for the space of a heart-beat, to make +sure of his direction. Again and again was the piteous cry repeated.</p> + +<p>The old man kept up his tireless trot through underbrush and swamp, and +displayed neither fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a +narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into the shadow of a clump of +firs. He lay close, and breathed heavily. By this time the moon had +cleared the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilderness. In the air +was a whisper of gathering frost. The water of the little river twisted +black and silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore it, with a +voice of agony.</p> + +<p>The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old craftsman questioned the +farther shore with a gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be something +wrong with the shadows. A bent figure slipped down to the edge of the +stream where the water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and knees +and crawled to the black and unstable lip of the tide. Again the cry +rang abroad, thin and high above the complaining tumult of the current. +The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> stream. At the edge of +the spinning eddy he found a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung +to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare and rounded arm. The +arrow-maker lifted her against his shoulder and bathed her face in the +cool water until her eyelids lifted.</p> + +<p>"Chief," she whispered, "pluck out the arrow."</p> + +<p>He shook his head. His trade was with battle and death, but it was half +a lifetime since he had felt the gushing of human blood on his hands.</p> + +<p>"Father," she cried, faintly, "I pray you, pluck it out. The pain of it +eats into my spirit. It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and +noiseless—and I heard not so much as the twang of the string."</p> + +<p>The old man held her with his left arm. With strong and gentle fingers +he worked the arrow in the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. +Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot touch of it across his +fingers. He had dwelt so long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed +blade came away from the wound, and he clutched it in his reeking palm. +The woman sobbed with mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped into +the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is none of my making," he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Returning to her he bound her +shoulder with his belt of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, +he again forded the flashing current of the complaining river.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW</span></h2> + +<p>Even while the arrow-maker carried the wounded woman, arrows of the same +shape as that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threatening the +little village on the River of Three Fires. For days several war-parties +from the South had been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser +villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft Hand, and possessing +his hunting-grounds. It was a laggard of one of the smaller bands that +had wounded the woman. She had been far from her lodge at the time, +seeking some healing herbs in the forest, and he had fired on her out of +fear that she had discovered him and would warn her people. In her pain +and fright, she had wandered coastward for several miles.</p> + +<p>Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew down toward the little +meadow. Clouds were over the face of the white October moon. A cold mist +floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> lying low among the +alders at the edge of the clearing, could see the unguarded people +moving about their red fires. There was a scent of cooking deer-meat in +the chill air. The chief of the attacking party lay on the damp grass +and peered between the stems of the alders. He smiled exultantly. A +quick slaughter, and then to a feast already prepared. He and his braves +had enjoyed but poor fare during their long march.</p> + +<p>So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the cooking fires, and turn +to Wolf Slayer. Late of that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in +quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed deserted, and in less +than an hour after his valorous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep +on a warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river flashed in front, +and on three sides brooded the crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun +had set, and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, was red as +fire—or blood. Down-stream, about two hundred yards distant, a sombre +bluff thrust its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at this, and +his eyes widened with dismay. Then they narrowed with hate. Out of the +shelter of the rocks and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came +figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip-deep, shoulder-deep, into +that molten glory. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> they swam; and the ripples washed back from +gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. One by one they stole +from the shadow, swam the radiance, and again sought the shadow.</p> + +<p>The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage had their fingers on him. +Spellbound, he watched close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of +the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the shelter of the trees. +He was old enough to know what this meant, and his heart hurt him with +its pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. He was dismayed +at the sound of his own breathing. He heard the distant rapping of a +woodpecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and the soft breath +of a dying wind; and the familiar sounds filled him with awe. And yet, +but for these sounds, the whole world might be dead and the forest +empty. Thought of the hundred fighting men moving steadily upon the +unguarded homes of his people, with no more warning than the sound of a +swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. But presently the courage +that had helped him slay the wolf came to him, and he thought of the +glory to be won by saving the threatened village. He did not strengthen +his heart to the task for sake of his mother's life and the lives of his +playmates; but because the warriors would call him a hero.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> Keeping just +within the edge of the woods, he moved up-stream as speedily as he might +without making any sound. He came upon a brown hare crouched beside a +clump of ferns. He might have touched it with his hand, so unaware was +it of his presence. He passed beneath an alder branch whereon perched a +big slate-gray jay. It was not a foot from his back as he crawled under, +and it did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to make sure that +he was not a fox. Sometimes he lay still for a little, listening. He +heard nothing, though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. Twilight +deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. The moon sailed up over the +hills, and long banners of cloud passed across the face of it.</p> + +<p>Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the fires of the village. The +red light flashed on the angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in +darkness. He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely breaking the +calm, black surface. Then he swam, without noise of splashing, and +landed at the foot of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled into +the red circle of one of the fires, and told his news to the braves +gathered around. Men slipped from fire to fire. Without any unwonted +disturbance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, with a fierce +shout and a flight of arrows, the alders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> were attacked. The invaders +were checked at the very moment of their fancied victory.</p> + +<p>The fighting scattered. Here three men struggled together in the +shallows at the head of the lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and +sank into the black depths. In the open a half-score warriors bent their +bows. Among the twisted stems of the alders they pulled and strangled, +like beasts of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs and +knives, feeling for one another in the dark. Their war-cries and shouts +of hate rang fearfully on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along +the valley.</p> + +<p>In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought like a man. His lack of +stature saved him from death more than once in that fearful encounter. +Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed him altogether, as he +stumbled and bent among the alders. At first he fought with a long, +flint knife,—the work of the old arrow-maker. But this was splintered +in his hand by the murderous stroke of a war-club. He wrenched a spear +from the clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went down before his +unexpected lunge. It rolled over; then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. +An arrow from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled its shaft +among the dry twigs, and struck a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>glancing blow on the young brave's +neck. He stumbled, grabbing at the shadows. He fell—and forgot the +fight.</p> + +<p>In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wigwams were overthrown, and +about the little fires warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the +encampment was cleared, and saved from destruction; and those of the +invaders who remained beside the trampled fires had ceased to menace. +Along the black edges of the forest ran the cries and tumult of the +struggle. Spent arrows floated on the lagoon. Red knives lifted and +turned in the underbrush.</p> + +<p>Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to the lodges of his people. +Other warriors were returning. They came exultant, with the lust of +fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode arrogantly. Some +crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. Some staggered to the home fires and reeled +against the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer circle of +light. And many came not at all.</p> + +<p>The chief, with a great gash high on his breast (he had bared arms and +breast for the battle), sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of +alders, and at last, returning to the disordered camp, found Wolf +Slayer. With a glad, high<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his +arms and carried him home. The mother met them at the door of the lodge. +In fearful silence the man and woman washed and bound the young brave's +wound, and watched above his faint breathing with anxious hearts.</p> + +<p>"Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn of the dark trail," +whispered the mother. "See, our fires are bright to guide you back to +your own people."</p> + +<p>"Little chief, though this battle is ended, there are many good fights +yet to come," whispered the father. "The fighters of the camp will have +great need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old bear grumbles at +the mouth of his den!—will you not be with us when we singe his fur?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush!" cried the woman.</p> + +<p>The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his spirit from the dark +trail.</p> + +<p>"I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, "and the hunting-song +of dead braves was in my ears."</p> + +<p>Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and strength. Not once—not even +at the edge of Death's domain—had his arrogance left him. It seemed +that the days of suffering had but hardened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> his already hard heart. Lad +though he was, the villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon +them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the camp.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST</span></h2> + +<p>In the dead of winter—in that season of sweeping winds and aching +skies, when the wide barrens lie uncheered of life from horizon to +horizon—Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. They followed +in the "leads" of the great herds of caribou, going partly for the meat +of the deer and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the Southern +enemy. At the head of this party went Panounia, chief of the village on +the River of Three Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf +Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. Grim tales were told +around the big fire at night. The evil thing which Panounia hatched, +with his bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by night. The hearts +of the warriors were fired with the shameful flame. They dreamed things +that had never happened, and wrought black visions out of the +foolishnesses of their brains.</p> + +<p>"The bear nods," they repeated, one to another,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> after the chief had +talked to them. "The bear nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. +But for Panounia, surely the men of the South would have scattered our +lodges and led us, captive, to the playgrounds of their children and +their squaws. Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, for is not +our Great Chief an old woman himself?"</p> + +<p>So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, the foxes barked at his +power. The moon heard it, and the silent trees, and the wind which +carries no messages.</p> + +<p>About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft Hand, decided to make a +journey of many days from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the +Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern invasion. His eyes +longed for a sight of the edges of the land and the breast of the great +waters beyond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour of mighty wooden +canoes walled higher than the peak of a wigwam, and manned by +loud-mouthed warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. Some +wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, hinted that the +strangers were gods. He told many wonderful stories to back his +argument. Soft Hand nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Would gods make such flights for the sake<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> of a few dried fishes and a +few dressed pelts of beaver and fox?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The gods of trade would do so," replied the wiseacre. "Also," he added, +"they slay at great distances by means of brown stakes which are +flame-tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced."</p> + +<p>"But do these gods not fight with knives—long knives and short?" +inquired the lad. "I have heard it said that they sometimes fall out +over the ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do."</p> + +<p>"And what wonderful knives they are," cried the old gossip. "They are +coloured like ice. They gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning +against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, and the red blood +follows the edge as surely as the rains follow April."</p> + +<p>"I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, "and in my heart I pray +that they be but men, for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless +companions to our people."</p> + +<p>At that Soft Hand looked up. "Are the seasons not arranged to your +liking, boy?" he asked, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; "but strange men promise +better and safer company than strange gods."</p> + +<p>Now he was journeying toward the ocean of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> his dreaming and the ports of +his desire. His eyes would search the headlands of fog. Out of the east, +and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes of the strangers. But the +journey was a hard one. The boy's only companion was a man of small +stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief could well spare. They +took their way down the frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food +and sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind came out of a +steel-blue sky, unshifting and relentless. The dry snow ran before it +over the level surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across their +path. At the approach of night they sought the wooded shore, and in the +shelter of the firs built their fire.</p> + +<p>During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but a cheerless companion. He +had no heart for any adventure that might take him beyond the scent of +his people's cooking-fires. He considered the conversation of his young +master but a poor substitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant +fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncomforted. He hated the +weariness of the march and dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of +the wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, the voice of some +evil spirit. The barking of a fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. +The howl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping of a hare in the +underbrush was enough to shake his poor wits with fright. But he feared +the anger of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so held to +Ouenwa and his mission.</p> + +<p>On the third day of the journey the blue sky thickened to gray, the wind +veered, and a great storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes were +large and damp. The travellers turned aside and climbed the bank of the +river to the thickets of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they +broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves a shelter in the heart +of the wood. Into this they drew their sledge of provisions and their +sleeping-bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they could +find—dead twigs and branches, tree-moss and birch bark—and, with his +ingenious contrivance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a blaze. +They roasted dried venison by holding it to the flame on the ends of +pointed sticks. Each cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. All +creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was not a sound save the +occasional soft hiss of a melting snowflake in the fire. The storm +became denser. It was as if a sudden, colourless night had descended +upon the wilderness, blotting out even the nearer trees with its reeling +gray. The old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>retainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm from +between his bony knees. His eyes fairly protruded with superstitious +terror.</p> + +<p>"What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The awe of the storm was creeping +over his courage like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The +old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa drew closer to him, and +heaped dry moss on the fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle +of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall.</p> + +<p>"Hark!" whispered the old man. Yes, it was the sound of muffled +footsteps, approaching behind the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The +boy's blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. He clutched his +companion with frenzied hands. The fear of all the devils and shapeless +beings of the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling snow loomed a +great figure. It emerged into the glow of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with relief. For their visitor was +nothing more terrible than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them +cordially, and told them that, but for the glow of their fire, he would +have been lost.</p> + +<p>"But what are you doing here—an old man and a child?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> and his intention of +dwelling with the great arrow-maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn +wisdom.</p> + +<p>"Then are we well met," replied the other, "for my lodge is not half a +spear-throw from the lodge of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a +father to me since the day he saved my wife from death. Now I hunt for +him, and work at his craft, and have left the river to be near him. My +children play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and meat. Truly +the old man has changed since the return of laughter and friendship to +his lodge."</p> + +<p>The stranger's name was Black Feather. He was taller than the average +Beothic, and broad of shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and +one lock of it, which was worn longer than the rest, was plaited with +jet-black feathers. His garments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins +that reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers of dressed leather, +and leggins and moccasins of the same material. Around his waist was a +broad belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcupine quills. His +head was uncovered.</p> + +<p>Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, and replied, good-naturedly, +and at great length, to the youth's many questions. He told of the +high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen four of these monsters +swinging together in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> tide, with little boats plying between them, +and banners red as the sunset flapping above them. He told of trading +with the strangers, and described their manner of spreading out lengths +of bright cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks of strong +drink.</p> + +<p>"Their knives are edged with magic," he said. "Many of them carry +weapons called muskets, which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at +even a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might loose four arrows in +the time that they are conjuring forth the spirit of the musket."</p> + +<p>The storm continued throughout the day and night, but the morning broke +clear. The travellers crawled from their weighted shelter and looked +with gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After a hearty +breakfast, they set out on the last stage of their journey. Their +racquets of spruce wood woven across with strips of caribou hide sank +deep in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at every step. But +they held cheerfully on their way. Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot +Friend, the old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by which they +dragged the sledge passed over the right shoulder of each, and was +grasped in the right hand. After several hours of tramping along the +level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> toward the western +bank and led them into the woods. Presently, after experiencing several +difficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren beyond the +fringe of timber. They ascended a treeless knoll that rounded in front +of them, blindingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend grumbled +and sighed, and might just as well have been on the sledge, for all the +pulling he did. On reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept his +arm before him with a gesture of finality. "Behold!" he said.</p> + +<p>An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's lips, and +died—half-uttered. Before him lay a wedge of foam-crested winter sea +beating out against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and left were +sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave-washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, +and crouching headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness and +shortness of breath for the moment, and surveyed the outlook in silence. +It was many years since he had been so far afield. His little soul was +fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real nature reasserted +itself. He pointed with his hand.</p> + +<p>"Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of two lodges. Good!"</p> + +<p>Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear the old man's cry of joy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>"I see the edge of the world," he said.</p> + +<p>"But the ships come over it, and go down behind it," replied Black +Feather.</p> + +<p>"That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was filled with his old +impudence at sight of the fire and the lodges. "No canoe would venture +on the great salt water. I say it, who have built many canoes. And, if +they voyaged so far, they would slip off into the caves of the Fog +Devils. I believe nothing of all these stories of the strangers and +their winged canoes."</p> + +<p>"Silence!" cried the boy, turning on him with flashing eyes. "What do +you know of how far men will venture?—you, who have but heart enough to +stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon."</p> + +<p>"I have brought you safely through great dangers," whined the old +fellow.</p> + +<p>Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his visitors cordially, and was +grateful for the kind messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the +gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge and education of Ouenwa. +He set the unheroic Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, +and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa the craft of chipping +flints into shapes for spear-heads and arrow-heads, and the art of +painting, in ochre, on leather and birch bark.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR</span></h2> + +<p>Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of +Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black +Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled +bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. +Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy +might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of +waters.</p> + +<p>At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many +ships—ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were +in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted, +and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the +English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, <i>Heart +of the West</i>. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of +those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was +not long before every harbour had its admiral,—in every case the master +of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off +in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages, +whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich +harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting +of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching +the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the +strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the +sea.</p> + +<p>One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the <i>Heart of the +West</i> ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old +craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without +fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on +the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They +displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a +few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the +Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem +of a pipe and blowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said +that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he +had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and +exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather +also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth, +a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the +strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted +and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them +places where they might anchor their ships—for it was none other than +Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and +the long sword at his side—surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his +quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was +Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His +father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death, +had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son +inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the +counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much +Ouenwa could detect at a glance.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the +palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of +English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove +entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he +would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and +glinting horizon.</p> + +<p>"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath.</p> + +<p>"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!"</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a +keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest.</p> + +<p>"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat. +"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly.</p> + +<p>Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of +caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to +enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of +the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom +of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and, +before the other had time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> notice the hesitation, he stepped within. +The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow +that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the +fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the +roof, the big lodge was unilluminated.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against +the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For +answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared +smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre +place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great +bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of +his hand against the Englishman's breast.</p> + +<p>"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade."</p> + +<p>Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out +the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might +look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from +the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets +of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and +all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other +hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to +explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, +however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another.</p> + +<p>After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing +longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, +and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called +to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. +Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the +<i>Heart of the West</i> had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, +he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to +explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the +birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition +and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver +skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the +strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life +of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's +remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear +to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on +the following night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><p>The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when +Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot +where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from +Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of +either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and +thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came +to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed +close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing +to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and +laughter were ripe aboard.</p> + +<p>For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. +Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, +with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping +oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under +the stem of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. A cheering glow of candle-light +yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a +level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard +Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and +argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, +and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear +the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could +understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and +the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. +Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The +old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his +great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board.</p> + +<p>"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who +be master?"</p> + +<p>"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied +Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, +glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. +"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or +afore the mast,—no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in +Newfoundland."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of +these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman.</p> + +<p>"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand +as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the +table.</p> + +<p>"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, +would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed +above the overturned bottle and glasses.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into +the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of +the head, and sent him crashing to the deck.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER</span></h2> + +<p>When Trowley recovered consciousness, he was lying in his berth, with a +bandage around his head. Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way +that the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as hate.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are feeling more amiable since your sleep," said Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, damned the rum, and asked the +time of day. His recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy +and fragmentary.</p> + +<p>In reply to his question the gentleman told him that the sun was well +up, the fog cleared, and that he was having his boat provisioned for the +coastwise exploration trip.</p> + +<p>"And mind you," he added, grimly, "that the eighty beaver skins which +are now being stowed away in my berth are my property."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. "An' may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> I ask how ye come by such a +power o' trade in a night-time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He grinned at the wounded skipper +for fully a minute, leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said: "I'll +now bid you farewell until October. Don't sail without me, good Master +Trowley, and look not upon the rum of the Indies when that same is red. +A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might lead to the gallows."</p> + +<p>He turned and nimbly scaled the companion-ladder, leaving the shipmaster +speechless with rage.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the staunch little craft <i>Pelican</i> spread her square +sail and slid away from the <i>Heart of the West</i>. She was manned by old +Tom Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clotworthy. Master Bernard +Kingswell sat at the tiller, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, +extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed amidships and covered +with sail-cloth. The sun was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled +them along at a clipping pace. From a mound above the harbour Black +Feather gazed after them under a level hand. In the little harbour +Trowley's ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others had run out to +the fishing-grounds,—for in those days the fishing was done over the +sides of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> ships, and not from small boats. On either side the brown +shores fell back, and the dancing waters widened and widened. White +gulls screamed above and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy +breasts, and inquisitive eyes.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt a great misgiving. But +Kingswell patted him on the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads +at him and grinned.</p> + +<p>Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, high-sterned vessels +rocked and bobbed under naked spars. The great business that had brought +them so far was going forward. Along both sides of every ship were hung +barrels, and in each barrel was stationed a man with two or more +fishing-lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were hauled up, +unhooked, and tossed to the deck behind. As the little <i>Pelican</i> slid +by, the fishers paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their caps. +The masters shouted "God speed" from their narrow quarter-decks, and +doffed their hats. Kingswell waved them gracious farewells; Ouenwa gazed +spellbound toward the widening outlook; and Tom Bent trimmed the sail to +a nicety.</p> + +<p>They passed headland after headland, rocky island after rocky island, +cove after cove. The shores behind them turned from brown to purple,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher and the wind freshened. +Kingswell shaped the boat's course a few points to the northward. The +stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged like some less +playful creature. Spray flew over her blunt bows, and the sailors +laughed like children, and called her a brave lass, and many other +endearing names, as if she were human.</p> + +<p>"A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master Kingswell. The commander +nodded, and shifted the tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing +with the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, pale hair +streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, to pick out the course through +a group of small islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He gave +an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet sheet. But Ouenwa did not +share the high spirits of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling +got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. Kingswell glanced at +him.</p> + +<p>"Let it go, lad," he said. "A sailor is made in this way. Tom, pass me +along a blanket."</p> + +<p>With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfortable rest for the boy, and +helped him to a drink of water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold +on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the soaring and sinking +of the <i>Pelican</i> were enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As +for Ouenwa!—the poor lad simply clung to the gunwale with the grip of +despair, and entertained regretful, beautiful visions of level shores +and unshaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly.</p> + +<p>"The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. "Maybe, like as not, a swig +o' rum ud sweeten his bilge, sir."</p> + +<p>Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The rank liquor completed the +boy's breakdown. In so doing it served the purpose which Bent had +intended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, already half a sailor.</p> + +<p>When Ouenwa next took interest in his surroundings, the <i>Pelican</i> had +the surf of a sheer coast close aboard on her port side. She was heading +due north. The sun was half-way down his western slope. Behind the +<i>Pelican's</i> bubbling wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens +lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, and on the right hand, +loomed surf-rimmed islands and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering +yet unchanged hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent was now at the +tiller, and Kingswell was in the bows, gazing intently at the austere +coast. Ouenwa crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, under +the straining sail, and crouched beside him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> His head felt light and +his stomach painfully empty, but again life seemed worth living and the +adventure worth while.</p> + +<p>About an hour before sunset the <i>Pelican</i> ran into a little cove, and +her two grappling anchors were heaved overboard. She lay within five +yards of the land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa sprang into the +water and waded ashore. It was a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of +shingle, and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. But at the +base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, grew stunted spruce-trees +and birches. Ouenwa soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course +from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, in a shallow basin +at the foot of the rock, and from there spilled over into the +obliterating sand.</p> + +<p>By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy hacked down a couple of +armfuls of the spruce and birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a +fire. Then he filled a pot from the little well and commenced +preparations for a meal. The other seamen erected a shelter, composed of +a sail and three oars, against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a +convenient boulder, and the commander filled a long pipe with tobacco +and lit it at a brand from the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a +mood to further his young companion's education. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Pointing to the roll +of Virginian leaf, from which he had cut the charge for his pipe, he +said, "Tobacco." Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his +comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old Tom Bent, who was watching +Clotworthy drop lumps of dried venison into the pot of water.</p> + +<p>"Boatswain," he said.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term "able seamen," applied to +Clotworthy and Peter Harding. By that time the stew was ready for them. +They were all sound asleep, under their frail shelter, before the last +glimmer of twilight was gone from the sky.</p> + +<p>It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale flood of dawn illumined the +tent and the recumbent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. Tom +Bent and Harding were not in their places. The boy wondered at that, but +was about to close his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet by a +shrill cry that went ringing overhead and echoing along the cliffs. He +darted from the tent, with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. +Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of the beach, with their backs +to the sea, staring upward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces in +the same direction. They were amazed to see about a dozen native +warriors on the cliff above<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> them, fully armed, and evidently deeply +interested in what was going on in the little cove. One of them was +pointing to the <i>Pelican</i>, and talking vehemently to the brave beside +him. In two of them Ouenwa recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his father, +the chief of the village on the River of Three Fires. He called up to +them, and asked what brought them so far from their village.</p> + +<p>"We are at the salt water to take the fish," replied Wolf Slayer, "and +we saw the smoke of your fire before the last darkness. But what do you +with the great strangers, little Dreamer?"</p> + +<p>"They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, "and I am voyaging with them to +learn wisdom."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent and provisions and then +to the boat. "Put in," he said.</p> + +<p>At a word from Kingswell the three sailors quickly dismantled their +night's shelter and carried the sail, the oars, and such food and +blankets as they had brought ashore, out to the <i>Pelican</i>. At that the +shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along the cliffs.</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>"What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" called Wolf Slayer.</p> + +<p>"Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," Ouenwa cried back, with +indignation in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, my friend," replied Wolf +Slayer, "or you would not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe."</p> + +<p>Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded so dismally across the +dawn a few moments before, five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared +on the top of the cliff—for the cry was the hunting-call of the tribe.</p> + +<p>"Do you fish with war-bows?" shouted Ouenwa. "And why do you summon to +trade with the cry of the hunt?"</p> + +<p>"You ask too many questions, even for a seeker of wisdom," replied the +other youth, mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that the foxes bark with such +assurance?" retorted Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>By this time the <i>Pelican</i> was ready to put out of the cove. Both +anchors were up, and Harding and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. +Old Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with something beside the mast. +Suddenly a bow-string twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the +sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> and, glancing out, +rattled against Harding's oar. Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into +the water. Above them, silhouetted against the lightening sky, they saw +bending bows and downward thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and +a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the warriors on the cliff. The +echoes of the discharge bellowed around and around the rock-girt +harbour. Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke and climbed +aboard, and the seamen pushed into deep water and then bent to their +oars. But the <i>Pelican</i> proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt bows +and comfortable beam. She surged slowly beyond the cloud of bitter smoke +that the musket had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the +voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants—and, behold, the great +warriors were not to be seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as +if the incident were a fine joke; but Ouenwa was hot with shame and +anger. He stood erect and shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He +called upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cowardly faces. He +threatened them with the displeasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of +the English. A figure appeared on the sky-line.</p> + +<p>"You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. "Know you, then, that Soft Hand set +out on the Long Trail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> four suns ago, when he marched into my village to +dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great chief of the people. So +carry yourself accordingly, O whelp without teeth and without a den to +crawl into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of the totem of the +Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, +your father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling babe." He paused +for a moment, and held out a gleaming knife, with its point toward the +<i>Pelican</i>. "The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great lodge," he +cried.</p> + +<p>Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the cliff was lined with +warriors. Like a sudden flight of birds their arrows flashed outward and +downward.</p> + +<p>"Lie down!" cried Kingswell. With a strong hand he snatched Ouenwa to +the bottom of the boat. Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between +the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the naked mast, did not +move. The arrows thumped against plank and gunwale. They pierced the +cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and mast. One, turning from +the rail, struck Bent on the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not +look for the wound. His match was burning with a thread of blue smoke +and a spark of red fire. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an +impromptu swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the muzzle.</p> + +<p>"Steady her," he said, softly. "She's driftin' in."</p> + +<p>Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, thrust it to the bottom, +and held the boat as steady as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He +shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors above him. Tom touched +the slow-match to the quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A plume +of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound that shook the boat from stem +to stern, the gun hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of +hate.</p> + +<p>"Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from where he sagged against the +mast. The kick of his musket had hurt him more than the blow from the +arrow.</p> + +<p>Again the <i>Pelican</i> fought her way toward the open waters, with Harding +and Clotworthy pulling lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and +joyful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, through which +the tide was running landward at a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading +his firearm. Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow in his left +hand and an arrow on the string. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> breath of wind brushed the smoke +aside and cleared the view. Ouenwa pointed to the beach, and gave vent +to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others looked, and saw a huddled shape +of bronzed limbs and painted leather at the foot of the rock.</p> + +<p>"One more red devil for hell," muttered the boatswain. "I learned mun to +shoot his pesky sticks at a Bristol gentleman."</p> + +<p>As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from the mast, not six inches +from the old man's head. Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The +shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught the boy, and with +all the hate that was in his heart for the big murderer on the cliff. +Every man of the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the flight +of it. They saw it curve. They saw a warrior drop his bow from his +menacing hand and sink to his knees.</p> + +<p>"The wolf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own tongue. "The wolf bites the +moss. Who, now, is the wolf slayer?"</p> + +<p>The Englishmen cheered again and again, and the good boat <i>Pelican</i>, +urged forward by triumphant sinews, won through the channel and swam +into the outer waters.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SILENT VILLAGE</span></h2> + +<p>As soon as the <i>Pelican</i> was out of arrow-shot of the cliff, the +Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. +Then he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard from Panounia. +After a deal of questioning, sign-making, and mental exertion, the +Englishman gathered the information that treachery and murder had taken +place up the river, and that his young friend hated the new leader of +the tribe with a bitter hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He +looked at the young savage's flushed face and glowing eyes with sympathy +and admiration. His liking for the boy had grown in every hour of their +companionship, and, by this time, had developed into a decided fondness.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he said, with a light hand on +the other's knee. "Your enemies are my enemies," he continued, "and +we'll fight the dogs every time we see 'em."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He was soothed by the evident +kindliness of Kingswell's tone and manner, though he had failed to +translate his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught the words, +however. They nodded heavily to one another.</p> + +<p>"Ye say the very word what was in my mind, sir," spoke up Tom Bent, +"an', if I may make so bold as to say further, your enemies be your +servants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's enemies must be our +enemies, holus bolus." The other sailors nodded decidedly. "Therefore," +continued Tom Bent, "all they cowardly heathen aft on the cliff has to +reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent an' the crew o' this craft."</p> + +<p>"Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with the smile that always won +him the heart and hand of every man he favoured with it,—and of every +maid, too, more than likely. "But we can't enthuse on empty stomachs. +Pass out the bread and the cold meat," he added.</p> + +<p>For fully two hours the <i>Pelican</i> rocked about within half a mile of her +night's anchorage. Kingswell was not in a desperate hurry, and so his +men pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat clear of the rocks. +A sharp lookout was kept along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> the coast, but not a sight nor a sound +of the Beothics rewarded their vigilance.</p> + +<p>"They be up to some devilment, ye may lay to that," said Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'east, and the square +sail was hoisted and sheeted home. Again the <i>Pelican</i> dipped her bows +and wet her rail on the voyage of exploration.</p> + +<p>After two hours of sailing, and just when they were off the mouth of a +little river and a fair valley, a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for +running in, but Ouenwa objected.</p> + +<p>"Panounia follow," he said. "He great angry. Drop irons," he added, +pointing to the little anchors.</p> + +<p>"Panounia is wounded. You winged him yourself," replied Kingswell. "He +could not follow us around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa considered the words with puckered brows. They were beyond him. +The commander pointed shoreward.</p> + +<p>"All safe," he said. "All safe."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried the lad. "All kill. No safe."</p> + +<p>During this controversy the sail had been partly lowered, and the +<i>Pelican</i> had been slowly running landward with the fog.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the seamen with a smile of +whimsical uncertainty.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," remarked Tom Bent, with his +deep-set eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, +for a moment, on the ancient mariner.</p> + +<p>"Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, and was quickly stowed. +"Let go the anchors," he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the +gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and shut her off from land and +sky. With a last dreary whistle, the wind died out entirely.</p> + +<p>"Rip me!" exclaimed Master Kingswell, "but here is caution that smells +remarkably like cowardice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, +tobacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke was mingling with the +fog. The young commander leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, +like the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit of burning +Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, confined to the wealthy and the +adventurous. The seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, +watched their captain with open interest. When a puff was blown through +the nostrils, or sent aloft in a series of rings, they nudged one +another, like children at a show. By this time the walls of fog had made +of the <i>Pelican</i> a tiny, lost world by itself. Suddenly Ouenwa raised +his hand. "Sh!" he whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> his +mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden river and valley. All +strained their ears, to wrest some sound from the surrounding gray other +than the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. But they could +hear nothing.</p> + +<p>"Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing landward.</p> + +<p>"But we saw no signs of a village," protested Kingswell, gently.</p> + +<p>"Village," repeated the lad. "Ouenwa hear. Ouenwa smell."</p> + +<p>Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff the fog, like hounds +taking a scent on the wind. But their nostrils were not the nostrils of +either hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. They shook their +heads. Kingswell wagged a chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. +The boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Village," he whispered, shrilly. "Village, village, village."</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned leniently at the +determined boy. They had great faith in their own noses, had those +mariners of Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, sank +into a moody contemplation of the fog.</p> + +<p>"This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>half-hour of silence. +"Tom, pipe us a stave, like a good lad."</p> + +<p>The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. Presently he cleared his +throat with energy.</p> + +<p>"Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once were," he murmured, "but +I'll do me best—an' no sailorman can say fairer nor that."</p> + +<p>Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, +tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, +with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined +in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon +followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully +melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the +words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune +fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the +suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He +beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands +together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the +ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the <i>Teressa +Maria</i> had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then +Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> It +was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. +The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old +Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and +of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a +cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing +seaward and westward from the door.</p> + +<p>For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little +company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various +thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid +his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Canoe," he whispered.</p> + +<p>The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated—a short rap, +like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all +heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting +out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and +whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. +That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the +hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned +to his seat at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla +rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on +his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly +and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and +into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss +of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>The <i>Pelican</i> drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes +and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded +a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and +Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great +matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the +curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the +short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In +the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. +Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and +began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and +peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but +could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> erect, discharged arrow after arrow +at the hidden enemy.</p> + +<p>The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell +passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to +lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the +names of his murdered father and grandfather.</p> + +<p>For a long and weary time the <i>Pelican</i> lay off the hidden land, +shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the +west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the +coast and the open sky.</p> + +<p>"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are +going back to have a look at that village."</p> + +<p>The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the +savages for the fright in the dark.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A LETTER FOR OUENWA</span></h2> + +<p>Two headlands were rounded before the valley of the river opened again +to the eyes of the adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole down +and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten sea. The gradual hillsides, +green-swarded, basked in the golden light. The lower levels of the +valley were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of his habitation, was +disclosed to the voyagers.</p> + +<p>"A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. "I feel a desire stirring within me +to stretch my legs on that grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, +Tom?"</p> + +<p>The old fellow grinned. "'Twould be pleasant, sir, an' no mistake," he +replied—"a little walk along the brook, with our hands not very far +from our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' nater worship."</p> + +<p>The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand well within the mouth of +the river. Harding and Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +guard, and the other three, fully armed, started along the bank of the +stream. They advanced cautiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of +bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher dropped from its perch above +the water and flew up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend of +the little river and halted short in their track with muttered +exclamations. Before them, on a level meadow between the brown waters of +the stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood half a dozen +wigwams. The place seemed deserted. They scanned the dark edge of the +wood and the brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, expecting to +catch the glint of hostile eyes at every turn. But neither grove nor +hill, nor silent lodge, disclosed any sign of life.</p> + +<p>"Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kingswell, thoroughly perplexed.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half-circle.</p> + +<p>"Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. "Yes, watch us."</p> + +<p>"He means they are lying around looking at us," said Kingswell to the +boatswain. "Rip me, but I don't relish the chance of one of those +stone-tipped arrows in my vitals."</p> + +<p>Tom Bent glanced about him in visible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>trepidation. Ouenwa noticed it, +and pointed to the seaman's musket. "No 'fraid," he said. "Shoot."</p> + +<p>"What at?" inquired Bent.</p> + +<p>"Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the silent wood, dusky in the +gathering shadows.</p> + +<p>"He wants you to fire into the wood, and frighten them out," said +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," replied Tom.</p> + +<p>However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its support, aimed at the edge +of the forest beyond the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the +twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose and quivered in the air. +It was answered from the hilltops on both sides of the stream.</p> + +<p>Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was inside the nearest lodge. +Kingswell followed, and found him dismantling the couches and walls of +their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in the looting. Soon each +had all he could handle. They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, +with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward the <i>Pelican</i>. They had +rounded the bend of the river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet +them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an indignant whoop and leaped +into the air. His musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> a +stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their bundles and sprang to where +he lay, kicking and spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung +to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing wildly, and vowing +vengeance on the "heathen varment" who had pinked him.</p> + +<p>Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows of the wooded hillside, +and Kingswell hoisted the struggling boatswain to his shoulders and +continued his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged and implored +his commander to put him down, assuring him that he was more surprised +than hurt. But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and did +not release him until they were safe beside the <i>Pelican's</i> bows. Just +then Ouenwa and the sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All +were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired only one arrow, when they +might have annihilated the little party with a volley?</p> + +<p>That night the <i>Pelican</i> lay at anchor in the mouth of the river. Twice, +during the long, eerie hours between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke +his companions; but on both occasions the alarms proved to be false—the +splashing of a marauding otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding +trout. Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and the stream +lay as peaceful and deserted as on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> preceding evening. The voyagers +ate their breakfast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared the +light mist from the water, they got up their anchor and rowed up-stream. +Harding and Clotworthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the commander +crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. +The current was strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the twirling +sinews of water. Little patches of spindrift, from some fall or rapid +farther up the river, floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed +beneath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and splashed on either +hand, and sent silver circles rippling to the toiling boat. A moist, +sweet fragrance of foliage and mould and dew filled the air.</p> + +<p>Soon the deserted lodges came into view, standing smokeless and pathetic +between the murmuring river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned +to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of the wigwams. They landed +without incident, and all walked toward the village, with their firearms +ready and their matches lighted. They explored every lodge and even beat +the underbrush. The dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons and +cooking utensils evidently during the night. A village of this size must +have possessed at least<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a +paddle, could they find.</p> + +<p>"All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, pointing up-stream.</p> + +<p>"What be this?" asked Tom Bent, limping toward Kingswell with an arrow +and a small square of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, +pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wigwams. Kingswell +examined it intently, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Pictures," he said. "I suppose it is a letter of some kind, in which +their wise man tells us what he thinks of us."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly sketched figures, with +which it was covered, with a scornful twist of his face.</p> + +<p>"Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. "See! Very big! +Bear"—he touched another point of the missive and then tapped his own +breast—"see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He laughed shrilly, and +shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, no."</p> + +<p>"What be mun jabberin' about?" muttered Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>Kingswell explained that the bear stood for Ouenwa's family, and that +the wolf was the symbol of the people who had killed his grandfather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>The <i>Pelican</i> continued her voyage before noon, and all day skirted an +austere and broken coast. She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, +steering for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded many islands and +braved intricate channels. Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer +cape than any of the day's experience, and Kingswell, who had just +relieved Harding at the tiller, forsook the straight course and headed +up the bay. Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a sheltered +roadstead behind an island and just off a wooded cove. They lowered the +sail and rowed in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent the +night close to the tide, with their muskets and cutlasses beside them, +and the watch changed every two hours.</p> + +<p>Three days later the voyagers happened upon a ship. They ran close in to +where she lay at anchor, believing her to be English, and did not +discover their mistake until the little tub of a brig opened fire from a +brass cannonade. The first shot went wide, and the <i>Pelican</i> lay off +with a straining sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended the +encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy fishing to get up anchor and +give chase.</p> + +<p>Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the incident. "It be the first +time," he said, "that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in +Newfoundland. One year I were fishin' in the <i>Maid o' Bristol</i>, in Dog's +Harbour, Conception, an', though we was last to drop anchor, an' the +only English ship agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, our +skipper said he were admiral—an', by Gad, so he were."</p> + +<p>But the valorous old mariner did not suggest that they put about and +dispute the admiralty of the little harbour which they had just passed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION</span></h2> + +<p>In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly +natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a +bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master +Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three +weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh +until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the +dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the +science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the +malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young +caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was +close upon the end of September when the <i>Pelican</i> again took up her +northward journey.</p> + +<p>Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of +gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the +natives, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> he had heard stories of a French sailor having been +wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon +gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the +straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men +shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their +provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent. +So Kingswell headed the <i>Pelican</i> southward. After a week of fair winds, +they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout +little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a +sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three +days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this +unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every +likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the +northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart +of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as +Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired +English helped to keep the company in good spirits.</p> + +<p>It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the +<i>Pelican</i> threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not +sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The +drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide.</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for +home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed +reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany +finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now +that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur +to him.</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us—an' we +are lucky not to be in such dirty company!"</p> + +<p>He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to +Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled +approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as +old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something +to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then—"By God," he cried, +"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty +company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with—with you all," he +finished, lamely.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>seaman with mute indignation +in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted +English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the +seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff +an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if +it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax +cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye."</p> + +<p>"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered +wag of his heavy head.</p> + +<p>Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a +thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further +attention.</p> + +<p>"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell, +cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to +Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the +snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old <i>Pelican</i> right 'round to +St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad +enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the +privateers."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried +venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old +philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone—gone utterly, and +only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood. +What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. +Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for +their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that +immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery. +So the storm-beaten, wave-weary <i>Pelican</i> turned seaward again.</p> + +<p>Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm +of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of +some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by +the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy +river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears +like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew +it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay +at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came +the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and +slept. They were astir with the first gray lights,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> and before sunrise +were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost +sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and +fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a +fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark +current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across +their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and +swooped down and away.</p> + +<p>They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles—and hard +pulling it was—when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke +beyond a wooded bend.</p> + +<p>"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe +get killed?"</p> + +<p>He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm.</p> + +<p>"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the +stroke, lads—and, Tom, keep your match handy."</p> + +<p>At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and +peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight. +Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along +its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a +little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the +chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer +azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small +high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung +like a dead body in the brown current.</p> + +<p>Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he +murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a +reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!"</p> + +<p>"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An' +real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain."</p> + +<p>At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of +the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the +river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little +<i>Pelican</i>. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself +and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune, +even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore.</p> + +<p>The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and +his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were +strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady +eyes, and herculean shoulders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> They doffed their skin caps to the +gentleman adventurer.</p> + +<p>"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and +two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just +two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off +the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They +agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master +Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced +coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with +sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and +halted near by.</p> + +<p>"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys—father and son." With a +casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company. +He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him +affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John—John +Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He +bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed +individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget, +master mariner," he concluded.</p> + +<p>Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> again shook hands with the +elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few +courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them. +Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each +bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his +face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. +Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both +were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was +the taller and thinner of the two.</p> + +<p>D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the +others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget +immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand, +as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company. +Ouenwa and the seamen of the <i>Pelican</i>, and the Donnellys and young +Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors.</p> + +<p>"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they +crossed the level of frost-seared grass.</p> + +<p>"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my +strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> chief +of this country. His enemies—barking foxes who name themselves +wolves—pulled him down in the night-time."</p> + +<p>The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and +interest. The story was not news to them, however.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure +enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' +burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when +the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections, +an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was +for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did +for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till +spring, I'm thinkin'."</p> + +<p>"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here +soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder +Donnelly, in guarded tones.</p> + +<p>"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew +plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over."</p> + +<p>Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed +suspiciously.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX</span></h2> + +<p>Inside the stockade, posted unevenly around three sides of a foot-worn +square, were five buildings of rough logs. From a platform in the +southeast corner two small cannon presented their muzzles to the river. +At the back of this platform, on the southern side of the square, stood +the Donnelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fifteen paces +across the front. Against the western palisade the Trigget cabin and +Captain d'Antons' habitation faced the square. On the north side stood a +fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. In the centre of the yard +bubbled a spring of clear water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook +sparkled away from it, under the stockade and down to the river. The +well was flanked on both sides by a couple of slim birches, now leafless +under the white November sun.</p> + +<p>The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and Skipper Trigget's wife +and daughter—both big,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> comely women—fed them with the best in the +little plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and Ouenwa were taken to +D'Antons' quarters. The Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and +took blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their couches. Also +he produced a flask of priceless brandy, from which he and Kingswell +pledged a couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The toast was +D'Antons' suggestion.</p> + +<p>Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that he had a matter of +business to attend to, and left his guests to their own devices. The +house was divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou hides, +which were hung from one of the low crossbeams of the ceiling. At the +end of each room a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small +windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre interior. Books in +English, French, and Spanish, a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a +neatly executed drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a table near one +of the windows. Antlers of stags, decorated quivers and bows, painted +hides, and glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the hearth in the +room in which Kingswell and his young companion sat, hung a musket with +a silver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and several knives and +daggers in beaded sheaths. On<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West +Indian shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the same sure metal, +and a heavy sword with a basket hilt hung above D'Antons' bed.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked over the books on the table. He found that one of them +was a manual of arms, written in the Spanish language; another a work of +navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty thesis on the science and +practice of surgery; and the fourth was a volume as well-loved as +familiar,—Master William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." He took up +this last, and, seating himself with his shoulder to the window, was +soon far away from the failures and daily perils of the wilderness. The +greedy, hard-bitted materialist Present, with its quests of "fish," and +fur, and gold, was replaced by the magic All-Time of the playwright +poet.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into every nook and corner, and +examining the shells, the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on +the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire to his hair, tried to +solve the mystery of the chimney—for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a +lodgeful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. He looked +frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of finding him open to questions, +but was always <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>disappointed. At last the thought occurred to him that +it would be a fine thing to get hold of the great sword above the bed, +and make cut, lunge, and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how to +do on several occasions. So he climbed on to the bed, and, in trying to +clear the sword from its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the +floor. Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm across his body and +his hand on his sword-hilt, and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama +sprawled at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, in tones of +relief. "But you must not handle other people's goods, lad," he added, +kindly, "especially a gentleman's arms and armour."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about to step from D'Antons' +couch to recover the head-piece, when D'Antons himself entered the +cabin. Kingswell turned to him and explained the accident.</p> + +<p>"My young friend is very sorry," he said, "and would beg your pardon if +he felt less embarrassed. However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so +intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watching him. He is +naturally of an investigating turn of mind."</p> + +<p>The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed his white teeth. "It is +nothing, nothing," he cried.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> "I beg you not to mention it again, or +give it another thought. The old pot has sustained many a shrewder whack +than a tumble on the floor. Ah, it has turned blades of Damascus before +now! But enough of this triviality! I have returned to request you to +come with me to our governor. Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him +to you, as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But he will make his +own apologies, Master Kingswell."</p> + +<p>He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to pass out before him. +Kingswell went first. As Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped +him sharply by the arm, and hissed, "Dog! Cur!" in a voice so low, so +sinister, that the boy gasped. But in a breath the Frenchman was his +affable self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still burning +his ears, almost believed that he had been the victim of some evil +magic. Kingswell caught nothing of the incident.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master Kingswell was ushered into +the governor's cabin, and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The young +Englishman found himself in a dimly lit apartment very similar to that +which he had just left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and +narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. The Frenchman paused +at his elbow. Two figures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> advanced from the farther side of the room. +He ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace at his command, +for one of the figures was that of a young woman in flashing raiment. +The other was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little past middle +age, with a worn face that somehow retained its air of youthfulness +despite its haggard lines and faded skin.</p> + +<p>"Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kingswell," said the gentleman, +extending his hand and laughing softly. "This is indeed an unlooked-for +pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall—or was it at Beverly?"</p> + +<p>"Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, in a voice of ill-concealed +consternation and surprise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of +half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the other with wide +eyes. Then he caught the waiting hand in a firm grip.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly that we last met," he +said, evenly. He turned to the girl, who stood beside her father with +downcast eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet hastened to +make her known to the visitor.</p> + +<p>"My daughter Beatrix," he said. "A good girl, who willingly and +cheerfully shares her worthless father's exile."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely hand, and Kingswell, +bending low above it, intoxicated by the sudden presence of beauty and a +flood of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim fingers with a +warmth that startled the lady and brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' +eyes. He recovered himself in an instant. "To see you in this +wilderness—amid these bleak surroundings!" he exclaimed, scarcely above +a whisper. "I cannot realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played at +racquets together in the court at Beverly."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of understanding in her dark, +parti-coloured eyes.</p> + +<p>"I remember," she said. "You have not changed greatly, save in size." +And at that she laughed, with a note of embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"But you have," replied Kingswell. "You were not very beautiful as a +little girl. To me you looked much the same as my own sisters."</p> + +<p>For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his with merriment and +questioning in their depths. Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved +uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," he said, "we must not stand here all day, like geese on a +village green. There are seats by the fire." He led the way. "Captain, +if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> of Master +Kingswell's adventures," he added, turning to D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," answered the captain.</p> + +<p>"One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph Westleigh. "I have a +young friend—a sort of ward—whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run +over to the men and amuse himself with them."</p> + +<p>As he opened the door and spoke a few kind words to Ouenwa, there was a +sneer on D'Antons' lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. +It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all she could do to +restrain herself from slapping him—for hot blood and a fighting spirit +dwelt in that fair body. She wondered how she had once considered him +attractive. She blushed crimson at the thought.</p> + +<p>Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool between the governor of +the little colony and the maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa +was, and of the time the lad saved him from injury by flooring old +Trowley with his canoe paddle. Then he briefly sketched the voyage of +the <i>Pelican</i>, and told something of his interests in the fishing fleet +and in the new land.</p> + +<p>"And you found no indications of gold?" queried D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"None," replied the voyager, "but some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>splendid copper ore in great +quantities, and one mine of 'fool's gold.'"</p> + +<p>The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. "There are other kinds +of fool's gold than these iron pyrites, I believe," he said, "and one +finds it nearer home than in this God-forsaken—ah—in this wild +country."</p> + +<p>The others understood the reference, and even the polished Frenchman +looked into the fire and had nothing to say. Kingswell studied the +water-bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced piteously at her +father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's life had known much of fool's gold, +and much of many another folly, and something of that to which his +acquaintances in Somerset—and, for that matter, in all England—gave a +stronger and less lenient name. The baronet had lived hard; but his +story comes later.</p> + +<p>"I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," said Kingswell, presently. +"I did not know, even, that you were interested in colonization—and yet +you have been here a matter of two years, so Trigget tells me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and likely to die here—unless I am unearthed," replied Sir Ralph, +bitterly, and with a meaning glance at Kingswell. "I put entire faith in +my friends," he added. "And they are all in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> this little fort on Gray +Goose River. My undoing lies in their hands."</p> + +<p>"Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but stoutly, "I hope your trust +has been extended to me,—yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any matter +of—of silence or the like—are our orders. My fellows are true as +steel. My friends are theirs. The young Beothic would risk his life for +you at a word from me."</p> + +<p>The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. He laid a hand on the +young man's knee and peered into his face.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a friend—out and out?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"To the death," said the other, huskily.</p> + +<p>"And you have heard? Of course you have heard!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is not for me to say 'God bless you' to any man," said Sir Ralph, +"but it's good of you. I feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. +I have forgotten my old trick of making pretty speeches."</p> + +<p>Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished that D'Antons, with his +polite, superior, inscrutable smile, was a thousand miles out of sight +of his embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> she did not look +at him. "God bless you—my fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice +so low that he alone caught the words. He had no answer to make to that +unexpected reward. For a little they maintained a painful silence. It +was broken by the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"You understand, Master Kingswell, that, for certain reasons, it is +advisable that the place of Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from +the knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, slowly and easily.</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Kingswell, shortly. Captain d'Antons jarred on +him, despite all his faultless and affable manners.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER</span></h2> + +<p>About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement +on Gray Goose River—Fort Beatrix it was called—the sky clouded, the +voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By +Trigget's advice—and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the +plantation—the pelts and gear of the <i>Pelican</i> were removed to the +storehouse.</p> + +<p>"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your +plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye +couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper.</p> + +<p>"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he +answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out +o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to +spare for your men, what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and +boat-buildin'."</p> + +<p>So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of +winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he +would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons +expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that, +Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit +him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from +agreeable to the French adventurer.</p> + +<p>When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still +falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil +of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred +by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting +wilderness.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal, +and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two +gentlemen had an hour of private conversation.</p> + +<p>"This Captain d'Antons—what of him?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago, +before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in +London. He was reported rich. He had sailed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> many voyages to the West +Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold +Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a +child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing +else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her +dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but +here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or +two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little +hand—and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, +lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my +trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all +the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring +voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for +land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A +boat-load of armed men left the pirate—yes, that's what she was, a damn +pirate—and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of +her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he +knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said +was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and +joined our <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with +his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung +to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show +his hoof now and again, I'd like it better—for then we would all be on +our guard."</p> + +<p>"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be +reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell. +"Has he a stake in the colony?"</p> + +<p>The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my +secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended +some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other +reason than that he is in love with my daughter."</p> + +<p>"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly.</p> + +<p>"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had +us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which +he now sues, he accepted my word of honour—mark you, he accepted what I +had scarce the face to offer—that I would not withstand his suit, nor +allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my +hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared +that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his +game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God +that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But +no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword +would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should +kill me, for my men hate him."</p> + +<p>"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"You do not understand—you cannot understand—how delicate a thing to +keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without +honour," replied the other, sadly.</p> + +<p>"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find +his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St. +John's."</p> + +<p>"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to +escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as +a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years."</p> + +<p>"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind +to it," retorted Kingswell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being +billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a +monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of +Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer."</p> + +<p>"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation, +even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I +have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but +that Time may shuffle the pack before long?"</p> + +<p>Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay +gowns—in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled—by which her girlish +beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a +brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were +bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and +dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and +skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To +all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched +her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her +gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner +of the bench by the hearth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> gazed at this vision of loveliness with +wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons +and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the +Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a +woman—a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black +Feather's squaw—no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to +note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet. +She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. +But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members +of this flashing young divinity.</p> + +<p>"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the +dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the +great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any +more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked +upon such beauty and such raiment?"</p> + +<p>His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his +amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on +the bench.</p> + +<p>"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> notice you before. So you +are Master Kingswell's ward?"</p> + +<p>Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's +hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question.</p> + +<p>"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress +Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend."</p> + +<p>"And my friend, too?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so—so—like he called the sky one +morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said.</p> + +<p>"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very +provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss +Westleigh.</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles."</p> + +<p>The girl could not deny it, for the table was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> spread in the same +room,—a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a +fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had +been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard.</p> + +<p>The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china +dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well +served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all +was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence—potent magic enough to a +young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women +of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the +gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate +painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the +vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was +lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, +and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked +puzzled for a moment,—then confused,—then, with a little, +indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a +compliment for, oh, ever so long."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> She looked across the table at +Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and +darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">MEDITATION AND ACTION</span></h2> + +<p>For hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, reviewing, in his restless +brain, the incidents of that crowded day. His couch was luxurious, +compared to the resting-places he had known since leaving the <i>Heart of +the West</i>; but, for all that, sleep evaded him. From the other side of +the hearth Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his alert ears. +He saw the yellow light blink to darkness above the curtain of skins, +when D'Antons extinguished his candle in the other apartment. The red +firelight rose and fell, dwindled and flooded high. The core of it +contracted and expanded, and a straight log across the middle of the +glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like something alive—like +something stirring between sleeping and waking, desiring sleep, yet +afraid to forsake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the hearth it +suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and starting in a deserted hall. +"What is it waiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. "What +does it fear? Mayhap the master and mistress are late at a rout, and are +people without consideration for the feelings of their servants."</p> + +<p>From such harmless imagery his mind slipped to the less pleasant subject +of Sir Ralph Westleigh. He recalled what he had seen and heard of the +days of the baronet's glory—of the great places near Bristol, with +their stables that were the envy of dukes, and their routs that lured +people weary and dangerous journeys—of the famous Lady Westleigh and +her jewels—of Sir Ralph's kindliness to great and small alike. His own +father, the merchant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in high +esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and later when a well-grown lad, +had experienced the hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the time +of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy with the baronet's +affairs. During Lady Westleigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. +After her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, and more of +it in distant London, and even in Paris. Stories went abroad of his +heavy gaming and his ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice +and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, working on him +physically to such an extent that he looked a different person when the +heat of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> play was on him. Also it played the devil with him +morally—and perhaps mentally. So things took the turn and started +down-hill. Then the run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, +threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numerous clever checks and +parries to avoid disaster. There was a season of hope after the sale of +Randon. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then Beverly was +impoverished to the last oak and the last horse in the stud. The baronet +took his daughter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few merry +months. Then a certain Scotch viscount caught him playing as no +gentleman, no matter how dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman +made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. That was the last known +of Sir Ralph Westleigh and his daughter by any one of the outside world +until the <i>Pelican</i> landed her voyagers before the stockade of Fort +Beatrix on Gray Goose River.</p> + +<p>All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts as he lay awake in +Captain d'Antons' cabin and watched the fire on the rough hearth fall +lower and lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born and bred to +such a different heritage, pained and fretted him more keenly than a +personal loss. The discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience were +accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> that was absurd, as +neither he nor his had helped Westleigh in his descent, nor cried out +against him when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had never, during +those two years after their disappearance, given them more than a +passing thought—and they had been friends and neighbours. He had +experienced no pity for the young and beautiful girl with whom he had +played in the racquet court at Beverly. Like the great world of which he +was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. Two lives, more or less, +were of no consequence in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the +realization of a great sin had come to him. Then, to the anger against +himself was added anger against the world that had dragged Sir Ralph +into this oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into exile. What +had she done to be driven beyond the bounds of civilization, her safety +dependent on the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there was the raw +spot, sure enough! In the little space of time between two risings of +the sun, Kingswell had met a man and marked him for an enemy. Nursing a +bitter, though somewhat muddled, resentment, he at last fell asleep, +guarded from storm and frost by the roof of the very man who had +inspired his anger.</p> + +<p>For the next few days matters went smoothly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> at Fort Beatrix. It was +evident to even the least experienced of the settlers that the winter +had come to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the frozen earth. The +river was already hidden under a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by +the snow that had mingled with the water while it was freezing. The +little settlement took up the routine of the dreary months. Axes were +sharpened at the great stone in the well-house. The men donned moccasins +of deerskin. They tied ingenious racquets, or snow-shoes, to their feet +and tramped into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud of the axes +jarred across the air, interrupted ever and anon by the rending, +splitting lament of some falling tree.</p> + +<p>Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's orders, and he and Ouenwa +spent much of their time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with +the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled and tireless woodsman, +led them on many weary marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the +caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from ten to one hundred +head, at the approach of winter; but a few remained in the sheltered +valleys. Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the habits of the +deer, and had laid in a supply of dried venison during the summer. +However, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>whenever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh meat +was enthusiastically received at the fort. Hares and grouse were snared, +as were foxes and other small animals. A few wolves and one or two +wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked safely away in their +winter quarters, and the beavers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, +the hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward for their toil. +But it was work that kept both their brains and sinews employed, and so +was of a deal more worth than the bare value of the pelts and dinners it +supplied.</p> + +<p>One day in early December, when Kingswell, D'Antons, the younger +Donnelly, and Ouenwa were traversing a drifted expanse of "barren," +marching in single file and without undue noise, they came upon another +trail of racquet prints. They halted. They regarded this unexpected +evidence of the proximity of their fellow man with misgivings—for snow +had fallen in abundance, and therefore the trail was new. They glanced +uneasily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir and mounds of +snow-drifted rock with anxious eyes. They strained their ears for some +warning sound—or for the twanging of bowstrings. They saw nothing. They +heard nothing but the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>disconsolate chirping of a moose-bird in a +thicket close at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail.</p> + +<p>"From the westward, and heading for the river," he said. "Then they are +not from the village on Gander Lake."</p> + +<p>"Big number," remarked Ouenwa. "Ten, twenty, thirty—don't know how +much! Whole camp, I think."</p> + +<p>"Ay," agreed Donnelly, "they sure has packed clear down through two +falls o' snow. Ye could trot a pony along the pat' they has made."</p> + +<p>"Are you on friendly terms with the savages?" inquired Kingswell of +Captain d'Antons. The Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his +lean shoulders. He was not one to speak unconsidered words.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people from Gander Lake," he +replied, presently. "That is, we have traded with them a number of +times, and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and through him with +old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand is dead now; and these fellows are +evidently from the West. Also, friendship means nothing where these +vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the breath of life to them."</p> + +<p>"Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. "Panounia no good for friend. +He is a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>murderer. He is a false chief. He make trade—yes, with +war-arrows from the bushes and with knives in the dark. In friendship +his hand is under his robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his +knife. Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch at a fire."</p> + +<p>D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. "There is a time for all things," he +said—"a time for oratory and another time for action. If you are +willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our steps as swiftly and +quietly as may be. It would be wise to warn the fort that a band of the +sly devils is abroad."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker and flushed darkly. Kingswell +intimated his willingness to return immediately to Fort Beatrix by a +curt nod. It was in his heart to administer a kick to Captain Pierre +d'Antons, though just why the desire he could not say. They turned in +their tracks and started back along the twisting, seven-mile trail. +D'Antons led; and the pace he set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was +passed, with no other sound save those of padding racquet and toiling +breath. In the hollows their shoulders brushed the snow from the +crowding spruce-fronds. Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and +scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>At last, all but breathless from the prolonged exertion, the hunters +turned aside from the path and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side +of a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. They crossed the +naked summit with painful caution, bending double, and taking every +advantage of the sheltering thickets.</p> + +<p>"The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons to Kingswell, as they +peered furtively out between the snow-weighted branches. "See! And the +savages are in cover along the river." It was quite evident to Kingswell +that the place had been attacked, and was now in a state of siege. The +platform in the southeast corner of the stockade was protected by +shields composed of bundles of firewood. Men whom he recognized as those +who had been working in the woods earlier in the day moved about within +the enclosure. The wide, snow-covered clearing that had been so spotless +when he had last seen it was trampled and stained here and there by dark +patches. Along the fringe of timber that shut the river from the +clearing, and extended to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner +of the stockade, a Beothic warrior would frequently show himself for a +moment, hoot derisively, and let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the +watchers on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> Trigget +above the shield of the gun-platform. The master mariner shaded his eyes +with his hand and seemed to be scanning the woods along the river and +then the timber in which his own comrades were concealed. He lowered his +hand and ducked quickly—and not a second too soon; for a flight of +arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few stuck, quivering, into the +pickets of the stockade, and many fell within the fort.</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned to D'Antons. "More of them than we thought," he said. +"There must have been a hundred arrows in that volley."</p> + +<p>Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. He did not look at his +companion, and his brow was puckered in lines of thought. If the +Englishman had been able to read the other's mind at that moment, a deal +of future trouble would have been spared him. However, as Kingswell was +but an adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no superhuman powers, he +was content with the Frenchman's nod, and returned his attentions to the +fort.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above which Trigget had so lately +exposed his head, burst a flash of yellow flame, a spurt of white smoke, +and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. A spruce-tree shook in +the wood by the river, and cries of fear and consternation rang across +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> frosty air. A score of savages darted from their cover and as +quickly sped back again. Flight after flight of arrows broke away and +tested every inch of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill +screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party of Beothics emerged +into the clearing and dashed for the palisade. They drew their bows as +they ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, with red feathers +in his hair and his right arm bandaged across his breast, Panounia +shouted encouragement and led the charge. They were half-way across the +open when the second cannon spat forth its message of hate. The ball +passed low over the advancing mass and plunged into the timber beyond. +For a second or two, the attackers wavered, a few turned back, then they +continued their valorous onset. They were already springing at the +palisade when the muskets crashed in their faces from half a dozen +loopholes. This volley was followed immediately by another. The savages +dropped back from their futile leapings against the fortification, hung +on their heels for a moment, clamorous and undecided, and then broke for +cover. They dragged their dead and wounded with them, and left +sanguinary trails on the snow. They were within a few yards of the +sheltering trees when one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> of the little cannon banged again. The ball +cut across the mass of crowded warriors like a string through cheese.</p> + +<p>"Now is our time!" exclaimed Kingswell. "Run for the gate, lads."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span> <span class="smaller">SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE</span></h2> + +<p>The returning hunters were promptly admitted to the fort. The little +garrison welcomed them joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the +moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they usually ignored. The +party had taken a hundred chances with death in the crossing of the +narrow clearing. Arrows had followed them from the fringe of wood along +the river, like bees from an overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been +scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from his head, pierced +through and through. A hail of missiles had clattered against the gate +as the good timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and chagrin, in +which Ouenwa's name was repeated many times, rang from the retreat of +the defeated warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. Ouenwa's +shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, lifted in Beothic insults.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph himself was in command of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>imperilled fortress. The +excitement had stirred him out of his customary gloom. His eyes were +bright, and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword was at his +side, and he held a musket in his hand.</p> + +<p>"That was their third attempt to get over the stockade," he said to +Kingswell and D'Antons. "They are filled with the very devil to-day. But +I scarcely think that they will come back for more, now that Trigget has +got his growlers into working order."</p> + +<p>"How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"Why, about three score of them marched up and said they wanted to come +in and trade," replied the baronet, "but, as they seemed to have nothing +to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget warned them off. Then they +went out on the river and began chopping up the <i>Red Rose</i> and the +<i>Pelican</i>. At that we let off a musket, and they retired to cover, from +which they soon emerged with reinforcements and tried to carry the place +by weight of numbers."</p> + +<p>"Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that they are yelling?"</p> + +<p>"My name," replied Ouenwa. "They are my enemies."</p> + +<p>"Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this gentleman's battles for +him," remarked D'Antons,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> with an exaggerated bow to the lad. "Perhaps +this is the explanation of the attack."</p> + +<p>"I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. "They are surprised at +discovering him here. Also they are surprised and displeased at seeing +me again. They have smelled our powder before, as you have heard, I +think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," replied the captain, +smiling his thin, one-sided, Continental smile.</p> + +<p>The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He turned on his heel without +any further words. Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence he +was bound for something to eat.</p> + +<p>Panounia and his braves retreated across the frozen river, and did not +show themselves again that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the +improvised gun-shields were repaired and strengthened, and the guns were +again got ready for action. In place of round shot, William Trigget +charged them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead.</p> + +<p>"When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short time, cut a wide swath," +he remarked to Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turning a hawk-like eye on the +dark edges of the forest. "Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil +make the hay. It be mun's own crop."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Beatrix was looking from +the doorway of her father's cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, +sobbing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. All the bitterness +and insecurity of her position had come to her with overmastering force. +The sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, bedraggled hair, +as he leaned on his musket and talked with her father and the young +Englishman, had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed confusedly, +half her thoughts with the petitions which she made to her God, and half +with the desperate state of her affairs and the features and attitude of +the buccaneer.</p> + +<p>She was disturbed by some one entering the outer room. She recognized +the footsteps as those of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed +her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with skilful fingers, and +opened the door of her chamber. The baronet looked up at the sound.</p> + +<p>"Ah, lass," he said, "we've driven the rascals off. They have crossed +the river."</p> + +<p>With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the room.</p> + +<p>"I do not fear the savages," she cried. "Oh, I do think their knives and +arrows would be welcome."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"Poor child! poor little lass!" he said, pausing beside her and kissing +her tenderly. "You have been weeping," he added, concernedly. "But +courage, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long months to come. His +fangs are as good as filed, shut off here and surrounded by the snow and +the savages."</p> + +<p>Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had dimmed the finer +conception of his promise to D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and +sighed.</p> + +<p>She laid her face against his coat and held tight to his sleeves.</p> + +<p>"I hate him," she whispered. "Oh, my father, I hate him for my own sake +as much as I fear him for yours. His every covert glance, his every open +attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, out of fear, I must smile and +simper, and play the hypocrite."</p> + +<p>"No—by God!" exclaimed Westleigh, trembling with emotion. Then, more +quietly, "Beatrix, I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is +hateful to me. I despise him. How such a creation of the devil's can +love you so unswervingly is more than I can fathom. I would rather see +you dead than married to him. There—I have broken my word again! Let me +go."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught up his hat and cloak, +and left the cabin. He crossed over to the well-house, where some of the +men were grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly in their +simple talk of work, and battle, and adventure. Their honest faces and +homely language drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from him. +Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the group about the complaining +grindstone.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Sir Ralph, "and look at the cannon."</p> + +<p>He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa followed them. All three +ascended the little platform on which the guns were mounted, by way of a +short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were snugly covered with +tarpaulins that could be snatched off in a turn of the hand.</p> + +<p>"A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked the baronet. "Ay, he is +true as steel."</p> + +<p>He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one of the little cannon. "I +would trust him, yea, and his good fellows, with anything I possess," he +said, "as readily as I trust these growlers to his care."</p> + +<p>Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the wooded bluff that cut into the +white valley and hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the river. +From beyond the point, moving slowly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> unsteadily, appeared a +solitary human figure. Its course lay well out on the level floor of the +stream, and the forest growth along the shore did not conceal it from +the watchers. It approached uncertainly, as if without a definite goal, +and, when within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered and fell +prone.</p> + +<p>"What the devil does it mean?" cried Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>Kingswell shook his head, and questioned Ouenwa. The lad continued to +gaze out across the open. The sun was low over the western hills, and +its light was red on the snow.</p> + +<p>"Hurt," he said, presently. "Maybe starved. He is not of Panounia's +band."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, lad?" asked the baronet.</p> + +<p>"I know," replied the boy. "He is a hunter. He is not of the war-party. +He is from the salt water."</p> + +<p>"He is usually right when he maintains that a thing is so, without being +able to give a reason for it," said Kingswell, quietly. "And, if he is, +it seems a pity to let the man die out there under our very eyes."</p> + +<p>"God knows I do not want any one to suffer," said the baronet, "but may +it not be a trick of this Panounia's, or whatever you call him?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>"No trick," replied Ouenwa; and, without so much as "by your leave," he +vaulted over the breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the snow +outside the stockade. Without a moment's hesitation, Kingswell followed. +Together they started toward the still figure out on the river, at a +brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir Ralph recovered from his +astonishment. He quickly descended to the square, and, without +attracting any attention, informed William Trigget of what had happened. +Trigget and his son immediately ascended to the guns and drew off their +tarpaulins. "We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. They saw +their reckless comrades bend over the prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell +lifted the apparently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. +Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually over his shoulder. The +elder Trigget swore a great oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a +leathern palm.</p> + +<p>"Them's well-plucked uns," he added.</p> + +<p>The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. They were too intent on +the approach of the rescuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook +along the woods on the farther shore. But the enemy made no sign; and +Kingswell, Ouenwa, and the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in +safety. The stranger proved to be none other than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Black Feather, the +stalwart and kindly brave who had built his lodge beside the old +arrow-maker's, above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. He was +carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with French brandy until he +opened his eyes. He looked about him blankly for a second or two, and +then his lids fluttered down again. He had not recognized either +Kingswell or Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame Trigget. "Whatever has mun +been a-doin' now, to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, too, +though he be a heathen, without a manner o' doubt."</p> + +<p>"Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but get some of your good +venison broth inside of him," said Master Kingswell. "That's a treatment +that would surely convert any number of heathen."</p> + +<p>While they were clustered about Black Feather's couch, D'Antons entered. +He peered over Dame Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably +surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beothic the centre of +attraction.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a comedy?"</p> + +<p>His tone was sour, and too bantering for the occasion.</p> + +<p>The baronet turned on him with an expression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> of mouth and eye that did +not pass unnoticed by the little group.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, coldly; "and we hope it +will not prove a tragedy."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span> <span class="smaller">A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING</span></h2> + +<p>Meals were not served in Captain d'Antons' cabin. The little settlement +possessed but one servant among all its workers, and that one was Maggie +Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The care of Sir Ralph's +establishment was all she could attend to. So the men who had no +women-folk of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame Trigget and +her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the Donnelly women. Kingswell and +D'Antons took their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were served by +themselves, with every mark of respect. Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and +Clotworthy shared the Donnellys' board.</p> + +<p>A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kingswell and D'Antons sat +opposite one another at a small table near the hearth of the Triggets' +living-room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French wine stood between +them. D'Antons took up the bottle, and made as if to fill the other's +glass.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand.</p> + +<p>The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set down the vintage. The +Englishman leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a whisper, "a remark that you +made to-day seemed to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your +remark was in reference to the brushes between the <i>Pelican</i> and a party +of natives during our cruise from the North. Before I take wine with you +to-night, I want you to either withdraw or explain your implication."</p> + +<p>While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed and calmed again. Now +his dark face wore an even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear +now of the expression of cynicism which so often marred them, held the +Englishman's without any sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand +returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered there. Lord, but the +drama lost an exceptionally fine interpreter when the high seas claimed +Pierre d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled—or was it the +wavering of the candle-light?</p> + +<p>"My friend," he said, softly, "how unfortunate am I in my stupidity—in +my blundering use of the English language. Whatever my words were, when +I spoke of having already heard of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> fights with the savages, my +meaning was such that no one would take exception to. Did I use the word +heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what I meant. An Englishman +would have made use of a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have +refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I am unfortunate in my +heritage of French and Spanish blood—the blood that is outspoken both +for praise and blame."</p> + +<p>Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflicting emotions. His heart +told him the man was lying. His eyes assured him that he had been +grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the remark concerning the +skirmishes with the Beothics, but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. +His blood surged to his head, and whispered that he was a young fool to +be hoodwinked so easily. His brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity +for the handsome adventurer—for the love-struck buccaneer—went through +him. But it faded at remembrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the +fellow was playing with him.</p> + +<p>"Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, with a smile of infinite +sweetness and shy persuasion.</p> + +<p>With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman pushed forward his glass, +and the red wine swam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly +cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. He had not the +courage to meet the Frenchman's look when they raised their glasses and +clinked them across the table. Lord, what a calf he was!</p> + +<p>Had he no will of his own? Did he possess neither knowledge of men nor +mother wit? Ah, but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed +face over his plate of stew.</p> + +<p>When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned to Black Feather's couch, +and D'Antons went over to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had +recovered consciousness and swallowed some of Dame Trigget's broth; +also, he had recognized Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in +his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak to disclose anything +of what had happened in Wigwam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. +He lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his quick, bright +eyes, which moved restlessly in questioning scrutiny of the strange +women and bearded men who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one of the +transparent hands and smiled assuringly.</p> + +<p>For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man he had rescued so +courageously from death by starvation. Then, feeling the heat of the +room and the confusion of his thoughts too much to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>entertain calmly, he +went out into the cold and darkness and paced up and down. All +unknowing, he kicked the snow viciously every step. He was still in a +perturbed state of mind and temper when William Trigget approached him +through the gloom and touched his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing close, "but what of that +Injun in there? Be he really sick, or be he playing a game?"</p> + +<p>"He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not playing a game," +replied Kingswell. "But why do you ask? The fellow is a friend of +Ouenwa's, and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors."</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," said Trigget, "an' has +shammed sick just to get carried inside the fort. There be something +goin' on outside, for certain."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked the other.</p> + +<p>Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while standing under the +gun-platform, by a sound of scrambling outside the stockade. He had +crawled noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breastworks about +the guns. He had been able to distinguish something darker than the +surrounding darkness crouched against the palisade under him. The thing +had moved cautiously. He had detached a faggot from one of the bundles +beside him, for lack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the +black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and the thing had vanished +in the night.</p> + +<p>"It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded Trigget.</p> + +<p>Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the face of this menace from +the hidden enemy.</p> + +<p>"The guards should be doubled," he said. "But come, we must let Sir +Ralph know of it."</p> + +<p>They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin and knocked on the door. +Maggie Stone admitted them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and +Mistress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud to her father by +the light of one poor candle. But the great fire on the hearth had the +place fairly illuminated.</p> + +<p>William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad weather, cool in any risk of +land or sea, was too abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his +story. So Master Kingswell told it for him.</p> + +<p>"The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, breaking the spell of the +bright eyes that surveyed him.</p> + +<p>"That is well," answered the baronet. "There is nothing else to be done, +at least until morning, but sleep light and keep your muskets handy."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell and the master mariner returned to the darkness without.</p> + +<p>"I will stake my word," said Kingswell, "that the place is surrounded by +the devils even now, and that they will try again to get a man over the +wall to unbar the gates."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE HIDDEN MENACE</span></h2> + +<p>Neither Kingswell nor Trigget found time for sleep that night. D'Antons +also kept awake, though he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His +candle burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a restless night beside +Black Feather's couch. From ten o'clock until two Tom Bent, John +Trigget, and the younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on their +hips and half-pikes in their hands—for a musket would have proved but +an unsatisfactory weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the +dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, another at the gate, and a +third on the roof of the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget moved +continually from one point to another. At two o'clock the elder +Donnelly, Clotworthy, and Harding relieved their companions. But the two +officers remained at their self-imposed duty.</p> + +<p>At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Kingswell, who had been +pacing the length of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed +with relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' cabin, when +William Trigget approached him at a run. The master mariner's face was +ghastly above his bushy whiskers.</p> + +<p>"Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily.</p> + +<p>Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and up to the roof, by way of a +rough ladder that leaned against the wall. There, on the outward slope +of the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, sprawled the body +of Peter Clotworthy.</p> + +<p>"What! Asleep!" exclaimed Kingswell, peering close. The light was not +strong enough to disclose the features of the recumbent sentinel.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied Trigget, "with no chance o' +wakin' this side o' the Judgment-Seat."</p> + +<p>"Dead?" cried the other, sinking to his knees beside the body. He +pressed his hand against the mariner's side, held it there for a moment, +and withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward the growing +illumination of the east, staring at it with wide eyes. "Blood," he +murmured. "Stabbed without a squeal—without a whimper, by Heaven!" Then +he ripped out an oath, and followed it close with a prayer for his dead +comrade's soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>Kingswell had a +hot and ready tongue—and a temper to suit, when occasion offered.</p> + +<p>The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on the roof of the +storehouse for some time. The light strengthened and spread on their +right, and, at last, gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing +and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow below them, which was +otherwise unmarked, they saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined +feet. The marks did not lead to or from the near cover of the woods, but +to the south, around the fort. The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's +murderer had approached close under the stockade, and, after his silent +deed of violence, had jumped a distance of about twenty feet, from the +roof of the store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, evidently +from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, smirched the snow where it +was broken by his fall. From there the steps returned by the same +course, but at a distance of about ten paces from the stockade.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to the colourless, +distorted features of the dead seaman. Then his gaze met Trigget's +deep-set eyes. He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard line, as +if the frost had stiffened them.</p> + +<p>"Poor Clotworthy," he murmured, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>swallowed as if his throat were +dry. "Poor devil, knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, +he was clubbed first and then knifed—felled and bled like an ox in a +shambles! Ten nights of this hellishness will account for the whole +garrison."</p> + +<p>With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that there'd be no ten +nights of it.</p> + +<p>They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, been animated by the +fearless spirit of Richard Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and +carried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other inmates of the +little settlement were deeply affected by the sight, and by Kingswell's +story. The younger men were for setting out immediately and driving the +Beothics from the woods on the far side of the river. But the wiser +heads prevailed against such recklessness, arguing that the only thing +to be done was to remain constantly on guard. The women wept. Ouenwa, +trembling with sorrow and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver +beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, in English and Beothic, +that he would avenge this murder as he intended to avenge the murders of +his father and his grandfather.</p> + +<p>The day passed without any sign of the hidden enemy. Kingswell slept +until noon. By evening Black Feather had recovered enough strength to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His lodge, and that of +Montaw, the arrow-maker, had been torn down by the followers of Panounia +shortly after the departure of the <i>Pelican</i> from Wigwam Harbour. Montaw +had died fighting. Black Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and +carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife and children also had +been captured and maltreated. The ships in the bay had looked on at the +unequal struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. Upon +reaching the village on the river, Black Feather had been driven to the +meanest work—work unbecoming a warrior of his standing—and his wife +and children had been led farther up-stream, very likely to Wind Lake. +Black Feather had seen the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top of +a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He had bided his time. At +last he had gnawed the thongs with which his tormentors bound him at +night, and had safely made his escape. He could not say how long ago +that was. Days and nights had become strangely mixed in his desperate +mind. He had lived on such birds and hares as he had been able to kill +with sticks. Always he had kept up his journey, shaping his course +toward the salt water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who might +have remained loyal to the murdered chief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> But he had met with nobody +in all that desolate journey, until, only the day before, he had +recovered consciousness in Fort Beatrix.</p> + +<p>That night, John Trigget was attacked at his post on the gun-platform, +and in the struggle that ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So +sudden and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark that he fought in +silence, only remembering to shout for help after the savage had +squirmed from his embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by Sir +Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his place. But daylight arrived +without any further demonstration on the part of the enemy.</p> + +<p>By this time the little garrison was bitten by a restlessness that would +not be denied. Even Kingswell and William Trigget were for making some +sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the river. D'Antons, contrary +to his habit, had nothing to say either for or against an aggressive +movement. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously awaiting development; +but, seeing the spirit of the men, he agreed that five of the garrison +should sally forth in search of the enemy.</p> + +<p>"Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," concluded the baronet, wearily, +"though what the devil you'll do with them then is more than I can +venture to predict."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the cannon was taken from +the platform and mounted on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in +turn, was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fastened rammers and +mops and bags of powder and shot. The daring party was made up of Master +Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, and the younger Donnelly. +D'Antons did not volunteer his services on the expedition. The men were +all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and all save Ouenwa had +fastened steel breastplates under their coats. As they marched away, +Mistress Westleigh waved them "Godspeed" with a scarf of Spanish lace, +from where she stood in the open gate between her father and Captain +d'Antons.</p> + +<p>The little party moved down the bank and across the river slowly and +with commendable caution. Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a +sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Donnelly and Tom Bent +followed about ten paces behind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along +on the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which he feared far +worse than he did any number of Beothic warriors. The river was crossed +without accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's retreat.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE CLOVEN HOOF</span></h2> + +<p>Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping +with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain +d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a +summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After +closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end +of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, +but no warmth whatever.</p> + +<p>"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said.</p> + +<p>He smiled and approached her with every show of deference.</p> + +<p>"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good +baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the +world."</p> + +<p>The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced +the tears past her lids.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought +that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to +speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but +a dry sob.</p> + +<p>D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat +clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I +have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond +peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and +attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite +unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. +She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced +him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands.</p> + +<p>The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and +amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth +took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked +the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Beatrix," he said.</p> + +<p>"I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trembling. "Your presence is +distasteful to me."</p> + +<p>"A sudden turn," said he. "Now a month ago,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> or even a week ago, you +seemed of a different mind. As for the days of our first meeting in +merry London—ah, then your lips were not so unattainable."</p> + +<p>"I hate you," she murmured. "I despise you. I loath you. You taint the +air for me. Dog, to make a boast of having filched a kiss from a +light-hearted girl—who did not know you for the common fellow that you +are."</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," cried the man, "this is no stage comedy. We are not players. +I have asked you, too many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. +You know that your father's life is in my hands. Tell me now, will you +promise to marry me, or will you let your father go to the gallows in +the spring, and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever your +choice, my beauty, you will accompany me to New Spain next summer. It is +for you to say whether you go as my wife or my mistress."</p> + +<p>At that the girl's face went white as paper. But her eyes were steady.</p> + +<p>D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half-ashamed, nay, more than that, of +his words.</p> + +<p>"It would be hard to say," she replied, very softly, "which would be the +most dishonourable position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. That +of your wife, I think, monsieur—for, as your wife, she would be known +by your name."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p><p>His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken insult. He caught her +roughly by the wrists.</p> + +<p>"Nay," she said, "you must be more gentle. You seem to forget that you +are not sacking a defenceless town. Also, you forget that you have not a +friend or a follower in this wilderness, and that any man or woman in +the fort would shoot you down like a dog at a word from me."</p> + +<p>For a little while they eyed each other steadily enough—her face still +beautiful despite the bantering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the +loathing in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, with a +muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her tender flesh, pressing with +all his strength.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, "you think yourself strong enough +to flout Pierre d'Antons, do you? Strong enough to spurn the protection +of a soldier and a gentleman! Cry now for your girl-faced Kingswell—for +your golden-haired fellow countryman."</p> + +<p>By that even her lips were colourless, and her eyes were wet. "There is +no need," she said, bravely, "for I hear my father at the door."</p> + +<p>D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a backward step. In doing so, his +heel struck the leg of a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang +discordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> Sir Ralph crossed +the threshold. Before either of the men had time to speak, Beatrix +darted forward and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face with +her open hand. Then, without a word of either explanation or greeting to +her father, she passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of the +room, and entered her own chamber.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean, captain?" inquired the baronet, coldly. D'Antons, +scarcely recovered from the blow, strode toward him.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" he cried. "It means, my fine old cock, that your +neck will be pulled out of joint when we get away from this +God-forgotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have you strung up +to a yard-arm when you were safely in my power? Stab me, but I've been +too soft—and my reward is insults from the wench of an exiled +card-cheat and murderer."</p> + +<p>His voice was raised almost to a scream. His face quivered with passion. +He thrust it within a few inches of the baronet's.</p> + +<p>"Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. "I cannot abide being bawled at in +my own house, especially by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep +your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a hurt. What's this! +You'd presume?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>They withdrew on the instant. The two swords came clear in the same +second of time.</p> + +<p>"<i>Gabier de potence</i>," cried D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"<i>Canaille</i>," replied the baronet, blandly. Evidently the rasp of the +steel had mended his temper. He even smiled a little at his adoption of +his adversary's mother-tongue.</p> + +<p>The men were excellently matched as swordsmen. But not more than half a +dozen passes had been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the room, +crying to them to put up their swords.</p> + +<p>"Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on D'Antons, "go back to your +room, my daughter, and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will +soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy."</p> + +<p>The girl went softly back and closed the door, in an effort to shut out +the rasping and metallic striking of the blades. She prayed, but for +strength to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's soul. She was +afraid—desperately afraid. The truth of her father's skill in French +sword-play had been kept from her. To her he was but a courteous, +middle-aged gentleman who needed her care, and who had been maligned and +robbed by the world into which he had been born. He was a good father. +He had been a loving and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>considerate husband. She knelt beside her bed +and beseeched God to succour him in this desperate strait.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the fight went on in the outer room with more the air of +a harmless bout for practice than a duel to the death. It was altogether +a question of point and point, in the Continental manner, perfectly free +from the swinging attack and clanging defence of the English style. The +combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. Neither seemed in any +hurry. The thrusts and lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were +delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant leisure.</p> + +<p>"I believe you have the advantage of me by about three inches of steel," +remarked the baronet, diverting a lightning thrust from its intended +course.</p> + +<p>"A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, smiling grimly.</p> + +<p>Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge of a book of verses +which Mistress Beatrix had left on the floor. For a second he was +swerved from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was to feel the +warm blood running down his breast from a slight incision in his left +shoulder. But his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and the +Frenchman found himself more severely pressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> than before, despite the +advantage he possessed in the superior length of his sword. The little +wound counted for nothing.</p> + +<p>Just what the outcome of the fight would have been, if an untimely +interruption in the person of Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is +hard to say. Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the victory in +the long run, or perhaps the baronet's excellent composure. In skill +they were nicely matched, though the Englishman displayed superiority +enough to even the difference in the length of the blades. But why take +time for idle surmises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, at the +open door, saw her beloved master engaged in a desperate combat with a +person whom she despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden stain of +blood on her master's doublet. In her hand she held a skillet which she +had just borrowed from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce +herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Captain d'Antons a +resounding whack on the head with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long +sword fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the floor. With a +low, guttural cry, the Frenchman followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, +at the feet of the surprised and indignant baronet.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH</span></h2> + +<p>Master Kingswell and his party returned from their daring reconnoitre +early in the afternoon. They had not met with the enemy, though they had +found the camp and torn down the temporary lodges. After that they had +followed the broad trail of the retreat for several miles, and had +discharged the cannon twice into the inscrutable woods. Their daring had +been rewarded by the capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked +salmon and dried venison.</p> + +<p>Both Kingswell and William Trigget were unable to account for the fact +that the savages had not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In +reality they owed their bloodless victory to the presence of the little +cannon. That third and last discharge of slugs, on the day of the big +fight, had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, and inspired +an hysterical terror in the hearts of the rest. But for that, the hidden +enemy would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> not have been content with playing a waiting game and with +the attempted killing of one man each night; and neither would they have +retired, so undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. But, +despite their fear of the cannon, they had no intention of giving up the +siege of the fort. They placed trust in the darkness of night and their +own cunning.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and the elder Trigget were drawn aside by Sir Ralph. The +baronet looked less care-haunted than he had for years.</p> + +<p>"D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he whispered, "and behold, the +heavens have not fallen,—nor even the poor defences of this +plantation." He smiled cheerfully. "The great captain alone has come to +grief," he added. "Maggie Stone saved him from my hand by felling him +herself with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically angry at the time, +but am glad now that I did not have to kill the rogue."</p> + +<p>"Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked Trigget, coolly.</p> + +<p>"I grant you that, my good William," replied Sir Ralph, "but he is +harmless as a new-born babe, after all—and we'll see that he remains +so."</p> + +<p>Then he told them the story of the duel, and of what had led to it. +Kingswell flushed and paled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"God's mercy!" he cried, "but I would I had been in your boots, sir."</p> + +<p>"You'd have died in them, more than likely," replied the baronet, laying +a hand on the other's shoulder. "D'Antons has a rare knowledge of +swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with."</p> + +<p>"Even so," replied Kingswell, "it would have been—it would have been a +pleasure to die in such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, "But +I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his gimcrackery and +side-stepping. I've seen such gentry hopping and poking for hours, when +one good cut from the shoulder would have ended their tricks."</p> + +<p>The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge of sadness. "Ah, what a +fine thing is the heart of youth," he said, "and the confidence of +youth. I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my dear boy, valour +and confidence are not more than half the battle, after all. The edge is +a fine thing, and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammering of the +first sword; but the point becomes no less deadly simply because one +stout young Englishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were not +that I have won the distinction—beside many a less enviable one—of +being the best swordsman in England, I could not have withstood +D'Antons'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> play for long enough to make sure of the colour of his eyes."</p> + +<p>Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know which way to turn his +abashed countenance. Both Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him.</p> + +<p>"But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, "that, if it came to a +matter of cutlasses, neither the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long +against either you or Trigget."</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, staring over the +baronet's shoulder at nothing in particular, "but I haven't a doubt that +even Maggie Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a match for +me."</p> + +<p>William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. "We must ease the young +gentleman's temper, sir," he said to the baronet. "I have a pair of +singlesticks."</p> + +<p>"Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his hand under Kingswell's arm +and led him into the cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy +compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth immediately felt better +in his pride.</p> + +<p>"Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir Ralph whispered in his ear. +"He is safe in his own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not +over-tenderly, by Maggie Stone."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix on the bench by the +fire. He noticed that she had been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the +brighter for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief expedition +from which he had just returned. He told of the cluster of lodges, the +cooking-fires still burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and +not a human being in sight.</p> + +<p>"And what if you had seen the savages?" she asked. "Surely, four +Englishmen and a lad could do nothing against such a host?"</p> + +<p>"We would have fallen in the first flight of arrows," replied Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you risk it?"</p> + +<p>The young man shook his head and laughed. "Some one must take risks," he +said, "else all warfare would come to a standstill."</p> + +<p>The girl was looking down at her hands, and reflectively twisting a +jewelled ring around and around on one slim finger. "And I wish it would +with all my heart," she sighed. "Warfare and bloodshed—they are the +devil's inventions, and strike innocent and guilty alike."</p> + +<p>"Nay," replied Kingswell, "there is more harm done to the innocent in +courts and fine assemblies, and at the sheltered card-tables, than on +all the battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> and, if he +sometimes lets the good blood with the bad, why, that's just a risk we +must accept."</p> + +<p>Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him squarely. "You preach like a +Puritan," she said, "with your condemnation of courts and play. You +should give my father the benefit of some of your wisdom. His friends +have all been generous with such help."</p> + +<p>Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward minute studied the toes of his +moccasins. Presently he looked up.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," he said.</p> + +<p>Her glance softened.</p> + +<p>"I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of courts," he added. "I am +ignorant of everything."</p> + +<p>His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. "Nothing is so easily +mended as ignorance."</p> + +<p>He looked at her gravely.</p> + +<p>"I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons in French sword-play," +he said. "Is there nothing that you would teach me?"</p> + +<p>"Embroidery," she replied, "and how to brew a Madeira punch."</p> + +<p>At that moment the baronet opened the door and admitted William Trigget. +The master <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>mariner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket-work +guards under his arm.</p> + +<p>"Does your education commence so soon?" inquired Beatrix of Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of his old confidence. With +the lady's permission and Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell +cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the table. They removed +their outer coats. Trigget was the taller, as well as the heavier, of +the two. Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the dry +whacking of the sticks against one another, varied occasionally by the +muffled thud of wood against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine +display of the English style—slash, cut, and guard, with never a +side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes of it, Trigget cried "enough," +and stumbled out of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. His +shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; Kingswell was without a +touch.</p> + +<p>Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, for that matter, +concealed their astonishment at the result of the bout. "And now, sir," +said Kingswell, "I should like a lesson in the other style."</p> + +<p>The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless blades with blunted +points. After a few words as to the manner of standing, they crossed the +lithe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from his hand and +sent bounding across the room. He recovered it without a word and +returned to the combat. By this time the light was failing. After about +a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His gray eyes danced, and he +laughed gaily as he picked up his weapon.</p> + +<p>"I see the way of that trick," he said.</p> + +<p>He returned to the one-sided engagement with, if possible, more energy +and eagerness than before. Already he had the attitude and stamping +manner of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his defence again and +again without slipping through. Three times he tried the circular, +twisting stroke with which he had disarmed the novice before without +success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he put out fresh efforts, +and forgot all about his defence. The blades rasped, and rang, and +whispered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's breast, at his throat, +at his eyes; but it never touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was +about to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because of the +gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the insignificant but painful +wound on the baronet's shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, +pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir Ralph dropped his foil to +the floor.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS</span></h2> + +<p>Captain Pierre d'Antons' injury kept him indoors for ten days. During +that time he saw nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and Ouenwa. +Kingswell could not help feeling sorry for him, in spite of the enmity +and distrust in his heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came by +his cut head to the young Englishman. He knew that the other knew—and +sometimes he wondered how much. He accepted such attentions at +Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make to any invalid, with +what seemed gratitude and humility. But under the mask his blood was +raging. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass of water from the +Englishman, it was as much from the effort of restraining an outburst of +hate as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by now, suspected the +real state of the other's feelings.</p> + +<p>During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> Beothics made three night +attacks on the fort. Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstrations +of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his death and young Trigget had +received the cut on his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was an +attack in force, made in that darkest hour just before the first +stirrings of dawn. By good fortune, both William Trigget and Kingswell +were dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. They both ran to +the gun-platform, and there found Tom Bent desperately engaged with two +savages, who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoulders of their +fellows. The intruders were speedily hurled backward, they and a portion +of the breastworks falling on the devoted heads below. At the moment, +Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the ladder and handed a torch to her +husband. In a second the coverings were pulled from the guns. The +muzzles of the little weapons were declined as far as they would go, and +the fuses were ignited. Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the +enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the torch's +illumination. Both William Trigget and Tom Bent were hit, and fell to +their knees. In the same instant of time the guns belched their flame +and screaming missiles into the wavering mass of savages. A yell of +terror and pain, made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> up of many individual cries, followed the reports +of the guns like an echo.</p> + +<p>But along the opposite stockade, things were not going so well for the +settlers. About a dozen of the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of +the storehouse, and from there had jumped into the yard, driving Peter +Harding before them. They were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. +Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the edges of the conflict. +Matters were looking serious for the defenders (who by that time were +joined by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Maggie Stone) when the +discharge of artillery across the square turned the courage of the +attackers to water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them were cut +down while endeavouring to escape by way of the ladder against the wall +of the storehouse. The rest got away, but none of them unscathed. With +that the fight ended, though the defenders kept to their posts until +broad daylight.</p> + +<p>In the morning it was discovered that one of the six warriors who +remained within the fort was still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to +D'Antons' cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were not of a serious +nature. Black Feather, who was a convalescent by now, recognized a +bitter enemy in the disabled captive. He was for despatching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> him +straightway, recalling the bitter days of his slavery and the loss of +wife and children. He was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa +remonstrated with him at some length.</p> + +<p>The little garrison had suffered in the brief engagement. William +Trigget had halted three arrows with his big body. Only one had reached +the flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and hide; but that one +had cut deep into the muscles of his chest, and the others had bruised +his ribs. Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gaping slash in +the side of his neck. Young Peter Harding was laid on his back with a +cracked rib, dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a fair way +to remain on the sick-list for some time to come.</p> + +<p>The dead Beothics were carried out and buried in a shallow grave near +the honest Clotworthy's desolate resting-place.</p> + +<p>It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, that the enemy were +still maintaining the siege, and at even closer range than before. The +continual sight of that evidence of their presence, and the idleness due +to confinement within a few hundred yards of the stockade, began to tell +on the spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of difficulty to +forget the wounded men in such restricted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> quarters. Bandages and +salves, gruels and plasters, seemed to pervade every corner. Every one +who was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the lack of fresh meat +was beginning to be felt. Sir Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just +after his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his black moods. +Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes were losing something of their +radiance, though she carried herself bravely and cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell, who had a knack with bandages and such, found his time +fully occupied. He inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and +Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the captured Beothic. His only +recreation was a few hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the +Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit happened to be paid +during the day; if in the evening, they sometimes played chess, or, +better still, the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, and the +youth and the maiden bent their young heads above the pieces of carved +ivory.</p> + +<p>Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kingswell detected an +aloofness toward him that had not been noticeable during the first days +of their acquaintance. The thing was very fine—so fine that it was +scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. One of duller perception would +have missed it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>altogether. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save +in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye and the softer notes +of the voice. But it worried the young man. He felt that he had failed +in something—that she had set a standard for him, and that he had not +risen to it. With native shrewdness, he suspected that she considered +him crude and conceited. He knew that she considered him brave, and that +she admired his courage; but he was equally sure that his prowess with +the singlesticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexterity with the +rapier, did not tell in his favour in her eyes. "Women are evidently as +unreasonable as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried to acquire +a modest demeanour. But the ability to do so had not been born in him, +and no matter how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone in his +clear eyes and self-confidence was in the carriage of head and +shoulders.</p> + +<p>The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell became more affectionate +every day. He recognized the sterling qualities in the youth,—the +honesty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical and mental gifts +of quick eye and wrist and clear brain. He derived no little comfort +from his presence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired son of +the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> had a second guardian. He knew +that the Kingswell blood, though not noble by the rating of the College +of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely as any in England. In +happier times he had known and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity +with the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad-minded merchant's +heart as sound as his self-imported wines. He remembered the wife, too, +as a person of distinction and kindliness.</p> + +<p>For his own part, the baronet realized more surely, with the passing of +each narrow day, that life offered no further allurement to him. The +slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance and defeat of +D'Antons was of no more lasting a quality than the flavour of a vintage. +The Frenchman was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them; and in as +fair a way as himself to leave his bones in the wilderness. Yes, he felt +a twinge of pity for him! He could understand that, to an adventurer +like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very devil,—worse, perhaps, than +the fever of the gaming-table. But of course he felt no regret for +having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's audacious suit. His +regret—if, indeed, he entertained any concerning so recent an event in +his career—was that he had not pricked the buccaneer's bubble of false +power months before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>—despite the promise he had made him. But as things +had turned out,—as Time had dealt the cards, to use his own words,—the +other's behaviour had allowed him to strike without too flagrant a +breach of his word of honour. He was thankful for that.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX.</span> <span class="smaller">TWO OF A KIND</span></h2> + +<p>When Pierre d'Antons was able to move about again, he found himself +shunned, without disguise, by every one of the inmates of the fort save +Bernard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no longer under orders to +treat him with respect and obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and +turned their backs when he addressed them. Of course, the door of Sir +Ralph's habitation was closed against him. He spent almost all his time +in his own cabin, with the captured and slowly convalescing Beothic for +companion. He read a great deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a +fit of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, cursing, crying out for a +chance of revenge, with clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, +the Beothic would watch him closely, with understanding in his gaze. The +savage was no linguist; but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every +nationality.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatuation for Mistress +Westleigh. The blow of the skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever +his passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it lacked nothing +in vitality. It was a madness. It was a bitter desire. How gladly he +would risk death, fighting for her—and yet he would not have hesitated +a moment about killing her happiness, to win his own, had an opportunity +offered. Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness were things +apart from what he considered his love for the beautiful English girl.</p> + +<p>In this state of mind he built a hundred wild dreams of carrying her +away, and of ultimately imprisoning her, should she still be averse to +his love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realization of his position +would come over him and set him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, +despite the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and friendly +exterior. He wondered if he could not turn the young man to some use. He +gave the matter his attention.</p> + +<p>One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to Kingswell. All through it +the Englishman was itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his time +than was absolutely necessary under the Frenchman's roof. But the +narrator held him with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history +of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great family that had fallen +upon lean years; with a ruinous château, a proud and studious father, +and a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams and few pleasures; +with a youth of hard and honourable soldiering wherever the banners of +France led the way; and with an early manhood of high adventure and +achievement in the Western colonies.</p> + +<p>Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's voice fairly trembled with +emotion. He believed no more of the tale than if he had already heard +the truth of the matter—which was, in plain English, that D'Antons was +the bastard of a blackleg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had +spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and had won, by courage +and cunning, to the position of a captain of buccaneers in early +manhood. The achievements in the Western colonies had been matters of +the wrecking and plundering of what others had built; the high +adventures—God spare me the telling of them!</p> + +<p>After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one of his reddest moods. +He was sure that the pink-cheeked youth had not believed a word of his +story—had been laughing up his sleeve at the most touching passages. He +was sorry that he had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding +the narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this artistic lying to +such a pig's head! He jumped to his feet, with a violence that almost +startled the Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room like a +madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the walls. He knocked the few +pieces of furniture out of his erratic course, and spilled his books and +papers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without any ringing oaths +or blistering curses. His rage worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes +bleed. It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and his hands, +but found no ease in articulation. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, +from where he had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was such a +daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beothic, crouched fearfully +against the wall, and followed his movements with wide eyes; for, though +a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud was a craven at heart.</p> + +<p>Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and the victim of it sank +languidly into a chair beside the Beothic's couch. He groaned and +shivered. For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden between his +hands. Looking up, his eyes met the eyes of the native. In their furtive +regard, he read that which suggested a new move. Though, owing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> to an +inborn caution, he had never displayed a knowledge of the Beothic +language to his fellow settlers, and had refrained from using any words +of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea of it during his +sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hitherto he had paid but scant attention to Red +Cloud, for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intolerance toward +uncivilized peoples; but now he leaned forward and spoke kindly to his +companion.</p> + +<p>It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned to D'Antons' cabin. Under +the new order of things, Ouenwa had volunteered his services as +assistant night-guard of the two prisoners—for the Frenchman was +virtually a prisoner. It was their custom to keep watch turn and turn +about, in two hours' vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a +comfortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was also by the hearth. +This precaution was taken for fear of some treachery on the part of Red +Cloud.</p> + +<p>When the two entered the outer room, the fire was burning brightly, and +by its ruddy light they saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to +the wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the door. When the +morning was well advanced, they opened windows and door, and replenished +the fire. Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, and looked +in to see how D'Antons was faring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> His fire was out and he was still +abed. Kingswell moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. +What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut in his sleep! He laid +his hand on the shapeless shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding +pelts and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor frantically. His +exclamation brought Ouenwa to his side. The Englishman pointed a finger +of dismay at the demolished dummy.</p> + +<p>"Tricked!" he cried. "Rip me, but what a fine jailer I am!" They rushed +back to the other room and investigated the figure on the Beothic's +couch. That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and bedding. Red +Cloud also had faded away.</p> + +<p>News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the savage went through the +fort like an electric current. The settlers were more interested and +surprised over it than concerned. Even the invalids sat up and +conjectured on the captain's object in fleeing to the outer wilderness, +and the doubtful but inevitable reception by the natives. They could +hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and Red Cloud had gone as +fellow conspirators, remembering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward +the aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions.</p> + +<p>William Trigget shook his head when he heard the story, and rated the +men who had been on duty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> along the palisade with unsparing frankness. +Sir Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked surprised.</p> + +<p>"It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, "to bundle up a few +blankets into lifelike effigies, and then to slip away while the jailer +is elsewhere spending a social evening."</p> + +<p>Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl steadily; but he failed +to meet her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "they slipped away while two men were on guard along the +walls, and while the self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' +sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was playing chess with your +ladyship."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the baronet quickly. "We +have no use for the savage; and as to D'Antons—why, if the enemy kill +him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I cannot help wondering +at him taking so dangerous a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with +the natives at any time, one would have a clue. But he always treated +them like dogs."</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the lady, and gave all his +attention to the baronet and the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of +shame had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> eyes, also, showed +a change—a chilling from blue to gray, with a surface glitter and a +shadow behind.</p> + +<p>"You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, "that D'Antons has taken +what he considers the lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to +him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have removed Red Cloud to one +of the other huts."</p> + +<p>"He was kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. "Then I am not the only +scapegrace of the community."</p> + +<p>The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he smiled at the young man. +But the girl did not receive the implication in the same spirit. She +stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising species of bird that +had flown in at the window.</p> + +<p>"Such a remark rings dangerously of insubordination," she exclaimed, +"not to mention the impertinence of it."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and murmured a +remonstrance. It is a wise father that knows his own daughter. Kingswell +turned an expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. Then he +bowed to Sir Ralph. "If I am guilty of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave +your pardon," he said. "As to insubordination—why, I believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> there is +nothing to say on that head, as I am a free agent; but I think you +understand, sir, that I and my men are entirely at your service, as we +have been ever since the day we first accepted the hospitality of Fort +Beatrix. My men, at least, have not failed in any duty, whatever my +delinquencies."</p> + +<p>With an exclamation of sincere concern, the baronet stepped close to his +friend and placed a hand on either of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Bernard—my dear lad—why all this talk of pardon, and duty, and +delinquencies, and God knows what else? If you believe that I consider +you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me ungrateful indeed."</p> + +<p>His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced Kingswell that the words +were sincere, and so did something toward the mending of his injured +feelings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his manner unbent. He +took his departure immediately after.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door closed behind Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"I do not understand your treatment of him," he said. "Surely you +realize that he is a friend—and friends are not so common that we can +afford to flout them at every turn." He did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> speak angrily, but the +girl saw plainly enough that he was seriously displeased.</p> + +<p>"The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she explained, weakly. "How +indignation would have burned within him had some one else allowed the +prisoners to escape."</p> + +<p>The baronet gazed at her pensively for several seconds, and then took +her hand tenderly between his own.</p> + +<p>"You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweeting," he said. "What you +take for conceit is just youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a +clean conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him—not a hint of +it. I am sorry you like him so little, my daughter, for he is a good lad +and well-disposed toward us."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XX.</span> <span class="smaller">BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER</span></h2> + +<p>For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little +garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so +much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from +sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment +of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red +Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave +the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was +of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of +Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter +for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the +greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of +the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be +brought to the rescue of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> the settlement. So Black Feather had told the +tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed.</p> + +<p>"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none +too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger +brother.</p> + +<p>"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied +the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft +Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and +of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at +the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all +be saved—thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture."</p> + +<p>At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think +Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied, +"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain."</p> + +<p>"What do you know of the black captain?"</p> + +<p>"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will +struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady. +That is all I know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within +eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the +ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already +without my telling, friend-chief," he added.</p> + +<p>"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin +since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course +he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of +tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the +presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice +of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent +composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved +him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes.</p> + +<p>Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph +welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan +for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was +deeply moved. He took a ring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> from his own hand and slipped it over one +of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black +Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply +them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for +themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and +the only one, as far as I can see."</p> + +<p>At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the +visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed +low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those +days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, +of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set +forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with +shining eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have +you learned your bravery?"</p> + +<p>Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my +fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell—and +half I gather from your eyes."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his +lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your +reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention +my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements +to leave as soon as dusk falls."</p> + +<p>At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned +a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to +leave us, too!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw +the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the +note of anxiety in the clear young voice.</p> + +<p>"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would +only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a +poor woodsman—and already our garrison is none too heavily manned."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure +that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need +you."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>ill-concealed surprise. +Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove +to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was +the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he +had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden +fear in the lady's face.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to +Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, +heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and +entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine +apparel.</p> + +<p>"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two +brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond +belief."</p> + +<p>He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor—up and down, up and down, +with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back.</p> + +<p>"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in +the forest to-night—away from the fire."</p> + +<p>She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze.</p> + +<p>"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded +over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a +good many hours to come."</p> + +<p>Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it +produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The +baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the +strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then +returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she +looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before. +They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels, +and yet dark as the heart of a deep water.</p> + +<p>"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any +suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from +that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly +reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing +instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, +across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang +clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the +firelight.</p> + +<p>At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined +comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of +the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream.</p> + +<p>The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic +strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not +look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing +of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The +logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the +wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player +stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one +of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own +chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and +the bow like a wand in her hand.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet +with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench.</p> + +<p>"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir."</p> + +<p>With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet +sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of +joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories +and called up more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied +his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that +Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young +Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood +but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger.</p> + +<p>Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his +thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music +and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the +long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if +lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest +of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the +memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard +her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the +violin?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN</span></h2> + +<p>Ouenwa and Black Feather turned their faces from the little fort and the +hostile camp beyond the white river, and set bravely forward into the +darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding hummocks, bending and +twisting through the coverts, crossing the open glades like a +shadow—and all without any noise except the scarcely audible padding of +his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close after. They had not gone far +before the snow began to fall and puff around them in blinding clouds. +The trees bent tensely under the lash of the wind. More than one +frost-embrittled spire came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad +held on their journey, for they were both fresh and strong, and eager to +widen the spaces of wilderness between themselves and the camp of +Panounia.</p> + +<p>Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the snow on the leeward side of +a thicket of low spruces, broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire +between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal repast, and +then rolled themselves in their rugs of skin and fell asleep. They had +no fear that any of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. They +lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for several hours. Then Ouenwa +turned over and yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in an +instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. The white sun was +half-way up the blue shell of the eastern sky. All around the new snow +lay in feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it clung in even +masses, which showed that the wind had died down long before the flakes +had ceased to fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold meat and +bread, swallowed some brandy and water, and resumed their journey.</p> + +<p>Not until the afternoon of the third day following their departure from +Fort Beatrix did the travellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black +Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few paces ahead of Ouenwa, +who caught the first sight of the thin, melting signal of human life. It +wavered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of yards in front. On +their right hand lay the ice-edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On +their left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> mountainous +horizon. In front lay hope, and behind the spur of menace.</p> + +<p>"Is there a village yonder?" asked Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Black Feather replied negatively.</p> + +<p>"The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his own language, "and there +was no lodge there when last I saw it. We will approach under the +shelter of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the journey a few paces +longer, and perhaps the arrival twenty times safer."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution expressed by his friend.</p> + +<p>"But let us hurry," he said. "Remember that around the stockade the +black captain is ever stirring the courage of the night-howlers."</p> + +<p>At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from the screen of brush +into a tiny clearing on the north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was +not ten yards across at this point. On its white surface ran several +trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which had attracted them to the place +curled up from the apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the +travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the doorway of the lodge. +Ouenwa recognized her as a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and +adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the information to Black Feather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>"Then we may show ourselves," said the other, "for if this woman was +the great chief's friend you may be sure that death has only +strengthened her loyalty. It is so with women—with the wise and the +foolish alike. A man will stand close to his comrade in the days of his +glory and in the press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the +fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the departed ever before +the matters of the present day. A man must have the reward of his +friend's praise and the joy of his companionship; but a woman makes a +god of the departed spirit and looks for her reward beyond the red +gates."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage reflections, for all he +knew of women was that a radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had +his heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and down the bank, in +silence.</p> + +<p>The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught sight of them +immediately. She turned into the dark interior of the wigwam, but +appeared before they were half-way across the frozen stream, with a bow +in her hand and an arrow on the string. Black Feather and the lad raised +their right hands, palms forward, above their heads, and continued to +advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, but did not relax her attitude +of vigilance. Close<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and +the lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of Soft Hand, and that +his companion was Black Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the +arrow-maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam forsook her post and +advanced to meet them.</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft Hand's advisers, was not +attractive to the eye. She was bent hideously, though still of +surprising bodily strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the matted +locks of hair that clung about it and fell over her ears and neck like a +wig of gray tree-moss. Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One +yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of her mouth. Her hands +were claws. Her skin was no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than +was the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. Her garments were +unusually barbaric—lynx-skins shapelessly stitched together and hung +about with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint nearly as long +as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy arms hung naked at her sides, as +indifferent to the nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes.</p> + +<p>"Child," she said, "I heard that you were killed—that Panounia's men +had slain you and a party of English; but that I knew to be false, for I +saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> So I believed +that you had crossed the great salt water with the strangers."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman listened with the keenest +interest and many nods of the head.</p> + +<p>"It is well," she said. "They are scattered now, some in hiding, some +sullenly obedient to Panounia, and some in captivity. Your need will +bring them together and awake their sleeping courage. I know of a full +score of stout warriors who will draw no bow for Panounia, and who are +all within a day's journey of this spot, but sadly scattered,—yea, +scattered in every little hollow, like frightened hares."</p> + +<p>"Do you live in this great lodge all by yourself?" inquired Black +Feather.</p> + +<p>"My sons are in the forest, seeing to their snares," replied the woman, +eying the tall brave sharply, "but within are a sick woman and a small +child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Panounia's camps."</p> + +<p>She stood aside and motioned them to enter the lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, +with Black Feather close at his heels. Within, it took them several +seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke and shadow. Presently +they made out a couch of fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on +it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. Both the woman +and the child were gazing at the visitors. The child began to whimper.</p> + +<p>Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang over the fire. He had found +his squaw and one of his lost children.</p> + +<p>The sickness of Black Feather's wife was nothing but the result of +hardship and ill-treatment. Already, under the herb-doctor's care, she +was greatly improved. The meeting with her warrior went far to complete +the cure of the old woman's broths and soft furs. The child was well; +but the woman knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder offspring.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long at the lodge beside Little +Thunder. With the younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they +set out that same day to find the hidden warriors who were against the +leadership of Panounia.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII.</span> <span class="smaller">BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS</span></h2> + +<p>Back at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary suspense. The wounded men +recovered slowly. The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and the +dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking-fires, melting against the +sky, told of their presence. The inaction ate into the courage of the +English men and women like rust. The boat-building and the iron-working +at the forge were carried on listlessly, and without the old-time spurs +of song and laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent displayed sombre +faces to their little world.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. He was not blind to the +danger of their position, and he continued to do double duty in +everything; but for all that he awoke each day with keen anticipation +for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, dreamed of other things than +the poised menace and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, or any +other city of the outer world, when Beatrix<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Westleigh was domiciled +within the rough walls of the fort on Gray Goose River? His heart would +not descend to those depths of despondency in which lurk fear and +hopeless anxiety. What power of man, in that wilderness, could break +down his guard and harm the most wonderful being in the world? The +girl's brief season of unkindness toward him was as a cloud that her +later friendliness had dispersed as the sun disperses the morning fog. +He had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, in her eyes, in her +voice, and on several occasions something that had set his heart +thumping in the touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse nor +indifferent to his society, and the glances of her magnificent eyes were +open to translations that set him looking out upon life and that +wilderness through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged D'Antons +draw their rapiers upon him—he would out-thrust, out-play, and +out-stamp them all! Let a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the +fort—he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour on his breast, would +scatter them like straw! And all this because, for the first time in his +life of twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a woman,—and +twenty-one was a fair, manly age in those days. He had won to it +unknowingly, by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> let not +even the oldest of us criticize his attitude toward life. A man's +emotions cannot always be herded and driven by the outward circumstances +of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the mercy of a dog and a +dull countryman. That to which cautious Worldliness has given the name +of madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but a spark of God's own +courage and imagination in the heart of youth: the years having not yet +smothered it with the ashes of cowardice and calculation.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but an assured front to the +world. Now this love that had him so irresistibly in its services only +heightened the confidence of his address toward men and events; but in +the presence of its inspiration it clothed him in unaccustomed and +unconscious meekness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick to +notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of course; for was it not a +greater and a more pleasant matter to have brought a high-hearted, +adventure-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery than to have a +dozen idle courtiers bowing before one, and a dozen sentimental poets +mouthing verses that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any +charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and could not find it in her +heart to regret the beaux<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of London Town. But she did not know her +heart as the man knew his—and as she knew his.</p> + +<p>One morning they walked together along the river-bank, before the open +gate of the fort. The air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows +along the snow were bluer than the dome of the sky. The girl talked +cheerily; for in the bright daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour +rising from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong and worshipping +man, sword-girt, within arm's length, it was hard to remember the menace +concealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very bright, and the +blood mantled under the clear skin of her cheeks at the wind's caress. +Now and then, for a bar or two, she broke into song.</p> + +<p>Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten firm with his snow-shoes, +after the last storm, expressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. +It was about a hundred yards in length, and broad enough for two persons +to walk in abreast, and firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes +unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with the stockade and the +course of the river at that point. When the turn was made at either end +of the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon and every tree, +every knoll, and hollow. It was done almost unconsciously, as a +traveller <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>instinctively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound of +voices ahead of him on a dark road.</p> + +<p>After a time the girl noticed her companion's vigilance. "What do you +expect to see?" she asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with her +gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, but recovered his wits with +an effort.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he replied, "or surely we would not be walking here."</p> + +<p>She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her, displayed the desperate condition of his heart in +his eyes, and then looked back again to the strip of woods that +approached them along the back.</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," he said—and then, with a gasp of dismay, he caught +her and swung her behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against +his sheltering back.</p> + +<p>"We must return to the fort," he said. "Something is going on in that +covert."</p> + +<p>"Come! We will run!" she whispered, pulling at his elbows to turn him +around.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, +and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in +what quarter to look for it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p><p>She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path +that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, +and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at +the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put +his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The +unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside +the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the +fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to +Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a +war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, +they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making +any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers +on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was +fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without +apparent effect.</p> + +<p>Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his +wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that +really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had +been serving Beatrix as a shield when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> the arrow struck him. He went the +rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and +his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the +strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of +drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball.</p> + +<p>It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. +He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called +to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her +face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a +quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow +before clasping them in eager fingers.</p> + +<p>"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," +he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her +hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers +drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall +her, God knows!—nay, not so much as a chill—but how could he keep it +in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill +with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her +flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had +nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life—and again, +perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world +to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the +immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender +to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain +like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips—how near +they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. +God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet +madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about +to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and +left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the +figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"Well, my lad?" inquired the baronet, calmly.</p> + +<p>"Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, hiding his chagrin +and confusion with exceeding skill.</p> + +<p>"You looked just now as if you were expecting me," said the elder. "Come +in, come in. We can talk better by the fire."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He picked up his gloves from +the trampled snow by the threshold, and silently followed the baronet +into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there—which fact the +lover noticed with a sinking of the heart. He was alone with her father, +and evidently under marked suspicion,—a fearful matter to a young man +who aspires to the hand of an angel, and has not yet his line of action +quite laid down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought of his +presumption, called the respectability of his parents and his income to +his aid, and was ready for the baronet when that gentleman turned and +faced him in front of the fire.</p> + +<p>"I love your daughter," he said, with his voice not quite so cool and +manly as he had intended it to be.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back was to the fire, and so his +face was in heavy shadow.</p> + +<p>"I love her very dearly," continued the other. "I believe no man could +love a woman more, for it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre +of my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not exalted, and that she is +the—"</p> + +<p>The baronet raised his hand sharply.</p> + +<p>The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> his sentence more +effectively than a clap of thunder would have done it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, "she is the daughter of a blackleg. She +is the daughter of a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken +gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high,—you, the son of a +humble merchant of Bristol."</p> + +<p>Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, with a hardy oath, he +slapped his hand to his hip.</p> + +<p>"Though she were the daughter of the devil himself," he began, and came +to a lame stop. The baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly +smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. Kingswell gave up all +attempt at politic speech. He had his own feelings to express. "Your +daughter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, huskily. +"Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes have been, they can reflect +in no way on her sweetness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not +mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of all on the father of the +most glorious woman in the world. I remember you in your strength,—the +greatest man in the county and my father's noble friend. The world has +taken a twirl since then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, my +heart is with you warmer than my worthy father's ever was."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">BETROTHED</span></h2> + +<p>That Bernard Kingswell had accepted the baronet's own estimation of his +(the baronet's) character so frankly, in the heat of sentimental +disclosure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than a pang or two. What +else could he expect of even this true friend? He was a broken gamester +and a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict of the law; but +whether or not he was a blackleg was a matter of opinion and the exact +definition of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well disposed toward +him, and that he believed nothing vile or cowardly of him; but, best of +all, he was sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was fortunate +beyond his hoping of the past two years. Should they get clear of the +besieging natives and out of the wilderness, her future happiness, +safety, and position would be assured. As Mistress Bernard Kingswell, +she would live close to the colour and finer things of life again, +gracing some fair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> house as a former Beatrix had done in other days—to +wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. The mist blurred his eyes +at that memory and dimmed his vision against the rough log walls around +him.</p> + +<p>Another thought came to the broken baronet, as he sat alone by the +falling fire, after Kingswell's departure, and awaited his supper and +the reappearance of his daughter. The thought was like a black shadow +between his face and the comforting fir sticks—between his heart and +the knowledge of a good man's love and protection for Beatrix. Knowing +the girl as he did, he felt sure that she would never leave him, her +exiled father, even at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a +return to his own country meant prison or death to him, she would hold +to the wilderness, thereby leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On +the other hand, should death come to him soon, and in the +wilderness,—by the arrows of the enemy, for choice,—his daughter's +fetters would be filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. The +desire to live out one's time clings about a man's vitals against all +reason. Even an exiled and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless +wilderness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain zest in day and +night and the winds of heaven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> With nothing to live for—even with the +scales decidedly the other way—Death still presents an uninviting face. +It may be the inscrutable mask of him that fills with distrust the heart +of the man who contemplates the Long Journey. In that inevitable yet +mysterious figure, showing as no more than a shadow between the bed and +the window, it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how repentant, +to read clear the promise of eternal peace. What dark deed might not be +perpetrated by the shrouded messenger between the death-bed and +Paradise?</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and hid the commonplace, +beautiful radiance of the hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he +waited for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and planned for his +daughter's future to the bitter end, seeing clearly that, should the +chances of battle turn in favour of the little plantation, he must +readjust his sentiments toward death. A man of lower breeding and +commoner courage would have groaned in the travail of that thought, and +cursed the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until he heard +his daughter at the door, and then stood up and hummed softly the +opening bars of a Somerset hunting-song.</p> + +<p>Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> face to him. He bent +and kissed her tenderly. For a little while they stood without speaking, +hand in hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. Suddenly the +girl pressed her cheek against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"What was it," she whispered, breathlessly,—"the matter that held you +and Bernard in such serious converse?"</p> + +<p>"And has your heart given you no hint of it?" he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And why, dear father? What has my heart to do with your talk of guards +and ammunition and supplies,—save that it is with you in everything?"</p> + +<p>The baronet released her hand and, instead, placed his arm about her +slender and rounded waist. "It is a story that I cannot tell you, +sweet,—I, who am your father," he said. "But I think that you shall not +have to wait long for the telling of it, for both youth and love are +impatient. And here comes the good Maggie with the candles."</p> + +<p>During the meal the baronet was more lively and entertaining than +Beatrix had seen him for years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually +untalkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give her undivided +attention to the quiet voice of her heart. The man was equally anxious +to avoid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>introspection as she to court it. But he, for all his laughter +and gay stories of gay times spent, displayed a colourless face and +haunted eyes behind the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, +glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed tresses, her eyes of +unnamable colour, her throat and lips and brow, were all radiant with +the magic fire at her heart.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a vague ending, sipped +his wine, put down the glass clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the +table. The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the throat. But she +noticed nothing of his change of manner; and presently they left the +table and moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping faggots +across the dogs. Then she filled his tobacco-pipe for him, and lit it +with a coal from the hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his +hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and Maggie Stone opened to +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after greeting him cordially but +quietly, donned his cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few +minutes. "I have a word for Trigget," he said. Then he pulled on his +gloves, pushed open the door, and stepped out to the dark.</p> + +<p>Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> snuffed them, surveyed +the room and its inmates with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced +her unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was as sentimental as +heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and her nature was of an inquisitive turn. +She sighed plaintively as she left the presence of the young couple.</p> + +<p>The door leading to the kitchen had no more than closed behind the +servant than Bernard, without preliminaries, dropped on one knee before +the lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to his lips. She +did not move, but stood between the candles and the firelight, all +a-gleam in her beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at the golden +head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were grave.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lifting his face or altering his +position,—"dear heart, can it be true?"</p> + +<p>She bent her head a little lower. Her heart seemed as if it was about to +break away from its bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, almost +unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note of fear in his voice: "Tell +me if I may win you! Tell me if your heart has any promise?"</p> + +<p>Before she could control her agitation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>sufficiently to answer him, the +outer door of the cabin was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph +stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist and wrenched it sharply.</p> + +<p>"We are attacked," he cried. "They have piled heaps of dry brush along +the palisades—and they have set the stuff on fire! It burns like mad. +Lord, but it looks more like hell than ever!"</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of the smoke from the +burning evergreen-needles invaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his +feet, still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at the baronet. +For a second he paused and peered, questioning, into her wonderful eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. "I love you, Bernard."</p> + +<p>He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every lover knows), and even while +the first brief and tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets +clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and the baronet thrust +sword and hat into Bernard's hands.</p> + +<p>"Come! For God's grace, lad, come and rally the men!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw the shrewd work that +awaited him. He ran to it with a leaping heart.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN</span></h2> + +<p>The heaps of brush outside the palisades burned with a long-drawn +roaring, like the note of a steady wind. It was a terrifying sound. The +glare of the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, staining the +trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, staining the faces of the +desperate settlers as if with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the +walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The platform upon which the +guns stood was a mass of flame before any use could be made of the +pieces. The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings and roarings, +flinging orange and crimson showers to the black dome above. The savages +skirmished behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the +blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their muskets through the +singed loopholes, firing low, and taking the chances with heroic +fortitude. Sir Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, with +their swords in their hands and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>encouragement in speech and bearing. +Both knew that this engagement would be a fight to the finish; and both +felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver commander than Panounia +was against them.</p> + +<p>The ammunition was carried from the storehouse to the shed over the +well, for the fire was already crackling against the log walls of the +buildings. Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of sparks and +burning fragments broke from the gun-platform; and, for the moment, the +warriors were scattered from that side. One of the cannon had exploded. +That corner of the stockade immediately fell and settled to the snow. +Next instant the second gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole +charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them to cover in yelling +disorder. At that the Englishmen cheered, and set about fighting back +the encroaching flames.</p> + +<p>Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn upon at need, must have +dwelt behind the shelter of the spruces; for within a very few minutes +of the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were about the fort +again. Kingswell took note of it, and suspected the inspiration to be +nothing else than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and dazzling +smile. A spur, too, he suspected—the spur of the mongrel Frenchman's +evil sneer and black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal character +to feel that it would prove but a plaything for such a personality as +the buccaneer's. He looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the +fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire to have the fellow +by the throat, or at the point of his sword, in tones that rang like a +curse.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the well-house.</p> + +<p>He knew where the <i>Pelican's</i> powder lay among the stores, done up in +five canvas bags of about twelve pounds each. With two of these under +his cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from the subsiding red +barrier that still held the enemy from the interior of the fort. By this +time the back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The roofs of the +cabins, deep with snow, were safe; but the rear walls were all in a fair +way of being ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the warriors of +Panounia diligently piled against them.</p> + +<p>Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the square to Sir Ralph, +William Trigget, and all the men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old +boatswain was, by this time, a very active convalescent. Kingswell +whispered a word or two in his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the +wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> They saw a party of the +enemy gather ominously close to the glowing edge of the breach. +Kingswell passed one of the bags of powder to his companion. "When I +give the word," he said.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into the obstruction, +brandishing spears and clubs, and screaming like maniacs. Kingswell +uttered a low, quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glowing +coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for the shelter of the +well-house at top speed. Tom Bent followed his movements on the instant. +Together they reached the narrow shelter; and, before they could turn +about, the air shook and reeled, as if a bolt of wind had broken upon +them, a blinding flash seemed to consume the whole night, and a puffing, +thumping report stunned their ears. They stumbled against the sides of +the shed, clawed desperately, and fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boatswain regained their senses +(which had left them for only a few seconds), they crawled from the +well-house and stared about them. The square was not so bright as it had +been, and, save for a few huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the +shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the fighting was now farther +away—that the settlers had sallied forth on the offensive. They could +not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> understand such recklessness; but they decided, without hesitation, +to take the risk. They ran to the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, +coals, wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and blown broadcast. +They crossed the torn ground and headed for the tumult in the fitfully +illuminated spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English shouts mixed +and clashed in the frosty air. On the very edge of the shifting +conflict, the old sailor clutched his master's arm. "Hark!" he cried. +"D'ye hear that now? It be the yell o' that young Ouenwa, sir, or ye can +call me a Dutcher!"</p> + +<p>At the same moment, before Kingswell could reply to Bent's statement, a +club, thrown by a retreating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side +of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. He moaned, as he +toppled over. Then he lay still on the ruddy snow.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living-room of the baronet's +cabin. Word had reached her that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in +time to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy by the explosions +of the bags of powder. When victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the +hands of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>followers, though spent +from their journey, had made a timely and successful rear attack.</p> + +<p>The girl was radiant. She moved up and down the room, eagerly awaiting +the return of Bernard Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and +laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond peradventure, whom heart, +hands, and lips longed to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, +it would have been her father—even a night ago he would have shared, +equally with the lover, in her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped +from hearth to door, and peered out into the blackness, with no thought +of any of those brave fellows save the lad of Bristol.</p> + +<p>The burning brush had all been trampled out, and the fires in the walls +and stockade had been quenched with water. The little square was dark, +save for the subdued fingers of light from windows and doors. Beatrix +peered from the open door, regardless of the cold. She was outlined +black against the warm radiance inside the room. Her silken garments +clung about her, pressed gently by a breath of wind. She rested a hand +on either upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as if, at a whim, +she would fly out from the threshold. Presently shadowy figures took +shape in the gloom, and she heard her father's voice, and William +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>Trigget's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught no sound of +Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A sudden fear caught her, and she +stepped out upon the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In a moment +he was at her side, and had an arm about her.</p> + +<p>"Sweeting," he said, "you must stay within for a little. The night is +bitterly cold, and—"</p> + +<p>"But where is Bernard?" she whispered, staring past him.</p> + +<p>"He is with the others," replied the baronet,—"with Ouenwa and his +brave fellows, and the dauntless Trigget."</p> + +<p>He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back to the cabin at the same +time. He closed the door, and laid a wet sword across a stool.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide eyes and bloodless +cheeks. "Tell me! Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? How should he be hurt?"</p> + +<p>She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. Could it be that the +High God had been deaf to her prayers?</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he knew of Kingswell's +condition was that he still breathed, and that his hat had saved his +head from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, he did not +know. He braced himself, and smiled.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, "he is not seriously hurt, so do not stand like +that—for God's sake!"</p> + +<p>At the last words his voice lost its note of composure, and broke +shrilly. He caught her to him. "Rip me," he cried, "but if you act so +when he is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever gets a real +wound!"</p> + +<p>The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the blood returned +to her cheeks. She clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoulder. +Presently she looked up.</p> + +<p>"Take me to him," she begged, "or bring him here."</p> + +<p>"So you love this Bernard Kingswell?" inquired her father, looking +steadily into her face.</p> + +<p>Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. "Yes," she replied, +quietly.</p> + +<p>The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword from the stool, eyed it +dully, and leaned it against the wall. He was trying to imagine what the +lad's death would mean to his daughter's future; but he could only see +that it would mean a few more years for himself. He started guiltily, +and returned to his daughter. His face was desperately grim.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>"Wait for me," he said. "I'll see how the lad is doing now; and shall +return immediately."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been built for D'Antons, and +which had passed on to Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped +within. He found the wounded gentleman lying prone on his couch, +half-undressed, and with bandaged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, +was beside the still figure.</p> + +<p>"He opened his eyes," whispered the boy; "but see, he has closed them +again. His spirit waits at the spreading of the trails."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen dressings on Kingswell's +head. They were exceedingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had been +cut away from the place of the wound.</p> + +<p>"Your work, Ouenwa?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's pulse.</p> + +<p>"It beats strong," he said. "The heart seems sure enough of the path to +take."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. "He has chosen," he said, gravely. "He +has seen the hunting-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty of +them has not lured him along that trail."</p> + +<p>The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's eyes. "You are a brave +lad, and we are deep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> in debt to you," he exclaimed. "Your bravery and +wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch your friend a few +minutes longer; I but go to bring another nurse to help you. Then you +may sleep."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXV.</span> <span class="smaller">FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT</span></h2> + +<p>From that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his twenty braves and the +little garrison of Fort Beatrix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought +a confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last attacks upon the +settlement. It consisted of a sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had +torn them from the person of a tall antagonist during a brief +hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the gear had won free, Black +Feather regretted to say. Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, +and sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power over Panounia, +and brought down that wolfish chief's hatred instead.</p> + +<p>On the morning after the battle, the little plantation presented a busy +though sombre appearance to those of its people who were in condition to +view it. Along the woods and rising ground to the north, the snow and +frozen soil were being hollowed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> to receive the bodies of those slain in +the fight. The dead of the enemy had been carried far into the woods, +and piled together with scant ceremony. The settlers had lost three of +their number,—young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. Four of +the rescuing party were dead and wounded. Tom Bent was on his back +again, and Kingswell's head was ringing like a sea-shell. William +Trigget was cut about the face and sore all over; but he kept on his +feet.</p> + +<p>After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, and the shrouded bodies +lowered therein and covered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's +orders, set about building themselves lodges outside the stockade. It +had been decided that, for mutual support, the friendly Beothics should +camp near the fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With axes +borrowed from the settlement, they soon had the forest ringing with the +noise of their labour. Though they had travelled light, in their hurry +to rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, they had dragged +along with them a few sled-loads of deerskins and birch bark, with which +to cover their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly about the torn +and scorched palisades; for it was a small matter to trim the poles and +fit the pliable roofs across the conical frames.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming the edges of white +barren and black forest and round hill. The stars shone silver above, +and the fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear glowed red +below. In the outer room of the cabin that had been Pierre d'Antons', +Beatrix sat alone by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leaping +flames in the chimney, and his were on the fair lines of her averted +face. The top of his head was so swathed in bandages that he looked like +a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as paper in the unstable +light. His eyes were bright with a touch of fever brought on by his +suffering. His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or two steady +enough and concerned with the present and the room in which he lay, and +then wandering abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and +imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and sentences, but in such a +gabbling style that his nurse could have made nothing of what was +passing in his brain even if she had taken such advantage of his +condition as to try.</p> + +<p>After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed by a profound silence, +he suddenly flung out one arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her +dreaming, and she turned her face back to him from the fire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>"Twenty days without water," he whispered, distinctly. "Twenty +days—and that beast Trowley is laughing to see my tongue between my +teeth like a squeezed rag."</p> + +<p>The girl caught up a mug of water and held it to his lips. He drank +greedily, and then took hold of her hand. His head was against the +hollow of her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt beside his +low bed.</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," he said, gravely, "let us pretend that you love me."</p> + +<p>She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer to see his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why pretend, dear heart?" she answered. "I do love you, as you very +well know. Sleep again, Bernard, with your head so—pressed close."</p> + +<p>"I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. The fever was as a fine +haze across the mirror of his brain.</p> + +<p>"It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. +The lad's eyes shone with a clearer light at that.</p> + +<p>"Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he said. "Tell me, or +strength will bring nothing but sorrow. Better death than to find your +kisses a trick of dreaming."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"Is it not a pleasant dream?" she asked, softly, smiling a little.</p> + +<p>"Ay; to dream so, a man would gladly have done with waking," he replied. +"If it were not in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow the +vision through eternal sleep—as God is my judge."</p> + +<p>"Hush, dear lad," she murmured, "for the heart and the body of Beatrix +are of right Somersetshire stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever—and +the love she gives you will outlast life—as God is our judge and love +His handiwork." And she kissed him again, blushing sweetly at her +daring. And so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, and he with +his bandaged head against her lovely shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered +the cabin, fumbling discreetly at the latch.</p> + +<p>The days passed slowly in the heart of that frozen wilderness between +the white river and the long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. +Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley and rough wood. The +forge rang again with the clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber +with the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long dismayed, and blood +ran more redly to the stir of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained +fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> Mistress Westleigh +recovered all her glory of eyes and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by +all, carried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black Feather, with +his wife and his surviving child in a snug lodge, felt again the zest +and peace of living. Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort in +the days of security. He brooded alone, avoiding even his daughter. His +face grew thinner, and his shoulders lost something of their youthful +vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, dimmed his courage +and his philosophy. The very relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' +supposed overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant endurance. He +counted it a grievance that God had not led him to his death in the last +fight, as he had prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now he +must plan it over again—over and over—in cold reasoning and cold +blood, and alone by the fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon +him at times; and again he would be all repentance, telling his heart +that, no matter how bitter his fate, it was fully deserved. And so, day +by day, the shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed of madness +germinated and took root.</p> + +<p>For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in her father's manner and +habits. The thing disclosed itself so gradually, and she was so intent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the baronet had been +variable in his moods, to a certain extent, ever since the beginning of +his troubles—years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw that +something had gone radically wrong in the broken gentleman's mind, and +his knowledge had come about in this wise.</p> + +<p>The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman and warrior, was a still +more ardent seeker after bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had +taught him something of the art of reading. Later, Mistress Westleigh +had carried it further. By the time that Kingswell was safely on the +road to his old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell out a page +of English print very creditably. His primer was one of those volumes of +Master Will Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left behind +him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin to take her turn at tending the +invalid, and found Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youthful +brow painfully furrowed with thought. She took the book from him and +fluttered the pages, pausing here and there to read a line or two.</p> + +<p>"Run away," said she, "and on a shelf beside our chimney you will find a +book with easier words than this contains. There is matter here, I +think, that is beyond a beginner."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow and nodded his sore head +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," he said.</p> + +<p>Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sincere,—as was everything +about him,—Ouenwa left the presence of the lovers and ran across the +snow to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the baronet. That +gentleman looked at him long and keenly, so that the boy trembled and +wished himself out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and a harsh +laugh, "Help yourself, lad," said Sir Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of +books, and, kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the divers +volumes and broad-sheets with which it was piled high. He found a rhymed +and pictured chap-book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the +first verses when a movement behind his back brought him to a sense of +his whereabouts. He turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a +walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust at a spot of resin on +the log wall. The poor gentleman stamped and straddled, pinked the +unseen swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a dashing air. +There was a light in his eyes and a twist of the lips that struck +Ouenwa's heart cold in his side. The light was that which, when seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> in +the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides that man from the laws +and responsibilities that are the portion of his fellows. It was the +gleam of idiocy—that sinister sheen that cuts a man from his +birthright.</p> + +<p>The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his +shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with +fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display +in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of +the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a +smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a pretty art—this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a +point of keeping my wrist limber for it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the +nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already +forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he +began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away +with him.</p> + +<p>"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that +Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to +point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl +of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter +of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping +softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held +the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and +unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear +of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST</span></h2> + +<p>And now to tell something of the movements of Pierre d'Antons, which, of +late, have been carried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond +the ken of the reader.</p> + +<p>The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night of fire and blood, +knocked the adventurer's fortunes flatter than they had ever been. You +may believe that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that he had +killed him long ago, when the lad threw his followers into the battle. +It was then that D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, and, +with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse back to victory. His +swordsmanship and energy availed him nothing. He missed capture only by +slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugitive from both sides, +he ran to the woods, avoiding the scattered and retreating warriors who +had so lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as he would +have avoided William Trigget or Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> Ralph Westleigh. One of his late +comrades, trailing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beothic curse +after him. Another, better prepared, let fly a war-club, and missed him +by an inch. He slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and the +dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated savages would mean death +and perhaps torture.</p> + +<p>The black captain did not run on any vague course, despite his haste. He +knew where a possibility of help awaited him. He had given his wits to +more than plans of revenge and kidnapping during his sojourn with +Panounia. In winning the men to him, he knew that his hold upon them +would not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the Beothic maiden +Miwandi, he had laid up store against an evil day. But he had not won +her heart simply on a chance of defeat—far from it, for he had not +dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleasant thing in itself to be the +lover of that nut-brown, lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl—for +Miwandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans concerning, the +lady in the fort. She loved the tall foreigner quickly and surely. She +was extravagantly proud of his power over the warriors of her people. He +was her brave, and as such she cherished him openly, to the envy rather +than the criticism of the other women of the encampment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of Panounia's faction. She +was seventeen years of age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the +skins of some of her people and lighter than that of others. Her hair +was brown and of a silken texture, very unlike the straight locks of the +savages of the great continent to the westward. Her features were good, +and her eyes were full of life and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in +the breasts of more than one of the young bucks of the camp.</p> + +<p>Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men of both parties, shaped +his course for the lodge in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at +his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; instead, a pang of +honest affection for the comely young woman toward whom he was flying +for help stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and Miwandi caught +him in her arms. In a few quick words, he told her of the defeat, and of +the anger of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed him once, +passionately, and then fell to collecting a few things—a quiver of +arrows, a bow, furs, and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. +He accepted it without a word. She bound her snow-shoes to her feet, and +retied the wrenched thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless sword, damp with blood, +was still in his hand. They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, +and other cries that inspired them to flight.</p> + +<p>They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their breathing. Of the +two, it was the man who sometimes lagged, who often stumbled, and who +cried once that he would rather be captured than strain limb and lung to +another effort. D'Antons had been actively employed throughout the day, +and again during the most desperate passages of the battle, and his +strength was well-nigh exhausted. At last he fell and lay prone. In an +instant the girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shielding his +body from the cold, and revived him with brandy from the scanty supply +in his flask. By that time the dawn was breaking gray under the stars, +and all sounds of the chase had died away. She cut an armful of +fir-branches, and with them and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, +she made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they lay until high +noon, fugitives in a desolate wilderness, with death, in half a dozen +guises, lurking on either hand.</p> + +<p>Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band of Panounia's followers +soon gave up the hunt. Matters were not in condition to be mended by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. The defeated savages +had their own wounds to see to, and already too many dead to hide under +the snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing and killing of their +false leader D'Antons, would have to wait. Now, of all those valorous +warriors who had menaced the little fort since the very beginning of +winter, only ten remained unhurt. Panounia was dead. He had breathed his +last in the edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, and +had been carried farther in by one of his men. Thus his death had +remained unknown to the victors; as had also the deaths of many more of +the besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad who had once +boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was desperately hurt. Painfully and +hopelessly, those of the wounded who could move at all, the women, and +the unhurt of the band, retreated toward farther and surer fastnesses. +The wounded who could not drag themselves along were left to perish in +the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. Some bled to death +within the same time. A few lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's +men in the bright daytime,—they were reported as having been found +dead.</p> + +<p>D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced marches, until they reached a +wooded valley and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed +inland and southward. At last they found a spot that promised shelter +from the bleak winds as well as from prying eyes. There they built a +wigwam of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly plentiful in +the protected coverts around. They soon had a comfortable retreat +fashioned in that safe and voiceless place.</p> + +<p>"It will do until summer brings the ships," remarked D'Antons, busy with +plans whereby he might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. +Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi brave tales of far and +beautiful countries. He spoke of white towns above green harbours, of +high forests with strange, bright birds flying through their tops, and +of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds of great, sharp-horned beasts of +more weight than a stag caribou.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart-of-Life," she cried.</p> + +<p>So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, should be his queen +in a palace of white stone above a tropic sea.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS</span></h2> + +<p>Day by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sickness increased. It +strengthened in the dark, like a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day +by day, it grew over the bright surface of his mind and spirit. The +sureness of its advance was a fearful thing to watch.</p> + +<p>By the time March was over the wilderness, with a hint of spring in the +morning skies, the baronet's condition was noticeable to even the +dullest inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman spoke little—and +that little was seldom to the point. It seemed as if he had forgotten +how to smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He walked alone for +hours on the frozen river and through the woods. The Beothics of the +camp before the fort stood in awe of him. At times he treated Beatrix +and Bernard Kingswell as strangers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and +chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> All day, indoors and +out, he wore a rapier at his side. In the cabin he spent half of the +time inert by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and the rest +of it in sword-play with an imaginary antagonist.</p> + +<p>It was well for Beatrix that she had found Bernard's love before the +fresh misfortune descended upon her. But even with that comfort and +inspiration, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. They had +been such friends; and now he had blank eyes and deaf ears for all her +actions and words. It was twenty times harder for her than to have seen +him struck down by knife or arrow. Death seemed an honest thing compared +to that coldness and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly +about him with the passing of each day. It was as if another life, +another spirit, had taken possession of the familiar body and beloved +features. After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears had any +potency to break through the awful estrangement. Her prayers, her fond +recollections of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the dull +eye.</p> + +<p>By the end of March the busy boat-builders and smiths of the +settlement—and every man save Sir Ralph was either one or the +other—had two new boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +of about the capacity and model of the <i>Pelican</i>. They were intended for +fishing on the river and the great bays and for exploration cruises.</p> + +<p>William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder as he was a master +mariner, entertained great ideas of fishing and trading more openly than +Sir Ralph had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving out a real home +in the wilderness, and his wife was of the same mind.</p> + +<p>"We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," he said.</p> + +<p>Kingswell promised that, should he win back to Bristol, and find his +affairs in order, he would use his influence in behalf of the settlement +on Gray Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding to the new land.</p> + +<p>"It be rough, God knows," he said, "but it be sort o' hopeful, too. If +they danged savages leaves us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for +spendin' the balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. There be a +grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't turn our backs on, not if we +could help it."</p> + +<p>Kingswell himself was not building any dreams of fixing his lot in that +desolate place; and neither was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on +the subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point overseas. Beatrix, +now despondent at her father's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> trouble, and again happy in her love, +gave little thought to the future of the settlement, or to any plans for +the days to come, save vague dreamings of an English home.</p> + +<p>March wore along, and in open spaces the snow shrank inch by inch. Then +rain fell; and after that a time of tingling cold held all the +wilderness in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could run over the +snow-fields and the bed of the river without snow-shoes; for the surface +was tough as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, Sir +Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. The mornings lifted +clear silver and pale gold along the east. The evenings faded out in +crimson and saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were lit, +made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thinnest green. And back of it +all, despite the frost, hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and +blossoming trees.</p> + +<p>The lure of the season touched every one in the fort, and the camp +beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's blood like some fabled wine—for what +vintage of France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. It +mounted to his head with a high, unregretting recklessness, and doubled +the madness that already lurked there. Something of his old manner +returned, and for a whole evening he sat with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>Beatrix and Kingswell and +talked rationally and hopefully. Also, that same night, he played a game +of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees into it clearly and +without fear. He recalled the past without any sign of embarrassment. +But Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a light of derision in +them.</p> + +<p>Very early in the morning, while the stars still glinted overhead, and +the promise of day was no more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir +Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin and slipped out. He was +warmly and carefully dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his sword +free under his arm. Very cautiously he scaled the palisade and dropped +to the frozen crust of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay around +the corner of the fort, so he was safe from detection from that quarter. +He looked about and behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly +into the woods.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, and his soft-shod feet +left no mark on the hard surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and +over, and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust of the wilderness +thawed a little, and here and there the baronet's feet broke through. At +that he began to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> He +flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, and called for Maggie +Stone to bring him food and drink. He called again and again. He shouted +other names than that of the old servant. In a sudden agony of fear, he +jumped to his feet and plunged through the evergreens. At every third +step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. He screamed the name +of his daughter, "Beatrix, Beatrix"—or was it his dead wife he was +calling? He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen of England who +had been his boon companions in the old days, forgetting that death had +taken some of them away from him, and that the rest, to a man, had +turned of their own accord. Presently he ceased his foolish outcry and +plodded along, with no thought of the course, sobbing the while like a +lost child.</p> + +<p>The sun began its downward journey, and still the baronet, with his +sheathed sword under his arm, staggered across the voiceless wilderness. +Toward mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and he travelled +with less difficulty. Ever and anon his poor eyes pictured a running +figure in an edge of blue shadow before him. At times it was the figure +of the nobleman he had killed in England, in the dispute at the +gaming-table, and again it was a friend,—Kingswell or Trigget, or +another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> of the fort,—and yet again it was Pierre d'Antons. But no +matter how he strove to run down the lurker, he lost him every time. +Thirst plagued him, and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds of +the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but passed gradually. The west +took on the flame and glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars +pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night gathered her cloudless +darkness over the wilderness; and still the demented baronet followed +his aimless quest.</p> + +<p>Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph Westleigh's departure from +Fort Beatrix, Pierre d'Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden +and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed person in the doorway +of their lodge. The woman cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of +the wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face turned gray as the +ashes around the fire-stone. The unexpected visitor drew his blade, +flung the sheath behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the fugitive +adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and caught up his own sword from where +it lay on a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more in wonder than +anger.</p> + +<p>"Westleigh!" he cried. "What brings you here, you fool—and how many +follow you?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He reeled a +little, but his eyes changed in their light and colour.</p> + +<p>"I am alone," he said. "Yes, I am alone." His voice was quiet. He seemed +sorely puzzled. D'Antons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he +laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"So you have hunted me down, old cock," he said, smiling. "You'll find +that the quarry has fangs—in his own den."</p> + +<p>The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. He advanced his rapier. +In a second the fight was on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity +supported the baronet's starving muscles and reeling brain. Then his +thrusts began to go wide, and his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped +him in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life-blood of the last +baronet of Beverly and Randon made a vivid circle of red on the snow of +that nameless wilderness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE RUNNING OF THE ICE</span></h2> + +<p>It was Beatrix who first discovered her father's flight; but that was +four hours after its occurrence. The fort was soon astir with the news. +Men set out in all directions, in search of the missing one. Half a +dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the hunt. They went east and +west, north and south. The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the +madman's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying Bernard and Ouenwa. +She tried to show a brave face; but something in her heart told her to +expect the worst. The three travelled southward, and shortly before +sunset returned to the fort, unsuccessful. They found that all the other +searchers had got back, save Black Feather and a young brave named +Kakatoc, who had set out together.</p> + +<p>By the merest chance Black Feather and his companion happened upon the +place where the baronet had first broken through the melting crust. With +but little effort they found where he had rested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> and taken up his +journey again. Farther on, the faintness of the trail put an edge to +their determination to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a +challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it eagerly. But within +two hours of finding the marks, they lost them again. They ranged wide; +and at last Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad of snow +beside a stunted spruce. In several places the branches of the tree +showed where the snow had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It +was enough to keep them to the quest.</p> + +<p>Not in the next day, but in the early morning after that, the two +Beothics happened upon a sheltered valley and a snow-cleared space, with +a fire-stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately stood. As for +signs of blood, there were none. Snow had been deftly spread and +trampled over it. All around the so evident site of a human habitation +the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save for a little path that ran down to +a hole in the ice of the stream. After considering the place, and +shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food they had in their +pouches and turned their feet back to the fort. They passed within a few +paces of a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's body lay +uncovered. But how were they to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> it, when even the prowling foxes +had not yet found it out!</p> + +<p>For several days the search was continued by the settlers and their +allies, but all in vain. It was not even suspected that the deserted +camping-place which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so lately +been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons and the blood of the lost +baronet. For a few days longer the business of the settlement lagged, +and the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever-brightening and +mellowing season. Then the axes struck up their chant again, and the +little duties of the common day erased the forebodings of Eternity from +the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress Beatrix could see nothing of +the reawakening of life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the +mist across her eyes. She had loved her father deeply and faithfully, +with a love that had been strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt +toward him the combined affections of daughter and sister and friend. +She had made allowances for the weaknesses of his later years that +equalled the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best-loved +child. She had not been, and was not now, blind to the passion of gaming +that had forced him to exile and an unknown death; but she had forgiven +it long ago. As to the alleged murder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> that had made such an evil odour +in London, she believed—and rightly—that hot blood and overmuch wine +had been to blame, and that her father's sword had been drawn after the +victim's.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to comfort the bereaved girl. He +urged her to spend much of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for +their future, and to cheer her he built them even more hopefully than he +felt; for he realized that many difficulties were yet to be overcome +before Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two often went on +long tramps through the woods. Their evenings were always spent +together. Sometimes he read aloud to her, and sometimes they played at +chess. One evening she got her violin, and played as wonderfully as she +had on that other occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward without +a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle aside and nestled into his +arms. He held her tenderly, patting the bright hair against his +shoulder, and murmuring broken assurances of his love and sympathy. She +wept quietly for a little while; but when she kissed him at the door, +her face and eyes shone with something of their old light.</p> + +<p>By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced through the shrinking snow +in the open places; but in the woods the drifts continued to withstand +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose River was no longer +a broad path of spotless white. Its surface was mottled with patches of +sodden gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might hear a myriad +of tiny voices, some sibilant and some tinkling and liquid, in and under +the enfeebled ice. Up and down the valley, between the knolls and wooded +hills, the little streams were already snarling and roaring, and here +and there flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through all the +wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twilight, midnight, and dawn were +stirred by the falling cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring +fragrance was in the air—the scent of millions of swelling buds and +crimson willow-stems.</p> + +<p>About that time three warriors of the following of the dead Panounia +arrived at the fort, with prayers for peace on their lips and gifts in +their hands. They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, and +Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and two of his chiefs from the +camp. A lengthy business was gone through with, and much strong +Virginian tobacco was burned. Documents were written in English and in +the picture-writing of the natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both +languages. Then they were solemnly signed by all present, and peace was +restored to the great tribe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> of the North, and protection, trade, and +lands were granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Beatrix and +their descendants. The three visitors went back to their people with +rolls of red cloth and packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and +other useless trinkets on their shoulders.</p> + +<p>Shortly after their departure from the fort, a storm of rain blew up +from the sou'east. All day the great drops thumped on the roofs of the +cabins, on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the sodden snow. +The firs and spruces gleamed clean and black under the drenching +showers. A veil of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods and along +the black tangles of alders and gray fringes of willows. All night the +warm rain continued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along the +pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the fort that the ice in the +river was moving. The settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. +Beatrix was with them.</p> + +<p>"See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," said Kingswell, +pointing eagerly. "And there is an open space. Ah, it has closed again! +How slowly it grinds along!"</p> + +<p>"It will run faster before night," replied the girl, and Ouenwa, who was +versed in the ways of his northern rivers, nodded silently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>While they watched, admiring the swelling, swinging, ponderous advance +of the great surface, and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony +that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the group and spoke a +few quick words to Black Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and +whispered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Beatrix and Kingswell, +and then questioned Black Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to +the lovers.</p> + +<p>"The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. "Blue Cloud has seen it. He +fears that the water will rise over the flat—and the fort."</p> + +<p>The river continued to rise until evening. After that the waters +subsided a little, great cakes of rotten ice hung stranded along the +crest of the bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. But from up +the valley the thunder of a hidden disturbance still boomed across the +windless air.</p> + +<p>"The jam had broken down-stream," said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, was satisfied, and retired +to his couch with an easy mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of +the dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but dragged him to the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. "Damn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> but you sleep like a bear! +The fort is in danger! We must run for higher land."</p> + +<p>"Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to his feet, "but what is the +trouble? Are we attacked?"</p> + +<p>"The river is all but empty of water," replied Ouenwa. "The ice sags in +the channel, like an empty garment. The water hangs above, behind the +third point where we cut the timber for the boats."</p> + +<p>Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed pulling on his heavy +clothes. Though he did not fully understand the threatening danger, he +felt that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs of his deerhide +leggins, Ouenwa told him that warning had reached the fort but a few +minutes before.</p> + +<p>"How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestowing a wallet of gold coins +and some other valuables about his person.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's possessions, threw open +the door and stepped out.</p> + +<p>"Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his shoulder. "And I do not +understand," he added, "for Wolf Slayer hates us all."</p> + +<p>The other, close at his heels, made no comment on that intelligence. He +scarcely heard it, so anxious was he for the safety of Mistress +Beatrix.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran straight to his +sweetheart's door. It was opened by the maiden herself. She and the old +servant were all ready to leave.</p> + +<p>An hour passed; load after load of stores and household goods was +carried to the low hills behind the fort; and still the river lay empty, +with its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; and still the +unseen jam held back the gathering freshet. The women wept at the +thought that their little homes were in danger of being broken and torn +and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed.</p> + +<p>"It will be no great matter for them to build new cabins in a safer +place," she said to Kingswell.</p> + +<p>He was looking at the natives dragging their rolled-up lodges to higher +ground. He turned, smiling gravely.</p> + +<p>"You have no love for the wilderness?" he asked, "and yet but for this +forsaken place, you and I might never have met."</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed face to his tender +regard.</p> + +<p>"So it has served my turn," she said. "Now that I have you, I could well +spare these wastes of black wood and empty barren."</p> + +<p>Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in silence for that confession +ever since their betrothal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> Hitherto she had not once spoken with any +assurance of their future together. She had treated the subject vaguely, +as if her thoughts were all with the past and with the tragedy of her +father's death.</p> + +<p>"Would you face the homeward voyage in one of the little boats?" he +asked, softly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Dear girl," he said, "I think that a stout ship called the <i>Heart of +the West</i> will be setting sail from Bristol, for this wilderness, before +many days."</p> + +<p>"Would the fellow dare return?" she asked; for she had heard the story +of Trowley's treachery.</p> + +<p>"He will think himself safe enough," replied Kingswell. "No doubt he +owns the ship now—has bought it from my mother for the price of a +skiff, after telling her how recklessly he battled with the savages to +save her son's life."</p> + +<p>He laughed softly. "The old rogue will be surprised when I step aboard," +he added.</p> + +<p>Before she could answer him a booming report shook the sunlit air. It +was followed, in a second, by a long-drawn tumult—a grinding and +crashing and roaring—as if the firmament had fallen and overthrown the +everlasting hills. The sagging ice below them reared, domed upward, and +split with clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> which were +hurled down the stream and over the flats. A thing of brown water and +sodden gray lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow where the +Beothic encampment had stood an hour before. The eastern stockade of the +fort went down beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught.</p> + +<p>All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow raced down the river, and +the air hummed and vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the +released waters had passed; and the fort had suffered by no more than an +exposed side.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIX.</span> <span class="smaller">WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR</span></h2> + +<p>Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to +Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a +starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in +which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, +he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie +in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the +settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old +arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa +read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under +such unpropitious circumstances.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the +overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and +could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> thinking of the +future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought +of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and +comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, +and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more +softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or—or what? He shifted +noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his +pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and +closed with a silent enemy.</p> + +<p>Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a +clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to +the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch +bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame +lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had +the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw +his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English +indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt +and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on +his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into +the darkness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with +word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and +Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome +news that one of the vessels was the <i>Heart of the West</i>.</p> + +<p>Both the new boats and the old <i>Pelican</i> were made ready for the +expedition. Kingswell commanded the <i>Pelican</i>, with Ouenwa and six +natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and +Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to +see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh—and, as the boats stole +down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his +hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, +of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix +Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of +Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England.</p> + +<p>The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the +man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which +she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, +and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He +tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all +that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances +of danger?—the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and +barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings.</p> + +<p>A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the +three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with +English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. +Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for +their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass.</p> + +<p>The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear +of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, +and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward +and looked under the square canvas of the <i>Pelican's</i> big wing.</p> + +<p>"An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, sharply. "Who has taken it upon +himself to improve on my orders?"</p> + +<p>A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, turned and crawled aft. +Then the blanket fell away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, laughed up at the +commander.</p> + +<p>"Promise to shield me from the wrath of Maggie Stone, when we go back," +she whispered, in mock concern.</p> + +<p>For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and embarrassment in his eyes, +the while Ouenwa hid a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the +queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the morning, under the +grave regard of the Beothic warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow.</p> + +<p>"What authority has Maggie Stone?" he cried. "If any one has a right to +control your actions, surely it is I."</p> + +<p>She slipped to the seat beside him. "And you told me I could not +accompany you—that it would not be safe," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain behind," he said. "God knows +it hurt me to refuse your so—so flattering a wish. But you accepted it +calmly, dear heart."</p> + +<p>"I accepted it for what it was worth," she laughed. "I could not shed +tears over a parting which I felt certain was not to take place." Her +face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. "I could not have stayed +in the fort without you," she whispered. "Dear lad, I am afraid to +death<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe this love has made +a coward of me!"</p> + +<p>For a little while there was no sound aboard the <i>Pelican</i> save the +tapping of the reef-points on the swelling breast of the sail, and the +slow creak of the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed ahead, +while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. Then the man stooped his +head close to the girl's.</p> + +<p>"But on this trip," he whispered, "you must obey me—for both our sakes, +dearest. It would be mutiny else."</p> + +<p>"I shall always obey you," she replied—"always, always—so long as you +do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix."</p> + +<p>"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone."</p> + +<p>She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will +rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on +the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue."</p> + +<p>"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and +somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a +thought!"</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," +she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a +dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> staid companions, and—" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I +forget that I am penniless," she added.</p> + +<p>Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How +long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, +Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a +wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the <i>Heart of the +West</i>, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was +going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other +vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the +mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled +sails to a rosy tint above the green water.</p> + +<p>"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched +beside him in the fringe of spruces.</p> + +<p>A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears.</p> + +<p>"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I +wonder?"</p> + +<p>"You will not be rash, Bernard,—for my sake," pleaded the girl.</p> + +<p>He assured her that he would be discreet.</p> + +<p>It was dark when they got back to the little cove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> in which the boats +were beached. About midnight, with no light save the vague illumination +of the scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. They moved +with such caution that it took them two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. +They passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix was transferred +from the <i>Pelican</i> to Black Feather's boat, and Tom Bent joined the +commander. A veil of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light as +had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Before them the <i>Heart of the +West</i> loomed dark, a thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights.</p> + +<p>The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft and seaward of the ship. +The <i>Pelican</i> stole in under the looming stern, with no more noise than +a fish makes when he breaches in shallow water. The crew steadied her +beside the groaning rudder with their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart +and peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had peered on a night of +the preceding season. The low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung +from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in silver sticks that bore +the Kingswell crest, burned, with bending flames, on the table. On the +locker under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a boat-cloak +in an untidy heap. The edge of the table was within two feet of the +square stern-window.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>For a little while Kingswell listened with guarded breath. Then, +swiftly and lightly, he pulled himself across the ledge of the window, +scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. Very cautiously he +drew his rapier with his right hand and his dagger with his left. For a +minute or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breathing regularly +and deeply, and harkening to the innumerable creaking voices of the +decks and bulkheads, and the muffled voices and laughter from forward. +For the occasion he had donned the hat, coat, breeches, and boots—all +now stained and faded—in which Master Trowley had last seen him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the companion ladder just +forward of the cabin door. A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed +above the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the bulkhead with a +resounding crack, and swung, trembling. The bulky figure of Trowley +entered, and the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, and +big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kingswell drew a deep breath, and +composed his dancing nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His +emotions were disconcertingly mixed.</p> + +<p>The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, deny the charge if you +like) seemed to fill the cabin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> to overflowing with his lurching, great +body. He tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and yanked up the +top of the locker. With muttered revilings at the excessive cost of West +Indies rum, he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its +hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle-light like +diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass as one from which he had often +drunk his grog—a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those articles +the mariner placed on the table, scarcely a foot from the watcher's +head. Next he loaded himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it +at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard heard the puffings +and gruntings with which the deed was accomplished, like half a gale in +his ear. At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his elbows on +the table, gazed for a second at the square window that opened on to the +mysterious gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The liquor gulped +and gurgled in its passage to the glass. The reek of it permeated the +air.</p> + +<p>"Dang it," grumbled the mariner, "d'ye call this rum! Sink me, but it be +half water!"</p> + +<p>However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and smacked his lips at the +end of it as he never would have after a draught of water.</p> + +<p>Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> arose to his feet and +looked down at Master Trowley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his +wide, stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, +but to the staring mariner it seemed a matter of hours. He sprawled on +his low stool, open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerveless on +the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at his feet.</p> + +<p>"Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning across the table he +tweaked the purple tip of Trowley's nose between thumb and finger. To do +so, he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany for a second. The +indignity called forth no more than a gurgle of terror from the master +mariner. Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it within an +inch of the whiskered face. Still the fellow sagged on his stool, unable +to stir a muscle. Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa crawled +through the port, with a coil of light rope in his hand. Tom Bent +followed. Trowley threw off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation +and got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In an instant he was +flat on his back, with a gagging hand across his mouth and another at +his throat. He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely gagged with a +strip of his own boat-cloak.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> and whispered a word or +two. One by one, four of his braves entered, with their knives +unsheathed. Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly opened the +cabin door. On the port side of the alley-way, beside the companion +ladder, Trowley's mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over him +and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded significantly; and in an +amazingly short time the mate of the <i>Heart of the West</i> was as neatly +trussed up as the master.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the rail, aft, and waved a +lantern in three half-circles. And not long after that, Mistress +Westleigh, Master Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with Canary wine, +in the cabin of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. In the waist of the ship the +stout English sailors and the skin-clad Beothics drained their +pannikins, and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. Old Tom Bent +was toast-master; and also he told them an amazing story.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXX.</span> <span class="smaller">MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF</span></h2> + +<p>Shortly before midnight, Tom Bent went quietly about the task of waking +both watches and the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix were +manned, with the muffling oars. The two small anchors by which the +<i>Heart of the West</i> swung in the tide were fished into two of the boats +by hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was accomplished, the ship was +free without so much as a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. +Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the bows of the ship, and +at a signal from a lantern in Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs +to the oars. Then all lights aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> were +covered, and in the darkness, beside the great tiller, Kingswell caught +his inspiration and his reward to his heart again.</p> + +<p>The girl did not leave the commander's side, but kept watch on the high +poop-deck throughout the journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their +toil,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> and after them, drawn by lines that were sometimes taut and +sometimes under water, but always invisible in the darkness, the ship +stole like a shape of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. With +the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on signs of life. By that time +she was hidden from Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. The +pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan was manned, and the +anchors were lifted to their places on the forecast rail. Headsails were +set, and the square mizzen was run up. The boats dropped astern and were +made fast, and the weary men climbed aboard the ship.</p> + +<p>All day the <i>Heart of the West</i> threaded the green waterways of the +great Bay of Exploits. A light and favourable breeze lent itself to the +venture. After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blanket, lay down +by the mizzen and fell asleep. She was tired. The easy motion of the +ship, and the song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her fathoms +deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy lullaby. Kingswell rigged a +piece of sail-cloth from the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from +the sun.</p> + +<p>At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray Goose River, was reached. +By sunset the mouth of the river was entered. Just then the wind +failed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> The boats were manned again, and the ship taken in tow.</p> + +<p>Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, with the rough blanket +about her dainty body and her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. +Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the shelter of canvas, and +saw that she was smiling in her dreams. How white were her dropped +eyelids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. Her lips were +parted a little, as if to whisper some sweet secret. A strand of her +bright, dark hair was across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the +blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested on the deck. The rosy +palm was upturned. Kingswell stooped lower and kissed it softly. +Standing up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahogany-hued mariner +grinned sheepishly, and gave a hitch to his belt.</p> + +<p>"Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, "but, if the angels in heaven +be half so sweet to look at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in +spite o' the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden harps with +a light heart if—if the equals of herself were a-listenin' on the +quarter-deck."</p> + +<p>Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" said he. "You are in love, Tom +Bent."</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, "for it can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> be helped. I'm in love +and awash, and danged near to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to +keep sober in the 'Powdered Admiral' on Bristol dock as within ten +knots, to win'ward or lee'ard, o' your sweetheart, sir."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bowing gravely.</p> + +<p>Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled away about his duty. He +was mightily pleased with himself at having expressed his admiration for +his young commander's choice in such felicitous terms. He prided himself +on his eye for feminine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank of +the fair one,—and a fairer than Mistress Westleigh he swore by all the +gods of the Seven Seas he had never laid eyes on.</p> + +<p>The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk when the toiling boats +and the tall ship rounded the point, and opened the fort to the view of +the daring cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the anchors +plunged into the brown current. The rattle of the cables through the +hawse-holes awoke Beatrix. She had been dreaming of a great garden in +Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged paths with her father on one +side and her lover on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas +shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> with the clangour of +the running cables in her ears, for a second she did not know where she +was. A vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she recalled the +incidents of the last two days, and was about to crawl from her +resting-place, when the edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell +looked down at her.</p> + +<p>"Wake up," he said. "We are at the fort, and Trigget and Maggie Stone +are coming off in a canoe."</p> + +<p>"Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain matters," she replied. "You +must bear the brunt of Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat +up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way that only a dunce +could fail to comprehend. Under cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he +kissed the warm lips and the bright hair.</p> + +<p>"Trust me," he laughed; and at that moment Trigget and the servant +climbed to the poop by way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He +advanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held a folded paper in his +hand, and that the honest eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he inquired; for he had entirely forgotten, for the time +being, the manner of Mistress Westleigh's joining with the expedition.</p> + +<p>"Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> him the paper. +"It—it—well, maybe it'll not be o' any use now."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, tearing it across.</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way Sir Ralph went," she +sobbed. "Oh, my beautiful little lady—an' her fit mate for any nobleman +of London town!"</p> + +<p>"What the devil do you mean?" cried Kingswell. Then the truth dawned in +his preoccupied brain. "Dry your eyes," he said. "She is safe and +sound."</p> + +<p>"Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trigget, devoutly.</p> + +<p>"What—the mistress be safe, d'ye say?" cried Maggie Stone, with a +sudden change of face.</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being bawled at on the poop of +his recaptured ship, even by an old serving maid. "Your mistress is +safe—and in my care," he said.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir?" she queried. "An' may I make so bold as to ax when ye +married Sir Ralph Westleigh's daughter?"</p> + +<p>William Trigget murmured something to the effect that his presence was +required forward, and took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and +stared haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> words fully +expressive of his feelings. His indignation brought a flush to his +cheeks which even the dusk of evening could not hide.</p> + +<p>"Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. "Ay, ye may well redden, after +sailin' away with an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse +into fits."</p> + +<p>The gentleman recovered his power of speech. "My good girl," he said +(and she was a full twenty years older than his mother), "your joy at +hearing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous queer and unseemly +way of expressing itself. You seem to forget that you, the lady's +servant, are addressing the lady's betrothed husband."</p> + +<p>The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts about her.</p> + +<p>"Maybe so," she retorted. "'Twould never have happened in Somerset."</p> + +<p>At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared suddenly from the other side of +the mizzen.</p> + +<p>"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you speak so to Master Kingswell!"</p> + +<p>Anger—quick, scathing anger—rang in her voice. Standing there in her +short skirt, high, beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked +like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and bright beauty.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>"I am ashamed of you," she added; and then, turning quickly, she flung +herself into Kingswell's ever ready embrace.</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone was flustered and somewhat awed by the sudden attack. She +had not been spoken to so for years and years. Would she resort to tears +again, or would she answer back? She was jealous of the girl's love for +Kingswell—and yet she had thanked God many times that that love had +been won by the young Englishman instead of by the swarthy D'Antons. She +sniffed, and mopped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she changed +her mind and bridled.</p> + +<p>"What would the countess, your aunt, say to such behaviour?" she asked. +"Her who watched over ye like a guardian angel in London town."</p> + +<p>Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's hands, faced the carping +critic.</p> + +<p>"And who turned me out of her house at the last of it," she cried, +scornfully. "Who is she, or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? +And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress and the gentleman who +saved you from the knives of the savages? Go back to the fort."</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious mistake,—a mistake which, +perhaps, would alienate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep ladder which stood close +to the starboard side of the ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught +in a loop of rope that had not been properly stopped up to its +belaying-pin. She lurched against the line that ran from the break of +the poop to the bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right herself, +and pitched over into the shadowed water below. She did not even scream.</p> + +<p>Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to the side and jumped +after the foolish old woman. By that time the twilight had left the +river. The current carried him swiftly down-stream, close under the side +of the ship. The water was uncomfortably cold, and his thick clothes +dragged at his limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A disturbance +appeared on the surface of the stream a few yards ahead. With a quick +stroke or two, he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin +shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with fright. Both were pulled +over the gunwale of the <i>Pelican</i> not a moment too soon.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXI.</span> <span class="smaller">WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED</span></h2> + +<p>It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the +good ship <i>Plover</i> and <i>Mary and Joyce</i>, when the gray light of dawn +disclosed the fact that the <i>Heart of the West</i> had vanished completely. +What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of +whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths!</p> + +<p>"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner.</p> + +<p>"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate.</p> + +<p>"Cut an' run," suggested another.</p> + +<p>"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin' +else," replied the cook of the <i>Plover</i>.</p> + +<p>The captain of the <i>Mary and Joyce</i> scanned the inner harbour and what +he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon +the cliffs and hills and inland woods.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last.</p> + +<p>No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were +searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a +deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the +skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that +Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next +morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from +which to reap the harvest of the great bay.</p> + +<p>To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a +great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, +Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St. +John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife, +to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had +not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in +the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking +now that they had accepted it.</p> + +<p>"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> lifting the glowing +face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin.</p> + +<p>"Nor I, dear heart," she replied.</p> + +<p>To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter +than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, +inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were +bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, +patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the <i>Heart of the West</i>. +The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even +Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet +(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a +beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and +silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny +Beothic always stalked.</p> + +<p>The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked +pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during +the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, +cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master +Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. +He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It +had been as he had hinted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful +and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, +during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made +such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship +that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of +fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, +Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really +anger him.</p> + +<p>"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to +Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of +joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor +devil. I can afford to be charitable now."</p> + +<p>They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at +the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping +the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's +underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward +Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for +having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts +flitted pleasantly through her mind.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of +the whole thing.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in +Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and—and I was mightily surprised +to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were +bright."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you—do you mean that it happened on the first day of +your arrival at the fort?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"Surely," said he.</p> + +<p>"And you loved me then?"</p> + +<p>He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his +ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English +rose-garden.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an +impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so +self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm."</p> + +<p>He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while, +they were silent.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day +you came to the fort, or was it just—just surprise at seeing a—a +civilized girl in so forsaken a place?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to +kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given +ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your +hands. Was that love, think you?"</p> + +<p>"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but +tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying +water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the +<i>Heart of the West</i>.</p> + +<p>"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St. +John's—and then for home."</p> + +<p>The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was +weeping.</p> + +<p>"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded, +and choked with a sob she could not stifle.</p> + +<p>"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the +anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that +held the fate of the mad baronet so securely.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED</span></h2> + +<p>At nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty-second day of June, the bow +of the <i>Heart of the West</i> was towed around and pointed down-stream by +willing boats and canoes; a light wind filled such sails as were set, +and the voyage was begun. Trigget fired a salute from a new gun which +Kingswell had given him from the armament of the ship. It was answered +by the barking of cannon and the fluttering of sails.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kingswell, and Maggie Stone, aft +by the tiller, which was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly +wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, his great dreams were +assured; and yet a pang of homesickness went through the joy like the +blade of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clustered people along +the meadow and in the boats grow dim,—the faces of William Trigget and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear to him. He shouted back +to them in English and in his native tongue, and waved his cap +frantically. The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam around the +wooded point, and meadow and stockade and camp of wigwams vanished like +a picture withdrawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress Westleigh. +Then he walked forward to the break of the poop, and blinked very hard +at nothing in particular in the belly of the maintopsail.</p> + +<p>Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, and the water changed +its tint of amber for wind-roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown +shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, and azure uplands +shone beyond their frowning brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes +of foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever-shifting, +ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along the fading cliffs white sea-birds +circled and settled like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged around +the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of mist, and beating up again +with quivering pinions.</p> + +<p>Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master upon himself. He was as +good a deep-sea navigator as any man on the whole width of the North +Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards were swung around, and +the stout bark headed due<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push +the tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace and sheet, at the +command of that gold-haired youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh +flutter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and lovely beyond +power of description, shone yet more brightly; and her cheeks, already +flushed to clear flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the ship +answered to his will, so would he answer to her whim. It was a pleasant +reflection to the lady; and to realize it she called softly. Without a +glance at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to her side.</p> + +<p>The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful harbour and brave little +town of St. John's was made without accident, though not without +incident. In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, the stump of +a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. A day later, a large vessel that +was evidently employed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest in the +business of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. She was not a quarter of a mile +distant when first sighted, for a light fog was on the water. She flew +no flag, and changed her course and altered her speed with sinister +promptness. Kingswell, and every man of the ship's company, knew that +pirates of many nationalities infested those waters during<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> summer. The +worst of the thieves were Turks; and the fishing-ship or store-ship that +was overhauled by those gentry usually lost more than its cargo. +Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards also had a weakness for playing the +part of the bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide-sailed craft, +to the rôle of the fishhawk so unwillingly played by the merchantmen. +Happily for Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore and to +leeward. Both watches were piped up by Tom Bent. The gunners went to +their quarters. Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining +masts and yards. The brave little ship answered willingly to the +pressure, and her cutwater broke the flanks of the waves into sibilant +foam.</p> + +<p>A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix and her old maid, in the +seclusion of that snug cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, +wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains across the thick glass of +the after-port (as if fearing that the eagle glance of one of the +pirates might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then devoted +herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix completed her toilet, threw a cloak +over her shoulders, and climbed the companion. She joined Kingswell by +the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> with a composure that +took no heed of the sailor at the helm, watched the chase with interest.</p> + +<p>"They outsail us," she said, presently.</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded. "But she'll never get near us on that course," he +replied. "She is for heading us off, and getting to windward. If she +gets to windward of us—Lord, but I scarce think she will."</p> + +<p>He said a word of preparation to the man at the tiller, and then gave a +few quick orders from the break of the poop. In half a minute the <i>Heart +of the West</i> headed out on an easy tack. When every sail was drawing to +his liking, he returned to the girl.</p> + +<p>"How glorious!" she cried. "A good horse, a singing pack, and an old fox +make but slow sport compared to this."</p> + +<p>"We are the fox on this hunting morning," smiled Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"With teeth," she hinted.</p> + +<p>He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was shouldering the wind on the +new course. He looked at the girl.</p> + +<p>"Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, "and soon we'll be gnashing +them."</p> + +<p>Though the <i>Heart of the West</i> sailed well, to windward, the big craft +astern sailed even better.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing +blue water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure coast to leeward, +made a fine picture under the white sun. As the stranger drew near and +nearer, excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old Trowley bawled +to be set free, that he might not die in the sail-locker like a rat in a +hole. Tom Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt an inch +shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and powder, and was for opening fire at +an impossible range. Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, and +took her forward to a place of greater safety in the men's quarters.</p> + +<p>Along either side of the after-cabin of the <i>Heart of the West</i> ran a +narrow passage. Each passage ended in a blind port, and behind each port +crouched a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing ship. Now +Kingswell blessed the day that a youthful love of warlike gear and a +heart for adventure had led him to add these pieces to the armament of +his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, how Master Trowley had +growled at the delay caused by getting the great guns aboard and +partitioning off the passage. Even his mother had urged him to put more +faith in the great ship which the king was so gracious as to send to +Newfounde Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> But +Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his way; and now he thanked the +gods of war for it.</p> + +<p>Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their models and rigging and +the laws of nature would allow. They went about often on ever shortening +tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it is safe to say that +her seamanship was no better. Suddenly she luffed until her sails +quivered, and from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with inner cores of +flame. Both shots flew high, and fell ahead of the quarry in brief +spouts of torn water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of the +merchantman opened up, and the sinister muzzles of the guns were run out +with a gust of English cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed +defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and clung to the leaping +waves.</p> + +<p>Kingswell felt the deck jump under his feet. His pulses leaped with the +good planks. "Hit!" he cried—and sure enough, one of the enemy's upper +spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tottered desperately, and +then swooped down on the clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour +later the <i>Heart of the West</i> was spinning along on her old course, and +far astern the stranger lay to and nursed her wound.</p> + +<p>Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> opened in the sheer brown +face of the cliffs, and the people of the <i>Heart of the West</i> caught a +glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. Then the rocky portals +seemed to close, and the spray flew like smoke along the unbroken +ramparts. The ship was put about, and again the magic entrance opened +and shut.</p> + +<p>"I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. "Ye needn't wait for no +duff-headed pilot."</p> + +<p>So the stout ship went 'round again, with a brisk shouting of men at the +braces and a booming of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the +sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and the battery on Signal +Hill. She raced at the towering cliff as if she would try to overthrow +it with her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught his breath. +Beatrix looked away, so fearful was the sight of the unbroken rock that +seemed to swim toward them with a voice of thunder and the smoking surf +along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom Bent were mad. But the boatswain +gripped the big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked an eye +aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, of a sudden, the narrow +passage of green water, spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the +walls of rock slid aside and let them in.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">IN THE MERRY CITY</span></h2> + +<p>The <i>Heart of the West</i> was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside +the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the +great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant +welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress +Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a +subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never +have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new +arrival carried such a passenger.</p> + +<p>"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink +his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the +worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe."</p> + +<p>He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix +shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the +dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> facings of his +coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular +fancy is for the Church."</p> + +<p>The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to +think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the +combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. +Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Ay, we have a parson—a ranting old missionary," replied the +lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the +marriage service."</p> + +<p>"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell.</p> + +<p>The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He +was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish +countenance.</p> + +<p>"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in +the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled +good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at +Mistress Westleigh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were +brother and sister."</p> + +<p>The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, +and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was +of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds +and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if +he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. +His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike +those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for +his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair +with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box +to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant +made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and +cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated +his name and degree.</p> + +<p>"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, +extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me +more than once in his great house in Bristol,—ay, and treated the poor +sailor like a peer of the realm."</p> + +<p>Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> a brief account of Sir +Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, +and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort +was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its +whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered +plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief +engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress +Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor +was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He +murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in +England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well +do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh—ay, the +young lady's mother—bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, +and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And +she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death +that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil."</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness.</p> + +<p>"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, +and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour +day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, +I can assure you."</p> + +<p>"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in +his staring eyes.</p> + +<p>Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, +the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. +John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception +Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return +within the week.</p> + +<p>"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress +Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good +housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but +we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a +touch of gaiety."</p> + +<p>His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little +settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the +governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There +were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right +and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating +parties on the harbour, and outings among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> the woods and natural gardens +that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin.</p> + +<p>The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of +her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude +village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the +harbour was her humble and devoted servant.</p> + +<p>Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always +merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant +England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the +garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade +on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the +grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but +seemed to uncover.</p> + +<p>On the eighth day after the arrival of the <i>Heart of the West</i> in the +harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the +boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the +state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy +persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, +after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a +pun on his willingness to marry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> her. The sally of wit was received by +the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so +far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog.</p> + +<p>The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's +house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers +of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many +more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i>, where +sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the +commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the +forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon +farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the <i>Heart of the +West</i> down the harbour and through the Narrows.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA</span></h2> + +<p>The wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, brown barren, gray marsh, +and black wood, which had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable +to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. With the return of +summer, the dark adventurer and the Beothic girl deserted their inland +retreat, and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts far into the +Atlantic. The crown of that cape affords an uninterrupted view to +seaward and north and south across the waters of two great bays. A fire +at night, or a column of smoke in the day, glowing or streaming upward +from that vantage place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing +ship at a distance of many miles.</p> + +<p>The journey proved a long and trying one, through swamps and barrens, +and over rock-tumbled knolls. Streams were forded, lakes +circumambulated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> Through it all, +the native girl, Miwandi, kept a brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, +however, was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy at times. The +hardships of that wild existence had begun to tell on his body, and the +loneliness to fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress Westleigh +had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving only a mean desire for the +salve of revenge with which to soothe his injured pride. He would wound +her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear oppressed him that his men might +have forgotten his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the two +seasons of silence, to continue their cruising of those northern waters +throughout June and July, as he had commanded. But that doubt only +troubled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his subordinate +buccaneers of the <i>Cristobal</i> was not to be questioned seriously, for it +had been tested in many tight places. Comradeship often forms as trusty +ties between the hearts of pirates as between the hearts of honest +gentlemen. Once grown beyond the temptations of greed and treachery, it +is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for their messmates.</p> + +<p>It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck of the <i>Cristobal</i> +(with Miwandi, of course), and to appear, some fine day, before the +little fort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, the +buildings to the torch, and to carry the English beauty away with him. +He felt that his passion for the proud lady might be easily and +pleasantly refired. But he made no mention of Mistress Westleigh to +Miwandi, the Beothic girl.</p> + +<p>After more than a week of hard travelling, the two ascended the wooded +ridge which runs seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim +cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set up their lodge. At the +extremity of the headland, high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and +noddies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones that lay +about. Completed, it looked like an altar reared by some benighted +priesthood to the gods of the wind and the sea. But no such thought +occurred to its architect. His case was too desperate to allow his mind +to indulge in such whimsical fancies.</p> + +<p>While the woman went in quest of food—fish, flesh, or fowl, what did it +matter which?—the man gathered wood and piled it near the queer hearth. +He worked without intermission until Miwandi returned from her foraging +with a string of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a modest fire +within the rough walls of his furnace, and helped the girl clean and +cook the fish. By that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> time the glow of the afternoon was centred +behind the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the sea; but as +yet the atmosphere held no suggestion of dusk. No sail broke the wide +expanse of dark blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'east a +whale breached and blew its little fountain of spray across the still +line of the horizon. D'Antons and Miwandi noted these things as they +ate, but made no comment upon them.</p> + +<p>For several days after the arrival of the two upon the overseeing +headland, D'Antons made no other use of his furnace than for the cooking +of meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for the walls protected +the flame from the ever-flying winds that prevailed over that exposed +spot. The adventurer knew that he was early for the <i>Cristobal</i>. Several +sails were detected; but of them the only heed taken was the precaution +of blanketing the little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The +Frenchman did not desire a visit from fishermen of any nationality +whatever. He might find it difficult to explain his presence in so +unfavourable a spot for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they +would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, what reason could he +give for wishing to stay in his cheerless camp? So he lay low and +watched the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> passing of more than one stout craft without a sign.</p> + +<p>The time arrived when he must set his signals, despite the risk of +attracting unwelcome visitors. So he closed the front of the furnace +with a boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped with damp +moss and punk, and then laid a large, flat stone over the opening in the +top of the unique structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed a +column of dense smoke to issue into the air, stream aloft and scatter in +the wind. By replacing the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding +that the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let the smoke stream +up, uninterrupted. The signalling would only be resorted to when a +vessel, which might possibly be the <i>Cristobal</i>, should be sighted. When +darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die down. A night signal was +unnecessary, as the <i>Cristobal</i>, should she keep the tryst at all, was +sure to make an examination of the cape by daylight. D'Antons' last +orders had been strictly and particularly to that effect.</p> + +<p>A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept by the fugitives on +the brow of the cape, and the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times +without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, attracted by the +smoke (which was due to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>D'Antons' tardy realization that the +approaching ship was not the <i>Cristobal</i>) altered her course, sailed +close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. D'Antons and Miwandi +had just enough time, with not a minute to spare, to roll up their +wigwam and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most valuable +belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of tangled spruces and firs. +The boat's crew was composed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from +suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow of the promontory with +fine hardihood, but once there did little but examine the marks where +the lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow the queer +fireplace. They believed that structure to be an altar, built to the +glory of some unorthodox god. Then they retraced their perilous way to +the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back to the ship. D'Antons +stole from his retreat and crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a +glow of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on her northward +course.</p> + +<p>Another week drifted along, and hope wavered in the buccaneer heart. His +gloomy moods began to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged him +to return to the inland rivers—to make peace with her people—to cease +his unprofitable staring at the sea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>"The sorrow of the great salt water has entered your heart," she said, +"and the moaning of it has deafened your ears to my voice."</p> + +<p>He did not turn his eyes from the undulations of the gray horizon. +"Would you have me rot in this place for the remainder of my life?" he +asked, harshly, in her language.</p> + +<p>The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and reproved her heart for +the image of a god it had set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from +its inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim symbol of hate; she +pressed her face to the coarse herbage, and tore the sod with her +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Miwandi! Come to me, little one," cried the man from the edge of the +cliff.</p> + +<p>Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest smoke. She sprang up +and ran to him. He drew her to his side, and with his right hand pointed +southward across the glinting deep.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Cristobal</i>!" he cried. "Good God, I'll stake my life on it!"</p> + +<p>So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of those unmistakable +topsails that his selfish affection for the woman lighted again. He +pressed his lips to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple +creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss.</p> + +<p>While the gray flake of sail expanded on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> horizon, Pierre d'Antons +and the woman hurriedly and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, +lit and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and rotten bark. The +thick pillar of smoke arose like a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. +Miwandi busied herself with breaking the wood to the required length and +carrying damp moss. For several minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend +in an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for a few seconds, let it +rise again, broke it again, and again let it stream aloft, +uninterrupted. He had signalled his name according to the code of the +<i>Cristobal</i>.</p> + +<p>The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager eyes of the watchers on +the cape. North, east, and south there was no other sail in sight. At +last three flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. The +question was read instantly by D'Antons, who returned to his fire and +interrupted the stream of smoke five times in quick succession. The +translation of that was "All's well. You may approach without danger."</p> + +<p>A message of congratulation appeared promptly against the bellying +foresail of the <i>Cristobal</i>; and the watchers saw the rolls of white +foam gleaming like wool under the forging of the bow.</p> + +<p>D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> <i>Cristobal</i>. Miwandi was +received without question. The acting commander of the ship was a +grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva,—a fellow steeped in +crime and uncertain of temper, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion +for D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness performed by the +Frenchman years before, in the town of Panama.</p> + +<p>Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and ready for the high +seas again. He asked no questions concerning his adventures until more +than one bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's +travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the best the cabin +lockers contained. Miwandi, too, was reclothed; and the beauty and +softness of the silks that were presented to her fairly turned her +little head. She did not know that the fair French lady for whom they +had been made, in gay Paris, and who had worn them only three months +ago, was somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between the Bahaman +reefs. She knew only that the texture and colours delighted her skin and +her eyes. So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the finery, +toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar fingers.</p> + +<p>In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his friend to close the +door. He had consumed a soup,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> and was still engaged with the wine. +Silva returned to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push +on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be sure that the door you +considered fastened is fastened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the +table and their heads close together, the more salient incidents of +D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness were rehearsed and keenly listened +to. Silva displayed a prodigious indignation at the story of the +captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress Westleigh. At word +of Sir Ralph's death (and the murder became a desperate duel in the +telling), a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. As to what +he heard of Kingswell—ah, but oaths in two languages were quite +inadequate for the expression of his feelings.</p> + +<p>"We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel—and the gizzard as well," +said he, and drank off his wine.</p> + +<p>"Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, darkly.</p> + +<p>Silva nodded, with a sinister leer.</p> + +<p>"So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade into everlasting +damnation," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in the attack," warned the +captain.</p> + +<p>So the <i>Cristobal</i> headed northward, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>evil-looking rascals of +her crew were informed that the morrow would bring them some work to +limber their muscles. The information was received with cheers, in which +hearty English voices were not lacking.</p> + +<p>However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape of the <i>Heart of the +West</i>, turned the danger away from the little fort.</p> + +<p>"She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, when he sighted the +ship. The old fever awoke in his blood. He longed for the old +excitement.</p> + +<p>"Give chase," he ordered. "The fort can well do without the honour of +our attentions for a little while."</p> + +<p>So the chase was carried on, as has been described in a previous +chapter, and went merrily enough for the <i>Cristobal</i> until the +unexpected shot from the stern of the quarry brought down her +foretopmast and its weight of sail. But before that had happened, +D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new clothes and a great hat, marked +Bernard Kingswell on the poop of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. He cursed like +a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship was crippled.</p> + +<p>"The fort may rot of old age in the midst of its desolation," he cried +to Silva, "for what I would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>A few days later, with their spars repaired, they picked up a small +fishing-boat, and learned from the skipper that a great ship from the +north had entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing the virtue of +precaution, they impressed the master and crew and scuttled the little +vessel. Then, with admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far to +seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that hospitable port.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE</span></h2> + +<p>The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked +back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the +cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so +radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at +the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips.</p> + +<p>"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more.</p> + +<p>Both were brave in marriage finery,—she in a pearl gown of brocaded +silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he +in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's.</p> + +<p>They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple +rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the +wilderness to the wide east.</p> + +<p>Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind +bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like +polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts +(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates +wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the +days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook +(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked +in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as +bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a +dawning repentance in his sullen blood.</p> + +<p>An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and +stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, +which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days +preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his +wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His +tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures +anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of +his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> he had been named +"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather +than of dreams.</p> + +<p>"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried +Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why +should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great +houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for +villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as +Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater +than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you +have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were +brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they +were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country."</p> + +<p>"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you +may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens +have been guilty of ingratitude."</p> + +<p>Beatrix patted the moralist's arm.</p> + +<p>"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with +doubt? Only if he climbs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain +soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as +ourselves."</p> + +<p>Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell +and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the +rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of +the jibs. The second mate was with him.</p> + +<p>"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent +on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate +saw it and answered it.</p> + +<p>"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, +"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered +Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both +watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. +Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the +glory of England."</p> + +<p>He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news +with an inward <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was +for him.</p> + +<p>"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he +asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," +she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety.</p> + +<p>He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He +felt them tremble against his.</p> + +<p>"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and +hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability +of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They +held that the <i>Heart of the West</i> could make a better fight on her +present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or +another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm +their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair +astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, +and put gunnery out of the question.</p> + +<p>"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we +equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that."</p> + +<p>So the <i>Heart of the West</i> held on her course under a press of canvas.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they +went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called +the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their +breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked +up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully.</p> + +<p>"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the +stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made +merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your +lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have +already encountered. My husband,—your captain,—like a true-bred +English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has +promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' +time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of +her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this +brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my +word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can +give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God +and for England."</p> + +<p>She looked down at them, smiling divinely.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman.</p> + +<p>Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and +great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in +the sunlight.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, lady," they roared.</p> + +<p>She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands.</p> + +<p>"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of +the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes.</p> + +<p>The <i>Heart of the West</i> held on her course, breaking the waves in +fountains from her forging bow. The <i>Cristobal</i> raced down upon her with +the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the +merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> every man was at his post, and the +matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second +mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate +stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each +measured and calculated the brisk approach of the <i>Cristobal</i> with +unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the +speed of the wind.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p><p>Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of +the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across +his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done +to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an +order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal. +The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good +ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the +vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart. +Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging +shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The +smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon +the enemy. The <i>Cristobal</i> fell off before the wind in an unaccountable +manner. The <i>Heart of the West</i> luffed, in the hope of bringing her +heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manœuvre could not be +accomplished, and flew about on her old course.</p> + +<p>"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks +and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked +God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>manacled wrists against the +bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the +fight.</p> + +<p>From that first exchange of round-shot, the <i>Heart of the West</i> escaped +without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the +pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high +between the upper spars of the merchantman. The <i>Cristobal</i>, however, +was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third; +for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the +deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of +hers.</p> + +<p>Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails +gave her over her enemy, the <i>Heart of the West</i> raced after the +buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard +guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more, +she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target +of the <i>Cristobal's</i> starboard side. The range was middling; but, even +so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings +and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high +sails above the <i>Cristobal</i>, and with a flapping and rending, the +mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p><p>Now the disabled, tillerless <i>Cristobal</i>, kept before the wind by a +great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled +wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and +Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i>, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell +the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons.</p> + +<p>"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with +a grim smile.</p> + +<p>For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will, +pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining +but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two +of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where +their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie +Stone.</p> + +<p>In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word +that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings.</p> + +<p>"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook. +Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy. +"Cast him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an +English sailor man."</p> + +<p>Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the <i>Cristobal</i> struck the +teakwood rail of the <i>Heart of the West</i> amidships. A flying splinter +whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat +across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter +and cheers.</p> + +<p>"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one.</p> + +<p>Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the +ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that.</p> + +<p>"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand +in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and +remember only your actions of to-day."</p> + +<p>Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's.</p> + +<p>"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am +in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would +you suggest?"</p> + +<p>Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her +aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">OVER THE SIDE</span></h2> + +<p>With a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling of spars, the +merchantman's larboard bow scraped along the enemy's side. +Boarding-irons were thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a yell, +the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, and hurled themselves upon +the mongrels who clustered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the +air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met with a softer +resistance. Screams of rage and pain, and shouts of grim exultation, +rang above the conflict.</p> + +<p>Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the thickest of the press, and +laid about him with such desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the +buccaneers hustled each other to get out of his way.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, in the waist of the <i>Cristobal</i>, encountered D'Antons, and +claimed him for his own. As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began +the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>wilderness. Kingswell +heard it without comment. The tumult about them gradually subsided, as +man after man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. Sail was +shortened on both vessels, and the victors, sound and wounded alike, +gathered about the two swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of +the watchers. The rough fellows understood that their captain had an old +score to settle with the buccaneer. They were fascinated by the +lightning play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of foot and +hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons snarled an insulting taunt at his +adversary, they cursed softly. When their captain pricked the pirate's +shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration went through them. So intent were +they on the fight that they failed to notice the approach of Miwandi, +the Beothic woman, until she was in their midst. But they became aware +of her presence when she screamed with rage and flung herself upon +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a futile grab at the mad +figure.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon colouring, wrenched himself +clear of her, avoided the slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged +through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched forward so suddenly and +heavily that the rapier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The +hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out between D'Antons' +shoulders a full two-thirds of its length. He sprawled on his face, +gulping his last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon knocked +spasmodically on the red planking of the deck. The woman, stunned with +grief, was led away by two of the seamen.</p> + +<p>By the time the duel was over, the long, northern twilight was drawing +to a close. The decks of the <i>Cristobal</i> were cleared of the dead bodies +and the wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was partially +repaired; a few sails were set; and the shattered tiller was replaced. +The prisoners (wounded and bound together, they did not number a dozen) +were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of seven, under the first +mate's command, went aboard the <i>Cristobal</i>. Then the boarding-irons +were cast loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to a safe +distance.</p> + +<p>Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove to comfort her, but failed +signally. Her position was evident enough to every one who had seen her +frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter with Kingswell. +Beatrix guessed the story. Her face burned at remembrance of her +one-time companionship with D'Antons—of the days before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> she fully knew +his nature, and often sat at cards and chess with him in the little +cabin in the wilderness—and of the days before that, when he was one of +her admirers in London. Even now she did not know him for her father's +murderer. Kingswell had decided to keep that to himself, until some day +in the happy future, when the wilderness should be fainter than the +memory of a dream in his wife's mind.</p> + +<p>For three days the ships kept within sight of each other. On the fourth, +a gale of wind drove them apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the +prize, for she had received no serious damage to her hull in the bitter +encounter that had befallen on his wedding-day.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> the wounded improved daily; the prisoners +cursed their irons and their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope +without a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, promoted from +imprisonment to the position of second mate, worked like a Trojan, and +Beatrix and Bernard sped the hours in the high and golden atmosphere of +love and youth. The Beothic woman, however, felt no response in her +heart to the stir and happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a +desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was weary of the sequence of +day and night, night and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, +without rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were deaf to words of +comfort, even when they were spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She +asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, at sight of her +lover's danger, she accepted the will of her pitiless gods without signs +of either anger or wonder.</p> + +<p>One still night, when the waves rocked under the faint light of the +stars without any breaking of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to +swell the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was startled from +his reveries by a splash close alongside. He called to the officer of +the watch, who had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. They +scanned the sea on all sides and listened intently. They saw only the +black, vanishing crests. They heard only the whispering of the ship on +her way.</p> + +<p>"A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with him.</p> + +<p>In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered to be empty,—no trace of +her was found alow or aloft.</p> + +<p>The remaining days of the passage slipped by without any especial +incident. Winds served. Seas were considerate of the good ship's +safety<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>. No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward voyage. Every +night there was fiddling in the forecastle and the chanting of rude +ballads. And sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, as if the +very heart of happiness were under the sounding-board, and Love himself +in the strings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE MOTHER</span></h2> + +<p>Dame Kingswell, the widow of that good merchant of Bristol whom Queen +Elizabeth had knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and looked +down upon a pleasant garden beneath the window. She was alone. Her +garments, though of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore no +personal ornaments save two rings on her left hand, and a chain of gold, +bearing a small cross of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair +was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black as her husband's had +been flaxen. Her complexion held scarcely more colour than her hair. On +her knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly illuminated about the +margins, lay open. But her thin hands were folded over the page, and her +gaze was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time was early evening. +The sunlight was mellow gold. The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the +lawns threw eastward shadows.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>The chamber in which the widow sat was large and scantily furnished. A +few portraits, by masters of the brush, hung along the walls. A +prayer-desk, with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner.</p> + +<p>A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady turned her eyes from the +bright garden below her window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful +girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger advanced quickly, in +a whispering of silks, and in her glowing hands took the widow's +bloodless fingers.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, "I fear my memory is flitting. +I do not recall your winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir +Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young lady in London?"</p> + +<p>The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale hands lightly and +prettily.</p> + +<p>"My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured.</p> + +<p>The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, in vain, to connect this +lovely creature with any branches of the late knight's family.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she queried. "Pray do not kneel +there, my dear. Come sit in the window and tell me who you are."</p> + +<p>But the stranger did not move.</p> + +<p>"I am your daughter," she said. "And—oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> do not swoon, my +mother—Bernard is at the door, awaiting your permission to enter."</p> + +<p>The widow closed her eyes for a second, leaning back in her chair. She +recovered herself swiftly and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was +now standing, ready to run to the door and admit her husband.</p> + +<p>"What story is this?" she cried, incredulous. "I have no daughter. And +Bernard, my son, has lain dead in a far land these weary months."</p> + +<p>"Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. "Nay, he is not dead. But let me go +to the door, and you will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your +threshold, happy and well."</p> + +<p>The older woman maintained her hold of her visitor's gown. "And who are +you, to bring me word of my son's return?" she asked, with a ring of +shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, she feared that she was +affording sport to some heartless person; for this sudden tale of her +son's safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken upon her +pensive reveries like an impossible scene out of a play.</p> + +<p>"I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an effort, she pulled her skirts +away from the clutching fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it open, +she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> to where his mother sat, and +caught her up from her chair against his breast. With a glad, +inarticulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung +hysterically.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Five days after the arrival of the <i>Heart of the West</i>, the <i>Cristobal</i> +sailed into port. By that time the story of her capture was well known +in the town, and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to welcome +her. Master Kingswell put her up for sale. In the end, he bought her +himself, for something more than she was worth. Every penny of the money +Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who had fought and sailed their ship +so valorously on her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and wayward +master mariner, John Trowley, failed to show himself for a share of the +gold. He had not the courage to run a chance of another meeting with +Lady Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad Ouenwa, something is +written in the old records in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the +little fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some chroniclers +maintain that the French overpowered it; others are as certain that the +settlers moved to Conception Bay, and there established themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> so +securely that, even to-day, descendants of those Triggets and those +Donnellys cultivate their little crops, cure their fish, and sail their +fore-and-afters around the coast to St. John's.</p> + +<p class="center space-above">THE END.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44387 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/44387-h/images/cover.jpg b/44387-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3dbec6c --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/44387-h/images/dec.jpg b/44387-h/images/dec.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ba4ad9 --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-h/images/dec.jpg diff --git a/44387-h/images/i004.jpg b/44387-h/images/i004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7bed49 --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-h/images/i004.jpg diff --git a/44387-h/images/i007.jpg b/44387-h/images/i007.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3de0bdb --- /dev/null +++ b/44387-h/images/i007.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6991009 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #44387 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44387) diff --git a/old/44387-8.txt b/old/44387-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..644f298 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/44387-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7795 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Brothers of Peril, by Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brothers of Peril + A Story of old Newfoundland + +Author: Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +Illustrator: H. C. Edwards + +Release Date: December 8, 2013 [EBook #44387] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +_WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS_ + +_The Red Feathers_ _$1.50_ +_Brothers of Peril_ _1.50_ +_Hemming the Adventurer_ _1.50_ + + +_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_ _New England Building, Boston, Mass._ + + +[Illustration: "A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS +WILDERNESS"] + + + + +Brothers of Peril + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + +By + +Theodore Roberts +_Author of_ "Hemming, the Adventurer" + +_Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards + +[Illustration: Logo] + +_Boston_ L. C. Page & Company _Mdccccv_ + + +_Copyright, 1905_ +BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY +(INCORPORATED) + +_All rights reserved_ + +Published June, 1905 +Second Impression, March, 1908 + +_COLONIAL PRESS +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U.S.A._ + + + + +Preface + + +During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of +Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings, +selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain, +and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular +battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought +together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory, +was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire--and let +fame go hang! + +The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde +Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. +Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the +aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the +settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was +the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place +remain for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates, +the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships +with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of +founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God, +England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or cripple +the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were +powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of +the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble +fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow +at the inscrutable wilderness. + +The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were +the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first +vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a +greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It +was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to +each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped +into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of +the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of +the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion, +and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless to say, it was +a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers. + +In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the +peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable +signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the +loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the +fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered +priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we +read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the +natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring +shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England, +Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly +treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is +recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in +fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of +his motley captivity. + +Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in +1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a +kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he +says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their +hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow." + +As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions. +An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that +her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that +time--something over a hundred years ago--the race numbered between one +and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water +to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian +Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had +reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a +lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou. +One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant +of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the +interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first +day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the +world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of +one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained +fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago. + +To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears +stories of grassy circles beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams +once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the +turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is +forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded. + +In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in +the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short +years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren, +shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no +mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of +fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than +the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and +women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them +to-day. + +T. R. + +_November, 1904._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + I. A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME 1 + + II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER 9 + + III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 16 + + IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 24 + + V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR 34 + + VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER 43 + + VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE 56 + + VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA 65 + + IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION 73 + + X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX 83 + + XI. THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER 94 + + XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION 104 + + XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE 116 + + XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING 126 + + XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE 133 + + XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF 140 + + XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH 148 + + XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS 156 + + XIX. TWO OF A KIND 164 + + XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER 174 + + XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN 183 + + XXII. BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS 190 + + XXIII. BETROTHED 200 + + XXIV. A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN 207 + + XXV. FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT 217 + + XXVI. PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST 227 + + XXVII. A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS 233 + +XXVIII. THE RUNNING OF THE ICE 241 + + XXIX. WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY + RECEIVES A VISITOR 252 + + XXX. MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF 264 + + XXXI. WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED 273 + + XXXII. THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS + BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED 279 + +XXXIII. IN THE MERRY CITY 287 + + XXXIV. PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, + AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA 294 + + XXXV. THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE 306 + + XXXVI. OVER THE SIDE 317 + +XXXVII. THE MOTHER 323 + + + + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME + + +The boy struck again with his flint knife, and again the great wolf tore +at his shoulder. The eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. +Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. The dark spruces stood +above them, with the first shadows of night in their branches; and the +western sky was stained red where the sun had been. Twice the wolf +dropped his antagonist's shoulder, in a vain attempt to grip the throat. +The boy, pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a dog, and +repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into the wolf's shaggy side. + +At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf lay stretched dead in +awful passiveness. His fangs gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws +and black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet wilderness from the +recesses of the half-shut eyelids. + +For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the fingers of his left hand +buried in the wolf's mane, and his right hand a blot of red against the +beast's side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went down to the +river and washed his mangled arm and shoulder in the cool water. The +shock of it cleared his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the +current to his middle, stooped to the racing surface, and drank +unstintingly. Strength flooded back to blood and muscle, and the slender +limbs regained their lightness. + +By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the paler background of the +eastern sky. A long finger-streak of red, low down on the hilltops, +still lightened the west. A purple band hung above it like a belt of +magic wampum--the war-belt of some mighty god. Above that, Night, the +silent hunter, set up the walls of his lodge of darkness. + +The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of the sky. He might read it, +knowingly enough, for the morrow's rain or frost; but beyond that he +gave it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set about the +skinning of it with his rude blade. He worked with skill and speed. Soon +head and pelt were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his arrows +and bow, he flung the prize across his shoulder and started along a +faint trail through the spruces. + +The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead away from the river by +hummock and hollow; and yet it cunningly held to the course of the +stream. Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed over in the +tree-tops. The voices of the rapids smote across the air with a deeper +note. As the boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, and +sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms silent as shadows faded away +from his path, and questioning heads were turned back over sinewy +shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf and they smelt the +man. They knew that there had been another violent death in the valley +of the River of Three Fires. + +After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, following a path which less +primitive eyes could not have found, the boy came out on a small meadow +bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wigwams, made of birch +poles, bark, and caribou hides, stood about the meadow. In front of each +wigwam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of much wood. The +meadow was almost an island, having the river on two sides and a shallow +lagoon cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of alder-grown +"bottom" by which one might cross dry-shod. The whole meadow, including +the alders and a clump of spruces, was not more than five acres in +extent. + +The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and threw the wolfskin +down before the fire. There he stood, straight and motionless, with an +air of vast achievement about him. Two women, who were broiling meat at +the fire, looked from the shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart +stripling. They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and +admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes appeared frightful enough +in the red firelight, even in death. + +"Ah! ah!" they cried, "what warrior has done this deed?" + +"Now give me my man-name," demanded the boy. + +The older of the two women, his mother, tried to tend his wounded arm; +but he shook her roughly away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. +Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of great names. A +stalwart man, the chief of the village, strode from the dark interior of +the nearest wigwam, and glanced from his son to the untidy mass of hair +and skin. His eyes gleamed at sight of his boy's torn arm and the white +teeth of the wolf. + +"Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the women. "Wolf Slayer," he +repeated; "let this be his man-name--Wolf Slayer." + +So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, at the age of fourteen +years, a warrior among his father's people. + +The inhabitants of that great island were all of one race. In history +they are known as Beothics. At the time of this tale they were divided +into two nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from one another, +breaking the old bond of blood. Each tribe was divided into numerous +villages. The island was shared pretty evenly between the nations. Soft +Hand was king of the Northerners. It was of one of his camps that the +father of Wolf Slayer was chief. + +Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond his generation. For more +than fifty years he had held the richest hunting-grounds in the island +against the enemy. His strength had been of both head and hand. Now he +was stiff with great age. Now his hair was gray and scanty, and +unadorned by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The snows of eighty +winters had drifted against the walls of his perishable but ever defiant +lodges, and the suns of eighty summers had faded the pigments of his +totem of the great Black Bear. Though he was slow of anger, and fair in +judgment, his people feared him as they feared no other. Though he was +gentle with the weak and young, and had honoured his parents in their +old age and loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest warrior +dared not sneer. + +The village of this mighty chief was situated at the head of Wind Lake. +On the night of Wolf Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson +arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three Fires. They +travelled in bark canoes and were accompanied by a dozen braves. The +grandson of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's age. He was +slight of figure and dark of skin. His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer +of strange things, and a maker of songs. He and Wolf Slayer sat together +by the fire. Wolf Slayer held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's +eyes, and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time Ouenwa listened +attentively, smiling and polite, as was his usual way with strangers. +But at last he grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to listen, +in peace, to the song of the river. How could he understand what the +rapids were saying with all this babbling of "knife" and "wolf" in his +ears? + +"All this wind," he said, "would kill a pack of wolves, or even the +black cave-devil himself." + +"There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf Slayer, glancing up at the +trees. + +"There is a mighty wind blowing about this fire," said Ouenwa, "and it +whistles altogether of a great warrior who slew a wolf." + +"At least that is not work for a dreamer," retorted the other, sullenly. +Ouenwa's answer was a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows of +the fire. + +At an early hour of the next morning the great chief's party started +up-stream in their canoes, on the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours +Soft Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's hundred questions. +He had grown somewhat moody in the last year. He gazed away to the +forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded not the high piping +of his dead son's child. His mind was busy with thoughts of the events +of the past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's voice with a +shake of the head. He recalled the sullen smouldering of that stalwart +chief's eyes. He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging craft +beside him. + +"I grow old," he murmured. "The voice of my power is breaking to its +last echo. My command over my people slips like a frozen thong of raw +leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the dull brain of him?" + +The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and warm. The mists drew +skyward and melted in the gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, +across the brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down-bent wings, +skimmed the pebbly shore. A kingfisher flashed his burnished feathers +and screamed his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead of the +voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of the great chief's approach. + +"Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the boy who killed the wolf," +said Ouenwa. + +The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin face was sombre with more +than the shadow of years. + +"Nay," he replied. "His is no empty cry. Beware of him, my son!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER + + +Montaw, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the head of a small bay. His +home was half-wigwam, half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered +with the hides of caribou and partly with a square of sail-cloth, which +had been given him by a Basque fisherman in exchange for six beaver +skins. The walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. Here and +there were signs of intercourse with the strangers out of the Eastern +sea,--an iron fishhook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished +copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was justly proud, for had he +not acquired them at risk of sudden extinction by the breath of the +clapping fire-stick? + +The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth he had been a hunter of +renown and a great traveller, and had sojourned long in the lodges of +the Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that people,--and she had +given him laughter in return for his devotion. Journeying back to his +own hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. At once all his +skill and bravery had been turned to less open ways than those of the +lover and warrior. In little more than a year's time he had driven the +tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even now as he sat before the door +of his lodge, he was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the +fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows he made of jasper, and +some of flint, and some of purple slate. Those of slate would break off +in the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's pets. + +One day a young man from the valley of the River of Three Fires brought +Montaw a string of fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For awhile +they talked together in the sunlight at the door of the lodge. + +"For the chase," said the old man, "I make the long shape of flint, +three fingers wide, and to this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an +arrow will hold in the side of the running deer, and may be plucked out +after death." + +"I have even seen it, father," replied the young man, in supercilious +tones; for he considered himself a mighty hunter. + +"For the battle," continued the arrow-maker, "I chip the flint and +shape the narrow splinters of slate. All three are good in their way if +the bow be strong--and the arm." + +The old craftsman made a song. It was rough as his arrow-heads. + + + "Arrows of gray and arrows of black + Soon shall be red. + What will the white moon say to the proud + Warriors, dead? + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + So, with the skill of my hands, I shape + Arrows of hate. + + "Fly, my little ones, straight and true, + Silent as sleep. + Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow, + What shall I reap? + + "Sorrow will come to their council-fires. + Weeping and fear + Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge, + Year after year. + + "When the moon rides on the purple hills, + Joyous of face, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the chase. + + "When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows + Like a red star, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the war. + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse + Battle and hate!" + + +One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking seaward, his trained +ears caught the sound of a faint call from the wooded hills behind. He +did not turn his head or change his position. But he held his breath, +the better to listen. Again came the cry, very weak and far away. + +"It is the voice of a woman," he said, and smiled grimly. + +Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the east faded into the +desolate gray of the sea. Black, like stalking shadows, stood the little +islands of the headlands. The last of the light died out like the heart +of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again came the cry, whispering +across the stillness. + +"It may be the voice of a child, lost in the woods," said the +arrow-maker. He rose from his seat and entered the lodge. He blew the +coals of his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the burnt ends +of faggots. Then he took in his hand another of his Eastern prizes--a +broad-bladed knife--and started across the tumbled rocks toward the edge +of the wood. Though old, he was still strong and tough of limb and +courageous of heart. Sure and swift he made his way through the heavy +growth of spruce. Once he paused for the space of a heart-beat, to make +sure of his direction. Again and again was the piteous cry repeated. + +The old man kept up his tireless trot through underbrush and swamp, and +displayed neither fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a +narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into the shadow of a clump of +firs. He lay close, and breathed heavily. By this time the moon had +cleared the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilderness. In the air +was a whisper of gathering frost. The water of the little river twisted +black and silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore it, with a +voice of agony. + +The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old craftsman questioned the +farther shore with a gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be something +wrong with the shadows. A bent figure slipped down to the edge of the +stream where the water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and knees +and crawled to the black and unstable lip of the tide. Again the cry +rang abroad, thin and high above the complaining tumult of the current. +The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the stream. At the edge of +the spinning eddy he found a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung +to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare and rounded arm. The +arrow-maker lifted her against his shoulder and bathed her face in the +cool water until her eyelids lifted. + +"Chief," she whispered, "pluck out the arrow." + +He shook his head. His trade was with battle and death, but it was half +a lifetime since he had felt the gushing of human blood on his hands. + +"Father," she cried, faintly, "I pray you, pluck it out. The pain of it +eats into my spirit. It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and +noiseless--and I heard not so much as the twang of the string." + +The old man held her with his left arm. With strong and gentle fingers +he worked the arrow in the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. +Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot touch of it across his +fingers. He had dwelt so long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed +blade came away from the wound, and he clutched it in his reeking palm. +The woman sobbed with mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped into +the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes. + +"It is none of my making," he said. + +He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Returning to her he bound her +shoulder with his belt of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, +he again forded the flashing current of the complaining river. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW + + +Even while the arrow-maker carried the wounded woman, arrows of the same +shape as that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threatening the +little village on the River of Three Fires. For days several war-parties +from the South had been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser +villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft Hand, and possessing +his hunting-grounds. It was a laggard of one of the smaller bands that +had wounded the woman. She had been far from her lodge at the time, +seeking some healing herbs in the forest, and he had fired on her out of +fear that she had discovered him and would warn her people. In her pain +and fright, she had wandered coastward for several miles. + +Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew down toward the little +meadow. Clouds were over the face of the white October moon. A cold mist +floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders, lying low among the +alders at the edge of the clearing, could see the unguarded people +moving about their red fires. There was a scent of cooking deer-meat in +the chill air. The chief of the attacking party lay on the damp grass +and peered between the stems of the alders. He smiled exultantly. A +quick slaughter, and then to a feast already prepared. He and his braves +had enjoyed but poor fare during their long march. + +So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the cooking fires, and turn +to Wolf Slayer. Late of that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in +quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed deserted, and in less +than an hour after his valorous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep +on a warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river flashed in front, +and on three sides brooded the crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun +had set, and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, was red as +fire--or blood. Down-stream, about two hundred yards distant, a sombre +bluff thrust its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at this, and +his eyes widened with dismay. Then they narrowed with hate. Out of the +shelter of the rocks and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came +figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip-deep, shoulder-deep, into +that molten glory. Then they swam; and the ripples washed back from +gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. One by one they stole +from the shadow, swam the radiance, and again sought the shadow. + +The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage had their fingers on him. +Spellbound, he watched close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of +the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the shelter of the trees. +He was old enough to know what this meant, and his heart hurt him with +its pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. He was dismayed +at the sound of his own breathing. He heard the distant rapping of a +woodpecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and the soft breath +of a dying wind; and the familiar sounds filled him with awe. And yet, +but for these sounds, the whole world might be dead and the forest +empty. Thought of the hundred fighting men moving steadily upon the +unguarded homes of his people, with no more warning than the sound of a +swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. But presently the courage +that had helped him slay the wolf came to him, and he thought of the +glory to be won by saving the threatened village. He did not strengthen +his heart to the task for sake of his mother's life and the lives of his +playmates; but because the warriors would call him a hero. Keeping just +within the edge of the woods, he moved up-stream as speedily as he might +without making any sound. He came upon a brown hare crouched beside a +clump of ferns. He might have touched it with his hand, so unaware was +it of his presence. He passed beneath an alder branch whereon perched a +big slate-gray jay. It was not a foot from his back as he crawled under, +and it did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to make sure that +he was not a fox. Sometimes he lay still for a little, listening. He +heard nothing, though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. Twilight +deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. The moon sailed up over the +hills, and long banners of cloud passed across the face of it. + +Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the fires of the village. The +red light flashed on the angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in +darkness. He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely breaking the +calm, black surface. Then he swam, without noise of splashing, and +landed at the foot of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled into +the red circle of one of the fires, and told his news to the braves +gathered around. Men slipped from fire to fire. Without any unwonted +disturbance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, with a fierce +shout and a flight of arrows, the alders were attacked. The invaders +were checked at the very moment of their fancied victory. + +The fighting scattered. Here three men struggled together in the +shallows at the head of the lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and +sank into the black depths. In the open a half-score warriors bent their +bows. Among the twisted stems of the alders they pulled and strangled, +like beasts of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs and +knives, feeling for one another in the dark. Their war-cries and shouts +of hate rang fearfully on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along +the valley. + +In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought like a man. His lack of +stature saved him from death more than once in that fearful encounter. +Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed him altogether, as he +stumbled and bent among the alders. At first he fought with a long, +flint knife,--the work of the old arrow-maker. But this was splintered +in his hand by the murderous stroke of a war-club. He wrenched a spear +from the clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went down before his +unexpected lunge. It rolled over; then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. +An arrow from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled its shaft +among the dry twigs, and struck a glancing blow on the young brave's +neck. He stumbled, grabbing at the shadows. He fell--and forgot the +fight. + +In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wigwams were overthrown, and +about the little fires warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the +encampment was cleared, and saved from destruction; and those of the +invaders who remained beside the trampled fires had ceased to menace. +Along the black edges of the forest ran the cries and tumult of the +struggle. Spent arrows floated on the lagoon. Red knives lifted and +turned in the underbrush. + +Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to the lodges of his people. +Other warriors were returning. They came exultant, with the lust of +fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode arrogantly. Some +crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. Some staggered to the home fires and reeled +against the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer circle of +light. And many came not at all. + +The chief, with a great gash high on his breast (he had bared arms and +breast for the battle), sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of +alders, and at last, returning to the disordered camp, found Wolf +Slayer. With a glad, high shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his +arms and carried him home. The mother met them at the door of the lodge. +In fearful silence the man and woman washed and bound the young brave's +wound, and watched above his faint breathing with anxious hearts. + +"Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn of the dark trail," +whispered the mother. "See, our fires are bright to guide you back to +your own people." + +"Little chief, though this battle is ended, there are many good fights +yet to come," whispered the father. "The fighters of the camp will have +great need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old bear grumbles at +the mouth of his den!--will you not be with us when we singe his fur?" + +"Hush, hush!" cried the woman. + +The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his spirit from the dark +trail. + +"I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, "and the hunting-song +of dead braves was in my ears." + +Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and strength. Not once--not even +at the edge of Death's domain--had his arrogance left him. It seemed +that the days of suffering had but hardened his already hard heart. Lad +though he was, the villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon +them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the camp. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST + + +In the dead of winter--in that season of sweeping winds and aching +skies, when the wide barrens lie uncheered of life from horizon to +horizon--Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. They followed +in the "leads" of the great herds of caribou, going partly for the meat +of the deer and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the Southern +enemy. At the head of this party went Panounia, chief of the village on +the River of Three Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf +Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. Grim tales were told +around the big fire at night. The evil thing which Panounia hatched, +with his bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by night. The hearts +of the warriors were fired with the shameful flame. They dreamed things +that had never happened, and wrought black visions out of the +foolishnesses of their brains. + +"The bear nods," they repeated, one to another, after the chief had +talked to them. "The bear nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. +But for Panounia, surely the men of the South would have scattered our +lodges and led us, captive, to the playgrounds of their children and +their squaws. Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, for is not +our Great Chief an old woman himself?" + +So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, the foxes barked at his +power. The moon heard it, and the silent trees, and the wind which +carries no messages. + +About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft Hand, decided to make a +journey of many days from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the +Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern invasion. His eyes +longed for a sight of the edges of the land and the breast of the great +waters beyond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour of mighty wooden +canoes walled higher than the peak of a wigwam, and manned by +loud-mouthed warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. Some +wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, hinted that the +strangers were gods. He told many wonderful stories to back his +argument. Soft Hand nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head. + +"Would gods make such flights for the sake of a few dried fishes and a +few dressed pelts of beaver and fox?" he asked. + +"The gods of trade would do so," replied the wiseacre. "Also," he added, +"they slay at great distances by means of brown stakes which are +flame-tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced." + +"But do these gods not fight with knives--long knives and short?" +inquired the lad. "I have heard it said that they sometimes fall out +over the ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do." + +"And what wonderful knives they are," cried the old gossip. "They are +coloured like ice. They gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning +against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, and the red blood +follows the edge as surely as the rains follow April." + +"I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, "and in my heart I pray +that they be but men, for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless +companions to our people." + +At that Soft Hand looked up. "Are the seasons not arranged to your +liking, boy?" he asked, quietly. + +"Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; "but strange men promise +better and safer company than strange gods." + +Now he was journeying toward the ocean of his dreaming and the ports of +his desire. His eyes would search the headlands of fog. Out of the east, +and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes of the strangers. But the +journey was a hard one. The boy's only companion was a man of small +stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief could well spare. They +took their way down the frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food +and sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind came out of a +steel-blue sky, unshifting and relentless. The dry snow ran before it +over the level surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across their +path. At the approach of night they sought the wooded shore, and in the +shelter of the firs built their fire. + +During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but a cheerless companion. He +had no heart for any adventure that might take him beyond the scent of +his people's cooking-fires. He considered the conversation of his young +master but a poor substitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant +fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncomforted. He hated the +weariness of the march and dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of +the wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, the voice of some +evil spirit. The barking of a fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. +The howl of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping of a hare in the +underbrush was enough to shake his poor wits with fright. But he feared +the anger of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so held to +Ouenwa and his mission. + +On the third day of the journey the blue sky thickened to gray, the wind +veered, and a great storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes were +large and damp. The travellers turned aside and climbed the bank of the +river to the thickets of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they +broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves a shelter in the heart +of the wood. Into this they drew their sledge of provisions and their +sleeping-bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they could +find--dead twigs and branches, tree-moss and birch bark--and, with his +ingenious contrivance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a blaze. +They roasted dried venison by holding it to the flame on the ends of +pointed sticks. Each cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. All +creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was not a sound save the +occasional soft hiss of a melting snowflake in the fire. The storm +became denser. It was as if a sudden, colourless night had descended +upon the wilderness, blotting out even the nearer trees with its reeling +gray. The old retainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm from +between his bony knees. His eyes fairly protruded with superstitious +terror. + +"What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The awe of the storm was creeping +over his courage like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The +old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa drew closer to him, and +heaped dry moss on the fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle +of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall. + +"Hark!" whispered the old man. Yes, it was the sound of muffled +footsteps, approaching behind the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The +boy's blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. He clutched his +companion with frenzied hands. The fear of all the devils and shapeless +beings of the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling snow loomed a +great figure. It emerged into the glow of the fire. + +"Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with relief. For their visitor was +nothing more terrible than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them +cordially, and told them that, but for the glow of their fire, he would +have been lost. + +"But what are you doing here--an old man and a child?" he asked. + +Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity, and his intention of +dwelling with the great arrow-maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn +wisdom. + +"Then are we well met," replied the other, "for my lodge is not half a +spear-throw from the lodge of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a +father to me since the day he saved my wife from death. Now I hunt for +him, and work at his craft, and have left the river to be near him. My +children play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and meat. Truly +the old man has changed since the return of laughter and friendship to +his lodge." + +The stranger's name was Black Feather. He was taller than the average +Beothic, and broad of shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and +one lock of it, which was worn longer than the rest, was plaited with +jet-black feathers. His garments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins +that reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers of dressed leather, +and leggins and moccasins of the same material. Around his waist was a +broad belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcupine quills. His +head was uncovered. + +Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, and replied, good-naturedly, +and at great length, to the youth's many questions. He told of the +high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen four of these monsters +swinging together in the tide, with little boats plying between them, +and banners red as the sunset flapping above them. He told of trading +with the strangers, and described their manner of spreading out lengths +of bright cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks of strong +drink. + +"Their knives are edged with magic," he said. "Many of them carry +weapons called muskets, which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at +even a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might loose four arrows in +the time that they are conjuring forth the spirit of the musket." + +The storm continued throughout the day and night, but the morning broke +clear. The travellers crawled from their weighted shelter and looked +with gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After a hearty +breakfast, they set out on the last stage of their journey. Their +racquets of spruce wood woven across with strips of caribou hide sank +deep in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at every step. But +they held cheerfully on their way. Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot +Friend, the old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by which they +dragged the sledge passed over the right shoulder of each, and was +grasped in the right hand. After several hours of tramping along the +level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned toward the western +bank and led them into the woods. Presently, after experiencing several +difficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren beyond the +fringe of timber. They ascended a treeless knoll that rounded in front +of them, blindingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend grumbled +and sighed, and might just as well have been on the sledge, for all the +pulling he did. On reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept his +arm before him with a gesture of finality. "Behold!" he said. + +An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's lips, and +died--half-uttered. Before him lay a wedge of foam-crested winter sea +beating out against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and left were +sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave-washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, +and crouching headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness and +shortness of breath for the moment, and surveyed the outlook in silence. +It was many years since he had been so far afield. His little soul was +fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real nature reasserted +itself. He pointed with his hand. + +"Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of two lodges. Good!" + +Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear the old man's cry of joy. + +"I see the edge of the world," he said. + +"But the ships come over it, and go down behind it," replied Black +Feather. + +"That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was filled with his old +impudence at sight of the fire and the lodges. "No canoe would venture +on the great salt water. I say it, who have built many canoes. And, if +they voyaged so far, they would slip off into the caves of the Fog +Devils. I believe nothing of all these stories of the strangers and +their winged canoes." + +"Silence!" cried the boy, turning on him with flashing eyes. "What do +you know of how far men will venture?--you, who have but heart enough to +stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon." + +"I have brought you safely through great dangers," whined the old +fellow. + +Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his visitors cordially, and was +grateful for the kind messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the +gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge and education of Ouenwa. +He set the unheroic Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, +and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa the craft of chipping +flints into shapes for spear-heads and arrow-heads, and the art of +painting, in ochre, on leather and birch bark. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR + + +Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of +Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black +Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled +bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. +Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy +might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of +waters. + +At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many +ships--ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were +in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted, +and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the +English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, _Heart +of the West_. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, +and hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of +those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was +not long before every harbour had its admiral,--in every case the master +of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off +in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages, +whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich +harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting +of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching +the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the +strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the +sea. + +One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the _Heart of the +West_ ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old +craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without +fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on +the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They +displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a +few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the +Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem +of a pipe and blowing fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said +that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he +had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and +exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather +also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth, +a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the +strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted +and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them +places where they might anchor their ships--for it was none other than +Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and +the long sword at his side--surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his +quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was +Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His +father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death, +had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son +inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the +counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much +Ouenwa could detect at a glance. + +Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic. + +"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the +palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of +English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove +entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he +would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and +glinting horizon. + +"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath. + +"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell. + +"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!" + +Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a +keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest. + +"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat. +"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly. + +Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of +caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to +enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of +the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom +of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and, +before the other had time to notice the hesitation, he stepped within. +The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow +that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the +fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the +roof, the big lodge was unilluminated. + +"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against +the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For +answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared +smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre +place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great +bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of +his hand against the Englishman's breast. + +"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade." + +Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out +the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might +look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from +the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets +of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and +all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other +hand, he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to +explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, +however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another. + +After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing +longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, +and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called +to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. +Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the +_Heart of the West_ had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, +he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to +explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the +birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition +and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver +skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the +strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life +of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's +remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear +to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on +the following night. + +The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when +Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot +where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from +Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of +either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and +thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came +to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed +close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing +to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and +laughter were ripe aboard. + +For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. +Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, +with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping +oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under +the stem of the _Heart of the West_. A cheering glow of candle-light +yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a +level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard +Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and +argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail. + +Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, +and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear +the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could +understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and +the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. +Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The +old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his +great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board. + +"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who +be master?" + +"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied +Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips. + +"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, +glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. +"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or +afore the mast,--no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in +Newfoundland." + +"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of +these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me." + +"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman. + +"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand +as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the +table. + +"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, +would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed +above the overturned bottle and glasses. + +Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into +the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of +the head, and sent him crashing to the deck. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER + + +When Trowley recovered consciousness, he was lying in his berth, with a +bandage around his head. Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way +that the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as hate. + +"I hope you are feeling more amiable since your sleep," said Kingswell. + +Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, damned the rum, and asked the +time of day. His recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy +and fragmentary. + +In reply to his question the gentleman told him that the sun was well +up, the fog cleared, and that he was having his boat provisioned for the +coastwise exploration trip. + +"And mind you," he added, grimly, "that the eighty beaver skins which +are now being stowed away in my berth are my property." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. "An' may I ask how ye come by such a +power o' trade in a night-time?" + +"Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He grinned at the wounded skipper +for fully a minute, leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said: "I'll +now bid you farewell until October. Don't sail without me, good Master +Trowley, and look not upon the rum of the Indies when that same is red. +A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might lead to the gallows." + +He turned and nimbly scaled the companion-ladder, leaving the shipmaster +speechless with rage. + +Half an hour later the staunch little craft _Pelican_ spread her square +sail and slid away from the _Heart of the West_. She was manned by old +Tom Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clotworthy. Master Bernard +Kingswell sat at the tiller, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, +extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed amidships and covered +with sail-cloth. The sun was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled +them along at a clipping pace. From a mound above the harbour Black +Feather gazed after them under a level hand. In the little harbour +Trowley's ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others had run out to +the fishing-grounds,--for in those days the fishing was done over the +sides of the ships, and not from small boats. On either side the brown +shores fell back, and the dancing waters widened and widened. White +gulls screamed above and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy +breasts, and inquisitive eyes. + +Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt a great misgiving. But +Kingswell patted him on the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads +at him and grinned. + +Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, high-sterned vessels +rocked and bobbed under naked spars. The great business that had brought +them so far was going forward. Along both sides of every ship were hung +barrels, and in each barrel was stationed a man with two or more +fishing-lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were hauled up, +unhooked, and tossed to the deck behind. As the little _Pelican_ slid +by, the fishers paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their caps. +The masters shouted "God speed" from their narrow quarter-decks, and +doffed their hats. Kingswell waved them gracious farewells; Ouenwa gazed +spellbound toward the widening outlook; and Tom Bent trimmed the sail to +a nicety. + +They passed headland after headland, rocky island after rocky island, +cove after cove. The shores behind them turned from brown to purple, +and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher and the wind freshened. +Kingswell shaped the boat's course a few points to the northward. The +stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged like some less +playful creature. Spray flew over her blunt bows, and the sailors +laughed like children, and called her a brave lass, and many other +endearing names, as if she were human. + +"A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master Kingswell. The commander +nodded, and shifted the tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing +with the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, pale hair +streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, to pick out the course through +a group of small islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He gave +an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet sheet. But Ouenwa did not +share the high spirits of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling +got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. Kingswell glanced at +him. + +"Let it go, lad," he said. "A sailor is made in this way. Tom, pass me +along a blanket." + +With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfortable rest for the boy, and +helped him to a drink of water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold +on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the soaring and sinking +of the _Pelican_ were enough to unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As +for Ouenwa!--the poor lad simply clung to the gunwale with the grip of +despair, and entertained regretful, beautiful visions of level shores +and unshaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly. + +"The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. "Maybe, like as not, a swig +o' rum ud sweeten his bilge, sir." + +Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The rank liquor completed the +boy's breakdown. In so doing it served the purpose which Bent had +intended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, already half a sailor. + +When Ouenwa next took interest in his surroundings, the _Pelican_ had +the surf of a sheer coast close aboard on her port side. She was heading +due north. The sun was half-way down his western slope. Behind the +_Pelican's_ bubbling wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens +lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, and on the right hand, +loomed surf-rimmed islands and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering +yet unchanged hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent was now at the +tiller, and Kingswell was in the bows, gazing intently at the austere +coast. Ouenwa crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, under +the straining sail, and crouched beside him. His head felt light and +his stomach painfully empty, but again life seemed worth living and the +adventure worth while. + +About an hour before sunset the _Pelican_ ran into a little cove, and +her two grappling anchors were heaved overboard. She lay within five +yards of the land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa sprang into the +water and waded ashore. It was a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of +shingle, and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. But at the +base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, grew stunted spruce-trees +and birches. Ouenwa soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course +from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, in a shallow basin +at the foot of the rock, and from there spilled over into the +obliterating sand. + +By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy hacked down a couple of +armfuls of the spruce and birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a +fire. Then he filled a pot from the little well and commenced +preparations for a meal. The other seamen erected a shelter, composed of +a sail and three oars, against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a +convenient boulder, and the commander filled a long pipe with tobacco +and lit it at a brand from the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a +mood to further his young companion's education. Pointing to the roll +of Virginian leaf, from which he had cut the charge for his pipe, he +said, "Tobacco." Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his +comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old Tom Bent, who was watching +Clotworthy drop lumps of dried venison into the pot of water. + +"Boatswain," he said. + +Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term "able seamen," applied to +Clotworthy and Peter Harding. By that time the stew was ready for them. +They were all sound asleep, under their frail shelter, before the last +glimmer of twilight was gone from the sky. + +It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale flood of dawn illumined the +tent and the recumbent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. Tom +Bent and Harding were not in their places. The boy wondered at that, but +was about to close his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet by a +shrill cry that went ringing overhead and echoing along the cliffs. He +darted from the tent, with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. +Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of the beach, with their backs +to the sea, staring upward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces in +the same direction. They were amazed to see about a dozen native +warriors on the cliff above them, fully armed, and evidently deeply +interested in what was going on in the little cove. One of them was +pointing to the _Pelican_, and talking vehemently to the brave beside +him. In two of them Ouenwa recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his father, +the chief of the village on the River of Three Fires. He called up to +them, and asked what brought them so far from their village. + +"We are at the salt water to take the fish," replied Wolf Slayer, "and +we saw the smoke of your fire before the last darkness. But what do you +with the great strangers, little Dreamer?" + +"They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, "and I am voyaging with them to +learn wisdom." + +"What are you talking about?" asked Kingswell. + +The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent and provisions and then +to the boat. "Put in," he said. + +At a word from Kingswell the three sailors quickly dismantled their +night's shelter and carried the sail, the oars, and such food and +blankets as they had brought ashore, out to the _Pelican_. At that the +shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along the cliffs. + +"What does that mean?" inquired Kingswell. + +"Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly. + +"What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" called Wolf Slayer. + +"Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," Ouenwa cried back, with +indignation in his voice. + +"Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, my friend," replied Wolf +Slayer, "or you would not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe." + +Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded so dismally across the +dawn a few moments before, five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared +on the top of the cliff--for the cry was the hunting-call of the tribe. + +"Do you fish with war-bows?" shouted Ouenwa. "And why do you summon to +trade with the cry of the hunt?" + +"You ask too many questions, even for a seeker of wisdom," replied the +other youth, mockingly. + +"Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that the foxes bark with such +assurance?" retorted Ouenwa. + +By this time the _Pelican_ was ready to put out of the cove. Both +anchors were up, and Harding and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. +Old Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with something beside the mast. +Suddenly a bow-string twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the +sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone and, glancing out, +rattled against Harding's oar. Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into +the water. Above them, silhouetted against the lightening sky, they saw +bending bows and downward thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and +a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the warriors on the cliff. The +echoes of the discharge bellowed around and around the rock-girt +harbour. Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke and climbed +aboard, and the seamen pushed into deep water and then bent to their +oars. But the _Pelican_ proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt bows +and comfortable beam. She surged slowly beyond the cloud of bitter smoke +that the musket had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the +voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants--and, behold, the great +warriors were not to be seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as +if the incident were a fine joke; but Ouenwa was hot with shame and +anger. He stood erect and shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He +called upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cowardly faces. He +threatened them with the displeasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of +the English. A figure appeared on the sky-line. + +"You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. "Know you, then, that Soft Hand set +out on the Long Trail four suns ago, when he marched into my village to +dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great chief of the people. So +carry yourself accordingly, O whelp without teeth and without a den to +crawl into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of the totem of the +Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, +your father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling babe." He paused +for a moment, and held out a gleaming knife, with its point toward the +_Pelican_. "The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great lodge," he +cried. + +Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the cliff was lined with +warriors. Like a sudden flight of birds their arrows flashed outward and +downward. + +"Lie down!" cried Kingswell. With a strong hand he snatched Ouenwa to +the bottom of the boat. Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between +the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the naked mast, did not +move. The arrows thumped against plank and gunwale. They pierced the +cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and mast. One, turning from +the rail, struck Bent on the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not +look for the wound. His match was burning with a thread of blue smoke +and a spark of red fire. His clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an +impromptu swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the muzzle. + +"Steady her," he said, softly. "She's driftin' in." + +Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, thrust it to the bottom, +and held the boat as steady as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He +shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors above him. Tom touched +the slow-match to the quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A plume +of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound that shook the boat from stem +to stern, the gun hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of +hate. + +"Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from where he sagged against the +mast. The kick of his musket had hurt him more than the blow from the +arrow. + +Again the _Pelican_ fought her way toward the open waters, with Harding +and Clotworthy pulling lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and +joyful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, through which +the tide was running landward at a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading +his firearm. Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow in his left +hand and an arrow on the string. A breath of wind brushed the smoke +aside and cleared the view. Ouenwa pointed to the beach, and gave vent +to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others looked, and saw a huddled shape +of bronzed limbs and painted leather at the foot of the rock. + +"One more red devil for hell," muttered the boatswain. "I learned mun to +shoot his pesky sticks at a Bristol gentleman." + +As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from the mast, not six inches +from the old man's head. Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The +shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught the boy, and with +all the hate that was in his heart for the big murderer on the cliff. +Every man of the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the flight +of it. They saw it curve. They saw a warrior drop his bow from his +menacing hand and sink to his knees. + +"The wolf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own tongue. "The wolf bites the +moss. Who, now, is the wolf slayer?" + +The Englishmen cheered again and again, and the good boat _Pelican_, +urged forward by triumphant sinews, won through the channel and swam +into the outer waters. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE SILENT VILLAGE + + +As soon as the _Pelican_ was out of arrow-shot of the cliff, the +Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. +Then he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard from Panounia. +After a deal of questioning, sign-making, and mental exertion, the +Englishman gathered the information that treachery and murder had taken +place up the river, and that his young friend hated the new leader of +the tribe with a bitter hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He +looked at the young savage's flushed face and glowing eyes with sympathy +and admiration. His liking for the boy had grown in every hour of their +companionship, and, by this time, had developed into a decided fondness. + +"Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he said, with a light hand on +the other's knee. "Your enemies are my enemies," he continued, "and +we'll fight the dogs every time we see 'em." + +Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He was soothed by the evident +kindliness of Kingswell's tone and manner, though he had failed to +translate his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught the words, +however. They nodded heavily to one another. + +"Ye say the very word what was in my mind, sir," spoke up Tom Bent, +"an', if I may make so bold as to say further, your enemies be your +servants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's enemies must be our +enemies, holus bolus." The other sailors nodded decidedly. "Therefore," +continued Tom Bent, "all they cowardly heathen aft on the cliff has to +reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent an' the crew o' this craft." + +"Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with the smile that always won +him the heart and hand of every man he favoured with it,--and of every +maid, too, more than likely. "But we can't enthuse on empty stomachs. +Pass out the bread and the cold meat," he added. + +For fully two hours the _Pelican_ rocked about within half a mile of her +night's anchorage. Kingswell was not in a desperate hurry, and so his +men pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat clear of the rocks. +A sharp lookout was kept along the coast, but not a sight nor a sound +of the Beothics rewarded their vigilance. + +"They be up to some devilment, ye may lay to that," said Tom Bent. + +At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'east, and the square +sail was hoisted and sheeted home. Again the _Pelican_ dipped her bows +and wet her rail on the voyage of exploration. + +After two hours of sailing, and just when they were off the mouth of a +little river and a fair valley, a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for +running in, but Ouenwa objected. + +"Panounia follow," he said. "He great angry. Drop irons," he added, +pointing to the little anchors. + +"Panounia is wounded. You winged him yourself," replied Kingswell. "He +could not follow us around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming." + +Ouenwa considered the words with puckered brows. They were beyond him. +The commander pointed shoreward. + +"All safe," he said. "All safe." + +"No, no," cried the lad. "All kill. No safe." + +During this controversy the sail had been partly lowered, and the +_Pelican_ had been slowly running landward with the fog. + +Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the seamen with a smile of +whimsical uncertainty. + +"Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," remarked Tom Bent, with his +deep-set eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, +for a moment, on the ancient mariner. + +"Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, and was quickly stowed. +"Let go the anchors," he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the +gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and shut her off from land and +sky. With a last dreary whistle, the wind died out entirely. + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Master Kingswell, "but here is caution that smells +remarkably like cowardice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, +tobacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke was mingling with the +fog. The young commander leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, +like the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit of burning +Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, confined to the wealthy and the +adventurous. The seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, +watched their captain with open interest. When a puff was blown through +the nostrils, or sent aloft in a series of rings, they nudged one +another, like children at a show. By this time the walls of fog had made +of the _Pelican_ a tiny, lost world by itself. Suddenly Ouenwa raised +his hand. "Sh!" he whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from his +mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden river and valley. All +strained their ears, to wrest some sound from the surrounding gray other +than the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. But they could +hear nothing. + +"Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing landward. + +"But we saw no signs of a village," protested Kingswell, gently. + +"Village," repeated the lad. "Ouenwa hear. Ouenwa smell." + +Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff the fog, like hounds +taking a scent on the wind. But their nostrils were not the nostrils of +either hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. They shook their +heads. Kingswell wagged a chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. +The boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed indignantly. + +"Village," he whispered, shrilly. "Village, village, village." + +Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned leniently at the +determined boy. They had great faith in their own noses, had those +mariners of Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, sank +into a moody contemplation of the fog. + +"This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a half-hour of silence. +"Tom, pipe us a stave, like a good lad." + +The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. Presently he cleared his +throat with energy. + +"Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once were," he murmured, "but +I'll do me best--an' no sailorman can say fairer nor that." + +Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, +tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, +with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined +in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon +followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully +melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the +words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune +fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the +suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He +beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands +together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the +ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the _Teressa +Maria_ had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then +Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty. It +was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. +The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old +Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and +of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a +cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing +seaward and westward from the door. + +For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little +company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various +thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid +his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him. + +"Canoe," he whispered. + +The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated--a short rap, +like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all +heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting +out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and +whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. +That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the +hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned +to his seat at the tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla +rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on +his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly +and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and +into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss +of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief. + +The _Pelican_ drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes +and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded +a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and +Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great +matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the +curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the +short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In +the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. +Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and +began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and +peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but +could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing erect, discharged arrow after arrow +at the hidden enemy. + +The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell +passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to +lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the +names of his murdered father and grandfather. + +For a long and weary time the _Pelican_ lay off the hidden land, +shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the +west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the +coast and the open sky. + +"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are +going back to have a look at that village." + +The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the +savages for the fright in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A LETTER FOR OUENWA + + +Two headlands were rounded before the valley of the river opened again +to the eyes of the adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole down +and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten sea. The gradual hillsides, +green-swarded, basked in the golden light. The lower levels of the +valley were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of his habitation, was +disclosed to the voyagers. + +"A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. "I feel a desire stirring within me +to stretch my legs on that grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, +Tom?" + +The old fellow grinned. "'Twould be pleasant, sir, an' no mistake," he +replied--"a little walk along the brook, with our hands not very far +from our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' nater worship." + +The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand well within the mouth of +the river. Harding and Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on +guard, and the other three, fully armed, started along the bank of the +stream. They advanced cautiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of +bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher dropped from its perch above +the water and flew up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend of +the little river and halted short in their track with muttered +exclamations. Before them, on a level meadow between the brown waters of +the stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood half a dozen +wigwams. The place seemed deserted. They scanned the dark edge of the +wood and the brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, expecting to +catch the glint of hostile eyes at every turn. But neither grove nor +hill, nor silent lodge, disclosed any sign of life. + +"Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kingswell, thoroughly perplexed. + +Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half-circle. + +"Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. "Yes, watch us." + +"He means they are lying around looking at us," said Kingswell to the +boatswain. "Rip me, but I don't relish the chance of one of those +stone-tipped arrows in my vitals." + +Tom Bent glanced about him in visible trepidation. Ouenwa noticed it, +and pointed to the seaman's musket. "No 'fraid," he said. "Shoot." + +"What at?" inquired Bent. + +"Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the silent wood, dusky in the +gathering shadows. + +"He wants you to fire into the wood, and frighten them out," said +Kingswell. + +"If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," replied Tom. + +However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its support, aimed at the edge +of the forest beyond the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the +twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose and quivered in the air. +It was answered from the hilltops on both sides of the stream. + +Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was inside the nearest lodge. +Kingswell followed, and found him dismantling the couches and walls of +their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in the looting. Soon each +had all he could handle. They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, +with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward the _Pelican_. They had +rounded the bend of the river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet +them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an indignant whoop and leaped +into the air. His musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against a +stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their bundles and sprang to where +he lay, kicking and spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung +to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing wildly, and vowing +vengeance on the "heathen varment" who had pinked him. + +Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows of the wooded hillside, +and Kingswell hoisted the struggling boatswain to his shoulders and +continued his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged and implored +his commander to put him down, assuring him that he was more surprised +than hurt. But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and did +not release him until they were safe beside the _Pelican's_ bows. Just +then Ouenwa and the sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All +were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired only one arrow, when they +might have annihilated the little party with a volley? + +That night the _Pelican_ lay at anchor in the mouth of the river. Twice, +during the long, eerie hours between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke +his companions; but on both occasions the alarms proved to be false--the +splashing of a marauding otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding +trout. Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and the stream +lay as peaceful and deserted as on the preceding evening. The voyagers +ate their breakfast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared the +light mist from the water, they got up their anchor and rowed up-stream. +Harding and Clotworthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the commander +crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. +The current was strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the twirling +sinews of water. Little patches of spindrift, from some fall or rapid +farther up the river, floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed +beneath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and splashed on either +hand, and sent silver circles rippling to the toiling boat. A moist, +sweet fragrance of foliage and mould and dew filled the air. + +Soon the deserted lodges came into view, standing smokeless and pathetic +between the murmuring river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned +to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of the wigwams. They landed +without incident, and all walked toward the village, with their firearms +ready and their matches lighted. They explored every lodge and even beat +the underbrush. The dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons and +cooking utensils evidently during the night. A village of this size must +have possessed at least six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a +paddle, could they find. + +"All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, pointing up-stream. + +"What be this?" asked Tom Bent, limping toward Kingswell with an arrow +and a small square of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, +pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wigwams. Kingswell +examined it intently, and shook his head. + +"Pictures," he said. "I suppose it is a letter of some kind, in which +their wise man tells us what he thinks of us." + +Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly sketched figures, with +which it was covered, with a scornful twist of his face. + +"Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. "See! Very big! +Bear"--he touched another point of the missive and then tapped his own +breast--"see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He laughed shrilly, and +shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, no." + +"What be mun jabberin' about?" muttered Tom Bent. + +Kingswell explained that the bear stood for Ouenwa's family, and that +the wolf was the symbol of the people who had killed his grandfather. + +The _Pelican_ continued her voyage before noon, and all day skirted an +austere and broken coast. She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, +steering for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded many islands and +braved intricate channels. Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer +cape than any of the day's experience, and Kingswell, who had just +relieved Harding at the tiller, forsook the straight course and headed +up the bay. Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a sheltered +roadstead behind an island and just off a wooded cove. They lowered the +sail and rowed in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent the +night close to the tide, with their muskets and cutlasses beside them, +and the watch changed every two hours. + +Three days later the voyagers happened upon a ship. They ran close in to +where she lay at anchor, believing her to be English, and did not +discover their mistake until the little tub of a brig opened fire from a +brass cannonade. The first shot went wide, and the _Pelican_ lay off +with a straining sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended the +encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy fishing to get up anchor and +give chase. + +Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the incident. "It be the first +time," he said, "that I ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in +Newfoundland. One year I were fishin' in the _Maid o' Bristol_, in Dog's +Harbour, Conception, an', though we was last to drop anchor, an' the +only English ship agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, our +skipper said he were admiral--an', by Gad, so he were." + +But the valorous old mariner did not suggest that they put about and +dispute the admiralty of the little harbour which they had just passed. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION + + +In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly +natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a +bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master +Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three +weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh +until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the +dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the +science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the +malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young +caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was +close upon the end of September when the _Pelican_ again took up her +northward journey. + +Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of +gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the +natives, and he had heard stories of a French sailor having been +wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon +gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the +straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men +shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their +provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent. +So Kingswell headed the _Pelican_ southward. After a week of fair winds, +they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout +little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a +sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three +days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this +unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every +likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the +northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart +of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as +Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired +English helped to keep the company in good spirits. + +It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the +_Pelican_ threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to +the eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not +sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The +drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide. + +Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for +home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed +reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany +finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now +that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur +to him. + +"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us--an' we +are lucky not to be in such dirty company!" + +He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to +Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled +approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as +old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something +to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then--"By God," he cried, +"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty +company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with--with you all," he +finished, lamely. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young seaman with mute indignation +in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly. + +"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted +English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the +seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff +an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if +it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax +cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye." + +"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered +wag of his heavy head. + +Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a +thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further +attention. + +"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell, +cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to +Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the +snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old _Pelican_ right 'round to +St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad +enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the +privateers." + +Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried +venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old +philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone--gone utterly, and +only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood. +What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. +Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for +their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that +immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery. +So the storm-beaten, wave-weary _Pelican_ turned seaward again. + +Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm +of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of +some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by +the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy +river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears +like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew +it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay +at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came +the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and +slept. They were astir with the first gray lights, and before sunrise +were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost +sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and +fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a +fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark +current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across +their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and +swooped down and away. + +They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles--and hard +pulling it was--when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke +beyond a wooded bend. + +"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe +get killed?" + +He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm. + +"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the +stroke, lads--and, Tom, keep your match handy." + +At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and +peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight. +Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along +its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a +little settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the +chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer +azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small +high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung +like a dead body in the brown current. + +Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he +murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a +reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!" + +"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An' +real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain." + +At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of +the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the +river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little +_Pelican_. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself +and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune, +even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore. + +The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and +his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were +strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady +eyes, and herculean shoulders. They doffed their skin caps to the +gentleman adventurer. + +"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and +two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just +two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off +the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They +agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master +Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced +coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with +sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and +halted near by. + +"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys--father and son." With a +casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company. +He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him +affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John--John +Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He +bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed +individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget, +master mariner," he concluded. + +Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and again shook hands with the +elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few +courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them. +Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each +bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his +face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. +Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both +were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was +the taller and thinner of the two. + +D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the +others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget +immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand, +as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company. +Ouenwa and the seamen of the _Pelican_, and the Donnellys and young +Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors. + +"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they +crossed the level of frost-seared grass. + +"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my +strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head chief +of this country. His enemies--barking foxes who name themselves +wolves--pulled him down in the night-time." + +The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and +interest. The story was not news to them, however. + +"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure +enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' +burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when +the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections, +an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was +for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did +for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till +spring, I'm thinkin'." + +"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here +soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder +Donnelly, in guarded tones. + +"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew +plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over." + +Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed +suspiciously. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX + + +Inside the stockade, posted unevenly around three sides of a foot-worn +square, were five buildings of rough logs. From a platform in the +southeast corner two small cannon presented their muzzles to the river. +At the back of this platform, on the southern side of the square, stood +the Donnelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fifteen paces +across the front. Against the western palisade the Trigget cabin and +Captain d'Antons' habitation faced the square. On the north side stood a +fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. In the centre of the yard +bubbled a spring of clear water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook +sparkled away from it, under the stockade and down to the river. The +well was flanked on both sides by a couple of slim birches, now leafless +under the white November sun. + +The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and Skipper Trigget's wife +and daughter--both big, comely women--fed them with the best in the +little plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and Ouenwa were taken to +D'Antons' quarters. The Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and +took blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their couches. Also +he produced a flask of priceless brandy, from which he and Kingswell +pledged a couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The toast was +D'Antons' suggestion. + +Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that he had a matter of +business to attend to, and left his guests to their own devices. The +house was divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou hides, +which were hung from one of the low crossbeams of the ceiling. At the +end of each room a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small +windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre interior. Books in +English, French, and Spanish, a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a +neatly executed drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a table near one +of the windows. Antlers of stags, decorated quivers and bows, painted +hides, and glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the hearth in the +room in which Kingswell and his young companion sat, hung a musket with +a silver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and several knives and +daggers in beaded sheaths. On the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West +Indian shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the same sure metal, +and a heavy sword with a basket hilt hung above D'Antons' bed. + +Kingswell looked over the books on the table. He found that one of them +was a manual of arms, written in the Spanish language; another a work of +navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty thesis on the science and +practice of surgery; and the fourth was a volume as well-loved as +familiar,--Master William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." He took up +this last, and, seating himself with his shoulder to the window, was +soon far away from the failures and daily perils of the wilderness. The +greedy, hard-bitted materialist Present, with its quests of "fish," and +fur, and gold, was replaced by the magic All-Time of the playwright +poet. + +Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into every nook and corner, and +examining the shells, the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on +the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire to his hair, tried to +solve the mystery of the chimney--for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a +lodgeful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. He looked +frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of finding him open to questions, +but was always disappointed. At last the thought occurred to him that +it would be a fine thing to get hold of the great sword above the bed, +and make cut, lunge, and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how to +do on several occasions. So he climbed on to the bed, and, in trying to +clear the sword from its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the +floor. Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm across his body and +his hand on his sword-hilt, and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama +sprawled at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, in tones of +relief. "But you must not handle other people's goods, lad," he added, +kindly, "especially a gentleman's arms and armour." + +Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about to step from D'Antons' +couch to recover the head-piece, when D'Antons himself entered the +cabin. Kingswell turned to him and explained the accident. + +"My young friend is very sorry," he said, "and would beg your pardon if +he felt less embarrassed. However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so +intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watching him. He is +naturally of an investigating turn of mind." + +The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed his white teeth. "It is +nothing, nothing," he cried. "I beg you not to mention it again, or +give it another thought. The old pot has sustained many a shrewder whack +than a tumble on the floor. Ah, it has turned blades of Damascus before +now! But enough of this triviality! I have returned to request you to +come with me to our governor. Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him +to you, as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But he will make his +own apologies, Master Kingswell." + +He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to pass out before him. +Kingswell went first. As Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped +him sharply by the arm, and hissed, "Dog! Cur!" in a voice so low, so +sinister, that the boy gasped. But in a breath the Frenchman was his +affable self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still burning +his ears, almost believed that he had been the victim of some evil +magic. Kingswell caught nothing of the incident. + +Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master Kingswell was ushered into +the governor's cabin, and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The young +Englishman found himself in a dimly lit apartment very similar to that +which he had just left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and +narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. The Frenchman paused +at his elbow. Two figures advanced from the farther side of the room. +He ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace at his command, +for one of the figures was that of a young woman in flashing raiment. +The other was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little past middle +age, with a worn face that somehow retained its air of youthfulness +despite its haggard lines and faded skin. + +"Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kingswell," said the gentleman, +extending his hand and laughing softly. "This is indeed an unlooked-for +pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall--or was it at Beverly?" + +"Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, in a voice of ill-concealed +consternation and surprise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of +half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the other with wide +eyes. Then he caught the waiting hand in a firm grip. + +"Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly that we last met," he +said, evenly. He turned to the girl, who stood beside her father with +downcast eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet hastened to +make her known to the visitor. + +"My daughter Beatrix," he said. "A good girl, who willingly and +cheerfully shares her worthless father's exile." + +Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely hand, and Kingswell, +bending low above it, intoxicated by the sudden presence of beauty and a +flood of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim fingers with a +warmth that startled the lady and brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' +eyes. He recovered himself in an instant. "To see you in this +wilderness--amid these bleak surroundings!" he exclaimed, scarcely above +a whisper. "I cannot realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played at +racquets together in the court at Beverly." + +The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of understanding in her dark, +parti-coloured eyes. + +"I remember," she said. "You have not changed greatly, save in size." +And at that she laughed, with a note of embarrassment. + +"But you have," replied Kingswell. "You were not very beautiful as a +little girl. To me you looked much the same as my own sisters." + +For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his with merriment and +questioning in their depths. Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved +uneasily. + +"Come, come," he said, "we must not stand here all day, like geese on a +village green. There are seats by the fire." He led the way. "Captain, +if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some of Master +Kingswell's adventures," he added, turning to D'Antons. + +"With pleasure," answered the captain. + +"One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph Westleigh. "I have a +young friend--a sort of ward--whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run +over to the men and amuse himself with them." + +As he opened the door and spoke a few kind words to Ouenwa, there was a +sneer on D'Antons' lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. +It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all she could do to +restrain herself from slapping him--for hot blood and a fighting spirit +dwelt in that fair body. She wondered how she had once considered him +attractive. She blushed crimson at the thought. + +Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool between the governor of +the little colony and the maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa +was, and of the time the lad saved him from injury by flooring old +Trowley with his canoe paddle. Then he briefly sketched the voyage of +the _Pelican_, and told something of his interests in the fishing fleet +and in the new land. + +"And you found no indications of gold?" queried D'Antons. + +"None," replied the voyager, "but some splendid copper ore in great +quantities, and one mine of 'fool's gold.'" + +The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. "There are other kinds +of fool's gold than these iron pyrites, I believe," he said, "and one +finds it nearer home than in this God-forsaken--ah--in this wild +country." + +The others understood the reference, and even the polished Frenchman +looked into the fire and had nothing to say. Kingswell studied the +water-bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced piteously at her +father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's life had known much of fool's gold, +and much of many another folly, and something of that to which his +acquaintances in Somerset--and, for that matter, in all England--gave a +stronger and less lenient name. The baronet had lived hard; but his +story comes later. + +"I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," said Kingswell, presently. +"I did not know, even, that you were interested in colonization--and yet +you have been here a matter of two years, so Trigget tells me." + +"Yes, and likely to die here--unless I am unearthed," replied Sir Ralph, +bitterly, and with a meaning glance at Kingswell. "I put entire faith in +my friends," he added. "And they are all in this little fort on Gray +Goose River. My undoing lies in their hands." + +"Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but stoutly, "I hope your trust +has been extended to me,--yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any matter +of--of silence or the like--are our orders. My fellows are true as +steel. My friends are theirs. The young Beothic would risk his life for +you at a word from me." + +The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. He laid a hand on the +young man's knee and peered into his face. + +"Then you are a friend--out and out?" he inquired. + +"To the death," said the other, huskily. + +"And you have heard? Of course you have heard!" + +"Yes." + +"It is not for me to say 'God bless you' to any man," said Sir Ralph, +"but it's good of you. I feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. +I have forgotten my old trick of making pretty speeches." + +Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished that D'Antons, with his +polite, superior, inscrutable smile, was a thousand miles out of sight +of his embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But she did not look +at him. "God bless you--my fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice +so low that he alone caught the words. He had no answer to make to that +unexpected reward. For a little they maintained a painful silence. It +was broken by the Frenchman. + +"You understand, Master Kingswell, that, for certain reasons, it is +advisable that the place of Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from +the knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, slowly and easily. + +"I understand," replied Kingswell, shortly. Captain d'Antons jarred on +him, despite all his faultless and affable manners. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER + + +About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement +on Gray Goose River--Fort Beatrix it was called--the sky clouded, the +voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By +Trigget's advice--and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the +plantation--the pelts and gear of the _Pelican_ were removed to the +storehouse. + +"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your +plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye +couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper. + +"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell. + +Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he +answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out +o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to +spare for your men, what with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and +boat-buildin'." + +So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of +winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he +would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons +expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that, +Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit +him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from +agreeable to the French adventurer. + +When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still +falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil +of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred +by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting +wilderness. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal, +and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two +gentlemen had an hour of private conversation. + +"This Captain d'Antons--what of him?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago, +before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in +London. He was reported rich. He had sailed many voyages to the West +Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold +Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a +child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing +else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her +dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but +here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or +two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little +hand--and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, +lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my +trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all +the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring +voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for +land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A +boat-load of armed men left the pirate--yes, that's what she was, a damn +pirate--and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of +her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he +knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said +was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and +joined our expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with +his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung +to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show +his hoof now and again, I'd like it better--for then we would all be on +our guard." + +"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be +reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell. +"Has he a stake in the colony?" + +The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my +secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended +some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other +reason than that he is in love with my daughter." + +"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly. + +"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had +us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which +he now sues, he accepted my word of honour--mark you, he accepted what I +had scarce the face to offer--that I would not withstand his suit, nor +allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my +hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman." + +"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly. + +"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared +that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his +game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God +that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But +no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword +would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should +kill me, for my men hate him." + +"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell. + +"You do not understand--you cannot understand--how delicate a thing to +keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without +honour," replied the other, sadly. + +"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find +his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St. +John's." + +"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to +escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as +a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years." + +"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind +to it," retorted Kingswell. "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being +billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a +monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of +Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer." + +"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation, +even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I +have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but +that Time may shuffle the pack before long?" + +Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay +gowns--in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled--by which her girlish +beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a +brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were +bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and +dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and +skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To +all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched +her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her +gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner +of the bench by the hearth, gazed at this vision of loveliness with +wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons +and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the +Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a +woman--a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black +Feather's squaw--no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to +note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet. +She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. +But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members +of this flashing young divinity. + +"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the +dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the +great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any +more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked +upon such beauty and such raiment?" + +His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his +amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on +the bench. + +"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not notice you before. So you +are Master Kingswell's ward?" + +Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's +hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question. + +"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell. + +"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress +Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend." + +"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend." + +"And my friend, too?" asked the girl. + +"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so--so--like he called the sky one +morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell. + +"What was that?" she queried. + +"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling. + +"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa. + +Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said. + +"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very +provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss +Westleigh. + +"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles." + +The girl could not deny it, for the table was spread in the same +room,--a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a +fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had +been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard. + +The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china +dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well +served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all +was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence--potent magic enough to a +young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women +of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the +gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate +painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the +vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was +lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, +and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked +puzzled for a moment,--then confused,--then, with a little, +indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder. + +"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a +compliment for, oh, ever so long." She looked across the table at +Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and +darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MEDITATION AND ACTION + + +For hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, reviewing, in his restless +brain, the incidents of that crowded day. His couch was luxurious, +compared to the resting-places he had known since leaving the _Heart of +the West_; but, for all that, sleep evaded him. From the other side of +the hearth Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his alert ears. +He saw the yellow light blink to darkness above the curtain of skins, +when D'Antons extinguished his candle in the other apartment. The red +firelight rose and fell, dwindled and flooded high. The core of it +contracted and expanded, and a straight log across the middle of the +glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like something alive--like +something stirring between sleeping and waking, desiring sleep, yet +afraid to forsake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the hearth it +suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and starting in a deserted hall. +"What is it waiting for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. "What +does it fear? Mayhap the master and mistress are late at a rout, and are +people without consideration for the feelings of their servants." + +From such harmless imagery his mind slipped to the less pleasant subject +of Sir Ralph Westleigh. He recalled what he had seen and heard of the +days of the baronet's glory--of the great places near Bristol, with +their stables that were the envy of dukes, and their routs that lured +people weary and dangerous journeys--of the famous Lady Westleigh and +her jewels--of Sir Ralph's kindliness to great and small alike. His own +father, the merchant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in high +esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and later when a well-grown lad, +had experienced the hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the time +of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy with the baronet's +affairs. During Lady Westleigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. +After her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, and more of +it in distant London, and even in Paris. Stories went abroad of his +heavy gaming and his ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice +and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, working on him +physically to such an extent that he looked a different person when the +heat of the play was on him. Also it played the devil with him +morally--and perhaps mentally. So things took the turn and started +down-hill. Then the run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, +threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numerous clever checks and +parries to avoid disaster. There was a season of hope after the sale of +Randon. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then Beverly was +impoverished to the last oak and the last horse in the stud. The baronet +took his daughter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few merry +months. Then a certain Scotch viscount caught him playing as no +gentleman, no matter how dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman +made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. That was the last known +of Sir Ralph Westleigh and his daughter by any one of the outside world +until the _Pelican_ landed her voyagers before the stockade of Fort +Beatrix on Gray Goose River. + +All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts as he lay awake in +Captain d'Antons' cabin and watched the fire on the rough hearth fall +lower and lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born and bred to +such a different heritage, pained and fretted him more keenly than a +personal loss. The discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience were +accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though that was absurd, as +neither he nor his had helped Westleigh in his descent, nor cried out +against him when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had never, during +those two years after their disappearance, given them more than a +passing thought--and they had been friends and neighbours. He had +experienced no pity for the young and beautiful girl with whom he had +played in the racquet court at Beverly. Like the great world of which he +was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. Two lives, more or less, +were of no consequence in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the +realization of a great sin had come to him. Then, to the anger against +himself was added anger against the world that had dragged Sir Ralph +into this oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into exile. What +had she done to be driven beyond the bounds of civilization, her safety +dependent on the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there was the raw +spot, sure enough! In the little space of time between two risings of +the sun, Kingswell had met a man and marked him for an enemy. Nursing a +bitter, though somewhat muddled, resentment, he at last fell asleep, +guarded from storm and frost by the roof of the very man who had +inspired his anger. + +For the next few days matters went smoothly at Fort Beatrix. It was +evident to even the least experienced of the settlers that the winter +had come to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the frozen earth. The +river was already hidden under a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by +the snow that had mingled with the water while it was freezing. The +little settlement took up the routine of the dreary months. Axes were +sharpened at the great stone in the well-house. The men donned moccasins +of deerskin. They tied ingenious racquets, or snow-shoes, to their feet +and tramped into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud of the axes +jarred across the air, interrupted ever and anon by the rending, +splitting lament of some falling tree. + +Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's orders, and he and Ouenwa +spent much of their time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with +the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled and tireless woodsman, +led them on many weary marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the +caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from ten to one hundred +head, at the approach of winter; but a few remained in the sheltered +valleys. Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the habits of the +deer, and had laid in a supply of dried venison during the summer. +However, whenever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh meat +was enthusiastically received at the fort. Hares and grouse were snared, +as were foxes and other small animals. A few wolves and one or two +wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked safely away in their +winter quarters, and the beavers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, +the hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward for their toil. +But it was work that kept both their brains and sinews employed, and so +was of a deal more worth than the bare value of the pelts and dinners it +supplied. + +One day in early December, when Kingswell, D'Antons, the younger +Donnelly, and Ouenwa were traversing a drifted expanse of "barren," +marching in single file and without undue noise, they came upon another +trail of racquet prints. They halted. They regarded this unexpected +evidence of the proximity of their fellow man with misgivings--for snow +had fallen in abundance, and therefore the trail was new. They glanced +uneasily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir and mounds of +snow-drifted rock with anxious eyes. They strained their ears for some +warning sound--or for the twanging of bowstrings. They saw nothing. They +heard nothing but the disconsolate chirping of a moose-bird in a +thicket close at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail. + +"From the westward, and heading for the river," he said. "Then they are +not from the village on Gander Lake." + +"Big number," remarked Ouenwa. "Ten, twenty, thirty--don't know how +much! Whole camp, I think." + +"Ay," agreed Donnelly, "they sure has packed clear down through two +falls o' snow. Ye could trot a pony along the pat' they has made." + +"Are you on friendly terms with the savages?" inquired Kingswell of +Captain d'Antons. The Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his +lean shoulders. He was not one to speak unconsidered words. + +"Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people from Gander Lake," he +replied, presently. "That is, we have traded with them a number of +times, and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and through him with +old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand is dead now; and these fellows are +evidently from the West. Also, friendship means nothing where these +vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the breath of life to them." + +"Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. "Panounia no good for friend. +He is a murderer. He is a false chief. He make trade--yes, with +war-arrows from the bushes and with knives in the dark. In friendship +his hand is under his robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his +knife. Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch at a fire." + +D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. "There is a time for all things," he +said--"a time for oratory and another time for action. If you are +willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our steps as swiftly and +quietly as may be. It would be wise to warn the fort that a band of the +sly devils is abroad." + +Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker and flushed darkly. Kingswell +intimated his willingness to return immediately to Fort Beatrix by a +curt nod. It was in his heart to administer a kick to Captain Pierre +d'Antons, though just why the desire he could not say. They turned in +their tracks and started back along the twisting, seven-mile trail. +D'Antons led; and the pace he set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was +passed, with no other sound save those of padding racquet and toiling +breath. In the hollows their shoulders brushed the snow from the +crowding spruce-fronds. Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and +scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran. + +At last, all but breathless from the prolonged exertion, the hunters +turned aside from the path and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side +of a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. They crossed the +naked summit with painful caution, bending double, and taking every +advantage of the sheltering thickets. + +"The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons to Kingswell, as they +peered furtively out between the snow-weighted branches. "See! And the +savages are in cover along the river." It was quite evident to Kingswell +that the place had been attacked, and was now in a state of siege. The +platform in the southeast corner of the stockade was protected by +shields composed of bundles of firewood. Men whom he recognized as those +who had been working in the woods earlier in the day moved about within +the enclosure. The wide, snow-covered clearing that had been so spotless +when he had last seen it was trampled and stained here and there by dark +patches. Along the fringe of timber that shut the river from the +clearing, and extended to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner +of the stockade, a Beothic warrior would frequently show himself for a +moment, hoot derisively, and let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the +watchers on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William Trigget +above the shield of the gun-platform. The master mariner shaded his eyes +with his hand and seemed to be scanning the woods along the river and +then the timber in which his own comrades were concealed. He lowered his +hand and ducked quickly--and not a second too soon; for a flight of +arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few stuck, quivering, into the +pickets of the stockade, and many fell within the fort. + +Kingswell turned to D'Antons. "More of them than we thought," he said. +"There must have been a hundred arrows in that volley." + +Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. He did not look at his +companion, and his brow was puckered in lines of thought. If the +Englishman had been able to read the other's mind at that moment, a deal +of future trouble would have been spared him. However, as Kingswell was +but an adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no superhuman powers, he +was content with the Frenchman's nod, and returned his attentions to the +fort. + +Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above which Trigget had so lately +exposed his head, burst a flash of yellow flame, a spurt of white smoke, +and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. A spruce-tree shook in +the wood by the river, and cries of fear and consternation rang across +the frosty air. A score of savages darted from their cover and as +quickly sped back again. Flight after flight of arrows broke away and +tested every inch of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill +screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party of Beothics emerged +into the clearing and dashed for the palisade. They drew their bows as +they ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, with red feathers +in his hair and his right arm bandaged across his breast, Panounia +shouted encouragement and led the charge. They were half-way across the +open when the second cannon spat forth its message of hate. The ball +passed low over the advancing mass and plunged into the timber beyond. +For a second or two, the attackers wavered, a few turned back, then they +continued their valorous onset. They were already springing at the +palisade when the muskets crashed in their faces from half a dozen +loopholes. This volley was followed immediately by another. The savages +dropped back from their futile leapings against the fortification, hung +on their heels for a moment, clamorous and undecided, and then broke for +cover. They dragged their dead and wounded with them, and left +sanguinary trails on the snow. They were within a few yards of the +sheltering trees when one of the little cannon banged again. The ball +cut across the mass of crowded warriors like a string through cheese. + +"Now is our time!" exclaimed Kingswell. "Run for the gate, lads." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE + + +The returning hunters were promptly admitted to the fort. The little +garrison welcomed them joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the +moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they usually ignored. The +party had taken a hundred chances with death in the crossing of the +narrow clearing. Arrows had followed them from the fringe of wood along +the river, like bees from an overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been +scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from his head, pierced +through and through. A hail of missiles had clattered against the gate +as the good timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and chagrin, in +which Ouenwa's name was repeated many times, rang from the retreat of +the defeated warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. Ouenwa's +shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, lifted in Beothic insults. + +Sir Ralph himself was in command of the imperilled fortress. The +excitement had stirred him out of his customary gloom. His eyes were +bright, and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword was at his +side, and he held a musket in his hand. + +"That was their third attempt to get over the stockade," he said to +Kingswell and D'Antons. "They are filled with the very devil to-day. But +I scarcely think that they will come back for more, now that Trigget has +got his growlers into working order." + +"How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman. + +"Why, about three score of them marched up and said they wanted to come +in and trade," replied the baronet, "but, as they seemed to have nothing +to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget warned them off. Then they +went out on the river and began chopping up the _Red Rose_ and the +_Pelican_. At that we let off a musket, and they retired to cover, from +which they soon emerged with reinforcements and tried to carry the place +by weight of numbers." + +"Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that they are yelling?" + +"My name," replied Ouenwa. "They are my enemies." + +"Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this gentleman's battles for +him," remarked D'Antons, with an exaggerated bow to the lad. "Perhaps +this is the explanation of the attack." + +"I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. "They are surprised at +discovering him here. Also they are surprised and displeased at seeing +me again. They have smelled our powder before, as you have heard, I +think." + +"Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," replied the captain, +smiling his thin, one-sided, Continental smile. + +The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He turned on his heel without +any further words. Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence he +was bound for something to eat. + +Panounia and his braves retreated across the frozen river, and did not +show themselves again that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the +improvised gun-shields were repaired and strengthened, and the guns were +again got ready for action. In place of round shot, William Trigget +charged them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead. + +"When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short time, cut a wide swath," +he remarked to Tom Bent. + +"Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turning a hawk-like eye on the +dark edges of the forest. "Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil +make the hay. It be mun's own crop." + +At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Beatrix was looking from +the doorway of her father's cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, +sobbing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. All the bitterness +and insecurity of her position had come to her with overmastering force. +The sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, bedraggled hair, +as he leaned on his musket and talked with her father and the young +Englishman, had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed confusedly, +half her thoughts with the petitions which she made to her God, and half +with the desperate state of her affairs and the features and attitude of +the buccaneer. + +She was disturbed by some one entering the outer room. She recognized +the footsteps as those of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed +her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with skilful fingers, and +opened the door of her chamber. The baronet looked up at the sound. + +"Ah, lass," he said, "we've driven the rascals off. They have crossed +the river." + +With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the room. + +"I do not fear the savages," she cried. "Oh, I do think their knives and +arrows would be welcome." + +"Poor child! poor little lass!" he said, pausing beside her and kissing +her tenderly. "You have been weeping," he added, concernedly. "But +courage, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long months to come. His +fangs are as good as filed, shut off here and surrounded by the snow and +the savages." + +Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had dimmed the finer +conception of his promise to D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and +sighed. + +She laid her face against his coat and held tight to his sleeves. + +"I hate him," she whispered. "Oh, my father, I hate him for my own sake +as much as I fear him for yours. His every covert glance, his every open +attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, out of fear, I must smile and +simper, and play the hypocrite." + +"No--by God!" exclaimed Westleigh, trembling with emotion. Then, more +quietly, "Beatrix, I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is +hateful to me. I despise him. How such a creation of the devil's can +love you so unswervingly is more than I can fathom. I would rather see +you dead than married to him. There--I have broken my word again! Let me +go." + +He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught up his hat and cloak, +and left the cabin. He crossed over to the well-house, where some of the +men were grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly in their +simple talk of work, and battle, and adventure. Their honest faces and +homely language drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from him. +Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the group about the complaining +grindstone. + +"Come," said Sir Ralph, "and look at the cannon." + +He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa followed them. All three +ascended the little platform on which the guns were mounted, by way of a +short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were snugly covered with +tarpaulins that could be snatched off in a turn of the hand. + +"A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked the baronet. "Ay, he is +true as steel." + +He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one of the little cannon. "I +would trust him, yea, and his good fellows, with anything I possess," he +said, "as readily as I trust these growlers to his care." + +Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the wooded bluff that cut into the +white valley and hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the river. +From beyond the point, moving slowly and unsteadily, appeared a +solitary human figure. Its course lay well out on the level floor of the +stream, and the forest growth along the shore did not conceal it from +the watchers. It approached uncertainly, as if without a definite goal, +and, when within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered and fell +prone. + +"What the devil does it mean?" cried Sir Ralph. + +Kingswell shook his head, and questioned Ouenwa. The lad continued to +gaze out across the open. The sun was low over the western hills, and +its light was red on the snow. + +"Hurt," he said, presently. "Maybe starved. He is not of Panounia's +band." + +"How do you know that, lad?" asked the baronet. + +"I know," replied the boy. "He is a hunter. He is not of the war-party. +He is from the salt water." + +"He is usually right when he maintains that a thing is so, without being +able to give a reason for it," said Kingswell, quietly. "And, if he is, +it seems a pity to let the man die out there under our very eyes." + +"God knows I do not want any one to suffer," said the baronet, "but may +it not be a trick of this Panounia's, or whatever you call him?" + +"No trick," replied Ouenwa; and, without so much as "by your leave," he +vaulted over the breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the snow +outside the stockade. Without a moment's hesitation, Kingswell followed. +Together they started toward the still figure out on the river, at a +brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir Ralph recovered from his +astonishment. He quickly descended to the square, and, without +attracting any attention, informed William Trigget of what had happened. +Trigget and his son immediately ascended to the guns and drew off their +tarpaulins. "We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. They saw +their reckless comrades bend over the prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell +lifted the apparently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. +Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually over his shoulder. The +elder Trigget swore a great oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a +leathern palm. + +"Them's well-plucked uns," he added. + +The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. They were too intent on +the approach of the rescuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook +along the woods on the farther shore. But the enemy made no sign; and +Kingswell, Ouenwa, and the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in +safety. The stranger proved to be none other than Black Feather, the +stalwart and kindly brave who had built his lodge beside the old +arrow-maker's, above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. He was +carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with French brandy until he +opened his eyes. He looked about him blankly for a second or two, and +then his lids fluttered down again. He had not recognized either +Kingswell or Ouenwa. + +"Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame Trigget. "Whatever has mun +been a-doin' now, to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, too, +though he be a heathen, without a manner o' doubt." + +"Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but get some of your good +venison broth inside of him," said Master Kingswell. "That's a treatment +that would surely convert any number of heathen." + +While they were clustered about Black Feather's couch, D'Antons entered. +He peered over Dame Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably +surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beothic the centre of +attraction. + +"What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a comedy?" + +His tone was sour, and too bantering for the occasion. + +The baronet turned on him with an expression of mouth and eye that did +not pass unnoticed by the little group. + +"Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, coldly; "and we hope it +will not prove a tragedy." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING + + +Meals were not served in Captain d'Antons' cabin. The little settlement +possessed but one servant among all its workers, and that one was Maggie +Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The care of Sir Ralph's +establishment was all she could attend to. So the men who had no +women-folk of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame Trigget and +her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the Donnelly women. Kingswell and +D'Antons took their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were served by +themselves, with every mark of respect. Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and +Clotworthy shared the Donnellys' board. + +A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kingswell and D'Antons sat +opposite one another at a small table near the hearth of the Triggets' +living-room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French wine stood between +them. D'Antons took up the bottle, and made as if to fill the other's +glass. + +"One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand. + +The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set down the vintage. The +Englishman leaned forward. + +"Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a whisper, "a remark that you +made to-day seemed to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your +remark was in reference to the brushes between the _Pelican_ and a party +of natives during our cruise from the North. Before I take wine with you +to-night, I want you to either withdraw or explain your implication." + +While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed and calmed again. Now +his dark face wore an even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear +now of the expression of cynicism which so often marred them, held the +Englishman's without any sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand +returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered there. Lord, but the +drama lost an exceptionally fine interpreter when the high seas claimed +Pierre d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled--or was it the +wavering of the candle-light? + +"My friend," he said, softly, "how unfortunate am I in my stupidity--in +my blundering use of the English language. Whatever my words were, when +I spoke of having already heard of your fights with the savages, my +meaning was such that no one would take exception to. Did I use the word +heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what I meant. An Englishman +would have made use of a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have +refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I am unfortunate in my +heritage of French and Spanish blood--the blood that is outspoken both +for praise and blame." + +Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflicting emotions. His heart +told him the man was lying. His eyes assured him that he had been +grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the remark concerning the +skirmishes with the Beothics, but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. +His blood surged to his head, and whispered that he was a young fool to +be hoodwinked so easily. His brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity +for the handsome adventurer--for the love-struck buccaneer--went through +him. But it faded at remembrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the +fellow was playing with him. + +"Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, with a smile of infinite +sweetness and shy persuasion. + +With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman pushed forward his glass, +and the red wine swam to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly +cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. He had not the +courage to meet the Frenchman's look when they raised their glasses and +clinked them across the table. Lord, what a calf he was! + +Had he no will of his own? Did he possess neither knowledge of men nor +mother wit? Ah, but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed +face over his plate of stew. + +When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned to Black Feather's couch, +and D'Antons went over to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had +recovered consciousness and swallowed some of Dame Trigget's broth; +also, he had recognized Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in +his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak to disclose anything +of what had happened in Wigwam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. +He lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his quick, bright +eyes, which moved restlessly in questioning scrutiny of the strange +women and bearded men who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one of the +transparent hands and smiled assuringly. + +For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man he had rescued so +courageously from death by starvation. Then, feeling the heat of the +room and the confusion of his thoughts too much to entertain calmly, he +went out into the cold and darkness and paced up and down. All +unknowing, he kicked the snow viciously every step. He was still in a +perturbed state of mind and temper when William Trigget approached him +through the gloom and touched his elbow. + +"Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing close, "but what of that +Injun in there? Be he really sick, or be he playing a game?" + +"He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not playing a game," +replied Kingswell. "But why do you ask? The fellow is a friend of +Ouenwa's, and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors." + +"Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," said Trigget, "an' has +shammed sick just to get carried inside the fort. There be something +goin' on outside, for certain." + +"What?" asked the other. + +Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while standing under the +gun-platform, by a sound of scrambling outside the stockade. He had +crawled noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breastworks about +the guns. He had been able to distinguish something darker than the +surrounding darkness crouched against the palisade under him. The thing +had moved cautiously. He had detached a faggot from one of the bundles +beside him, for lack of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the +black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and the thing had vanished +in the night. + +"It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded Trigget. + +Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the face of this menace from +the hidden enemy. + +"The guards should be doubled," he said. "But come, we must let Sir +Ralph know of it." + +They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin and knocked on the door. +Maggie Stone admitted them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and +Mistress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud to her father by +the light of one poor candle. But the great fire on the hearth had the +place fairly illuminated. + +William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad weather, cool in any risk of +land or sea, was too abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his +story. So Master Kingswell told it for him. + +"The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph. + +"They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, breaking the spell of the +bright eyes that surveyed him. + +"That is well," answered the baronet. "There is nothing else to be done, +at least until morning, but sleep light and keep your muskets handy." + +Kingswell and the master mariner returned to the darkness without. + +"I will stake my word," said Kingswell, "that the place is surrounded by +the devils even now, and that they will try again to get a man over the +wall to unbar the gates." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE HIDDEN MENACE + + +Neither Kingswell nor Trigget found time for sleep that night. D'Antons +also kept awake, though he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His +candle burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a restless night beside +Black Feather's couch. From ten o'clock until two Tom Bent, John +Trigget, and the younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on their +hips and half-pikes in their hands--for a musket would have proved but +an unsatisfactory weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the +dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, another at the gate, and a +third on the roof of the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget moved +continually from one point to another. At two o'clock the elder +Donnelly, Clotworthy, and Harding relieved their companions. But the two +officers remained at their self-imposed duty. + +At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Kingswell, who had been +pacing the length of the riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed +with relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' cabin, when +William Trigget approached him at a run. The master mariner's face was +ghastly above his bushy whiskers. + +"Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily. + +Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and up to the roof, by way of a +rough ladder that leaned against the wall. There, on the outward slope +of the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, sprawled the body +of Peter Clotworthy. + +"What! Asleep!" exclaimed Kingswell, peering close. The light was not +strong enough to disclose the features of the recumbent sentinel. + +"Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied Trigget, "with no chance o' +wakin' this side o' the Judgment-Seat." + +"Dead?" cried the other, sinking to his knees beside the body. He +pressed his hand against the mariner's side, held it there for a moment, +and withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward the growing +illumination of the east, staring at it with wide eyes. "Blood," he +murmured. "Stabbed without a squeal--without a whimper, by Heaven!" Then +he ripped out an oath, and followed it close with a prayer for his dead +comrade's soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard Kingswell had a +hot and ready tongue--and a temper to suit, when occasion offered. + +The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on the roof of the +storehouse for some time. The light strengthened and spread on their +right, and, at last, gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing +and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow below them, which was +otherwise unmarked, they saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined +feet. The marks did not lead to or from the near cover of the woods, but +to the south, around the fort. The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's +murderer had approached close under the stockade, and, after his silent +deed of violence, had jumped a distance of about twenty feet, from the +roof of the store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, evidently +from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, smirched the snow where it +was broken by his fall. From there the steps returned by the same +course, but at a distance of about ten paces from the stockade. + +Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to the colourless, +distorted features of the dead seaman. Then his gaze met Trigget's +deep-set eyes. He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard line, as +if the frost had stiffened them. + +"Poor Clotworthy," he murmured, and swallowed as if his throat were +dry. "Poor devil, knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, +he was clubbed first and then knifed--felled and bled like an ox in a +shambles! Ten nights of this hellishness will account for the whole +garrison." + +With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that there'd be no ten +nights of it. + +They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, been animated by the +fearless spirit of Richard Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and +carried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other inmates of the +little settlement were deeply affected by the sight, and by Kingswell's +story. The younger men were for setting out immediately and driving the +Beothics from the woods on the far side of the river. But the wiser +heads prevailed against such recklessness, arguing that the only thing +to be done was to remain constantly on guard. The women wept. Ouenwa, +trembling with sorrow and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver +beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, in English and Beothic, +that he would avenge this murder as he intended to avenge the murders of +his father and his grandfather. + +The day passed without any sign of the hidden enemy. Kingswell slept +until noon. By evening Black Feather had recovered enough strength to +enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His lodge, and that of +Montaw, the arrow-maker, had been torn down by the followers of Panounia +shortly after the departure of the _Pelican_ from Wigwam Harbour. Montaw +had died fighting. Black Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and +carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife and children also had +been captured and maltreated. The ships in the bay had looked on at the +unequal struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. Upon +reaching the village on the river, Black Feather had been driven to the +meanest work--work unbecoming a warrior of his standing--and his wife +and children had been led farther up-stream, very likely to Wind Lake. +Black Feather had seen the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top of +a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He had bided his time. At +last he had gnawed the thongs with which his tormentors bound him at +night, and had safely made his escape. He could not say how long ago +that was. Days and nights had become strangely mixed in his desperate +mind. He had lived on such birds and hares as he had been able to kill +with sticks. Always he had kept up his journey, shaping his course +toward the salt water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who might +have remained loyal to the murdered chief. But he had met with nobody +in all that desolate journey, until, only the day before, he had +recovered consciousness in Fort Beatrix. + +That night, John Trigget was attacked at his post on the gun-platform, +and in the struggle that ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So +sudden and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark that he fought in +silence, only remembering to shout for help after the savage had +squirmed from his embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by Sir +Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his place. But daylight arrived +without any further demonstration on the part of the enemy. + +By this time the little garrison was bitten by a restlessness that would +not be denied. Even Kingswell and William Trigget were for making some +sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the river. D'Antons, contrary +to his habit, had nothing to say either for or against an aggressive +movement. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously awaiting development; +but, seeing the spirit of the men, he agreed that five of the garrison +should sally forth in search of the enemy. + +"Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," concluded the baronet, wearily, +"though what the devil you'll do with them then is more than I can +venture to predict." + +Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the cannon was taken from +the platform and mounted on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in +turn, was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fastened rammers and +mops and bags of powder and shot. The daring party was made up of Master +Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, and the younger Donnelly. +D'Antons did not volunteer his services on the expedition. The men were +all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and all save Ouenwa had +fastened steel breastplates under their coats. As they marched away, +Mistress Westleigh waved them "Godspeed" with a scarf of Spanish lace, +from where she stood in the open gate between her father and Captain +d'Antons. + +The little party moved down the bank and across the river slowly and +with commendable caution. Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a +sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Donnelly and Tom Bent +followed about ten paces behind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along +on the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which he feared far +worse than he did any number of Beothic warriors. The river was crossed +without accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's retreat. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE CLOVEN HOOF + + +Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping +with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain +d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a +summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After +closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end +of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, +but no warmth whatever. + +"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said. + +He smiled and approached her with every show of deference. + +"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good +baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the +world." + +The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced +the tears past her lids. Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought +that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to +speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but +a dry sob. + +D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat +clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I +have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond +peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and +attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite +unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. +She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced +him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands. + +The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and +amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth +took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked +the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly. + +"This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Beatrix," he said. + +"I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trembling. "Your presence is +distasteful to me." + +"A sudden turn," said he. "Now a month ago, or even a week ago, you +seemed of a different mind. As for the days of our first meeting in +merry London--ah, then your lips were not so unattainable." + +"I hate you," she murmured. "I despise you. I loath you. You taint the +air for me. Dog, to make a boast of having filched a kiss from a +light-hearted girl--who did not know you for the common fellow that you +are." + +"Beatrix," cried the man, "this is no stage comedy. We are not players. +I have asked you, too many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. +You know that your father's life is in my hands. Tell me now, will you +promise to marry me, or will you let your father go to the gallows in +the spring, and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever your +choice, my beauty, you will accompany me to New Spain next summer. It is +for you to say whether you go as my wife or my mistress." + +At that the girl's face went white as paper. But her eyes were steady. + +D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half-ashamed, nay, more than that, of +his words. + +"It would be hard to say," she replied, very softly, "which would be the +most dishonourable position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. That +of your wife, I think, monsieur--for, as your wife, she would be known +by your name." + +His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken insult. He caught her +roughly by the wrists. + +"Nay," she said, "you must be more gentle. You seem to forget that you +are not sacking a defenceless town. Also, you forget that you have not a +friend or a follower in this wilderness, and that any man or woman in +the fort would shoot you down like a dog at a word from me." + +For a little while they eyed each other steadily enough--her face still +beautiful despite the bantering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the +loathing in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, with a +muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her tender flesh, pressing with +all his strength. + +"Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, "you think yourself strong enough +to flout Pierre d'Antons, do you? Strong enough to spurn the protection +of a soldier and a gentleman! Cry now for your girl-faced Kingswell--for +your golden-haired fellow countryman." + +By that even her lips were colourless, and her eyes were wet. "There is +no need," she said, bravely, "for I hear my father at the door." + +D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a backward step. In doing so, his +heel struck the leg of a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang +discordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as Sir Ralph crossed +the threshold. Before either of the men had time to speak, Beatrix +darted forward and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face with +her open hand. Then, without a word of either explanation or greeting to +her father, she passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of the +room, and entered her own chamber. + +"What does this mean, captain?" inquired the baronet, coldly. D'Antons, +scarcely recovered from the blow, strode toward him. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "It means, my fine old cock, that your +neck will be pulled out of joint when we get away from this +God-forgotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have you strung up +to a yard-arm when you were safely in my power? Stab me, but I've been +too soft--and my reward is insults from the wench of an exiled +card-cheat and murderer." + +His voice was raised almost to a scream. His face quivered with passion. +He thrust it within a few inches of the baronet's. + +"Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously. + +"Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. "I cannot abide being bawled at in +my own house, especially by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep +your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a hurt. What's this! +You'd presume?" + +They withdrew on the instant. The two swords came clear in the same +second of time. + +"_Gabier de potence_," cried D'Antons. + +"_Canaille_," replied the baronet, blandly. Evidently the rasp of the +steel had mended his temper. He even smiled a little at his adoption of +his adversary's mother-tongue. + +The men were excellently matched as swordsmen. But not more than half a +dozen passes had been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the room, +crying to them to put up their swords. + +"Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on D'Antons, "go back to your +room, my daughter, and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will +soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy." + +The girl went softly back and closed the door, in an effort to shut out +the rasping and metallic striking of the blades. She prayed, but for +strength to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's soul. She was +afraid--desperately afraid. The truth of her father's skill in French +sword-play had been kept from her. To her he was but a courteous, +middle-aged gentleman who needed her care, and who had been maligned and +robbed by the world into which he had been born. He was a good father. +He had been a loving and considerate husband. She knelt beside her bed +and beseeched God to succour him in this desperate strait. + +In the meantime the fight went on in the outer room with more the air of +a harmless bout for practice than a duel to the death. It was altogether +a question of point and point, in the Continental manner, perfectly free +from the swinging attack and clanging defence of the English style. The +combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. Neither seemed in any +hurry. The thrusts and lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were +delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant leisure. + +"I believe you have the advantage of me by about three inches of steel," +remarked the baronet, diverting a lightning thrust from its intended +course. + +"A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, smiling grimly. + +Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge of a book of verses +which Mistress Beatrix had left on the floor. For a second he was +swerved from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was to feel the +warm blood running down his breast from a slight incision in his left +shoulder. But his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and the +Frenchman found himself more severely pressed than before, despite the +advantage he possessed in the superior length of his sword. The little +wound counted for nothing. + +Just what the outcome of the fight would have been, if an untimely +interruption in the person of Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is +hard to say. Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the victory in +the long run, or perhaps the baronet's excellent composure. In skill +they were nicely matched, though the Englishman displayed superiority +enough to even the difference in the length of the blades. But why take +time for idle surmises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, at the +open door, saw her beloved master engaged in a desperate combat with a +person whom she despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden stain of +blood on her master's doublet. In her hand she held a skillet which she +had just borrowed from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce +herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Captain d'Antons a +resounding whack on the head with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long +sword fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the floor. With a +low, guttural cry, the Frenchman followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, +at the feet of the surprised and indignant baronet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH + + +Master Kingswell and his party returned from their daring reconnoitre +early in the afternoon. They had not met with the enemy, though they had +found the camp and torn down the temporary lodges. After that they had +followed the broad trail of the retreat for several miles, and had +discharged the cannon twice into the inscrutable woods. Their daring had +been rewarded by the capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked +salmon and dried venison. + +Both Kingswell and William Trigget were unable to account for the fact +that the savages had not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In +reality they owed their bloodless victory to the presence of the little +cannon. That third and last discharge of slugs, on the day of the big +fight, had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, and inspired +an hysterical terror in the hearts of the rest. But for that, the hidden +enemy would not have been content with playing a waiting game and with +the attempted killing of one man each night; and neither would they have +retired, so undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. But, +despite their fear of the cannon, they had no intention of giving up the +siege of the fort. They placed trust in the darkness of night and their +own cunning. + +Kingswell and the elder Trigget were drawn aside by Sir Ralph. The +baronet looked less care-haunted than he had for years. + +"D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he whispered, "and behold, the +heavens have not fallen,--nor even the poor defences of this +plantation." He smiled cheerfully. "The great captain alone has come to +grief," he added. "Maggie Stone saved him from my hand by felling him +herself with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically angry at the time, +but am glad now that I did not have to kill the rogue." + +"Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked Trigget, coolly. + +"I grant you that, my good William," replied Sir Ralph, "but he is +harmless as a new-born babe, after all--and we'll see that he remains +so." + +Then he told them the story of the duel, and of what had led to it. +Kingswell flushed and paled. + +"God's mercy!" he cried, "but I would I had been in your boots, sir." + +"You'd have died in them, more than likely," replied the baronet, laying +a hand on the other's shoulder. "D'Antons has a rare knowledge of +swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with." + +"Even so," replied Kingswell, "it would have been--it would have been a +pleasure to die in such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, "But +I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his gimcrackery and +side-stepping. I've seen such gentry hopping and poking for hours, when +one good cut from the shoulder would have ended their tricks." + +The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge of sadness. "Ah, what a +fine thing is the heart of youth," he said, "and the confidence of +youth. I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my dear boy, valour +and confidence are not more than half the battle, after all. The edge is +a fine thing, and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammering of the +first sword; but the point becomes no less deadly simply because one +stout young Englishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were not +that I have won the distinction--beside many a less enviable one--of +being the best swordsman in England, I could not have withstood +D'Antons' play for long enough to make sure of the colour of his eyes." + +Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know which way to turn his +abashed countenance. Both Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him. + +"But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, "that, if it came to a +matter of cutlasses, neither the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long +against either you or Trigget." + +"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, staring over the +baronet's shoulder at nothing in particular, "but I haven't a doubt that +even Maggie Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a match for +me." + +William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. "We must ease the young +gentleman's temper, sir," he said to the baronet. "I have a pair of +singlesticks." + +"Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his hand under Kingswell's arm +and led him into the cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy +compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth immediately felt better +in his pride. + +"Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir Ralph whispered in his ear. +"He is safe in his own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not +over-tenderly, by Maggie Stone." + +Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix on the bench by the +fire. He noticed that she had been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the +brighter for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief expedition +from which he had just returned. He told of the cluster of lodges, the +cooking-fires still burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and +not a human being in sight. + +"And what if you had seen the savages?" she asked. "Surely, four +Englishmen and a lad could do nothing against such a host?" + +"We would have fallen in the first flight of arrows," replied Kingswell. + +"Then why did you risk it?" + +The young man shook his head and laughed. "Some one must take risks," he +said, "else all warfare would come to a standstill." + +The girl was looking down at her hands, and reflectively twisting a +jewelled ring around and around on one slim finger. "And I wish it would +with all my heart," she sighed. "Warfare and bloodshed--they are the +devil's inventions, and strike innocent and guilty alike." + +"Nay," replied Kingswell, "there is more harm done to the innocent in +courts and fine assemblies, and at the sheltered card-tables, than on +all the battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon, and, if he +sometimes lets the good blood with the bad, why, that's just a risk we +must accept." + +Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him squarely. "You preach like a +Puritan," she said, "with your condemnation of courts and play. You +should give my father the benefit of some of your wisdom. His friends +have all been generous with such help." + +Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward minute studied the toes of his +moccasins. Presently he looked up. + +"I am sorry," he said. + +Her glance softened. + +"I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of courts," he added. "I am +ignorant of everything." + +His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed softly. + +"Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. "Nothing is so easily +mended as ignorance." + +He looked at her gravely. + +"I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons in French sword-play," +he said. "Is there nothing that you would teach me?" + +"Embroidery," she replied, "and how to brew a Madeira punch." + +At that moment the baronet opened the door and admitted William Trigget. +The master mariner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket-work +guards under his arm. + +"Does your education commence so soon?" inquired Beatrix of Kingswell. + +"Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of his old confidence. With +the lady's permission and Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell +cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the table. They removed +their outer coats. Trigget was the taller, as well as the heavier, of +the two. Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the dry +whacking of the sticks against one another, varied occasionally by the +muffled thud of wood against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine +display of the English style--slash, cut, and guard, with never a +side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes of it, Trigget cried "enough," +and stumbled out of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. His +shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; Kingswell was without a +touch. + +Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, for that matter, +concealed their astonishment at the result of the bout. "And now, sir," +said Kingswell, "I should like a lesson in the other style." + +The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless blades with blunted +points. After a few words as to the manner of standing, they crossed the +lithe weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from his hand and +sent bounding across the room. He recovered it without a word and +returned to the combat. By this time the light was failing. After about +a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His gray eyes danced, and he +laughed gaily as he picked up his weapon. + +"I see the way of that trick," he said. + +He returned to the one-sided engagement with, if possible, more energy +and eagerness than before. Already he had the attitude and stamping +manner of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his defence again and +again without slipping through. Three times he tried the circular, +twisting stroke with which he had disarmed the novice before without +success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he put out fresh efforts, +and forgot all about his defence. The blades rasped, and rang, and +whispered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's breast, at his throat, +at his eyes; but it never touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was +about to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because of the +gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the insignificant but painful +wound on the baronet's shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, +pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir Ralph dropped his foil to +the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS + + +Captain Pierre d'Antons' injury kept him indoors for ten days. During +that time he saw nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and Ouenwa. +Kingswell could not help feeling sorry for him, in spite of the enmity +and distrust in his heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came by +his cut head to the young Englishman. He knew that the other knew--and +sometimes he wondered how much. He accepted such attentions at +Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make to any invalid, with +what seemed gratitude and humility. But under the mask his blood was +raging. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass of water from the +Englishman, it was as much from the effort of restraining an outburst of +hate as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by now, suspected the +real state of the other's feelings. + +During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the Beothics made three night +attacks on the fort. Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstrations +of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his death and young Trigget had +received the cut on his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was an +attack in force, made in that darkest hour just before the first +stirrings of dawn. By good fortune, both William Trigget and Kingswell +were dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. They both ran to +the gun-platform, and there found Tom Bent desperately engaged with two +savages, who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoulders of their +fellows. The intruders were speedily hurled backward, they and a portion +of the breastworks falling on the devoted heads below. At the moment, +Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the ladder and handed a torch to her +husband. In a second the coverings were pulled from the guns. The +muzzles of the little weapons were declined as far as they would go, and +the fuses were ignited. Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the +enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the torch's +illumination. Both William Trigget and Tom Bent were hit, and fell to +their knees. In the same instant of time the guns belched their flame +and screaming missiles into the wavering mass of savages. A yell of +terror and pain, made up of many individual cries, followed the reports +of the guns like an echo. + +But along the opposite stockade, things were not going so well for the +settlers. About a dozen of the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of +the storehouse, and from there had jumped into the yard, driving Peter +Harding before them. They were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. +Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the edges of the conflict. +Matters were looking serious for the defenders (who by that time were +joined by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Maggie Stone) when the +discharge of artillery across the square turned the courage of the +attackers to water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them were cut +down while endeavouring to escape by way of the ladder against the wall +of the storehouse. The rest got away, but none of them unscathed. With +that the fight ended, though the defenders kept to their posts until +broad daylight. + +In the morning it was discovered that one of the six warriors who +remained within the fort was still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to +D'Antons' cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were not of a serious +nature. Black Feather, who was a convalescent by now, recognized a +bitter enemy in the disabled captive. He was for despatching him +straightway, recalling the bitter days of his slavery and the loss of +wife and children. He was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa +remonstrated with him at some length. + +The little garrison had suffered in the brief engagement. William +Trigget had halted three arrows with his big body. Only one had reached +the flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and hide; but that one +had cut deep into the muscles of his chest, and the others had bruised +his ribs. Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gaping slash in +the side of his neck. Young Peter Harding was laid on his back with a +cracked rib, dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a fair way +to remain on the sick-list for some time to come. + +The dead Beothics were carried out and buried in a shallow grave near +the honest Clotworthy's desolate resting-place. + +It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, that the enemy were +still maintaining the siege, and at even closer range than before. The +continual sight of that evidence of their presence, and the idleness due +to confinement within a few hundred yards of the stockade, began to tell +on the spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of difficulty to +forget the wounded men in such restricted quarters. Bandages and +salves, gruels and plasters, seemed to pervade every corner. Every one +who was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the lack of fresh meat +was beginning to be felt. Sir Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just +after his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his black moods. +Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes were losing something of their +radiance, though she carried herself bravely and cheerfully. + +Master Kingswell, who had a knack with bandages and such, found his time +fully occupied. He inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and +Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the captured Beothic. His only +recreation was a few hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the +Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit happened to be paid +during the day; if in the evening, they sometimes played chess, or, +better still, the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, and the +youth and the maiden bent their young heads above the pieces of carved +ivory. + +Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kingswell detected an +aloofness toward him that had not been noticeable during the first days +of their acquaintance. The thing was very fine--so fine that it was +scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. One of duller perception would +have missed it altogether. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save +in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye and the softer notes +of the voice. But it worried the young man. He felt that he had failed +in something--that she had set a standard for him, and that he had not +risen to it. With native shrewdness, he suspected that she considered +him crude and conceited. He knew that she considered him brave, and that +she admired his courage; but he was equally sure that his prowess with +the singlesticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexterity with the +rapier, did not tell in his favour in her eyes. "Women are evidently as +unreasonable as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried to acquire +a modest demeanour. But the ability to do so had not been born in him, +and no matter how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone in his +clear eyes and self-confidence was in the carriage of head and +shoulders. + +The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell became more affectionate +every day. He recognized the sterling qualities in the youth,--the +honesty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical and mental gifts +of quick eye and wrist and clear brain. He derived no little comfort +from his presence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired son of +the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter had a second guardian. He knew +that the Kingswell blood, though not noble by the rating of the College +of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely as any in England. In +happier times he had known and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity +with the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad-minded merchant's +heart as sound as his self-imported wines. He remembered the wife, too, +as a person of distinction and kindliness. + +For his own part, the baronet realized more surely, with the passing of +each narrow day, that life offered no further allurement to him. The +slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance and defeat of +D'Antons was of no more lasting a quality than the flavour of a vintage. +The Frenchman was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them; and in as +fair a way as himself to leave his bones in the wilderness. Yes, he felt +a twinge of pity for him! He could understand that, to an adventurer +like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very devil,--worse, perhaps, than +the fever of the gaming-table. But of course he felt no regret for +having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's audacious suit. His +regret--if, indeed, he entertained any concerning so recent an event in +his career--was that he had not pricked the buccaneer's bubble of false +power months before--despite the promise he had made him. But as things +had turned out,--as Time had dealt the cards, to use his own words,--the +other's behaviour had allowed him to strike without too flagrant a +breach of his word of honour. He was thankful for that. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +TWO OF A KIND + + +When Pierre d'Antons was able to move about again, he found himself +shunned, without disguise, by every one of the inmates of the fort save +Bernard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no longer under orders to +treat him with respect and obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and +turned their backs when he addressed them. Of course, the door of Sir +Ralph's habitation was closed against him. He spent almost all his time +in his own cabin, with the captured and slowly convalescing Beothic for +companion. He read a great deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a +fit of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, cursing, crying out for a +chance of revenge, with clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, +the Beothic would watch him closely, with understanding in his gaze. The +savage was no linguist; but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every +nationality. + +D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatuation for Mistress +Westleigh. The blow of the skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever +his passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it lacked nothing +in vitality. It was a madness. It was a bitter desire. How gladly he +would risk death, fighting for her--and yet he would not have hesitated +a moment about killing her happiness, to win his own, had an opportunity +offered. Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness were things +apart from what he considered his love for the beautiful English girl. + +In this state of mind he built a hundred wild dreams of carrying her +away, and of ultimately imprisoning her, should she still be averse to +his love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realization of his position +would come over him and set him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, +despite the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and friendly +exterior. He wondered if he could not turn the young man to some use. He +gave the matter his attention. + +One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to Kingswell. All through it +the Englishman was itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his time +than was absolutely necessary under the Frenchman's roof. But the +narrator held him with a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history +of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great family that had fallen +upon lean years; with a ruinous château, a proud and studious father, +and a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams and few pleasures; +with a youth of hard and honourable soldiering wherever the banners of +France led the way; and with an early manhood of high adventure and +achievement in the Western colonies. + +Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's voice fairly trembled with +emotion. He believed no more of the tale than if he had already heard +the truth of the matter--which was, in plain English, that D'Antons was +the bastard of a blackleg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had +spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and had won, by courage +and cunning, to the position of a captain of buccaneers in early +manhood. The achievements in the Western colonies had been matters of +the wrecking and plundering of what others had built; the high +adventures--God spare me the telling of them! + +After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one of his reddest moods. +He was sure that the pink-cheeked youth had not believed a word of his +story--had been laughing up his sleeve at the most touching passages. He +was sorry that he had not twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding +the narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this artistic lying to +such a pig's head! He jumped to his feet, with a violence that almost +startled the Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room like a +madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the walls. He knocked the few +pieces of furniture out of his erratic course, and spilled his books and +papers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without any ringing oaths +or blistering curses. His rage worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes +bleed. It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and his hands, +but found no ease in articulation. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, +from where he had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was such a +daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beothic, crouched fearfully +against the wall, and followed his movements with wide eyes; for, though +a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud was a craven at heart. + +Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and the victim of it sank +languidly into a chair beside the Beothic's couch. He groaned and +shivered. For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden between his +hands. Looking up, his eyes met the eyes of the native. In their furtive +regard, he read that which suggested a new move. Though, owing to an +inborn caution, he had never displayed a knowledge of the Beothic +language to his fellow settlers, and had refrained from using any words +of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea of it during his +sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hitherto he had paid but scant attention to Red +Cloud, for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intolerance toward +uncivilized peoples; but now he leaned forward and spoke kindly to his +companion. + +It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned to D'Antons' cabin. Under +the new order of things, Ouenwa had volunteered his services as +assistant night-guard of the two prisoners--for the Frenchman was +virtually a prisoner. It was their custom to keep watch turn and turn +about, in two hours' vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a +comfortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was also by the hearth. +This precaution was taken for fear of some treachery on the part of Red +Cloud. + +When the two entered the outer room, the fire was burning brightly, and +by its ruddy light they saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to +the wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the door. When the +morning was well advanced, they opened windows and door, and replenished +the fire. Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, and looked +in to see how D'Antons was faring. His fire was out and he was still +abed. Kingswell moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. +What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut in his sleep! He laid +his hand on the shapeless shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding +pelts and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor frantically. His +exclamation brought Ouenwa to his side. The Englishman pointed a finger +of dismay at the demolished dummy. + +"Tricked!" he cried. "Rip me, but what a fine jailer I am!" They rushed +back to the other room and investigated the figure on the Beothic's +couch. That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and bedding. Red +Cloud also had faded away. + +News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the savage went through the +fort like an electric current. The settlers were more interested and +surprised over it than concerned. Even the invalids sat up and +conjectured on the captain's object in fleeing to the outer wilderness, +and the doubtful but inevitable reception by the natives. They could +hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and Red Cloud had gone as +fellow conspirators, remembering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward +the aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions. + +William Trigget shook his head when he heard the story, and rated the +men who had been on duty along the palisade with unsparing frankness. +Sir Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked surprised. + +"It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, "to bundle up a few +blankets into lifelike effigies, and then to slip away while the jailer +is elsewhere spending a social evening." + +Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl steadily; but he failed +to meet her eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "they slipped away while two men were on guard along the +walls, and while the self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' +sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was playing chess with your +ladyship." + +"I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the baronet quickly. "We +have no use for the savage; and as to D'Antons--why, if the enemy kill +him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I cannot help wondering +at him taking so dangerous a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with +the natives at any time, one would have a clue. But he always treated +them like dogs." + +Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the lady, and gave all his +attention to the baronet and the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of +shame had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His eyes, also, showed +a change--a chilling from blue to gray, with a surface glitter and a +shadow behind. + +"You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, "that D'Antons has taken +what he considers the lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to +him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have removed Red Cloud to one +of the other huts." + +"He was kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," said the baronet. + +"I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. "Then I am not the only +scapegrace of the community." + +The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he smiled at the young man. +But the girl did not receive the implication in the same spirit. She +stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising species of bird that +had flown in at the window. + +"Such a remark rings dangerously of insubordination," she exclaimed, +"not to mention the impertinence of it." + +Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and murmured a +remonstrance. It is a wise father that knows his own daughter. Kingswell +turned an expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. Then he +bowed to Sir Ralph. "If I am guilty of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave +your pardon," he said. "As to insubordination--why, I believe there is +nothing to say on that head, as I am a free agent; but I think you +understand, sir, that I and my men are entirely at your service, as we +have been ever since the day we first accepted the hospitality of Fort +Beatrix. My men, at least, have not failed in any duty, whatever my +delinquencies." + +With an exclamation of sincere concern, the baronet stepped close to his +friend and placed a hand on either of his shoulders. + +"Bernard--my dear lad--why all this talk of pardon, and duty, and +delinquencies, and God knows what else? If you believe that I consider +you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me ungrateful indeed." + +His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced Kingswell that the words +were sincere, and so did something toward the mending of his injured +feelings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his manner unbent. He +took his departure immediately after. + +Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door closed behind Kingswell. + +"I do not understand your treatment of him," he said. "Surely you +realize that he is a friend--and friends are not so common that we can +afford to flout them at every turn." He did not speak angrily, but the +girl saw plainly enough that he was seriously displeased. + +"The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she explained, weakly. "How +indignation would have burned within him had some one else allowed the +prisoners to escape." + +The baronet gazed at her pensively for several seconds, and then took +her hand tenderly between his own. + +"You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweeting," he said. "What you +take for conceit is just youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a +clean conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him--not a hint of +it. I am sorry you like him so little, my daughter, for he is a good lad +and well-disposed toward us." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER + + +For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little +garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so +much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from +sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment +of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red +Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave +the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was +of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of +Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter +for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the +greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of +the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be +brought to the rescue of the settlement. So Black Feather had told the +tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed. + +"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none +too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger +brother. + +"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied +the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft +Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and +of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at +the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all +be saved--thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture." + +At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think +Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired. + +Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied, +"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain." + +"What do you know of the black captain?" + +"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will +struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady. +That is all I know." + +"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell. + +Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within +eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the +ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already +without my telling, friend-chief," he added. + +"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other. + +Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin +since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course +he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of +tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the +presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice +of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent +composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved +him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes. + +Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph +welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan +for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was +deeply moved. He took a ring from his own hand and slipped it over one +of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black +Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply +them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for +themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win. + +"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and +the only one, as far as I can see." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the +visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed +low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those +days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, +of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set +forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with +shining eyes. + +"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have +you learned your bravery?" + +Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my +fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell--and +half I gather from your eyes." + +The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his +lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the +shoulder. + +"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your +reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention +my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements +to leave as soon as dusk falls." + +At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned +a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to +leave us, too!" she exclaimed. + +Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw +the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the +note of anxiety in the clear young voice. + +"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would +only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a +poor woodsman--and already our garrison is none too heavily manned." + +"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure +that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need +you." + +Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-concealed surprise. +Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove +to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was +the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he +had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden +fear in the lady's face. + +Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to +Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, +heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and +entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine +apparel. + +"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two +brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond +belief." + +He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor--up and down, up and down, +with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back. + +"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in +the forest to-night--away from the fire." + +She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze. + +"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded +over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their +trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a +good many hours to come." + +Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it +produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The +baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the +strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then +returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she +looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before. +They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels, +and yet dark as the heart of a deep water. + +"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any +suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from +that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly +reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing +instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, +across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang +clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the +firelight. + +At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined +comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he +watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of +the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream. + +The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic +strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not +look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing +of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The +logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the +wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player +stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one +of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own +chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and +the bow like a wand in her hand. + +Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet +with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench. + +"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir." + +With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet +sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of +joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories +and called up more recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied +his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that +Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young +Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood +but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger. + +Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his +thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music +and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the +long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if +lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest +of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the +memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard +her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the +violin? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN + + +Ouenwa and Black Feather turned their faces from the little fort and the +hostile camp beyond the white river, and set bravely forward into the +darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding hummocks, bending and +twisting through the coverts, crossing the open glades like a +shadow--and all without any noise except the scarcely audible padding of +his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close after. They had not gone far +before the snow began to fall and puff around them in blinding clouds. +The trees bent tensely under the lash of the wind. More than one +frost-embrittled spire came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad +held on their journey, for they were both fresh and strong, and eager to +widen the spaces of wilderness between themselves and the camp of +Panounia. + +Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the snow on the leeward side of +a thicket of low spruces, broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire +between the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal repast, and +then rolled themselves in their rugs of skin and fell asleep. They had +no fear that any of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. They +lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for several hours. Then Ouenwa +turned over and yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in an +instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. The white sun was +half-way up the blue shell of the eastern sky. All around the new snow +lay in feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it clung in even +masses, which showed that the wind had died down long before the flakes +had ceased to fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold meat and +bread, swallowed some brandy and water, and resumed their journey. + +Not until the afternoon of the third day following their departure from +Fort Beatrix did the travellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black +Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few paces ahead of Ouenwa, +who caught the first sight of the thin, melting signal of human life. It +wavered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of yards in front. On +their right hand lay the ice-edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On +their left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a mountainous +horizon. In front lay hope, and behind the spur of menace. + +"Is there a village yonder?" asked Ouenwa. + +Black Feather replied negatively. + +"The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his own language, "and there +was no lodge there when last I saw it. We will approach under the +shelter of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the journey a few paces +longer, and perhaps the arrival twenty times safer." + +Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution expressed by his friend. + +"But let us hurry," he said. "Remember that around the stockade the +black captain is ever stirring the courage of the night-howlers." + +At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from the screen of brush +into a tiny clearing on the north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was +not ten yards across at this point. On its white surface ran several +trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which had attracted them to the place +curled up from the apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the +travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the doorway of the lodge. +Ouenwa recognized her as a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and +adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the information to Black Feather. + +"Then we may show ourselves," said the other, "for if this woman was +the great chief's friend you may be sure that death has only +strengthened her loyalty. It is so with women--with the wise and the +foolish alike. A man will stand close to his comrade in the days of his +glory and in the press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the +fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the departed ever before +the matters of the present day. A man must have the reward of his +friend's praise and the joy of his companionship; but a woman makes a +god of the departed spirit and looks for her reward beyond the red +gates." + +Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage reflections, for all he +knew of women was that a radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had +his heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and down the bank, in +silence. + +The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught sight of them +immediately. She turned into the dark interior of the wigwam, but +appeared before they were half-way across the frozen stream, with a bow +in her hand and an arrow on the string. Black Feather and the lad raised +their right hands, palms forward, above their heads, and continued to +advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, but did not relax her attitude +of vigilance. Close to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and +the lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of Soft Hand, and that +his companion was Black Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the +arrow-maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam forsook her post and +advanced to meet them. + +The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft Hand's advisers, was not +attractive to the eye. She was bent hideously, though still of +surprising bodily strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the matted +locks of hair that clung about it and fell over her ears and neck like a +wig of gray tree-moss. Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One +yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of her mouth. Her hands +were claws. Her skin was no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than +was the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. Her garments were +unusually barbaric--lynx-skins shapelessly stitched together and hung +about with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint nearly as long +as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy arms hung naked at her sides, as +indifferent to the nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes. + +"Child," she said, "I heard that you were killed--that Panounia's men +had slain you and a party of English; but that I knew to be false, for I +saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers. So I believed +that you had crossed the great salt water with the strangers." + +Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman listened with the keenest +interest and many nods of the head. + +"It is well," she said. "They are scattered now, some in hiding, some +sullenly obedient to Panounia, and some in captivity. Your need will +bring them together and awake their sleeping courage. I know of a full +score of stout warriors who will draw no bow for Panounia, and who are +all within a day's journey of this spot, but sadly scattered,--yea, +scattered in every little hollow, like frightened hares." + +"Do you live in this great lodge all by yourself?" inquired Black +Feather. + +"My sons are in the forest, seeing to their snares," replied the woman, +eying the tall brave sharply, "but within are a sick woman and a small +child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Panounia's camps." + +She stood aside and motioned them to enter the lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, +with Black Feather close at his heels. Within, it took them several +seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke and shadow. Presently +they made out a couch of fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on +it a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. Both the woman +and the child were gazing at the visitors. The child began to whimper. + +Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang over the fire. He had found +his squaw and one of his lost children. + +The sickness of Black Feather's wife was nothing but the result of +hardship and ill-treatment. Already, under the herb-doctor's care, she +was greatly improved. The meeting with her warrior went far to complete +the cure of the old woman's broths and soft furs. The child was well; +but the woman knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder offspring. + +Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long at the lodge beside Little +Thunder. With the younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they +set out that same day to find the hidden warriors who were against the +leadership of Panounia. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS + + +Back at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary suspense. The wounded men +recovered slowly. The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and the +dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking-fires, melting against the +sky, told of their presence. The inaction ate into the courage of the +English men and women like rust. The boat-building and the iron-working +at the forge were carried on listlessly, and without the old-time spurs +of song and laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent displayed sombre +faces to their little world. + +Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. He was not blind to the +danger of their position, and he continued to do double duty in +everything; but for all that he awoke each day with keen anticipation +for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, dreamed of other things than +the poised menace and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, or any +other city of the outer world, when Beatrix Westleigh was domiciled +within the rough walls of the fort on Gray Goose River? His heart would +not descend to those depths of despondency in which lurk fear and +hopeless anxiety. What power of man, in that wilderness, could break +down his guard and harm the most wonderful being in the world? The +girl's brief season of unkindness toward him was as a cloud that her +later friendliness had dispersed as the sun disperses the morning fog. +He had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, in her eyes, in her +voice, and on several occasions something that had set his heart +thumping in the touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse nor +indifferent to his society, and the glances of her magnificent eyes were +open to translations that set him looking out upon life and that +wilderness through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged D'Antons +draw their rapiers upon him--he would out-thrust, out-play, and +out-stamp them all! Let a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the +fort--he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour on his breast, would +scatter them like straw! And all this because, for the first time in his +life of twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a woman,--and +twenty-one was a fair, manly age in those days. He had won to it +unknowingly, by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So let not +even the oldest of us criticize his attitude toward life. A man's +emotions cannot always be herded and driven by the outward circumstances +of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the mercy of a dog and a +dull countryman. That to which cautious Worldliness has given the name +of madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but a spark of God's own +courage and imagination in the heart of youth: the years having not yet +smothered it with the ashes of cowardice and calculation. + +Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but an assured front to the +world. Now this love that had him so irresistibly in its services only +heightened the confidence of his address toward men and events; but in +the presence of its inspiration it clothed him in unaccustomed and +unconscious meekness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick to +notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of course; for was it not a +greater and a more pleasant matter to have brought a high-hearted, +adventure-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery than to have a +dozen idle courtiers bowing before one, and a dozen sentimental poets +mouthing verses that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any +charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and could not find it in her +heart to regret the beaux of London Town. But she did not know her +heart as the man knew his--and as she knew his. + +One morning they walked together along the river-bank, before the open +gate of the fort. The air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows +along the snow were bluer than the dome of the sky. The girl talked +cheerily; for in the bright daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour +rising from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong and worshipping +man, sword-girt, within arm's length, it was hard to remember the menace +concealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very bright, and the +blood mantled under the clear skin of her cheeks at the wind's caress. +Now and then, for a bar or two, she broke into song. + +Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten firm with his snow-shoes, +after the last storm, expressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. +It was about a hundred yards in length, and broad enough for two persons +to walk in abreast, and firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes +unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with the stockade and the +course of the river at that point. When the turn was made at either end +of the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon and every tree, +every knoll, and hollow. It was done almost unconsciously, as a +traveller instinctively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound of +voices ahead of him on a dark road. + +After a time the girl noticed her companion's vigilance. "What do you +expect to see?" she asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with her +gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, but recovered his wits with +an effort. + +"Nothing," he replied, "or surely we would not be walking here." + +She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she inquired. + +He looked down at her, displayed the desperate condition of his heart in +his eyes, and then looked back again to the strip of woods that +approached them along the back. + +"I am not afraid," he said--and then, with a gasp of dismay, he caught +her and swung her behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against +his sheltering back. + +"We must return to the fort," he said. "Something is going on in that +covert." + +"Come! We will run!" she whispered, pulling at his elbows to turn him +around. + +"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, +and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in +what quarter to look for it." + +She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path +that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, +and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at +the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put +his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The +unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside +the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the +fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to +Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a +war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, +they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate. + +Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making +any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers +on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was +fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without +apparent effect. + +Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his +wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that +really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had +been serving Beatrix as a shield when the arrow struck him. He went the +rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and +his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the +strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of +drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball. + +It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. +He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called +to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her +face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a +quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow +before clasping them in eager fingers. + +"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," +he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her +hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers +drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall +her, God knows!--nay, not so much as a chill--but how could he keep it +in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill +with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her +flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard. + +"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had +nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life--and again, +perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world +to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the +immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender +to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain +like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips--how near +they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. +God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness. + +"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet +madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about +to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and +left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the +figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph. + +"Well, my lad?" inquired the baronet, calmly. + +"Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, hiding his chagrin +and confusion with exceeding skill. + +"You looked just now as if you were expecting me," said the elder. "Come +in, come in. We can talk better by the fire." + +Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He picked up his gloves from +the trampled snow by the threshold, and silently followed the baronet +into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there--which fact the +lover noticed with a sinking of the heart. He was alone with her father, +and evidently under marked suspicion,--a fearful matter to a young man +who aspires to the hand of an angel, and has not yet his line of action +quite laid down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought of his +presumption, called the respectability of his parents and his income to +his aid, and was ready for the baronet when that gentleman turned and +faced him in front of the fire. + +"I love your daughter," he said, with his voice not quite so cool and +manly as he had intended it to be. + +Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back was to the fire, and so his +face was in heavy shadow. + +"I love her very dearly," continued the other. "I believe no man could +love a woman more, for it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre +of my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not exalted, and that she is +the--" + +The baronet raised his hand sharply. + +The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of his sentence more +effectively than a clap of thunder would have done it. + +"Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, "she is the daughter of a blackleg. She +is the daughter of a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken +gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high,--you, the son of a +humble merchant of Bristol." + +Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, with a hardy oath, he +slapped his hand to his hip. + +"Though she were the daughter of the devil himself," he began, and came +to a lame stop. The baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly +smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. Kingswell gave up all +attempt at politic speech. He had his own feelings to express. "Your +daughter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, huskily. +"Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes have been, they can reflect +in no way on her sweetness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not +mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of all on the father of the +most glorious woman in the world. I remember you in your strength,--the +greatest man in the county and my father's noble friend. The world has +taken a twirl since then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, my +heart is with you warmer than my worthy father's ever was." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +BETROTHED + + +That Bernard Kingswell had accepted the baronet's own estimation of his +(the baronet's) character so frankly, in the heat of sentimental +disclosure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than a pang or two. What +else could he expect of even this true friend? He was a broken gamester +and a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict of the law; but +whether or not he was a blackleg was a matter of opinion and the exact +definition of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well disposed toward +him, and that he believed nothing vile or cowardly of him; but, best of +all, he was sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was fortunate +beyond his hoping of the past two years. Should they get clear of the +besieging natives and out of the wilderness, her future happiness, +safety, and position would be assured. As Mistress Bernard Kingswell, +she would live close to the colour and finer things of life again, +gracing some fair house as a former Beatrix had done in other days--to +wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. The mist blurred his eyes +at that memory and dimmed his vision against the rough log walls around +him. + +Another thought came to the broken baronet, as he sat alone by the +falling fire, after Kingswell's departure, and awaited his supper and +the reappearance of his daughter. The thought was like a black shadow +between his face and the comforting fir sticks--between his heart and +the knowledge of a good man's love and protection for Beatrix. Knowing +the girl as he did, he felt sure that she would never leave him, her +exiled father, even at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a +return to his own country meant prison or death to him, she would hold +to the wilderness, thereby leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On +the other hand, should death come to him soon, and in the +wilderness,--by the arrows of the enemy, for choice,--his daughter's +fetters would be filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. The +desire to live out one's time clings about a man's vitals against all +reason. Even an exiled and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless +wilderness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain zest in day and +night and the winds of heaven. With nothing to live for--even with the +scales decidedly the other way--Death still presents an uninviting face. +It may be the inscrutable mask of him that fills with distrust the heart +of the man who contemplates the Long Journey. In that inevitable yet +mysterious figure, showing as no more than a shadow between the bed and +the window, it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how repentant, +to read clear the promise of eternal peace. What dark deed might not be +perpetrated by the shrouded messenger between the death-bed and +Paradise? + +Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and hid the commonplace, +beautiful radiance of the hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he +waited for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and planned for his +daughter's future to the bitter end, seeing clearly that, should the +chances of battle turn in favour of the little plantation, he must +readjust his sentiments toward death. A man of lower breeding and +commoner courage would have groaned in the travail of that thought, and +cursed the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until he heard +his daughter at the door, and then stood up and hummed softly the +opening bars of a Somerset hunting-song. + +Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her face to him. He bent +and kissed her tenderly. For a little while they stood without speaking, +hand in hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. Suddenly the +girl pressed her cheek against his shoulder. + +"What was it," she whispered, breathlessly,--"the matter that held you +and Bernard in such serious converse?" + +"And has your heart given you no hint of it?" he laughed. + +"And why, dear father? What has my heart to do with your talk of guards +and ammunition and supplies,--save that it is with you in everything?" + +The baronet released her hand and, instead, placed his arm about her +slender and rounded waist. "It is a story that I cannot tell you, +sweet,--I, who am your father," he said. "But I think that you shall not +have to wait long for the telling of it, for both youth and love are +impatient. And here comes the good Maggie with the candles." + +During the meal the baronet was more lively and entertaining than +Beatrix had seen him for years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually +untalkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give her undivided +attention to the quiet voice of her heart. The man was equally anxious +to avoid introspection as she to court it. But he, for all his laughter +and gay stories of gay times spent, displayed a colourless face and +haunted eyes behind the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, +glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed tresses, her eyes of +unnamable colour, her throat and lips and brow, were all radiant with +the magic fire at her heart. + +Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a vague ending, sipped +his wine, put down the glass clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the +table. The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the throat. But she +noticed nothing of his change of manner; and presently they left the +table and moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping faggots +across the dogs. Then she filled his tobacco-pipe for him, and lit it +with a coal from the hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his +hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and Maggie Stone opened to +Kingswell. + +Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after greeting him cordially but +quietly, donned his cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few +minutes. "I have a word for Trigget," he said. Then he pulled on his +gloves, pushed open the door, and stepped out to the dark. + +Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone snuffed them, surveyed +the room and its inmates with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced +her unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was as sentimental as +heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and her nature was of an inquisitive turn. +She sighed plaintively as she left the presence of the young couple. + +The door leading to the kitchen had no more than closed behind the +servant than Bernard, without preliminaries, dropped on one knee before +the lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to his lips. She +did not move, but stood between the candles and the firelight, all +a-gleam in her beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at the golden +head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were grave. + +"Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lifting his face or altering his +position,--"dear heart, can it be true?" + +She bent her head a little lower. Her heart seemed as if it was about to +break away from its bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, almost +unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his. + +"Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note of fear in his voice: "Tell +me if I may win you! Tell me if your heart has any promise?" + +Before she could control her agitation sufficiently to answer him, the +outer door of the cabin was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph +stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist and wrenched it sharply. + +"We are attacked," he cried. "They have piled heaps of dry brush along +the palisades--and they have set the stuff on fire! It burns like mad. +Lord, but it looks more like hell than ever!" + +Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of the smoke from the +burning evergreen-needles invaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his +feet, still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at the baronet. +For a second he paused and peered, questioning, into her wonderful eyes. + +"Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. "I love you, Bernard." + +He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every lover knows), and even while +the first brief and tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets +clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and the baronet thrust +sword and hat into Bernard's hands. + +"Come! For God's grace, lad, come and rally the men!" he shouted. + +Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw the shrewd work that +awaited him. He ran to it with a leaping heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN + + +The heaps of brush outside the palisades burned with a long-drawn +roaring, like the note of a steady wind. It was a terrifying sound. The +glare of the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, staining the +trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, staining the faces of the +desperate settlers as if with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the +walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The platform upon which the +guns stood was a mass of flame before any use could be made of the +pieces. The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings and roarings, +flinging orange and crimson showers to the black dome above. The savages +skirmished behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the +blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their muskets through the +singed loopholes, firing low, and taking the chances with heroic +fortitude. Sir Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, with +their swords in their hands and encouragement in speech and bearing. +Both knew that this engagement would be a fight to the finish; and both +felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver commander than Panounia +was against them. + +The ammunition was carried from the storehouse to the shed over the +well, for the fire was already crackling against the log walls of the +buildings. Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of sparks and +burning fragments broke from the gun-platform; and, for the moment, the +warriors were scattered from that side. One of the cannon had exploded. +That corner of the stockade immediately fell and settled to the snow. +Next instant the second gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole +charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them to cover in yelling +disorder. At that the Englishmen cheered, and set about fighting back +the encroaching flames. + +Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn upon at need, must have +dwelt behind the shelter of the spruces; for within a very few minutes +of the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were about the fort +again. Kingswell took note of it, and suspected the inspiration to be +nothing else than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and dazzling +smile. A spur, too, he suspected--the spur of the mongrel Frenchman's +evil sneer and black temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal character +to feel that it would prove but a plaything for such a personality as +the buccaneer's. He looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the +fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire to have the fellow +by the throat, or at the point of his sword, in tones that rang like a +curse. + +Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the well-house. + +He knew where the _Pelican's_ powder lay among the stores, done up in +five canvas bags of about twelve pounds each. With two of these under +his cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from the subsiding red +barrier that still held the enemy from the interior of the fort. By this +time the back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The roofs of the +cabins, deep with snow, were safe; but the rear walls were all in a fair +way of being ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the warriors of +Panounia diligently piled against them. + +Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the square to Sir Ralph, +William Trigget, and all the men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old +boatswain was, by this time, a very active convalescent. Kingswell +whispered a word or two in his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the +wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade. They saw a party of the +enemy gather ominously close to the glowing edge of the breach. +Kingswell passed one of the bags of powder to his companion. "When I +give the word," he said. + +Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into the obstruction, +brandishing spears and clubs, and screaming like maniacs. Kingswell +uttered a low, quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glowing +coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for the shelter of the +well-house at top speed. Tom Bent followed his movements on the instant. +Together they reached the narrow shelter; and, before they could turn +about, the air shook and reeled, as if a bolt of wind had broken upon +them, a blinding flash seemed to consume the whole night, and a puffing, +thumping report stunned their ears. They stumbled against the sides of +the shed, clawed desperately, and fell to the ground. + +When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boatswain regained their senses +(which had left them for only a few seconds), they crawled from the +well-house and stared about them. The square was not so bright as it had +been, and, save for a few huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the +shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the fighting was now farther +away--that the settlers had sallied forth on the offensive. They could +not understand such recklessness; but they decided, without hesitation, +to take the risk. They ran to the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, +coals, wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and blown broadcast. +They crossed the torn ground and headed for the tumult in the fitfully +illuminated spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English shouts mixed +and clashed in the frosty air. On the very edge of the shifting +conflict, the old sailor clutched his master's arm. "Hark!" he cried. +"D'ye hear that now? It be the yell o' that young Ouenwa, sir, or ye can +call me a Dutcher!" + +At the same moment, before Kingswell could reply to Bent's statement, a +club, thrown by a retreating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side +of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. He moaned, as he +toppled over. Then he lay still on the ruddy snow. + + +Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living-room of the baronet's +cabin. Word had reached her that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in +time to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy by the explosions +of the bags of powder. When victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the +hands of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his followers, though spent +from their journey, had made a timely and successful rear attack. + +The girl was radiant. She moved up and down the room, eagerly awaiting +the return of Bernard Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and +laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond peradventure, whom heart, +hands, and lips longed to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, +it would have been her father--even a night ago he would have shared, +equally with the lover, in her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped +from hearth to door, and peered out into the blackness, with no thought +of any of those brave fellows save the lad of Bristol. + +The burning brush had all been trampled out, and the fires in the walls +and stockade had been quenched with water. The little square was dark, +save for the subdued fingers of light from windows and doors. Beatrix +peered from the open door, regardless of the cold. She was outlined +black against the warm radiance inside the room. Her silken garments +clung about her, pressed gently by a breath of wind. She rested a hand +on either upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as if, at a whim, +she would fly out from the threshold. Presently shadowy figures took +shape in the gloom, and she heard her father's voice, and William +Trigget's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught no sound of +Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A sudden fear caught her, and she +stepped out upon the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In a moment +he was at her side, and had an arm about her. + +"Sweeting," he said, "you must stay within for a little. The night is +bitterly cold, and--" + +"But where is Bernard?" she whispered, staring past him. + +"He is with the others," replied the baronet,--"with Ouenwa and his +brave fellows, and the dauntless Trigget." + +He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back to the cabin at the same +time. He closed the door, and laid a wet sword across a stool. + +"What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide eyes and bloodless +cheeks. "Tell me! Tell me!" + +"The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph. + +"Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? How should he be hurt?" + +She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. Could it be that the +High God had been deaf to her prayers? + +Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he knew of Kingswell's +condition was that he still breathed, and that his hat had saved his +head from being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, he did not +know. He braced himself, and smiled. + +"My dear," he said, "he is not seriously hurt, so do not stand like +that--for God's sake!" + +At the last words his voice lost its note of composure, and broke +shrilly. He caught her to him. "Rip me," he cried, "but if you act so +when he is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever gets a real +wound!" + +The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the blood returned +to her cheeks. She clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoulder. +Presently she looked up. + +"Take me to him," she begged, "or bring him here." + +"So you love this Bernard Kingswell?" inquired her father, looking +steadily into her face. + +Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. "Yes," she replied, +quietly. + +The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword from the stool, eyed it +dully, and leaned it against the wall. He was trying to imagine what the +lad's death would mean to his daughter's future; but he could only see +that it would mean a few more years for himself. He started guiltily, +and returned to his daughter. His face was desperately grim. + +"Wait for me," he said. "I'll see how the lad is doing now; and shall +return immediately." + +Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been built for D'Antons, and +which had passed on to Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped +within. He found the wounded gentleman lying prone on his couch, +half-undressed, and with bandaged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, +was beside the still figure. + +"He opened his eyes," whispered the boy; "but see, he has closed them +again. His spirit waits at the spreading of the trails." + +Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen dressings on Kingswell's +head. They were exceedingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had been +cut away from the place of the wound. + +"Your work, Ouenwa?" he inquired. + +The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's pulse. + +"It beats strong," he said. "The heart seems sure enough of the path to +take." + +Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. "He has chosen," he said, gravely. "He +has seen the hunting-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty of +them has not lured him along that trail." + +The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's eyes. "You are a brave +lad, and we are deep in debt to you," he exclaimed. "Your bravery and +wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch your friend a few +minutes longer; I but go to bring another nurse to help you. Then you +may sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT + + +From that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his twenty braves and the +little garrison of Fort Beatrix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought +a confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last attacks upon the +settlement. It consisted of a sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had +torn them from the person of a tall antagonist during a brief +hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the gear had won free, Black +Feather regretted to say. Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, +and sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power over Panounia, +and brought down that wolfish chief's hatred instead. + +On the morning after the battle, the little plantation presented a busy +though sombre appearance to those of its people who were in condition to +view it. Along the woods and rising ground to the north, the snow and +frozen soil were being hollowed to receive the bodies of those slain in +the fight. The dead of the enemy had been carried far into the woods, +and piled together with scant ceremony. The settlers had lost three of +their number,--young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. Four of +the rescuing party were dead and wounded. Tom Bent was on his back +again, and Kingswell's head was ringing like a sea-shell. William +Trigget was cut about the face and sore all over; but he kept on his +feet. + +After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, and the shrouded bodies +lowered therein and covered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's +orders, set about building themselves lodges outside the stockade. It +had been decided that, for mutual support, the friendly Beothics should +camp near the fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With axes +borrowed from the settlement, they soon had the forest ringing with the +noise of their labour. Though they had travelled light, in their hurry +to rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, they had dragged +along with them a few sled-loads of deerskins and birch bark, with which +to cover their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly about the torn +and scorched palisades; for it was a small matter to trim the poles and +fit the pliable roofs across the conical frames. + +The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming the edges of white +barren and black forest and round hill. The stars shone silver above, +and the fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear glowed red +below. In the outer room of the cabin that had been Pierre d'Antons', +Beatrix sat alone by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leaping +flames in the chimney, and his were on the fair lines of her averted +face. The top of his head was so swathed in bandages that he looked like +a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as paper in the unstable +light. His eyes were bright with a touch of fever brought on by his +suffering. His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or two steady +enough and concerned with the present and the room in which he lay, and +then wandering abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and +imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and sentences, but in such a +gabbling style that his nurse could have made nothing of what was +passing in his brain even if she had taken such advantage of his +condition as to try. + +After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed by a profound silence, +he suddenly flung out one arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her +dreaming, and she turned her face back to him from the fire. + +"Twenty days without water," he whispered, distinctly. "Twenty +days--and that beast Trowley is laughing to see my tongue between my +teeth like a squeezed rag." + +The girl caught up a mug of water and held it to his lips. He drank +greedily, and then took hold of her hand. His head was against the +hollow of her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt beside his +low bed. + +"Beatrix," he said, gravely, "let us pretend that you love me." + +She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer to see his eyes. + +"Why pretend, dear heart?" she answered. "I do love you, as you very +well know. Sleep again, Bernard, with your head so--pressed close." + +"I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. The fever was as a fine +haze across the mirror of his brain. + +"It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. +The lad's eyes shone with a clearer light at that. + +"Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he said. "Tell me, or +strength will bring nothing but sorrow. Better death than to find your +kisses a trick of dreaming." + +"Is it not a pleasant dream?" she asked, softly, smiling a little. + +"Ay; to dream so, a man would gladly have done with waking," he replied. +"If it were not in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow the +vision through eternal sleep--as God is my judge." + +"Hush, dear lad," she murmured, "for the heart and the body of Beatrix +are of right Somersetshire stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever--and +the love she gives you will outlast life--as God is our judge and love +His handiwork." And she kissed him again, blushing sweetly at her +daring. And so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, and he with +his bandaged head against her lovely shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered +the cabin, fumbling discreetly at the latch. + +The days passed slowly in the heart of that frozen wilderness between +the white river and the long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. +Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley and rough wood. The +forge rang again with the clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber +with the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long dismayed, and blood +ran more redly to the stir of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained +fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and Mistress Westleigh +recovered all her glory of eyes and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by +all, carried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black Feather, with +his wife and his surviving child in a snug lodge, felt again the zest +and peace of living. Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort in +the days of security. He brooded alone, avoiding even his daughter. His +face grew thinner, and his shoulders lost something of their youthful +vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, dimmed his courage +and his philosophy. The very relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' +supposed overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant endurance. He +counted it a grievance that God had not led him to his death in the last +fight, as he had prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now he +must plan it over again--over and over--in cold reasoning and cold +blood, and alone by the fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon +him at times; and again he would be all repentance, telling his heart +that, no matter how bitter his fate, it was fully deserved. And so, day +by day, the shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed of madness +germinated and took root. + +For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in her father's manner and +habits. The thing disclosed itself so gradually, and she was so intent +upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the baronet had been +variable in his moods, to a certain extent, ever since the beginning of +his troubles--years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw that +something had gone radically wrong in the broken gentleman's mind, and +his knowledge had come about in this wise. + +The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman and warrior, was a still +more ardent seeker after bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had +taught him something of the art of reading. Later, Mistress Westleigh +had carried it further. By the time that Kingswell was safely on the +road to his old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell out a page +of English print very creditably. His primer was one of those volumes of +Master Will Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left behind +him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin to take her turn at tending the +invalid, and found Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youthful +brow painfully furrowed with thought. She took the book from him and +fluttered the pages, pausing here and there to read a line or two. + +"Run away," said she, "and on a shelf beside our chimney you will find a +book with easier words than this contains. There is matter here, I +think, that is beyond a beginner." + +At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow and nodded his sore head +eagerly. + +"Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," he said. + +Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sincere,--as was everything +about him,--Ouenwa left the presence of the lovers and ran across the +snow to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the baronet. That +gentleman looked at him long and keenly, so that the boy trembled and +wished himself out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and a harsh +laugh, "Help yourself, lad," said Sir Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of +books, and, kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the divers +volumes and broad-sheets with which it was piled high. He found a rhymed +and pictured chap-book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the +first verses when a movement behind his back brought him to a sense of +his whereabouts. He turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a +walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust at a spot of resin on +the log wall. The poor gentleman stamped and straddled, pinked the +unseen swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a dashing air. +There was a light in his eyes and a twist of the lips that struck +Ouenwa's heart cold in his side. The light was that which, when seen in +the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides that man from the laws +and responsibilities that are the portion of his fellows. It was the +gleam of idiocy--that sinister sheen that cuts a man from his +birthright. + +The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his +shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with +fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display +in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of +the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a +smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes. + +"'Tis a pretty art--this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a +point of keeping my wrist limber for it." + +"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa. + +Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the +nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already +forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he +began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away +with him. + +"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me." + +Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that +Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to +point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl +of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter +of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping +softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held +the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and +unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear +of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST + + +And now to tell something of the movements of Pierre d'Antons, which, of +late, have been carried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond +the ken of the reader. + +The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night of fire and blood, +knocked the adventurer's fortunes flatter than they had ever been. You +may believe that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that he had +killed him long ago, when the lad threw his followers into the battle. +It was then that D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, and, +with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse back to victory. His +swordsmanship and energy availed him nothing. He missed capture only by +slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugitive from both sides, +he ran to the woods, avoiding the scattered and retreating warriors who +had so lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as he would +have avoided William Trigget or Sir Ralph Westleigh. One of his late +comrades, trailing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beothic curse +after him. Another, better prepared, let fly a war-club, and missed him +by an inch. He slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and the +dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated savages would mean death +and perhaps torture. + +The black captain did not run on any vague course, despite his haste. He +knew where a possibility of help awaited him. He had given his wits to +more than plans of revenge and kidnapping during his sojourn with +Panounia. In winning the men to him, he knew that his hold upon them +would not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the Beothic maiden +Miwandi, he had laid up store against an evil day. But he had not won +her heart simply on a chance of defeat--far from it, for he had not +dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleasant thing in itself to be the +lover of that nut-brown, lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl--for +Miwandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans concerning, the +lady in the fort. She loved the tall foreigner quickly and surely. She +was extravagantly proud of his power over the warriors of her people. He +was her brave, and as such she cherished him openly, to the envy rather +than the criticism of the other women of the encampment. + +Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of Panounia's faction. She +was seventeen years of age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the +skins of some of her people and lighter than that of others. Her hair +was brown and of a silken texture, very unlike the straight locks of the +savages of the great continent to the westward. Her features were good, +and her eyes were full of life and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in +the breasts of more than one of the young bucks of the camp. + +Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men of both parties, shaped +his course for the lodge in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at +his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; instead, a pang of +honest affection for the comely young woman toward whom he was flying +for help stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and Miwandi caught +him in her arms. In a few quick words, he told her of the defeat, and of +the anger of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed him once, +passionately, and then fell to collecting a few things--a quiver of +arrows, a bow, furs, and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. +He accepted it without a word. She bound her snow-shoes to her feet, and +retied the wrenched thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark +lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless sword, damp with blood, +was still in his hand. They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, +and other cries that inspired them to flight. + +They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their breathing. Of the +two, it was the man who sometimes lagged, who often stumbled, and who +cried once that he would rather be captured than strain limb and lung to +another effort. D'Antons had been actively employed throughout the day, +and again during the most desperate passages of the battle, and his +strength was well-nigh exhausted. At last he fell and lay prone. In an +instant the girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shielding his +body from the cold, and revived him with brandy from the scanty supply +in his flask. By that time the dawn was breaking gray under the stars, +and all sounds of the chase had died away. She cut an armful of +fir-branches, and with them and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, +she made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they lay until high +noon, fugitives in a desolate wilderness, with death, in half a dozen +guises, lurking on either hand. + +Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band of Panounia's followers +soon gave up the hunt. Matters were not in condition to be mended by +killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. The defeated savages +had their own wounds to see to, and already too many dead to hide under +the snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing and killing of their +false leader D'Antons, would have to wait. Now, of all those valorous +warriors who had menaced the little fort since the very beginning of +winter, only ten remained unhurt. Panounia was dead. He had breathed his +last in the edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, and +had been carried farther in by one of his men. Thus his death had +remained unknown to the victors; as had also the deaths of many more of +the besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad who had once +boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was desperately hurt. Painfully and +hopelessly, those of the wounded who could move at all, the women, and +the unhurt of the band, retreated toward farther and surer fastnesses. +The wounded who could not drag themselves along were left to perish in +the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. Some bled to death +within the same time. A few lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's +men in the bright daytime,--they were reported as having been found +dead. + +D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced marches, until they reached a +wooded valley and a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed +inland and southward. At last they found a spot that promised shelter +from the bleak winds as well as from prying eyes. There they built a +wigwam of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly plentiful in +the protected coverts around. They soon had a comfortable retreat +fashioned in that safe and voiceless place. + +"It will do until summer brings the ships," remarked D'Antons, busy with +plans whereby he might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. +Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi brave tales of far and +beautiful countries. He spoke of white towns above green harbours, of +high forests with strange, bright birds flying through their tops, and +of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds of great, sharp-horned beasts of +more weight than a stag caribou. + +"Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart-of-Life," she cried. + +So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, should be his queen +in a palace of white stone above a tropic sea. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS + + +Day by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sickness increased. It +strengthened in the dark, like a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day +by day, it grew over the bright surface of his mind and spirit. The +sureness of its advance was a fearful thing to watch. + +By the time March was over the wilderness, with a hint of spring in the +morning skies, the baronet's condition was noticeable to even the +dullest inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman spoke little--and +that little was seldom to the point. It seemed as if he had forgotten +how to smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He walked alone for +hours on the frozen river and through the woods. The Beothics of the +camp before the fort stood in awe of him. At times he treated Beatrix +and Bernard Kingswell as strangers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and +chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners. All day, indoors and +out, he wore a rapier at his side. In the cabin he spent half of the +time inert by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and the rest +of it in sword-play with an imaginary antagonist. + +It was well for Beatrix that she had found Bernard's love before the +fresh misfortune descended upon her. But even with that comfort and +inspiration, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. They had +been such friends; and now he had blank eyes and deaf ears for all her +actions and words. It was twenty times harder for her than to have seen +him struck down by knife or arrow. Death seemed an honest thing compared +to that coldness and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly +about him with the passing of each day. It was as if another life, +another spirit, had taken possession of the familiar body and beloved +features. After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears had any +potency to break through the awful estrangement. Her prayers, her fond +recollections of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the dull +eye. + +By the end of March the busy boat-builders and smiths of the +settlement--and every man save Sir Ralph was either one or the +other--had two new boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts, +of about the capacity and model of the _Pelican_. They were intended for +fishing on the river and the great bays and for exploration cruises. + +William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder as he was a master +mariner, entertained great ideas of fishing and trading more openly than +Sir Ralph had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving out a real home +in the wilderness, and his wife was of the same mind. + +"We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," he said. + +Kingswell promised that, should he win back to Bristol, and find his +affairs in order, he would use his influence in behalf of the settlement +on Gray Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding to the new land. + +"It be rough, God knows," he said, "but it be sort o' hopeful, too. If +they danged savages leaves us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for +spendin' the balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. There be a +grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't turn our backs on, not if we +could help it." + +Kingswell himself was not building any dreams of fixing his lot in that +desolate place; and neither was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on +the subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point overseas. Beatrix, +now despondent at her father's trouble, and again happy in her love, +gave little thought to the future of the settlement, or to any plans for +the days to come, save vague dreamings of an English home. + +March wore along, and in open spaces the snow shrank inch by inch. Then +rain fell; and after that a time of tingling cold held all the +wilderness in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could run over the +snow-fields and the bed of the river without snow-shoes; for the surface +was tough as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, Sir +Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. The mornings lifted +clear silver and pale gold along the east. The evenings faded out in +crimson and saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were lit, +made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thinnest green. And back of it +all, despite the frost, hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and +blossoming trees. + +The lure of the season touched every one in the fort, and the camp +beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's blood like some fabled wine--for what +vintage of France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. It +mounted to his head with a high, unregretting recklessness, and doubled +the madness that already lurked there. Something of his old manner +returned, and for a whole evening he sat with Beatrix and Kingswell and +talked rationally and hopefully. Also, that same night, he played a game +of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees into it clearly and +without fear. He recalled the past without any sign of embarrassment. +But Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a light of derision in +them. + +Very early in the morning, while the stars still glinted overhead, and +the promise of day was no more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir +Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin and slipped out. He was +warmly and carefully dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his sword +free under his arm. Very cautiously he scaled the palisade and dropped +to the frozen crust of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay around +the corner of the fort, so he was safe from detection from that quarter. +He looked about and behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly +into the woods. + +Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, and his soft-shod feet +left no mark on the hard surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and +over, and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust of the wilderness +thawed a little, and here and there the baronet's feet broke through. At +that he began to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt. He +flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, and called for Maggie +Stone to bring him food and drink. He called again and again. He shouted +other names than that of the old servant. In a sudden agony of fear, he +jumped to his feet and plunged through the evergreens. At every third +step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. He screamed the name +of his daughter, "Beatrix, Beatrix"--or was it his dead wife he was +calling? He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen of England who +had been his boon companions in the old days, forgetting that death had +taken some of them away from him, and that the rest, to a man, had +turned of their own accord. Presently he ceased his foolish outcry and +plodded along, with no thought of the course, sobbing the while like a +lost child. + +The sun began its downward journey, and still the baronet, with his +sheathed sword under his arm, staggered across the voiceless wilderness. +Toward mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and he travelled +with less difficulty. Ever and anon his poor eyes pictured a running +figure in an edge of blue shadow before him. At times it was the figure +of the nobleman he had killed in England, in the dispute at the +gaming-table, and again it was a friend,--Kingswell or Trigget, or +another of the fort,--and yet again it was Pierre d'Antons. But no +matter how he strove to run down the lurker, he lost him every time. +Thirst plagued him, and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds of +the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but passed gradually. The west +took on the flame and glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars +pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night gathered her cloudless +darkness over the wilderness; and still the demented baronet followed +his aimless quest. + +Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph Westleigh's departure from +Fort Beatrix, Pierre d'Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden +and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed person in the doorway +of their lodge. The woman cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of +the wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face turned gray as the +ashes around the fire-stone. The unexpected visitor drew his blade, +flung the sheath behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the fugitive +adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and caught up his own sword from where +it lay on a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more in wonder than +anger. + +"Westleigh!" he cried. "What brings you here, you fool--and how many +follow you?" + +The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He reeled a +little, but his eyes changed in their light and colour. + +"I am alone," he said. "Yes, I am alone." His voice was quiet. He seemed +sorely puzzled. D'Antons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he +laughed harshly. + +"So you have hunted me down, old cock," he said, smiling. "You'll find +that the quarry has fangs--in his own den." + +The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. He advanced his rapier. +In a second the fight was on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity +supported the baronet's starving muscles and reeling brain. Then his +thrusts began to go wide, and his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped +him in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life-blood of the last +baronet of Beverly and Randon made a vivid circle of red on the snow of +that nameless wilderness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE RUNNING OF THE ICE + + +It was Beatrix who first discovered her father's flight; but that was +four hours after its occurrence. The fort was soon astir with the news. +Men set out in all directions, in search of the missing one. Half a +dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the hunt. They went east and +west, north and south. The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the +madman's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying Bernard and Ouenwa. +She tried to show a brave face; but something in her heart told her to +expect the worst. The three travelled southward, and shortly before +sunset returned to the fort, unsuccessful. They found that all the other +searchers had got back, save Black Feather and a young brave named +Kakatoc, who had set out together. + +By the merest chance Black Feather and his companion happened upon the +place where the baronet had first broken through the melting crust. With +but little effort they found where he had rested and taken up his +journey again. Farther on, the faintness of the trail put an edge to +their determination to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a +challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it eagerly. But within +two hours of finding the marks, they lost them again. They ranged wide; +and at last Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad of snow +beside a stunted spruce. In several places the branches of the tree +showed where the snow had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It +was enough to keep them to the quest. + +Not in the next day, but in the early morning after that, the two +Beothics happened upon a sheltered valley and a snow-cleared space, with +a fire-stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately stood. As for +signs of blood, there were none. Snow had been deftly spread and +trampled over it. All around the so evident site of a human habitation +the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save for a little path that ran down to +a hole in the ice of the stream. After considering the place, and +shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food they had in their +pouches and turned their feet back to the fort. They passed within a few +paces of a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's body lay +uncovered. But how were they to know it, when even the prowling foxes +had not yet found it out! + +For several days the search was continued by the settlers and their +allies, but all in vain. It was not even suspected that the deserted +camping-place which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so lately +been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons and the blood of the lost +baronet. For a few days longer the business of the settlement lagged, +and the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever-brightening and +mellowing season. Then the axes struck up their chant again, and the +little duties of the common day erased the forebodings of Eternity from +the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress Beatrix could see nothing of +the reawakening of life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the +mist across her eyes. She had loved her father deeply and faithfully, +with a love that had been strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt +toward him the combined affections of daughter and sister and friend. +She had made allowances for the weaknesses of his later years that +equalled the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best-loved +child. She had not been, and was not now, blind to the passion of gaming +that had forced him to exile and an unknown death; but she had forgiven +it long ago. As to the alleged murder that had made such an evil odour +in London, she believed--and rightly--that hot blood and overmuch wine +had been to blame, and that her father's sword had been drawn after the +victim's. + +Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to comfort the bereaved girl. He +urged her to spend much of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for +their future, and to cheer her he built them even more hopefully than he +felt; for he realized that many difficulties were yet to be overcome +before Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two often went on +long tramps through the woods. Their evenings were always spent +together. Sometimes he read aloud to her, and sometimes they played at +chess. One evening she got her violin, and played as wonderfully as she +had on that other occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward without +a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle aside and nestled into his +arms. He held her tenderly, patting the bright hair against his +shoulder, and murmuring broken assurances of his love and sympathy. She +wept quietly for a little while; but when she kissed him at the door, +her face and eyes shone with something of their old light. + +By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced through the shrinking snow +in the open places; but in the woods the drifts continued to withstand +the wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose River was no longer +a broad path of spotless white. Its surface was mottled with patches of +sodden gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might hear a myriad +of tiny voices, some sibilant and some tinkling and liquid, in and under +the enfeebled ice. Up and down the valley, between the knolls and wooded +hills, the little streams were already snarling and roaring, and here +and there flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through all the +wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twilight, midnight, and dawn were +stirred by the falling cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring +fragrance was in the air--the scent of millions of swelling buds and +crimson willow-stems. + +About that time three warriors of the following of the dead Panounia +arrived at the fort, with prayers for peace on their lips and gifts in +their hands. They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, and +Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and two of his chiefs from the +camp. A lengthy business was gone through with, and much strong +Virginian tobacco was burned. Documents were written in English and in +the picture-writing of the natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both +languages. Then they were solemnly signed by all present, and peace was +restored to the great tribe of the North, and protection, trade, and +lands were granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Beatrix and +their descendants. The three visitors went back to their people with +rolls of red cloth and packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and +other useless trinkets on their shoulders. + +Shortly after their departure from the fort, a storm of rain blew up +from the sou'east. All day the great drops thumped on the roofs of the +cabins, on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the sodden snow. +The firs and spruces gleamed clean and black under the drenching +showers. A veil of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods and along +the black tangles of alders and gray fringes of willows. All night the +warm rain continued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along the +pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the fort that the ice in the +river was moving. The settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. +Beatrix was with them. + +"See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," said Kingswell, +pointing eagerly. "And there is an open space. Ah, it has closed again! +How slowly it grinds along!" + +"It will run faster before night," replied the girl, and Ouenwa, who was +versed in the ways of his northern rivers, nodded silently. + +While they watched, admiring the swelling, swinging, ponderous advance +of the great surface, and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony +that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the group and spoke a +few quick words to Black Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and +whispered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Beatrix and Kingswell, +and then questioned Black Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to +the lovers. + +"The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. "Blue Cloud has seen it. He +fears that the water will rise over the flat--and the fort." + +The river continued to rise until evening. After that the waters +subsided a little, great cakes of rotten ice hung stranded along the +crest of the bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. But from up +the valley the thunder of a hidden disturbance still boomed across the +windless air. + +"The jam had broken down-stream," said Ouenwa. + +Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, was satisfied, and retired +to his couch with an easy mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of +the dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but dragged him to the +floor. + +"Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. "Damn, but you sleep like a bear! +The fort is in danger! We must run for higher land." + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to his feet, "but what is the +trouble? Are we attacked?" + +"The river is all but empty of water," replied Ouenwa. "The ice sags in +the channel, like an empty garment. The water hangs above, behind the +third point where we cut the timber for the boats." + +Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed pulling on his heavy +clothes. Though he did not fully understand the threatening danger, he +felt that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs of his deerhide +leggins, Ouenwa told him that warning had reached the fort but a few +minutes before. + +"How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestowing a wallet of gold coins +and some other valuables about his person. + +Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's possessions, threw open +the door and stepped out. + +"Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his shoulder. "And I do not +understand," he added, "for Wolf Slayer hates us all." + +The other, close at his heels, made no comment on that intelligence. He +scarcely heard it, so anxious was he for the safety of Mistress +Beatrix. The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran straight to his +sweetheart's door. It was opened by the maiden herself. She and the old +servant were all ready to leave. + +An hour passed; load after load of stores and household goods was +carried to the low hills behind the fort; and still the river lay empty, +with its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; and still the +unseen jam held back the gathering freshet. The women wept at the +thought that their little homes were in danger of being broken and torn +and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed. + +"It will be no great matter for them to build new cabins in a safer +place," she said to Kingswell. + +He was looking at the natives dragging their rolled-up lodges to higher +ground. He turned, smiling gravely. + +"You have no love for the wilderness?" he asked, "and yet but for this +forsaken place, you and I might never have met." + +She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed face to his tender +regard. + +"So it has served my turn," she said. "Now that I have you, I could well +spare these wastes of black wood and empty barren." + +Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in silence for that confession +ever since their betrothal. Hitherto she had not once spoken with any +assurance of their future together. She had treated the subject vaguely, +as if her thoughts were all with the past and with the tragedy of her +father's death. + +"Would you face the homeward voyage in one of the little boats?" he +asked, softly. + +"Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied. + +"Dear girl," he said, "I think that a stout ship called the _Heart of +the West_ will be setting sail from Bristol, for this wilderness, before +many days." + +"Would the fellow dare return?" she asked; for she had heard the story +of Trowley's treachery. + +"He will think himself safe enough," replied Kingswell. "No doubt he +owns the ship now--has bought it from my mother for the price of a +skiff, after telling her how recklessly he battled with the savages to +save her son's life." + +He laughed softly. "The old rogue will be surprised when I step aboard," +he added. + +Before she could answer him a booming report shook the sunlit air. It +was followed, in a second, by a long-drawn tumult--a grinding and +crashing and roaring--as if the firmament had fallen and overthrown the +everlasting hills. The sagging ice below them reared, domed upward, and +split with clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses, which were +hurled down the stream and over the flats. A thing of brown water and +sodden gray lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow where the +Beothic encampment had stood an hour before. The eastern stockade of the +fort went down beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught. + +All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow raced down the river, and +the air hummed and vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the +released waters had passed; and the fort had suffered by no more than an +exposed side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR + + +Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to +Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a +starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in +which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, +he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie +in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the +settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old +arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa +read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under +such unpropitious circumstances. + +Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the +overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and +could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake, thinking of the +future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought +of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and +comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, +and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more +softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or--or what? He shifted +noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his +pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and +closed with a silent enemy. + +Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a +clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to +the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch +bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame +lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had +the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw +his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English +indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt +and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on +his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into +the darkness. + +A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with +word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and +Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome +news that one of the vessels was the _Heart of the West_. + +Both the new boats and the old _Pelican_ were made ready for the +expedition. Kingswell commanded the _Pelican_, with Ouenwa and six +natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and +Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to +see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh--and, as the boats stole +down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his +hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, +of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix +Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of +Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England. + +The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the +man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which +she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, +and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He +tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that +placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all +that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances +of danger?--the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and +barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings. + +A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the +three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with +English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. +Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for +their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass. + +The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear +of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, +and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward +and looked under the square canvas of the _Pelican's_ big wing. + +"An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, sharply. "Who has taken it upon +himself to improve on my orders?" + +A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, turned and crawled aft. +Then the blanket fell away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an +amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, laughed up at the +commander. + +"Promise to shield me from the wrath of Maggie Stone, when we go back," +she whispered, in mock concern. + +For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and embarrassment in his eyes, +the while Ouenwa hid a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the +queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the morning, under the +grave regard of the Beothic warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow. + +"What authority has Maggie Stone?" he cried. "If any one has a right to +control your actions, surely it is I." + +She slipped to the seat beside him. "And you told me I could not +accompany you--that it would not be safe," she replied. + +"Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain behind," he said. "God knows +it hurt me to refuse your so--so flattering a wish. But you accepted it +calmly, dear heart." + +"I accepted it for what it was worth," she laughed. "I could not shed +tears over a parting which I felt certain was not to take place." Her +face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. "I could not have stayed +in the fort without you," she whispered. "Dear lad, I am afraid to +death whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe this love has made +a coward of me!" + +For a little while there was no sound aboard the _Pelican_ save the +tapping of the reef-points on the swelling breast of the sail, and the +slow creak of the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed ahead, +while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. Then the man stooped his +head close to the girl's. + +"But on this trip," he whispered, "you must obey me--for both our sakes, +dearest. It would be mutiny else." + +"I shall always obey you," she replied--"always, always--so long as you +do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix." + +"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone." + +She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will +rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on +the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue." + +"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and +somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a +thought!" + +Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," +she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a +dozen staid companions, and--" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I +forget that I am penniless," she added. + +Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How +long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he +asked. + +The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, +Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a +wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the _Heart of the +West_, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was +going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other +vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the +mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled +sails to a rosy tint above the green water. + +"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched +beside him in the fringe of spruces. + +A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears. + +"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I +wonder?" + +"You will not be rash, Bernard,--for my sake," pleaded the girl. + +He assured her that he would be discreet. + +It was dark when they got back to the little cove in which the boats +were beached. About midnight, with no light save the vague illumination +of the scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. They moved +with such caution that it took them two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. +They passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix was transferred +from the _Pelican_ to Black Feather's boat, and Tom Bent joined the +commander. A veil of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light as +had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Before them the _Heart of the +West_ loomed dark, a thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights. + +The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft and seaward of the ship. +The _Pelican_ stole in under the looming stern, with no more noise than +a fish makes when he breaches in shallow water. The crew steadied her +beside the groaning rudder with their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart +and peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had peered on a night of +the preceding season. The low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung +from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in silver sticks that bore +the Kingswell crest, burned, with bending flames, on the table. On the +locker under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a boat-cloak +in an untidy heap. The edge of the table was within two feet of the +square stern-window. + +For a little while Kingswell listened with guarded breath. Then, +swiftly and lightly, he pulled himself across the ledge of the window, +scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. Very cautiously he +drew his rapier with his right hand and his dagger with his left. For a +minute or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breathing regularly +and deeply, and harkening to the innumerable creaking voices of the +decks and bulkheads, and the muffled voices and laughter from forward. +For the occasion he had donned the hat, coat, breeches, and boots--all +now stained and faded--in which Master Trowley had last seen him. + +Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the companion ladder just +forward of the cabin door. A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed +above the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the bulkhead with a +resounding crack, and swung, trembling. The bulky figure of Trowley +entered, and the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, and +big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kingswell drew a deep breath, and +composed his dancing nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His +emotions were disconcertingly mixed. + +The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, deny the charge if you +like) seemed to fill the cabin to overflowing with his lurching, great +body. He tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and yanked up the +top of the locker. With muttered revilings at the excessive cost of West +Indies rum, he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its +hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle-light like +diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass as one from which he had often +drunk his grog--a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those articles +the mariner placed on the table, scarcely a foot from the watcher's +head. Next he loaded himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it +at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard heard the puffings +and gruntings with which the deed was accomplished, like half a gale in +his ear. At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his elbows on +the table, gazed for a second at the square window that opened on to the +mysterious gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The liquor gulped +and gurgled in its passage to the glass. The reek of it permeated the +air. + +"Dang it," grumbled the mariner, "d'ye call this rum! Sink me, but it be +half water!" + +However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and smacked his lips at the +end of it as he never would have after a draught of water. + +Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell arose to his feet and +looked down at Master Trowley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his +wide, stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, +but to the staring mariner it seemed a matter of hours. He sprawled on +his low stool, open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerveless on +the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at his feet. + +"Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning across the table he +tweaked the purple tip of Trowley's nose between thumb and finger. To do +so, he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany for a second. The +indignity called forth no more than a gurgle of terror from the master +mariner. Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it within an +inch of the whiskered face. Still the fellow sagged on his stool, unable +to stir a muscle. Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa crawled +through the port, with a coil of light rope in his hand. Tom Bent +followed. Trowley threw off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation +and got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In an instant he was +flat on his back, with a gagging hand across his mouth and another at +his throat. He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely gagged with a +strip of his own boat-cloak. + +Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port, and whispered a word or +two. One by one, four of his braves entered, with their knives +unsheathed. Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly opened the +cabin door. On the port side of the alley-way, beside the companion +ladder, Trowley's mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over him +and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded significantly; and in an +amazingly short time the mate of the _Heart of the West_ was as neatly +trussed up as the master. + +Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the rail, aft, and waved a +lantern in three half-circles. And not long after that, Mistress +Westleigh, Master Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with Canary wine, +in the cabin of the _Heart of the West_. In the waist of the ship the +stout English sailors and the skin-clad Beothics drained their +pannikins, and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. Old Tom Bent +was toast-master; and also he told them an amazing story. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF + + +Shortly before midnight, Tom Bent went quietly about the task of waking +both watches and the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix were +manned, with the muffling oars. The two small anchors by which the +_Heart of the West_ swung in the tide were fished into two of the boats +by hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was accomplished, the ship was +free without so much as a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. +Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the bows of the ship, and +at a signal from a lantern in Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs +to the oars. Then all lights aboard the _Heart of the West_ were +covered, and in the darkness, beside the great tiller, Kingswell caught +his inspiration and his reward to his heart again. + +The girl did not leave the commander's side, but kept watch on the high +poop-deck throughout the journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their +toil, and after them, drawn by lines that were sometimes taut and +sometimes under water, but always invisible in the darkness, the ship +stole like a shape of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. With +the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on signs of life. By that time +she was hidden from Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. The +pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan was manned, and the +anchors were lifted to their places on the forecast rail. Headsails were +set, and the square mizzen was run up. The boats dropped astern and were +made fast, and the weary men climbed aboard the ship. + +All day the _Heart of the West_ threaded the green waterways of the +great Bay of Exploits. A light and favourable breeze lent itself to the +venture. After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blanket, lay down +by the mizzen and fell asleep. She was tired. The easy motion of the +ship, and the song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her fathoms +deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy lullaby. Kingswell rigged a +piece of sail-cloth from the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from +the sun. + +At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray Goose River, was reached. +By sunset the mouth of the river was entered. Just then the wind +failed. The boats were manned again, and the ship taken in tow. + +Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, with the rough blanket +about her dainty body and her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. +Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the shelter of canvas, and +saw that she was smiling in her dreams. How white were her dropped +eyelids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. Her lips were +parted a little, as if to whisper some sweet secret. A strand of her +bright, dark hair was across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the +blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested on the deck. The rosy +palm was upturned. Kingswell stooped lower and kissed it softly. +Standing up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahogany-hued mariner +grinned sheepishly, and gave a hitch to his belt. + +"Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, "but, if the angels in heaven +be half so sweet to look at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in +spite o' the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden harps with +a light heart if--if the equals of herself were a-listenin' on the +quarter-deck." + +Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" said he. "You are in love, Tom +Bent." + +"Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, "for it can't be helped. I'm in love +and awash, and danged near to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to +keep sober in the 'Powdered Admiral' on Bristol dock as within ten +knots, to win'ward or lee'ard, o' your sweetheart, sir." + +"I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bowing gravely. + +Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled away about his duty. He +was mightily pleased with himself at having expressed his admiration for +his young commander's choice in such felicitous terms. He prided himself +on his eye for feminine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank of +the fair one,--and a fairer than Mistress Westleigh he swore by all the +gods of the Seven Seas he had never laid eyes on. + +The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk when the toiling boats +and the tall ship rounded the point, and opened the fort to the view of +the daring cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the anchors +plunged into the brown current. The rattle of the cables through the +hawse-holes awoke Beatrix. She had been dreaming of a great garden in +Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged paths with her father on one +side and her lover on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas +shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and with the clangour of +the running cables in her ears, for a second she did not know where she +was. A vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she recalled the +incidents of the last two days, and was about to crawl from her +resting-place, when the edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell +looked down at her. + +"Wake up," he said. "We are at the fort, and Trigget and Maggie Stone +are coming off in a canoe." + +"Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain matters," she replied. "You +must bear the brunt of Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat +up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way that only a dunce +could fail to comprehend. Under cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he +kissed the warm lips and the bright hair. + +"Trust me," he laughed; and at that moment Trigget and the servant +climbed to the poop by way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He +advanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held a folded paper in his +hand, and that the honest eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist. + +"What is it?" he inquired; for he had entirely forgotten, for the time +being, the manner of Mistress Westleigh's joining with the expedition. + +"Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing him the paper. +"It--it--well, maybe it'll not be o' any use now." + +"Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, tearing it across. + +Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way Sir Ralph went," she +sobbed. "Oh, my beautiful little lady--an' her fit mate for any nobleman +of London town!" + +"What the devil do you mean?" cried Kingswell. Then the truth dawned in +his preoccupied brain. "Dry your eyes," he said. "She is safe and +sound." + +"Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trigget, devoutly. + +"What--the mistress be safe, d'ye say?" cried Maggie Stone, with a +sudden change of face. + +Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being bawled at on the poop of +his recaptured ship, even by an old serving maid. "Your mistress is +safe--and in my care," he said. + +"Indeed, sir?" she queried. "An' may I make so bold as to ax when ye +married Sir Ralph Westleigh's daughter?" + +William Trigget murmured something to the effect that his presence was +required forward, and took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and +stared haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for words fully +expressive of his feelings. His indignation brought a flush to his +cheeks which even the dusk of evening could not hide. + +"Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. "Ay, ye may well redden, after +sailin' away with an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse +into fits." + +The gentleman recovered his power of speech. "My good girl," he said +(and she was a full twenty years older than his mother), "your joy at +hearing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous queer and unseemly +way of expressing itself. You seem to forget that you, the lady's +servant, are addressing the lady's betrothed husband." + +The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts about her. + +"Maybe so," she retorted. "'Twould never have happened in Somerset." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared suddenly from the other side of +the mizzen. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you speak so to Master Kingswell!" + +Anger--quick, scathing anger--rang in her voice. Standing there in her +short skirt, high, beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked +like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and bright beauty. + +"I am ashamed of you," she added; and then, turning quickly, she flung +herself into Kingswell's ever ready embrace. + +Maggie Stone was flustered and somewhat awed by the sudden attack. She +had not been spoken to so for years and years. Would she resort to tears +again, or would she answer back? She was jealous of the girl's love for +Kingswell--and yet she had thanked God many times that that love had +been won by the young Englishman instead of by the swarthy D'Antons. She +sniffed, and mopped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she changed +her mind and bridled. + +"What would the countess, your aunt, say to such behaviour?" she asked. +"Her who watched over ye like a guardian angel in London town." + +Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's hands, faced the carping +critic. + +"And who turned me out of her house at the last of it," she cried, +scornfully. "Who is she, or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? +And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress and the gentleman who +saved you from the knives of the savages? Go back to the fort." + +Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious mistake,--a mistake which, +perhaps, would alienate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a +pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep ladder which stood close +to the starboard side of the ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught +in a loop of rope that had not been properly stopped up to its +belaying-pin. She lurched against the line that ran from the break of +the poop to the bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right herself, +and pitched over into the shadowed water below. She did not even scream. + +Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to the side and jumped +after the foolish old woman. By that time the twilight had left the +river. The current carried him swiftly down-stream, close under the side +of the ship. The water was uncomfortably cold, and his thick clothes +dragged at his limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A disturbance +appeared on the surface of the stream a few yards ahead. With a quick +stroke or two, he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin +shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with fright. Both were pulled +over the gunwale of the _Pelican_ not a moment too soon. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED + + +It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the +good ship _Plover_ and _Mary and Joyce_, when the gray light of dawn +disclosed the fact that the _Heart of the West_ had vanished completely. +What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of +whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths! + +"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner. + +"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate. + +"Cut an' run," suggested another. + +"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin' +else," replied the cook of the _Plover_. + +The captain of the _Mary and Joyce_ scanned the inner harbour and what +he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon +the cliffs and hills and inland woods. + +"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last. + +No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were +searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a +deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the +skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that +Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next +morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from +which to reap the harvest of the great bay. + +To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a +great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, +Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St. +John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife, +to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had +not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in +the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking +now that they had accepted it. + +"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl. + +"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell, lifting the glowing +face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin. + +"Nor I, dear heart," she replied. + +To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter +than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, +inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were +bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, +patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the _Heart of the West_. +The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even +Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet +(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a +beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and +silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny +Beothic always stalked. + +The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked +pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during +the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, +cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master +Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. +He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It +had been as he had hinted to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful +and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, +during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made +such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship +that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of +fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, +Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really +anger him. + +"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to +Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of +joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor +devil. I can afford to be charitable now." + +They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at +the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping +the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's +underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward +Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for +having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts +flitted pleasantly through her mind. + +"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of +the whole thing. + +"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in +Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and--and I was mightily surprised +to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were +bright." + +"Do you mean that you--do you mean that it happened on the first day of +your arrival at the fort?" she queried. + +"Surely," said he. + +"And you loved me then?" + +He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his +ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English +rose-garden. + +"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an +impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so +self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm." + +He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while, +they were silent. + +"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day +you came to the fort, or was it just--just surprise at seeing a--a +civilized girl in so forsaken a place?" + +He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to +kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given +ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your +hands. Was that love, think you?" + +"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but +tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying +water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the +_Heart of the West_. + +"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St. +John's--and then for home." + +The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was +weeping. + +"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded, +and choked with a sob she could not stifle. + +"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked. + +"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered. + +He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the +anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that +held the fate of the mad baronet so securely. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED + + +At nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty-second day of June, the bow +of the _Heart of the West_ was towed around and pointed down-stream by +willing boats and canoes; a light wind filled such sails as were set, +and the voyage was begun. Trigget fired a salute from a new gun which +Kingswell had given him from the armament of the ship. It was answered +by the barking of cannon and the fluttering of sails. + +Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kingswell, and Maggie Stone, aft +by the tiller, which was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly +wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, his great dreams were +assured; and yet a pang of homesickness went through the joy like the +blade of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clustered people along +the meadow and in the boats grow dim,--the faces of William Trigget and +Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear to him. He shouted back +to them in English and in his native tongue, and waved his cap +frantically. The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam around the +wooded point, and meadow and stockade and camp of wigwams vanished like +a picture withdrawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress Westleigh. +Then he walked forward to the break of the poop, and blinked very hard +at nothing in particular in the belly of the maintopsail. + +Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, and the water changed +its tint of amber for wind-roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown +shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, and azure uplands +shone beyond their frowning brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes +of foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever-shifting, +ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along the fading cliffs white sea-birds +circled and settled like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged around +the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of mist, and beating up again +with quivering pinions. + +Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master upon himself. He was as +good a deep-sea navigator as any man on the whole width of the North +Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards were swung around, and +the stout bark headed due east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push +the tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace and sheet, at the +command of that gold-haired youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh +flutter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and lovely beyond +power of description, shone yet more brightly; and her cheeks, already +flushed to clear flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the ship +answered to his will, so would he answer to her whim. It was a pleasant +reflection to the lady; and to realize it she called softly. Without a +glance at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to her side. + +The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful harbour and brave little +town of St. John's was made without accident, though not without +incident. In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, the stump of +a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. A day later, a large vessel that +was evidently employed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest in the +business of the _Heart of the West_. She was not a quarter of a mile +distant when first sighted, for a light fog was on the water. She flew +no flag, and changed her course and altered her speed with sinister +promptness. Kingswell, and every man of the ship's company, knew that +pirates of many nationalities infested those waters during summer. The +worst of the thieves were Turks; and the fishing-ship or store-ship that +was overhauled by those gentry usually lost more than its cargo. +Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards also had a weakness for playing the +part of the bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide-sailed craft, +to the rôle of the fishhawk so unwillingly played by the merchantmen. +Happily for Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore and to +leeward. Both watches were piped up by Tom Bent. The gunners went to +their quarters. Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining +masts and yards. The brave little ship answered willingly to the +pressure, and her cutwater broke the flanks of the waves into sibilant +foam. + +A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix and her old maid, in the +seclusion of that snug cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, +wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains across the thick glass of +the after-port (as if fearing that the eagle glance of one of the +pirates might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then devoted +herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix completed her toilet, threw a cloak +over her shoulders, and climbed the companion. She joined Kingswell by +the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and with a composure that +took no heed of the sailor at the helm, watched the chase with interest. + +"They outsail us," she said, presently. + +Kingswell nodded. "But she'll never get near us on that course," he +replied. "She is for heading us off, and getting to windward. If she +gets to windward of us--Lord, but I scarce think she will." + +He said a word of preparation to the man at the tiller, and then gave a +few quick orders from the break of the poop. In half a minute the _Heart +of the West_ headed out on an easy tack. When every sail was drawing to +his liking, he returned to the girl. + +"How glorious!" she cried. "A good horse, a singing pack, and an old fox +make but slow sport compared to this." + +"We are the fox on this hunting morning," smiled Kingswell. + +"With teeth," she hinted. + +He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was shouldering the wind on the +new course. He looked at the girl. + +"Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, "and soon we'll be gnashing +them." + +Though the _Heart of the West_ sailed well, to windward, the big craft +astern sailed even better. The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing +blue water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure coast to leeward, +made a fine picture under the white sun. As the stranger drew near and +nearer, excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old Trowley bawled +to be set free, that he might not die in the sail-locker like a rat in a +hole. Tom Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt an inch +shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and powder, and was for opening fire at +an impossible range. Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, and +took her forward to a place of greater safety in the men's quarters. + +Along either side of the after-cabin of the _Heart of the West_ ran a +narrow passage. Each passage ended in a blind port, and behind each port +crouched a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing ship. Now +Kingswell blessed the day that a youthful love of warlike gear and a +heart for adventure had led him to add these pieces to the armament of +his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, how Master Trowley had +growled at the delay caused by getting the great guns aboard and +partitioning off the passage. Even his mother had urged him to put more +faith in the great ship which the king was so gracious as to send to +Newfounde Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet. But +Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his way; and now he thanked the +gods of war for it. + +Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their models and rigging and +the laws of nature would allow. They went about often on ever shortening +tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it is safe to say that +her seamanship was no better. Suddenly she luffed until her sails +quivered, and from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with inner cores of +flame. Both shots flew high, and fell ahead of the quarry in brief +spouts of torn water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of the +merchantman opened up, and the sinister muzzles of the guns were run out +with a gust of English cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed +defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and clung to the leaping +waves. + +Kingswell felt the deck jump under his feet. His pulses leaped with the +good planks. "Hit!" he cried--and sure enough, one of the enemy's upper +spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tottered desperately, and +then swooped down on the clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour +later the _Heart of the West_ was spinning along on her old course, and +far astern the stranger lay to and nursed her wound. + +Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows opened in the sheer brown +face of the cliffs, and the people of the _Heart of the West_ caught a +glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. Then the rocky portals +seemed to close, and the spray flew like smoke along the unbroken +ramparts. The ship was put about, and again the magic entrance opened +and shut. + +"I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. "Ye needn't wait for no +duff-headed pilot." + +So the stout ship went 'round again, with a brisk shouting of men at the +braces and a booming of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the +sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and the battery on Signal +Hill. She raced at the towering cliff as if she would try to overthrow +it with her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught his breath. +Beatrix looked away, so fearful was the sight of the unbroken rock that +seemed to swim toward them with a voice of thunder and the smoking surf +along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom Bent were mad. But the boatswain +gripped the big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked an eye +aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, of a sudden, the narrow +passage of green water, spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the +walls of rock slid aside and let them in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN THE MERRY CITY + + +The _Heart of the West_ was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside +the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the +great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant +welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress +Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a +subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never +have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new +arrival carried such a passenger. + +"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink +his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the +worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe." + +He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix +shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the +dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk facings of his +coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier. + +"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular +fancy is for the Church." + +The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to +think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the +combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. +Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?" + +"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell. + +"Ay, we have a parson--a ranting old missionary," replied the +lieutenant. + +"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the +marriage service." + +"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell. + +The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He +was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish +countenance. + +"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in +the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled +good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at +Mistress Westleigh, "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were +brother and sister." + +The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, +and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was +of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds +and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if +he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. +His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike +those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for +his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair +with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box +to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant +made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and +cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated +his name and degree. + +"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, +extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me +more than once in his great house in Bristol,--ay, and treated the poor +sailor like a peer of the realm." + +Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave a brief account of Sir +Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, +and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort +was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its +whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered +plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief +engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress +Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor +was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He +murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in +England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well +do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh--ay, the +young lady's mother--bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, +and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And +she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death +that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil." + +Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness. + +"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, +and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour +day by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, +I can assure you." + +"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in +his staring eyes. + +Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, +the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. +John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception +Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return +within the week. + +"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress +Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good +housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but +we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a +touch of gaiety." + +His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little +settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the +governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There +were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right +and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating +parties on the harbour, and outings among the woods and natural gardens +that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin. + +The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of +her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude +village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the +harbour was her humble and devoted servant. + +Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always +merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant +England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the +garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade +on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the +grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but +seemed to uncover. + +On the eighth day after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_ in the +harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the +boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the +state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy +persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, +after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a +pun on his willingness to marry her. The sally of wit was received by +the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so +far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog. + +The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's +house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers +of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many +more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the _Heart of the West_, where +sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the +commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the +forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon +farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the _Heart of the +West_ down the harbour and through the Narrows. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA + + +The wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, brown barren, gray marsh, +and black wood, which had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable +to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. With the return of +summer, the dark adventurer and the Beothic girl deserted their inland +retreat, and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts far into the +Atlantic. The crown of that cape affords an uninterrupted view to +seaward and north and south across the waters of two great bays. A fire +at night, or a column of smoke in the day, glowing or streaming upward +from that vantage place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing +ship at a distance of many miles. + +The journey proved a long and trying one, through swamps and barrens, +and over rock-tumbled knolls. Streams were forded, lakes +circumambulated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts. Through it all, +the native girl, Miwandi, kept a brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, +however, was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy at times. The +hardships of that wild existence had begun to tell on his body, and the +loneliness to fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress Westleigh +had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving only a mean desire for the +salve of revenge with which to soothe his injured pride. He would wound +her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear oppressed him that his men might +have forgotten his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the two +seasons of silence, to continue their cruising of those northern waters +throughout June and July, as he had commanded. But that doubt only +troubled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his subordinate +buccaneers of the _Cristobal_ was not to be questioned seriously, for it +had been tested in many tight places. Comradeship often forms as trusty +ties between the hearts of pirates as between the hearts of honest +gentlemen. Once grown beyond the temptations of greed and treachery, it +is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for their messmates. + +It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck of the _Cristobal_ +(with Miwandi, of course), and to appear, some fine day, before the +little fort of Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, the +buildings to the torch, and to carry the English beauty away with him. +He felt that his passion for the proud lady might be easily and +pleasantly refired. But he made no mention of Mistress Westleigh to +Miwandi, the Beothic girl. + +After more than a week of hard travelling, the two ascended the wooded +ridge which runs seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim +cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set up their lodge. At the +extremity of the headland, high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and +noddies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones that lay +about. Completed, it looked like an altar reared by some benighted +priesthood to the gods of the wind and the sea. But no such thought +occurred to its architect. His case was too desperate to allow his mind +to indulge in such whimsical fancies. + +While the woman went in quest of food--fish, flesh, or fowl, what did it +matter which?--the man gathered wood and piled it near the queer hearth. +He worked without intermission until Miwandi returned from her foraging +with a string of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a modest fire +within the rough walls of his furnace, and helped the girl clean and +cook the fish. By that time the glow of the afternoon was centred +behind the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the sea; but as +yet the atmosphere held no suggestion of dusk. No sail broke the wide +expanse of dark blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'east a +whale breached and blew its little fountain of spray across the still +line of the horizon. D'Antons and Miwandi noted these things as they +ate, but made no comment upon them. + +For several days after the arrival of the two upon the overseeing +headland, D'Antons made no other use of his furnace than for the cooking +of meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for the walls protected +the flame from the ever-flying winds that prevailed over that exposed +spot. The adventurer knew that he was early for the _Cristobal_. Several +sails were detected; but of them the only heed taken was the precaution +of blanketing the little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The +Frenchman did not desire a visit from fishermen of any nationality +whatever. He might find it difficult to explain his presence in so +unfavourable a spot for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they +would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, what reason could he +give for wishing to stay in his cheerless camp? So he lay low and +watched the passing of more than one stout craft without a sign. + +The time arrived when he must set his signals, despite the risk of +attracting unwelcome visitors. So he closed the front of the furnace +with a boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped with damp +moss and punk, and then laid a large, flat stone over the opening in the +top of the unique structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed a +column of dense smoke to issue into the air, stream aloft and scatter in +the wind. By replacing the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding +that the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let the smoke stream +up, uninterrupted. The signalling would only be resorted to when a +vessel, which might possibly be the _Cristobal_, should be sighted. When +darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die down. A night signal was +unnecessary, as the _Cristobal_, should she keep the tryst at all, was +sure to make an examination of the cape by daylight. D'Antons' last +orders had been strictly and particularly to that effect. + +A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept by the fugitives on +the brow of the cape, and the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times +without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, attracted by the +smoke (which was due to D'Antons' tardy realization that the +approaching ship was not the _Cristobal_) altered her course, sailed +close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. D'Antons and Miwandi +had just enough time, with not a minute to spare, to roll up their +wigwam and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most valuable +belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of tangled spruces and firs. +The boat's crew was composed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from +suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow of the promontory with +fine hardihood, but once there did little but examine the marks where +the lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow the queer +fireplace. They believed that structure to be an altar, built to the +glory of some unorthodox god. Then they retraced their perilous way to +the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back to the ship. D'Antons +stole from his retreat and crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a +glow of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on her northward +course. + +Another week drifted along, and hope wavered in the buccaneer heart. His +gloomy moods began to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged him +to return to the inland rivers--to make peace with her people--to cease +his unprofitable staring at the sea. + +"The sorrow of the great salt water has entered your heart," she said, +"and the moaning of it has deafened your ears to my voice." + +He did not turn his eyes from the undulations of the gray horizon. +"Would you have me rot in this place for the remainder of my life?" he +asked, harshly, in her language. + +The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and reproved her heart for +the image of a god it had set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from +its inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim symbol of hate; she +pressed her face to the coarse herbage, and tore the sod with her +fingers. + +"Miwandi! Come to me, little one," cried the man from the edge of the +cliff. + +Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest smoke. She sprang up +and ran to him. He drew her to his side, and with his right hand pointed +southward across the glinting deep. + +"The _Cristobal_!" he cried. "Good God, I'll stake my life on it!" + +So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of those unmistakable +topsails that his selfish affection for the woman lighted again. He +pressed his lips to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple +creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss. + +While the gray flake of sail expanded on the horizon, Pierre d'Antons +and the woman hurriedly and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, +lit and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and rotten bark. The +thick pillar of smoke arose like a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. +Miwandi busied herself with breaking the wood to the required length and +carrying damp moss. For several minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend +in an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for a few seconds, let it +rise again, broke it again, and again let it stream aloft, +uninterrupted. He had signalled his name according to the code of the +_Cristobal_. + +The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager eyes of the watchers on +the cape. North, east, and south there was no other sail in sight. At +last three flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. The +question was read instantly by D'Antons, who returned to his fire and +interrupted the stream of smoke five times in quick succession. The +translation of that was "All's well. You may approach without danger." + +A message of congratulation appeared promptly against the bellying +foresail of the _Cristobal_; and the watchers saw the rolls of white +foam gleaming like wool under the forging of the bow. + +D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the _Cristobal_. Miwandi was +received without question. The acting commander of the ship was a +grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva,--a fellow steeped in +crime and uncertain of temper, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion +for D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness performed by the +Frenchman years before, in the town of Panama. + +Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and ready for the high +seas again. He asked no questions concerning his adventures until more +than one bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's +travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the best the cabin +lockers contained. Miwandi, too, was reclothed; and the beauty and +softness of the silks that were presented to her fairly turned her +little head. She did not know that the fair French lady for whom they +had been made, in gay Paris, and who had worn them only three months +ago, was somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between the Bahaman +reefs. She knew only that the texture and colours delighted her skin and +her eyes. So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the finery, +toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar fingers. + +In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his friend to close the +door. He had consumed a soup, and was still engaged with the wine. +Silva returned to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push +on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be sure that the door you +considered fastened is fastened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the +table and their heads close together, the more salient incidents of +D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness were rehearsed and keenly listened +to. Silva displayed a prodigious indignation at the story of the +captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress Westleigh. At word +of Sir Ralph's death (and the murder became a desperate duel in the +telling), a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. As to what +he heard of Kingswell--ah, but oaths in two languages were quite +inadequate for the expression of his feelings. + +"We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel--and the gizzard as well," +said he, and drank off his wine. + +"Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, darkly. + +Silva nodded, with a sinister leer. + +"So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade into everlasting +damnation," he said. + +"Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in the attack," warned the +captain. + +So the _Cristobal_ headed northward, and the evil-looking rascals of +her crew were informed that the morrow would bring them some work to +limber their muscles. The information was received with cheers, in which +hearty English voices were not lacking. + +However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape of the _Heart of the +West_, turned the danger away from the little fort. + +"She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, when he sighted the +ship. The old fever awoke in his blood. He longed for the old +excitement. + +"Give chase," he ordered. "The fort can well do without the honour of +our attentions for a little while." + +So the chase was carried on, as has been described in a previous +chapter, and went merrily enough for the _Cristobal_ until the +unexpected shot from the stern of the quarry brought down her +foretopmast and its weight of sail. But before that had happened, +D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new clothes and a great hat, marked +Bernard Kingswell on the poop of the _Heart of the West_. He cursed like +a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship was crippled. + +"The fort may rot of old age in the midst of its desolation," he cried +to Silva, "for what I would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead." + +A few days later, with their spars repaired, they picked up a small +fishing-boat, and learned from the skipper that a great ship from the +north had entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing the virtue of +precaution, they impressed the master and crew and scuttled the little +vessel. Then, with admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far to +seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that hospitable port. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE + + +The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked +back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the +cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so +radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at +the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips. + +"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more. + +Both were brave in marriage finery,--she in a pearl gown of brocaded +silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he +in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's. + +They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple +rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she +whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the +wilderness to the wide east. + +Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind +bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like +polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts +(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates +wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the +days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook +(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked +in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as +bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a +dawning repentance in his sullen blood. + +An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and +stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, +which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days +preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his +wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His +tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures +anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of +his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though he had been named +"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather +than of dreams. + +"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried +Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. + +Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why +should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great +houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for +villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as +Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater +than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you +have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were +brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they +were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country." + +"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you +may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens +have been guilty of ingratitude." + +Beatrix patted the moralist's arm. + +"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with +doubt? Only if he climbs high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain +soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as +ourselves." + +Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell +and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the +rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of +the jibs. The second mate was with him. + +"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell. + +"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent +on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate +saw it and answered it. + +"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, +"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered +Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both +watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. +Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the +glory of England." + +He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news +with an inward sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was +for him. + +"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he +asked. + +She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," +she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety. + +He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He +felt them tremble against his. + +"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and +hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability +of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They +held that the _Heart of the West_ could make a better fight on her +present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or +another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm +their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair +astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, +and put gunnery out of the question. + +"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we +equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that." + +So the _Heart of the West_ held on her course under a press of canvas. + +After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they +went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called +the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their +breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked +up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully. + +"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the +stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made +merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your +lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have +already encountered. My husband,--your captain,--like a true-bred +English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has +promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' +time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of +her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this +brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my +word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can +give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God +and for England." + +She looked down at them, smiling divinely. + +"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman. + +Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and +great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in +the sunlight. + +"God bless you, lady," they roared. + +She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands. + +"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of +the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes. + +The _Heart of the West_ held on her course, breaking the waves in +fountains from her forging bow. The _Cristobal_ raced down upon her with +the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the +merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ every man was at his post, and the +matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second +mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate +stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each +measured and calculated the brisk approach of the _Cristobal_ with +unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the +speed of the wind. + +Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of +the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across +his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done +to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an +order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal. +The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good +ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the +vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart. +Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging +shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The +smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon +the enemy. The _Cristobal_ fell off before the wind in an unaccountable +manner. The _Heart of the West_ luffed, in the hope of bringing her +heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manoeuvre could not be +accomplished, and flew about on her old course. + +"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks +and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked +God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his manacled wrists against the +bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the +fight. + +From that first exchange of round-shot, the _Heart of the West_ escaped +without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the +pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high +between the upper spars of the merchantman. The _Cristobal_, however, +was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third; +for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the +deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of +hers. + +Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails +gave her over her enemy, the _Heart of the West_ raced after the +buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard +guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more, +she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target +of the _Cristobal's_ starboard side. The range was middling; but, even +so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings +and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high +sails above the _Cristobal_, and with a flapping and rending, the +mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards. + +Now the disabled, tillerless _Cristobal_, kept before the wind by a +great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled +wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and +Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell +the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons. + +"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with +a grim smile. + +For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will, +pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining +but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two +of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where +their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie +Stone. + +In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word +that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings. + +"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook. +Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy. +"Cast him loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an +English sailor man." + +Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the _Cristobal_ struck the +teakwood rail of the _Heart of the West_ amidships. A flying splinter +whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat +across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter +and cheers. + +"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one. + +Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the +ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that. + +"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand +in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and +remember only your actions of to-day." + +Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's. + +"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am +in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would +you suggest?" + +Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her +aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +OVER THE SIDE + + +With a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling of spars, the +merchantman's larboard bow scraped along the enemy's side. +Boarding-irons were thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a yell, +the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, and hurled themselves upon +the mongrels who clustered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the +air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met with a softer +resistance. Screams of rage and pain, and shouts of grim exultation, +rang above the conflict. + +Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the thickest of the press, and +laid about him with such desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the +buccaneers hustled each other to get out of his way. + +Kingswell, in the waist of the _Cristobal_, encountered D'Antons, and +claimed him for his own. As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began +the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the wilderness. Kingswell +heard it without comment. The tumult about them gradually subsided, as +man after man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. Sail was +shortened on both vessels, and the victors, sound and wounded alike, +gathered about the two swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of +the watchers. The rough fellows understood that their captain had an old +score to settle with the buccaneer. They were fascinated by the +lightning play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of foot and +hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons snarled an insulting taunt at his +adversary, they cursed softly. When their captain pricked the pirate's +shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration went through them. So intent were +they on the fight that they failed to notice the approach of Miwandi, +the Beothic woman, until she was in their midst. But they became aware +of her presence when she screamed with rage and flung herself upon +Kingswell. + +"Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a futile grab at the mad +figure. + +Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon colouring, wrenched himself +clear of her, avoided the slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged +through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched forward so suddenly and +heavily that the rapier was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The +hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out between D'Antons' +shoulders a full two-thirds of its length. He sprawled on his face, +gulping his last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon knocked +spasmodically on the red planking of the deck. The woman, stunned with +grief, was led away by two of the seamen. + +By the time the duel was over, the long, northern twilight was drawing +to a close. The decks of the _Cristobal_ were cleared of the dead bodies +and the wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was partially +repaired; a few sails were set; and the shattered tiller was replaced. +The prisoners (wounded and bound together, they did not number a dozen) +were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of seven, under the first +mate's command, went aboard the _Cristobal_. Then the boarding-irons +were cast loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to a safe +distance. + +Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove to comfort her, but failed +signally. Her position was evident enough to every one who had seen her +frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter with Kingswell. +Beatrix guessed the story. Her face burned at remembrance of her +one-time companionship with D'Antons--of the days before she fully knew +his nature, and often sat at cards and chess with him in the little +cabin in the wilderness--and of the days before that, when he was one of +her admirers in London. Even now she did not know him for her father's +murderer. Kingswell had decided to keep that to himself, until some day +in the happy future, when the wilderness should be fainter than the +memory of a dream in his wife's mind. + +For three days the ships kept within sight of each other. On the fourth, +a gale of wind drove them apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the +prize, for she had received no serious damage to her hull in the bitter +encounter that had befallen on his wedding-day. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ the wounded improved daily; the prisoners +cursed their irons and their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope +without a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, promoted from +imprisonment to the position of second mate, worked like a Trojan, and +Beatrix and Bernard sped the hours in the high and golden atmosphere of +love and youth. The Beothic woman, however, felt no response in her +heart to the stir and happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a +desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was weary of the sequence of +day and night, night and day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, +without rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were deaf to words of +comfort, even when they were spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She +asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, at sight of her +lover's danger, she accepted the will of her pitiless gods without signs +of either anger or wonder. + +One still night, when the waves rocked under the faint light of the +stars without any breaking of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to +swell the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was startled from +his reveries by a splash close alongside. He called to the officer of +the watch, who had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. They +scanned the sea on all sides and listened intently. They saw only the +black, vanishing crests. They heard only the whispering of the ship on +her way. + +"A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with him. + +In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered to be empty,--no trace of +her was found alow or aloft. + +The remaining days of the passage slipped by without any especial +incident. Winds served. Seas were considerate of the good ship's +safety. No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward voyage. Every +night there was fiddling in the forecastle and the chanting of rude +ballads. And sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, as if the +very heart of happiness were under the sounding-board, and Love himself +in the strings. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE MOTHER + + +Dame Kingswell, the widow of that good merchant of Bristol whom Queen +Elizabeth had knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and looked +down upon a pleasant garden beneath the window. She was alone. Her +garments, though of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore no +personal ornaments save two rings on her left hand, and a chain of gold, +bearing a small cross of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair +was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black as her husband's had +been flaxen. Her complexion held scarcely more colour than her hair. On +her knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly illuminated about the +margins, lay open. But her thin hands were folded over the page, and her +gaze was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time was early evening. +The sunlight was mellow gold. The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the +lawns threw eastward shadows. + +The chamber in which the widow sat was large and scantily furnished. A +few portraits, by masters of the brush, hung along the walls. A +prayer-desk, with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner. + +A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady turned her eyes from the +bright garden below her window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful +girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger advanced quickly, in +a whispering of silks, and in her glowing hands took the widow's +bloodless fingers. + +"My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, "I fear my memory is flitting. +I do not recall your winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir +Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young lady in London?" + +The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale hands lightly and +prettily. + +"My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured. + +The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, in vain, to connect this +lovely creature with any branches of the late knight's family. + +"Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she queried. "Pray do not kneel +there, my dear. Come sit in the window and tell me who you are." + +But the stranger did not move. + +"I am your daughter," she said. "And--oh, do not swoon, my +mother--Bernard is at the door, awaiting your permission to enter." + +The widow closed her eyes for a second, leaning back in her chair. She +recovered herself swiftly and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was +now standing, ready to run to the door and admit her husband. + +"What story is this?" she cried, incredulous. "I have no daughter. And +Bernard, my son, has lain dead in a far land these weary months." + +"Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. "Nay, he is not dead. But let me go +to the door, and you will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your +threshold, happy and well." + +The older woman maintained her hold of her visitor's gown. "And who are +you, to bring me word of my son's return?" she asked, with a ring of +shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, she feared that she was +affording sport to some heartless person; for this sudden tale of her +son's safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken upon her +pensive reveries like an impossible scene out of a play. + +"I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an effort, she pulled her skirts +away from the clutching fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it open, +she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang to where his mother sat, and +caught her up from her chair against his breast. With a glad, +inarticulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung +hysterically. + + +Five days after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_, the _Cristobal_ +sailed into port. By that time the story of her capture was well known +in the town, and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to welcome +her. Master Kingswell put her up for sale. In the end, he bought her +himself, for something more than she was worth. Every penny of the money +Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who had fought and sailed their ship +so valorously on her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and wayward +master mariner, John Trowley, failed to show himself for a share of the +gold. He had not the courage to run a chance of another meeting with +Lady Kingswell. + +Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad Ouenwa, something is +written in the old records in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the +little fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some chroniclers +maintain that the French overpowered it; others are as certain that the +settlers moved to Conception Bay, and there established themselves so +securely that, even to-day, descendants of those Triggets and those +Donnellys cultivate their little crops, cure their fish, and sail their +fore-and-afters around the coast to St. John's. + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Brothers of Peril, by Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + +***** This file should be named 44387-8.txt or 44387-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/3/8/44387/ + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brothers of Peril + A Story of old Newfoundland + +Author: Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +Illustrator: H. C. Edwards + +Release Date: December 8, 2013 [EBook #44387] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">BROTHERS OF PERIL</p> + +<p class="bold2">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="box"> +<h2><i>WORKS OF<br />THEODORE ROBERTS</i></h2> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="decoration" /></div> + +<table summary="works"> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>The Red Feathers</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>Brothers of Peril</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><i>Hemming the Adventurer</i></td> + <td><i>$1.50</i></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/dec.jpg" alt="decoration" /></div> + +<p class="bold"><i>L. C. PAGE & COMPANY</i><br /><i>New England Building, Boston, Mass.</i></p></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i004.jpg" alt="A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS WILDERNESS" /></div> + +<p class="bold">"A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT<br />NAMELESS WILDERNESS"</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i007.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + +<h1>Brothers of Peril</h1> + +<p class="bold">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<p class="bold">By</p> + +<p class="bold">Theodore Roberts</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of</i> "Hemming, the Adventurer"</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Illustrated by</i> H. C. Edwards</p> + +<p class="bold"><i>Boston</i> L. C. Page &<br />Company <i>Mdccccv</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1905</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page & Company</span><br />(INCORPORATED)</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<p class="center space-above">Published June, 1905<br />Second Impression, March, 1908</p> + +<p class="center space-above"><i>COLONIAL PRESS<br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.<br />Boston, Mass., U.S.A.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Preface</h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p>During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of +Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings, +selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain, +and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular +battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought +together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory, +was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire—and let +fame go hang!</p> + +<p>The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde +Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. +Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the +aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the +settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was +the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place +remain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates, +the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships +with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of +founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God, +England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or cripple +the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were +powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of +the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble +fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow +at the inscrutable wilderness.</p> + +<p>The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were +the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first +vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a +greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It +was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to +each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped +into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of +the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of +the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion, +and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> to say, it was +a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers.</p> + +<p>In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the +peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable +signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the +loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the +fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered +priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we +read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the +natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring +shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England, +Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly +treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is +recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in +fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of +his motley captivity.</p> + +<p>Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in +1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a +kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he +says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow."</p> + +<p>As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions. +An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that +her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that +time—something over a hundred years ago—the race numbered between one +and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water +to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian +Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had +reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a +lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou. +One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant +of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the +interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first +day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the +world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of +one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained +fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago.</p> + +<p>To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears +stories of grassy circles <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span>beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams +once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the +turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is +forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded.</p> + +<p>In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in +the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short +years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren, +shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no +mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of +fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than +the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and +women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them to-day.</p> + +<p class="right">T. R.</p> + +<p><i>November, 1904.</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" class="left"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> + <td><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Boy Wins His Man-Name</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Old Craftsman by the Salt Water</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Fight in the Meadow</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Ouenwa Sets Out on a Vague Quest</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Admiral of the Harbour</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Fangs of the Wolf Slayer</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Silent Village</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Letter for Ouenwa</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">An Unchartered Plantation</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>X.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Gentry at Fort Beatrix</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Setting-in of Winter</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Meditation and Action</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Signs of a Divided House</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Trick of Play-Acting</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Hidden Menace</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Cloven Hoof</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Confidence of Youth</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XVIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Events and Reflections</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XIX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Two of a Kind</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">By Advice of Black Feather</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Seeking of the Tribesmen</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Brave Days for Young Hearts</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Betrothed</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span>XXIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Fire-lit Battle. Ouenwa's Return</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Fate Deals Cards of Both Colours in the Little Fort</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Pierre d'Antons Parries Another Thrust</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Grim Turn of March Madness</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXVIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Running of the Ice</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXIX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Wolf Slayer Comes and Goes; and Trowley Receives a Visitor</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXX.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Maggie Stone Takes Much Upon Herself</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_264">264</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">While the Spars Are Scraped</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The First Stage of the Homeward Voyage Is Bravely Accomplished</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXIII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">In the Merry City</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXIV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Pierre d'Antons Signals His Old Comrades, and Again Puts to Sea</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_294">294</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXV.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Bridegroom Attends to Other Matters Than Love</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXVI.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Over the Side</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_317">317</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>XXXVII.</td> + <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Mother</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="bold2">BROTHERS OF PERIL</p> + +<p class="bold">A Story of Old Newfoundland</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME</span></h2> + +<p>The boy struck again with his flint knife, and again the great wolf tore +at his shoulder. The eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. +Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. The dark spruces stood +above them, with the first shadows of night in their branches; and the +western sky was stained red where the sun had been. Twice the wolf +dropped his antagonist's shoulder, in a vain attempt to grip the throat. +The boy, pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a dog, and +repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into the wolf's shaggy side.</p> + +<p>At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> lay stretched dead in +awful passiveness. His fangs gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws +and black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet wilderness from the +recesses of the half-shut eyelids.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the fingers of his left hand +buried in the wolf's mane, and his right hand a blot of red against the +beast's side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went down to the +river and washed his mangled arm and shoulder in the cool water. The +shock of it cleared his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the +current to his middle, stooped to the racing surface, and drank +unstintingly. Strength flooded back to blood and muscle, and the slender +limbs regained their lightness.</p> + +<p>By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the paler background of the +eastern sky. A long finger-streak of red, low down on the hilltops, +still lightened the west. A purple band hung above it like a belt of +magic wampum—the war-belt of some mighty god. Above that, Night, the +silent hunter, set up the walls of his lodge of darkness.</p> + +<p>The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of the sky. He might read it, +knowingly enough, for the morrow's rain or frost; but beyond that he +gave it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> about the +skinning of it with his rude blade. He worked with skill and speed. Soon +head and pelt were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his arrows +and bow, he flung the prize across his shoulder and started along a +faint trail through the spruces.</p> + +<p>The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead away from the river by +hummock and hollow; and yet it cunningly held to the course of the +stream. Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed over in the +tree-tops. The voices of the rapids smote across the air with a deeper +note. As the boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, and +sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms silent as shadows faded away +from his path, and questioning heads were turned back over sinewy +shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf and they smelt the +man. They knew that there had been another violent death in the valley +of the River of Three Fires.</p> + +<p>After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, following a path which less +primitive eyes could not have found, the boy came out on a small meadow +bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wigwams, made of birch +poles, bark, and caribou hides, stood about the meadow. In front of each +wigwam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> much wood. The +meadow was almost an island, having the river on two sides and a shallow +lagoon cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of alder-grown +"bottom" by which one might cross dry-shod. The whole meadow, including +the alders and a clump of spruces, was not more than five acres in extent.</p> + +<p>The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and threw the wolfskin +down before the fire. There he stood, straight and motionless, with an +air of vast achievement about him. Two women, who were broiling meat at +the fire, looked from the shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart +stripling. They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and +admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes appeared frightful enough +in the red firelight, even in death.</p> + +<p>"Ah! ah!" they cried, "what warrior has done this deed?"</p> + +<p>"Now give me my man-name," demanded the boy.</p> + +<p>The older of the two women, his mother, tried to tend his wounded arm; +but he shook her roughly away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. +Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of great names. A +stalwart man, the chief of the village, strode from the dark interior of +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>nearest wigwam, and glanced from his son to the untidy mass of hair +and skin. His eyes gleamed at sight of his boy's torn arm and the white +teeth of the wolf.</p> + +<p>"Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the women. "Wolf Slayer," he +repeated; "let this be his man-name—Wolf Slayer."</p> + +<p>So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, at the age of fourteen +years, a warrior among his father's people.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of that great island were all of one race. In history +they are known as Beothics. At the time of this tale they were divided +into two nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from one another, +breaking the old bond of blood. Each tribe was divided into numerous +villages. The island was shared pretty evenly between the nations. Soft +Hand was king of the Northerners. It was of one of his camps that the +father of Wolf Slayer was chief.</p> + +<p>Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond his generation. For more +than fifty years he had held the richest hunting-grounds in the island +against the enemy. His strength had been of both head and hand. Now he +was stiff with great age. Now his hair was gray and scanty, and +unadorned by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> snows of eighty +winters had drifted against the walls of his perishable but ever defiant +lodges, and the suns of eighty summers had faded the pigments of his +totem of the great Black Bear. Though he was slow of anger, and fair in +judgment, his people feared him as they feared no other. Though he was +gentle with the weak and young, and had honoured his parents in their +old age and loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest warrior +dared not sneer.</p> + +<p>The village of this mighty chief was situated at the head of Wind Lake. +On the night of Wolf Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson +arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three Fires. They +travelled in bark canoes and were accompanied by a dozen braves. The +grandson of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's age. He was +slight of figure and dark of skin. His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer +of strange things, and a maker of songs. He and Wolf Slayer sat together +by the fire. Wolf Slayer held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's +eyes, and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time Ouenwa listened +attentively, smiling and polite, as was his usual way with strangers. +But at last he grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to listen, +in peace, to the song of the river. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> could he understand what the +rapids were saying with all this babbling of "knife" and "wolf" in his ears?</p> + +<p>"All this wind," he said, "would kill a pack of wolves, or even the +black cave-devil himself."</p> + +<p>"There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf Slayer, glancing up at the +trees.</p> + +<p>"There is a mighty wind blowing about this fire," said Ouenwa, "and it +whistles altogether of a great warrior who slew a wolf."</p> + +<p>"At least that is not work for a dreamer," retorted the other, sullenly. +Ouenwa's answer was a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows of +the fire.</p> + +<p>At an early hour of the next morning the great chief's party started +up-stream in their canoes, on the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours +Soft Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's hundred questions. +He had grown somewhat moody in the last year. He gazed away to the +forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded not the high piping +of his dead son's child. His mind was busy with thoughts of the events +of the past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's voice with a +shake of the head. He recalled the sullen smouldering of that stalwart +chief's eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>. He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging craft +beside him.</p> + +<p>"I grow old," he murmured. "The voice of my power is breaking to its +last echo. My command over my people slips like a frozen thong of raw +leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the dull brain of him?"</p> + +<p>The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and warm. The mists drew +skyward and melted in the gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, +across the brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down-bent wings, +skimmed the pebbly shore. A kingfisher flashed his burnished feathers +and screamed his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead of the +voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of the great chief's approach.</p> + +<p>"Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the boy who killed the wolf," +said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin face was sombre with more +than the shadow of years.</p> + +<p>"Nay," he replied. "His is no empty cry. Beware of him, my son!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER</span></h2> + +<p>Montaw, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the head of a small bay. His +home was half-wigwam, half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered +with the hides of caribou and partly with a square of sail-cloth, which +had been given him by a Basque fisherman in exchange for six beaver +skins. The walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. Here and +there were signs of intercourse with the strangers out of the Eastern +sea,—an iron fishhook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished +copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was justly proud, for had he +not acquired them at risk of sudden extinction by the breath of the +clapping fire-stick?</p> + +<p>The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth he had been a hunter of +renown and a great traveller, and had sojourned long in the lodges of +the Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that people,—and she had +given him laughter in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>return for his devotion. Journeying back to his +own hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. At once all his +skill and bravery had been turned to less open ways than those of the +lover and warrior. In little more than a year's time he had driven the +tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even now as he sat before the door +of his lodge, he was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the +fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows he made of jasper, and +some of flint, and some of purple slate. Those of slate would break off +in the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's pets.</p> + +<p>One day a young man from the valley of the River of Three Fires brought +Montaw a string of fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For awhile +they talked together in the sunlight at the door of the lodge.</p> + +<p>"For the chase," said the old man, "I make the long shape of flint, +three fingers wide, and to this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an +arrow will hold in the side of the running deer, and may be plucked out +after death."</p> + +<p>"I have even seen it, father," replied the young man, in supercilious +tones; for he considered himself a mighty hunter.</p> + +<p>"For the battle," continued the arrow-maker,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> "I chip the flint and +shape the narrow splinters of slate. All three are good in their way if +the bow be strong—and the arm."</p> + +<p>The old craftsman made a song. It was rough as his arrow-heads.</p> + +<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Arrows of gray and arrows of black</div> +<div class="i1">Soon shall be red.</div> +<div>What will the white moon say to the proud</div> +<div class="i1">Warriors, dead?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint,</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of slate.</div> +<div>So, with the skill of my hands, I shape</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of hate.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Fly, my little ones, straight and true,</div> +<div class="i1">Silent as sleep.</div> +<div>Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow,</div> +<div class="i1">What shall I reap?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Sorrow will come to their council-fires.</div> +<div class="i1">Weeping and fear</div> +<div>Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge,</div> +<div class="i1">Year after year.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"When the moon rides on the purple hills,</div> +<div class="i1">Joyous of face,</div> +<div>Then do I give, to the men of my tribe,</div> +<div class="i1">Heads for the chase.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows</div> +<div class="i1">Like a red star,</div> +<div>Then do I give, to the men of my tribe,</div> +<div class="i1">Heads for the war.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>"Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint,</div> +<div class="i1">Arrows of slate.</div> +<div>Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse</div> +<div class="i1">Battle and hate!"</div> +</div></div></div> + +<p>One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking seaward, his trained +ears caught the sound of a faint call from the wooded hills behind. He +did not turn his head or change his position. But he held his breath, +the better to listen. Again came the cry, very weak and far away.</p> + +<p>"It is the voice of a woman," he said, and smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the east faded into the +desolate gray of the sea. Black, like stalking shadows, stood the little +islands of the headlands. The last of the light died out like the heart +of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again came the cry, whispering +across the stillness.</p> + +<p>"It may be the voice of a child, lost in the woods," said the +arrow-maker. He rose from his seat and entered the lodge. He blew the +coals of his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the burnt ends +of faggots. Then he took in his hand another of his Eastern prizes—a +broad-bladed knife—and started across the tumbled rocks toward the edge +of the wood. Though old, he was still strong and tough of limb and +courageous of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> heart. Sure and swift he made his way through the heavy +growth of spruce. Once he paused for the space of a heart-beat, to make +sure of his direction. Again and again was the piteous cry repeated.</p> + +<p>The old man kept up his tireless trot through underbrush and swamp, and +displayed neither fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a +narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into the shadow of a clump of +firs. He lay close, and breathed heavily. By this time the moon had +cleared the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilderness. In the air +was a whisper of gathering frost. The water of the little river twisted +black and silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore it, with a +voice of agony.</p> + +<p>The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old craftsman questioned the +farther shore with a gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be something +wrong with the shadows. A bent figure slipped down to the edge of the +stream where the water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and knees +and crawled to the black and unstable lip of the tide. Again the cry +rang abroad, thin and high above the complaining tumult of the current. +The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> stream. At the edge of +the spinning eddy he found a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung +to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare and rounded arm. The +arrow-maker lifted her against his shoulder and bathed her face in the +cool water until her eyelids lifted.</p> + +<p>"Chief," she whispered, "pluck out the arrow."</p> + +<p>He shook his head. His trade was with battle and death, but it was half +a lifetime since he had felt the gushing of human blood on his hands.</p> + +<p>"Father," she cried, faintly, "I pray you, pluck it out. The pain of it +eats into my spirit. It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and +noiseless—and I heard not so much as the twang of the string."</p> + +<p>The old man held her with his left arm. With strong and gentle fingers +he worked the arrow in the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. +Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot touch of it across his +fingers. He had dwelt so long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed +blade came away from the wound, and he clutched it in his reeking palm. +The woman sobbed with mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped into +the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is none of my making," he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Returning to her he bound her +shoulder with his belt of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, +he again forded the flashing current of the complaining river.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW</span></h2> + +<p>Even while the arrow-maker carried the wounded woman, arrows of the same +shape as that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threatening the +little village on the River of Three Fires. For days several war-parties +from the South had been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser +villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft Hand, and possessing +his hunting-grounds. It was a laggard of one of the smaller bands that +had wounded the woman. She had been far from her lodge at the time, +seeking some healing herbs in the forest, and he had fired on her out of +fear that she had discovered him and would warn her people. In her pain +and fright, she had wandered coastward for several miles.</p> + +<p>Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew down toward the little +meadow. Clouds were over the face of the white October moon. A cold mist +floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> lying low among the +alders at the edge of the clearing, could see the unguarded people +moving about their red fires. There was a scent of cooking deer-meat in +the chill air. The chief of the attacking party lay on the damp grass +and peered between the stems of the alders. He smiled exultantly. A +quick slaughter, and then to a feast already prepared. He and his braves +had enjoyed but poor fare during their long march.</p> + +<p>So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the cooking fires, and turn +to Wolf Slayer. Late of that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in +quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed deserted, and in less +than an hour after his valorous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep +on a warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river flashed in front, +and on three sides brooded the crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun +had set, and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, was red as +fire—or blood. Down-stream, about two hundred yards distant, a sombre +bluff thrust its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at this, and +his eyes widened with dismay. Then they narrowed with hate. Out of the +shelter of the rocks and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came +figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip-deep, shoulder-deep, into +that molten glory. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> they swam; and the ripples washed back from +gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. One by one they stole +from the shadow, swam the radiance, and again sought the shadow.</p> + +<p>The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage had their fingers on him. +Spellbound, he watched close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of +the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the shelter of the trees. +He was old enough to know what this meant, and his heart hurt him with +its pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. He was dismayed +at the sound of his own breathing. He heard the distant rapping of a +woodpecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and the soft breath +of a dying wind; and the familiar sounds filled him with awe. And yet, +but for these sounds, the whole world might be dead and the forest +empty. Thought of the hundred fighting men moving steadily upon the +unguarded homes of his people, with no more warning than the sound of a +swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. But presently the courage +that had helped him slay the wolf came to him, and he thought of the +glory to be won by saving the threatened village. He did not strengthen +his heart to the task for sake of his mother's life and the lives of his +playmates; but because the warriors would call him a hero.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> Keeping just +within the edge of the woods, he moved up-stream as speedily as he might +without making any sound. He came upon a brown hare crouched beside a +clump of ferns. He might have touched it with his hand, so unaware was +it of his presence. He passed beneath an alder branch whereon perched a +big slate-gray jay. It was not a foot from his back as he crawled under, +and it did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to make sure that +he was not a fox. Sometimes he lay still for a little, listening. He +heard nothing, though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. Twilight +deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. The moon sailed up over the +hills, and long banners of cloud passed across the face of it.</p> + +<p>Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the fires of the village. The +red light flashed on the angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in +darkness. He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely breaking the +calm, black surface. Then he swam, without noise of splashing, and +landed at the foot of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled into +the red circle of one of the fires, and told his news to the braves +gathered around. Men slipped from fire to fire. Without any unwonted +disturbance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, with a fierce +shout and a flight of arrows, the alders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> were attacked. The invaders +were checked at the very moment of their fancied victory.</p> + +<p>The fighting scattered. Here three men struggled together in the +shallows at the head of the lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and +sank into the black depths. In the open a half-score warriors bent their +bows. Among the twisted stems of the alders they pulled and strangled, +like beasts of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs and +knives, feeling for one another in the dark. Their war-cries and shouts +of hate rang fearfully on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along +the valley.</p> + +<p>In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought like a man. His lack of +stature saved him from death more than once in that fearful encounter. +Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed him altogether, as he +stumbled and bent among the alders. At first he fought with a long, +flint knife,—the work of the old arrow-maker. But this was splintered +in his hand by the murderous stroke of a war-club. He wrenched a spear +from the clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went down before his +unexpected lunge. It rolled over; then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. +An arrow from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled its shaft +among the dry twigs, and struck a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>glancing blow on the young brave's +neck. He stumbled, grabbing at the shadows. He fell—and forgot the +fight.</p> + +<p>In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wigwams were overthrown, and +about the little fires warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the +encampment was cleared, and saved from destruction; and those of the +invaders who remained beside the trampled fires had ceased to menace. +Along the black edges of the forest ran the cries and tumult of the +struggle. Spent arrows floated on the lagoon. Red knives lifted and +turned in the underbrush.</p> + +<p>Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to the lodges of his people. +Other warriors were returning. They came exultant, with the lust of +fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode arrogantly. Some +crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. Some staggered to the home fires and reeled +against the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer circle of +light. And many came not at all.</p> + +<p>The chief, with a great gash high on his breast (he had bared arms and +breast for the battle), sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of +alders, and at last, returning to the disordered camp, found Wolf +Slayer. With a glad, high<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his +arms and carried him home. The mother met them at the door of the lodge. +In fearful silence the man and woman washed and bound the young brave's +wound, and watched above his faint breathing with anxious hearts.</p> + +<p>"Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn of the dark trail," +whispered the mother. "See, our fires are bright to guide you back to +your own people."</p> + +<p>"Little chief, though this battle is ended, there are many good fights +yet to come," whispered the father. "The fighters of the camp will have +great need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old bear grumbles at +the mouth of his den!—will you not be with us when we singe his fur?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush!" cried the woman.</p> + +<p>The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his spirit from the dark +trail.</p> + +<p>"I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, "and the hunting-song +of dead braves was in my ears."</p> + +<p>Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and strength. Not once—not even +at the edge of Death's domain—had his arrogance left him. It seemed +that the days of suffering had but hardened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> his already hard heart. Lad +though he was, the villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon +them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the camp.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST</span></h2> + +<p>In the dead of winter—in that season of sweeping winds and aching +skies, when the wide barrens lie uncheered of life from horizon to +horizon—Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. They followed +in the "leads" of the great herds of caribou, going partly for the meat +of the deer and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the Southern +enemy. At the head of this party went Panounia, chief of the village on +the River of Three Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf +Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. Grim tales were told +around the big fire at night. The evil thing which Panounia hatched, +with his bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by night. The hearts +of the warriors were fired with the shameful flame. They dreamed things +that had never happened, and wrought black visions out of the +foolishnesses of their brains.</p> + +<p>"The bear nods," they repeated, one to another,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> after the chief had +talked to them. "The bear nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. +But for Panounia, surely the men of the South would have scattered our +lodges and led us, captive, to the playgrounds of their children and +their squaws. Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, for is not +our Great Chief an old woman himself?"</p> + +<p>So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, the foxes barked at his +power. The moon heard it, and the silent trees, and the wind which +carries no messages.</p> + +<p>About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft Hand, decided to make a +journey of many days from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the +Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern invasion. His eyes +longed for a sight of the edges of the land and the breast of the great +waters beyond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour of mighty wooden +canoes walled higher than the peak of a wigwam, and manned by +loud-mouthed warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. Some +wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, hinted that the +strangers were gods. He told many wonderful stories to back his +argument. Soft Hand nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Would gods make such flights for the sake<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> of a few dried fishes and a +few dressed pelts of beaver and fox?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"The gods of trade would do so," replied the wiseacre. "Also," he added, +"they slay at great distances by means of brown stakes which are +flame-tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced."</p> + +<p>"But do these gods not fight with knives—long knives and short?" +inquired the lad. "I have heard it said that they sometimes fall out +over the ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do."</p> + +<p>"And what wonderful knives they are," cried the old gossip. "They are +coloured like ice. They gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning +against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, and the red blood +follows the edge as surely as the rains follow April."</p> + +<p>"I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, "and in my heart I pray +that they be but men, for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless +companions to our people."</p> + +<p>At that Soft Hand looked up. "Are the seasons not arranged to your +liking, boy?" he asked, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; "but strange men promise +better and safer company than strange gods."</p> + +<p>Now he was journeying toward the ocean of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> his dreaming and the ports of +his desire. His eyes would search the headlands of fog. Out of the east, +and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes of the strangers. But the +journey was a hard one. The boy's only companion was a man of small +stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief could well spare. They +took their way down the frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food +and sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind came out of a +steel-blue sky, unshifting and relentless. The dry snow ran before it +over the level surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across their +path. At the approach of night they sought the wooded shore, and in the +shelter of the firs built their fire.</p> + +<p>During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but a cheerless companion. He +had no heart for any adventure that might take him beyond the scent of +his people's cooking-fires. He considered the conversation of his young +master but a poor substitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant +fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncomforted. He hated the +weariness of the march and dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of +the wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, the voice of some +evil spirit. The barking of a fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. +The howl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping of a hare in the +underbrush was enough to shake his poor wits with fright. But he feared +the anger of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so held to +Ouenwa and his mission.</p> + +<p>On the third day of the journey the blue sky thickened to gray, the wind +veered, and a great storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes were +large and damp. The travellers turned aside and climbed the bank of the +river to the thickets of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they +broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves a shelter in the heart +of the wood. Into this they drew their sledge of provisions and their +sleeping-bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they could +find—dead twigs and branches, tree-moss and birch bark—and, with his +ingenious contrivance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a blaze. +They roasted dried venison by holding it to the flame on the ends of +pointed sticks. Each cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. All +creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was not a sound save the +occasional soft hiss of a melting snowflake in the fire. The storm +became denser. It was as if a sudden, colourless night had descended +upon the wilderness, blotting out even the nearer trees with its reeling +gray. The old <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>retainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm from +between his bony knees. His eyes fairly protruded with superstitious +terror.</p> + +<p>"What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The awe of the storm was creeping +over his courage like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The +old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa drew closer to him, and +heaped dry moss on the fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle +of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall.</p> + +<p>"Hark!" whispered the old man. Yes, it was the sound of muffled +footsteps, approaching behind the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The +boy's blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. He clutched his +companion with frenzied hands. The fear of all the devils and shapeless +beings of the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling snow loomed a +great figure. It emerged into the glow of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with relief. For their visitor was +nothing more terrible than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them +cordially, and told them that, but for the glow of their fire, he would +have been lost.</p> + +<p>"But what are you doing here—an old man and a child?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> and his intention of +dwelling with the great arrow-maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn +wisdom.</p> + +<p>"Then are we well met," replied the other, "for my lodge is not half a +spear-throw from the lodge of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a +father to me since the day he saved my wife from death. Now I hunt for +him, and work at his craft, and have left the river to be near him. My +children play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and meat. Truly +the old man has changed since the return of laughter and friendship to +his lodge."</p> + +<p>The stranger's name was Black Feather. He was taller than the average +Beothic, and broad of shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and +one lock of it, which was worn longer than the rest, was plaited with +jet-black feathers. His garments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins +that reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers of dressed leather, +and leggins and moccasins of the same material. Around his waist was a +broad belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcupine quills. His +head was uncovered.</p> + +<p>Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, and replied, good-naturedly, +and at great length, to the youth's many questions. He told of the +high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen four of these monsters +swinging together in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> tide, with little boats plying between them, +and banners red as the sunset flapping above them. He told of trading +with the strangers, and described their manner of spreading out lengths +of bright cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks of strong +drink.</p> + +<p>"Their knives are edged with magic," he said. "Many of them carry +weapons called muskets, which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at +even a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might loose four arrows in +the time that they are conjuring forth the spirit of the musket."</p> + +<p>The storm continued throughout the day and night, but the morning broke +clear. The travellers crawled from their weighted shelter and looked +with gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After a hearty +breakfast, they set out on the last stage of their journey. Their +racquets of spruce wood woven across with strips of caribou hide sank +deep in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at every step. But +they held cheerfully on their way. Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot +Friend, the old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by which they +dragged the sledge passed over the right shoulder of each, and was +grasped in the right hand. After several hours of tramping along the +level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> toward the western +bank and led them into the woods. Presently, after experiencing several +difficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren beyond the +fringe of timber. They ascended a treeless knoll that rounded in front +of them, blindingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend grumbled +and sighed, and might just as well have been on the sledge, for all the +pulling he did. On reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept his +arm before him with a gesture of finality. "Behold!" he said.</p> + +<p>An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's lips, and +died—half-uttered. Before him lay a wedge of foam-crested winter sea +beating out against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and left were +sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave-washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, +and crouching headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness and +shortness of breath for the moment, and surveyed the outlook in silence. +It was many years since he had been so far afield. His little soul was +fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real nature reasserted +itself. He pointed with his hand.</p> + +<p>"Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of two lodges. Good!"</p> + +<p>Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear the old man's cry of joy.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><p>"I see the edge of the world," he said.</p> + +<p>"But the ships come over it, and go down behind it," replied Black +Feather.</p> + +<p>"That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was filled with his old +impudence at sight of the fire and the lodges. "No canoe would venture +on the great salt water. I say it, who have built many canoes. And, if +they voyaged so far, they would slip off into the caves of the Fog +Devils. I believe nothing of all these stories of the strangers and +their winged canoes."</p> + +<p>"Silence!" cried the boy, turning on him with flashing eyes. "What do +you know of how far men will venture?—you, who have but heart enough to +stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon."</p> + +<p>"I have brought you safely through great dangers," whined the old +fellow.</p> + +<p>Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his visitors cordially, and was +grateful for the kind messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the +gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge and education of Ouenwa. +He set the unheroic Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, +and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa the craft of chipping +flints into shapes for spear-heads and arrow-heads, and the art of +painting, in ochre, on leather and birch bark.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR</span></h2> + +<p>Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of +Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black +Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled +bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. +Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy +might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of +waters.</p> + +<p>At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many +ships—ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were +in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted, +and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the +English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, <i>Heart +of the West</i>. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of +those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was +not long before every harbour had its admiral,—in every case the master +of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off +in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages, +whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich +harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting +of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching +the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the +strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the +sea.</p> + +<p>One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the <i>Heart of the +West</i> ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old +craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without +fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on +the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They +displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a +few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the +Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem +of a pipe and blowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said +that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he +had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and +exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather +also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth, +a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the +strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted +and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them +places where they might anchor their ships—for it was none other than +Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and +the long sword at his side—surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his +quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was +Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His +father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death, +had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son +inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the +counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much +Ouenwa could detect at a glance.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the +palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of +English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove +entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he +would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and +glinting horizon.</p> + +<p>"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath.</p> + +<p>"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!"</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a +keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest.</p> + +<p>"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat. +"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly.</p> + +<p>Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of +caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to +enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of +the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom +of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and, +before the other had time to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> notice the hesitation, he stepped within. +The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow +that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the +fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the +roof, the big lodge was unilluminated.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against +the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For +answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared +smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre +place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great +bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of +his hand against the Englishman's breast.</p> + +<p>"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade."</p> + +<p>Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out +the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might +look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from +the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets +of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and +all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other +hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to +explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, +however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another.</p> + +<p>After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing +longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, +and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called +to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. +Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the +<i>Heart of the West</i> had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, +he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to +explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the +birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition +and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver +skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the +strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life +of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's +remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear +to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on +the following night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p><p>The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when +Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot +where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from +Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of +either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and +thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came +to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed +close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing +to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and +laughter were ripe aboard.</p> + +<p>For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. +Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, +with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping +oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under +the stem of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. A cheering glow of candle-light +yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a +level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard +Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and +argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, +and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear +the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could +understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and +the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. +Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The +old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his +great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board.</p> + +<p>"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who +be master?"</p> + +<p>"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied +Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, +glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. +"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or +afore the mast,—no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in +Newfoundland."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of +these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman.</p> + +<p>"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand +as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the +table.</p> + +<p>"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, +would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed +above the overturned bottle and glasses.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into +the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of +the head, and sent him crashing to the deck.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER</span></h2> + +<p>When Trowley recovered consciousness, he was lying in his berth, with a +bandage around his head. Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way +that the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as hate.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are feeling more amiable since your sleep," said Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, damned the rum, and asked the +time of day. His recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy +and fragmentary.</p> + +<p>In reply to his question the gentleman told him that the sun was well +up, the fog cleared, and that he was having his boat provisioned for the +coastwise exploration trip.</p> + +<p>"And mind you," he added, grimly, "that the eighty beaver skins which +are now being stowed away in my berth are my property."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. "An' may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> I ask how ye come by such a +power o' trade in a night-time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He grinned at the wounded skipper +for fully a minute, leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said: "I'll +now bid you farewell until October. Don't sail without me, good Master +Trowley, and look not upon the rum of the Indies when that same is red. +A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might lead to the gallows."</p> + +<p>He turned and nimbly scaled the companion-ladder, leaving the shipmaster +speechless with rage.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the staunch little craft <i>Pelican</i> spread her square +sail and slid away from the <i>Heart of the West</i>. She was manned by old +Tom Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clotworthy. Master Bernard +Kingswell sat at the tiller, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, +extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed amidships and covered +with sail-cloth. The sun was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled +them along at a clipping pace. From a mound above the harbour Black +Feather gazed after them under a level hand. In the little harbour +Trowley's ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others had run out to +the fishing-grounds,—for in those days the fishing was done over the +sides of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> ships, and not from small boats. On either side the brown +shores fell back, and the dancing waters widened and widened. White +gulls screamed above and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy +breasts, and inquisitive eyes.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt a great misgiving. But +Kingswell patted him on the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads +at him and grinned.</p> + +<p>Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, high-sterned vessels +rocked and bobbed under naked spars. The great business that had brought +them so far was going forward. Along both sides of every ship were hung +barrels, and in each barrel was stationed a man with two or more +fishing-lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were hauled up, +unhooked, and tossed to the deck behind. As the little <i>Pelican</i> slid +by, the fishers paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their caps. +The masters shouted "God speed" from their narrow quarter-decks, and +doffed their hats. Kingswell waved them gracious farewells; Ouenwa gazed +spellbound toward the widening outlook; and Tom Bent trimmed the sail to +a nicety.</p> + +<p>They passed headland after headland, rocky island after rocky island, +cove after cove. The shores behind them turned from brown to purple,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher and the wind freshened. +Kingswell shaped the boat's course a few points to the northward. The +stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged like some less +playful creature. Spray flew over her blunt bows, and the sailors +laughed like children, and called her a brave lass, and many other +endearing names, as if she were human.</p> + +<p>"A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master Kingswell. The commander +nodded, and shifted the tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing +with the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, pale hair +streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, to pick out the course through +a group of small islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He gave +an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet sheet. But Ouenwa did not +share the high spirits of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling +got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. Kingswell glanced at +him.</p> + +<p>"Let it go, lad," he said. "A sailor is made in this way. Tom, pass me +along a blanket."</p> + +<p>With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfortable rest for the boy, and +helped him to a drink of water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold +on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the soaring and sinking +of the <i>Pelican</i> were enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As +for Ouenwa!—the poor lad simply clung to the gunwale with the grip of +despair, and entertained regretful, beautiful visions of level shores +and unshaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly.</p> + +<p>"The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. "Maybe, like as not, a swig +o' rum ud sweeten his bilge, sir."</p> + +<p>Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The rank liquor completed the +boy's breakdown. In so doing it served the purpose which Bent had +intended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, already half a sailor.</p> + +<p>When Ouenwa next took interest in his surroundings, the <i>Pelican</i> had +the surf of a sheer coast close aboard on her port side. She was heading +due north. The sun was half-way down his western slope. Behind the +<i>Pelican's</i> bubbling wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens +lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, and on the right hand, +loomed surf-rimmed islands and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering +yet unchanged hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent was now at the +tiller, and Kingswell was in the bows, gazing intently at the austere +coast. Ouenwa crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, under +the straining sail, and crouched beside him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> His head felt light and +his stomach painfully empty, but again life seemed worth living and the +adventure worth while.</p> + +<p>About an hour before sunset the <i>Pelican</i> ran into a little cove, and +her two grappling anchors were heaved overboard. She lay within five +yards of the land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa sprang into the +water and waded ashore. It was a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of +shingle, and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. But at the +base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, grew stunted spruce-trees +and birches. Ouenwa soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course +from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, in a shallow basin +at the foot of the rock, and from there spilled over into the +obliterating sand.</p> + +<p>By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy hacked down a couple of +armfuls of the spruce and birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a +fire. Then he filled a pot from the little well and commenced +preparations for a meal. The other seamen erected a shelter, composed of +a sail and three oars, against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a +convenient boulder, and the commander filled a long pipe with tobacco +and lit it at a brand from the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a +mood to further his young companion's education. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Pointing to the roll +of Virginian leaf, from which he had cut the charge for his pipe, he +said, "Tobacco." Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his +comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old Tom Bent, who was watching +Clotworthy drop lumps of dried venison into the pot of water.</p> + +<p>"Boatswain," he said.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term "able seamen," applied to +Clotworthy and Peter Harding. By that time the stew was ready for them. +They were all sound asleep, under their frail shelter, before the last +glimmer of twilight was gone from the sky.</p> + +<p>It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale flood of dawn illumined the +tent and the recumbent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. Tom +Bent and Harding were not in their places. The boy wondered at that, but +was about to close his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet by a +shrill cry that went ringing overhead and echoing along the cliffs. He +darted from the tent, with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. +Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of the beach, with their backs +to the sea, staring upward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces in +the same direction. They were amazed to see about a dozen native +warriors on the cliff above<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> them, fully armed, and evidently deeply +interested in what was going on in the little cove. One of them was +pointing to the <i>Pelican</i>, and talking vehemently to the brave beside +him. In two of them Ouenwa recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his father, +the chief of the village on the River of Three Fires. He called up to +them, and asked what brought them so far from their village.</p> + +<p>"We are at the salt water to take the fish," replied Wolf Slayer, "and +we saw the smoke of your fire before the last darkness. But what do you +with the great strangers, little Dreamer?"</p> + +<p>"They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, "and I am voyaging with them to +learn wisdom."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent and provisions and then +to the boat. "Put in," he said.</p> + +<p>At a word from Kingswell the three sailors quickly dismantled their +night's shelter and carried the sail, the oars, and such food and +blankets as they had brought ashore, out to the <i>Pelican</i>. At that the +shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along the cliffs.</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>"What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" called Wolf Slayer.</p> + +<p>"Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," Ouenwa cried back, with +indignation in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, my friend," replied Wolf +Slayer, "or you would not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe."</p> + +<p>Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded so dismally across the +dawn a few moments before, five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared +on the top of the cliff—for the cry was the hunting-call of the tribe.</p> + +<p>"Do you fish with war-bows?" shouted Ouenwa. "And why do you summon to +trade with the cry of the hunt?"</p> + +<p>"You ask too many questions, even for a seeker of wisdom," replied the +other youth, mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that the foxes bark with such +assurance?" retorted Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>By this time the <i>Pelican</i> was ready to put out of the cove. Both +anchors were up, and Harding and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. +Old Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with something beside the mast. +Suddenly a bow-string twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the +sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> and, glancing out, +rattled against Harding's oar. Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into +the water. Above them, silhouetted against the lightening sky, they saw +bending bows and downward thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and +a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the warriors on the cliff. The +echoes of the discharge bellowed around and around the rock-girt +harbour. Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke and climbed +aboard, and the seamen pushed into deep water and then bent to their +oars. But the <i>Pelican</i> proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt bows +and comfortable beam. She surged slowly beyond the cloud of bitter smoke +that the musket had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the +voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants—and, behold, the great +warriors were not to be seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as +if the incident were a fine joke; but Ouenwa was hot with shame and +anger. He stood erect and shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He +called upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cowardly faces. He +threatened them with the displeasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of +the English. A figure appeared on the sky-line.</p> + +<p>"You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. "Know you, then, that Soft Hand set +out on the Long Trail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> four suns ago, when he marched into my village to +dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great chief of the people. So +carry yourself accordingly, O whelp without teeth and without a den to +crawl into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of the totem of the +Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, +your father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling babe." He paused +for a moment, and held out a gleaming knife, with its point toward the +<i>Pelican</i>. "The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great lodge," he +cried.</p> + +<p>Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the cliff was lined with +warriors. Like a sudden flight of birds their arrows flashed outward and +downward.</p> + +<p>"Lie down!" cried Kingswell. With a strong hand he snatched Ouenwa to +the bottom of the boat. Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between +the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the naked mast, did not +move. The arrows thumped against plank and gunwale. They pierced the +cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and mast. One, turning from +the rail, struck Bent on the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not +look for the wound. His match was burning with a thread of blue smoke +and a spark of red fire. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an +impromptu swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the muzzle.</p> + +<p>"Steady her," he said, softly. "She's driftin' in."</p> + +<p>Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, thrust it to the bottom, +and held the boat as steady as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He +shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors above him. Tom touched +the slow-match to the quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A plume +of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound that shook the boat from stem +to stern, the gun hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of +hate.</p> + +<p>"Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from where he sagged against the +mast. The kick of his musket had hurt him more than the blow from the +arrow.</p> + +<p>Again the <i>Pelican</i> fought her way toward the open waters, with Harding +and Clotworthy pulling lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and +joyful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, through which +the tide was running landward at a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading +his firearm. Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow in his left +hand and an arrow on the string. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> breath of wind brushed the smoke +aside and cleared the view. Ouenwa pointed to the beach, and gave vent +to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others looked, and saw a huddled shape +of bronzed limbs and painted leather at the foot of the rock.</p> + +<p>"One more red devil for hell," muttered the boatswain. "I learned mun to +shoot his pesky sticks at a Bristol gentleman."</p> + +<p>As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from the mast, not six inches +from the old man's head. Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The +shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught the boy, and with +all the hate that was in his heart for the big murderer on the cliff. +Every man of the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the flight +of it. They saw it curve. They saw a warrior drop his bow from his +menacing hand and sink to his knees.</p> + +<p>"The wolf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own tongue. "The wolf bites the +moss. Who, now, is the wolf slayer?"</p> + +<p>The Englishmen cheered again and again, and the good boat <i>Pelican</i>, +urged forward by triumphant sinews, won through the channel and swam +into the outer waters.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SILENT VILLAGE</span></h2> + +<p>As soon as the <i>Pelican</i> was out of arrow-shot of the cliff, the +Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. +Then he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard from Panounia. +After a deal of questioning, sign-making, and mental exertion, the +Englishman gathered the information that treachery and murder had taken +place up the river, and that his young friend hated the new leader of +the tribe with a bitter hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He +looked at the young savage's flushed face and glowing eyes with sympathy +and admiration. His liking for the boy had grown in every hour of their +companionship, and, by this time, had developed into a decided fondness.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he said, with a light hand on +the other's knee. "Your enemies are my enemies," he continued, "and +we'll fight the dogs every time we see 'em."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He was soothed by the evident +kindliness of Kingswell's tone and manner, though he had failed to +translate his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught the words, +however. They nodded heavily to one another.</p> + +<p>"Ye say the very word what was in my mind, sir," spoke up Tom Bent, +"an', if I may make so bold as to say further, your enemies be your +servants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's enemies must be our +enemies, holus bolus." The other sailors nodded decidedly. "Therefore," +continued Tom Bent, "all they cowardly heathen aft on the cliff has to +reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent an' the crew o' this craft."</p> + +<p>"Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with the smile that always won +him the heart and hand of every man he favoured with it,—and of every +maid, too, more than likely. "But we can't enthuse on empty stomachs. +Pass out the bread and the cold meat," he added.</p> + +<p>For fully two hours the <i>Pelican</i> rocked about within half a mile of her +night's anchorage. Kingswell was not in a desperate hurry, and so his +men pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat clear of the rocks. +A sharp lookout was kept along<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> the coast, but not a sight nor a sound +of the Beothics rewarded their vigilance.</p> + +<p>"They be up to some devilment, ye may lay to that," said Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'east, and the square +sail was hoisted and sheeted home. Again the <i>Pelican</i> dipped her bows +and wet her rail on the voyage of exploration.</p> + +<p>After two hours of sailing, and just when they were off the mouth of a +little river and a fair valley, a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for +running in, but Ouenwa objected.</p> + +<p>"Panounia follow," he said. "He great angry. Drop irons," he added, +pointing to the little anchors.</p> + +<p>"Panounia is wounded. You winged him yourself," replied Kingswell. "He +could not follow us around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa considered the words with puckered brows. They were beyond him. +The commander pointed shoreward.</p> + +<p>"All safe," he said. "All safe."</p> + +<p>"No, no," cried the lad. "All kill. No safe."</p> + +<p>During this controversy the sail had been partly lowered, and the +<i>Pelican</i> had been slowly running landward with the fog.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the seamen with a smile of +whimsical uncertainty.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p><p>"Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," remarked Tom Bent, with his +deep-set eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, +for a moment, on the ancient mariner.</p> + +<p>"Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, and was quickly stowed. +"Let go the anchors," he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the +gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and shut her off from land and +sky. With a last dreary whistle, the wind died out entirely.</p> + +<p>"Rip me!" exclaimed Master Kingswell, "but here is caution that smells +remarkably like cowardice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, +tobacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke was mingling with the +fog. The young commander leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, +like the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit of burning +Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, confined to the wealthy and the +adventurous. The seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, +watched their captain with open interest. When a puff was blown through +the nostrils, or sent aloft in a series of rings, they nudged one +another, like children at a show. By this time the walls of fog had made +of the <i>Pelican</i> a tiny, lost world by itself. Suddenly Ouenwa raised +his hand. "Sh!" he whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> his +mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden river and valley. All +strained their ears, to wrest some sound from the surrounding gray other +than the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. But they could +hear nothing.</p> + +<p>"Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing landward.</p> + +<p>"But we saw no signs of a village," protested Kingswell, gently.</p> + +<p>"Village," repeated the lad. "Ouenwa hear. Ouenwa smell."</p> + +<p>Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff the fog, like hounds +taking a scent on the wind. But their nostrils were not the nostrils of +either hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. They shook their +heads. Kingswell wagged a chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. +The boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Village," he whispered, shrilly. "Village, village, village."</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned leniently at the +determined boy. They had great faith in their own noses, had those +mariners of Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, sank +into a moody contemplation of the fog.</p> + +<p>"This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>half-hour of silence. +"Tom, pipe us a stave, like a good lad."</p> + +<p>The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. Presently he cleared his +throat with energy.</p> + +<p>"Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once were," he murmured, "but +I'll do me best—an' no sailorman can say fairer nor that."</p> + +<p>Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, +tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, +with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined +in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon +followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully +melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the +words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune +fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the +suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He +beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands +together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the +ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the <i>Teressa +Maria</i> had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then +Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> It +was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. +The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old +Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and +of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a +cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing +seaward and westward from the door.</p> + +<p>For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little +company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various +thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid +his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Canoe," he whispered.</p> + +<p>The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated—a short rap, +like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all +heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting +out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and +whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. +That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the +hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned +to his seat at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla +rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on +his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly +and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and +into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss +of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>The <i>Pelican</i> drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes +and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded +a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and +Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great +matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the +curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the +short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In +the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. +Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and +began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and +peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but +could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> erect, discharged arrow after arrow +at the hidden enemy.</p> + +<p>The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell +passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to +lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the +names of his murdered father and grandfather.</p> + +<p>For a long and weary time the <i>Pelican</i> lay off the hidden land, +shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the +west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the +coast and the open sky.</p> + +<p>"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are +going back to have a look at that village."</p> + +<p>The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the +savages for the fright in the dark.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A LETTER FOR OUENWA</span></h2> + +<p>Two headlands were rounded before the valley of the river opened again +to the eyes of the adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole down +and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten sea. The gradual hillsides, +green-swarded, basked in the golden light. The lower levels of the +valley were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of his habitation, was +disclosed to the voyagers.</p> + +<p>"A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. "I feel a desire stirring within me +to stretch my legs on that grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, +Tom?"</p> + +<p>The old fellow grinned. "'Twould be pleasant, sir, an' no mistake," he +replied—"a little walk along the brook, with our hands not very far +from our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' nater worship."</p> + +<p>The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand well within the mouth of +the river. Harding and Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +guard, and the other three, fully armed, started along the bank of the +stream. They advanced cautiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of +bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher dropped from its perch above +the water and flew up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend of +the little river and halted short in their track with muttered +exclamations. Before them, on a level meadow between the brown waters of +the stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood half a dozen +wigwams. The place seemed deserted. They scanned the dark edge of the +wood and the brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, expecting to +catch the glint of hostile eyes at every turn. But neither grove nor +hill, nor silent lodge, disclosed any sign of life.</p> + +<p>"Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kingswell, thoroughly perplexed.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half-circle.</p> + +<p>"Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. "Yes, watch us."</p> + +<p>"He means they are lying around looking at us," said Kingswell to the +boatswain. "Rip me, but I don't relish the chance of one of those +stone-tipped arrows in my vitals."</p> + +<p>Tom Bent glanced about him in visible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>trepidation. Ouenwa noticed it, +and pointed to the seaman's musket. "No 'fraid," he said. "Shoot."</p> + +<p>"What at?" inquired Bent.</p> + +<p>"Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the silent wood, dusky in the +gathering shadows.</p> + +<p>"He wants you to fire into the wood, and frighten them out," said +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," replied Tom.</p> + +<p>However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its support, aimed at the edge +of the forest beyond the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the +twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose and quivered in the air. +It was answered from the hilltops on both sides of the stream.</p> + +<p>Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was inside the nearest lodge. +Kingswell followed, and found him dismantling the couches and walls of +their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in the looting. Soon each +had all he could handle. They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, +with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward the <i>Pelican</i>. They had +rounded the bend of the river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet +them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an indignant whoop and leaped +into the air. His musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> a +stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their bundles and sprang to where +he lay, kicking and spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung +to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing wildly, and vowing +vengeance on the "heathen varment" who had pinked him.</p> + +<p>Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows of the wooded hillside, +and Kingswell hoisted the struggling boatswain to his shoulders and +continued his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged and implored +his commander to put him down, assuring him that he was more surprised +than hurt. But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and did +not release him until they were safe beside the <i>Pelican's</i> bows. Just +then Ouenwa and the sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All +were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired only one arrow, when they +might have annihilated the little party with a volley?</p> + +<p>That night the <i>Pelican</i> lay at anchor in the mouth of the river. Twice, +during the long, eerie hours between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke +his companions; but on both occasions the alarms proved to be false—the +splashing of a marauding otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding +trout. Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and the stream +lay as peaceful and deserted as on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> preceding evening. The voyagers +ate their breakfast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared the +light mist from the water, they got up their anchor and rowed up-stream. +Harding and Clotworthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the commander +crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. +The current was strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the twirling +sinews of water. Little patches of spindrift, from some fall or rapid +farther up the river, floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed +beneath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and splashed on either +hand, and sent silver circles rippling to the toiling boat. A moist, +sweet fragrance of foliage and mould and dew filled the air.</p> + +<p>Soon the deserted lodges came into view, standing smokeless and pathetic +between the murmuring river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned +to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of the wigwams. They landed +without incident, and all walked toward the village, with their firearms +ready and their matches lighted. They explored every lodge and even beat +the underbrush. The dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons and +cooking utensils evidently during the night. A village of this size must +have possessed at least<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a +paddle, could they find.</p> + +<p>"All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, pointing up-stream.</p> + +<p>"What be this?" asked Tom Bent, limping toward Kingswell with an arrow +and a small square of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, +pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wigwams. Kingswell +examined it intently, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Pictures," he said. "I suppose it is a letter of some kind, in which +their wise man tells us what he thinks of us."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly sketched figures, with +which it was covered, with a scornful twist of his face.</p> + +<p>"Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. "See! Very big! +Bear"—he touched another point of the missive and then tapped his own +breast—"see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He laughed shrilly, and +shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, no."</p> + +<p>"What be mun jabberin' about?" muttered Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>Kingswell explained that the bear stood for Ouenwa's family, and that +the wolf was the symbol of the people who had killed his grandfather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>The <i>Pelican</i> continued her voyage before noon, and all day skirted an +austere and broken coast. She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, +steering for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded many islands and +braved intricate channels. Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer +cape than any of the day's experience, and Kingswell, who had just +relieved Harding at the tiller, forsook the straight course and headed +up the bay. Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a sheltered +roadstead behind an island and just off a wooded cove. They lowered the +sail and rowed in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent the +night close to the tide, with their muskets and cutlasses beside them, +and the watch changed every two hours.</p> + +<p>Three days later the voyagers happened upon a ship. They ran close in to +where she lay at anchor, believing her to be English, and did not +discover their mistake until the little tub of a brig opened fire from a +brass cannonade. The first shot went wide, and the <i>Pelican</i> lay off +with a straining sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended the +encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy fishing to get up anchor and +give chase.</p> + +<p>Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the incident. "It be the first +time," he said, "that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in +Newfoundland. One year I were fishin' in the <i>Maid o' Bristol</i>, in Dog's +Harbour, Conception, an', though we was last to drop anchor, an' the +only English ship agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, our +skipper said he were admiral—an', by Gad, so he were."</p> + +<p>But the valorous old mariner did not suggest that they put about and +dispute the admiralty of the little harbour which they had just passed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION</span></h2> + +<p>In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly +natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a +bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master +Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three +weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh +until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the +dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the +science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the +malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young +caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was +close upon the end of September when the <i>Pelican</i> again took up her +northward journey.</p> + +<p>Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of +gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the +natives, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> he had heard stories of a French sailor having been +wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon +gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the +straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men +shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their +provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent. +So Kingswell headed the <i>Pelican</i> southward. After a week of fair winds, +they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout +little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a +sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three +days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this +unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every +likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the +northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart +of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as +Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired +English helped to keep the company in good spirits.</p> + +<p>It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the +<i>Pelican</i> threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not +sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The +drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide.</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for +home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed +reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany +finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now +that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur +to him.</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us—an' we +are lucky not to be in such dirty company!"</p> + +<p>He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to +Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled +approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as +old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something +to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then—"By God," he cried, +"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty +company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with—with you all," he +finished, lamely.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>seaman with mute indignation +in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted +English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the +seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff +an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if +it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax +cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye."</p> + +<p>"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered +wag of his heavy head.</p> + +<p>Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a +thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further +attention.</p> + +<p>"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell, +cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to +Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the +snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old <i>Pelican</i> right 'round to +St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad +enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the +privateers."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried +venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old +philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone—gone utterly, and +only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood. +What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. +Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for +their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that +immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery. +So the storm-beaten, wave-weary <i>Pelican</i> turned seaward again.</p> + +<p>Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm +of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of +some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by +the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy +river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears +like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew +it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay +at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came +the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and +slept. They were astir with the first gray lights,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> and before sunrise +were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost +sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and +fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a +fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark +current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across +their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and +swooped down and away.</p> + +<p>They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles—and hard +pulling it was—when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke +beyond a wooded bend.</p> + +<p>"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe +get killed?"</p> + +<p>He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm.</p> + +<p>"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the +stroke, lads—and, Tom, keep your match handy."</p> + +<p>At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and +peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight. +Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along +its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a +little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the +chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer +azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small +high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung +like a dead body in the brown current.</p> + +<p>Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he +murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a +reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!"</p> + +<p>"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An' +real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain."</p> + +<p>At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of +the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the +river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little +<i>Pelican</i>. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself +and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune, +even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore.</p> + +<p>The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and +his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were +strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady +eyes, and herculean shoulders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> They doffed their skin caps to the +gentleman adventurer.</p> + +<p>"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and +two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just +two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off +the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They +agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master +Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced +coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with +sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and +halted near by.</p> + +<p>"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys—father and son." With a +casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company. +He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him +affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John—John +Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He +bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed +individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget, +master mariner," he concluded.</p> + +<p>Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> again shook hands with the +elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few +courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them. +Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each +bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his +face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. +Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both +were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was +the taller and thinner of the two.</p> + +<p>D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the +others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget +immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand, +as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company. +Ouenwa and the seamen of the <i>Pelican</i>, and the Donnellys and young +Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors.</p> + +<p>"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they +crossed the level of frost-seared grass.</p> + +<p>"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my +strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> chief +of this country. His enemies—barking foxes who name themselves +wolves—pulled him down in the night-time."</p> + +<p>The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and +interest. The story was not news to them, however.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure +enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' +burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when +the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections, +an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was +for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did +for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till +spring, I'm thinkin'."</p> + +<p>"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here +soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder +Donnelly, in guarded tones.</p> + +<p>"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew +plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over."</p> + +<p>Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed +suspiciously.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX</span></h2> + +<p>Inside the stockade, posted unevenly around three sides of a foot-worn +square, were five buildings of rough logs. From a platform in the +southeast corner two small cannon presented their muzzles to the river. +At the back of this platform, on the southern side of the square, stood +the Donnelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fifteen paces +across the front. Against the western palisade the Trigget cabin and +Captain d'Antons' habitation faced the square. On the north side stood a +fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. In the centre of the yard +bubbled a spring of clear water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook +sparkled away from it, under the stockade and down to the river. The +well was flanked on both sides by a couple of slim birches, now leafless +under the white November sun.</p> + +<p>The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and Skipper Trigget's wife +and daughter—both big,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> comely women—fed them with the best in the +little plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and Ouenwa were taken to +D'Antons' quarters. The Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and +took blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their couches. Also +he produced a flask of priceless brandy, from which he and Kingswell +pledged a couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The toast was +D'Antons' suggestion.</p> + +<p>Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that he had a matter of +business to attend to, and left his guests to their own devices. The +house was divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou hides, +which were hung from one of the low crossbeams of the ceiling. At the +end of each room a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small +windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre interior. Books in +English, French, and Spanish, a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a +neatly executed drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a table near one +of the windows. Antlers of stags, decorated quivers and bows, painted +hides, and glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the hearth in the +room in which Kingswell and his young companion sat, hung a musket with +a silver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and several knives and +daggers in beaded sheaths. On<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West +Indian shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the same sure metal, +and a heavy sword with a basket hilt hung above D'Antons' bed.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked over the books on the table. He found that one of them +was a manual of arms, written in the Spanish language; another a work of +navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty thesis on the science and +practice of surgery; and the fourth was a volume as well-loved as +familiar,—Master William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." He took up +this last, and, seating himself with his shoulder to the window, was +soon far away from the failures and daily perils of the wilderness. The +greedy, hard-bitted materialist Present, with its quests of "fish," and +fur, and gold, was replaced by the magic All-Time of the playwright +poet.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into every nook and corner, and +examining the shells, the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on +the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire to his hair, tried to +solve the mystery of the chimney—for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a +lodgeful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. He looked +frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of finding him open to questions, +but was always <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>disappointed. At last the thought occurred to him that +it would be a fine thing to get hold of the great sword above the bed, +and make cut, lunge, and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how to +do on several occasions. So he climbed on to the bed, and, in trying to +clear the sword from its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the +floor. Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm across his body and +his hand on his sword-hilt, and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama +sprawled at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, in tones of +relief. "But you must not handle other people's goods, lad," he added, +kindly, "especially a gentleman's arms and armour."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about to step from D'Antons' +couch to recover the head-piece, when D'Antons himself entered the +cabin. Kingswell turned to him and explained the accident.</p> + +<p>"My young friend is very sorry," he said, "and would beg your pardon if +he felt less embarrassed. However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so +intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watching him. He is +naturally of an investigating turn of mind."</p> + +<p>The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed his white teeth. "It is +nothing, nothing," he cried.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> "I beg you not to mention it again, or +give it another thought. The old pot has sustained many a shrewder whack +than a tumble on the floor. Ah, it has turned blades of Damascus before +now! But enough of this triviality! I have returned to request you to +come with me to our governor. Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him +to you, as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But he will make his +own apologies, Master Kingswell."</p> + +<p>He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to pass out before him. +Kingswell went first. As Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped +him sharply by the arm, and hissed, "Dog! Cur!" in a voice so low, so +sinister, that the boy gasped. But in a breath the Frenchman was his +affable self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still burning +his ears, almost believed that he had been the victim of some evil +magic. Kingswell caught nothing of the incident.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master Kingswell was ushered into +the governor's cabin, and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The young +Englishman found himself in a dimly lit apartment very similar to that +which he had just left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and +narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. The Frenchman paused +at his elbow. Two figures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> advanced from the farther side of the room. +He ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace at his command, +for one of the figures was that of a young woman in flashing raiment. +The other was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little past middle +age, with a worn face that somehow retained its air of youthfulness +despite its haggard lines and faded skin.</p> + +<p>"Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kingswell," said the gentleman, +extending his hand and laughing softly. "This is indeed an unlooked-for +pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall—or was it at Beverly?"</p> + +<p>"Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, in a voice of ill-concealed +consternation and surprise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of +half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the other with wide +eyes. Then he caught the waiting hand in a firm grip.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly that we last met," he +said, evenly. He turned to the girl, who stood beside her father with +downcast eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet hastened to +make her known to the visitor.</p> + +<p>"My daughter Beatrix," he said. "A good girl, who willingly and +cheerfully shares her worthless father's exile."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely hand, and Kingswell, +bending low above it, intoxicated by the sudden presence of beauty and a +flood of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim fingers with a +warmth that startled the lady and brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' +eyes. He recovered himself in an instant. "To see you in this +wilderness—amid these bleak surroundings!" he exclaimed, scarcely above +a whisper. "I cannot realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played at +racquets together in the court at Beverly."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of understanding in her dark, +parti-coloured eyes.</p> + +<p>"I remember," she said. "You have not changed greatly, save in size." +And at that she laughed, with a note of embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"But you have," replied Kingswell. "You were not very beautiful as a +little girl. To me you looked much the same as my own sisters."</p> + +<p>For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his with merriment and +questioning in their depths. Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved +uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," he said, "we must not stand here all day, like geese on a +village green. There are seats by the fire." He led the way. "Captain, +if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> of Master +Kingswell's adventures," he added, turning to D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," answered the captain.</p> + +<p>"One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph Westleigh. "I have a +young friend—a sort of ward—whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run +over to the men and amuse himself with them."</p> + +<p>As he opened the door and spoke a few kind words to Ouenwa, there was a +sneer on D'Antons' lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. +It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all she could do to +restrain herself from slapping him—for hot blood and a fighting spirit +dwelt in that fair body. She wondered how she had once considered him +attractive. She blushed crimson at the thought.</p> + +<p>Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool between the governor of +the little colony and the maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa +was, and of the time the lad saved him from injury by flooring old +Trowley with his canoe paddle. Then he briefly sketched the voyage of +the <i>Pelican</i>, and told something of his interests in the fishing fleet +and in the new land.</p> + +<p>"And you found no indications of gold?" queried D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"None," replied the voyager, "but some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>splendid copper ore in great +quantities, and one mine of 'fool's gold.'"</p> + +<p>The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. "There are other kinds +of fool's gold than these iron pyrites, I believe," he said, "and one +finds it nearer home than in this God-forsaken—ah—in this wild +country."</p> + +<p>The others understood the reference, and even the polished Frenchman +looked into the fire and had nothing to say. Kingswell studied the +water-bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced piteously at her +father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's life had known much of fool's gold, +and much of many another folly, and something of that to which his +acquaintances in Somerset—and, for that matter, in all England—gave a +stronger and less lenient name. The baronet had lived hard; but his +story comes later.</p> + +<p>"I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," said Kingswell, presently. +"I did not know, even, that you were interested in colonization—and yet +you have been here a matter of two years, so Trigget tells me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and likely to die here—unless I am unearthed," replied Sir Ralph, +bitterly, and with a meaning glance at Kingswell. "I put entire faith in +my friends," he added. "And they are all in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> this little fort on Gray +Goose River. My undoing lies in their hands."</p> + +<p>"Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but stoutly, "I hope your trust +has been extended to me,—yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any matter +of—of silence or the like—are our orders. My fellows are true as +steel. My friends are theirs. The young Beothic would risk his life for +you at a word from me."</p> + +<p>The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. He laid a hand on the +young man's knee and peered into his face.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a friend—out and out?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"To the death," said the other, huskily.</p> + +<p>"And you have heard? Of course you have heard!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is not for me to say 'God bless you' to any man," said Sir Ralph, +"but it's good of you. I feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. +I have forgotten my old trick of making pretty speeches."</p> + +<p>Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished that D'Antons, with his +polite, superior, inscrutable smile, was a thousand miles out of sight +of his embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> she did not look +at him. "God bless you—my fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice +so low that he alone caught the words. He had no answer to make to that +unexpected reward. For a little they maintained a painful silence. It +was broken by the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"You understand, Master Kingswell, that, for certain reasons, it is +advisable that the place of Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from +the knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, slowly and easily.</p> + +<p>"I understand," replied Kingswell, shortly. Captain d'Antons jarred on +him, despite all his faultless and affable manners.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER</span></h2> + +<p>About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement +on Gray Goose River—Fort Beatrix it was called—the sky clouded, the +voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By +Trigget's advice—and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the +plantation—the pelts and gear of the <i>Pelican</i> were removed to the +storehouse.</p> + +<p>"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your +plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye +couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper.</p> + +<p>"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he +answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out +o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to +spare for your men, what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and +boat-buildin'."</p> + +<p>So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of +winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he +would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons +expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that, +Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit +him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from +agreeable to the French adventurer.</p> + +<p>When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still +falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil +of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred +by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting +wilderness.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal, +and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two +gentlemen had an hour of private conversation.</p> + +<p>"This Captain d'Antons—what of him?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago, +before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in +London. He was reported rich. He had sailed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> many voyages to the West +Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold +Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a +child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing +else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her +dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but +here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or +two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little +hand—and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, +lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my +trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all +the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring +voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for +land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A +boat-load of armed men left the pirate—yes, that's what she was, a damn +pirate—and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of +her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he +knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said +was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and +joined our <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with +his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung +to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show +his hoof now and again, I'd like it better—for then we would all be on +our guard."</p> + +<p>"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be +reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell. +"Has he a stake in the colony?"</p> + +<p>The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my +secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended +some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other +reason than that he is in love with my daughter."</p> + +<p>"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly.</p> + +<p>"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had +us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which +he now sues, he accepted my word of honour—mark you, he accepted what I +had scarce the face to offer—that I would not withstand his suit, nor +allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my +hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared +that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his +game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God +that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But +no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword +would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should +kill me, for my men hate him."</p> + +<p>"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"You do not understand—you cannot understand—how delicate a thing to +keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without +honour," replied the other, sadly.</p> + +<p>"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find +his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St. +John's."</p> + +<p>"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to +escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as +a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years."</p> + +<p>"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind +to it," retorted Kingswell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being +billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a +monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of +Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer."</p> + +<p>"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation, +even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I +have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but +that Time may shuffle the pack before long?"</p> + +<p>Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay +gowns—in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled—by which her girlish +beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a +brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were +bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and +dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and +skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To +all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched +her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her +gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner +of the bench by the hearth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> gazed at this vision of loveliness with +wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons +and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the +Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a +woman—a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black +Feather's squaw—no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to +note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet. +She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. +But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members +of this flashing young divinity.</p> + +<p>"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the +dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the +great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any +more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked +upon such beauty and such raiment?"</p> + +<p>His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his +amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on +the bench.</p> + +<p>"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> notice you before. So you +are Master Kingswell's ward?"</p> + +<p>Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's +hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question.</p> + +<p>"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress +Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend."</p> + +<p>"And my friend, too?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so—so—like he called the sky one +morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"What was that?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said.</p> + +<p>"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very +provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss +Westleigh.</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles."</p> + +<p>The girl could not deny it, for the table was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> spread in the same +room,—a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a +fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had +been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard.</p> + +<p>The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china +dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well +served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all +was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence—potent magic enough to a +young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women +of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the +gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate +painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the +vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was +lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, +and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked +puzzled for a moment,—then confused,—then, with a little, +indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a +compliment for, oh, ever so long."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> She looked across the table at +Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and +darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">MEDITATION AND ACTION</span></h2> + +<p>For hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, reviewing, in his restless +brain, the incidents of that crowded day. His couch was luxurious, +compared to the resting-places he had known since leaving the <i>Heart of +the West</i>; but, for all that, sleep evaded him. From the other side of +the hearth Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his alert ears. +He saw the yellow light blink to darkness above the curtain of skins, +when D'Antons extinguished his candle in the other apartment. The red +firelight rose and fell, dwindled and flooded high. The core of it +contracted and expanded, and a straight log across the middle of the +glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like something alive—like +something stirring between sleeping and waking, desiring sleep, yet +afraid to forsake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the hearth it +suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and starting in a deserted hall. +"What is it waiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. "What +does it fear? Mayhap the master and mistress are late at a rout, and are +people without consideration for the feelings of their servants."</p> + +<p>From such harmless imagery his mind slipped to the less pleasant subject +of Sir Ralph Westleigh. He recalled what he had seen and heard of the +days of the baronet's glory—of the great places near Bristol, with +their stables that were the envy of dukes, and their routs that lured +people weary and dangerous journeys—of the famous Lady Westleigh and +her jewels—of Sir Ralph's kindliness to great and small alike. His own +father, the merchant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in high +esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and later when a well-grown lad, +had experienced the hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the time +of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy with the baronet's +affairs. During Lady Westleigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. +After her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, and more of +it in distant London, and even in Paris. Stories went abroad of his +heavy gaming and his ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice +and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, working on him +physically to such an extent that he looked a different person when the +heat of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> play was on him. Also it played the devil with him +morally—and perhaps mentally. So things took the turn and started +down-hill. Then the run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, +threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numerous clever checks and +parries to avoid disaster. There was a season of hope after the sale of +Randon. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then Beverly was +impoverished to the last oak and the last horse in the stud. The baronet +took his daughter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few merry +months. Then a certain Scotch viscount caught him playing as no +gentleman, no matter how dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman +made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. That was the last known +of Sir Ralph Westleigh and his daughter by any one of the outside world +until the <i>Pelican</i> landed her voyagers before the stockade of Fort +Beatrix on Gray Goose River.</p> + +<p>All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts as he lay awake in +Captain d'Antons' cabin and watched the fire on the rough hearth fall +lower and lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born and bred to +such a different heritage, pained and fretted him more keenly than a +personal loss. The discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience were +accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> that was absurd, as +neither he nor his had helped Westleigh in his descent, nor cried out +against him when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had never, during +those two years after their disappearance, given them more than a +passing thought—and they had been friends and neighbours. He had +experienced no pity for the young and beautiful girl with whom he had +played in the racquet court at Beverly. Like the great world of which he +was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. Two lives, more or less, +were of no consequence in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the +realization of a great sin had come to him. Then, to the anger against +himself was added anger against the world that had dragged Sir Ralph +into this oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into exile. What +had she done to be driven beyond the bounds of civilization, her safety +dependent on the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there was the raw +spot, sure enough! In the little space of time between two risings of +the sun, Kingswell had met a man and marked him for an enemy. Nursing a +bitter, though somewhat muddled, resentment, he at last fell asleep, +guarded from storm and frost by the roof of the very man who had +inspired his anger.</p> + +<p>For the next few days matters went smoothly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> at Fort Beatrix. It was +evident to even the least experienced of the settlers that the winter +had come to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the frozen earth. The +river was already hidden under a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by +the snow that had mingled with the water while it was freezing. The +little settlement took up the routine of the dreary months. Axes were +sharpened at the great stone in the well-house. The men donned moccasins +of deerskin. They tied ingenious racquets, or snow-shoes, to their feet +and tramped into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud of the axes +jarred across the air, interrupted ever and anon by the rending, +splitting lament of some falling tree.</p> + +<p>Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's orders, and he and Ouenwa +spent much of their time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with +the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled and tireless woodsman, +led them on many weary marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the +caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from ten to one hundred +head, at the approach of winter; but a few remained in the sheltered +valleys. Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the habits of the +deer, and had laid in a supply of dried venison during the summer. +However, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>whenever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh meat +was enthusiastically received at the fort. Hares and grouse were snared, +as were foxes and other small animals. A few wolves and one or two +wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked safely away in their +winter quarters, and the beavers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, +the hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward for their toil. +But it was work that kept both their brains and sinews employed, and so +was of a deal more worth than the bare value of the pelts and dinners it +supplied.</p> + +<p>One day in early December, when Kingswell, D'Antons, the younger +Donnelly, and Ouenwa were traversing a drifted expanse of "barren," +marching in single file and without undue noise, they came upon another +trail of racquet prints. They halted. They regarded this unexpected +evidence of the proximity of their fellow man with misgivings—for snow +had fallen in abundance, and therefore the trail was new. They glanced +uneasily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir and mounds of +snow-drifted rock with anxious eyes. They strained their ears for some +warning sound—or for the twanging of bowstrings. They saw nothing. They +heard nothing but the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>disconsolate chirping of a moose-bird in a +thicket close at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail.</p> + +<p>"From the westward, and heading for the river," he said. "Then they are +not from the village on Gander Lake."</p> + +<p>"Big number," remarked Ouenwa. "Ten, twenty, thirty—don't know how +much! Whole camp, I think."</p> + +<p>"Ay," agreed Donnelly, "they sure has packed clear down through two +falls o' snow. Ye could trot a pony along the pat' they has made."</p> + +<p>"Are you on friendly terms with the savages?" inquired Kingswell of +Captain d'Antons. The Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his +lean shoulders. He was not one to speak unconsidered words.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people from Gander Lake," he +replied, presently. "That is, we have traded with them a number of +times, and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and through him with +old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand is dead now; and these fellows are +evidently from the West. Also, friendship means nothing where these +vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the breath of life to them."</p> + +<p>"Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. "Panounia no good for friend. +He is a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>murderer. He is a false chief. He make trade—yes, with +war-arrows from the bushes and with knives in the dark. In friendship +his hand is under his robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his +knife. Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch at a fire."</p> + +<p>D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. "There is a time for all things," he +said—"a time for oratory and another time for action. If you are +willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our steps as swiftly and +quietly as may be. It would be wise to warn the fort that a band of the +sly devils is abroad."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker and flushed darkly. Kingswell +intimated his willingness to return immediately to Fort Beatrix by a +curt nod. It was in his heart to administer a kick to Captain Pierre +d'Antons, though just why the desire he could not say. They turned in +their tracks and started back along the twisting, seven-mile trail. +D'Antons led; and the pace he set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was +passed, with no other sound save those of padding racquet and toiling +breath. In the hollows their shoulders brushed the snow from the +crowding spruce-fronds. Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and +scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>At last, all but breathless from the prolonged exertion, the hunters +turned aside from the path and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side +of a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. They crossed the +naked summit with painful caution, bending double, and taking every +advantage of the sheltering thickets.</p> + +<p>"The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons to Kingswell, as they +peered furtively out between the snow-weighted branches. "See! And the +savages are in cover along the river." It was quite evident to Kingswell +that the place had been attacked, and was now in a state of siege. The +platform in the southeast corner of the stockade was protected by +shields composed of bundles of firewood. Men whom he recognized as those +who had been working in the woods earlier in the day moved about within +the enclosure. The wide, snow-covered clearing that had been so spotless +when he had last seen it was trampled and stained here and there by dark +patches. Along the fringe of timber that shut the river from the +clearing, and extended to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner +of the stockade, a Beothic warrior would frequently show himself for a +moment, hoot derisively, and let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the +watchers on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> Trigget +above the shield of the gun-platform. The master mariner shaded his eyes +with his hand and seemed to be scanning the woods along the river and +then the timber in which his own comrades were concealed. He lowered his +hand and ducked quickly—and not a second too soon; for a flight of +arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few stuck, quivering, into the +pickets of the stockade, and many fell within the fort.</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned to D'Antons. "More of them than we thought," he said. +"There must have been a hundred arrows in that volley."</p> + +<p>Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. He did not look at his +companion, and his brow was puckered in lines of thought. If the +Englishman had been able to read the other's mind at that moment, a deal +of future trouble would have been spared him. However, as Kingswell was +but an adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no superhuman powers, he +was content with the Frenchman's nod, and returned his attentions to the +fort.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above which Trigget had so lately +exposed his head, burst a flash of yellow flame, a spurt of white smoke, +and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. A spruce-tree shook in +the wood by the river, and cries of fear and consternation rang across +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> frosty air. A score of savages darted from their cover and as +quickly sped back again. Flight after flight of arrows broke away and +tested every inch of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill +screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party of Beothics emerged +into the clearing and dashed for the palisade. They drew their bows as +they ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, with red feathers +in his hair and his right arm bandaged across his breast, Panounia +shouted encouragement and led the charge. They were half-way across the +open when the second cannon spat forth its message of hate. The ball +passed low over the advancing mass and plunged into the timber beyond. +For a second or two, the attackers wavered, a few turned back, then they +continued their valorous onset. They were already springing at the +palisade when the muskets crashed in their faces from half a dozen +loopholes. This volley was followed immediately by another. The savages +dropped back from their futile leapings against the fortification, hung +on their heels for a moment, clamorous and undecided, and then broke for +cover. They dragged their dead and wounded with them, and left +sanguinary trails on the snow. They were within a few yards of the +sheltering trees when one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> of the little cannon banged again. The ball +cut across the mass of crowded warriors like a string through cheese.</p> + +<p>"Now is our time!" exclaimed Kingswell. "Run for the gate, lads."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span> <span class="smaller">SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE</span></h2> + +<p>The returning hunters were promptly admitted to the fort. The little +garrison welcomed them joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the +moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they usually ignored. The +party had taken a hundred chances with death in the crossing of the +narrow clearing. Arrows had followed them from the fringe of wood along +the river, like bees from an overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been +scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from his head, pierced +through and through. A hail of missiles had clattered against the gate +as the good timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and chagrin, in +which Ouenwa's name was repeated many times, rang from the retreat of +the defeated warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. Ouenwa's +shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, lifted in Beothic insults.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph himself was in command of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>imperilled fortress. The +excitement had stirred him out of his customary gloom. His eyes were +bright, and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword was at his +side, and he held a musket in his hand.</p> + +<p>"That was their third attempt to get over the stockade," he said to +Kingswell and D'Antons. "They are filled with the very devil to-day. But +I scarcely think that they will come back for more, now that Trigget has +got his growlers into working order."</p> + +<p>"How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>"Why, about three score of them marched up and said they wanted to come +in and trade," replied the baronet, "but, as they seemed to have nothing +to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget warned them off. Then they +went out on the river and began chopping up the <i>Red Rose</i> and the +<i>Pelican</i>. At that we let off a musket, and they retired to cover, from +which they soon emerged with reinforcements and tried to carry the place +by weight of numbers."</p> + +<p>"Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that they are yelling?"</p> + +<p>"My name," replied Ouenwa. "They are my enemies."</p> + +<p>"Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this gentleman's battles for +him," remarked D'Antons,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> with an exaggerated bow to the lad. "Perhaps +this is the explanation of the attack."</p> + +<p>"I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. "They are surprised at +discovering him here. Also they are surprised and displeased at seeing +me again. They have smelled our powder before, as you have heard, I +think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," replied the captain, +smiling his thin, one-sided, Continental smile.</p> + +<p>The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He turned on his heel without +any further words. Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence he +was bound for something to eat.</p> + +<p>Panounia and his braves retreated across the frozen river, and did not +show themselves again that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the +improvised gun-shields were repaired and strengthened, and the guns were +again got ready for action. In place of round shot, William Trigget +charged them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead.</p> + +<p>"When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short time, cut a wide swath," +he remarked to Tom Bent.</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turning a hawk-like eye on the +dark edges of the forest. "Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil +make the hay. It be mun's own crop."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Beatrix was looking from +the doorway of her father's cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, +sobbing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. All the bitterness +and insecurity of her position had come to her with overmastering force. +The sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, bedraggled hair, +as he leaned on his musket and talked with her father and the young +Englishman, had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed confusedly, +half her thoughts with the petitions which she made to her God, and half +with the desperate state of her affairs and the features and attitude of +the buccaneer.</p> + +<p>She was disturbed by some one entering the outer room. She recognized +the footsteps as those of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed +her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with skilful fingers, and +opened the door of her chamber. The baronet looked up at the sound.</p> + +<p>"Ah, lass," he said, "we've driven the rascals off. They have crossed +the river."</p> + +<p>With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the room.</p> + +<p>"I do not fear the savages," she cried. "Oh, I do think their knives and +arrows would be welcome."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"Poor child! poor little lass!" he said, pausing beside her and kissing +her tenderly. "You have been weeping," he added, concernedly. "But +courage, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long months to come. His +fangs are as good as filed, shut off here and surrounded by the snow and +the savages."</p> + +<p>Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had dimmed the finer +conception of his promise to D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and +sighed.</p> + +<p>She laid her face against his coat and held tight to his sleeves.</p> + +<p>"I hate him," she whispered. "Oh, my father, I hate him for my own sake +as much as I fear him for yours. His every covert glance, his every open +attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, out of fear, I must smile and +simper, and play the hypocrite."</p> + +<p>"No—by God!" exclaimed Westleigh, trembling with emotion. Then, more +quietly, "Beatrix, I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is +hateful to me. I despise him. How such a creation of the devil's can +love you so unswervingly is more than I can fathom. I would rather see +you dead than married to him. There—I have broken my word again! Let me +go."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught up his hat and cloak, +and left the cabin. He crossed over to the well-house, where some of the +men were grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly in their +simple talk of work, and battle, and adventure. Their honest faces and +homely language drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from him. +Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the group about the complaining +grindstone.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Sir Ralph, "and look at the cannon."</p> + +<p>He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa followed them. All three +ascended the little platform on which the guns were mounted, by way of a +short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were snugly covered with +tarpaulins that could be snatched off in a turn of the hand.</p> + +<p>"A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked the baronet. "Ay, he is +true as steel."</p> + +<p>He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one of the little cannon. "I +would trust him, yea, and his good fellows, with anything I possess," he +said, "as readily as I trust these growlers to his care."</p> + +<p>Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the wooded bluff that cut into the +white valley and hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the river. +From beyond the point, moving slowly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> unsteadily, appeared a +solitary human figure. Its course lay well out on the level floor of the +stream, and the forest growth along the shore did not conceal it from +the watchers. It approached uncertainly, as if without a definite goal, +and, when within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered and fell +prone.</p> + +<p>"What the devil does it mean?" cried Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>Kingswell shook his head, and questioned Ouenwa. The lad continued to +gaze out across the open. The sun was low over the western hills, and +its light was red on the snow.</p> + +<p>"Hurt," he said, presently. "Maybe starved. He is not of Panounia's +band."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, lad?" asked the baronet.</p> + +<p>"I know," replied the boy. "He is a hunter. He is not of the war-party. +He is from the salt water."</p> + +<p>"He is usually right when he maintains that a thing is so, without being +able to give a reason for it," said Kingswell, quietly. "And, if he is, +it seems a pity to let the man die out there under our very eyes."</p> + +<p>"God knows I do not want any one to suffer," said the baronet, "but may +it not be a trick of this Panounia's, or whatever you call him?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>"No trick," replied Ouenwa; and, without so much as "by your leave," he +vaulted over the breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the snow +outside the stockade. Without a moment's hesitation, Kingswell followed. +Together they started toward the still figure out on the river, at a +brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir Ralph recovered from his +astonishment. He quickly descended to the square, and, without +attracting any attention, informed William Trigget of what had happened. +Trigget and his son immediately ascended to the guns and drew off their +tarpaulins. "We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. They saw +their reckless comrades bend over the prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell +lifted the apparently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. +Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually over his shoulder. The +elder Trigget swore a great oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a +leathern palm.</p> + +<p>"Them's well-plucked uns," he added.</p> + +<p>The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. They were too intent on +the approach of the rescuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook +along the woods on the farther shore. But the enemy made no sign; and +Kingswell, Ouenwa, and the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in +safety. The stranger proved to be none other than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Black Feather, the +stalwart and kindly brave who had built his lodge beside the old +arrow-maker's, above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. He was +carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with French brandy until he +opened his eyes. He looked about him blankly for a second or two, and +then his lids fluttered down again. He had not recognized either +Kingswell or Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame Trigget. "Whatever has mun +been a-doin' now, to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, too, +though he be a heathen, without a manner o' doubt."</p> + +<p>"Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but get some of your good +venison broth inside of him," said Master Kingswell. "That's a treatment +that would surely convert any number of heathen."</p> + +<p>While they were clustered about Black Feather's couch, D'Antons entered. +He peered over Dame Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably +surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beothic the centre of +attraction.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a comedy?"</p> + +<p>His tone was sour, and too bantering for the occasion.</p> + +<p>The baronet turned on him with an expression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> of mouth and eye that did +not pass unnoticed by the little group.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, coldly; "and we hope it +will not prove a tragedy."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span> <span class="smaller">A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING</span></h2> + +<p>Meals were not served in Captain d'Antons' cabin. The little settlement +possessed but one servant among all its workers, and that one was Maggie +Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The care of Sir Ralph's +establishment was all she could attend to. So the men who had no +women-folk of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame Trigget and +her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the Donnelly women. Kingswell and +D'Antons took their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were served by +themselves, with every mark of respect. Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and +Clotworthy shared the Donnellys' board.</p> + +<p>A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kingswell and D'Antons sat +opposite one another at a small table near the hearth of the Triggets' +living-room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French wine stood between +them. D'Antons took up the bottle, and made as if to fill the other's +glass.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand.</p> + +<p>The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set down the vintage. The +Englishman leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a whisper, "a remark that you +made to-day seemed to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your +remark was in reference to the brushes between the <i>Pelican</i> and a party +of natives during our cruise from the North. Before I take wine with you +to-night, I want you to either withdraw or explain your implication."</p> + +<p>While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed and calmed again. Now +his dark face wore an even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear +now of the expression of cynicism which so often marred them, held the +Englishman's without any sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand +returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered there. Lord, but the +drama lost an exceptionally fine interpreter when the high seas claimed +Pierre d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled—or was it the +wavering of the candle-light?</p> + +<p>"My friend," he said, softly, "how unfortunate am I in my stupidity—in +my blundering use of the English language. Whatever my words were, when +I spoke of having already heard of your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> fights with the savages, my +meaning was such that no one would take exception to. Did I use the word +heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what I meant. An Englishman +would have made use of a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have +refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I am unfortunate in my +heritage of French and Spanish blood—the blood that is outspoken both +for praise and blame."</p> + +<p>Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflicting emotions. His heart +told him the man was lying. His eyes assured him that he had been +grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the remark concerning the +skirmishes with the Beothics, but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. +His blood surged to his head, and whispered that he was a young fool to +be hoodwinked so easily. His brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity +for the handsome adventurer—for the love-struck buccaneer—went through +him. But it faded at remembrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the +fellow was playing with him.</p> + +<p>"Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, with a smile of infinite +sweetness and shy persuasion.</p> + +<p>With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman pushed forward his glass, +and the red wine swam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly +cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. He had not the +courage to meet the Frenchman's look when they raised their glasses and +clinked them across the table. Lord, what a calf he was!</p> + +<p>Had he no will of his own? Did he possess neither knowledge of men nor +mother wit? Ah, but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed +face over his plate of stew.</p> + +<p>When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned to Black Feather's couch, +and D'Antons went over to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had +recovered consciousness and swallowed some of Dame Trigget's broth; +also, he had recognized Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in +his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak to disclose anything +of what had happened in Wigwam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. +He lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his quick, bright +eyes, which moved restlessly in questioning scrutiny of the strange +women and bearded men who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one of the +transparent hands and smiled assuringly.</p> + +<p>For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man he had rescued so +courageously from death by starvation. Then, feeling the heat of the +room and the confusion of his thoughts too much to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>entertain calmly, he +went out into the cold and darkness and paced up and down. All +unknowing, he kicked the snow viciously every step. He was still in a +perturbed state of mind and temper when William Trigget approached him +through the gloom and touched his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing close, "but what of that +Injun in there? Be he really sick, or be he playing a game?"</p> + +<p>"He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not playing a game," +replied Kingswell. "But why do you ask? The fellow is a friend of +Ouenwa's, and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors."</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," said Trigget, "an' has +shammed sick just to get carried inside the fort. There be something +goin' on outside, for certain."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked the other.</p> + +<p>Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while standing under the +gun-platform, by a sound of scrambling outside the stockade. He had +crawled noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breastworks about +the guns. He had been able to distinguish something darker than the +surrounding darkness crouched against the palisade under him. The thing +had moved cautiously. He had detached a faggot from one of the bundles +beside him, for lack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the +black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and the thing had vanished +in the night.</p> + +<p>"It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded Trigget.</p> + +<p>Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the face of this menace from +the hidden enemy.</p> + +<p>"The guards should be doubled," he said. "But come, we must let Sir +Ralph know of it."</p> + +<p>They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin and knocked on the door. +Maggie Stone admitted them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and +Mistress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud to her father by +the light of one poor candle. But the great fire on the hearth had the +place fairly illuminated.</p> + +<p>William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad weather, cool in any risk of +land or sea, was too abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his +story. So Master Kingswell told it for him.</p> + +<p>"The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, breaking the spell of the +bright eyes that surveyed him.</p> + +<p>"That is well," answered the baronet. "There is nothing else to be done, +at least until morning, but sleep light and keep your muskets handy."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell and the master mariner returned to the darkness without.</p> + +<p>"I will stake my word," said Kingswell, "that the place is surrounded by +the devils even now, and that they will try again to get a man over the +wall to unbar the gates."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE HIDDEN MENACE</span></h2> + +<p>Neither Kingswell nor Trigget found time for sleep that night. D'Antons +also kept awake, though he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His +candle burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a restless night beside +Black Feather's couch. From ten o'clock until two Tom Bent, John +Trigget, and the younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on their +hips and half-pikes in their hands—for a musket would have proved but +an unsatisfactory weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the +dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, another at the gate, and a +third on the roof of the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget moved +continually from one point to another. At two o'clock the elder +Donnelly, Clotworthy, and Harding relieved their companions. But the two +officers remained at their self-imposed duty.</p> + +<p>At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Kingswell, who had been +pacing the length of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed +with relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' cabin, when +William Trigget approached him at a run. The master mariner's face was +ghastly above his bushy whiskers.</p> + +<p>"Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily.</p> + +<p>Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and up to the roof, by way of a +rough ladder that leaned against the wall. There, on the outward slope +of the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, sprawled the body +of Peter Clotworthy.</p> + +<p>"What! Asleep!" exclaimed Kingswell, peering close. The light was not +strong enough to disclose the features of the recumbent sentinel.</p> + +<p>"Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied Trigget, "with no chance o' +wakin' this side o' the Judgment-Seat."</p> + +<p>"Dead?" cried the other, sinking to his knees beside the body. He +pressed his hand against the mariner's side, held it there for a moment, +and withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward the growing +illumination of the east, staring at it with wide eyes. "Blood," he +murmured. "Stabbed without a squeal—without a whimper, by Heaven!" Then +he ripped out an oath, and followed it close with a prayer for his dead +comrade's soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>Kingswell had a +hot and ready tongue—and a temper to suit, when occasion offered.</p> + +<p>The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on the roof of the +storehouse for some time. The light strengthened and spread on their +right, and, at last, gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing +and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow below them, which was +otherwise unmarked, they saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined +feet. The marks did not lead to or from the near cover of the woods, but +to the south, around the fort. The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's +murderer had approached close under the stockade, and, after his silent +deed of violence, had jumped a distance of about twenty feet, from the +roof of the store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, evidently +from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, smirched the snow where it +was broken by his fall. From there the steps returned by the same +course, but at a distance of about ten paces from the stockade.</p> + +<p>Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to the colourless, +distorted features of the dead seaman. Then his gaze met Trigget's +deep-set eyes. He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard line, as +if the frost had stiffened them.</p> + +<p>"Poor Clotworthy," he murmured, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>swallowed as if his throat were +dry. "Poor devil, knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, +he was clubbed first and then knifed—felled and bled like an ox in a +shambles! Ten nights of this hellishness will account for the whole +garrison."</p> + +<p>With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that there'd be no ten +nights of it.</p> + +<p>They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, been animated by the +fearless spirit of Richard Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and +carried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other inmates of the +little settlement were deeply affected by the sight, and by Kingswell's +story. The younger men were for setting out immediately and driving the +Beothics from the woods on the far side of the river. But the wiser +heads prevailed against such recklessness, arguing that the only thing +to be done was to remain constantly on guard. The women wept. Ouenwa, +trembling with sorrow and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver +beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, in English and Beothic, +that he would avenge this murder as he intended to avenge the murders of +his father and his grandfather.</p> + +<p>The day passed without any sign of the hidden enemy. Kingswell slept +until noon. By evening Black Feather had recovered enough strength to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His lodge, and that of +Montaw, the arrow-maker, had been torn down by the followers of Panounia +shortly after the departure of the <i>Pelican</i> from Wigwam Harbour. Montaw +had died fighting. Black Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and +carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife and children also had +been captured and maltreated. The ships in the bay had looked on at the +unequal struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. Upon +reaching the village on the river, Black Feather had been driven to the +meanest work—work unbecoming a warrior of his standing—and his wife +and children had been led farther up-stream, very likely to Wind Lake. +Black Feather had seen the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top of +a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He had bided his time. At +last he had gnawed the thongs with which his tormentors bound him at +night, and had safely made his escape. He could not say how long ago +that was. Days and nights had become strangely mixed in his desperate +mind. He had lived on such birds and hares as he had been able to kill +with sticks. Always he had kept up his journey, shaping his course +toward the salt water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who might +have remained loyal to the murdered chief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> But he had met with nobody +in all that desolate journey, until, only the day before, he had +recovered consciousness in Fort Beatrix.</p> + +<p>That night, John Trigget was attacked at his post on the gun-platform, +and in the struggle that ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So +sudden and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark that he fought in +silence, only remembering to shout for help after the savage had +squirmed from his embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by Sir +Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his place. But daylight arrived +without any further demonstration on the part of the enemy.</p> + +<p>By this time the little garrison was bitten by a restlessness that would +not be denied. Even Kingswell and William Trigget were for making some +sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the river. D'Antons, contrary +to his habit, had nothing to say either for or against an aggressive +movement. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously awaiting development; +but, seeing the spirit of the men, he agreed that five of the garrison +should sally forth in search of the enemy.</p> + +<p>"Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," concluded the baronet, wearily, +"though what the devil you'll do with them then is more than I can +venture to predict."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the cannon was taken from +the platform and mounted on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in +turn, was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fastened rammers and +mops and bags of powder and shot. The daring party was made up of Master +Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, and the younger Donnelly. +D'Antons did not volunteer his services on the expedition. The men were +all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and all save Ouenwa had +fastened steel breastplates under their coats. As they marched away, +Mistress Westleigh waved them "Godspeed" with a scarf of Spanish lace, +from where she stood in the open gate between her father and Captain +d'Antons.</p> + +<p>The little party moved down the bank and across the river slowly and +with commendable caution. Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a +sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Donnelly and Tom Bent +followed about ten paces behind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along +on the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which he feared far +worse than he did any number of Beothic warriors. The river was crossed +without accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's retreat.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE CLOVEN HOOF</span></h2> + +<p>Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping +with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain +d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a +summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After +closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end +of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, +but no warmth whatever.</p> + +<p>"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said.</p> + +<p>He smiled and approached her with every show of deference.</p> + +<p>"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good +baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the +world."</p> + +<p>The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced +the tears past her lids.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought +that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to +speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but +a dry sob.</p> + +<p>D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat +clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I +have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond +peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and +attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite +unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. +She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced +him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands.</p> + +<p>The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and +amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth +took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked +the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Beatrix," he said.</p> + +<p>"I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trembling. "Your presence is +distasteful to me."</p> + +<p>"A sudden turn," said he. "Now a month ago,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> or even a week ago, you +seemed of a different mind. As for the days of our first meeting in +merry London—ah, then your lips were not so unattainable."</p> + +<p>"I hate you," she murmured. "I despise you. I loath you. You taint the +air for me. Dog, to make a boast of having filched a kiss from a +light-hearted girl—who did not know you for the common fellow that you +are."</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," cried the man, "this is no stage comedy. We are not players. +I have asked you, too many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. +You know that your father's life is in my hands. Tell me now, will you +promise to marry me, or will you let your father go to the gallows in +the spring, and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever your +choice, my beauty, you will accompany me to New Spain next summer. It is +for you to say whether you go as my wife or my mistress."</p> + +<p>At that the girl's face went white as paper. But her eyes were steady.</p> + +<p>D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half-ashamed, nay, more than that, of +his words.</p> + +<p>"It would be hard to say," she replied, very softly, "which would be the +most dishonourable position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. That +of your wife, I think, monsieur—for, as your wife, she would be known +by your name."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p><p>His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken insult. He caught her +roughly by the wrists.</p> + +<p>"Nay," she said, "you must be more gentle. You seem to forget that you +are not sacking a defenceless town. Also, you forget that you have not a +friend or a follower in this wilderness, and that any man or woman in +the fort would shoot you down like a dog at a word from me."</p> + +<p>For a little while they eyed each other steadily enough—her face still +beautiful despite the bantering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the +loathing in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, with a +muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her tender flesh, pressing with +all his strength.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, "you think yourself strong enough +to flout Pierre d'Antons, do you? Strong enough to spurn the protection +of a soldier and a gentleman! Cry now for your girl-faced Kingswell—for +your golden-haired fellow countryman."</p> + +<p>By that even her lips were colourless, and her eyes were wet. "There is +no need," she said, bravely, "for I hear my father at the door."</p> + +<p>D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a backward step. In doing so, his +heel struck the leg of a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang +discordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> Sir Ralph crossed +the threshold. Before either of the men had time to speak, Beatrix +darted forward and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face with +her open hand. Then, without a word of either explanation or greeting to +her father, she passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of the +room, and entered her own chamber.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean, captain?" inquired the baronet, coldly. D'Antons, +scarcely recovered from the blow, strode toward him.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" he cried. "It means, my fine old cock, that your +neck will be pulled out of joint when we get away from this +God-forgotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have you strung up +to a yard-arm when you were safely in my power? Stab me, but I've been +too soft—and my reward is insults from the wench of an exiled +card-cheat and murderer."</p> + +<p>His voice was raised almost to a scream. His face quivered with passion. +He thrust it within a few inches of the baronet's.</p> + +<p>"Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. "I cannot abide being bawled at in +my own house, especially by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep +your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a hurt. What's this! +You'd presume?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>They withdrew on the instant. The two swords came clear in the same +second of time.</p> + +<p>"<i>Gabier de potence</i>," cried D'Antons.</p> + +<p>"<i>Canaille</i>," replied the baronet, blandly. Evidently the rasp of the +steel had mended his temper. He even smiled a little at his adoption of +his adversary's mother-tongue.</p> + +<p>The men were excellently matched as swordsmen. But not more than half a +dozen passes had been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the room, +crying to them to put up their swords.</p> + +<p>"Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on D'Antons, "go back to your +room, my daughter, and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will +soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy."</p> + +<p>The girl went softly back and closed the door, in an effort to shut out +the rasping and metallic striking of the blades. She prayed, but for +strength to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's soul. She was +afraid—desperately afraid. The truth of her father's skill in French +sword-play had been kept from her. To her he was but a courteous, +middle-aged gentleman who needed her care, and who had been maligned and +robbed by the world into which he had been born. He was a good father. +He had been a loving and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>considerate husband. She knelt beside her bed +and beseeched God to succour him in this desperate strait.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the fight went on in the outer room with more the air of +a harmless bout for practice than a duel to the death. It was altogether +a question of point and point, in the Continental manner, perfectly free +from the swinging attack and clanging defence of the English style. The +combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. Neither seemed in any +hurry. The thrusts and lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were +delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant leisure.</p> + +<p>"I believe you have the advantage of me by about three inches of steel," +remarked the baronet, diverting a lightning thrust from its intended +course.</p> + +<p>"A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, smiling grimly.</p> + +<p>Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge of a book of verses +which Mistress Beatrix had left on the floor. For a second he was +swerved from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was to feel the +warm blood running down his breast from a slight incision in his left +shoulder. But his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and the +Frenchman found himself more severely pressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> than before, despite the +advantage he possessed in the superior length of his sword. The little +wound counted for nothing.</p> + +<p>Just what the outcome of the fight would have been, if an untimely +interruption in the person of Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is +hard to say. Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the victory in +the long run, or perhaps the baronet's excellent composure. In skill +they were nicely matched, though the Englishman displayed superiority +enough to even the difference in the length of the blades. But why take +time for idle surmises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, at the +open door, saw her beloved master engaged in a desperate combat with a +person whom she despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden stain of +blood on her master's doublet. In her hand she held a skillet which she +had just borrowed from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce +herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Captain d'Antons a +resounding whack on the head with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long +sword fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the floor. With a +low, guttural cry, the Frenchman followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, +at the feet of the surprised and indignant baronet.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH</span></h2> + +<p>Master Kingswell and his party returned from their daring reconnoitre +early in the afternoon. They had not met with the enemy, though they had +found the camp and torn down the temporary lodges. After that they had +followed the broad trail of the retreat for several miles, and had +discharged the cannon twice into the inscrutable woods. Their daring had +been rewarded by the capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked +salmon and dried venison.</p> + +<p>Both Kingswell and William Trigget were unable to account for the fact +that the savages had not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In +reality they owed their bloodless victory to the presence of the little +cannon. That third and last discharge of slugs, on the day of the big +fight, had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, and inspired +an hysterical terror in the hearts of the rest. But for that, the hidden +enemy would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> not have been content with playing a waiting game and with +the attempted killing of one man each night; and neither would they have +retired, so undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. But, +despite their fear of the cannon, they had no intention of giving up the +siege of the fort. They placed trust in the darkness of night and their +own cunning.</p> + +<p>Kingswell and the elder Trigget were drawn aside by Sir Ralph. The +baronet looked less care-haunted than he had for years.</p> + +<p>"D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he whispered, "and behold, the +heavens have not fallen,—nor even the poor defences of this +plantation." He smiled cheerfully. "The great captain alone has come to +grief," he added. "Maggie Stone saved him from my hand by felling him +herself with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically angry at the time, +but am glad now that I did not have to kill the rogue."</p> + +<p>"Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked Trigget, coolly.</p> + +<p>"I grant you that, my good William," replied Sir Ralph, "but he is +harmless as a new-born babe, after all—and we'll see that he remains +so."</p> + +<p>Then he told them the story of the duel, and of what had led to it. +Kingswell flushed and paled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p><p>"God's mercy!" he cried, "but I would I had been in your boots, sir."</p> + +<p>"You'd have died in them, more than likely," replied the baronet, laying +a hand on the other's shoulder. "D'Antons has a rare knowledge of +swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with."</p> + +<p>"Even so," replied Kingswell, "it would have been—it would have been a +pleasure to die in such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, "But +I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his gimcrackery and +side-stepping. I've seen such gentry hopping and poking for hours, when +one good cut from the shoulder would have ended their tricks."</p> + +<p>The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge of sadness. "Ah, what a +fine thing is the heart of youth," he said, "and the confidence of +youth. I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my dear boy, valour +and confidence are not more than half the battle, after all. The edge is +a fine thing, and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammering of the +first sword; but the point becomes no less deadly simply because one +stout young Englishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were not +that I have won the distinction—beside many a less enviable one—of +being the best swordsman in England, I could not have withstood +D'Antons'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> play for long enough to make sure of the colour of his eyes."</p> + +<p>Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know which way to turn his +abashed countenance. Both Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him.</p> + +<p>"But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, "that, if it came to a +matter of cutlasses, neither the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long +against either you or Trigget."</p> + +<p>"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, staring over the +baronet's shoulder at nothing in particular, "but I haven't a doubt that +even Maggie Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a match for +me."</p> + +<p>William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. "We must ease the young +gentleman's temper, sir," he said to the baronet. "I have a pair of +singlesticks."</p> + +<p>"Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his hand under Kingswell's arm +and led him into the cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy +compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth immediately felt better +in his pride.</p> + +<p>"Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir Ralph whispered in his ear. +"He is safe in his own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not +over-tenderly, by Maggie Stone."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix on the bench by the +fire. He noticed that she had been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the +brighter for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief expedition +from which he had just returned. He told of the cluster of lodges, the +cooking-fires still burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and +not a human being in sight.</p> + +<p>"And what if you had seen the savages?" she asked. "Surely, four +Englishmen and a lad could do nothing against such a host?"</p> + +<p>"We would have fallen in the first flight of arrows," replied Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you risk it?"</p> + +<p>The young man shook his head and laughed. "Some one must take risks," he +said, "else all warfare would come to a standstill."</p> + +<p>The girl was looking down at her hands, and reflectively twisting a +jewelled ring around and around on one slim finger. "And I wish it would +with all my heart," she sighed. "Warfare and bloodshed—they are the +devil's inventions, and strike innocent and guilty alike."</p> + +<p>"Nay," replied Kingswell, "there is more harm done to the innocent in +courts and fine assemblies, and at the sheltered card-tables, than on +all the battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> and, if he +sometimes lets the good blood with the bad, why, that's just a risk we +must accept."</p> + +<p>Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him squarely. "You preach like a +Puritan," she said, "with your condemnation of courts and play. You +should give my father the benefit of some of your wisdom. His friends +have all been generous with such help."</p> + +<p>Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward minute studied the toes of his +moccasins. Presently he looked up.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," he said.</p> + +<p>Her glance softened.</p> + +<p>"I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of courts," he added. "I am +ignorant of everything."</p> + +<p>His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. "Nothing is so easily +mended as ignorance."</p> + +<p>He looked at her gravely.</p> + +<p>"I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons in French sword-play," +he said. "Is there nothing that you would teach me?"</p> + +<p>"Embroidery," she replied, "and how to brew a Madeira punch."</p> + +<p>At that moment the baronet opened the door and admitted William Trigget. +The master <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>mariner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket-work +guards under his arm.</p> + +<p>"Does your education commence so soon?" inquired Beatrix of Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of his old confidence. With +the lady's permission and Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell +cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the table. They removed +their outer coats. Trigget was the taller, as well as the heavier, of +the two. Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the dry +whacking of the sticks against one another, varied occasionally by the +muffled thud of wood against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine +display of the English style—slash, cut, and guard, with never a +side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes of it, Trigget cried "enough," +and stumbled out of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. His +shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; Kingswell was without a +touch.</p> + +<p>Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, for that matter, +concealed their astonishment at the result of the bout. "And now, sir," +said Kingswell, "I should like a lesson in the other style."</p> + +<p>The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless blades with blunted +points. After a few words as to the manner of standing, they crossed the +lithe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from his hand and +sent bounding across the room. He recovered it without a word and +returned to the combat. By this time the light was failing. After about +a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His gray eyes danced, and he +laughed gaily as he picked up his weapon.</p> + +<p>"I see the way of that trick," he said.</p> + +<p>He returned to the one-sided engagement with, if possible, more energy +and eagerness than before. Already he had the attitude and stamping +manner of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his defence again and +again without slipping through. Three times he tried the circular, +twisting stroke with which he had disarmed the novice before without +success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he put out fresh efforts, +and forgot all about his defence. The blades rasped, and rang, and +whispered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's breast, at his throat, +at his eyes; but it never touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was +about to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because of the +gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the insignificant but painful +wound on the baronet's shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, +pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir Ralph dropped his foil to +the floor.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS</span></h2> + +<p>Captain Pierre d'Antons' injury kept him indoors for ten days. During +that time he saw nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and Ouenwa. +Kingswell could not help feeling sorry for him, in spite of the enmity +and distrust in his heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came by +his cut head to the young Englishman. He knew that the other knew—and +sometimes he wondered how much. He accepted such attentions at +Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make to any invalid, with +what seemed gratitude and humility. But under the mask his blood was +raging. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass of water from the +Englishman, it was as much from the effort of restraining an outburst of +hate as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by now, suspected the +real state of the other's feelings.</p> + +<p>During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> Beothics made three night +attacks on the fort. Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstrations +of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his death and young Trigget had +received the cut on his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was an +attack in force, made in that darkest hour just before the first +stirrings of dawn. By good fortune, both William Trigget and Kingswell +were dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. They both ran to +the gun-platform, and there found Tom Bent desperately engaged with two +savages, who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoulders of their +fellows. The intruders were speedily hurled backward, they and a portion +of the breastworks falling on the devoted heads below. At the moment, +Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the ladder and handed a torch to her +husband. In a second the coverings were pulled from the guns. The +muzzles of the little weapons were declined as far as they would go, and +the fuses were ignited. Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the +enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the torch's +illumination. Both William Trigget and Tom Bent were hit, and fell to +their knees. In the same instant of time the guns belched their flame +and screaming missiles into the wavering mass of savages. A yell of +terror and pain, made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> up of many individual cries, followed the reports +of the guns like an echo.</p> + +<p>But along the opposite stockade, things were not going so well for the +settlers. About a dozen of the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of +the storehouse, and from there had jumped into the yard, driving Peter +Harding before them. They were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. +Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the edges of the conflict. +Matters were looking serious for the defenders (who by that time were +joined by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Maggie Stone) when the +discharge of artillery across the square turned the courage of the +attackers to water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them were cut +down while endeavouring to escape by way of the ladder against the wall +of the storehouse. The rest got away, but none of them unscathed. With +that the fight ended, though the defenders kept to their posts until +broad daylight.</p> + +<p>In the morning it was discovered that one of the six warriors who +remained within the fort was still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to +D'Antons' cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were not of a serious +nature. Black Feather, who was a convalescent by now, recognized a +bitter enemy in the disabled captive. He was for despatching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> him +straightway, recalling the bitter days of his slavery and the loss of +wife and children. He was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa +remonstrated with him at some length.</p> + +<p>The little garrison had suffered in the brief engagement. William +Trigget had halted three arrows with his big body. Only one had reached +the flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and hide; but that one +had cut deep into the muscles of his chest, and the others had bruised +his ribs. Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gaping slash in +the side of his neck. Young Peter Harding was laid on his back with a +cracked rib, dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a fair way +to remain on the sick-list for some time to come.</p> + +<p>The dead Beothics were carried out and buried in a shallow grave near +the honest Clotworthy's desolate resting-place.</p> + +<p>It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, that the enemy were +still maintaining the siege, and at even closer range than before. The +continual sight of that evidence of their presence, and the idleness due +to confinement within a few hundred yards of the stockade, began to tell +on the spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of difficulty to +forget the wounded men in such restricted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> quarters. Bandages and +salves, gruels and plasters, seemed to pervade every corner. Every one +who was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the lack of fresh meat +was beginning to be felt. Sir Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just +after his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his black moods. +Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes were losing something of their +radiance, though she carried herself bravely and cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell, who had a knack with bandages and such, found his time +fully occupied. He inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and +Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the captured Beothic. His only +recreation was a few hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the +Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit happened to be paid +during the day; if in the evening, they sometimes played chess, or, +better still, the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, and the +youth and the maiden bent their young heads above the pieces of carved +ivory.</p> + +<p>Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kingswell detected an +aloofness toward him that had not been noticeable during the first days +of their acquaintance. The thing was very fine—so fine that it was +scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. One of duller perception would +have missed it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>altogether. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save +in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye and the softer notes +of the voice. But it worried the young man. He felt that he had failed +in something—that she had set a standard for him, and that he had not +risen to it. With native shrewdness, he suspected that she considered +him crude and conceited. He knew that she considered him brave, and that +she admired his courage; but he was equally sure that his prowess with +the singlesticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexterity with the +rapier, did not tell in his favour in her eyes. "Women are evidently as +unreasonable as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried to acquire +a modest demeanour. But the ability to do so had not been born in him, +and no matter how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone in his +clear eyes and self-confidence was in the carriage of head and +shoulders.</p> + +<p>The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell became more affectionate +every day. He recognized the sterling qualities in the youth,—the +honesty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical and mental gifts +of quick eye and wrist and clear brain. He derived no little comfort +from his presence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired son of +the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> had a second guardian. He knew +that the Kingswell blood, though not noble by the rating of the College +of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely as any in England. In +happier times he had known and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity +with the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad-minded merchant's +heart as sound as his self-imported wines. He remembered the wife, too, +as a person of distinction and kindliness.</p> + +<p>For his own part, the baronet realized more surely, with the passing of +each narrow day, that life offered no further allurement to him. The +slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance and defeat of +D'Antons was of no more lasting a quality than the flavour of a vintage. +The Frenchman was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them; and in as +fair a way as himself to leave his bones in the wilderness. Yes, he felt +a twinge of pity for him! He could understand that, to an adventurer +like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very devil,—worse, perhaps, than +the fever of the gaming-table. But of course he felt no regret for +having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's audacious suit. His +regret—if, indeed, he entertained any concerning so recent an event in +his career—was that he had not pricked the buccaneer's bubble of false +power months before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>—despite the promise he had made him. But as things +had turned out,—as Time had dealt the cards, to use his own words,—the +other's behaviour had allowed him to strike without too flagrant a +breach of his word of honour. He was thankful for that.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX.</span> <span class="smaller">TWO OF A KIND</span></h2> + +<p>When Pierre d'Antons was able to move about again, he found himself +shunned, without disguise, by every one of the inmates of the fort save +Bernard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no longer under orders to +treat him with respect and obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and +turned their backs when he addressed them. Of course, the door of Sir +Ralph's habitation was closed against him. He spent almost all his time +in his own cabin, with the captured and slowly convalescing Beothic for +companion. He read a great deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a +fit of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, cursing, crying out for a +chance of revenge, with clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, +the Beothic would watch him closely, with understanding in his gaze. The +savage was no linguist; but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every +nationality.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p><p>D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatuation for Mistress +Westleigh. The blow of the skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever +his passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it lacked nothing +in vitality. It was a madness. It was a bitter desire. How gladly he +would risk death, fighting for her—and yet he would not have hesitated +a moment about killing her happiness, to win his own, had an opportunity +offered. Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness were things +apart from what he considered his love for the beautiful English girl.</p> + +<p>In this state of mind he built a hundred wild dreams of carrying her +away, and of ultimately imprisoning her, should she still be averse to +his love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realization of his position +would come over him and set him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, +despite the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and friendly +exterior. He wondered if he could not turn the young man to some use. He +gave the matter his attention.</p> + +<p>One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to Kingswell. All through it +the Englishman was itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his time +than was absolutely necessary under the Frenchman's roof. But the +narrator held him with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history +of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great family that had fallen +upon lean years; with a ruinous château, a proud and studious father, +and a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams and few pleasures; +with a youth of hard and honourable soldiering wherever the banners of +France led the way; and with an early manhood of high adventure and +achievement in the Western colonies.</p> + +<p>Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's voice fairly trembled with +emotion. He believed no more of the tale than if he had already heard +the truth of the matter—which was, in plain English, that D'Antons was +the bastard of a blackleg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had +spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and had won, by courage +and cunning, to the position of a captain of buccaneers in early +manhood. The achievements in the Western colonies had been matters of +the wrecking and plundering of what others had built; the high +adventures—God spare me the telling of them!</p> + +<p>After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one of his reddest moods. +He was sure that the pink-cheeked youth had not believed a word of his +story—had been laughing up his sleeve at the most touching passages. He +was sorry that he had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding +the narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this artistic lying to +such a pig's head! He jumped to his feet, with a violence that almost +startled the Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room like a +madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the walls. He knocked the few +pieces of furniture out of his erratic course, and spilled his books and +papers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without any ringing oaths +or blistering curses. His rage worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes +bleed. It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and his hands, +but found no ease in articulation. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, +from where he had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was such a +daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beothic, crouched fearfully +against the wall, and followed his movements with wide eyes; for, though +a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud was a craven at heart.</p> + +<p>Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and the victim of it sank +languidly into a chair beside the Beothic's couch. He groaned and +shivered. For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden between his +hands. Looking up, his eyes met the eyes of the native. In their furtive +regard, he read that which suggested a new move. Though, owing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> to an +inborn caution, he had never displayed a knowledge of the Beothic +language to his fellow settlers, and had refrained from using any words +of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea of it during his +sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hitherto he had paid but scant attention to Red +Cloud, for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intolerance toward +uncivilized peoples; but now he leaned forward and spoke kindly to his +companion.</p> + +<p>It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned to D'Antons' cabin. Under +the new order of things, Ouenwa had volunteered his services as +assistant night-guard of the two prisoners—for the Frenchman was +virtually a prisoner. It was their custom to keep watch turn and turn +about, in two hours' vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a +comfortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was also by the hearth. +This precaution was taken for fear of some treachery on the part of Red +Cloud.</p> + +<p>When the two entered the outer room, the fire was burning brightly, and +by its ruddy light they saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to +the wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the door. When the +morning was well advanced, they opened windows and door, and replenished +the fire. Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, and looked +in to see how D'Antons was faring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> His fire was out and he was still +abed. Kingswell moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. +What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut in his sleep! He laid +his hand on the shapeless shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding +pelts and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor frantically. His +exclamation brought Ouenwa to his side. The Englishman pointed a finger +of dismay at the demolished dummy.</p> + +<p>"Tricked!" he cried. "Rip me, but what a fine jailer I am!" They rushed +back to the other room and investigated the figure on the Beothic's +couch. That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and bedding. Red +Cloud also had faded away.</p> + +<p>News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the savage went through the +fort like an electric current. The settlers were more interested and +surprised over it than concerned. Even the invalids sat up and +conjectured on the captain's object in fleeing to the outer wilderness, +and the doubtful but inevitable reception by the natives. They could +hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and Red Cloud had gone as +fellow conspirators, remembering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward +the aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions.</p> + +<p>William Trigget shook his head when he heard the story, and rated the +men who had been on duty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> along the palisade with unsparing frankness. +Sir Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked surprised.</p> + +<p>"It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, "to bundle up a few +blankets into lifelike effigies, and then to slip away while the jailer +is elsewhere spending a social evening."</p> + +<p>Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl steadily; but he failed +to meet her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "they slipped away while two men were on guard along the +walls, and while the self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' +sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was playing chess with your +ladyship."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the baronet quickly. "We +have no use for the savage; and as to D'Antons—why, if the enemy kill +him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I cannot help wondering +at him taking so dangerous a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with +the natives at any time, one would have a clue. But he always treated +them like dogs."</p> + +<p>Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the lady, and gave all his +attention to the baronet and the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of +shame had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> eyes, also, showed +a change—a chilling from blue to gray, with a surface glitter and a +shadow behind.</p> + +<p>"You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, "that D'Antons has taken +what he considers the lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to +him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have removed Red Cloud to one +of the other huts."</p> + +<p>"He was kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. "Then I am not the only +scapegrace of the community."</p> + +<p>The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he smiled at the young man. +But the girl did not receive the implication in the same spirit. She +stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising species of bird that +had flown in at the window.</p> + +<p>"Such a remark rings dangerously of insubordination," she exclaimed, +"not to mention the impertinence of it."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and murmured a +remonstrance. It is a wise father that knows his own daughter. Kingswell +turned an expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. Then he +bowed to Sir Ralph. "If I am guilty of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave +your pardon," he said. "As to insubordination—why, I believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> there is +nothing to say on that head, as I am a free agent; but I think you +understand, sir, that I and my men are entirely at your service, as we +have been ever since the day we first accepted the hospitality of Fort +Beatrix. My men, at least, have not failed in any duty, whatever my +delinquencies."</p> + +<p>With an exclamation of sincere concern, the baronet stepped close to his +friend and placed a hand on either of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Bernard—my dear lad—why all this talk of pardon, and duty, and +delinquencies, and God knows what else? If you believe that I consider +you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me ungrateful indeed."</p> + +<p>His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced Kingswell that the words +were sincere, and so did something toward the mending of his injured +feelings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his manner unbent. He +took his departure immediately after.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door closed behind Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"I do not understand your treatment of him," he said. "Surely you +realize that he is a friend—and friends are not so common that we can +afford to flout them at every turn." He did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> speak angrily, but the +girl saw plainly enough that he was seriously displeased.</p> + +<p>"The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she explained, weakly. "How +indignation would have burned within him had some one else allowed the +prisoners to escape."</p> + +<p>The baronet gazed at her pensively for several seconds, and then took +her hand tenderly between his own.</p> + +<p>"You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweeting," he said. "What you +take for conceit is just youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a +clean conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him—not a hint of +it. I am sorry you like him so little, my daughter, for he is a good lad +and well-disposed toward us."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XX.</span> <span class="smaller">BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER</span></h2> + +<p>For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little +garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so +much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from +sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment +of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red +Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave +the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was +of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of +Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter +for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the +greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of +the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be +brought to the rescue of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> the settlement. So Black Feather had told the +tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed.</p> + +<p>"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none +too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger +brother.</p> + +<p>"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied +the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft +Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and +of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at +the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all +be saved—thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture."</p> + +<p>At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think +Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied, +"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain."</p> + +<p>"What do you know of the black captain?"</p> + +<p>"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will +struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady. +That is all I know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within +eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the +ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already +without my telling, friend-chief," he added.</p> + +<p>"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other.</p> + +<p>Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin +since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course +he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of +tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the +presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice +of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent +composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved +him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes.</p> + +<p>Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph +welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan +for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was +deeply moved. He took a ring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> from his own hand and slipped it over one +of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black +Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply +them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for +themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and +the only one, as far as I can see."</p> + +<p>At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the +visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed +low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those +days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, +of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set +forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with +shining eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have +you learned your bravery?"</p> + +<p>Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my +fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell—and +half I gather from your eyes."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his +lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your +reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention +my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements +to leave as soon as dusk falls."</p> + +<p>At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned +a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to +leave us, too!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw +the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the +note of anxiety in the clear young voice.</p> + +<p>"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would +only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a +poor woodsman—and already our garrison is none too heavily manned."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure +that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need +you."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>ill-concealed surprise. +Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove +to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was +the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he +had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden +fear in the lady's face.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to +Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, +heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and +entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine +apparel.</p> + +<p>"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two +brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond +belief."</p> + +<p>He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor—up and down, up and down, +with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back.</p> + +<p>"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in +the forest to-night—away from the fire."</p> + +<p>She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze.</p> + +<p>"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded +over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a +good many hours to come."</p> + +<p>Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it +produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The +baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the +strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then +returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she +looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before. +They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels, +and yet dark as the heart of a deep water.</p> + +<p>"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any +suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from +that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly +reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing +instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, +across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang +clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the +firelight.</p> + +<p>At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined +comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of +the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream.</p> + +<p>The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic +strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not +look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing +of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The +logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the +wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player +stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one +of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own +chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and +the bow like a wand in her hand.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet +with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench.</p> + +<p>"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir."</p> + +<p>With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet +sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of +joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories +and called up more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied +his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that +Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young +Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood +but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger.</p> + +<p>Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his +thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music +and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the +long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if +lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest +of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the +memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard +her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the +violin?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI.</span> <span class="smaller">THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN</span></h2> + +<p>Ouenwa and Black Feather turned their faces from the little fort and the +hostile camp beyond the white river, and set bravely forward into the +darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding hummocks, bending and +twisting through the coverts, crossing the open glades like a +shadow—and all without any noise except the scarcely audible padding of +his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close after. They had not gone far +before the snow began to fall and puff around them in blinding clouds. +The trees bent tensely under the lash of the wind. More than one +frost-embrittled spire came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad +held on their journey, for they were both fresh and strong, and eager to +widen the spaces of wilderness between themselves and the camp of +Panounia.</p> + +<p>Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the snow on the leeward side of +a thicket of low spruces, broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire +between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal repast, and +then rolled themselves in their rugs of skin and fell asleep. They had +no fear that any of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. They +lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for several hours. Then Ouenwa +turned over and yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in an +instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. The white sun was +half-way up the blue shell of the eastern sky. All around the new snow +lay in feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it clung in even +masses, which showed that the wind had died down long before the flakes +had ceased to fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold meat and +bread, swallowed some brandy and water, and resumed their journey.</p> + +<p>Not until the afternoon of the third day following their departure from +Fort Beatrix did the travellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black +Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few paces ahead of Ouenwa, +who caught the first sight of the thin, melting signal of human life. It +wavered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of yards in front. On +their right hand lay the ice-edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On +their left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> mountainous +horizon. In front lay hope, and behind the spur of menace.</p> + +<p>"Is there a village yonder?" asked Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Black Feather replied negatively.</p> + +<p>"The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his own language, "and there +was no lodge there when last I saw it. We will approach under the +shelter of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the journey a few paces +longer, and perhaps the arrival twenty times safer."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution expressed by his friend.</p> + +<p>"But let us hurry," he said. "Remember that around the stockade the +black captain is ever stirring the courage of the night-howlers."</p> + +<p>At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from the screen of brush +into a tiny clearing on the north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was +not ten yards across at this point. On its white surface ran several +trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which had attracted them to the place +curled up from the apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the +travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the doorway of the lodge. +Ouenwa recognized her as a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and +adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the information to Black Feather.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>"Then we may show ourselves," said the other, "for if this woman was +the great chief's friend you may be sure that death has only +strengthened her loyalty. It is so with women—with the wise and the +foolish alike. A man will stand close to his comrade in the days of his +glory and in the press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the +fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the departed ever before +the matters of the present day. A man must have the reward of his +friend's praise and the joy of his companionship; but a woman makes a +god of the departed spirit and looks for her reward beyond the red +gates."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage reflections, for all he +knew of women was that a radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had +his heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and down the bank, in +silence.</p> + +<p>The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught sight of them +immediately. She turned into the dark interior of the wigwam, but +appeared before they were half-way across the frozen stream, with a bow +in her hand and an arrow on the string. Black Feather and the lad raised +their right hands, palms forward, above their heads, and continued to +advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, but did not relax her attitude +of vigilance. Close<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and +the lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of Soft Hand, and that +his companion was Black Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the +arrow-maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam forsook her post and +advanced to meet them.</p> + +<p>The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft Hand's advisers, was not +attractive to the eye. She was bent hideously, though still of +surprising bodily strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the matted +locks of hair that clung about it and fell over her ears and neck like a +wig of gray tree-moss. Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One +yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of her mouth. Her hands +were claws. Her skin was no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than +was the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. Her garments were +unusually barbaric—lynx-skins shapelessly stitched together and hung +about with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint nearly as long +as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy arms hung naked at her sides, as +indifferent to the nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes.</p> + +<p>"Child," she said, "I heard that you were killed—that Panounia's men +had slain you and a party of English; but that I knew to be false, for I +saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> So I believed +that you had crossed the great salt water with the strangers."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman listened with the keenest +interest and many nods of the head.</p> + +<p>"It is well," she said. "They are scattered now, some in hiding, some +sullenly obedient to Panounia, and some in captivity. Your need will +bring them together and awake their sleeping courage. I know of a full +score of stout warriors who will draw no bow for Panounia, and who are +all within a day's journey of this spot, but sadly scattered,—yea, +scattered in every little hollow, like frightened hares."</p> + +<p>"Do you live in this great lodge all by yourself?" inquired Black +Feather.</p> + +<p>"My sons are in the forest, seeing to their snares," replied the woman, +eying the tall brave sharply, "but within are a sick woman and a small +child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Panounia's camps."</p> + +<p>She stood aside and motioned them to enter the lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, +with Black Feather close at his heels. Within, it took them several +seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke and shadow. Presently +they made out a couch of fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on +it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. Both the woman +and the child were gazing at the visitors. The child began to whimper.</p> + +<p>Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang over the fire. He had found +his squaw and one of his lost children.</p> + +<p>The sickness of Black Feather's wife was nothing but the result of +hardship and ill-treatment. Already, under the herb-doctor's care, she +was greatly improved. The meeting with her warrior went far to complete +the cure of the old woman's broths and soft furs. The child was well; +but the woman knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder offspring.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long at the lodge beside Little +Thunder. With the younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they +set out that same day to find the hidden warriors who were against the +leadership of Panounia.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII.</span> <span class="smaller">BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS</span></h2> + +<p>Back at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary suspense. The wounded men +recovered slowly. The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and the +dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking-fires, melting against the +sky, told of their presence. The inaction ate into the courage of the +English men and women like rust. The boat-building and the iron-working +at the forge were carried on listlessly, and without the old-time spurs +of song and laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent displayed sombre +faces to their little world.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. He was not blind to the +danger of their position, and he continued to do double duty in +everything; but for all that he awoke each day with keen anticipation +for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, dreamed of other things than +the poised menace and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, or any +other city of the outer world, when Beatrix<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Westleigh was domiciled +within the rough walls of the fort on Gray Goose River? His heart would +not descend to those depths of despondency in which lurk fear and +hopeless anxiety. What power of man, in that wilderness, could break +down his guard and harm the most wonderful being in the world? The +girl's brief season of unkindness toward him was as a cloud that her +later friendliness had dispersed as the sun disperses the morning fog. +He had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, in her eyes, in her +voice, and on several occasions something that had set his heart +thumping in the touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse nor +indifferent to his society, and the glances of her magnificent eyes were +open to translations that set him looking out upon life and that +wilderness through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged D'Antons +draw their rapiers upon him—he would out-thrust, out-play, and +out-stamp them all! Let a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the +fort—he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour on his breast, would +scatter them like straw! And all this because, for the first time in his +life of twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a woman,—and +twenty-one was a fair, manly age in those days. He had won to it +unknowingly, by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> let not +even the oldest of us criticize his attitude toward life. A man's +emotions cannot always be herded and driven by the outward circumstances +of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the mercy of a dog and a +dull countryman. That to which cautious Worldliness has given the name +of madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but a spark of God's own +courage and imagination in the heart of youth: the years having not yet +smothered it with the ashes of cowardice and calculation.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but an assured front to the +world. Now this love that had him so irresistibly in its services only +heightened the confidence of his address toward men and events; but in +the presence of its inspiration it clothed him in unaccustomed and +unconscious meekness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick to +notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of course; for was it not a +greater and a more pleasant matter to have brought a high-hearted, +adventure-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery than to have a +dozen idle courtiers bowing before one, and a dozen sentimental poets +mouthing verses that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any +charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and could not find it in her +heart to regret the beaux<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> of London Town. But she did not know her +heart as the man knew his—and as she knew his.</p> + +<p>One morning they walked together along the river-bank, before the open +gate of the fort. The air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows +along the snow were bluer than the dome of the sky. The girl talked +cheerily; for in the bright daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour +rising from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong and worshipping +man, sword-girt, within arm's length, it was hard to remember the menace +concealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very bright, and the +blood mantled under the clear skin of her cheeks at the wind's caress. +Now and then, for a bar or two, she broke into song.</p> + +<p>Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten firm with his snow-shoes, +after the last storm, expressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. +It was about a hundred yards in length, and broad enough for two persons +to walk in abreast, and firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes +unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with the stockade and the +course of the river at that point. When the turn was made at either end +of the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon and every tree, +every knoll, and hollow. It was done almost unconsciously, as a +traveller <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>instinctively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound of +voices ahead of him on a dark road.</p> + +<p>After a time the girl noticed her companion's vigilance. "What do you +expect to see?" she asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with her +gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, but recovered his wits with +an effort.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he replied, "or surely we would not be walking here."</p> + +<p>She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her, displayed the desperate condition of his heart in +his eyes, and then looked back again to the strip of woods that +approached them along the back.</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," he said—and then, with a gasp of dismay, he caught +her and swung her behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against +his sheltering back.</p> + +<p>"We must return to the fort," he said. "Something is going on in that +covert."</p> + +<p>"Come! We will run!" she whispered, pulling at his elbows to turn him +around.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, +and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in +what quarter to look for it."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p><p>She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path +that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, +and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at +the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put +his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The +unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside +the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the +fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to +Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a +war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, +they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making +any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers +on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was +fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without +apparent effect.</p> + +<p>Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his +wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that +really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had +been serving Beatrix as a shield when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> the arrow struck him. He went the +rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and +his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the +strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of +drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball.</p> + +<p>It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. +He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called +to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her +face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a +quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow +before clasping them in eager fingers.</p> + +<p>"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," +he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her +hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers +drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall +her, God knows!—nay, not so much as a chill—but how could he keep it +in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill +with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her +flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had +nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life—and again, +perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world +to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the +immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender +to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain +like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips—how near +they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. +God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness.</p> + +<p>"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet +madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about +to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and +left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the +figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"Well, my lad?" inquired the baronet, calmly.</p> + +<p>"Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, hiding his chagrin +and confusion with exceeding skill.</p> + +<p>"You looked just now as if you were expecting me," said the elder. "Come +in, come in. We can talk better by the fire."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He picked up his gloves from +the trampled snow by the threshold, and silently followed the baronet +into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there—which fact the +lover noticed with a sinking of the heart. He was alone with her father, +and evidently under marked suspicion,—a fearful matter to a young man +who aspires to the hand of an angel, and has not yet his line of action +quite laid down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought of his +presumption, called the respectability of his parents and his income to +his aid, and was ready for the baronet when that gentleman turned and +faced him in front of the fire.</p> + +<p>"I love your daughter," he said, with his voice not quite so cool and +manly as he had intended it to be.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back was to the fire, and so his +face was in heavy shadow.</p> + +<p>"I love her very dearly," continued the other. "I believe no man could +love a woman more, for it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre +of my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not exalted, and that she is +the—"</p> + +<p>The baronet raised his hand sharply.</p> + +<p>The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> his sentence more +effectively than a clap of thunder would have done it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, "she is the daughter of a blackleg. She +is the daughter of a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken +gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high,—you, the son of a +humble merchant of Bristol."</p> + +<p>Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, with a hardy oath, he +slapped his hand to his hip.</p> + +<p>"Though she were the daughter of the devil himself," he began, and came +to a lame stop. The baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly +smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. Kingswell gave up all +attempt at politic speech. He had his own feelings to express. "Your +daughter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, huskily. +"Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes have been, they can reflect +in no way on her sweetness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not +mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of all on the father of the +most glorious woman in the world. I remember you in your strength,—the +greatest man in the county and my father's noble friend. The world has +taken a twirl since then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, my +heart is with you warmer than my worthy father's ever was."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">BETROTHED</span></h2> + +<p>That Bernard Kingswell had accepted the baronet's own estimation of his +(the baronet's) character so frankly, in the heat of sentimental +disclosure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than a pang or two. What +else could he expect of even this true friend? He was a broken gamester +and a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict of the law; but +whether or not he was a blackleg was a matter of opinion and the exact +definition of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well disposed toward +him, and that he believed nothing vile or cowardly of him; but, best of +all, he was sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was fortunate +beyond his hoping of the past two years. Should they get clear of the +besieging natives and out of the wilderness, her future happiness, +safety, and position would be assured. As Mistress Bernard Kingswell, +she would live close to the colour and finer things of life again, +gracing some fair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> house as a former Beatrix had done in other days—to +wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. The mist blurred his eyes +at that memory and dimmed his vision against the rough log walls around +him.</p> + +<p>Another thought came to the broken baronet, as he sat alone by the +falling fire, after Kingswell's departure, and awaited his supper and +the reappearance of his daughter. The thought was like a black shadow +between his face and the comforting fir sticks—between his heart and +the knowledge of a good man's love and protection for Beatrix. Knowing +the girl as he did, he felt sure that she would never leave him, her +exiled father, even at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a +return to his own country meant prison or death to him, she would hold +to the wilderness, thereby leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On +the other hand, should death come to him soon, and in the +wilderness,—by the arrows of the enemy, for choice,—his daughter's +fetters would be filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. The +desire to live out one's time clings about a man's vitals against all +reason. Even an exiled and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless +wilderness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain zest in day and +night and the winds of heaven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> With nothing to live for—even with the +scales decidedly the other way—Death still presents an uninviting face. +It may be the inscrutable mask of him that fills with distrust the heart +of the man who contemplates the Long Journey. In that inevitable yet +mysterious figure, showing as no more than a shadow between the bed and +the window, it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how repentant, +to read clear the promise of eternal peace. What dark deed might not be +perpetrated by the shrouded messenger between the death-bed and +Paradise?</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and hid the commonplace, +beautiful radiance of the hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he +waited for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and planned for his +daughter's future to the bitter end, seeing clearly that, should the +chances of battle turn in favour of the little plantation, he must +readjust his sentiments toward death. A man of lower breeding and +commoner courage would have groaned in the travail of that thought, and +cursed the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until he heard +his daughter at the door, and then stood up and hummed softly the +opening bars of a Somerset hunting-song.</p> + +<p>Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> face to him. He bent +and kissed her tenderly. For a little while they stood without speaking, +hand in hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. Suddenly the +girl pressed her cheek against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"What was it," she whispered, breathlessly,—"the matter that held you +and Bernard in such serious converse?"</p> + +<p>"And has your heart given you no hint of it?" he laughed.</p> + +<p>"And why, dear father? What has my heart to do with your talk of guards +and ammunition and supplies,—save that it is with you in everything?"</p> + +<p>The baronet released her hand and, instead, placed his arm about her +slender and rounded waist. "It is a story that I cannot tell you, +sweet,—I, who am your father," he said. "But I think that you shall not +have to wait long for the telling of it, for both youth and love are +impatient. And here comes the good Maggie with the candles."</p> + +<p>During the meal the baronet was more lively and entertaining than +Beatrix had seen him for years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually +untalkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give her undivided +attention to the quiet voice of her heart. The man was equally anxious +to avoid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>introspection as she to court it. But he, for all his laughter +and gay stories of gay times spent, displayed a colourless face and +haunted eyes behind the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, +glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed tresses, her eyes of +unnamable colour, her throat and lips and brow, were all radiant with +the magic fire at her heart.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a vague ending, sipped +his wine, put down the glass clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the +table. The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the throat. But she +noticed nothing of his change of manner; and presently they left the +table and moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping faggots +across the dogs. Then she filled his tobacco-pipe for him, and lit it +with a coal from the hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his +hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and Maggie Stone opened to +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after greeting him cordially but +quietly, donned his cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few +minutes. "I have a word for Trigget," he said. Then he pulled on his +gloves, pushed open the door, and stepped out to the dark.</p> + +<p>Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> snuffed them, surveyed +the room and its inmates with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced +her unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was as sentimental as +heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and her nature was of an inquisitive turn. +She sighed plaintively as she left the presence of the young couple.</p> + +<p>The door leading to the kitchen had no more than closed behind the +servant than Bernard, without preliminaries, dropped on one knee before +the lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to his lips. She +did not move, but stood between the candles and the firelight, all +a-gleam in her beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at the golden +head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were grave.</p> + +<p>"Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lifting his face or altering his +position,—"dear heart, can it be true?"</p> + +<p>She bent her head a little lower. Her heart seemed as if it was about to +break away from its bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, almost +unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note of fear in his voice: "Tell +me if I may win you! Tell me if your heart has any promise?"</p> + +<p>Before she could control her agitation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>sufficiently to answer him, the +outer door of the cabin was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph +stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist and wrenched it sharply.</p> + +<p>"We are attacked," he cried. "They have piled heaps of dry brush along +the palisades—and they have set the stuff on fire! It burns like mad. +Lord, but it looks more like hell than ever!"</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of the smoke from the +burning evergreen-needles invaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his +feet, still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at the baronet. +For a second he paused and peered, questioning, into her wonderful eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. "I love you, Bernard."</p> + +<p>He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every lover knows), and even while +the first brief and tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets +clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and the baronet thrust +sword and hat into Bernard's hands.</p> + +<p>"Come! For God's grace, lad, come and rally the men!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw the shrewd work that +awaited him. He ran to it with a leaping heart.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN</span></h2> + +<p>The heaps of brush outside the palisades burned with a long-drawn +roaring, like the note of a steady wind. It was a terrifying sound. The +glare of the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, staining the +trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, staining the faces of the +desperate settlers as if with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the +walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The platform upon which the +guns stood was a mass of flame before any use could be made of the +pieces. The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings and roarings, +flinging orange and crimson showers to the black dome above. The savages +skirmished behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the +blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their muskets through the +singed loopholes, firing low, and taking the chances with heroic +fortitude. Sir Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, with +their swords in their hands and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>encouragement in speech and bearing. +Both knew that this engagement would be a fight to the finish; and both +felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver commander than Panounia +was against them.</p> + +<p>The ammunition was carried from the storehouse to the shed over the +well, for the fire was already crackling against the log walls of the +buildings. Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of sparks and +burning fragments broke from the gun-platform; and, for the moment, the +warriors were scattered from that side. One of the cannon had exploded. +That corner of the stockade immediately fell and settled to the snow. +Next instant the second gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole +charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them to cover in yelling +disorder. At that the Englishmen cheered, and set about fighting back +the encroaching flames.</p> + +<p>Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn upon at need, must have +dwelt behind the shelter of the spruces; for within a very few minutes +of the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were about the fort +again. Kingswell took note of it, and suspected the inspiration to be +nothing else than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and dazzling +smile. A spur, too, he suspected—the spur of the mongrel Frenchman's +evil sneer and black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal character +to feel that it would prove but a plaything for such a personality as +the buccaneer's. He looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the +fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire to have the fellow +by the throat, or at the point of his sword, in tones that rang like a +curse.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the well-house.</p> + +<p>He knew where the <i>Pelican's</i> powder lay among the stores, done up in +five canvas bags of about twelve pounds each. With two of these under +his cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from the subsiding red +barrier that still held the enemy from the interior of the fort. By this +time the back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The roofs of the +cabins, deep with snow, were safe; but the rear walls were all in a fair +way of being ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the warriors of +Panounia diligently piled against them.</p> + +<p>Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the square to Sir Ralph, +William Trigget, and all the men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old +boatswain was, by this time, a very active convalescent. Kingswell +whispered a word or two in his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the +wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> They saw a party of the +enemy gather ominously close to the glowing edge of the breach. +Kingswell passed one of the bags of powder to his companion. "When I +give the word," he said.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into the obstruction, +brandishing spears and clubs, and screaming like maniacs. Kingswell +uttered a low, quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glowing +coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for the shelter of the +well-house at top speed. Tom Bent followed his movements on the instant. +Together they reached the narrow shelter; and, before they could turn +about, the air shook and reeled, as if a bolt of wind had broken upon +them, a blinding flash seemed to consume the whole night, and a puffing, +thumping report stunned their ears. They stumbled against the sides of +the shed, clawed desperately, and fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boatswain regained their senses +(which had left them for only a few seconds), they crawled from the +well-house and stared about them. The square was not so bright as it had +been, and, save for a few huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the +shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the fighting was now farther +away—that the settlers had sallied forth on the offensive. They could +not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> understand such recklessness; but they decided, without hesitation, +to take the risk. They ran to the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, +coals, wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and blown broadcast. +They crossed the torn ground and headed for the tumult in the fitfully +illuminated spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English shouts mixed +and clashed in the frosty air. On the very edge of the shifting +conflict, the old sailor clutched his master's arm. "Hark!" he cried. +"D'ye hear that now? It be the yell o' that young Ouenwa, sir, or ye can +call me a Dutcher!"</p> + +<p>At the same moment, before Kingswell could reply to Bent's statement, a +club, thrown by a retreating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side +of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. He moaned, as he +toppled over. Then he lay still on the ruddy snow.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living-room of the baronet's +cabin. Word had reached her that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in +time to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy by the explosions +of the bags of powder. When victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the +hands of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>followers, though spent +from their journey, had made a timely and successful rear attack.</p> + +<p>The girl was radiant. She moved up and down the room, eagerly awaiting +the return of Bernard Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and +laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond peradventure, whom heart, +hands, and lips longed to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, +it would have been her father—even a night ago he would have shared, +equally with the lover, in her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped +from hearth to door, and peered out into the blackness, with no thought +of any of those brave fellows save the lad of Bristol.</p> + +<p>The burning brush had all been trampled out, and the fires in the walls +and stockade had been quenched with water. The little square was dark, +save for the subdued fingers of light from windows and doors. Beatrix +peered from the open door, regardless of the cold. She was outlined +black against the warm radiance inside the room. Her silken garments +clung about her, pressed gently by a breath of wind. She rested a hand +on either upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as if, at a whim, +she would fly out from the threshold. Presently shadowy figures took +shape in the gloom, and she heard her father's voice, and William +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>Trigget's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught no sound of +Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A sudden fear caught her, and she +stepped out upon the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In a moment +he was at her side, and had an arm about her.</p> + +<p>"Sweeting," he said, "you must stay within for a little. The night is +bitterly cold, and—"</p> + +<p>"But where is Bernard?" she whispered, staring past him.</p> + +<p>"He is with the others," replied the baronet,—"with Ouenwa and his +brave fellows, and the dauntless Trigget."</p> + +<p>He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back to the cabin at the same +time. He closed the door, and laid a wet sword across a stool.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide eyes and bloodless +cheeks. "Tell me! Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph.</p> + +<p>"Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? How should he be hurt?"</p> + +<p>She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. Could it be that the +High God had been deaf to her prayers?</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he knew of Kingswell's +condition was that he still breathed, and that his hat had saved his +head from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, he did not +know. He braced himself, and smiled.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, "he is not seriously hurt, so do not stand like +that—for God's sake!"</p> + +<p>At the last words his voice lost its note of composure, and broke +shrilly. He caught her to him. "Rip me," he cried, "but if you act so +when he is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever gets a real +wound!"</p> + +<p>The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the blood returned +to her cheeks. She clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoulder. +Presently she looked up.</p> + +<p>"Take me to him," she begged, "or bring him here."</p> + +<p>"So you love this Bernard Kingswell?" inquired her father, looking +steadily into her face.</p> + +<p>Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. "Yes," she replied, +quietly.</p> + +<p>The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword from the stool, eyed it +dully, and leaned it against the wall. He was trying to imagine what the +lad's death would mean to his daughter's future; but he could only see +that it would mean a few more years for himself. He started guiltily, +and returned to his daughter. His face was desperately grim.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>"Wait for me," he said. "I'll see how the lad is doing now; and shall +return immediately."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been built for D'Antons, and +which had passed on to Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped +within. He found the wounded gentleman lying prone on his couch, +half-undressed, and with bandaged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, +was beside the still figure.</p> + +<p>"He opened his eyes," whispered the boy; "but see, he has closed them +again. His spirit waits at the spreading of the trails."</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen dressings on Kingswell's +head. They were exceedingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had been +cut away from the place of the wound.</p> + +<p>"Your work, Ouenwa?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's pulse.</p> + +<p>"It beats strong," he said. "The heart seems sure enough of the path to +take."</p> + +<p>Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. "He has chosen," he said, gravely. "He +has seen the hunting-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty of +them has not lured him along that trail."</p> + +<p>The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's eyes. "You are a brave +lad, and we are deep<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> in debt to you," he exclaimed. "Your bravery and +wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch your friend a few +minutes longer; I but go to bring another nurse to help you. Then you +may sleep."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXV.</span> <span class="smaller">FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT</span></h2> + +<p>From that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his twenty braves and the +little garrison of Fort Beatrix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought +a confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last attacks upon the +settlement. It consisted of a sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had +torn them from the person of a tall antagonist during a brief +hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the gear had won free, Black +Feather regretted to say. Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, +and sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power over Panounia, +and brought down that wolfish chief's hatred instead.</p> + +<p>On the morning after the battle, the little plantation presented a busy +though sombre appearance to those of its people who were in condition to +view it. Along the woods and rising ground to the north, the snow and +frozen soil were being hollowed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> to receive the bodies of those slain in +the fight. The dead of the enemy had been carried far into the woods, +and piled together with scant ceremony. The settlers had lost three of +their number,—young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. Four of +the rescuing party were dead and wounded. Tom Bent was on his back +again, and Kingswell's head was ringing like a sea-shell. William +Trigget was cut about the face and sore all over; but he kept on his +feet.</p> + +<p>After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, and the shrouded bodies +lowered therein and covered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's +orders, set about building themselves lodges outside the stockade. It +had been decided that, for mutual support, the friendly Beothics should +camp near the fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With axes +borrowed from the settlement, they soon had the forest ringing with the +noise of their labour. Though they had travelled light, in their hurry +to rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, they had dragged +along with them a few sled-loads of deerskins and birch bark, with which +to cover their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly about the torn +and scorched palisades; for it was a small matter to trim the poles and +fit the pliable roofs across the conical frames.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming the edges of white +barren and black forest and round hill. The stars shone silver above, +and the fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear glowed red +below. In the outer room of the cabin that had been Pierre d'Antons', +Beatrix sat alone by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leaping +flames in the chimney, and his were on the fair lines of her averted +face. The top of his head was so swathed in bandages that he looked like +a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as paper in the unstable +light. His eyes were bright with a touch of fever brought on by his +suffering. His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or two steady +enough and concerned with the present and the room in which he lay, and +then wandering abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and +imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and sentences, but in such a +gabbling style that his nurse could have made nothing of what was +passing in his brain even if she had taken such advantage of his +condition as to try.</p> + +<p>After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed by a profound silence, +he suddenly flung out one arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her +dreaming, and she turned her face back to him from the fire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p><p>"Twenty days without water," he whispered, distinctly. "Twenty +days—and that beast Trowley is laughing to see my tongue between my +teeth like a squeezed rag."</p> + +<p>The girl caught up a mug of water and held it to his lips. He drank +greedily, and then took hold of her hand. His head was against the +hollow of her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt beside his +low bed.</p> + +<p>"Beatrix," he said, gravely, "let us pretend that you love me."</p> + +<p>She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer to see his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why pretend, dear heart?" she answered. "I do love you, as you very +well know. Sleep again, Bernard, with your head so—pressed close."</p> + +<p>"I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. The fever was as a fine +haze across the mirror of his brain.</p> + +<p>"It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. +The lad's eyes shone with a clearer light at that.</p> + +<p>"Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he said. "Tell me, or +strength will bring nothing but sorrow. Better death than to find your +kisses a trick of dreaming."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"Is it not a pleasant dream?" she asked, softly, smiling a little.</p> + +<p>"Ay; to dream so, a man would gladly have done with waking," he replied. +"If it were not in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow the +vision through eternal sleep—as God is my judge."</p> + +<p>"Hush, dear lad," she murmured, "for the heart and the body of Beatrix +are of right Somersetshire stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever—and +the love she gives you will outlast life—as God is our judge and love +His handiwork." And she kissed him again, blushing sweetly at her +daring. And so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, and he with +his bandaged head against her lovely shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered +the cabin, fumbling discreetly at the latch.</p> + +<p>The days passed slowly in the heart of that frozen wilderness between +the white river and the long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. +Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley and rough wood. The +forge rang again with the clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber +with the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long dismayed, and blood +ran more redly to the stir of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained +fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> Mistress Westleigh +recovered all her glory of eyes and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by +all, carried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black Feather, with +his wife and his surviving child in a snug lodge, felt again the zest +and peace of living. Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort in +the days of security. He brooded alone, avoiding even his daughter. His +face grew thinner, and his shoulders lost something of their youthful +vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, dimmed his courage +and his philosophy. The very relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' +supposed overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant endurance. He +counted it a grievance that God had not led him to his death in the last +fight, as he had prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now he +must plan it over again—over and over—in cold reasoning and cold +blood, and alone by the fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon +him at times; and again he would be all repentance, telling his heart +that, no matter how bitter his fate, it was fully deserved. And so, day +by day, the shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed of madness +germinated and took root.</p> + +<p>For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in her father's manner and +habits. The thing disclosed itself so gradually, and she was so intent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the baronet had been +variable in his moods, to a certain extent, ever since the beginning of +his troubles—years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw that +something had gone radically wrong in the broken gentleman's mind, and +his knowledge had come about in this wise.</p> + +<p>The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman and warrior, was a still +more ardent seeker after bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had +taught him something of the art of reading. Later, Mistress Westleigh +had carried it further. By the time that Kingswell was safely on the +road to his old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell out a page +of English print very creditably. His primer was one of those volumes of +Master Will Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left behind +him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin to take her turn at tending the +invalid, and found Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youthful +brow painfully furrowed with thought. She took the book from him and +fluttered the pages, pausing here and there to read a line or two.</p> + +<p>"Run away," said she, "and on a shelf beside our chimney you will find a +book with easier words than this contains. There is matter here, I +think, that is beyond a beginner."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow and nodded his sore head +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," he said.</p> + +<p>Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sincere,—as was everything +about him,—Ouenwa left the presence of the lovers and ran across the +snow to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the baronet. That +gentleman looked at him long and keenly, so that the boy trembled and +wished himself out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and a harsh +laugh, "Help yourself, lad," said Sir Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of +books, and, kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the divers +volumes and broad-sheets with which it was piled high. He found a rhymed +and pictured chap-book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the +first verses when a movement behind his back brought him to a sense of +his whereabouts. He turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a +walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust at a spot of resin on +the log wall. The poor gentleman stamped and straddled, pinked the +unseen swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a dashing air. +There was a light in his eyes and a twist of the lips that struck +Ouenwa's heart cold in his side. The light was that which, when seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> in +the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides that man from the laws +and responsibilities that are the portion of his fellows. It was the +gleam of idiocy—that sinister sheen that cuts a man from his +birthright.</p> + +<p>The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his +shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with +fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display +in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of +the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a +smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Tis a pretty art—this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a +point of keeping my wrist limber for it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the +nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already +forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he +began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away +with him.</p> + +<p>"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that +Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to +point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl +of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter +of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping +softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held +the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and +unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear +of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST</span></h2> + +<p>And now to tell something of the movements of Pierre d'Antons, which, of +late, have been carried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond +the ken of the reader.</p> + +<p>The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night of fire and blood, +knocked the adventurer's fortunes flatter than they had ever been. You +may believe that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that he had +killed him long ago, when the lad threw his followers into the battle. +It was then that D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, and, +with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse back to victory. His +swordsmanship and energy availed him nothing. He missed capture only by +slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugitive from both sides, +he ran to the woods, avoiding the scattered and retreating warriors who +had so lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as he would +have avoided William Trigget or Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> Ralph Westleigh. One of his late +comrades, trailing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beothic curse +after him. Another, better prepared, let fly a war-club, and missed him +by an inch. He slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and the +dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated savages would mean death +and perhaps torture.</p> + +<p>The black captain did not run on any vague course, despite his haste. He +knew where a possibility of help awaited him. He had given his wits to +more than plans of revenge and kidnapping during his sojourn with +Panounia. In winning the men to him, he knew that his hold upon them +would not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the Beothic maiden +Miwandi, he had laid up store against an evil day. But he had not won +her heart simply on a chance of defeat—far from it, for he had not +dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleasant thing in itself to be the +lover of that nut-brown, lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl—for +Miwandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans concerning, the +lady in the fort. She loved the tall foreigner quickly and surely. She +was extravagantly proud of his power over the warriors of her people. He +was her brave, and as such she cherished him openly, to the envy rather +than the criticism of the other women of the encampment.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p><p>Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of Panounia's faction. She +was seventeen years of age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the +skins of some of her people and lighter than that of others. Her hair +was brown and of a silken texture, very unlike the straight locks of the +savages of the great continent to the westward. Her features were good, +and her eyes were full of life and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in +the breasts of more than one of the young bucks of the camp.</p> + +<p>Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men of both parties, shaped +his course for the lodge in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at +his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; instead, a pang of +honest affection for the comely young woman toward whom he was flying +for help stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and Miwandi caught +him in her arms. In a few quick words, he told her of the defeat, and of +the anger of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed him once, +passionately, and then fell to collecting a few things—a quiver of +arrows, a bow, furs, and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. +He accepted it without a word. She bound her snow-shoes to her feet, and +retied the wrenched thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless sword, damp with blood, +was still in his hand. They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, +and other cries that inspired them to flight.</p> + +<p>They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their breathing. Of the +two, it was the man who sometimes lagged, who often stumbled, and who +cried once that he would rather be captured than strain limb and lung to +another effort. D'Antons had been actively employed throughout the day, +and again during the most desperate passages of the battle, and his +strength was well-nigh exhausted. At last he fell and lay prone. In an +instant the girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shielding his +body from the cold, and revived him with brandy from the scanty supply +in his flask. By that time the dawn was breaking gray under the stars, +and all sounds of the chase had died away. She cut an armful of +fir-branches, and with them and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, +she made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they lay until high +noon, fugitives in a desolate wilderness, with death, in half a dozen +guises, lurking on either hand.</p> + +<p>Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band of Panounia's followers +soon gave up the hunt. Matters were not in condition to be mended by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. The defeated savages +had their own wounds to see to, and already too many dead to hide under +the snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing and killing of their +false leader D'Antons, would have to wait. Now, of all those valorous +warriors who had menaced the little fort since the very beginning of +winter, only ten remained unhurt. Panounia was dead. He had breathed his +last in the edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, and +had been carried farther in by one of his men. Thus his death had +remained unknown to the victors; as had also the deaths of many more of +the besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad who had once +boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was desperately hurt. Painfully and +hopelessly, those of the wounded who could move at all, the women, and +the unhurt of the band, retreated toward farther and surer fastnesses. +The wounded who could not drag themselves along were left to perish in +the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. Some bled to death +within the same time. A few lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's +men in the bright daytime,—they were reported as having been found +dead.</p> + +<p>D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced marches, until they reached a +wooded valley and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed +inland and southward. At last they found a spot that promised shelter +from the bleak winds as well as from prying eyes. There they built a +wigwam of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly plentiful in +the protected coverts around. They soon had a comfortable retreat +fashioned in that safe and voiceless place.</p> + +<p>"It will do until summer brings the ships," remarked D'Antons, busy with +plans whereby he might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. +Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi brave tales of far and +beautiful countries. He spoke of white towns above green harbours, of +high forests with strange, bright birds flying through their tops, and +of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds of great, sharp-horned beasts of +more weight than a stag caribou.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart-of-Life," she cried.</p> + +<p>So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, should be his queen +in a palace of white stone above a tropic sea.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS</span></h2> + +<p>Day by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sickness increased. It +strengthened in the dark, like a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day +by day, it grew over the bright surface of his mind and spirit. The +sureness of its advance was a fearful thing to watch.</p> + +<p>By the time March was over the wilderness, with a hint of spring in the +morning skies, the baronet's condition was noticeable to even the +dullest inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman spoke little—and +that little was seldom to the point. It seemed as if he had forgotten +how to smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He walked alone for +hours on the frozen river and through the woods. The Beothics of the +camp before the fort stood in awe of him. At times he treated Beatrix +and Bernard Kingswell as strangers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and +chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> All day, indoors and +out, he wore a rapier at his side. In the cabin he spent half of the +time inert by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and the rest +of it in sword-play with an imaginary antagonist.</p> + +<p>It was well for Beatrix that she had found Bernard's love before the +fresh misfortune descended upon her. But even with that comfort and +inspiration, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. They had +been such friends; and now he had blank eyes and deaf ears for all her +actions and words. It was twenty times harder for her than to have seen +him struck down by knife or arrow. Death seemed an honest thing compared +to that coldness and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly +about him with the passing of each day. It was as if another life, +another spirit, had taken possession of the familiar body and beloved +features. After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears had any +potency to break through the awful estrangement. Her prayers, her fond +recollections of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the dull +eye.</p> + +<p>By the end of March the busy boat-builders and smiths of the +settlement—and every man save Sir Ralph was either one or the +other—had two new boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +of about the capacity and model of the <i>Pelican</i>. They were intended for +fishing on the river and the great bays and for exploration cruises.</p> + +<p>William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder as he was a master +mariner, entertained great ideas of fishing and trading more openly than +Sir Ralph had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving out a real home +in the wilderness, and his wife was of the same mind.</p> + +<p>"We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," he said.</p> + +<p>Kingswell promised that, should he win back to Bristol, and find his +affairs in order, he would use his influence in behalf of the settlement +on Gray Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding to the new land.</p> + +<p>"It be rough, God knows," he said, "but it be sort o' hopeful, too. If +they danged savages leaves us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for +spendin' the balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. There be a +grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't turn our backs on, not if we +could help it."</p> + +<p>Kingswell himself was not building any dreams of fixing his lot in that +desolate place; and neither was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on +the subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point overseas. Beatrix, +now despondent at her father's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> trouble, and again happy in her love, +gave little thought to the future of the settlement, or to any plans for +the days to come, save vague dreamings of an English home.</p> + +<p>March wore along, and in open spaces the snow shrank inch by inch. Then +rain fell; and after that a time of tingling cold held all the +wilderness in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could run over the +snow-fields and the bed of the river without snow-shoes; for the surface +was tough as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, Sir +Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. The mornings lifted +clear silver and pale gold along the east. The evenings faded out in +crimson and saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were lit, +made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thinnest green. And back of it +all, despite the frost, hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and +blossoming trees.</p> + +<p>The lure of the season touched every one in the fort, and the camp +beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's blood like some fabled wine—for what +vintage of France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. It +mounted to his head with a high, unregretting recklessness, and doubled +the madness that already lurked there. Something of his old manner +returned, and for a whole evening he sat with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>Beatrix and Kingswell and +talked rationally and hopefully. Also, that same night, he played a game +of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees into it clearly and +without fear. He recalled the past without any sign of embarrassment. +But Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a light of derision in +them.</p> + +<p>Very early in the morning, while the stars still glinted overhead, and +the promise of day was no more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir +Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin and slipped out. He was +warmly and carefully dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his sword +free under his arm. Very cautiously he scaled the palisade and dropped +to the frozen crust of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay around +the corner of the fort, so he was safe from detection from that quarter. +He looked about and behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly +into the woods.</p> + +<p>Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, and his soft-shod feet +left no mark on the hard surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and +over, and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust of the wilderness +thawed a little, and here and there the baronet's feet broke through. At +that he began to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> He +flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, and called for Maggie +Stone to bring him food and drink. He called again and again. He shouted +other names than that of the old servant. In a sudden agony of fear, he +jumped to his feet and plunged through the evergreens. At every third +step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. He screamed the name +of his daughter, "Beatrix, Beatrix"—or was it his dead wife he was +calling? He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen of England who +had been his boon companions in the old days, forgetting that death had +taken some of them away from him, and that the rest, to a man, had +turned of their own accord. Presently he ceased his foolish outcry and +plodded along, with no thought of the course, sobbing the while like a +lost child.</p> + +<p>The sun began its downward journey, and still the baronet, with his +sheathed sword under his arm, staggered across the voiceless wilderness. +Toward mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and he travelled +with less difficulty. Ever and anon his poor eyes pictured a running +figure in an edge of blue shadow before him. At times it was the figure +of the nobleman he had killed in England, in the dispute at the +gaming-table, and again it was a friend,—Kingswell or Trigget, or +another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> of the fort,—and yet again it was Pierre d'Antons. But no +matter how he strove to run down the lurker, he lost him every time. +Thirst plagued him, and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds of +the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but passed gradually. The west +took on the flame and glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars +pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night gathered her cloudless +darkness over the wilderness; and still the demented baronet followed +his aimless quest.</p> + +<p>Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph Westleigh's departure from +Fort Beatrix, Pierre d'Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden +and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed person in the doorway +of their lodge. The woman cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of +the wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face turned gray as the +ashes around the fire-stone. The unexpected visitor drew his blade, +flung the sheath behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the fugitive +adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and caught up his own sword from where +it lay on a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more in wonder than +anger.</p> + +<p>"Westleigh!" he cried. "What brings you here, you fool—and how many +follow you?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He reeled a +little, but his eyes changed in their light and colour.</p> + +<p>"I am alone," he said. "Yes, I am alone." His voice was quiet. He seemed +sorely puzzled. D'Antons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he +laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>"So you have hunted me down, old cock," he said, smiling. "You'll find +that the quarry has fangs—in his own den."</p> + +<p>The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. He advanced his rapier. +In a second the fight was on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity +supported the baronet's starving muscles and reeling brain. Then his +thrusts began to go wide, and his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped +him in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life-blood of the last +baronet of Beverly and Randon made a vivid circle of red on the snow of +that nameless wilderness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE RUNNING OF THE ICE</span></h2> + +<p>It was Beatrix who first discovered her father's flight; but that was +four hours after its occurrence. The fort was soon astir with the news. +Men set out in all directions, in search of the missing one. Half a +dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the hunt. They went east and +west, north and south. The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the +madman's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying Bernard and Ouenwa. +She tried to show a brave face; but something in her heart told her to +expect the worst. The three travelled southward, and shortly before +sunset returned to the fort, unsuccessful. They found that all the other +searchers had got back, save Black Feather and a young brave named +Kakatoc, who had set out together.</p> + +<p>By the merest chance Black Feather and his companion happened upon the +place where the baronet had first broken through the melting crust. With +but little effort they found where he had rested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> and taken up his +journey again. Farther on, the faintness of the trail put an edge to +their determination to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a +challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it eagerly. But within +two hours of finding the marks, they lost them again. They ranged wide; +and at last Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad of snow +beside a stunted spruce. In several places the branches of the tree +showed where the snow had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It +was enough to keep them to the quest.</p> + +<p>Not in the next day, but in the early morning after that, the two +Beothics happened upon a sheltered valley and a snow-cleared space, with +a fire-stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately stood. As for +signs of blood, there were none. Snow had been deftly spread and +trampled over it. All around the so evident site of a human habitation +the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save for a little path that ran down to +a hole in the ice of the stream. After considering the place, and +shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food they had in their +pouches and turned their feet back to the fort. They passed within a few +paces of a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's body lay +uncovered. But how were they to know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> it, when even the prowling foxes +had not yet found it out!</p> + +<p>For several days the search was continued by the settlers and their +allies, but all in vain. It was not even suspected that the deserted +camping-place which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so lately +been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons and the blood of the lost +baronet. For a few days longer the business of the settlement lagged, +and the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever-brightening and +mellowing season. Then the axes struck up their chant again, and the +little duties of the common day erased the forebodings of Eternity from +the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress Beatrix could see nothing of +the reawakening of life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the +mist across her eyes. She had loved her father deeply and faithfully, +with a love that had been strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt +toward him the combined affections of daughter and sister and friend. +She had made allowances for the weaknesses of his later years that +equalled the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best-loved +child. She had not been, and was not now, blind to the passion of gaming +that had forced him to exile and an unknown death; but she had forgiven +it long ago. As to the alleged murder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> that had made such an evil odour +in London, she believed—and rightly—that hot blood and overmuch wine +had been to blame, and that her father's sword had been drawn after the +victim's.</p> + +<p>Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to comfort the bereaved girl. He +urged her to spend much of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for +their future, and to cheer her he built them even more hopefully than he +felt; for he realized that many difficulties were yet to be overcome +before Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two often went on +long tramps through the woods. Their evenings were always spent +together. Sometimes he read aloud to her, and sometimes they played at +chess. One evening she got her violin, and played as wonderfully as she +had on that other occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward without +a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle aside and nestled into his +arms. He held her tenderly, patting the bright hair against his +shoulder, and murmuring broken assurances of his love and sympathy. She +wept quietly for a little while; but when she kissed him at the door, +her face and eyes shone with something of their old light.</p> + +<p>By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced through the shrinking snow +in the open places; but in the woods the drifts continued to withstand +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose River was no longer +a broad path of spotless white. Its surface was mottled with patches of +sodden gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might hear a myriad +of tiny voices, some sibilant and some tinkling and liquid, in and under +the enfeebled ice. Up and down the valley, between the knolls and wooded +hills, the little streams were already snarling and roaring, and here +and there flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through all the +wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twilight, midnight, and dawn were +stirred by the falling cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring +fragrance was in the air—the scent of millions of swelling buds and +crimson willow-stems.</p> + +<p>About that time three warriors of the following of the dead Panounia +arrived at the fort, with prayers for peace on their lips and gifts in +their hands. They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, and +Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and two of his chiefs from the +camp. A lengthy business was gone through with, and much strong +Virginian tobacco was burned. Documents were written in English and in +the picture-writing of the natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both +languages. Then they were solemnly signed by all present, and peace was +restored to the great tribe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> of the North, and protection, trade, and +lands were granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Beatrix and +their descendants. The three visitors went back to their people with +rolls of red cloth and packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and +other useless trinkets on their shoulders.</p> + +<p>Shortly after their departure from the fort, a storm of rain blew up +from the sou'east. All day the great drops thumped on the roofs of the +cabins, on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the sodden snow. +The firs and spruces gleamed clean and black under the drenching +showers. A veil of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods and along +the black tangles of alders and gray fringes of willows. All night the +warm rain continued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along the +pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the fort that the ice in the +river was moving. The settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. +Beatrix was with them.</p> + +<p>"See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," said Kingswell, +pointing eagerly. "And there is an open space. Ah, it has closed again! +How slowly it grinds along!"</p> + +<p>"It will run faster before night," replied the girl, and Ouenwa, who was +versed in the ways of his northern rivers, nodded silently.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>While they watched, admiring the swelling, swinging, ponderous advance +of the great surface, and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony +that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the group and spoke a +few quick words to Black Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and +whispered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Beatrix and Kingswell, +and then questioned Black Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to +the lovers.</p> + +<p>"The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. "Blue Cloud has seen it. He +fears that the water will rise over the flat—and the fort."</p> + +<p>The river continued to rise until evening. After that the waters +subsided a little, great cakes of rotten ice hung stranded along the +crest of the bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. But from up +the valley the thunder of a hidden disturbance still boomed across the +windless air.</p> + +<p>"The jam had broken down-stream," said Ouenwa.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, was satisfied, and retired +to his couch with an easy mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of +the dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but dragged him to the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. "Damn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> but you sleep like a bear! +The fort is in danger! We must run for higher land."</p> + +<p>"Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to his feet, "but what is the +trouble? Are we attacked?"</p> + +<p>"The river is all but empty of water," replied Ouenwa. "The ice sags in +the channel, like an empty garment. The water hangs above, behind the +third point where we cut the timber for the boats."</p> + +<p>Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed pulling on his heavy +clothes. Though he did not fully understand the threatening danger, he +felt that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs of his deerhide +leggins, Ouenwa told him that warning had reached the fort but a few +minutes before.</p> + +<p>"How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestowing a wallet of gold coins +and some other valuables about his person.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's possessions, threw open +the door and stepped out.</p> + +<p>"Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his shoulder. "And I do not +understand," he added, "for Wolf Slayer hates us all."</p> + +<p>The other, close at his heels, made no comment on that intelligence. He +scarcely heard it, so anxious was he for the safety of Mistress +Beatrix.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran straight to his +sweetheart's door. It was opened by the maiden herself. She and the old +servant were all ready to leave.</p> + +<p>An hour passed; load after load of stores and household goods was +carried to the low hills behind the fort; and still the river lay empty, +with its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; and still the +unseen jam held back the gathering freshet. The women wept at the +thought that their little homes were in danger of being broken and torn +and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed.</p> + +<p>"It will be no great matter for them to build new cabins in a safer +place," she said to Kingswell.</p> + +<p>He was looking at the natives dragging their rolled-up lodges to higher +ground. He turned, smiling gravely.</p> + +<p>"You have no love for the wilderness?" he asked, "and yet but for this +forsaken place, you and I might never have met."</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed face to his tender +regard.</p> + +<p>"So it has served my turn," she said. "Now that I have you, I could well +spare these wastes of black wood and empty barren."</p> + +<p>Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in silence for that confession +ever since their betrothal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> Hitherto she had not once spoken with any +assurance of their future together. She had treated the subject vaguely, +as if her thoughts were all with the past and with the tragedy of her +father's death.</p> + +<p>"Would you face the homeward voyage in one of the little boats?" he +asked, softly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Dear girl," he said, "I think that a stout ship called the <i>Heart of +the West</i> will be setting sail from Bristol, for this wilderness, before +many days."</p> + +<p>"Would the fellow dare return?" she asked; for she had heard the story +of Trowley's treachery.</p> + +<p>"He will think himself safe enough," replied Kingswell. "No doubt he +owns the ship now—has bought it from my mother for the price of a +skiff, after telling her how recklessly he battled with the savages to +save her son's life."</p> + +<p>He laughed softly. "The old rogue will be surprised when I step aboard," +he added.</p> + +<p>Before she could answer him a booming report shook the sunlit air. It +was followed, in a second, by a long-drawn tumult—a grinding and +crashing and roaring—as if the firmament had fallen and overthrown the +everlasting hills. The sagging ice below them reared, domed upward, and +split with clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> which were +hurled down the stream and over the flats. A thing of brown water and +sodden gray lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow where the +Beothic encampment had stood an hour before. The eastern stockade of the +fort went down beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught.</p> + +<p>All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow raced down the river, and +the air hummed and vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the +released waters had passed; and the fort had suffered by no more than an +exposed side.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIX.</span> <span class="smaller">WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR</span></h2> + +<p>Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to +Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a +starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in +which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, +he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie +in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the +settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old +arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa +read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under +such unpropitious circumstances.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the +overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and +could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> thinking of the +future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought +of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and +comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, +and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more +softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or—or what? He shifted +noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his +pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and +closed with a silent enemy.</p> + +<p>Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a +clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to +the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch +bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame +lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had +the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw +his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English +indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt +and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on +his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into +the darkness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with +word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and +Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome +news that one of the vessels was the <i>Heart of the West</i>.</p> + +<p>Both the new boats and the old <i>Pelican</i> were made ready for the +expedition. Kingswell commanded the <i>Pelican</i>, with Ouenwa and six +natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and +Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to +see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh—and, as the boats stole +down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his +hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, +of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix +Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of +Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England.</p> + +<p>The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the +man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which +she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, +and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He +tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all +that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances +of danger?—the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and +barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings.</p> + +<p>A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the +three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with +English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. +Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for +their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass.</p> + +<p>The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear +of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, +and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward +and looked under the square canvas of the <i>Pelican's</i> big wing.</p> + +<p>"An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, sharply. "Who has taken it upon +himself to improve on my orders?"</p> + +<p>A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, turned and crawled aft. +Then the blanket fell away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, laughed up at the +commander.</p> + +<p>"Promise to shield me from the wrath of Maggie Stone, when we go back," +she whispered, in mock concern.</p> + +<p>For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and embarrassment in his eyes, +the while Ouenwa hid a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the +queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the morning, under the +grave regard of the Beothic warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow.</p> + +<p>"What authority has Maggie Stone?" he cried. "If any one has a right to +control your actions, surely it is I."</p> + +<p>She slipped to the seat beside him. "And you told me I could not +accompany you—that it would not be safe," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain behind," he said. "God knows +it hurt me to refuse your so—so flattering a wish. But you accepted it +calmly, dear heart."</p> + +<p>"I accepted it for what it was worth," she laughed. "I could not shed +tears over a parting which I felt certain was not to take place." Her +face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. "I could not have stayed +in the fort without you," she whispered. "Dear lad, I am afraid to +death<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe this love has made +a coward of me!"</p> + +<p>For a little while there was no sound aboard the <i>Pelican</i> save the +tapping of the reef-points on the swelling breast of the sail, and the +slow creak of the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed ahead, +while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. Then the man stooped his +head close to the girl's.</p> + +<p>"But on this trip," he whispered, "you must obey me—for both our sakes, +dearest. It would be mutiny else."</p> + +<p>"I shall always obey you," she replied—"always, always—so long as you +do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix."</p> + +<p>"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone."</p> + +<p>She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will +rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on +the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue."</p> + +<p>"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and +somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a +thought!"</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," +she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a +dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> staid companions, and—" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I +forget that I am penniless," she added.</p> + +<p>Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How +long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, +Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a +wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the <i>Heart of the +West</i>, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was +going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other +vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the +mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled +sails to a rosy tint above the green water.</p> + +<p>"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched +beside him in the fringe of spruces.</p> + +<p>A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears.</p> + +<p>"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I +wonder?"</p> + +<p>"You will not be rash, Bernard,—for my sake," pleaded the girl.</p> + +<p>He assured her that he would be discreet.</p> + +<p>It was dark when they got back to the little cove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> in which the boats +were beached. About midnight, with no light save the vague illumination +of the scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. They moved +with such caution that it took them two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. +They passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix was transferred +from the <i>Pelican</i> to Black Feather's boat, and Tom Bent joined the +commander. A veil of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light as +had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Before them the <i>Heart of the +West</i> loomed dark, a thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights.</p> + +<p>The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft and seaward of the ship. +The <i>Pelican</i> stole in under the looming stern, with no more noise than +a fish makes when he breaches in shallow water. The crew steadied her +beside the groaning rudder with their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart +and peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had peered on a night of +the preceding season. The low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung +from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in silver sticks that bore +the Kingswell crest, burned, with bending flames, on the table. On the +locker under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a boat-cloak +in an untidy heap. The edge of the table was within two feet of the +square stern-window.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p><p>For a little while Kingswell listened with guarded breath. Then, +swiftly and lightly, he pulled himself across the ledge of the window, +scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. Very cautiously he +drew his rapier with his right hand and his dagger with his left. For a +minute or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breathing regularly +and deeply, and harkening to the innumerable creaking voices of the +decks and bulkheads, and the muffled voices and laughter from forward. +For the occasion he had donned the hat, coat, breeches, and boots—all +now stained and faded—in which Master Trowley had last seen him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the companion ladder just +forward of the cabin door. A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed +above the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the bulkhead with a +resounding crack, and swung, trembling. The bulky figure of Trowley +entered, and the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, and +big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kingswell drew a deep breath, and +composed his dancing nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His +emotions were disconcertingly mixed.</p> + +<p>The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, deny the charge if you +like) seemed to fill the cabin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> to overflowing with his lurching, great +body. He tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and yanked up the +top of the locker. With muttered revilings at the excessive cost of West +Indies rum, he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its +hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle-light like +diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass as one from which he had often +drunk his grog—a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those articles +the mariner placed on the table, scarcely a foot from the watcher's +head. Next he loaded himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it +at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard heard the puffings +and gruntings with which the deed was accomplished, like half a gale in +his ear. At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his elbows on +the table, gazed for a second at the square window that opened on to the +mysterious gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The liquor gulped +and gurgled in its passage to the glass. The reek of it permeated the +air.</p> + +<p>"Dang it," grumbled the mariner, "d'ye call this rum! Sink me, but it be +half water!"</p> + +<p>However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and smacked his lips at the +end of it as he never would have after a draught of water.</p> + +<p>Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> arose to his feet and +looked down at Master Trowley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his +wide, stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, +but to the staring mariner it seemed a matter of hours. He sprawled on +his low stool, open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerveless on +the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at his feet.</p> + +<p>"Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning across the table he +tweaked the purple tip of Trowley's nose between thumb and finger. To do +so, he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany for a second. The +indignity called forth no more than a gurgle of terror from the master +mariner. Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it within an +inch of the whiskered face. Still the fellow sagged on his stool, unable +to stir a muscle. Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa crawled +through the port, with a coil of light rope in his hand. Tom Bent +followed. Trowley threw off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation +and got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In an instant he was +flat on his back, with a gagging hand across his mouth and another at +his throat. He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely gagged with a +strip of his own boat-cloak.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> and whispered a word or +two. One by one, four of his braves entered, with their knives +unsheathed. Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly opened the +cabin door. On the port side of the alley-way, beside the companion +ladder, Trowley's mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over him +and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded significantly; and in an +amazingly short time the mate of the <i>Heart of the West</i> was as neatly +trussed up as the master.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the rail, aft, and waved a +lantern in three half-circles. And not long after that, Mistress +Westleigh, Master Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with Canary wine, +in the cabin of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. In the waist of the ship the +stout English sailors and the skin-clad Beothics drained their +pannikins, and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. Old Tom Bent +was toast-master; and also he told them an amazing story.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXX.</span> <span class="smaller">MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF</span></h2> + +<p>Shortly before midnight, Tom Bent went quietly about the task of waking +both watches and the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix were +manned, with the muffling oars. The two small anchors by which the +<i>Heart of the West</i> swung in the tide were fished into two of the boats +by hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was accomplished, the ship was +free without so much as a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. +Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the bows of the ship, and +at a signal from a lantern in Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs +to the oars. Then all lights aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> were +covered, and in the darkness, beside the great tiller, Kingswell caught +his inspiration and his reward to his heart again.</p> + +<p>The girl did not leave the commander's side, but kept watch on the high +poop-deck throughout the journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their +toil,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> and after them, drawn by lines that were sometimes taut and +sometimes under water, but always invisible in the darkness, the ship +stole like a shape of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. With +the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on signs of life. By that time +she was hidden from Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. The +pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan was manned, and the +anchors were lifted to their places on the forecast rail. Headsails were +set, and the square mizzen was run up. The boats dropped astern and were +made fast, and the weary men climbed aboard the ship.</p> + +<p>All day the <i>Heart of the West</i> threaded the green waterways of the +great Bay of Exploits. A light and favourable breeze lent itself to the +venture. After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blanket, lay down +by the mizzen and fell asleep. She was tired. The easy motion of the +ship, and the song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her fathoms +deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy lullaby. Kingswell rigged a +piece of sail-cloth from the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from +the sun.</p> + +<p>At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray Goose River, was reached. +By sunset the mouth of the river was entered. Just then the wind +failed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> The boats were manned again, and the ship taken in tow.</p> + +<p>Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, with the rough blanket +about her dainty body and her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. +Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the shelter of canvas, and +saw that she was smiling in her dreams. How white were her dropped +eyelids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. Her lips were +parted a little, as if to whisper some sweet secret. A strand of her +bright, dark hair was across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the +blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested on the deck. The rosy +palm was upturned. Kingswell stooped lower and kissed it softly. +Standing up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahogany-hued mariner +grinned sheepishly, and gave a hitch to his belt.</p> + +<p>"Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, "but, if the angels in heaven +be half so sweet to look at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in +spite o' the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden harps with +a light heart if—if the equals of herself were a-listenin' on the +quarter-deck."</p> + +<p>Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" said he. "You are in love, Tom +Bent."</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, "for it can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> be helped. I'm in love +and awash, and danged near to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to +keep sober in the 'Powdered Admiral' on Bristol dock as within ten +knots, to win'ward or lee'ard, o' your sweetheart, sir."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bowing gravely.</p> + +<p>Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled away about his duty. He +was mightily pleased with himself at having expressed his admiration for +his young commander's choice in such felicitous terms. He prided himself +on his eye for feminine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank of +the fair one,—and a fairer than Mistress Westleigh he swore by all the +gods of the Seven Seas he had never laid eyes on.</p> + +<p>The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk when the toiling boats +and the tall ship rounded the point, and opened the fort to the view of +the daring cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the anchors +plunged into the brown current. The rattle of the cables through the +hawse-holes awoke Beatrix. She had been dreaming of a great garden in +Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged paths with her father on one +side and her lover on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas +shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> with the clangour of +the running cables in her ears, for a second she did not know where she +was. A vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she recalled the +incidents of the last two days, and was about to crawl from her +resting-place, when the edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell +looked down at her.</p> + +<p>"Wake up," he said. "We are at the fort, and Trigget and Maggie Stone +are coming off in a canoe."</p> + +<p>"Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain matters," she replied. "You +must bear the brunt of Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat +up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way that only a dunce +could fail to comprehend. Under cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he +kissed the warm lips and the bright hair.</p> + +<p>"Trust me," he laughed; and at that moment Trigget and the servant +climbed to the poop by way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He +advanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held a folded paper in his +hand, and that the honest eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" he inquired; for he had entirely forgotten, for the time +being, the manner of Mistress Westleigh's joining with the expedition.</p> + +<p>"Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> him the paper. +"It—it—well, maybe it'll not be o' any use now."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, tearing it across.</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way Sir Ralph went," she +sobbed. "Oh, my beautiful little lady—an' her fit mate for any nobleman +of London town!"</p> + +<p>"What the devil do you mean?" cried Kingswell. Then the truth dawned in +his preoccupied brain. "Dry your eyes," he said. "She is safe and +sound."</p> + +<p>"Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trigget, devoutly.</p> + +<p>"What—the mistress be safe, d'ye say?" cried Maggie Stone, with a +sudden change of face.</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being bawled at on the poop of +his recaptured ship, even by an old serving maid. "Your mistress is +safe—and in my care," he said.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir?" she queried. "An' may I make so bold as to ax when ye +married Sir Ralph Westleigh's daughter?"</p> + +<p>William Trigget murmured something to the effect that his presence was +required forward, and took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and +stared haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> words fully +expressive of his feelings. His indignation brought a flush to his +cheeks which even the dusk of evening could not hide.</p> + +<p>"Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. "Ay, ye may well redden, after +sailin' away with an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse +into fits."</p> + +<p>The gentleman recovered his power of speech. "My good girl," he said +(and she was a full twenty years older than his mother), "your joy at +hearing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous queer and unseemly +way of expressing itself. You seem to forget that you, the lady's +servant, are addressing the lady's betrothed husband."</p> + +<p>The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts about her.</p> + +<p>"Maybe so," she retorted. "'Twould never have happened in Somerset."</p> + +<p>At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared suddenly from the other side of +the mizzen.</p> + +<p>"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you speak so to Master Kingswell!"</p> + +<p>Anger—quick, scathing anger—rang in her voice. Standing there in her +short skirt, high, beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked +like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and bright beauty.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p><p>"I am ashamed of you," she added; and then, turning quickly, she flung +herself into Kingswell's ever ready embrace.</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone was flustered and somewhat awed by the sudden attack. She +had not been spoken to so for years and years. Would she resort to tears +again, or would she answer back? She was jealous of the girl's love for +Kingswell—and yet she had thanked God many times that that love had +been won by the young Englishman instead of by the swarthy D'Antons. She +sniffed, and mopped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she changed +her mind and bridled.</p> + +<p>"What would the countess, your aunt, say to such behaviour?" she asked. +"Her who watched over ye like a guardian angel in London town."</p> + +<p>Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's hands, faced the carping +critic.</p> + +<p>"And who turned me out of her house at the last of it," she cried, +scornfully. "Who is she, or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? +And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress and the gentleman who +saved you from the knives of the savages? Go back to the fort."</p> + +<p>Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious mistake,—a mistake which, +perhaps, would alienate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep ladder which stood close +to the starboard side of the ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught +in a loop of rope that had not been properly stopped up to its +belaying-pin. She lurched against the line that ran from the break of +the poop to the bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right herself, +and pitched over into the shadowed water below. She did not even scream.</p> + +<p>Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to the side and jumped +after the foolish old woman. By that time the twilight had left the +river. The current carried him swiftly down-stream, close under the side +of the ship. The water was uncomfortably cold, and his thick clothes +dragged at his limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A disturbance +appeared on the surface of the stream a few yards ahead. With a quick +stroke or two, he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin +shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with fright. Both were pulled +over the gunwale of the <i>Pelican</i> not a moment too soon.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXI.</span> <span class="smaller">WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED</span></h2> + +<p>It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the +good ship <i>Plover</i> and <i>Mary and Joyce</i>, when the gray light of dawn +disclosed the fact that the <i>Heart of the West</i> had vanished completely. +What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of +whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths!</p> + +<p>"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner.</p> + +<p>"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate.</p> + +<p>"Cut an' run," suggested another.</p> + +<p>"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin' +else," replied the cook of the <i>Plover</i>.</p> + +<p>The captain of the <i>Mary and Joyce</i> scanned the inner harbour and what +he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon +the cliffs and hills and inland woods.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last.</p> + +<p>No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were +searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a +deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the +skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that +Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next +morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from +which to reap the harvest of the great bay.</p> + +<p>To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a +great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, +Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St. +John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife, +to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had +not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in +the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking +now that they had accepted it.</p> + +<p>"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> lifting the glowing +face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin.</p> + +<p>"Nor I, dear heart," she replied.</p> + +<p>To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter +than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, +inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were +bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, +patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the <i>Heart of the West</i>. +The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even +Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet +(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a +beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and +silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny +Beothic always stalked.</p> + +<p>The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked +pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during +the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, +cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master +Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. +He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It +had been as he had hinted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful +and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, +during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made +such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship +that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of +fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, +Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really +anger him.</p> + +<p>"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to +Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of +joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor +devil. I can afford to be charitable now."</p> + +<p>They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at +the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping +the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's +underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward +Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for +having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts +flitted pleasantly through her mind.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of +the whole thing.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in +Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and—and I was mightily surprised +to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were +bright."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you—do you mean that it happened on the first day of +your arrival at the fort?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"Surely," said he.</p> + +<p>"And you loved me then?"</p> + +<p>He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his +ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English +rose-garden.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an +impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so +self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm."</p> + +<p>He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while, +they were silent.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day +you came to the fort, or was it just—just surprise at seeing a—a +civilized girl in so forsaken a place?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to +kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given +ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your +hands. Was that love, think you?"</p> + +<p>"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but +tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying +water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the +<i>Heart of the West</i>.</p> + +<p>"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St. +John's—and then for home."</p> + +<p>The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was +weeping.</p> + +<p>"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded, +and choked with a sob she could not stifle.</p> + +<p>"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the +anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that +held the fate of the mad baronet so securely.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED</span></h2> + +<p>At nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty-second day of June, the bow +of the <i>Heart of the West</i> was towed around and pointed down-stream by +willing boats and canoes; a light wind filled such sails as were set, +and the voyage was begun. Trigget fired a salute from a new gun which +Kingswell had given him from the armament of the ship. It was answered +by the barking of cannon and the fluttering of sails.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kingswell, and Maggie Stone, aft +by the tiller, which was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly +wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, his great dreams were +assured; and yet a pang of homesickness went through the joy like the +blade of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clustered people along +the meadow and in the boats grow dim,—the faces of William Trigget and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear to him. He shouted back +to them in English and in his native tongue, and waved his cap +frantically. The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam around the +wooded point, and meadow and stockade and camp of wigwams vanished like +a picture withdrawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress Westleigh. +Then he walked forward to the break of the poop, and blinked very hard +at nothing in particular in the belly of the maintopsail.</p> + +<p>Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, and the water changed +its tint of amber for wind-roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown +shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, and azure uplands +shone beyond their frowning brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes +of foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever-shifting, +ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along the fading cliffs white sea-birds +circled and settled like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged around +the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of mist, and beating up again +with quivering pinions.</p> + +<p>Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master upon himself. He was as +good a deep-sea navigator as any man on the whole width of the North +Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards were swung around, and +the stout bark headed due<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push +the tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace and sheet, at the +command of that gold-haired youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh +flutter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and lovely beyond +power of description, shone yet more brightly; and her cheeks, already +flushed to clear flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the ship +answered to his will, so would he answer to her whim. It was a pleasant +reflection to the lady; and to realize it she called softly. Without a +glance at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to her side.</p> + +<p>The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful harbour and brave little +town of St. John's was made without accident, though not without +incident. In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, the stump of +a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. A day later, a large vessel that +was evidently employed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest in the +business of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. She was not a quarter of a mile +distant when first sighted, for a light fog was on the water. She flew +no flag, and changed her course and altered her speed with sinister +promptness. Kingswell, and every man of the ship's company, knew that +pirates of many nationalities infested those waters during<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> summer. The +worst of the thieves were Turks; and the fishing-ship or store-ship that +was overhauled by those gentry usually lost more than its cargo. +Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards also had a weakness for playing the +part of the bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide-sailed craft, +to the rôle of the fishhawk so unwillingly played by the merchantmen. +Happily for Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore and to +leeward. Both watches were piped up by Tom Bent. The gunners went to +their quarters. Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining +masts and yards. The brave little ship answered willingly to the +pressure, and her cutwater broke the flanks of the waves into sibilant +foam.</p> + +<p>A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix and her old maid, in the +seclusion of that snug cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, +wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains across the thick glass of +the after-port (as if fearing that the eagle glance of one of the +pirates might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then devoted +herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix completed her toilet, threw a cloak +over her shoulders, and climbed the companion. She joined Kingswell by +the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> with a composure that +took no heed of the sailor at the helm, watched the chase with interest.</p> + +<p>"They outsail us," she said, presently.</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded. "But she'll never get near us on that course," he +replied. "She is for heading us off, and getting to windward. If she +gets to windward of us—Lord, but I scarce think she will."</p> + +<p>He said a word of preparation to the man at the tiller, and then gave a +few quick orders from the break of the poop. In half a minute the <i>Heart +of the West</i> headed out on an easy tack. When every sail was drawing to +his liking, he returned to the girl.</p> + +<p>"How glorious!" she cried. "A good horse, a singing pack, and an old fox +make but slow sport compared to this."</p> + +<p>"We are the fox on this hunting morning," smiled Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"With teeth," she hinted.</p> + +<p>He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was shouldering the wind on the +new course. He looked at the girl.</p> + +<p>"Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, "and soon we'll be gnashing +them."</p> + +<p>Though the <i>Heart of the West</i> sailed well, to windward, the big craft +astern sailed even better.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing +blue water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure coast to leeward, +made a fine picture under the white sun. As the stranger drew near and +nearer, excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old Trowley bawled +to be set free, that he might not die in the sail-locker like a rat in a +hole. Tom Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt an inch +shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and powder, and was for opening fire at +an impossible range. Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, and +took her forward to a place of greater safety in the men's quarters.</p> + +<p>Along either side of the after-cabin of the <i>Heart of the West</i> ran a +narrow passage. Each passage ended in a blind port, and behind each port +crouched a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing ship. Now +Kingswell blessed the day that a youthful love of warlike gear and a +heart for adventure had led him to add these pieces to the armament of +his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, how Master Trowley had +growled at the delay caused by getting the great guns aboard and +partitioning off the passage. Even his mother had urged him to put more +faith in the great ship which the king was so gracious as to send to +Newfounde Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> But +Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his way; and now he thanked the +gods of war for it.</p> + +<p>Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their models and rigging and +the laws of nature would allow. They went about often on ever shortening +tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it is safe to say that +her seamanship was no better. Suddenly she luffed until her sails +quivered, and from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with inner cores of +flame. Both shots flew high, and fell ahead of the quarry in brief +spouts of torn water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of the +merchantman opened up, and the sinister muzzles of the guns were run out +with a gust of English cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed +defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and clung to the leaping +waves.</p> + +<p>Kingswell felt the deck jump under his feet. His pulses leaped with the +good planks. "Hit!" he cried—and sure enough, one of the enemy's upper +spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tottered desperately, and +then swooped down on the clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour +later the <i>Heart of the West</i> was spinning along on her old course, and +far astern the stranger lay to and nursed her wound.</p> + +<p>Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> opened in the sheer brown +face of the cliffs, and the people of the <i>Heart of the West</i> caught a +glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. Then the rocky portals +seemed to close, and the spray flew like smoke along the unbroken +ramparts. The ship was put about, and again the magic entrance opened +and shut.</p> + +<p>"I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. "Ye needn't wait for no +duff-headed pilot."</p> + +<p>So the stout ship went 'round again, with a brisk shouting of men at the +braces and a booming of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the +sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and the battery on Signal +Hill. She raced at the towering cliff as if she would try to overthrow +it with her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught his breath. +Beatrix looked away, so fearful was the sight of the unbroken rock that +seemed to swim toward them with a voice of thunder and the smoking surf +along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom Bent were mad. But the boatswain +gripped the big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked an eye +aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, of a sudden, the narrow +passage of green water, spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the +walls of rock slid aside and let them in.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">IN THE MERRY CITY</span></h2> + +<p>The <i>Heart of the West</i> was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside +the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the +great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant +welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress +Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a +subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never +have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new +arrival carried such a passenger.</p> + +<p>"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink +his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the +worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe."</p> + +<p>He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix +shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the +dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> facings of his +coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier.</p> + +<p>"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular +fancy is for the Church."</p> + +<p>The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to +think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the +combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. +Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Ay, we have a parson—a ranting old missionary," replied the +lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the +marriage service."</p> + +<p>"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell.</p> + +<p>The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He +was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish +countenance.</p> + +<p>"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in +the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled +good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at +Mistress Westleigh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were +brother and sister."</p> + +<p>The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, +and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was +of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds +and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if +he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. +His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike +those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for +his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair +with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box +to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant +made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and +cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated +his name and degree.</p> + +<p>"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, +extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me +more than once in his great house in Bristol,—ay, and treated the poor +sailor like a peer of the realm."</p> + +<p>Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> a brief account of Sir +Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, +and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort +was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its +whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered +plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief +engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress +Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor +was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He +murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in +England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well +do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh—ay, the +young lady's mother—bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, +and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And +she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death +that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil."</p> + +<p>Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness.</p> + +<p>"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, +and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour +day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, +I can assure you."</p> + +<p>"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in +his staring eyes.</p> + +<p>Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, +the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. +John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception +Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return +within the week.</p> + +<p>"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress +Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good +housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but +we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a +touch of gaiety."</p> + +<p>His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little +settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the +governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There +were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right +and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating +parties on the harbour, and outings among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> the woods and natural gardens +that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin.</p> + +<p>The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of +her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude +village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the +harbour was her humble and devoted servant.</p> + +<p>Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always +merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant +England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the +garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade +on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the +grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but +seemed to uncover.</p> + +<p>On the eighth day after the arrival of the <i>Heart of the West</i> in the +harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the +boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the +state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy +persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, +after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a +pun on his willingness to marry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> her. The sally of wit was received by +the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so +far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog.</p> + +<p>The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's +house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers +of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many +more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i>, where +sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the +commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the +forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon +farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the <i>Heart of the +West</i> down the harbour and through the Narrows.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA</span></h2> + +<p>The wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, brown barren, gray marsh, +and black wood, which had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable +to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. With the return of +summer, the dark adventurer and the Beothic girl deserted their inland +retreat, and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts far into the +Atlantic. The crown of that cape affords an uninterrupted view to +seaward and north and south across the waters of two great bays. A fire +at night, or a column of smoke in the day, glowing or streaming upward +from that vantage place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing +ship at a distance of many miles.</p> + +<p>The journey proved a long and trying one, through swamps and barrens, +and over rock-tumbled knolls. Streams were forded, lakes +circumambulated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> Through it all, +the native girl, Miwandi, kept a brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, +however, was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy at times. The +hardships of that wild existence had begun to tell on his body, and the +loneliness to fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress Westleigh +had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving only a mean desire for the +salve of revenge with which to soothe his injured pride. He would wound +her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear oppressed him that his men might +have forgotten his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the two +seasons of silence, to continue their cruising of those northern waters +throughout June and July, as he had commanded. But that doubt only +troubled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his subordinate +buccaneers of the <i>Cristobal</i> was not to be questioned seriously, for it +had been tested in many tight places. Comradeship often forms as trusty +ties between the hearts of pirates as between the hearts of honest +gentlemen. Once grown beyond the temptations of greed and treachery, it +is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for their messmates.</p> + +<p>It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck of the <i>Cristobal</i> +(with Miwandi, of course), and to appear, some fine day, before the +little fort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, the +buildings to the torch, and to carry the English beauty away with him. +He felt that his passion for the proud lady might be easily and +pleasantly refired. But he made no mention of Mistress Westleigh to +Miwandi, the Beothic girl.</p> + +<p>After more than a week of hard travelling, the two ascended the wooded +ridge which runs seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim +cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set up their lodge. At the +extremity of the headland, high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and +noddies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones that lay +about. Completed, it looked like an altar reared by some benighted +priesthood to the gods of the wind and the sea. But no such thought +occurred to its architect. His case was too desperate to allow his mind +to indulge in such whimsical fancies.</p> + +<p>While the woman went in quest of food—fish, flesh, or fowl, what did it +matter which?—the man gathered wood and piled it near the queer hearth. +He worked without intermission until Miwandi returned from her foraging +with a string of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a modest fire +within the rough walls of his furnace, and helped the girl clean and +cook the fish. By that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> time the glow of the afternoon was centred +behind the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the sea; but as +yet the atmosphere held no suggestion of dusk. No sail broke the wide +expanse of dark blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'east a +whale breached and blew its little fountain of spray across the still +line of the horizon. D'Antons and Miwandi noted these things as they +ate, but made no comment upon them.</p> + +<p>For several days after the arrival of the two upon the overseeing +headland, D'Antons made no other use of his furnace than for the cooking +of meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for the walls protected +the flame from the ever-flying winds that prevailed over that exposed +spot. The adventurer knew that he was early for the <i>Cristobal</i>. Several +sails were detected; but of them the only heed taken was the precaution +of blanketing the little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The +Frenchman did not desire a visit from fishermen of any nationality +whatever. He might find it difficult to explain his presence in so +unfavourable a spot for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they +would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, what reason could he +give for wishing to stay in his cheerless camp? So he lay low and +watched the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> passing of more than one stout craft without a sign.</p> + +<p>The time arrived when he must set his signals, despite the risk of +attracting unwelcome visitors. So he closed the front of the furnace +with a boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped with damp +moss and punk, and then laid a large, flat stone over the opening in the +top of the unique structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed a +column of dense smoke to issue into the air, stream aloft and scatter in +the wind. By replacing the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding +that the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let the smoke stream +up, uninterrupted. The signalling would only be resorted to when a +vessel, which might possibly be the <i>Cristobal</i>, should be sighted. When +darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die down. A night signal was +unnecessary, as the <i>Cristobal</i>, should she keep the tryst at all, was +sure to make an examination of the cape by daylight. D'Antons' last +orders had been strictly and particularly to that effect.</p> + +<p>A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept by the fugitives on +the brow of the cape, and the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times +without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, attracted by the +smoke (which was due to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>D'Antons' tardy realization that the +approaching ship was not the <i>Cristobal</i>) altered her course, sailed +close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. D'Antons and Miwandi +had just enough time, with not a minute to spare, to roll up their +wigwam and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most valuable +belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of tangled spruces and firs. +The boat's crew was composed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from +suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow of the promontory with +fine hardihood, but once there did little but examine the marks where +the lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow the queer +fireplace. They believed that structure to be an altar, built to the +glory of some unorthodox god. Then they retraced their perilous way to +the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back to the ship. D'Antons +stole from his retreat and crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a +glow of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on her northward +course.</p> + +<p>Another week drifted along, and hope wavered in the buccaneer heart. His +gloomy moods began to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged him +to return to the inland rivers—to make peace with her people—to cease +his unprofitable staring at the sea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>"The sorrow of the great salt water has entered your heart," she said, +"and the moaning of it has deafened your ears to my voice."</p> + +<p>He did not turn his eyes from the undulations of the gray horizon. +"Would you have me rot in this place for the remainder of my life?" he +asked, harshly, in her language.</p> + +<p>The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and reproved her heart for +the image of a god it had set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from +its inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim symbol of hate; she +pressed her face to the coarse herbage, and tore the sod with her +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Miwandi! Come to me, little one," cried the man from the edge of the +cliff.</p> + +<p>Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest smoke. She sprang up +and ran to him. He drew her to his side, and with his right hand pointed +southward across the glinting deep.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Cristobal</i>!" he cried. "Good God, I'll stake my life on it!"</p> + +<p>So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of those unmistakable +topsails that his selfish affection for the woman lighted again. He +pressed his lips to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple +creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss.</p> + +<p>While the gray flake of sail expanded on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> horizon, Pierre d'Antons +and the woman hurriedly and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, +lit and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and rotten bark. The +thick pillar of smoke arose like a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. +Miwandi busied herself with breaking the wood to the required length and +carrying damp moss. For several minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend +in an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for a few seconds, let it +rise again, broke it again, and again let it stream aloft, +uninterrupted. He had signalled his name according to the code of the +<i>Cristobal</i>.</p> + +<p>The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager eyes of the watchers on +the cape. North, east, and south there was no other sail in sight. At +last three flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. The +question was read instantly by D'Antons, who returned to his fire and +interrupted the stream of smoke five times in quick succession. The +translation of that was "All's well. You may approach without danger."</p> + +<p>A message of congratulation appeared promptly against the bellying +foresail of the <i>Cristobal</i>; and the watchers saw the rolls of white +foam gleaming like wool under the forging of the bow.</p> + +<p>D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> <i>Cristobal</i>. Miwandi was +received without question. The acting commander of the ship was a +grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva,—a fellow steeped in +crime and uncertain of temper, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion +for D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness performed by the +Frenchman years before, in the town of Panama.</p> + +<p>Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and ready for the high +seas again. He asked no questions concerning his adventures until more +than one bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's +travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the best the cabin +lockers contained. Miwandi, too, was reclothed; and the beauty and +softness of the silks that were presented to her fairly turned her +little head. She did not know that the fair French lady for whom they +had been made, in gay Paris, and who had worn them only three months +ago, was somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between the Bahaman +reefs. She knew only that the texture and colours delighted her skin and +her eyes. So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the finery, +toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar fingers.</p> + +<p>In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his friend to close the +door. He had consumed a soup,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> and was still engaged with the wine. +Silva returned to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push +on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be sure that the door you +considered fastened is fastened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the +table and their heads close together, the more salient incidents of +D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness were rehearsed and keenly listened +to. Silva displayed a prodigious indignation at the story of the +captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress Westleigh. At word +of Sir Ralph's death (and the murder became a desperate duel in the +telling), a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. As to what +he heard of Kingswell—ah, but oaths in two languages were quite +inadequate for the expression of his feelings.</p> + +<p>"We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel—and the gizzard as well," +said he, and drank off his wine.</p> + +<p>"Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, darkly.</p> + +<p>Silva nodded, with a sinister leer.</p> + +<p>"So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade into everlasting +damnation," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in the attack," warned the +captain.</p> + +<p>So the <i>Cristobal</i> headed northward, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>evil-looking rascals of +her crew were informed that the morrow would bring them some work to +limber their muscles. The information was received with cheers, in which +hearty English voices were not lacking.</p> + +<p>However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape of the <i>Heart of the +West</i>, turned the danger away from the little fort.</p> + +<p>"She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, when he sighted the +ship. The old fever awoke in his blood. He longed for the old +excitement.</p> + +<p>"Give chase," he ordered. "The fort can well do without the honour of +our attentions for a little while."</p> + +<p>So the chase was carried on, as has been described in a previous +chapter, and went merrily enough for the <i>Cristobal</i> until the +unexpected shot from the stern of the quarry brought down her +foretopmast and its weight of sail. But before that had happened, +D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new clothes and a great hat, marked +Bernard Kingswell on the poop of the <i>Heart of the West</i>. He cursed like +a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship was crippled.</p> + +<p>"The fort may rot of old age in the midst of its desolation," he cried +to Silva, "for what I would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>A few days later, with their spars repaired, they picked up a small +fishing-boat, and learned from the skipper that a great ship from the +north had entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing the virtue of +precaution, they impressed the master and crew and scuttled the little +vessel. Then, with admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far to +seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that hospitable port.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE</span></h2> + +<p>The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked +back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the +cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so +radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at +the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips.</p> + +<p>"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more.</p> + +<p>Both were brave in marriage finery,—she in a pearl gown of brocaded +silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he +in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's.</p> + +<p>They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple +rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the +wilderness to the wide east.</p> + +<p>Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind +bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like +polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts +(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates +wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the +days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook +(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked +in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as +bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a +dawning repentance in his sullen blood.</p> + +<p>An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and +stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, +which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days +preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his +wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His +tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures +anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of +his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> he had been named +"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather +than of dreams.</p> + +<p>"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried +Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why +should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great +houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for +villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as +Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater +than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you +have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were +brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they +were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country."</p> + +<p>"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you +may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens +have been guilty of ingratitude."</p> + +<p>Beatrix patted the moralist's arm.</p> + +<p>"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with +doubt? Only if he climbs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain +soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as +ourselves."</p> + +<p>Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell +and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the +rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of +the jibs. The second mate was with him.</p> + +<p>"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent +on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate +saw it and answered it.</p> + +<p>"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, +"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered +Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both +watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. +Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the +glory of England."</p> + +<p>He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news +with an inward <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was +for him.</p> + +<p>"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he +asked.</p> + +<p>She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," +she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety.</p> + +<p>He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He +felt them tremble against his.</p> + +<p>"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and +hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability +of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They +held that the <i>Heart of the West</i> could make a better fight on her +present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or +another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm +their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair +astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, +and put gunnery out of the question.</p> + +<p>"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we +equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that."</p> + +<p>So the <i>Heart of the West</i> held on her course under a press of canvas.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they +went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called +the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their +breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked +up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully.</p> + +<p>"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the +stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made +merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your +lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have +already encountered. My husband,—your captain,—like a true-bred +English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has +promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' +time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of +her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this +brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my +word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can +give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God +and for England."</p> + +<p>She looked down at them, smiling divinely.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman.</p> + +<p>Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and +great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in +the sunlight.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, lady," they roared.</p> + +<p>She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands.</p> + +<p>"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of +the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes.</p> + +<p>The <i>Heart of the West</i> held on her course, breaking the waves in +fountains from her forging bow. The <i>Cristobal</i> raced down upon her with +the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the +merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> every man was at his post, and the +matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second +mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate +stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each +measured and calculated the brisk approach of the <i>Cristobal</i> with +unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the +speed of the wind.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p><p>Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of +the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across +his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done +to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an +order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal. +The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good +ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the +vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart. +Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging +shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The +smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon +the enemy. The <i>Cristobal</i> fell off before the wind in an unaccountable +manner. The <i>Heart of the West</i> luffed, in the hope of bringing her +heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manœuvre could not be +accomplished, and flew about on her old course.</p> + +<p>"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks +and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked +God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>manacled wrists against the +bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the +fight.</p> + +<p>From that first exchange of round-shot, the <i>Heart of the West</i> escaped +without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the +pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high +between the upper spars of the merchantman. The <i>Cristobal</i>, however, +was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third; +for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the +deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of +hers.</p> + +<p>Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails +gave her over her enemy, the <i>Heart of the West</i> raced after the +buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard +guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more, +she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target +of the <i>Cristobal's</i> starboard side. The range was middling; but, even +so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings +and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high +sails above the <i>Cristobal</i>, and with a flapping and rending, the +mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p><p>Now the disabled, tillerless <i>Cristobal</i>, kept before the wind by a +great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled +wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and +Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i>, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell +the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons.</p> + +<p>"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with +a grim smile.</p> + +<p>For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will, +pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining +but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two +of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where +their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie +Stone.</p> + +<p>In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word +that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings.</p> + +<p>"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook. +Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy. +"Cast him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an +English sailor man."</p> + +<p>Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the <i>Cristobal</i> struck the +teakwood rail of the <i>Heart of the West</i> amidships. A flying splinter +whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat +across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter +and cheers.</p> + +<p>"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one.</p> + +<p>Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the +ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that.</p> + +<p>"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand +in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and +remember only your actions of to-day."</p> + +<p>Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's.</p> + +<p>"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am +in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would +you suggest?"</p> + +<p>Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her +aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">OVER THE SIDE</span></h2> + +<p>With a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling of spars, the +merchantman's larboard bow scraped along the enemy's side. +Boarding-irons were thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a yell, +the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, and hurled themselves upon +the mongrels who clustered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the +air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met with a softer +resistance. Screams of rage and pain, and shouts of grim exultation, +rang above the conflict.</p> + +<p>Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the thickest of the press, and +laid about him with such desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the +buccaneers hustled each other to get out of his way.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, in the waist of the <i>Cristobal</i>, encountered D'Antons, and +claimed him for his own. As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began +the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>wilderness. Kingswell +heard it without comment. The tumult about them gradually subsided, as +man after man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. Sail was +shortened on both vessels, and the victors, sound and wounded alike, +gathered about the two swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of +the watchers. The rough fellows understood that their captain had an old +score to settle with the buccaneer. They were fascinated by the +lightning play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of foot and +hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons snarled an insulting taunt at his +adversary, they cursed softly. When their captain pricked the pirate's +shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration went through them. So intent were +they on the fight that they failed to notice the approach of Miwandi, +the Beothic woman, until she was in their midst. But they became aware +of her presence when she screamed with rage and flung herself upon +Kingswell.</p> + +<p>"Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a futile grab at the mad +figure.</p> + +<p>Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon colouring, wrenched himself +clear of her, avoided the slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged +through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched forward so suddenly and +heavily that the rapier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The +hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out between D'Antons' +shoulders a full two-thirds of its length. He sprawled on his face, +gulping his last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon knocked +spasmodically on the red planking of the deck. The woman, stunned with +grief, was led away by two of the seamen.</p> + +<p>By the time the duel was over, the long, northern twilight was drawing +to a close. The decks of the <i>Cristobal</i> were cleared of the dead bodies +and the wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was partially +repaired; a few sails were set; and the shattered tiller was replaced. +The prisoners (wounded and bound together, they did not number a dozen) +were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of seven, under the first +mate's command, went aboard the <i>Cristobal</i>. Then the boarding-irons +were cast loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to a safe +distance.</p> + +<p>Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove to comfort her, but failed +signally. Her position was evident enough to every one who had seen her +frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter with Kingswell. +Beatrix guessed the story. Her face burned at remembrance of her +one-time companionship with D'Antons—of the days before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> she fully knew +his nature, and often sat at cards and chess with him in the little +cabin in the wilderness—and of the days before that, when he was one of +her admirers in London. Even now she did not know him for her father's +murderer. Kingswell had decided to keep that to himself, until some day +in the happy future, when the wilderness should be fainter than the +memory of a dream in his wife's mind.</p> + +<p>For three days the ships kept within sight of each other. On the fourth, +a gale of wind drove them apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the +prize, for she had received no serious damage to her hull in the bitter +encounter that had befallen on his wedding-day.</p> + +<p>Aboard the <i>Heart of the West</i> the wounded improved daily; the prisoners +cursed their irons and their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope +without a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, promoted from +imprisonment to the position of second mate, worked like a Trojan, and +Beatrix and Bernard sped the hours in the high and golden atmosphere of +love and youth. The Beothic woman, however, felt no response in her +heart to the stir and happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a +desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was weary of the sequence of +day and night, night and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, +without rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were deaf to words of +comfort, even when they were spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She +asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, at sight of her +lover's danger, she accepted the will of her pitiless gods without signs +of either anger or wonder.</p> + +<p>One still night, when the waves rocked under the faint light of the +stars without any breaking of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to +swell the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was startled from +his reveries by a splash close alongside. He called to the officer of +the watch, who had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. They +scanned the sea on all sides and listened intently. They saw only the +black, vanishing crests. They heard only the whispering of the ship on +her way.</p> + +<p>"A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with him.</p> + +<p>In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered to be empty,—no trace of +her was found alow or aloft.</p> + +<p>The remaining days of the passage slipped by without any especial +incident. Winds served. Seas were considerate of the good ship's +safety<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>. No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward voyage. Every +night there was fiddling in the forecastle and the chanting of rude +ballads. And sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, as if the +very heart of happiness were under the sounding-board, and Love himself +in the strings.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER XXXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE MOTHER</span></h2> + +<p>Dame Kingswell, the widow of that good merchant of Bristol whom Queen +Elizabeth had knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and looked +down upon a pleasant garden beneath the window. She was alone. Her +garments, though of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore no +personal ornaments save two rings on her left hand, and a chain of gold, +bearing a small cross of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair +was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black as her husband's had +been flaxen. Her complexion held scarcely more colour than her hair. On +her knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly illuminated about the +margins, lay open. But her thin hands were folded over the page, and her +gaze was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time was early evening. +The sunlight was mellow gold. The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the +lawns threw eastward shadows.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>The chamber in which the widow sat was large and scantily furnished. A +few portraits, by masters of the brush, hung along the walls. A +prayer-desk, with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner.</p> + +<p>A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady turned her eyes from the +bright garden below her window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful +girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger advanced quickly, in +a whispering of silks, and in her glowing hands took the widow's +bloodless fingers.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, "I fear my memory is flitting. +I do not recall your winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir +Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young lady in London?"</p> + +<p>The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale hands lightly and +prettily.</p> + +<p>"My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured.</p> + +<p>The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, in vain, to connect this +lovely creature with any branches of the late knight's family.</p> + +<p>"Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she queried. "Pray do not kneel +there, my dear. Come sit in the window and tell me who you are."</p> + +<p>But the stranger did not move.</p> + +<p>"I am your daughter," she said. "And—oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> do not swoon, my +mother—Bernard is at the door, awaiting your permission to enter."</p> + +<p>The widow closed her eyes for a second, leaning back in her chair. She +recovered herself swiftly and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was +now standing, ready to run to the door and admit her husband.</p> + +<p>"What story is this?" she cried, incredulous. "I have no daughter. And +Bernard, my son, has lain dead in a far land these weary months."</p> + +<p>"Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. "Nay, he is not dead. But let me go +to the door, and you will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your +threshold, happy and well."</p> + +<p>The older woman maintained her hold of her visitor's gown. "And who are +you, to bring me word of my son's return?" she asked, with a ring of +shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, she feared that she was +affording sport to some heartless person; for this sudden tale of her +son's safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken upon her +pensive reveries like an impossible scene out of a play.</p> + +<p>"I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an effort, she pulled her skirts +away from the clutching fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it open, +she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> to where his mother sat, and +caught her up from her chair against his breast. With a glad, +inarticulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung +hysterically.</p> + +<p class="space-above">Five days after the arrival of the <i>Heart of the West</i>, the <i>Cristobal</i> +sailed into port. By that time the story of her capture was well known +in the town, and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to welcome +her. Master Kingswell put her up for sale. In the end, he bought her +himself, for something more than she was worth. Every penny of the money +Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who had fought and sailed their ship +so valorously on her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and wayward +master mariner, John Trowley, failed to show himself for a share of the +gold. He had not the courage to run a chance of another meeting with +Lady Kingswell.</p> + +<p>Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad Ouenwa, something is +written in the old records in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the +little fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some chroniclers +maintain that the French overpowered it; others are as certain that the +settlers moved to Conception Bay, and there established themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> so +securely that, even to-day, descendants of those Triggets and those +Donnellys cultivate their little crops, cure their fish, and sail their +fore-and-afters around the coast to St. John's.</p> + +<p class="center space-above">THE END.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Brothers of Peril, by Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + +***** This file should be named 44387-h.htm or 44387-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/3/8/44387/ + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brothers of Peril + A Story of old Newfoundland + +Author: Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +Illustrator: H. C. Edwards + +Release Date: December 8, 2013 [EBook #44387] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +_WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS_ + +_The Red Feathers_ _$1.50_ +_Brothers of Peril_ _1.50_ +_Hemming the Adventurer_ _1.50_ + + +_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_ _New England Building, Boston, Mass._ + + +[Illustration: "A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS +WILDERNESS"] + + + + +Brothers of Peril + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + +By + +Theodore Roberts +_Author of_ "Hemming, the Adventurer" + +_Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards + +[Illustration: Logo] + +_Boston_ L. C. Page & Company _Mdccccv_ + + +_Copyright, 1905_ +BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY +(INCORPORATED) + +_All rights reserved_ + +Published June, 1905 +Second Impression, March, 1908 + +_COLONIAL PRESS +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. +Boston, Mass., U.S.A._ + + + + +Preface + + +During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of +Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings, +selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain, +and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular +battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought +together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory, +was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire--and let +fame go hang! + +The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde +Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery. +Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the +aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the +settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was +the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place +remain for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates, +the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships +with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of +founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God, +England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or cripple +the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were +powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of +the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble +fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow +at the inscrutable wilderness. + +The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were +the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first +vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a +greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It +was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to +each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped +into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of +the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of +the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion, +and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless to say, it was +a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers. + +In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the +peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable +signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the +loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the +fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered +priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we +read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the +natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring +shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England, +Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly +treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is +recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in +fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of +his motley captivity. + +Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in +1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a +kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he +says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their +hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow." + +As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions. +An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that +her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that +time--something over a hundred years ago--the race numbered between one +and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water +to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian +Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had +reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a +lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou. +One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant +of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the +interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first +day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the +world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of +one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained +fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago. + +To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears +stories of grassy circles beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams +once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the +turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is +forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded. + +In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in +the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short +years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren, +shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no +mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of +fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than +the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and +women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them +to-day. + +T. R. + +_November, 1904._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + I. A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME 1 + + II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER 9 + + III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 16 + + IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 24 + + V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR 34 + + VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER 43 + + VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE 56 + + VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA 65 + + IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION 73 + + X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX 83 + + XI. THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER 94 + + XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION 104 + + XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE 116 + + XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING 126 + + XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE 133 + + XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF 140 + + XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH 148 + + XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS 156 + + XIX. TWO OF A KIND 164 + + XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER 174 + + XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN 183 + + XXII. BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS 190 + + XXIII. BETROTHED 200 + + XXIV. A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN 207 + + XXV. FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT 217 + + XXVI. PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST 227 + + XXVII. A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS 233 + +XXVIII. THE RUNNING OF THE ICE 241 + + XXIX. WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY + RECEIVES A VISITOR 252 + + XXX. MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF 264 + + XXXI. WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED 273 + + XXXII. THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS + BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED 279 + +XXXIII. IN THE MERRY CITY 287 + + XXXIV. PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, + AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA 294 + + XXXV. THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE 306 + + XXXVI. OVER THE SIDE 317 + +XXXVII. THE MOTHER 323 + + + + +BROTHERS OF PERIL + +A Story of Old Newfoundland + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME + + +The boy struck again with his flint knife, and again the great wolf tore +at his shoulder. The eyes of the boy were fierce as those of the beast. +Neither wavered. Neither showed any sign of pain. The dark spruces stood +above them, with the first shadows of night in their branches; and the +western sky was stained red where the sun had been. Twice the wolf +dropped his antagonist's shoulder, in a vain attempt to grip the throat. +The boy, pressed to the ground, flung himself about like a dog, and +repeatedly drove his clumsy weapon into the wolf's shaggy side. + +At last the fight ended. The great timber-wolf lay stretched dead in +awful passiveness. His fangs gleamed like ivory between the scarlet jaws +and black lips. A shimmer of white menaced the quiet wilderness from the +recesses of the half-shut eyelids. + +For a few minutes the boy lay still, with the fingers of his left hand +buried in the wolf's mane, and his right hand a blot of red against the +beast's side. Presently, staggering on bent legs, he went down to the +river and washed his mangled arm and shoulder in the cool water. The +shock of it cleared his brain and steadied his eyes. He waded into the +current to his middle, stooped to the racing surface, and drank +unstintingly. Strength flooded back to blood and muscle, and the slender +limbs regained their lightness. + +By this time a few pale stars gleamed on the paler background of the +eastern sky. A long finger-streak of red, low down on the hilltops, +still lightened the west. A purple band hung above it like a belt of +magic wampum--the war-belt of some mighty god. Above that, Night, the +silent hunter, set up the walls of his lodge of darkness. + +The boy saw nothing of the changing beauty of the sky. He might read it, +knowingly enough, for the morrow's rain or frost; but beyond that he +gave it no heed. He returned to the dead wolf, and set about the +skinning of it with his rude blade. He worked with skill and speed. Soon +head and pelt were clear of the red carcass. After collecting his arrows +and bow, he flung the prize across his shoulder and started along a +faint trail through the spruces. + +The trail which the boy followed seemed to lead away from the river by +hummock and hollow; and yet it cunningly held to the course of the +stream. Now the night was fallen. A soft wind brushed over in the +tree-tops. The voices of the rapids smote across the air with a deeper +note. As the boy moved quietly along, sharp eyes flamed at him, and +sharp ears were pricked to listen. Forms silent as shadows faded away +from his path, and questioning heads were turned back over sinewy +shoulders, sniffing silently. They smelt the wolf and they smelt the +man. They knew that there had been another violent death in the valley +of the River of Three Fires. + +After walking swiftly for nearly an hour, following a path which less +primitive eyes could not have found, the boy came out on a small meadow +bright with fires. Nineteen or twenty conical wigwams, made of birch +poles, bark, and caribou hides, stood about the meadow. In front of each +wigwam burned a cooking-fire, for this was a land of much wood. The +meadow was almost an island, having the river on two sides and a shallow +lagoon cutting in behind, leaving only a narrow strip of alder-grown +"bottom" by which one might cross dry-shod. The whole meadow, including +the alders and a clump of spruces, was not more than five acres in +extent. + +The boy halted in front of the largest lodge, and threw the wolfskin +down before the fire. There he stood, straight and motionless, with an +air of vast achievement about him. Two women, who were broiling meat at +the fire, looked from the shaggy, blood-stained pelt to the stalwart +stripling. They cried out to him, softly, in tones of love and +admiration. Jaws and fangs and half-shut eyes appeared frightful enough +in the red firelight, even in death. + +"Ah! ah!" they cried, "what warrior has done this deed?" + +"Now give me my man-name," demanded the boy. + +The older of the two women, his mother, tried to tend his wounded arm; +but he shook her roughly away. She seemed accustomed to the treatment. +Still clinging to him, she called him by a score of great names. A +stalwart man, the chief of the village, strode from the dark interior of +the nearest wigwam, and glanced from his son to the untidy mass of hair +and skin. His eyes gleamed at sight of his boy's torn arm and the white +teeth of the wolf. + +"Wolf Slayer," he cried. He turned to the women. "Wolf Slayer," he +repeated; "let this be his man-name--Wolf Slayer." + +So this boy, son of Panounia the chief, became, at the age of fourteen +years, a warrior among his father's people. + +The inhabitants of that great island were all of one race. In history +they are known as Beothics. At the time of this tale they were divided +into two nations or tribes. Hate had set them apart from one another, +breaking the old bond of blood. Each tribe was divided into numerous +villages. The island was shared pretty evenly between the nations. Soft +Hand was king of the Northerners. It was of one of his camps that the +father of Wolf Slayer was chief. + +Soft Hand was a great chief, and wise beyond his generation. For more +than fifty years he had held the richest hunting-grounds in the island +against the enemy. His strength had been of both head and hand. Now he +was stiff with great age. Now his hair was gray and scanty, and +unadorned by flaming feathers of hawk and sea-bird. The snows of eighty +winters had drifted against the walls of his perishable but ever defiant +lodges, and the suns of eighty summers had faded the pigments of his +totem of the great Black Bear. Though he was slow of anger, and fair in +judgment, his people feared him as they feared no other. Though he was +gentle with the weak and young, and had honoured his parents in their +old age and loved the wife of his youth, still the strongest warrior +dared not sneer. + +The village of this mighty chief was situated at the head of Wind Lake. +On the night of Wolf Slayer's adventure, Soft Hand and his grandson +arrived at the lesser village on the River of Three Fires. They +travelled in bark canoes and were accompanied by a dozen braves. The +grandson of the old chief was a lad of about Wolf Slayer's age. He was +slight of figure and dark of skin. His name was Ouenwa. He was a dreamer +of strange things, and a maker of songs. He and Wolf Slayer sat together +by the fire. Wolf Slayer held his wounded arm ever under the visitor's +eyes, and talked endlessly of his deed. For a long time Ouenwa listened +attentively, smiling and polite, as was his usual way with strangers. +But at last he grew weary of his companion's talk. He wanted to listen, +in peace, to the song of the river. How could he understand what the +rapids were saying with all this babbling of "knife" and "wolf" in his +ears? + +"All this wind," he said, "would kill a pack of wolves, or even the +black cave-devil himself." + +"There is no wind to-night," replied Wolf Slayer, glancing up at the +trees. + +"There is a mighty wind blowing about this fire," said Ouenwa, "and it +whistles altogether of a great warrior who slew a wolf." + +"At least that is not work for a dreamer," retorted the other, sullenly. +Ouenwa's answer was a smile as soft and fleeting as the light-shadows of +the fire. + +At an early hour of the next morning the great chief's party started +up-stream in their canoes, on the return journey to Wind Lake. For hours +Soft Hand brooded in silence, deaf to his grandson's hundred questions. +He had grown somewhat moody in the last year. He gazed away to the +forest-clad, mist-wreathed capes ahead, and heeded not the high piping +of his dead son's child. His mind was busy with thoughts of the events +of the past night. He recalled the tones of Panounia's voice with a +shake of the head. He recalled the sullen smouldering of that stalwart +chief's eyes. He sighed, and glanced at the lad in the forging craft +beside him. + +"I grow old," he murmured. "The voice of my power is breaking to its +last echo. My command over my people slips like a frozen thong of raw +leather. And Panounia! What lurks in the dull brain of him?" + +The sun rose above the forest spires, clear and warm. The mists drew +skyward and melted in the gold-tinted azure. Twillegs flew, piping, +across the brown current of the river. Sandpipers, on down-bent wings, +skimmed the pebbly shore. A kingfisher flashed his burnished feathers +and screamed his strident challenge, ever an arrow-flight ahead of the +voyagers. He warned the furtive folk of the great chief's approach. + +"Kingfisher would be a fitting name for the boy who killed the wolf," +said Ouenwa. + +The old man glanced at him sharply. His thin face was sombre with more +than the shadow of years. + +"Nay," he replied. "His is no empty cry. Beware of him, my son!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER + + +Montaw, the arrow-maker, dwelt alone at the head of a small bay. His +home was half-wigwam, half-hut. The roof was of poles, partly covered +with the hides of caribou and partly with a square of sail-cloth, which +had been given him by a Basque fisherman in exchange for six beaver +skins. The walls of the unusual lodge were of turf and stone. Here and +there were signs of intercourse with the strangers out of the Eastern +sea,--an iron fishhook, a scrap of gold lace, and a highly polished +copper pot. Of these treasures the recluse was justly proud, for had he +not acquired them at risk of sudden extinction by the breath of the +clapping fire-stick? + +The arrow-maker was an old man. In his youth he had been a hunter of +renown and a great traveller, and had sojourned long in the lodges of +the Southern nation. He had loved a woman of that people,--and she had +given him laughter in return for his devotion. Journeying back to his +own hunting-grounds, he had planned a huge revenge. At once all his +skill and bravery had been turned to less open ways than those of the +lover and warrior. In little more than a year's time he had driven the +tribes to a lasting and bitter war. Even now as he sat before the door +of his lodge, he was shaping spear-heads and arrow-heads for the +fighting men of Soft Hand's nation. Some arrows he made of jasper, and +some of flint, and some of purple slate. Those of slate would break off +in the wound. They were the grim old craftsman's pets. + +One day a young man from the valley of the River of Three Fires brought +Montaw a string of fine trout, in payment for a spear-head. For awhile +they talked together in the sunlight at the door of the lodge. + +"For the chase," said the old man, "I make the long shape of flint, +three fingers wide, and to this I bind a long and heavy shaft. Such an +arrow will hold in the side of the running deer, and may be plucked out +after death." + +"I have even seen it, father," replied the young man, in supercilious +tones; for he considered himself a mighty hunter. + +"For the battle," continued the arrow-maker, "I chip the flint and +shape the narrow splinters of slate. All three are good in their way if +the bow be strong--and the arm." + +The old craftsman made a song. It was rough as his arrow-heads. + + + "Arrows of gray and arrows of black + Soon shall be red. + What will the white moon say to the proud + Warriors, dead? + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + So, with the skill of my hands, I shape + Arrows of hate. + + "Fly, my little ones, straight and true, + Silent as sleep. + Tell me, wind, of the flints I sow, + What shall I reap? + + "Sorrow will come to their council-fires. + Weeping and fear + Will stalk to the heart of their great chief's lodge, + Year after year. + + "When the moon rides on the purple hills, + Joyous of face, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the chase. + + "When the chief's fire on the hilltop glows + Like a red star, + Then do I give, to the men of my tribe, + Heads for the war. + + "Arrows of jasper, arrows of flint, + Arrows of slate. + Thus, in the door of my lodge, I nurse + Battle and hate!" + + +One evening, as he sat before his lodge looking seaward, his trained +ears caught the sound of a faint call from the wooded hills behind. He +did not turn his head or change his position. But he held his breath, +the better to listen. Again came the cry, very weak and far away. + +"It is the voice of a woman," he said, and smiled grimly. + +Cheerless and desolately gray, the light of the east faded into the +desolate gray of the sea. Black, like stalking shadows, stood the little +islands of the headlands. The last of the light died out like the heart +of fire in the shroud of cooling ashes. Again came the cry, whispering +across the stillness. + +"It may be the voice of a child, lost in the woods," said the +arrow-maker. He rose from his seat and entered the lodge. He blew the +coals of his fire back to a tiny flame. He drew up to it the burnt ends +of faggots. Then he took in his hand another of his Eastern prizes--a +broad-bladed knife--and started across the tumbled rocks toward the edge +of the wood. Though old, he was still strong and tough of limb and +courageous of heart. Sure and swift he made his way through the heavy +growth of spruce. Once he paused for the space of a heart-beat, to make +sure of his direction. Again and again was the piteous cry repeated. + +The old man kept up his tireless trot through underbrush and swamp, and +displayed neither fatigue nor caution until he reached the bank of a +narrow and turbulent stream. Here he drew into the shadow of a clump of +firs. He lay close, and breathed heavily. By this time the moon had +cleared the knolls. Its thin radiance flooded the wilderness. In the air +was a whisper of gathering frost. The water of the little river twisted +black and silver, and worried at the fanged rocks that tore it, with a +voice of agony. + +The crying had ceased; but the eyes of the old craftsman questioned the +farther shore with a gaze steady and keen. There seemed to be something +wrong with the shadows. A bent figure slipped down to the edge of the +stream where the water spun in an eddy. It dropped on hands and knees +and crawled to the black and unstable lip of the tide. Again the cry +rang abroad, thin and high above the complaining tumult of the current. +The watcher left his hiding-place and waded the stream. At the edge of +the spinning eddy he found a woman. She lay exhausted. A long shaft hung +to her left shoulder. Blood trickled down her bare and rounded arm. The +arrow-maker lifted her against his shoulder and bathed her face in the +cool water until her eyelids lifted. + +"Chief," she whispered, "pluck out the arrow." + +He shook his head. His trade was with battle and death, but it was half +a lifetime since he had felt the gushing of human blood on his hands. + +"Father," she cried, faintly, "I pray you, pluck it out. The pain of it +eats into my spirit. It sprang to me from a little wood, bitter and +noiseless--and I heard not so much as the twang of the string." + +The old man held her with his left arm. With strong and gentle fingers +he worked the arrow in the wound. She quivered with the pain of it. +Blood came more freely. He trembled at the hot touch of it across his +fingers. He had dwelt so long in the quiet of his craft. Then the barbed +blade came away from the wound, and he clutched it in his reeking palm. +The woman sobbed with mingled pain and relief. The old man stepped into +the moonlight and lifted the arrow to his eyes. + +"It is none of my making," he said. + +He heard the woman sobbing in the dark. Returning to her he bound her +shoulder with his belt of dressed leather. Then, lifting her tenderly, +he again forded the flashing current of the complaining river. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW + + +Even while the arrow-maker carried the wounded woman, arrows of the same +shape as that which had stabbed her tender flesh were threatening the +little village on the River of Three Fires. For days several war-parties +from the South had been stealing through the country, raiding the lesser +villages, and bent on destroying the nation of Soft Hand, and possessing +his hunting-grounds. It was a laggard of one of the smaller bands that +had wounded the woman. She had been far from her lodge at the time, +seeking some healing herbs in the forest, and he had fired on her out of +fear that she had discovered him and would warn her people. In her pain +and fright, she had wandered coastward for several miles. + +Silent as shadows, the invading warriors drew down toward the little +meadow. Clouds were over the face of the white October moon. A cold mist +floated in the valley. The leaders of the invaders, lying low among the +alders at the edge of the clearing, could see the unguarded people +moving about their red fires. There was a scent of cooking deer-meat in +the chill air. The chief of the attacking party lay on the damp grass +and peered between the stems of the alders. He smiled exultantly. A +quick slaughter, and then to a feast already prepared. He and his braves +had enjoyed but poor fare during their long march. + +So shall I leave him, sniffing the breath of the cooking fires, and turn +to Wolf Slayer. Late of that afternoon Wolf Slayer had sallied forth in +quest of something to kill. The woods had seemed deserted, and in less +than an hour after his valorous exit from the camp, he had fallen asleep +on a warm and sheltered strip of shingle. The river flashed in front, +and on three sides brooded the crowding trees. When he awoke, the sun +had set, and the river, a curved mirror for the western sky, was red as +fire--or blood. Down-stream, about two hundred yards distant, a sombre +bluff thrust its rocky breast into the water. The boy gazed at this, and +his eyes widened with dismay. Then they narrowed with hate. Out of the +shelter of the rocks and the shadows, and into the flaming waters, came +figure after figure. They waded knee-deep, hip-deep, shoulder-deep, into +that molten glory. Then they swam; and the ripples washed back from +gleaming neck and shoulder like lighter flames. One by one they stole +from the shadow, swam the radiance, and again sought the shadow. + +The boy trembled. The devils of fear and rage had their fingers on him. +Spellbound, he watched close upon a hundred warriors make the passage of +the river. Then he, too, sank noiselessly into the shelter of the trees. +He was old enough to know what this meant, and his heart hurt him with +its pent-up fury as he crawled through the underbrush. He was dismayed +at the sound of his own breathing. He heard the distant rapping of a +woodpecker, the fall of a spent leaf from an alder, and the soft breath +of a dying wind; and the familiar sounds filled him with awe. And yet, +but for these sounds, the whole world might be dead and the forest +empty. Thought of the hundred fighting men moving steadily upon the +unguarded homes of his people, with no more warning than the sound of a +swamp-bird's flight, was like a nightmare. But presently the courage +that had helped him slay the wolf came to him, and he thought of the +glory to be won by saving the threatened village. He did not strengthen +his heart to the task for sake of his mother's life and the lives of his +playmates; but because the warriors would call him a hero. Keeping just +within the edge of the woods, he moved up-stream as speedily as he might +without making any sound. He came upon a brown hare crouched beside a +clump of ferns. He might have touched it with his hand, so unaware was +it of his presence. He passed beneath an alder branch whereon perched a +big slate-gray jay. It was not a foot from his back as he crawled under, +and it did not take flight. But it eyed him intently, to make sure that +he was not a fox. Sometimes he lay still for a little, listening. He +heard nothing, though he started at a hundred fancied sounds. Twilight +deepened into dusk, and dusk into gloom. The moon sailed up over the +hills, and long banners of cloud passed across the face of it. + +Presently Wolf Slayer came within sight of the fires of the village. The +red light flashed on the angry river beyond, but left the lagoon in +darkness. He crawled into the water inch by inch, scarcely breaking the +calm, black surface. Then he swam, without noise of splashing, and +landed at the foot of the meadow like a great beaver. He crawled into +the red circle of one of the fires, and told his news to the braves +gathered around. Men slipped from fire to fire. Without any unwonted +disturbance, the whole village armed itself. Suddenly, with a fierce +shout and a flight of arrows, the alders were attacked. The invaders +were checked at the very moment of their fancied victory. + +The fighting scattered. Here three men struggled together in the +shallows at the head of the lagoon. Farther out, one tossed his arms and +sank into the black depths. In the open a half-score warriors bent their +bows. Among the twisted stems of the alders they pulled and strangled, +like beasts of prey. Back in the spruces they slew with clubs and +knives, feeling for one another in the dark. Their war-cries and shouts +of hate rang fearfully on the night air, and awoke unholy echoes along +the valley. + +In the front of the battle Wolf Slayer fought like a man. His lack of +stature saved him from death more than once in that fearful encounter. +Many a vicious blow glanced harmless, or missed him altogether, as he +stumbled and bent among the alders. At first he fought with a long, +flint knife,--the work of the old arrow-maker. But this was splintered +in his hand by the murderous stroke of a war-club. He wrenched a spear +from the clutch of a dying brave. A leaping figure went down before his +unexpected lunge. It rolled over; then, queerly sprawling, it lay still. +An arrow from the open ripped along an alder stem, rattled its shaft +among the dry twigs, and struck a glancing blow on the young brave's +neck. He stumbled, grabbing at the shadows. He fell--and forgot the +fight. + +In light and darkness the battle raged on. Wigwams were overthrown, and +about the little fires warriors gave up their violent lives. At last the +encampment was cleared, and saved from destruction; and those of the +invaders who remained beside the trampled fires had ceased to menace. +Along the black edges of the forest ran the cries and tumult of the +struggle. Spent arrows floated on the lagoon. Red knives lifted and +turned in the underbrush. + +Wolf Slayer, dizzy and faint, crawled back to the lodges of his people. +Other warriors were returning. They came exultant, with the lust of +fighting still aflame in their eyes. Some strode arrogantly. Some +crawled, as Wolf Slayer had. Some staggered to the home fires and reeled +against the lodges, and some got no farther than the outer circle of +light. And many came not at all. + +The chief, with a great gash high on his breast (he had bared arms and +breast for the battle), sought about the clearing and trampled fringe of +alders, and at last, returning to the disordered camp, found Wolf +Slayer. With a glad, high shout of triumph, he lifted the boy in his +arms and carried him home. The mother met them at the door of the lodge. +In fearful silence the man and woman washed and bound the young brave's +wound, and watched above his faint breathing with anxious hearts. + +"Little one, strengthen your feet against the turn of the dark trail," +whispered the mother. "See, our fires are bright to guide you back to +your own people." + +"Little chief, though this battle is ended, there are many good fights +yet to come," whispered the father. "The fighters of the camp will have +great need of you when we turn from our sleep. The old bear grumbles at +the mouth of his den!--will you not be with us when we singe his fur?" + +"Hush, hush!" cried the woman. + +The boy, opening his eyes, turned the feet of his spirit from the dark +trail. + +"I saw the lights of the lost fires," he murmured, "and the hunting-song +of dead braves was in my ears." + +Wolf Slayer was nursed back to health and strength. Not once--not even +at the edge of Death's domain--had his arrogance left him. It seemed +that the days of suffering had but hardened his already hard heart. Lad +though he was, the villagers began to feel the weight of his hand upon +them. He bullied and beat the other boys of the camp. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST + + +In the dead of winter--in that season of sweeping winds and aching +skies, when the wide barrens lie uncheered of life from horizon to +horizon--Soft Hand sent many of his warriors to the South. They followed +in the "leads" of the great herds of caribou, going partly for the meat +of the deer and partly to strike terror into the hearts of the Southern +enemy. At the head of this party went Panounia, chief of the village on +the River of Three Fires, and with him he took his hardy son, Wolf +Slayer. Grim plans were bred on that journey. Grim tales were told +around the big fire at night. The evil thing which Panounia hatched, +with his bragging tongue, grew day by day and night by night. The hearts +of the warriors were fired with the shameful flame. They dreamed things +that had never happened, and wrought black visions out of the +foolishnesses of their brains. + +"The bear nods," they repeated, one to another, after the chief had +talked to them. "The bear nods, like an old woman over a pot of stew. +But for Panounia, surely the men of the South would have scattered our +lodges and led us, captive, to the playgrounds of their children and +their squaws. Such a fate would warm the heart of Soft Hand, for is not +our Great Chief an old woman himself?" + +So, far from the eye and paw of the great bear, the foxes barked at his +power. The moon heard it, and the silent trees, and the wind which +carries no messages. + +About this time Ouenwa, the grandson of Soft Hand, decided to make a +journey of many days from the lodges at the head of Wind Lake to the +Salt Water. He felt no interest in the Southern invasion. His eyes +longed for a sight of the edges of the land and the breast of the great +waters beyond. He had heard, in his inland home, rumour of mighty wooden +canoes walled higher than the peak of a wigwam, and manned by +loud-mouthed warriors from beyond the fogs and the rising sun. Some +wiseacre, squatted beside the old chief's fire, hinted that the +strangers were gods. He told many wonderful stories to back his +argument. Soft Hand nodded. But Ouenwa smiled and shook his head. + +"Would gods make such flights for the sake of a few dried fishes and a +few dressed pelts of beaver and fox?" he asked. + +"The gods of trade would do so," replied the wiseacre. "Also," he added, +"they slay at great distances by means of brown stakes which are +flame-tongued and smoke-crowned and thunder-voiced." + +"But do these gods not fight with knives--long knives and short?" +inquired the lad. "I have heard it said that they sometimes fall out +over the ordering of their affairs, even as we mortals do." + +"And what wonderful knives they are," cried the old gossip. "They are +coloured like ice. They gleam in the sunlight, like a flash of lightning +against a cloud. They cut quicker than thought, and the red blood +follows the edge as surely as the rains follow April." + +"I have yet to see these gods," replied Ouenwa, "and in my heart I pray +that they be but men, for the gods have proved themselves but cheerless +companions to our people." + +At that Soft Hand looked up. "Are the seasons not arranged to your +liking, boy?" he asked, quietly. + +"Nay, I did not mean that," cried Ouenwa; "but strange men promise +better and safer company than strange gods." + +Now he was journeying toward the ocean of his dreaming and the ports of +his desire. His eyes would search the headlands of fog. Out of the east, +and the sun's bed, would lift the magic canoes of the strangers. But the +journey was a hard one. The boy's only companion was a man of small +stature and unheroic spirit, whom the old chief could well spare. They +took their way down the frozen, snow-drifted lake, dragging their food +and sleeping-bags of skin on a rough sledge. The wind came out of a +steel-blue sky, unshifting and relentless. The dry snow ran before it +over the level surface, and settled in thin, white ridges across their +path. At the approach of night they sought the wooded shore, and in the +shelter of the firs built their fire. + +During the journey Ouenwa's guide proved but a cheerless companion. He +had no heart for any adventure that might take him beyond the scent of +his people's cooking-fires. He considered the conversation of his young +master but a poor substitute for the gossip of the lodges. The scant +fare of his own cooking left his stomach uncomforted. He hated the +weariness of the march and dreaded the silence of the night. The cry of +the wind across the tree-tops was, to his craven ear, the voice of some +evil spirit. The barking of a fox on the hill set his limbs a-tremble. +The howl of a wolf struck him cold. The sudden leaping of a hare in the +underbrush was enough to shake his poor wits with fright. But he feared +the anger of Soft Hand more than all these terrors, and so held to +Ouenwa and his mission. + +On the third day of the journey the blue sky thickened to gray, the wind +veered, and a great storm of snow overtook them. The snowflakes were +large and damp. The travellers turned aside and climbed the bank of the +river to the thickets of evergreens. With their rude axes of stone they +broke away the fir boughs and reared themselves a shelter in the heart +of the wood. Into this they drew their sledge of provisions and their +sleeping-bags. Then they collected whatever dry fuel they could +find--dead twigs and branches, tree-moss and birch bark--and, with his +ingenious contrivance of bow and notched stick, Ouenwa started a blaze. +They roasted dried venison by holding it to the flame on the ends of +pointed sticks. Each cooked what he wanted, and ate it without talk. All +creation seemed shrouded in silence. There was not a sound save the +occasional soft hiss of a melting snowflake in the fire. The storm +became denser. It was as if a sudden, colourless night had descended +upon the wilderness, blotting out even the nearer trees with its reeling +gray. The old retainer crouched low, and gazed out at the storm from +between his bony knees. His eyes fairly protruded with superstitious +terror. + +"What do you see?" inquired Ouenwa. The awe of the storm was creeping +over his courage like the first film of ice over a bright stream. The +old man did not move. He did not reply. Ouenwa drew closer to him, and +heaped dry moss on the fire. It glowed high, and splashed a ruddy circle +of light on the eddying snowflakes as on a wall. + +"Hark!" whispered the old man. Yes, it was the sound of muffled +footsteps, approaching behind the impenetrable curtain of the storm. The +boy's blood chilled and thinned like water in his veins. He clutched his +companion with frenzied hands. The fear of all the devils and shapeless +beings of the wilderness was upon him. In the whirling snow loomed a +great figure. It emerged into the glow of the fire. + +"Ah! ah!" cried the old man, cackling with relief. For their visitor was +nothing more terrible than a fellow human. The stranger greeted them +cordially, and told them that, but for the glow of their fire, he would +have been lost. + +"But what are you doing here--an old man and a child?" he asked. + +Ouenwa told him. He explained his identity, and his intention of +dwelling with the great arrow-maker of his grandfather's tribe to learn +wisdom. + +"Then are we well met," replied the other, "for my lodge is not half a +spear-throw from the lodge of the arrow-maker. The old man has been as a +father to me since the day he saved my wife from death. Now I hunt for +him, and work at his craft, and have left the river to be near him. My +children play about his lodge. My wife broils his fish and meat. Truly +the old man has changed since the return of laughter and friendship to +his lodge." + +The stranger's name was Black Feather. He was taller than the average +Beothic, and broad of shoulder in proportion. His hair was brown, and +one lock of it, which was worn longer than the rest, was plaited with +jet-black feathers. His garments consisted of a shirt of beaver skins +that reached half-way between hip and knee, trousers of dressed leather, +and leggins and moccasins of the same material. Around his waist was a +broad belt, beautifully worked in designs of dyed porcupine quills. His +head was uncovered. + +Black Feather seated himself beside Ouenwa, and replied, good-naturedly, +and at great length, to the youth's many questions. He told of the +high-walled ships, and of how he had once seen four of these monsters +swinging together in the tide, with little boats plying between them, +and banners red as the sunset flapping above them. He told of trading +with the strangers, and described their manner of spreading out lengths +of bright cloth, knives and hatchets of gray metal, and flasks of strong +drink. + +"Their knives are edged with magic," he said. "Many of them carry +weapons called muskets, which kill at a hundred paces, and terrify at +even a greater distance. But a nimble bowman might loose four arrows in +the time that they are conjuring forth the spirit of the musket." + +The storm continued throughout the day and night, but the morning broke +clear. The travellers crawled from their weighted shelter and looked +with gratitude upon the silver shield of the sun. After a hearty +breakfast, they set out on the last stage of their journey. Their +racquets of spruce wood woven across with strips of caribou hide sank +deep in the feathery snow, and lifted a burden of it at every step. But +they held cheerfully on their way. Black Feather walked ahead, and Pot +Friend, the old gossip, brought up the rear. The thong by which they +dragged the sledge passed over the right shoulder of each, and was +grasped in the right hand. After several hours of tramping along the +level of the river's valley, Black Feather turned toward the western +bank and led them into the woods. Presently, after experiencing several +difficulties with the sledge, they emerged on the barren beyond the +fringe of timber. They ascended a treeless knoll that rounded in front +of them, blindingly white against the pale sky. Old Pot Friend grumbled +and sighed, and might just as well have been on the sledge, for all the +pulling he did. On reaching the top of the knoll Black Feather swept his +arm before him with a gesture of finality. "Behold!" he said. + +An exclamation of wonder sprang to Ouenwa's lips, and +died--half-uttered. Before him lay a wedge of foam-crested winter sea +beating out against a far, glass-clear horizon. To right and left were +sheer rocks and timbered valleys, wave-washed coves, ice-rimmed islands, +and crouching headlands. Even Pot Friend forgot his weariness and +shortness of breath for the moment, and surveyed the outlook in silence. +It was many years since he had been so far afield. His little soul was +fairly stunned with awe. But presently his real nature reasserted +itself. He pointed with his hand. + +"Smoke!" he exclaimed. "And the roofs of two lodges. Good!" + +Black Feather smiled. Ouenwa did not hear the old man's cry of joy. + +"I see the edge of the world," he said. + +"But the ships come over it, and go down behind it," replied Black +Feather. + +"That is foolishness," said Pot Friend, who was filled with his old +impudence at sight of the fire and the lodges. "No canoe would venture +on the great salt water. I say it, who have built many canoes. And, if +they voyaged so far, they would slip off into the caves of the Fog +Devils. I believe nothing of all these stories of the strangers and +their winged canoes." + +"Silence!" cried the boy, turning on him with flashing eyes. "What do +you know of how far men will venture?--you, who have but heart enough to +stir a pot of broth and lick the spoon." + +"I have brought you safely through great dangers," whined the old +fellow. + +Montaw, the aged arrow-maker, welcomed his visitors cordially, and was +grateful for the kind messages from his chief, Soft Hand, and for the +gift of dressed leather. He accepted the charge and education of Ouenwa. +He set the unheroic Pot Friend to the tasks of carrying water and wood, +and snaring hares and grouse. He taught Ouenwa the craft of chipping +flints into shapes for spear-heads and arrow-heads, and the art of +painting, in ochre, on leather and birch bark. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR + + +Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of +Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black +Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled +bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals. +Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy +might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of +waters. + +At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many +ships--ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were +in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted, +and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the +English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, _Heart +of the West_. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed, +and hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of +those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was +not long before every harbour had its admiral,--in every case the master +of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off +in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages, +whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich +harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting +of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching +the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the +strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the +sea. + +One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the _Heart of the +West_ ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old +craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without +fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on +the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They +displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a +few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the +Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem +of a pipe and blowing fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said +that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he +had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and +exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather +also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth, +a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the +strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted +and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them +places where they might anchor their ships--for it was none other than +Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and +the long sword at his side--surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his +quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was +Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His +father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death, +had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son +inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the +counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much +Ouenwa could detect at a glance. + +Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic. + +"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the +palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of +English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove +entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he +would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and +glinting horizon. + +"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath. + +"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell. + +"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!" + +Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a +keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest. + +"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat. +"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly. + +Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of +caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to +enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of +the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom +of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and, +before the other had time to notice the hesitation, he stepped within. +The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow +that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the +fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the +roof, the big lodge was unilluminated. + +"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against +the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For +answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared +smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre +place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great +bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of +his hand against the Englishman's breast. + +"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade." + +Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out +the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might +look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from +the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets +of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and +all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other +hand, he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to +explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, +however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another. + +After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing +longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, +and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called +to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. +Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the +_Heart of the West_ had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, +he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to +explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the +birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition +and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver +skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the +strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life +of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's +remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear +to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on +the following night. + +The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when +Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot +where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from +Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of +either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and +thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came +to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed +close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing +to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and +laughter were ripe aboard. + +For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. +Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, +with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping +oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under +the stem of the _Heart of the West_. A cheering glow of candle-light +yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a +level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard +Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and +argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail. + +Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, +and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear +the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could +understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and +the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. +Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The +old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his +great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board. + +"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who +be master?" + +"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied +Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips. + +"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, +glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. +"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or +afore the mast,--no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in +Newfoundland." + +"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of +these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me." + +"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman. + +"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand +as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the +table. + +"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, +would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed +above the overturned bottle and glasses. + +Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into +the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of +the head, and sent him crashing to the deck. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER + + +When Trowley recovered consciousness, he was lying in his berth, with a +bandage around his head. Kingswell looked in at him, smiling in a way +that the old mariner was beginning to fear as well as hate. + +"I hope you are feeling more amiable since your sleep," said Kingswell. + +Trowley muttered a word or two of apology, damned the rum, and asked the +time of day. His recollections of the argument in the cabin were hazy +and fragmentary. + +In reply to his question the gentleman told him that the sun was well +up, the fog cleared, and that he was having his boat provisioned for the +coastwise exploration trip. + +"And mind you," he added, grimly, "that the eighty beaver skins which +are now being stowed away in my berth are my property." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Trowley. "An' may I ask how ye come by such a +power o' trade in a night-time?" + +"Yes, you may ask," replied Kingswell. He grinned at the wounded skipper +for fully a minute, leaning on the edge of the bunk. Then he said: "I'll +now bid you farewell until October. Don't sail without me, good Master +Trowley, and look not upon the rum of the Indies when that same is red. +A knife-thrust given in drunkenness might lead to the gallows." + +He turned and nimbly scaled the companion-ladder, leaving the shipmaster +speechless with rage. + +Half an hour later the staunch little craft _Pelican_ spread her square +sail and slid away from the _Heart of the West_. She was manned by old +Tom Bent, young Peter Harding, and Richard Clotworthy. Master Bernard +Kingswell sat at the tiller, with Ouenwa beside him. Their provisions, +extra clothing, arms, and ammunition were stowed amidships and covered +with sail-cloth. The sun was bright, and the sky blue. The wind bowled +them along at a clipping pace. From a mound above the harbour Black +Feather gazed after them under a level hand. In the little harbour +Trowley's ship alone swung in her anchorage. The others had run out to +the fishing-grounds,--for in those days the fishing was done over the +sides of the ships, and not from small boats. On either side the brown +shores fell back, and the dancing waters widened and widened. White +gulls screamed above and around them, flashing silvery wings, snowy +breasts, and inquisitive eyes. + +Ouenwa looked back, and then ahead, and felt a great misgiving. But +Kingswell patted him on the shoulder, and the sailors nodded their heads +at him and grinned. + +Soon they were among the fleet. The ungainly, high-sterned vessels +rocked and bobbed under naked spars. The great business that had brought +them so far was going forward. Along both sides of every ship were hung +barrels, and in each barrel was stationed a man with two or more +fishing-lines. Splashing desperately, the great fish were hauled up, +unhooked, and tossed to the deck behind. As the little _Pelican_ slid +by, the fishers paused in their work to cheer her, and wave their caps. +The masters shouted "God speed" from their narrow quarter-decks, and +doffed their hats. Kingswell waved them gracious farewells; Ouenwa gazed +spellbound toward the widening outlook; and Tom Bent trimmed the sail to +a nicety. + +They passed headland after headland, rocky island after rocky island, +cove after cove. The shores behind them turned from brown to purple, +and from purple to azure. The waves ran higher and the wind freshened. +Kingswell shaped the boat's course a few points to the northward. The +stout little craft skipped like a lamb and plunged like some less +playful creature. Spray flew over her blunt bows, and the sailors +laughed like children, and called her a brave lass, and many other +endearing names, as if she were human. + +"A smart wench, sir," said Tom Bent to Master Kingswell. The commander +nodded, and shifted the tiller knowingly. His blue eyes were flashing +with the excitement of the speed and motion. His bright, pale hair +streamed in the wind. He leaned forward, to pick out the course through +a group of small islands that cluttered the bay ahead of them. He gave +an order, and the seamen hauled on the wet sheet. But Ouenwa did not +share the high spirits of his companions. A terrible, unknown feeling +got hold of him. His dark cheeks lost their bloom. Kingswell glanced at +him. + +"Let it go, lad," he said. "A sailor is made in this way. Tom, pass me +along a blanket." + +With his unemployed hand he fixed a comfortable rest for the boy, and +helped him to a drink of water. For an hour or more he maintained a hold +on the young Beothic's belt, for, by this time, the soaring and sinking +of the _Pelican_ were enough to unsteady even a seasoned mariner. As +for Ouenwa!--the poor lad simply clung to the gunwale with the grip of +despair, and entertained regretful, beautiful visions of level shores +and unshaken hills. Tom Bent eyed him kindly. + +"The young un has it wicked, sir," he said. "Maybe, like as not, a swig +o' rum ud sweeten his bilge, sir." + +Kingswell acted on the old tar's advice. The rank liquor completed the +boy's breakdown. In so doing it served the purpose which Bent had +intended. The sufferer was soon sleeping soundly, already half a sailor. + +When Ouenwa next took interest in his surroundings, the _Pelican_ had +the surf of a sheer coast close aboard on her port side. She was heading +due north. The sun was half-way down his western slope. Behind the +_Pelican's_ bubbling wake, hills and headlands and high, naked barrens +lay brown and purple and smoky blue. In front, and on the right hand, +loomed surf-rimmed islands and flashed the innumerable, ever-altering +yet unchanged hills and valleys of the deep. Tom Bent was now at the +tiller, and Kingswell was in the bows, gazing intently at the austere +coast. Ouenwa crawled over the thwarts and cargo of provisions, under +the straining sail, and crouched beside him. His head felt light and +his stomach painfully empty, but again life seemed worth living and the +adventure worth while. + +About an hour before sunset the _Pelican_ ran into a little cove, and +her two grappling anchors were heaved overboard. She lay within five +yards of the land-wash, swinging on an easy tide. Ouenwa sprang into the +water and waded ashore. It was a dismal anchorage, with only a strip of +shingle, and grim cliffs rising in front and on either hand. But at the +base of the cliffs, in fissures of the rock, grew stunted spruce-trees +and birches. Ouenwa soon found a little stream dribbling a zigzag course +from the levels above. It gathered, clear and cold, in a shallow basin +at the foot of the rock, and from there spilled over into the +obliterating sand. + +By this time the others were ashore. Clotworthy hacked down a couple of +armfuls of the spruce and birch shrubs with his cutlass, and started a +fire. Then he filled a pot from the little well and commenced +preparations for a meal. The other seamen erected a shelter, composed of +a sail and three oars, against the cliff. Kingswell and Ouenwa sat on a +convenient boulder, and the commander filled a long pipe with tobacco +and lit it at a brand from the fire. He seemed in high spirits, and in a +mood to further his young companion's education. Pointing to the roll +of Virginian leaf, from which he had cut the charge for his pipe, he +said, "Tobacco." Ouenwa repeated it many times, and nodded his +comprehension. Then Kingswell pointed to old Tom Bent, who was watching +Clotworthy drop lumps of dried venison into the pot of water. + +"Boatswain," he said. + +Ouenwa mastered the word, as well as the term "able seamen," applied to +Clotworthy and Peter Harding. By that time the stew was ready for them. +They were all sound asleep, under their frail shelter, before the last +glimmer of twilight was gone from the sky. + +It was very early when Ouenwa awoke. A pale flood of dawn illumined the +tent and the recumbent forms of Master Kingswell and Clotworthy. Tom +Bent and Harding were not in their places. The boy wondered at that, but +was about to close his eyes again, when he was startled to his feet by a +shrill cry that went ringing overhead and echoing along the cliffs. He +darted from the tent, with Kingswell and Clotworthy hot on his heels. +Bent and Harding were on the extreme edge of the beach, with their backs +to the sea, staring upward. Ouenwa and the others turned their faces in +the same direction. They were amazed to see about a dozen native +warriors on the cliff above them, fully armed, and evidently deeply +interested in what was going on in the little cove. One of them was +pointing to the _Pelican_, and talking vehemently to the brave beside +him. In two of them Ouenwa recognized young Wolf Slayer, and his father, +the chief of the village on the River of Three Fires. He called up to +them, and asked what brought them so far from their village. + +"We are at the salt water to take the fish," replied Wolf Slayer, "and +we saw the smoke of your fire before the last darkness. But what do you +with the great strangers, little Dreamer?" + +"They are my friends," replied Ouenwa, "and I am voyaging with them to +learn wisdom." + +"What are you talking about?" asked Kingswell. + +The lad tried to explain. He pointed to the tent and provisions and then +to the boat. "Put in," he said. + +At a word from Kingswell the three sailors quickly dismantled their +night's shelter and carried the sail, the oars, and such food and +blankets as they had brought ashore, out to the _Pelican_. At that the +shrill cry rang out again, and echoed along the cliffs. + +"What does that mean?" inquired Kingswell. + +"Bad," replied Ouenwa, shortly. + +"What is in your fine canoe, little Dreamer?" called Wolf Slayer. + +"Our food and our clothing, little Fox Stabber," Ouenwa cried back, with +indignation in his voice. + +"Your dreams must have unsettled your wits, my friend," replied Wolf +Slayer, "or you would not talk so loud before a chief of the tribe." + +Just then, in answer to the cry that had sounded so dismally across the +dawn a few moments before, five more warriors, armed with bows, appeared +on the top of the cliff--for the cry was the hunting-call of the tribe. + +"Do you fish with war-bows?" shouted Ouenwa. "And why do you summon to +trade with the cry of the hunt?" + +"You ask too many questions, even for a seeker of wisdom," replied the +other youth, mockingly. + +"Does Soft Hand, the great bear, slumber, that the foxes bark with such +assurance?" retorted Ouenwa. + +By this time the _Pelican_ was ready to put out of the cove. Both +anchors were up, and Harding and Clotworthy held her off with the oars. +Old Tom Bent was also in the boat, busy with something beside the mast. +Suddenly a bow-string twanged, and an arrow buried its flint head in the +sand at Kingswell's feet. Another struck a stone and, glancing out, +rattled against Harding's oar. Kingswell and Ouenwa backed hastily into +the water. Above them, silhouetted against the lightening sky, they saw +bending bows and downward thrust arms. Then, with a clap and a roar, and +a gust of smoke, old Tom Bent replied to the warriors on the cliff. The +echoes of the discharge bellowed around and around the rock-girt +harbour. Ouenwa and Kingswell sprang through the smoke and climbed +aboard, and the seamen pushed into deep water and then bent to their +oars. But the _Pelican_ proved a heavy boat to row, with her blunt bows +and comfortable beam. She surged slowly beyond the cloud of bitter smoke +that the musket had hung in the windless air. Clear of that, the +voyagers looked for their treacherous assailants--and, behold, the great +warriors were not to be seen. Kingswell and the three seamen laughed, as +if the incident were a fine joke; but Ouenwa was hot with shame and +anger. He stood erect and shouted abuse to the deserted cliff-top. He +called upon Wolf Slayer and Panounia to show their cowardly faces. He +threatened them with the displeasure of Soft Hand and with the anger of +the English. A figure appeared on the sky-line. + +"You speak of Soft Hand," it cried. "Know you, then, that Soft Hand set +out on the Long Trail four suns ago, when he marched into my village to +dispute my power. I, Panounia, am now the great chief of the people. So +carry yourself accordingly, O whelp without teeth and without a den to +crawl into. Whose hand has overthrown the lodge of the totem of the +Black Bear? Mine! Panounia's! Soft Hand has fallen under it as his son, +your father, succumbed to it when you were a squalling babe." He paused +for a moment, and held out a gleaming knife, with its point toward the +_Pelican_. "The totem of the Wolf now hangs from the great lodge," he +cried. + +Quick and noiseless as a breath, the edge of the cliff was lined with +warriors. Like a sudden flight of birds their arrows flashed outward and +downward. + +"Lie down!" cried Kingswell. With a strong hand he snatched Ouenwa to +the bottom of the boat. Harding and Clotworthy sprawled forward between +the thwarts. Only Tom Bent, crouched beside the naked mast, did not +move. The arrows thumped against plank and gunwale. They pierced the +cargo. They glanced from tiller and sweep and mast. One, turning from +the rail, struck Bent on the shoulder. He cursed angrily, but did not +look for the wound. His match was burning with a thread of blue smoke +and a spark of red fire. His clumsy gun was geared to the rail by an +impromptu swivel of cords. He lay flat and elevated the muzzle. + +"Steady her," he said, softly. "She's driftin' in." + +Kingswell sprang forward to one of the oars, thrust it to the bottom, +and held the boat as steady as might be. Arrows whispered around him. He +shouted a challenge to the befeathered warriors above him. Tom touched +the slow-match to the quick fuse. Something hissed and sizzled. A plume +of smoke darted up. Then, with a rebound that shook the boat from stem +to stern, the gun hurled forth its lead, and fire, and black breath of +hate. + +"Double charge, sir," gasped Tom Bent, from where he sagged against the +mast. The kick of his musket had hurt him more than the blow from the +arrow. + +Again the _Pelican_ fought her way toward the open waters, with Harding +and Clotworthy pulling lustily at the sweeps. Kingswell, flushed and +joyful, sat at the tiller and headed her for the channel, through which +the tide was running landward at a fair pace. Bent was busy reloading +his firearm. Ouenwa stood in the stern-sheets, with his bow in his left +hand and an arrow on the string. A breath of wind brushed the smoke +aside and cleared the view. Ouenwa pointed to the beach, and gave vent +to a shrill whoop of triumph. The others looked, and saw a huddled shape +of bronzed limbs and painted leather at the foot of the rock. + +"One more red devil for hell," muttered the boatswain. "I learned mun to +shoot his pesky sticks at a Bristol gentleman." + +As if in answer, an arrow bit a splinter from the mast, not six inches +from the old man's head. Ouenwa's bow bent, and sprang straight. The +shaft flew with all the skill that Montaw had taught the boy, and with +all the hate that was in his heart for the big murderer on the cliff. +Every man of the little company narrowed his eyes to follow the flight +of it. They saw it curve. They saw a warrior drop his bow from his +menacing hand and sink to his knees. + +"The wolf falls," cried Ouenwa, in his own tongue. "The wolf bites the +moss. Who, now, is the wolf slayer?" + +The Englishmen cheered again and again, and the good boat _Pelican_, +urged forward by triumphant sinews, won through the channel and swam +into the outer waters. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE SILENT VILLAGE + + +As soon as the _Pelican_ was out of arrow-shot of the cliff, the +Beothics disappeared. Ouenwa laid aside his bow with a sigh of regret. +Then he tried to repeat to Kingswell what he had heard from Panounia. +After a deal of questioning, sign-making, and mental exertion, the +Englishman gathered the information that treachery and murder had taken +place up the river, and that his young friend hated the new leader of +the tribe with a bitter hatred. He did not wonder at the bitterness. He +looked at the young savage's flushed face and glowing eyes with sympathy +and admiration. His liking for the boy had grown in every hour of their +companionship, and, by this time, had developed into a decided fondness. + +"Sit down, lad, and let your guns cool," he said, with a light hand on +the other's knee. "Your enemies are my enemies," he continued, "and +we'll fight the dogs every time we see 'em." + +Ouenwa sat quiet and tried to look calm. He was soothed by the evident +kindliness of Kingswell's tone and manner, though he had failed to +translate his speech. The men on the thwarts had caught the words, +however. They nodded heavily to one another. + +"Ye say the very word what was in my mind, sir," spoke up Tom Bent, +"an', if I may make so bold as to say further, your enemies be your +servants' enemies, sir. Therefore the young un's enemies must be our +enemies, holus bolus." The other sailors nodded decidedly. "Therefore," +continued Tom Bent, "all they cowardly heathen aft on the cliff has to +reckon, hereafter, with Thomas Bent an' the crew o' this craft." + +"Well spoken, Tom," replied Kingswell, with the smile that always won +him the heart and hand of every man he favoured with it,--and of every +maid, too, more than likely. "But we can't enthuse on empty stomachs. +Pass out the bread and the cold meat," he added. + +For fully two hours the _Pelican_ rocked about within half a mile of her +night's anchorage. Kingswell was not in a desperate hurry, and so his +men pulled at the oars just enough to hold the boat clear of the rocks. +A sharp lookout was kept along the coast, but not a sight nor a sound +of the Beothics rewarded their vigilance. + +"They be up to some devilment, ye may lay to that," said Tom Bent. + +At last a wind fluttered to them out of the nor'east, and the square +sail was hoisted and sheeted home. Again the _Pelican_ dipped her bows +and wet her rail on the voyage of exploration. + +After two hours of sailing, and just when they were off the mouth of a +little river and a fair valley, a fog overtook them. Kingswell was for +running in, but Ouenwa objected. + +"Panounia follow," he said. "He great angry. Drop irons," he added, +pointing to the little anchors. + +"Panounia is wounded. You winged him yourself," replied Kingswell. "He +could not follow us around that coast, lad, at the clip we were coming." + +Ouenwa considered the words with puckered brows. They were beyond him. +The commander pointed shoreward. + +"All safe," he said. "All safe." + +"No, no," cried the lad. "All kill. No safe." + +During this controversy the sail had been partly lowered, and the +_Pelican_ had been slowly running landward with the fog. + +Kingswell looked from the young Beothic to the seamen with a smile of +whimsical uncertainty. + +"Out o' the mouths o' babes an' sucklin's," remarked Tom Bent, with his +deep-set eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Kingswell's glance rested, +for a moment, on the ancient mariner. + +"Lower away," he said. The sail flapped down, and was quickly stowed. +"Let go the anchors," he commanded. The grapplings splashed into the +gray waves. The fog crawled over the boat and shut her off from land and +sky. With a last dreary whistle, the wind died out entirely. + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Master Kingswell, "but here is caution that smells +remarkably like cowardice." Fretfully sighing, he produced his pipe, +tobacco, and tinder-box. Soon the fragrant smoke was mingling with the +fog. The young commander leaned back, taking his comfort where he could, +like the courageous gentleman that he was. The habit of burning +Virginian tobacco was an expensive one, confined to the wealthy and the +adventurous. The seamen, who, of course, had not yet acquired it, +watched their captain with open interest. When a puff was blown through +the nostrils, or sent aloft in a series of rings, they nudged one +another, like children at a show. By this time the walls of fog had made +of the _Pelican_ a tiny, lost world by itself. Suddenly Ouenwa raised +his hand. "Sh!" he whispered. Kingswell removed the pipe-stem from his +mouth, and inclined his head toward the hidden river and valley. All +strained their ears, to wrest some sound from the surrounding gray other +than the lapping of the tide along the unseen land-wash. But they could +hear nothing. + +"Village," whispered Ouenwa, pointing landward. + +"But we saw no signs of a village," protested Kingswell, gently. + +"Village," repeated the lad. "Ouenwa hear. Ouenwa smell." + +Immediately the four Englishmen began to sniff the fog, like hounds +taking a scent on the wind. But their nostrils were not the nostrils of +either hounds or Beothics. They sniffed to no purpose. They shook their +heads. Kingswell wagged a chiding finger at their keen-nosed companion. +The boy read the inference of the gesture, and flushed indignantly. + +"Village," he whispered, shrilly. "Village, village, village." + +Kingswell looked distressed. The sailors grinned leniently at the +determined boy. They had great faith in their own noses, had those +mariners of Bristol and thereabouts. Ouenwa, frowning a little, sank +into a moody contemplation of the fog. + +"This is dull," exclaimed Kingswell, after a half-hour of silence. +"Tom, pipe us a stave, like a good lad." + +The boatswain scratched his head reflectively. Presently he cleared his +throat with energy. + +"Me voice be a bit husky, sir, to what it once were," he murmured, "but +I'll do me best--an' no sailorman can say fairer nor that." + +Straightway he struck into a heroic ballad of a sea-fight, in a high, +tottering tenor. The song dealt with Spanish swagger and English daring, +with bloody decks, falling spars, and flying splinters. Harding joined +in the chorus with a booming bass. Clotworthy and the commander soon +followed. Kingswell's voice was clear and strong and wonderfully +melodious. Ouenwa's eyes glowed and his muscles trembled. Though the +words held no meaning for him, the rollicking, dashing swing of the tune +fired his excitable blood. He forgot all about Panounia, and the +suspected village on the river so near at hand ceased to trouble him. He +beat time to the singing with his moccasined feet, and clapped his hands +together in rhythmic appreciation of his comrades' efforts. In time the +ballad was finished. The last member of the craven crew of the _Teressa +Maria_ had tasted English steel and been tossed to the sharks. Then +Master Kingswell sprang to his feet and sang a sentimental ditty. It +was of roses and fountains, of latticed windows and undying affection. +The air was captivating. The singer's voice rang tender and clear. Old +Tom Bent remembered lost years. Harding thought of a Devon orchard, and +of a Devon lass at work harvesting the ruddy fruit. Clotworthy saw a +cottage beside a little wood, and a woman and a little child gazing +seaward and westward from the door. + +For several seconds after the last note had died away, the little +company remained silent and motionless, fully occupied with its various +thoughts. Ouenwa was the first to break the spell of the song. He laid +his hand on Kingswell's arm with a quick gesture, and leaned toward him. + +"Canoe," he whispered. + +The sound that had caught Ouenwa's attention was repeated--a short rap, +like the inadvertent striking of a paddle against a gunwale. They all +heard it, and, with as little noise as possible, set to work at getting +out cutlasses and loading muskets. Kingswell crawled forward and +whispered with old Tom Bent. The boatswain nodded and turned to Harding. +That sturdy young seaman crawled to the bows and placed his hands on the +hawser of the forward anchor. He looked aft. Kingswell, who had returned +to his seat at the tiller, leaned over the stern and cut the manilla +rope that tethered the boat at that end. Harding immediately pulled on +his rope until he was directly over the light bow anchor. Then, strongly +and slowly, and without noise, he brought the four-fingered iron up and +into the bows. They were free of the bottom, anyway, and with the loss +of only one anchor. Kingswell breathed a sigh of relief. + +The _Pelican_ drifted, and the crew stared into the fog, with wide eyes +and alert ears. Then, to seaward and surely not ten yards away, sounded +a plover-call. Kingswell signalled to Bent to man the seaward side and +Clotworthy and Harding the other. They rested the barrels of their great +matchlocks on the gunwales. Suddenly the prow of a canoe pierced the +curtain of fog not four yards from Tom Bent. He touched the match to the +short fuse. There was a terrific report, and a chorus of wild yells. In +the excitement that followed, the others discharged their pieces. +Kingswell grabbed an oar, slipped it into a notch beside the tiller and +began to "scull" the boat seaward. The men reloaded their muskets and +peered into the fog. They heard splashings and cries on all sides, but +could see nothing. Ouenwa, standing erect, discharged arrow after arrow +at the hidden enemy. + +The splashings grew fainter, and the cries ceased entirely. Kingswell +passed the oar which he had been using to Harding, and told the men to +lay aside their muskets and row. Ouenwa let fly his last arrow, in the +names of his murdered father and grandfather. + +For a long and weary time the _Pelican_ lay off the hidden land, +shrouded in fog and silence. A few hours before sunset a wind from the +west found her out, drove away the fog, and disclosed the sea and the +coast and the open sky. + +"Pull her head 'round," commanded Kingswell, "and hoist the sail. We are +going back to have a look at that village." + +The men obeyed eagerly. They were itching for a chance to repay the +savages for the fright in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A LETTER FOR OUENWA + + +Two headlands were rounded before the valley of the river opened again +to the eyes of the adventurers. The brown water of the stream stole down +and merged into the dancing, wind-bitten sea. The gradual hillsides, +green-swarded, basked in the golden light. The lower levels of the +valley were already in shadow. No sign of man, or of his habitation, was +disclosed to the voyagers. + +"A fair spot," remarked Kingswell. "I feel a desire stirring within me +to stretch my legs on that grassy bank. What do you say to the idea, +Tom?" + +The old fellow grinned. "'Twould be pleasant, sir, an' no mistake," he +replied--"a little walk along the brook, with our hands not very far +from our hangers. Ay, sir, Tom Bent's for a spell o' nater worship." + +The boat ran in, and was beached on the sand well within the mouth of +the river. Harding and Clotworthy, with loaded muskets, were left on +guard, and the other three, fully armed, started along the bank of the +stream. They advanced cautiously, with a sharp lookout on every clump of +bushes and every spur of rock. A kingfisher dropped from its perch above +the water and flew up-stream with shrill clamour. They turned a bend of +the little river and halted short in their track with muttered +exclamations. Before them, on a level meadow between the brown waters of +the stream and the dark green wall of the forest, stood half a dozen +wigwams. The place seemed deserted. They scanned the dark edge of the +wood and the brown hills behind. They peered everywhere, expecting to +catch the glint of hostile eyes at every turn. But neither grove nor +hill, nor silent lodge, disclosed any sign of life. + +"Where the devil are they?" exclaimed Kingswell, thoroughly perplexed. + +Ouenwa smiled, and swept his hand in a half-circle. + +"Watch us," he remarked, nodding his head. "Yes, watch us." + +"He means they are lying around looking at us," said Kingswell to the +boatswain. "Rip me, but I don't relish the chance of one of those +stone-tipped arrows in my vitals." + +Tom Bent glanced about him in visible trepidation. Ouenwa noticed it, +and pointed to the seaman's musket. "No 'fraid," he said. "Shoot." + +"What at?" inquired Bent. + +"Make shoot," cried the boy, indicating the silent wood, dusky in the +gathering shadows. + +"He wants you to fire into the wood, and frighten them out," said +Kingswell. + +"If they be there, I'm for lettin' 'em stay there," replied Tom. + +However, he fixed his murderous weapon in its support, aimed at the edge +of the forest beyond the wigwams, and fired. The flame cut across the +twilight like a red sword; a dismal howl arose and quivered in the air. +It was answered from the hilltops on both sides of the stream. + +Before the echoes had died away, Ouenwa was inside the nearest lodge. +Kingswell followed, and found him dismantling the couches and walls of +their valuable furs. He instantly took a hand in the looting. Soon each +had all he could handle. They carried their burdens from the lodge, and, +with Tom as a rear-guard, marched back toward the _Pelican_. They had +rounded the bend of the river, and the two seamen were hurrying to meet +them, when old Tom Bent suddenly uttered an indignant whoop and leaped +into the air. His musket flew from his shoulder and clattered against a +stone. Kingswell and Ouenwa threw down their bundles and sprang to where +he lay, kicking and spluttering. The feathered shaft of an arrow clung +to the middle of his left thigh. He was swearing wildly, and vowing +vengeance on the "heathen varment" who had pinked him. + +Harding and Clotworthy fired into the shadows of the wooded hillside, +and Kingswell hoisted the struggling boatswain to his shoulders and +continued his advance on the boat. The old sailor begged and implored +his commander to put him down, assuring him that he was more surprised +than hurt. But Kingswell turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and did +not release him until they were safe beside the _Pelican's_ bows. Just +then Ouenwa and the sailors came running up with the looted pelts. All +were puzzled. Why had the hidden enemy fired only one arrow, when they +might have annihilated the little party with a volley? + +That night the _Pelican_ lay at anchor in the mouth of the river. Twice, +during the long, eerie hours between dark and dawn, the man on duty woke +his companions; but on both occasions the alarms proved to be false--the +splashing of a marauding otter near the shore or the flop of a feeding +trout. Under the pale lights of the morning the valley and the stream +lay as peaceful and deserted as on the preceding evening. The voyagers +ate their breakfast aboard. Then, as soon as the sun had cleared the +light mist from the water, they got up their anchor and rowed up-stream. +Harding and Clotworthy pulled on the oars. Bent and the commander +crouched in the bows, with ready muskets, and Ouenwa sat at the tiller. +The current was strong, and the boat crawled slowly against the twirling +sinews of water. Little patches of spindrift, from some fall or rapid +farther up the river, floated past them. The pebbly bottom flashed +beneath the amber tide. Leaping fish gleamed and splashed on either +hand, and sent silver circles rippling to the toiling boat. A moist, +sweet fragrance of foliage and mould and dew filled the air. + +Soon the deserted lodges came into view, standing smokeless and pathetic +between the murmuring river and the brooding trees. Kingswell motioned +to Ouenwa to head for the low bank in front of the wigwams. They landed +without incident, and all walked toward the village, with their firearms +ready and their matches lighted. They explored every lodge and even beat +the underbrush. The dwellings had been cleared of pelts and weapons and +cooking utensils evidently during the night. A village of this size must +have possessed at least six canoes; but not a canoe, nor so much as a +paddle, could they find. + +"All run in canoe," remarked Ouenwa, pointing up-stream. + +"What be this?" asked Tom Bent, limping toward Kingswell with an arrow +and a small square of birch bark in his hand. He had found the bark, +pinned by the arrow, to the side of one of the wigwams. Kingswell +examined it intently, and shook his head. + +"Pictures," he said. "I suppose it is a letter of some kind, in which +their wise man tells us what he thinks of us." + +Ouenwa took the bark and surveyed the roughly sketched figures, with +which it was covered, with a scornful twist of his face. + +"Wolf," he said, indicating the central figure. "See! Very big! +Bear"--he touched another point of the missive and then tapped his own +breast--"see bear! Him no big! Wolf eat bear." He laughed shrilly, and +shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, no." + +"What be mun jabberin' about?" muttered Tom Bent. + +Kingswell explained that the bear stood for Ouenwa's family, and that +the wolf was the symbol of the people who had killed his grandfather. + +The _Pelican_ continued her voyage before noon, and all day skirted an +austere and broken coast. She crossed the mouths of many wide bays, +steering for the purple headlands beyond. She rounded many islands and +braved intricate channels. Toward evening she rounded a bluffer, grimmer +cape than any of the day's experience, and Kingswell, who had just +relieved Harding at the tiller, forsook the straight course and headed +up the bay. Two hours of brisk sailing brought them to a sheltered +roadstead behind an island and just off a wooded cove. They lowered the +sail and rowed in close to the beach. They built no fire, and spent the +night close to the tide, with their muskets and cutlasses beside them, +and the watch changed every two hours. + +Three days later the voyagers happened upon a ship. They ran close in to +where she lay at anchor, believing her to be English, and did not +discover their mistake until the little tub of a brig opened fire from a +brass cannonade. The first shot went wide, and the _Pelican_ lay off +with a straining sail. The second shot fell short, and that ended the +encounter, for the Frenchmen were too busy fishing to get up anchor and +give chase. + +Old Tom Bent was quite cast down over the incident. "It be the first +time," he said, "that I ever seen a Frencher admiral o' a bay in +Newfoundland. One year I were fishin' in the _Maid o' Bristol_, in Dog's +Harbour, Conception, an', though we was last to drop anchor, an' the +only English ship agin six Frenchers and two Spanishers, by Gad, our +skipper said he were admiral--an', by Gad, so he were." + +But the valorous old mariner did not suggest that they put about and +dispute the admiralty of the little harbour which they had just passed. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION + + +In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly +natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a +bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master +Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three +weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh +until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the +dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the +science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the +malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young +caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was +close upon the end of September when the _Pelican_ again took up her +northward journey. + +Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of +gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the +natives, and he had heard stories of a French sailor having been +wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon +gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the +straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men +shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their +provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent. +So Kingswell headed the _Pelican_ southward. After a week of fair winds, +they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout +little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a +sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three +days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this +unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every +likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the +northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart +of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as +Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired +English helped to keep the company in good spirits. + +It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the +_Pelican_ threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to +the eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not +sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The +drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide. + +Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for +home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed +reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany +finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now +that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur +to him. + +"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us--an' we +are lucky not to be in such dirty company!" + +He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to +Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled +approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as +old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something +to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then--"By God," he cried, +"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty +company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with--with you all," he +finished, lamely. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young seaman with mute indignation +in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly. + +"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted +English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the +seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff +an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if +it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax +cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye." + +"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered +wag of his heavy head. + +Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a +thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further +attention. + +"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell, +cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to +Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the +snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old _Pelican_ right 'round to +St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad +enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the +privateers." + +Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried +venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old +philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone--gone utterly, and +only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood. +What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised. +Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for +their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that +immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery. +So the storm-beaten, wave-weary _Pelican_ turned seaward again. + +Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm +of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of +some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by +the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy +river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears +like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew +it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay +at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came +the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and +slept. They were astir with the first gray lights, and before sunrise +were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost +sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and +fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a +fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark +current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across +their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and +swooped down and away. + +They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles--and hard +pulling it was--when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke +beyond a wooded bend. + +"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe +get killed?" + +He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm. + +"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the +stroke, lads--and, Tom, keep your match handy." + +At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and +peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight. +Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along +its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a +little settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the +chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer +azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small +high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung +like a dead body in the brown current. + +Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he +murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a +reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!" + +"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An' +real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain." + +At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of +the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the +river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little +_Pelican_. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself +and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune, +even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore. + +The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and +his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were +strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady +eyes, and herculean shoulders. They doffed their skin caps to the +gentleman adventurer. + +"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and +two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just +two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off +the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They +agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master +Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced +coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with +sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and +halted near by. + +"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys--father and son." With a +casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company. +He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him +affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John--John +Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He +bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed +individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget, +master mariner," he concluded. + +Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and again shook hands with the +elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few +courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them. +Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each +bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his +face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane. +Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both +were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was +the taller and thinner of the two. + +D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the +others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget +immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand, +as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company. +Ouenwa and the seamen of the _Pelican_, and the Donnellys and young +Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors. + +"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they +crossed the level of frost-seared grass. + +"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my +strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head chief +of this country. His enemies--barking foxes who name themselves +wolves--pulled him down in the night-time." + +The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and +interest. The story was not news to them, however. + +"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure +enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an' +burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when +the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections, +an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was +for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did +for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till +spring, I'm thinkin'." + +"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here +soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder +Donnelly, in guarded tones. + +"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew +plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over." + +Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed +suspiciously. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX + + +Inside the stockade, posted unevenly around three sides of a foot-worn +square, were five buildings of rough logs. From a platform in the +southeast corner two small cannon presented their muzzles to the river. +At the back of this platform, on the southern side of the square, stood +the Donnelly cabin. It was stoutly built, and measured fifteen paces +across the front. Against the western palisade the Trigget cabin and +Captain d'Antons' habitation faced the square. On the north side stood a +fourth dwelling and a small storehouse. In the centre of the yard +bubbled a spring of clear water under a rustic shed. A tiny brook +sparkled away from it, under the stockade and down to the river. The +well was flanked on both sides by a couple of slim birches, now leafless +under the white November sun. + +The visitors were led to the Triggets' cabin, and Skipper Trigget's wife +and daughter--both big, comely women--fed them with the best in the +little plantation. After breakfast, Kingswell and Ouenwa were taken to +D'Antons' quarters. The Frenchman was the spirit of hospitality, and +took blankets and sheets from his own bed to dress their couches. Also +he produced a flask of priceless brandy, from which he and Kingswell +pledged a couple of glasses to the Goddess of Chance. The toast was +D'Antons' suggestion. + +Presently D'Antons excused himself, saying that he had a matter of +business to attend to, and left his guests to their own devices. The +house was divided into two apartments by curtains of caribou hides, +which were hung from one of the low crossbeams of the ceiling. At the +end of each room a fire burned on a roughly built hearth. Two small +windows of clouded glass partially lit the sombre interior. Books in +English, French, and Spanish, a packet of papers, ink and quills, and a +neatly executed drawing of a pinnace under sail lay on a table near one +of the windows. Antlers of stags, decorated quivers and bows, painted +hides, and glossy skins adorned the rough walls. Above the hearth in the +room in which Kingswell and his young companion sat, hung a musket with +a silver inlaid stock, a carved powder-horn, and several knives and +daggers in beaded sheaths. On the floor lay two great, pink-lipped West +Indian shells. A steel head-piece, a breastplate of the same sure metal, +and a heavy sword with a basket hilt hung above D'Antons' bed. + +Kingswell looked over the books on the table. He found that one of them +was a manual of arms, written in the Spanish language; another a work of +navigation, by a Frenchman; a third a weighty thesis on the science and +practice of surgery; and the fourth was a volume as well-loved as +familiar,--Master William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." He took up +this last, and, seating himself with his shoulder to the window, was +soon far away from the failures and daily perils of the wilderness. The +greedy, hard-bitted materialist Present, with its quests of "fish," and +fur, and gold, was replaced by the magic All-Time of the playwright +poet. + +Ouenwa wandered about the room, prying into every nook and corner, and +examining the shells, the arms, and the decorations. He even knelt on +the hearthstone, and, at the risk of setting fire to his hair, tried to +solve the mystery of the chimney--for a fire indoor unaccompanied by a +lodgeful of smoke was a new thing in his experience. He looked +frequently at Kingswell, in the hope of finding him open to questions, +but was always disappointed. At last the thought occurred to him that +it would be a fine thing to get hold of the great sword above the bed, +and make cut, lunge, and parry with it as Kingswell had shown him how to +do on several occasions. So he climbed on to the bed, and, in trying to +clear the sword from its peg, knocked the steel cap ringing to the +floor. Kingswell sprang from his stool, with his arm across his body and +his hand on his sword-hilt, and Master Shakespeare's immortal drama +sprawled at his feet. "Oh, that's all, is it?" he exclaimed, in tones of +relief. "But you must not handle other people's goods, lad," he added, +kindly, "especially a gentleman's arms and armour." + +Ouenwa flushed and apologized, and was about to step from D'Antons' +couch to recover the head-piece, when D'Antons himself entered the +cabin. Kingswell turned to him and explained the accident. + +"My young friend is very sorry," he said, "and would beg your pardon if +he felt less embarrassed. However, captain, I beg it for him. I was so +intent on the affairs of Romeo that I was not watching him. He is +naturally of an investigating turn of mind." + +The Frenchman waved a slim hand and flashed his white teeth. "It is +nothing, nothing," he cried. "I beg you not to mention it again, or +give it another thought. The old pot has sustained many a shrewder whack +than a tumble on the floor. Ah, it has turned blades of Damascus before +now! But enough of this triviality! I have returned to request you to +come with me to our governor. Neither Trigget nor I have mentioned him +to you, as he is not desirous of meeting strangers. But he will make his +own apologies, Master Kingswell." + +He stood aside, for Kingswell and Ouenwa to pass out before him. +Kingswell went first. As Ouenwa crossed the threshold, D'Antons nipped +him sharply by the arm, and hissed, "Dog! Cur!" in a voice so low, so +sinister, that the boy gasped. But in a breath the Frenchman was his +affable self again, and the Beothic, with the invectives still burning +his ears, almost believed that he had been the victim of some evil +magic. Kingswell caught nothing of the incident. + +Ouenwa was requested to wait outside. Master Kingswell was ushered into +the governor's cabin, and D'Antons closed the door behind him. The young +Englishman found himself in a dimly lit apartment very similar to that +which he had just left. He hesitated, a step inside the threshold, and +narrowed his lids in an effort to see more clearly. The Frenchman paused +at his elbow. Two figures advanced from the farther side of the room. +He ventured another step, and bowed with all the grace at his command, +for one of the figures was that of a young woman in flashing raiment. +The other was of a slim, foppishly dressed man of a little past middle +age, with a worn face that somehow retained its air of youthfulness +despite its haggard lines and faded skin. + +"Welcome to our humble retreat, Master Kingswell," said the gentleman, +extending his hand and laughing softly. "This is indeed an unlooked-for +pleasure. We last met, I believe, at Randon Hall--or was it at Beverly?" + +"Sir Ralph Westleigh!" exclaimed Kingswell, in a voice of ill-concealed +consternation and surprise. For a moment he stood in an attitude of +half-recoil. For a moment he hesitated, staring at the other with wide +eyes. Then he caught the waiting hand in a firm grip. + +"Thank you, Sir Ralph. Yes, it was at Beverly that we last met," he +said, evenly. He turned to the girl, who stood beside her father with +downcast eyes and flaming cheeks and throat. The baronet hastened to +make her known to the visitor. + +"My daughter Beatrix," he said. "A good girl, who willingly and +cheerfully shares her worthless father's exile." + +Mistress Westleigh extended a firm and shapely hand, and Kingswell, +bending low above it, intoxicated by the sudden presence of beauty and a +flood of homesick memories, pressed his lips to the slim fingers with a +warmth that startled the lady and brought a flash of anger to D'Antons' +eyes. He recovered himself in an instant. "To see you in this +wilderness--amid these bleak surroundings!" he exclaimed, scarcely above +a whisper. "I cannot realize it, Mistress Beatrix! And once we played at +racquets together in the court at Beverly." + +The girl smiled at him, with a gleam of understanding in her dark, +parti-coloured eyes. + +"I remember," she said. "You have not changed greatly, save in size." +And at that she laughed, with a note of embarrassment. + +"But you have," replied Kingswell. "You were not very beautiful as a +little girl. To me you looked much the same as my own sisters." + +For a second, or less, the maiden's eyes met his with merriment and +questioning in their depths. Then they were lowered. Sir Ralph moved +uneasily. + +"Come, come," he said, "we must not stand here all day, like geese on a +village green. There are seats by the fire." He led the way. "Captain, +if you are not busy I hope you'll stay and hear some of Master +Kingswell's adventures," he added, turning to D'Antons. + +"With pleasure," answered the captain. + +"One moment, sir," said Kingswell to Sir Ralph Westleigh. "I have a +young friend--a sort of ward--whom I left outside. I'll tell him to run +over to the men and amuse himself with them." + +As he opened the door and spoke a few kind words to Ouenwa, there was a +sneer on D'Antons' lips that did not escape Mistress Beatrix Westleigh. +It irritated her beyond measure, and she had all she could do to +restrain herself from slapping him--for hot blood and a fighting spirit +dwelt in that fair body. She wondered how she had once considered him +attractive. She blushed crimson at the thought. + +Kingswell returned and seated himself on a stool between the governor of +the little colony and the maiden. First of all, he told them who Ouenwa +was, and of the time the lad saved him from injury by flooring old +Trowley with his canoe paddle. Then he briefly sketched the voyage of +the _Pelican_, and told something of his interests in the fishing fleet +and in the new land. + +"And you found no indications of gold?" queried D'Antons. + +"None," replied the voyager, "but some splendid copper ore in great +quantities, and one mine of 'fool's gold.'" + +The baronet nodded, with one of his wan smiles. "There are other kinds +of fool's gold than these iron pyrites, I believe," he said, "and one +finds it nearer home than in this God-forsaken--ah--in this wild +country." + +The others understood the reference, and even the polished Frenchman +looked into the fire and had nothing to say. Kingswell studied the +water-bleached toes of his boots, and Beatrix glanced piteously at her +father. For Sir Ralph Westleigh's life had known much of fool's gold, +and much of many another folly, and something of that to which his +acquaintances in Somerset--and, for that matter, in all England--gave a +stronger and less lenient name. The baronet had lived hard; but his +story comes later. + +"I knew nothing of this plantation of yours," said Kingswell, presently. +"I did not know, even, that you were interested in colonization--and yet +you have been here a matter of two years, so Trigget tells me." + +"Yes, and likely to die here--unless I am unearthed," replied Sir Ralph, +bitterly, and with a meaning glance at Kingswell. "I put entire faith in +my friends," he added. "And they are all in this little fort on Gray +Goose River. My undoing lies in their hands." + +"Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, uneasily but stoutly, "I hope your trust +has been extended to me,--yes, and to my men. Your wishes in any matter +of--of silence or the like--are our orders. My fellows are true as +steel. My friends are theirs. The young Beothic would risk his life for +you at a word from me." + +The baronet was visibly affected by this speech. He laid a hand on the +young man's knee and peered into his face. + +"Then you are a friend--out and out?" he inquired. + +"To the death," said the other, huskily. + +"And you have heard? Of course you have heard!" + +"Yes." + +"It is not for me to say 'God bless you' to any man," said Sir Ralph, +"but it's good of you. I feel your kindness more deeply than I can say. +I have forgotten my old trick of making pretty speeches." + +Kingswell blushed uncomfortably and wished that D'Antons, with his +polite, superior, inscrutable smile, was a thousand miles out of sight +of his embarrassment. The girl leaned toward him. But she did not look +at him. "God bless you--my fellow countryman," she whispered, in a voice +so low that he alone caught the words. He had no answer to make to that +unexpected reward. For a little they maintained a painful silence. It +was broken by the Frenchman. + +"You understand, Master Kingswell, that, for certain reasons, it is +advisable that the place of Sir Ralph Westleigh's retreat be kept from +the knowledge of every one save ourselves," he said, slowly and easily. + +"I understand," replied Kingswell, shortly. Captain d'Antons jarred on +him, despite all his faultless and affable manners. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER + + +About mid-afternoon of the day of Kingswell's advent into the settlement +on Gray Goose River--Fort Beatrix it was called--the sky clouded, the +voice of the river thinned and saddened, and snow began to fall. By +Trigget's advice--and Trigget seemed to be the working head of the +plantation--the pelts and gear of the _Pelican_ were removed to the +storehouse. + +"Ye must winter in Newfoundland, sir, however the idea affects your +plans, for no more ships will be sailing home this season; and ye +couldn't make it in your bully," said the hospitable skipper. + +"We might work 'round to St. John's," replied Kingswell. + +Trigget shook his head. "This be the safer place o' the two," he +answered, "and your Honour's company here will help keep Sir Ralph out +o' his black moods. He wants ye to stay, I know. There'll be work and to +spare for your men, what with cuttin' fuel, and huntin' game, and +boat-buildin'." + +So Kingswell decided that, if this should prove the real setting-in of +winter, and if no objections were raised by any of the pioneers, he +would share the colony's fortunes until the following spring. D'Antons +expressed himself as charmed with the decision; but, for all that, +Kingswell saw, by deeper and finer signs than most people would credit +him with the ability to read, that his presence was really far from +agreeable to the French adventurer. + +When night closed about the little settlement, the snow was still +falling, and ground and roofs shone with bleak radiance through the veil +of darkness. The flakes of the storm were small and dry, and unstirred +by any wind. They wove a curtain of silence over the unprotesting +wilderness. + +Kingswell and Ouenwa supped with the Westleighs. But before the meal, +and before Mistress Beatrix appeared from her little chamber, the two +gentlemen had an hour of private conversation. + +"This Captain d'Antons--what of him?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He is none of our choosing," replied the baronet. "Several years ago, +before I had quite given up the old life and the old show, I met him in +London. He was reported rich. He had sailed many voyages to the West +Indies, and talked of lands granted to him in New France. I had sold +Beverly, and Beatrix was with me in town. She was little more than a +child, but her looks attracted a deal of attention. She had nothing +else, as all the town knew, with her father a ruined gamester, and her +dead mother's property gone, with Randon Hall and Beverly! Dear God, but +here was a dower for a beautiful lass! Well, the poets made a song or +two, and three old men were for paying titles and places for her little +hand--and then the end came. We won back to Somerset, spur and whip, +lashed along by fear. We hid about, in this cottage and that, while my +trusted friend Trigget provisioned his little craft and got together all +the folk whom you see here, save D'Antons. After a rough and tiring +voyage of three weeks' duration, and just when we were looking out for +land, we were met by a French frigate, and forced to haul our wind. A +boat-load of armed men left the pirate--yes, that's what she was, a damn +pirate--and there was Captain d'Antons seated in the stern-sheets of +her, beside the mate. He had not been as long at sea as we had, and he +knew all about my trouble, curse him! He left the frigate, which he said +was bound on a peaceful voyage of discovery to the West Indies, and +joined our expedition. I could not forbid it. I was at his mercy, with +his cutthroats alongside and the gallows at the back of it. He has hung +to us ever since; and he has acted civil enough, damn him. If he'd show +his hoof now and again, I'd like it better--for then we would all be on +our guard." + +"But why does he stay? Why does he live in this place when he might be +reaping the harvests common to such husbandmen?" inquired Kingswell. +"Has he a stake in the colony?" + +The baronet gazed reflectively at the young man. "The fellow has kept my +secret, and shared our rough lot and dreary exile, and even expended +some money on provisions," he replied, deliberately, "for no other +reason than that he is in love with my daughter." + +"He! A buccaneer!" exclaimed Kingswell, warmly. + +"Even so," answered the baronet. "There, on the high seas, when he had +us all in his clutch, when he might have seized by force that for which +he now sues, he accepted my word of honour--mark you, he accepted what I +had scarce the face to offer--that I would not withstand his suit, nor +allow my men to do him any treasonable hurt so long as he kept my +hiding-place secret and behaved like a gentleman." + +"And Mistress Beatrix?" asked the young man, softly. + +"Ah, who can say?" responded the broken baronet. "At one time I feared +that he was appearing as a hero to her. But I do not know. He played his +game cleverly at first, but now he is losing patience. I would to God +that he would lose it altogether. Then the compact would be broken. But +no, he is cautious. He knows that, at a word from the girl, my sword +would be out. Then things would go hard with him, even though he should +kill me, for my men hate him." + +"Why not pick a quarrel with him?" asked the headstrong Kingswell. + +"You do not understand--you cannot understand--how delicate a thing to +keep is the word of honour of a man who is branded as being without +honour," replied the other, sadly. + +"And should Mistress Beatrix flout him," said Kingswell, "he would find +his revenge in reporting your whereabouts to the garrison at St. +John's." + +"He is well watched," said Sir Ralph, "and this is not an easy place to +escape from, even in summer. We are hidden, up here, and not so much as +a fishing-ship has sighted us in the two years." + +"I'll wager that he'd find a way past your vigilance if he set his mind +to it," retorted Kingswell. "Gad, but it maddens me to think of being +billeted under the roof of such an aspiring rogue! Rip me, but it's a +monstrous sin that a lady should be plagued, and a whole body of +Englishmen menaced, by a buccaneering adventurer." + +"My boy," replied Sir Ralph, wearily, "you must curb your indignation, +even as the rest of us do. Discretion is the card to play just now. I +have been holding the game with it for over two years. Who knows but +that Time may shuffle the pack before long?" + +Just then Mistress Beatrix joined them. She wore one of the gay +gowns--in truth somewhat enlarged and remodelled--by which her girlish +beauty had been abetted and set off in England. There seemed a +brightness and shimmer all about her. The coils of her dark hair were +bright. The changing eyes were bright. The lips, the round neck and +dainty throat, the buckled shoes, and even the material of bodice and +skirt were radiant in the gloom and firelight of that rough chamber. To +all appearances, her mood was as bright as her beauty. Sir Ralph watched +her with adoring eyes, realizing her bravery. Kingswell joined in her +gay chatter, and found it easy to be merry. Ouenwa, silent on the corner +of the bench by the hearth, gazed at this vision of loveliness with +wide eyes. He could realize, without effort, that Sir Ralph and D'Antons +and even his glorious Kingswell were men, even as Tom Bent, and the +Triggets, and Black Feather were, but that Mistress Beatrix was a +woman--a woman, as were William Trigget's wife and daughter, and Black +Feather's squaw--no, he could not believe it! He was even surprised to +note a resemblance to other females in the number of her hands and feet. +She had, most assuredly, two hands and two feet. Also she had one head. +But how different in quality, though similar in number, were the members +of this flashing young divinity. + +"I left Montaw's lodge to behold the wonders of the world," mused the +dazzled child of the wilderness, "and already, without crossing the +great salt water, I have found the surpassing wonder. Can it be that any +more such beings exist? Has even Master Kingswell ever before looked +upon such beauty and such raiment?" + +His spellbound gaze was met by the eyes of the enchantress. To his +amazement, the lady moved from her father's side and seated herself on +the bench. + +"You are so quiet," she said, "that I did not notice you before. So you +are Master Kingswell's ward?" + +Her voice was very kind and cheerful, and her silks brushed the lad's +hand. He looked at the finery uneasily, but did not answer her question. + +"You told us he knew English," she said to Kingswell. + +"He does," replied the young man. Then, to the boy: "Ouenwa, Mistress +Westleigh wants to know if you are my friend." + +"Yes," said the lad. "Good friend." + +"And my friend, too?" asked the girl. + +"Yes," replied Ouenwa. "You look so--so--like he called the sky one +morning." He pointed at Master Kingswell. + +"What was that?" she queried. + +"What morning?" asked Kingswell, leaning forward and smiling. + +"Five mornings ago, chief," replied Ouenwa. + +Kingswell laughed. "You are right, lad," he said. + +"But tell me what you called the sky, sir. Really, this is very +provoking. No doubt the boy thinks I look a fright," said Miss +Westleigh. + +"Beatrix," interrupted Sir Ralph, "surely I see Kate with the candles." + +The girl could not deny it, for the table was spread in the same +room,--a rough, square table with a damask cloth, and laid out with a +fair show of silver, decanters, and a great venison pasty, which had +been cooked in the Triggets' kitchen across the yard. + +The meal was a delightful one to Kingswell. He had not eaten off china +dishes for many months. The food, though plain, was well cooked and well +served. The wines were as nectar to his eager palate. And over it all +was the magic of Mistress Westleigh's presence--potent magic enough to a +young gentleman who had almost forgotten the looks and ways of the women +of his own kind. Ouenwa sat as one in a dream, fairly stupefied by the +gleam of silver and linen under the soft light of the candles. He ate +painfully and slowly, imitating Kingswell. He looked often at the +vivacious hostess. Suddenly he exclaimed: "I remember. Yes, it was +lovely beautiful, what the chief said!" Kingswell laughed delightedly, +and the baronet joined, with reserve, in the mirth. The girl looked +puzzled for a moment,--then confused,--then, with a little, +indescribable cry of merriment, she patted Ouenwa's shoulder. + +"Charming lad!" she exclaimed. "I have not received so pretty a +compliment for, oh, ever so long." She looked across the table at +Kingswell, feeling his gaze upon her. His eyes were very grave, and +darkened with thought, though his lips were still smiling. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MEDITATION AND ACTION + + +For hours after retiring Kingswell lay awake, reviewing, in his restless +brain, the incidents of that crowded day. His couch was luxurious, +compared to the resting-places he had known since leaving the _Heart of +the West_; but, for all that, sleep evaded him. From the other side of +the hearth Ouenwa's deep and regular breathing reached his alert ears. +He saw the yellow light blink to darkness above the curtain of skins, +when D'Antons extinguished his candle in the other apartment. The red +firelight rose and fell, dwindled and flooded high. The core of it +contracted and expanded, and a straight log across the middle of the +glow was like a heavy eyelid. It was like something alive--like +something stirring between sleeping and waking, desiring sleep, yet +afraid to forsake a vigil. To the restless explorer beside the hearth it +suggested a drowsy servitor nodding and starting in a deserted hall. +"What is it waiting for?" he wondered, and smiled at the conceit. "What +does it fear? Mayhap the master and mistress are late at a rout, and are +people without consideration for the feelings of their servants." + +From such harmless imagery his mind slipped to the less pleasant subject +of Sir Ralph Westleigh. He recalled what he had seen and heard of the +days of the baronet's glory--of the great places near Bristol, with +their stables that were the envy of dukes, and their routs that lured +people weary and dangerous journeys--of the famous Lady Westleigh and +her jewels--of Sir Ralph's kindliness to great and small alike. His own +father, the merchant-knight of Bristol, had held the baronet in high +esteem. Bernard himself, when a child, and later when a well-grown lad, +had experienced the hospitality of Randon Hall and Beverly. At the time +of his last visit to Beverly, rumour was busy with the baronet's +affairs. During Lady Westleigh's life, all had gone well, apparently. +After her death, Sir Ralph spent less of his time at home, and more of +it in distant London, and even in Paris. Stories went abroad of his +heavy gaming and his ruinous bad luck. People said the love of the dice +and the cards had settled in the man like a disease, working on him +physically to such an extent that he looked a different person when the +heat of the play was on him. Also it played the devil with him +morally--and perhaps mentally. So things took the turn and started +down-hill. Then the run was short and mad, despite warnings of friends, +threats of relatives, and the baronet's own numerous clever checks and +parries to avoid disaster. There was a season of hope after the sale of +Randon. But the lurid clouds gathered again. Then Beverly was +impoverished to the last oak and the last horse in the stud. The baronet +took his daughter to town, and, by a turn of luck, put in a few merry +months. Then a certain Scotch viscount caught him playing as no +gentleman, no matter how dissolute, is supposed to play. The Scotchman +made a clamour, and was killed for his trouble. That was the last known +of Sir Ralph Westleigh and his daughter by any one of the outside world +until the _Pelican_ landed her voyagers before the stockade of Fort +Beatrix on Gray Goose River. + +All these matters employed Kingswell's thoughts as he lay awake in +Captain d'Antons' cabin and watched the fire on the rough hearth fall +lower and lower. Pity for the young girl, who had been born and bred to +such a different heritage, pained and fretted him more keenly than a +personal loss. The discomfort of it was almost as if his conscience were +accusing him of disloyalty to a friend, though that was absurd, as +neither he nor his had helped Westleigh in his descent, nor cried out +against him when he met disaster at the bottom. But he had never, during +those two years after their disappearance, given them more than a +passing thought--and they had been friends and neighbours. He had +experienced no pity for the young and beautiful girl with whom he had +played in the racquet court at Beverly. Like the great world of which he +was so insignificant a part, he had forgotten. Two lives, more or less, +were of no consequence in such stirring times. He groaned, as if the +realization of a great sin had come to him. Then, to the anger against +himself was added anger against the world that had dragged Sir Ralph +into this oblivion of dishonour, and the innocent girl into exile. What +had she done to be driven beyond the bounds of civilization, her safety +dependent on the whims of a French buccaneer? Ah, there was the raw +spot, sure enough! In the little space of time between two risings of +the sun, Kingswell had met a man and marked him for an enemy. Nursing a +bitter, though somewhat muddled, resentment, he at last fell asleep, +guarded from storm and frost by the roof of the very man who had +inspired his anger. + +For the next few days matters went smoothly at Fort Beatrix. It was +evident to even the least experienced of the settlers that the winter +had come to stay. The snow lay deep and dry over the frozen earth. The +river was already hidden under a skin of gleaming ice, made opaque by +the snow that had mingled with the water while it was freezing. The +little settlement took up the routine of the dreary months. Axes were +sharpened at the great stone in the well-house. The men donned moccasins +of deerskin. They tied ingenious racquets, or snow-shoes, to their feet +and tramped into the sombre forests. All day the thud, thud of the axes +jarred across the air, interrupted ever and anon by the rending, +splitting lament of some falling tree. + +Kingswell put his men under William Trigget's orders, and he and Ouenwa +spent much of their time with the choppers. Also, they journeyed with +the trappers. Captain d'Antons, who was a skilled and tireless woodsman, +led them on many weary marches in quest of game and fur. Most of the +caribou had travelled southward, in herds of from ten to one hundred +head, at the approach of winter; but a few remained in the sheltered +valleys. Fortunately the settlers were familiar with the habits of the +deer, and had laid in a supply of dried venison during the summer. +However, whenever the hunters managed to make a kill, the fresh meat +was enthusiastically received at the fort. Hares and grouse were snared, +as were foxes and other small animals. A few wolves and one or two +wildcats were shot. The bears were all tucked safely away in their +winter quarters, and the beavers were frozen into theirs. On the whole, +the hunters had a hard time of it, and no great reward for their toil. +But it was work that kept both their brains and sinews employed, and so +was of a deal more worth than the bare value of the pelts and dinners it +supplied. + +One day in early December, when Kingswell, D'Antons, the younger +Donnelly, and Ouenwa were traversing a drifted expanse of "barren," +marching in single file and without undue noise, they came upon another +trail of racquet prints. They halted. They regarded this unexpected +evidence of the proximity of their fellow man with misgivings--for snow +had fallen in abundance, and therefore the trail was new. They glanced +uneasily about them, scanning clumps of spruce and fir and mounds of +snow-drifted rock with anxious eyes. They strained their ears for some +warning sound--or for the twanging of bowstrings. They saw nothing. They +heard nothing but the disconsolate chirping of a moose-bird in a +thicket close at hand. D'Antons lowered his gaze to the trail. + +"From the westward, and heading for the river," he said. "Then they are +not from the village on Gander Lake." + +"Big number," remarked Ouenwa. "Ten, twenty, thirty--don't know how +much! Whole camp, I think." + +"Ay," agreed Donnelly, "they sure has packed clear down through two +falls o' snow. Ye could trot a pony along the pat' they has made." + +"Are you on friendly terms with the savages?" inquired Kingswell of +Captain d'Antons. The Frenchman smiled uncheerfully and shrugged his +lean shoulders. He was not one to speak unconsidered words. + +"Yes, we are on friendly terms with the people from Gander Lake," he +replied, presently. "That is, we have traded with them a number of +times, and have exchanged gifts with their chief, and through him with +old Soft Hand. But Soft Hand is dead now; and these fellows are +evidently from the West. Also, friendship means nothing where these +vermin are concerned. Treachery is as the breath of life to them." + +"Panounia," whispered Ouenwa, excitedly. "Panounia no good for friend. +He is a murderer. He is a false chief. He make trade--yes, with +war-arrows from the bushes and with knives in the dark. In friendship +his hand is under his robe, and his fingers are on the hilt of his +knife. Evil warms itself at his heart like an old witch at a fire." + +D'Antons smiled thinly at the lad. "There is a time for all things," he +said--"a time for oratory and another time for action. If you are +willing, Master Kingswell, let us now retrace our steps as swiftly and +quietly as may be. It would be wise to warn the fort that a band of the +sly devils is abroad." + +Ouenwa glanced uncertainly at the speaker and flushed darkly. Kingswell +intimated his willingness to return immediately to Fort Beatrix by a +curt nod. It was in his heart to administer a kick to Captain Pierre +d'Antons, though just why the desire he could not say. They turned in +their tracks and started back along the twisting, seven-mile trail. +D'Antons led; and the pace he set was a stiff one. Mile after mile was +passed, with no other sound save those of padding racquet and toiling +breath. In the hollows their shoulders brushed the snow from the +crowding spruce-fronds. Going over the knolls, they crouched low, and +scanned the horizon with alert eyes as they ran. + +At last, all but breathless from the prolonged exertion, the hunters +turned aside from the path and ascended the gradual, heavily wooded side +of a hill which overlooked the fort from the south. They crossed the +naked summit with painful caution, bending double, and taking every +advantage of the sheltering thickets. + +"The choppers are inside," whispered D'Antons to Kingswell, as they +peered furtively out between the snow-weighted branches. "See! And the +savages are in cover along the river." It was quite evident to Kingswell +that the place had been attacked, and was now in a state of siege. The +platform in the southeast corner of the stockade was protected by +shields composed of bundles of firewood. Men whom he recognized as those +who had been working in the woods earlier in the day moved about within +the enclosure. The wide, snow-covered clearing that had been so spotless +when he had last seen it was trampled and stained here and there by dark +patches. Along the fringe of timber that shut the river from the +clearing, and extended to within a dozen paces of the southeast corner +of the stockade, a Beothic warrior would frequently show himself for a +moment, hoot derisively, and let fly a harmless shaft. Presently the +watchers on the knoll saw the head and shoulders of William Trigget +above the shield of the gun-platform. The master mariner shaded his eyes +with his hand and seemed to be scanning the woods along the river and +then the timber in which his own comrades were concealed. He lowered his +hand and ducked quickly--and not a second too soon; for a flight of +arrows rattled against his stronghold, a few stuck, quivering, into the +pickets of the stockade, and many fell within the fort. + +Kingswell turned to D'Antons. "More of them than we thought," he said. +"There must have been a hundred arrows in that volley." + +Captain d'Antons nodded with a preoccupied air. He did not look at his +companion, and his brow was puckered in lines of thought. If the +Englishman had been able to read the other's mind at that moment, a deal +of future trouble would have been spared him. However, as Kingswell was +but an adventurous, keen-witted young man, with no superhuman powers, he +was content with the Frenchman's nod, and returned his attentions to the +fort. + +Suddenly, from the screen of faggots above which Trigget had so lately +exposed his head, burst a flash of yellow flame, a spurt of white smoke, +and a clapping bulk of sound. The stockade shook. A spruce-tree shook in +the wood by the river, and cries of fear and consternation rang across +the frosty air. A score of savages darted from their cover and as +quickly sped back again. Flight after flight of arrows broke away and +tested every inch of surface of Trigget's shelter. Then, with shrill +screams and mad yells of defiance, the whole party of Beothics emerged +into the clearing and dashed for the palisade. They drew their bows as +they ran, and some hurled clubs and spears. In front, with red feathers +in his hair and his right arm bandaged across his breast, Panounia +shouted encouragement and led the charge. They were half-way across the +open when the second cannon spat forth its message of hate. The ball +passed low over the advancing mass and plunged into the timber beyond. +For a second or two, the attackers wavered, a few turned back, then they +continued their valorous onset. They were already springing at the +palisade when the muskets crashed in their faces from half a dozen +loopholes. This volley was followed immediately by another. The savages +dropped back from their futile leapings against the fortification, hung +on their heels for a moment, clamorous and undecided, and then broke for +cover. They dragged their dead and wounded with them, and left +sanguinary trails on the snow. They were within a few yards of the +sheltering trees when one of the little cannon banged again. The ball +cut across the mass of crowded warriors like a string through cheese. + +"Now is our time!" exclaimed Kingswell. "Run for the gate, lads." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE + + +The returning hunters were promptly admitted to the fort. The little +garrison welcomed them joyfully. The West Country sailors were, for the +moment, cordial even toward D'Antons, whom they usually ignored. The +party had taken a hundred chances with death in the crossing of the +narrow clearing. Arrows had followed them from the fringe of wood along +the river, like bees from an overturned hive. Ouenwa's left arm had been +scratched. D'Antons' fur cap had been torn from his head, pierced +through and through. A hail of missiles had clattered against the gate +as the good timbers swung to behind them. Cries of rage and chagrin, in +which Ouenwa's name was repeated many times, rang from the retreat of +the defeated warriors. The garrison answered with cheers. Ouenwa's +shrill voice carried clear above the tumult, lifted in Beothic insults. + +Sir Ralph himself was in command of the imperilled fortress. The +excitement had stirred him out of his customary gloom. His eyes were +bright, and his cheeks flew a patch of colour. His sword was at his +side, and he held a musket in his hand. + +"That was their third attempt to get over the stockade," he said to +Kingswell and D'Antons. "They are filled with the very devil to-day. But +I scarcely think that they will come back for more, now that Trigget has +got his growlers into working order." + +"How did it begin?" asked the Frenchman. + +"Why, about three score of them marched up and said they wanted to come +in and trade," replied the baronet, "but, as they seemed to have nothing +to trade save their bows and spears, Trigget warned them off. Then they +went out on the river and began chopping up the _Red Rose_ and the +_Pelican_. At that we let off a musket, and they retired to cover, from +which they soon emerged with reinforcements and tried to carry the place +by weight of numbers." + +"Hark," said the Frenchman. "What is that they are yelling?" + +"My name," replied Ouenwa. "They are my enemies." + +"Ah, and so it is our privilege to fight this gentleman's battles for +him," remarked D'Antons, with an exaggerated bow to the lad. "Perhaps +this is the explanation of the attack." + +"I think not," answered Kingswell, crisply. "They are surprised at +discovering him here. Also they are surprised and displeased at seeing +me again. They have smelled our powder before, as you have heard, I +think." + +"Yes, I have heard the heroic tale, monsieur," replied the captain, +smiling his thin, one-sided, Continental smile. + +The blood mounted in Kingswell's cheek. He turned on his heel without +any further words. Ouenwa followed him to the Trigget cabin, whence he +was bound for something to eat. + +Panounia and his braves retreated across the frozen river, and did not +show themselves again that day. In the fort every musket was loaded, the +improvised gun-shields were repaired and strengthened, and the guns were +again got ready for action. In place of round shot, William Trigget +charged them with scrap-iron and slugs of lead. + +"When ye has a lot o' mowin' to do in a short time, cut a wide swath," +he remarked to Tom Bent. + +"Ay, sir," replied Kingswell's boatswain, turning a hawk-like eye on the +dark edges of the forest. "Ay, sir, cut a wide swath, an' let the devil +make the hay. It be mun's own crop." + +At the time of the hunters' return, Mistress Beatrix was looking from +the doorway of her father's cabin. Now she knelt in her own chamber, +sobbing quietly, with her face buried in her hands. All the bitterness +and insecurity of her position had come to her with overmastering force. +The sight of Captain d'Antons' thin face and uncovered, bedraggled hair, +as he leaned on his musket and talked with her father and the young +Englishman, had melted the courage in her heart. She prayed confusedly, +half her thoughts with the petitions which she made to her God, and half +with the desperate state of her affairs and the features and attitude of +the buccaneer. + +She was disturbed by some one entering the outer room. She recognized +the footsteps as those of Sir Ralph. She got up from her knees, bathed +her face and eyes, touched her hair to order with skilful fingers, and +opened the door of her chamber. The baronet looked up at the sound. + +"Ah, lass," he said, "we've driven the rascals off. They have crossed +the river." + +With that he fell again to his slow pacing of the room. + +"I do not fear the savages," she cried. "Oh, I do think their knives and +arrows would be welcome." + +"Poor child! poor little lass!" he said, pausing beside her and kissing +her tenderly. "You have been weeping," he added, concernedly. "But +courage, dear. The fellow is harmless for five long months to come. His +fangs are as good as filed, shut off here and surrounded by the snow and +the savages." + +Evidently the sight of his daughter's distress had dimmed the finer +conception of his promise to D'Antons. He looked about him uneasily and +sighed. + +She laid her face against his coat and held tight to his sleeves. + +"I hate him," she whispered. "Oh, my father, I hate him for my own sake +as much as I fear him for yours. His every covert glance, his every open +attention, stings me like a whip. And yet, out of fear, I must smile and +simper, and play the hypocrite." + +"No--by God!" exclaimed Westleigh, trembling with emotion. Then, more +quietly, "Beatrix, I cannot wear this mask any longer. The fellow is +hateful to me. I despise him. How such a creation of the devil's can +love you so unswervingly is more than I can fathom. I would rather see +you dead than married to him. There--I have broken my word again! Let me +go." + +He freed himself from the girl's hands, caught up his hat and cloak, +and left the cabin. He crossed over to the well-house, where some of the +men were grinding axes and cutlasses, and joined feverishly in their +simple talk of work, and battle, and adventure. Their honest faces and +homely language drove a little of the bitterness of his shame from him. +Presently Kingswell and Ouenwa joined the group about the complaining +grindstone. + +"Come," said Sir Ralph, "and look at the cannon." + +He plucked Kingswell by the sleeve. Ouenwa followed them. All three +ascended the little platform on which the guns were mounted, by way of a +short ladder. The pieces, ready loaded, were snugly covered with +tarpaulins that could be snatched off in a turn of the hand. + +"A worthy fellow is William Trigget," remarked the baronet. "Ay, he is +true as steel." + +He laid a caressing hand on the breech of one of the little cannon. "I +would trust him, yea, and his good fellows, with anything I possess," he +said, "as readily as I trust these growlers to his care." + +Just then Ouenwa pointed northward to the wooded bluff that cut into the +white valley and hid the settlement from the lower reaches of the river. +From beyond the point, moving slowly and unsteadily, appeared a +solitary human figure. Its course lay well out on the level floor of the +stream, and the forest growth along the shore did not conceal it from +the watchers. It approached uncertainly, as if without a definite goal, +and, when within a few hundred yards of the fort, staggered and fell +prone. + +"What the devil does it mean?" cried Sir Ralph. + +Kingswell shook his head, and questioned Ouenwa. The lad continued to +gaze out across the open. The sun was low over the western hills, and +its light was red on the snow. + +"Hurt," he said, presently. "Maybe starved. He is not of Panounia's +band." + +"How do you know that, lad?" asked the baronet. + +"I know," replied the boy. "He is a hunter. He is not of the war-party. +He is from the salt water." + +"He is usually right when he maintains that a thing is so, without being +able to give a reason for it," said Kingswell, quietly. "And, if he is, +it seems a pity to let the man die out there under our very eyes." + +"God knows I do not want any one to suffer," said the baronet, "but may +it not be a trick of this Panounia's, or whatever you call him?" + +"No trick," replied Ouenwa; and, without so much as "by your leave," he +vaulted over the breastwork of faggots and landed lightly on the snow +outside the stockade. Without a moment's hesitation, Kingswell followed. +Together they started toward the still figure out on the river, at a +brisk run. They had reached the bank before Sir Ralph recovered from his +astonishment. He quickly descended to the square, and, without +attracting any attention, informed William Trigget of what had happened. +Trigget and his son immediately ascended to the guns and drew off their +tarpaulins. "We'll cover the retreat, sir," said the mariner. They saw +their reckless comrades bend over the prostrate stranger. Then Kingswell +lifted the apparently lifeless body and started back at a jog trot. +Ouenwa lagged behind, with his head continually over his shoulder. The +elder Trigget swore a great oath, and smacked a knotty fist into a +leathern palm. + +"Them's well-plucked uns," he added. + +The baronet and John Trigget agreed silently. They were too intent on +the approach of the rescuers to speak. Also, they kept a keen outlook +along the woods on the farther shore. But the enemy made no sign; and +Kingswell, Ouenwa, and the unconscious stranger reached the stockade in +safety. The stranger proved to be none other than Black Feather, the +stalwart and kindly brave who had built his lodge beside the old +arrow-maker's, above Wigwam Harbour, in the days of peace. He was +carried into Trigget's cabin and dosed with French brandy until he +opened his eyes. He looked about him blankly for a second or two, and +then his lids fluttered down again. He had not recognized either +Kingswell or Ouenwa. + +"Oh, the poor lad, the poor lad," cried Dame Trigget. "Whatever has mun +been a-doin' now, to get so distressin' scrawny? An' a fine figger, too, +though he be a heathen, without a manner o' doubt." + +"Never mind his religious beliefs, dame, but get some of your good +venison broth inside of him," said Master Kingswell. "That's a treatment +that would surely convert any number of heathen." + +While they were clustered about Black Feather's couch, D'Antons entered. +He peered over Dame Trigget's ample shoulders and looked considerably +surprised at finding an unconscious, emaciated Beothic the centre of +attraction. + +"What's this?" he asked. "A tragedy or a comedy?" + +His tone was sour, and too bantering for the occasion. + +The baronet turned on him with an expression of mouth and eye that did +not pass unnoticed by the little group. + +"Certainly not a comedy, monsieur," he replied, coldly; "and we hope it +will not prove a tragedy." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING + + +Meals were not served in Captain d'Antons' cabin. The little settlement +possessed but one servant among all its workers, and that one was Maggie +Stone, Mistress Westleigh's old nurse. The care of Sir Ralph's +establishment was all she could attend to. So the men who had no +women-folk of their own to cook for them were fed by Dame Trigget and +her sturdy daughter Joyce, or by the Donnelly women. Kingswell and +D'Antons took their meals at Dame Trigget's table, and were served by +themselves, with every mark of respect. Ouenwa, Tom Bent, Harding, and +Clotworthy shared the Donnellys' board. + +A few hours after Black Feather's rescue, Kingswell and D'Antons sat +opposite one another at a small table near the hearth of the Triggets' +living-room. A stew of venison and a bottle of French wine stood between +them. D'Antons took up the bottle, and made as if to fill the other's +glass. + +"One moment," said Kingswell, raising his hand. + +The Frenchman looked at him keenly and set down the vintage. The +Englishman leaned forward. + +"Captain d'Antons," he said, scarce above a whisper, "a remark that you +made to-day seemed to imply that you considered me a braggart. Your +remark was in reference to the brushes between the _Pelican_ and a party +of natives during our cruise from the North. Before I take wine with you +to-night, I want you to either withdraw or explain your implication." + +While Kingswell spoke, the other's eyes flashed and calmed again. Now +his dark face wore an even look of puzzled inquiry. His fine eyes, clear +now of the expression of cynicism which so often marred them, held the +Englishman's without any sign of either embarrassment or anger. His hand +returned to the neck of the bottle and lingered there. Lord, but the +drama lost an exceptionally fine interpreter when the high seas claimed +Pierre d'Antons! The thin, clean-shaven lips trembled--or was it the +wavering of the candle-light? + +"My friend," he said, softly, "how unfortunate am I in my stupidity--in +my blundering use of the English language. Whatever my words were, when +I spoke of having already heard of your fights with the savages, my +meaning was such that no one would take exception to. Did I use the word +heroic, monsieur? Then heroic, noble, was what I meant. An Englishman +would have made use of a smaller, a simpler word, perhaps; or would have +refrained from any display of admiration. Ah, I am unfortunate in my +heritage of French and Spanish blood--the blood that is outspoken both +for praise and blame." + +Poor, honest Kingswell was shaken with conflicting emotions. His heart +told him the man was lying. His eyes assured him that he had been +grievously mistaken, not only in the matter of the remark concerning the +skirmishes with the Beothics, but in his whole opinion of the Frenchman. +His blood surged to his head, and whispered that he was a young fool to +be hoodwinked so easily. His brain was sadly uncertain. A twinge of pity +for the handsome adventurer--for the love-struck buccaneer--went through +him. But it faded at remembrance of Sir Ralph's story. He knew the +fellow was playing with him. + +"Wine, monsieur?" inquired D'Antons, softly, with a smile of infinite +sweetness and shy persuasion. + +With a mumbled apology, the young Englishman pushed forward his glass, +and the red wine swam to the brim. And all the while he was inwardly +cursing his own weakness and the other's strength. He had not the +courage to meet the Frenchman's look when they raised their glasses and +clinked them across the table. Lord, what a calf he was! + +Had he no will of his own? Did he possess neither knowledge of men nor +mother wit? Ah, but he rated himself pitilessly as he bent his flushed +face over his plate of stew. + +When the meal was finished, Kingswell returned to Black Feather's couch, +and D'Antons went over to his own cabin. By this time Black Feather had +recovered consciousness and swallowed some of Dame Trigget's broth; +also, he had recognized Ouenwa and murmured a few words to the lad in +his own tongue. But, beyond that, he was too weak to disclose anything +of what had happened in Wigwam Harbour after the slaying of Soft Hand. +He lay very still, apparently lifeless, except for his quick, bright +eyes, which moved restlessly in questioning scrutiny of the strange +women and bearded men who sat about the room. Ouenwa held one of the +transparent hands and smiled assuringly. + +For half an hour Kingswell sat beside the man he had rescued so +courageously from death by starvation. Then, feeling the heat of the +room and the confusion of his thoughts too much to entertain calmly, he +went out into the cold and darkness and paced up and down. All +unknowing, he kicked the snow viciously every step. He was still in a +perturbed state of mind and temper when William Trigget approached him +through the gloom and touched his elbow. + +"Askin' your pardon, master," he said, standing close, "but what of that +Injun in there? Be he really sick, or be he playing a game?" + +"He is surely sick, and he is just as surely not playing a game," +replied Kingswell. "But why do you ask? The fellow is a friend of +Ouenwa's, and was one of old Soft Hand's warriors." + +"Ay, sir, but maybe mun has changed his coat," said Trigget, "an' has +shammed sick just to get carried inside the fort. There be something +goin' on outside, for certain." + +"What?" asked the other. + +Then Trigget told how he had been startled, while standing under the +gun-platform, by a sound of scrambling outside the stockade. He had +crawled noiselessly up the ladder and looked over the breastworks about +the guns. He had been able to distinguish something darker than the +surrounding darkness crouched against the palisade under him. The thing +had moved cautiously. He had detached a faggot from one of the bundles +beside him, for lack of a better weapon, and had hurled it down at the +black form. There had sounded a stifled cry, and the thing had vanished +in the night. + +"It were one o' they savages, I know," concluded Trigget. + +Kingswell forgot his personal grievance in the face of this menace from +the hidden enemy. + +"The guards should be doubled," he said. "But come, we must let Sir +Ralph know of it." + +They crossed the yard to the baronet's cabin and knocked on the door. +Maggie Stone admitted them to the outer room, where Sir Ralph and +Mistress Beatrix were seated, the girl reading aloud to her father by +the light of one poor candle. But the great fire on the hearth had the +place fairly illuminated. + +William Trigget, undismayed by fog and bad weather, cool in any risk of +land or sea, was too abashed at the presence of the lady to tell his +story. So Master Kingswell told it for him. + +"The guards must be doubled," said Sir Ralph. + +"They be that already, sir," replied Trigget, breaking the spell of the +bright eyes that surveyed him. + +"That is well," answered the baronet. "There is nothing else to be done, +at least until morning, but sleep light and keep your muskets handy." + +Kingswell and the master mariner returned to the darkness without. + +"I will stake my word," said Kingswell, "that the place is surrounded by +the devils even now, and that they will try again to get a man over the +wall to unbar the gates." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE HIDDEN MENACE + + +Neither Kingswell nor Trigget found time for sleep that night. D'Antons +also kept awake, though he spent only a few hours out-of-doors. His +candle burned until daylight. Ouenwa experienced a restless night beside +Black Feather's couch. From ten o'clock until two Tom Bent, John +Trigget, and the younger Donnelly were on guard, with cutlasses on their +hips and half-pikes in their hands--for a musket would have proved but +an unsatisfactory weapon to a man engaged in a sudden scuffle in the +dark. One man was placed on the gun-platform, another at the gate, and a +third on the roof of the storehouse. Kingswell and William Trigget moved +continually from one point to another. At two o'clock the elder +Donnelly, Clotworthy, and Harding relieved their companions. But the two +officers remained at their self-imposed duty. + +At last dawn outlined the eastern horizon. Kingswell, who had been +pacing the length of the riverward stockade for the past hour, sighed +with relief, yawned, and was about to retire to D'Antons' cabin, when +William Trigget approached him at a run. The master mariner's face was +ghastly above his bushy whiskers. + +"Come this way, sir," he murmured, huskily. + +Kingswell followed him to the storehouse and up to the roof, by way of a +rough ladder that leaned against the wall. There, on the outward slope +of the roof, where the snow was trampled and broken, sprawled the body +of Peter Clotworthy. + +"What! Asleep!" exclaimed Kingswell, peering close. The light was not +strong enough to disclose the features of the recumbent sentinel. + +"Ay, an' sound enough, God knows," replied Trigget, "with no chance o' +wakin' this side o' the Judgment-Seat." + +"Dead?" cried the other, sinking to his knees beside the body. He +pressed his hand against the mariner's side, held it there for a moment, +and withdrew it, wet with blood. He raised it toward the growing +illumination of the east, staring at it with wide eyes. "Blood," he +murmured. "Stabbed without a squeal--without a whimper, by Heaven!" Then +he ripped out an oath, and followed it close with a prayer for his dead +comrade's soul. For all his golden curls, this Bernard Kingswell had a +hot and ready tongue--and a temper to suit, when occasion offered. + +The two discoverers of the tragedy remained on the roof of the +storehouse for some time. The light strengthened and spread on their +right, and, at last, gave them a clear, gray view of the narrow clearing +and wooded hummocks to the north. On the snow below them, which was +otherwise unmarked, they saw the imprints of one pair of moccasined +feet. The marks did not lead to or from the near cover of the woods, but +to the south, around the fort. The telltale snow showed how Clotworthy's +murderer had approached close under the stockade, and, after his silent +deed of violence, had jumped a distance of about twenty feet, from the +roof of the store, and landed on all fours. A stain of blood, evidently +from the reeking knife in the slayer's hand, smirched the snow where it +was broken by his fall. From there the steps returned by the same +course, but at a distance of about ten paces from the stockade. + +Kingswell looked from the tracks in the snow to the colourless, +distorted features of the dead seaman. Then his gaze met Trigget's +deep-set eyes. He was pale, and his lips were drawn in a hard line, as +if the frost had stiffened them. + +"Poor Clotworthy," he murmured, and swallowed as if his throat were +dry. "Poor devil, knifed into eternity without a fighting chance. See, +he was clubbed first and then knifed--felled and bled like an ox in a +shambles! Ten nights of this hellishness will account for the whole +garrison." + +With a broad, deep-sea oath, Trigget replied that there'd be no ten +nights of it. + +They lifted the stiff body that had, so lately, been animated by the +fearless spirit of Richard Clotworthy, able seaman, to the ground and +carried it reverently to the Donnelly cabin. The other inmates of the +little settlement were deeply affected by the sight, and by Kingswell's +story. The younger men were for setting out immediately and driving the +Beothics from the woods on the far side of the river. But the wiser +heads prevailed against such recklessness, arguing that the only thing +to be done was to remain constantly on guard. The women wept. Ouenwa, +trembling with sorrow and rage, placed his fine belt and beaded quiver +beside the body of his dead comrade, and vowed, in English and Beothic, +that he would avenge this murder as he intended to avenge the murders of +his father and his grandfather. + +The day passed without any sign of the hidden enemy. Kingswell slept +until noon. By evening Black Feather had recovered enough strength to +enable him to tell his pitiful story to Ouenwa. His lodge, and that of +Montaw, the arrow-maker, had been torn down by the followers of Panounia +shortly after the departure of the _Pelican_ from Wigwam Harbour. Montaw +had died fighting. Black Feather, grievously wounded, had been bound and +carried far up the River of Three Fires. His wife and children also had +been captured and maltreated. The ships in the bay had looked on at the +unequal struggle ashore without demonstrations of any kind. Upon +reaching the village on the river, Black Feather had been driven to the +meanest work--work unbecoming a warrior of his standing--and his wife +and children had been led farther up-stream, very likely to Wind Lake. +Black Feather had seen the body of Soft Hand lying exposed on the top of +a knoll, at the mercy of birds and beasts. He had bided his time. At +last he had gnawed the thongs with which his tormentors bound him at +night, and had safely made his escape. He could not say how long ago +that was. Days and nights had become strangely mixed in his desperate +mind. He had lived on such birds and hares as he had been able to kill +with sticks. Always he had kept up his journey, shaping his course +toward the salt water, in the hope of meeting some tribesmen who might +have remained loyal to the murdered chief. But he had met with nobody +in all that desolate journey, until, only the day before, he had +recovered consciousness in Fort Beatrix. + +That night, John Trigget was attacked at his post on the gun-platform, +and in the struggle that ensued was cut shrewdly about the arm. So +sudden and noiseless was the onslaught out of the dark that he fought in +silence, only remembering to shout for help after the savage had +squirmed from his embrace and escaped. His arm was bandaged by Sir +Ralph, and Tom Bent and Ouenwa took his place. But daylight arrived +without any further demonstration on the part of the enemy. + +By this time the little garrison was bitten by a restlessness that would +not be denied. Even Kingswell and William Trigget were for making some +sort of attack upon the hidden band beyond the river. D'Antons, contrary +to his habit, had nothing to say either for or against an aggressive +movement. Sir Ralph was for quietly and cautiously awaiting development; +but, seeing the spirit of the men, he agreed that five of the garrison +should sally forth in search of the enemy. + +"Whom I have not a doubt you'll find," concluded the baronet, wearily, +"though what the devil you'll do with them then is more than I can +venture to predict." + +Under William Trigget's supervision, one of the cannon was taken from +the platform and mounted on a heavy and solid flat of logs, and that, in +turn, was placed on a sled. On the same sled were fastened rammers and +mops and bags of powder and shot. The daring party was made up of Master +Kingswell, William Trigget, Ouenwa, Tom Bent, and the younger Donnelly. +D'Antons did not volunteer his services on the expedition. The men were +all well armed with muskets and cutlasses, and all save Ouenwa had +fastened steel breastplates under their coats. As they marched away, +Mistress Westleigh waved them "Godspeed" with a scarf of Spanish lace, +from where she stood in the open gate between her father and Captain +d'Antons. + +The little party moved down the bank and across the river slowly and +with commendable caution. Trigget and Kingswell walked ahead, and kept a +sharp lookout on the dark edges of the forest. Donnelly and Tom Bent +followed about ten paces behind, dragging the gun. Ouenwa scouted along +on the left, with a musket and a lighted match, which he feared far +worse than he did any number of Beothic warriors. The river was crossed +without accident on the wide trail left by the enemy's retreat. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE CLOVEN HOOF + + +Sir Ralph Westleigh was in the storehouse, Maggie Stone was gossiping +with Dame Trigget, and Beatrix was alone by the fire when Captain +d'Antons rapped on the cabin door, and entered without waiting for a +summons. He was dressed in his bravest suit and finest boots. After +closing the door behind him, he bowed low to the girl at the farther end +of the room. She instantly stood up and curtseyed with a deal of grace, +but no warmth whatever. + +"My father is not in, Captain d'Antons," she said. + +He smiled and approached her with every show of deference. + +"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have not come to see the good +baronet. I have come to learn my fate from the dearest lips in the +world." + +The girl blushed crimson, with a tumult of emotions that almost forced +the tears past her lids. Fear, hate, and a reckless joy at the thought +that she was done with pretence struggled in her heart. She tried to +speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and accomplished nothing but +a dry sob. + +D'Antons' eyes shone with ardour. The hope which had been somewhat +clouded of late flashed clear again. "Beatrix," he cried, softly, "I +have wooed you long. Is it not that I have won at last beyond +peradventure? Do not deny it, my sweet." He caught her to him, and +attempted to kiss her bright lips; but, with a low cry and a quite +unexpected display of strength, she wrenched herself from his embrace. +She did not try to leave the room. She did not call for help. She faced +him, with flashing eyes and angry cheeks and clinched hands. + +The fellow stood uncertain for a moment, showing his chagrin and +amazement like any country clown. But his recovery was quick. His mouth +took on a thin smile; his eyes darkened with sinister shadows. He looked +the girl coolly up and down. He laughed softly. + +"This feigned anger adds to your beauty, Beatrix," he said. + +"I beg you to leave me, sir," she replied, trembling. "Your presence is +distasteful to me." + +"A sudden turn," said he. "Now a month ago, or even a week ago, you +seemed of a different mind. As for the days of our first meeting in +merry London--ah, then your lips were not so unattainable." + +"I hate you," she murmured. "I despise you. I loath you. You taint the +air for me. Dog, to make a boast of having filched a kiss from a +light-hearted girl--who did not know you for the common fellow that you +are." + +"Beatrix," cried the man, "this is no stage comedy. We are not players. +I have asked you, too many times, to be my wife. I ask you once more. +You know that your father's life is in my hands. Tell me now, will you +promise to marry me, or will you let your father go to the gallows in +the spring, and this plantation be put to the torch? Whatever your +choice, my beauty, you will accompany me to New Spain next summer. It is +for you to say whether you go as my wife or my mistress." + +At that the girl's face went white as paper. But her eyes were steady. + +D'Antons lowered his gaze. He was half-ashamed, nay, more than that, of +his words. + +"It would be hard to say," she replied, very softly, "which would be the +most dishonourable position for an English gentlewoman to occupy. That +of your wife, I think, monsieur--for, as your wife, she would be known +by your name." + +His shame leaped to anger at that soft-spoken insult. He caught her +roughly by the wrists. + +"Nay," she said, "you must be more gentle. You seem to forget that you +are not sacking a defenceless town. Also, you forget that you have not a +friend or a follower in this wilderness, and that any man or woman in +the fort would shoot you down like a dog at a word from me." + +For a little while they eyed each other steadily enough--her face still +beautiful despite the bantering cruelty of lips and eyes, and the +loathing in every line of it; his the face of a devil. Then, with a +muttered oath, he closed his fingers on her tender flesh, pressing with +all his strength. + +"Ah, my fine lady," he cried, harshly, "you think yourself strong enough +to flout Pierre d'Antons, do you? Strong enough to spurn the protection +of a soldier and a gentleman! Cry now for your girl-faced Kingswell--for +your golden-haired fellow countryman." + +By that even her lips were colourless, and her eyes were wet. "There is +no need," she said, bravely, "for I hear my father at the door." + +D'Antons dropped her wrists and took a backward step. In doing so, his +heel struck the leg of a stool, and the scabbard of his sword rang +discordantly. He reeled, recovering himself just as Sir Ralph crossed +the threshold. Before either of the men had time to speak, Beatrix +darted forward and struck the Frenchman savagely across the face with +her open hand. Then, without a word of either explanation or greeting to +her father, she passed D'Antons swiftly, sped down the length of the +room, and entered her own chamber. + +"What does this mean, captain?" inquired the baronet, coldly. D'Antons, +scarcely recovered from the blow, strode toward him. + +"What does it mean?" he cried. "It means, my fine old cock, that your +neck will be pulled out of joint when we get away from this +God-forgotten desolation. Ah, you liar, why did I not have you strung up +to a yard-arm when you were safely in my power? Stab me, but I've been +too soft--and my reward is insults from the wench of an exiled +card-cheat and murderer." + +His voice was raised almost to a scream. His face quivered with passion. +He thrust it within a few inches of the baronet's. + +"Liar and cheat," he cried, furiously. + +"Softly, softly," replied Sir Ralph. "I cannot abide being bawled at in +my own house, especially by such scum of a French muck heap as you. Keep +your distance, fellow, or, by God, I'll do you a hurt. What's this! +You'd presume?" + +They withdrew on the instant. The two swords came clear in the same +second of time. + +"_Gabier de potence_," cried D'Antons. + +"_Canaille_," replied the baronet, blandly. Evidently the rasp of the +steel had mended his temper. He even smiled a little at his adoption of +his adversary's mother-tongue. + +The men were excellently matched as swordsmen. But not more than half a +dozen passes had been made and parried before Beatrix ran into the room, +crying to them to put up their swords. + +"Go back," said the baronet, with his eyes on D'Antons, "go back to your +room, my daughter, and make a prayer for this fellow's soul. It will +soon stand in need of a petition for God's mercy." + +The girl went softly back and closed the door, in an effort to shut out +the rasping and metallic striking of the blades. She prayed, but for +strength to her father's wrist and not for the Frenchman's soul. She was +afraid--desperately afraid. The truth of her father's skill in French +sword-play had been kept from her. To her he was but a courteous, +middle-aged gentleman who needed her care, and who had been maligned and +robbed by the world into which he had been born. He was a good father. +He had been a loving and considerate husband. She knelt beside her bed +and beseeched God to succour him in this desperate strait. + +In the meantime the fight went on in the outer room with more the air of +a harmless bout for practice than a duel to the death. It was altogether +a question of point and point, in the Continental manner, perfectly free +from the swinging attack and clanging defence of the English style. The +combatants were cool, to judge by appearances. Neither seemed in any +hurry. The thrusts and lunges, though in fact as quick as thought, were +delivered with a manner suggestive of elegant leisure. + +"I believe you have the advantage of me by about three inches of steel," +remarked the baronet, diverting a lightning thrust from its intended +course. + +"A chance of the game," replied D'Antons, smiling grimly. + +Just then the baronet's foot slipped on the edge of a book of verses +which Mistress Beatrix had left on the floor. For a second he was +swerved from his balance; and, when he recovered, it was to feel the +warm blood running down his breast from a slight incision in his left +shoulder. But his recovery was as masterly as it was swift, and the +Frenchman found himself more severely pressed than before, despite the +advantage he possessed in the superior length of his sword. The little +wound counted for nothing. + +Just what the outcome of the fight would have been, if an untimely +interruption in the person of Maggie Stone had not intervened, it is +hard to say. Perhaps D'Antons' youth would have claimed the victory in +the long run, or perhaps the baronet's excellent composure. In skill +they were nicely matched, though the Englishman displayed superiority +enough to even the difference in the length of the blades. But why take +time for idle surmises? Maggie Stone, looking in, all unheeded, at the +open door, saw her beloved master engaged in a desperate combat with a +person whom she despised as well as feared. She saw the sodden stain of +blood on her master's doublet. In her hand she held a skillet which she +had just borrowed from Dame Trigget. Without waiting to announce +herself, she rushed into the room and dealt Captain d'Antons a +resounding whack on the head with the iron bowl of the utensil. The long +sword fell from the benumbed fingers and clanged on the floor. With a +low, guttural cry, the Frenchman followed it, and sprawled, unconscious, +at the feet of the surprised and indignant baronet. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH + + +Master Kingswell and his party returned from their daring reconnoitre +early in the afternoon. They had not met with the enemy, though they had +found the camp and torn down the temporary lodges. After that they had +followed the broad trail of the retreat for several miles, and had +discharged the cannon twice into the inscrutable woods. Their daring had +been rewarded by the capture of about two hundred pounds of smoked +salmon and dried venison. + +Both Kingswell and William Trigget were unable to account for the fact +that the savages had not attacked them in the cover of the woods. In +reality they owed their bloodless victory to the presence of the little +cannon. That third and last discharge of slugs, on the day of the big +fight, had killed three of the braves, wounded five more, and inspired +an hysterical terror in the hearts of the rest. But for that, the hidden +enemy would not have been content with playing a waiting game and with +the attempted killing of one man each night; and neither would they have +retired, so undemonstratively, before the advance of the five. But, +despite their fear of the cannon, they had no intention of giving up the +siege of the fort. They placed trust in the darkness of night and their +own cunning. + +Kingswell and the elder Trigget were drawn aside by Sir Ralph. The +baronet looked less care-haunted than he had for years. + +"D'Antons and I have broken our truce," he whispered, "and behold, the +heavens have not fallen,--nor even the poor defences of this +plantation." He smiled cheerfully. "The great captain alone has come to +grief," he added. "Maggie Stone saved him from my hand by felling him +herself with some sort of stew-pan. I was frantically angry at the time, +but am glad now that I did not have to kill the rogue." + +"Such cattle are better dead, sir," remarked Trigget, coolly. + +"I grant you that, my good William," replied Sir Ralph, "but he is +harmless as a new-born babe, after all--and we'll see that he remains +so." + +Then he told them the story of the duel, and of what had led to it. +Kingswell flushed and paled. + +"God's mercy!" he cried, "but I would I had been in your boots, sir." + +"You'd have died in them, more than likely," replied the baronet, laying +a hand on the other's shoulder. "D'Antons has a rare knowledge of +swordsmanship, and eye and wrist to back it with." + +"Even so," replied Kingswell, "it would have been--it would have been a +pleasure to die in such a cause." He blushed, and hurriedly added, "But +I doubt if he'd have killed me, for all his gimcrackery and +side-stepping. I've seen such gentry hopping and poking for hours, when +one good cut from the shoulder would have ended their tricks." + +The baronet smiled kindly, though with a tinge of sadness. "Ah, what a +fine thing is the heart of youth," he said, "and the confidence of +youth. I even bow to the ignorance of youth. But, my dear boy, valour +and confidence are not more than half the battle, after all. The edge is +a fine thing, and has spilled a deal of blood since the hammering of the +first sword; but the point becomes no less deadly simply because one +stout young Englishman is ignorant of its potency. Lad, if it were not +that I have won the distinction--beside many a less enviable one--of +being the best swordsman in England, I could not have withstood +D'Antons' play for long enough to make sure of the colour of his eyes." + +Kingswell felt like a fool, and did not know which way to turn his +abashed countenance. Both Sir Ralph and Trigget felt sorry for him. + +"But I can assure you, Bernard," said the former, "that, if it came to a +matter of cutlasses, neither the Frenchman nor I would stand up for long +against either you or Trigget." + +"It is kind of you to say so," replied Kingswell, staring over the +baronet's shoulder at nothing in particular, "but I haven't a doubt that +even Maggie Stone, with her stew-pan, would be more than a match for +me." + +William Trigget laughed boisterously at that. "We must ease the young +gentleman's temper, sir," he said to the baronet. "I have a pair of +singlesticks." + +"Get them," said the baronet. He slipped his hand under Kingswell's arm +and led him into the cabin. Beatrix welcomed him cordially, with a shy +compliment to his bravery thrown in. The youth immediately felt better +in his pride. + +"Say nothing of D'Antons, or the duel," Sir Ralph whispered in his ear. +"He is safe in his own bed, being nursed conscientiously, if not +over-tenderly, by Maggie Stone." + +Kingswell seated himself beside Mistress Beatrix on the bench by the +fire. He noticed that she had been weeping. Her eyes seemed all the +brighter for it. He gave her a detailed account of the brief expedition +from which he had just returned. He told of the cluster of lodges, the +cooking-fires still burning, the utensils and food scattered about, and +not a human being in sight. + +"And what if you had seen the savages?" she asked. "Surely, four +Englishmen and a lad could do nothing against such a host?" + +"We would have fallen in the first flight of arrows," replied Kingswell. + +"Then why did you risk it?" + +The young man shook his head and laughed. "Some one must take risks," he +said, "else all warfare would come to a standstill." + +The girl was looking down at her hands, and reflectively twisting a +jewelled ring around and around on one slim finger. "And I wish it would +with all my heart," she sighed. "Warfare and bloodshed--they are the +devil's inventions, and strike innocent and guilty alike." + +"Nay," replied Kingswell, "there is more harm done to the innocent in +courts and fine assemblies, and at the sheltered card-tables, than on +all the battle-fields of the world. War is a good surgeon, and, if he +sometimes lets the good blood with the bad, why, that's just a risk we +must accept." + +Beatrix raised a flushed face, and eyed him squarely. "You preach like a +Puritan," she said, "with your condemnation of courts and play. You +should give my father the benefit of some of your wisdom. His friends +have all been generous with such help." + +Kingswell bit his lip, and for an awkward minute studied the toes of his +moccasins. Presently he looked up. + +"I am sorry," he said. + +Her glance softened. + +"I am as ignorant of battle-fields as I am of courts," he added. "I am +ignorant of everything." + +His voice was low and bitter. Beatrix laughed softly. + +"Pray do not take it so much to heart," she said. "Nothing is so easily +mended as ignorance." + +He looked at her gravely. + +"I am going to ask Sir Ralph to give me lessons in French sword-play," +he said. "Is there nothing that you would teach me?" + +"Embroidery," she replied, "and how to brew a Madeira punch." + +At that moment the baronet opened the door and admitted William Trigget. +The master mariner carried a pair of stout oak sticks with basket-work +guards under his arm. + +"Does your education commence so soon?" inquired Beatrix of Kingswell. + +"Somebody's does," he replied, with a return of his old confidence. With +the lady's permission and Sir Ralph's assistance, Trigget and Kingswell +cleared the middle of the floor of rugs and the table. They removed +their outer coats. Trigget was the taller, as well as the heavier, of +the two. Without further preliminaries, they fell on, and the dry +whacking of the sticks against one another, varied occasionally by the +muffled thud of wood against cloth, filled the cabin. It was a fine +display of the English style--slash, cut, and guard, with never a +side-step nor retreat. After ten minutes of it, Trigget cried "enough," +and stumbled out of the danger zone. His right arm was numb. His +shoulders and sides ached, and his head swam; Kingswell was without a +touch. + +Neither Beatrix nor Sir Ralph, nor yet Trigget, for that matter, +concealed their astonishment at the result of the bout. "And now, sir," +said Kingswell, "I should like a lesson in the other style." + +The baronet took down a pair of light, edgeless blades with blunted +points. After a few words as to the manner of standing, they crossed the +lithe weapons. In a second Kingswell's was jerked from his hand and +sent bounding across the room. He recovered it without a word and +returned to the combat. By this time the light was failing. After about +a dozen passes, he was again disarmed. His gray eyes danced, and he +laughed gaily as he picked up his weapon. + +"I see the way of that trick," he said. + +He returned to the one-sided engagement with, if possible, more energy +and eagerness than before. Already he had the attitude and stamping +manner of attack to perfection. Sir Ralph tested his defence again and +again without slipping through. Three times he tried the circular, +twisting stroke with which he had disarmed the novice before without +success. Wondering, and slightly irritated, he put out fresh efforts, +and forgot all about his defence. The blades rasped, and rang, and +whispered. The blunted point was at Kingswell's breast, at his throat, +at his eyes; but it never touched. And, just as Mistress Beatrix was +about to bid the combatants cease their exertions, because of the +gathering dusk, Kingswell's point touched the insignificant but painful +wound on the baronet's shoulder. With an exclamation, in which disgust, +pain, and amusement were queerly blended, Sir Ralph dropped his foil to +the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS + + +Captain Pierre d'Antons' injury kept him indoors for ten days. During +that time he saw nobody but Maggie Stone, Bernard Kingswell, and Ouenwa. +Kingswell could not help feeling sorry for him, in spite of the enmity +and distrust in his heart. D'Antons made no mention of how he came by +his cut head to the young Englishman. He knew that the other knew--and +sometimes he wondered how much. He accepted such attentions at +Kingswell's hand as any fair-hearted man will make to any invalid, with +what seemed gratitude and humility. But under the mask his blood was +raging. If his hand trembled while receiving a glass of water from the +Englishman, it was as much from the effort of restraining an outburst of +hate as from weakness. Kingswell, clear-sighted by now, suspected the +real state of the other's feelings. + +During the days of D'Antons' inactivity, the Beothics made three night +attacks on the fort. Two were repetitions of the one-man demonstrations +of cunning, in which Clotworthy had met his death and young Trigget had +received the cut on his arm. Happily both had failed. The third was an +attack in force, made in that darkest hour just before the first +stirrings of dawn. By good fortune, both William Trigget and Kingswell +were dressed and about at the time of the first alarm. They both ran to +the gun-platform, and there found Tom Bent desperately engaged with two +savages, who had scaled the stockade over the massed shoulders of their +fellows. The intruders were speedily hurled backward, they and a portion +of the breastworks falling on the devoted heads below. At the moment, +Dame Trigget puffed valiantly up the ladder and handed a torch to her +husband. In a second the coverings were pulled from the guns. The +muzzles of the little weapons were declined as far as they would go, and +the fuses were ignited. Comprehending the trend of affairs, some of the +enemy let fly their arrows at the little group in the torch's +illumination. Both William Trigget and Tom Bent were hit, and fell to +their knees. In the same instant of time the guns belched their flame +and screaming missiles into the wavering mass of savages. A yell of +terror and pain, made up of many individual cries, followed the reports +of the guns like an echo. + +But along the opposite stockade, things were not going so well for the +settlers. About a dozen of the enemy had gained foothold on the roof of +the storehouse, and from there had jumped into the yard, driving Peter +Harding before them. They were immediately engaged by the Donnellys. +Torches and lanterns glowed and swung about the edges of the conflict. +Matters were looking serious for the defenders (who by that time were +joined by Sir Ralph, Ouenwa, and the redoubtable Maggie Stone) when the +discharge of artillery across the square turned the courage of the +attackers to water, and their victory to defeat. Six of them were cut +down while endeavouring to escape by way of the ladder against the wall +of the storehouse. The rest got away, but none of them unscathed. With +that the fight ended, though the defenders kept to their posts until +broad daylight. + +In the morning it was discovered that one of the six warriors who +remained within the fort was still alive. Sir Ralph had him carried to +D'Antons' cabin, and his wounds attended to. They were not of a serious +nature. Black Feather, who was a convalescent by now, recognized a +bitter enemy in the disabled captive. He was for despatching him +straightway, recalling the bitter days of his slavery and the loss of +wife and children. He was dragged away by Kingswell, and Ouenwa +remonstrated with him at some length. + +The little garrison had suffered in the brief engagement. William +Trigget had halted three arrows with his big body. Only one had reached +the flesh, thanks to his thick garments of wool and hide; but that one +had cut deep into the muscles of his chest, and the others had bruised +his ribs. Tom Bent was more seriously injured, with a gaping slash in +the side of his neck. Young Peter Harding was laid on his back with a +cracked rib, dealt him by a stone-headed axe, and seemed in a fair way +to remain on the sick-list for some time to come. + +The dead Beothics were carried out and buried in a shallow grave near +the honest Clotworthy's desolate resting-place. + +It was evident, from the smoke above the woods, that the enemy were +still maintaining the siege, and at even closer range than before. The +continual sight of that evidence of their presence, and the idleness due +to confinement within a few hundred yards of the stockade, began to tell +on the spirits of the settlers. It became a matter of difficulty to +forget the wounded men in such restricted quarters. Bandages and +salves, gruels and plasters, seemed to pervade every corner. Every one +who was not an invalid was a nurse. In addition, the lack of fresh meat +was beginning to be felt. Sir Ralph, who had seemed more cheerful just +after his affair with D'Antons, was fallen back on his black moods. +Mistress Beatrix's cheeks and eyes were losing something of their +radiance, though she carried herself bravely and cheerfully. + +Master Kingswell, who had a knack with bandages and such, found his time +fully occupied. He inspected all the wounded twice a day, and he and +Ouenwa took entire charge of D'Antons and the captured Beothic. His only +recreation was a few hours of each afternoon or evening spent with the +Westleighs. He and the baronet fenced, if the visit happened to be paid +during the day; if in the evening, they sometimes played chess, or, +better still, the baronet paced the room in uneasy meditation, and the +youth and the maiden bent their young heads above the pieces of carved +ivory. + +Behind the girl's laughter and hospitality, Kingswell detected an +aloofness toward him that had not been noticeable during the first days +of their acquaintance. The thing was very fine--so fine that it was +scarcely a matter of attitude or manner. One of duller perception would +have missed it altogether. It was in no wise a physical aloofness, save +in a certain reservation in the glance of the eye and the softer notes +of the voice. But it worried the young man. He felt that he had failed +in something--that she had set a standard for him, and that he had not +risen to it. With native shrewdness, he suspected that she considered +him crude and conceited. He knew that she considered him brave, and that +she admired his courage; but he was equally sure that his prowess with +the singlesticks against Trigget, and his increasing dexterity with the +rapier, did not tell in his favour in her eyes. "Women are evidently as +unreasonable as the poets depict them," he decided, and tried to acquire +a modest demeanour. But the ability to do so had not been born in him, +and no matter how low and self-abasing his speech, pride shone in his +clear eyes and self-confidence was in the carriage of head and +shoulders. + +The baronet's attitude toward Master Kingswell became more affectionate +every day. He recognized the sterling qualities in the youth,--the +honesty, courage, and loyalty, as well as the physical and mental gifts +of quick eye and wrist and clear brain. He derived no little comfort +from his presence in the fort. He felt that in this golden-haired son of +the Bristol merchant-knight his daughter had a second guardian. He knew +that the Kingswell blood, though not noble by the rating of the College +of Heralds, was to be depended on as surely as any in England. In +happier times he had known and enjoyed a certain amount of familiarity +with the elder Kingswell, and had found the broad-minded merchant's +heart as sound as his self-imported wines. He remembered the wife, too, +as a person of distinction and kindliness. + +For his own part, the baronet realized more surely, with the passing of +each narrow day, that life offered no further allurement to him. The +slight exhilaration that had followed the defiance and defeat of +D'Antons was of no more lasting a quality than the flavour of a vintage. +The Frenchman was harmless, poor devil, like the rest of them; and in as +fair a way as himself to leave his bones in the wilderness. Yes, he felt +a twinge of pity for him! He could understand that, to an adventurer +like D'Antons, unrequited love was the very devil,--worse, perhaps, than +the fever of the gaming-table. But of course he felt no regret for +having put an end (as he believed) to the fellow's audacious suit. His +regret--if, indeed, he entertained any concerning so recent an event in +his career--was that he had not pricked the buccaneer's bubble of false +power months before--despite the promise he had made him. But as things +had turned out,--as Time had dealt the cards, to use his own words,--the +other's behaviour had allowed him to strike without too flagrant a +breach of his word of honour. He was thankful for that. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +TWO OF A KIND + + +When Pierre d'Antons was able to move about again, he found himself +shunned, without disguise, by every one of the inmates of the fort save +Bernard Kingswell. The West Country sailors, no longer under orders to +treat him with respect and obedience, simply grunted inaudibly and +turned their backs when he addressed them. Of course, the door of Sir +Ralph's habitation was closed against him. He spent almost all his time +in his own cabin, with the captured and slowly convalescing Beothic for +companion. He read a great deal, and thought more. Now and again, in a +fit of chagrin, he would stamp about the room, cursing, crying out for a +chance of revenge, with clinched hands uplifted. During such paroxysms, +the Beothic would watch him closely, with understanding in his gaze. The +savage was no linguist; but hate burns the same signals in eyes of every +nationality. + +D'Antons continued to suffer from his infatuation for Mistress +Westleigh. The blow of the skillet had changed nothing of that. Whatever +his passion lacked in the higher attributes of love, it lacked nothing +in vitality. It was a madness. It was a bitter desire. How gladly he +would risk death, fighting for her--and yet he would not have hesitated +a moment about killing her happiness, to win his own, had an opportunity +offered. Self-sacrifice, worshipful devotion, and tenderness were things +apart from what he considered his love for the beautiful English girl. + +In this state of mind he built a hundred wild dreams of carrying her +away, and of ultimately imprisoning her, should she still be averse to +his love, in a Southern stronghold. Then a realization of his position +would come over him and set him stamping and raving. To Kingswell, +despite the fire in his heart, he showed a contrite and friendly +exterior. He wondered if he could not turn the young man to some use. He +gave the matter his attention. + +One evening D'Antons told a plaintive story to Kingswell. All through it +the Englishman was itching to be gone; for he spent no more of his time +than was absolutely necessary under the Frenchman's roof. But the +narrator held him with a mournful eye. The tale was an alleged history +of Pierre d'Antons' youth. It dealt with a great family that had fallen +upon lean years; with a ruinous chateau, a proud and studious father, +and a saintly mother; with a boyhood of noble dreams and few pleasures; +with a youth of hard and honourable soldiering wherever the banners of +France led the way; and with an early manhood of high adventure and +achievement in the Western colonies. + +Kingswell listened coldly, though the other's voice fairly trembled with +emotion. He believed no more of the tale than if he had already heard +the truth of the matter--which was, in plain English, that D'Antons was +the bastard of a blackleg nobleman by a Spanish dancer; that he had +spent his youth as a pot-boy on French ships, and had won, by courage +and cunning, to the position of a captain of buccaneers in early +manhood. The achievements in the Western colonies had been matters of +the wrecking and plundering of what others had built; the high +adventures--God spare me the telling of them! + +After Kingswell left him, the pirate fell into one of his reddest moods. +He was sure that the pink-cheeked youth had not believed a word of his +story--had been laughing up his sleeve at the most touching passages. He +was sorry that he had not twisted the lad's neck instead of concluding +the narrative. It was a sheer waste of breath, this artistic lying to +such a pig's head! He jumped to his feet, with a violence that almost +startled the Beothic to outcry, and flung himself about the room like a +madman. He kicked the stolid logs of the walls. He knocked the few +pieces of furniture out of his erratic course, and spilled his books and +papers, quills and ink, to the floor: all this without any ringing oaths +or blistering curses. His rage worked inward, as bodily wounds sometimes +bleed. It played the devil with his limbs, his features, and his hands, +but found no ease in articulation. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, +from where he had set a tooth into his lower lip. Withal, he was such a +daunting spectacle that Red Cloud, the Beothic, crouched fearfully +against the wall, and followed his movements with wide eyes; for, though +a mighty warrior in his own estimation, Red Cloud was a craven at heart. + +Presently the tumult of the madness ceased, and the victim of it sank +languidly into a chair beside the Beothic's couch. He groaned and +shivered. For awhile he sat limp, with his thin face hidden between his +hands. Looking up, his eyes met the eyes of the native. In their furtive +regard, he read that which suggested a new move. Though, owing to an +inborn caution, he had never displayed a knowledge of the Beothic +language to his fellow settlers, and had refrained from using any words +of it before Ouenwa, he had picked up a fair idea of it during his +sojourn at Fort Beatrix. Hitherto he had paid but scant attention to Red +Cloud, for he entertained the Spanish attitude of intolerance toward +uncivilized peoples; but now he leaned forward and spoke kindly to his +companion. + +It was late when Kingswell and Ouenwa returned to D'Antons' cabin. Under +the new order of things, Ouenwa had volunteered his services as +assistant night-guard of the two prisoners--for the Frenchman was +virtually a prisoner. It was their custom to keep watch turn and turn +about, in two hours' vigils, one sleeping while the other sat in a +comfortable chair by the hearth. Their couch was also by the hearth. +This precaution was taken for fear of some treachery on the part of Red +Cloud. + +When the two entered the outer room, the fire was burning brightly, and +by its ruddy light they saw the muffled figure of the Beothic, face to +the wall, in the far corner. They shot the bar of the door. When the +morning was well advanced, they opened windows and door, and replenished +the fire. Kingswell drew aside the curtain between the rooms, and looked +in to see how D'Antons was faring. His fire was out and he was still +abed. Kingswell moved noiselessly across the floor and peered close. +What an awkward figure the graceful buccaneer cut in his sleep! He laid +his hand on the shapeless shoulder. It encountered nothing but yielding +pelts and blankets. He dragged the things to the floor frantically. His +exclamation brought Ouenwa to his side. The Englishman pointed a finger +of dismay at the demolished dummy. + +"Tricked!" he cried. "Rip me, but what a fine jailer I am!" They rushed +back to the other room and investigated the figure on the Beothic's +couch. That, too, proved to be a shape of rolled furs and bedding. Red +Cloud also had faded away. + +News of the disappearance of D'Antons and the savage went through the +fort like an electric current. The settlers were more interested and +surprised over it than concerned. Even the invalids sat up and +conjectured on the captain's object in fleeing to the outer wilderness, +and the doubtful but inevitable reception by the natives. They could +hardly bring themselves to the belief that he and Red Cloud had gone as +fellow conspirators, remembering the haughty Frenchman's bearing toward +the aborigines with whom he had traded on occasions. + +William Trigget shook his head when he heard the story, and rated the +men who had been on duty along the palisade with unsparing frankness. +Sir Ralph looked worried, and Mistress Beatrix looked surprised. + +"It seems a very simple trick," she murmured, "to bundle up a few +blankets into lifelike effigies, and then to slip away while the jailer +is elsewhere spending a social evening." + +Kingswell flushed hotly, and looked at the girl steadily; but he failed +to meet her eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "they slipped away while two men were on guard along the +walls, and while the self-appointed jailer, who has not had four hours' +sleep in any night in the past three weeks, was playing chess with your +ladyship." + +"I am sure it is no loss to us," interposed the baronet quickly. "We +have no use for the savage; and as to D'Antons--why, if the enemy kill +him, it will save some one else the trouble. But I cannot help wondering +at him taking so dangerous a risk. If he had been on friendly terms with +the natives at any time, one would have a clue. But he always treated +them like dogs." + +Kingswell turned a casual shoulder toward the lady, and gave all his +attention to the baronet and the affair of the Frenchman. The blush of +shame had gone, leaving his face unusually pale. His eyes, also, showed +a change--a chilling from blue to gray, with a surface glitter and a +shadow behind. + +"You may be sure," he replied to Sir Ralph, "that D'Antons has taken +what he considers the lesser risk. I'll wager he has won the savage to +him, hand and heart. I was a fool not to have removed Red Cloud to one +of the other huts." + +"He was kept to D'Antons' cabin by my orders," said the baronet. + +"I had forgotten that," replied Kingswell. "Then I am not the only +scapegrace of the community." + +The baronet's face lighted whimsically, and he smiled at the young man. +But the girl did not receive the implication in the same spirit. She +stared at the speaker as if he were some surprising species of bird that +had flown in at the window. + +"Such a remark rings dangerously of insubordination," she exclaimed, +"not to mention the impertinence of it." + +Sir Ralph looked at her, completely puzzled, and murmured a +remonstrance. It is a wise father that knows his own daughter. Kingswell +turned an expressionless face toward the fire for a moment. Then he +bowed to Sir Ralph. "If I am guilty of impertinence, sir, I humbly crave +your pardon," he said. "As to insubordination--why, I believe there is +nothing to say on that head, as I am a free agent; but I think you +understand, sir, that I and my men are entirely at your service, as we +have been ever since the day we first accepted the hospitality of Fort +Beatrix. My men, at least, have not failed in any duty, whatever my +delinquencies." + +With an exclamation of sincere concern, the baronet stepped close to his +friend and placed a hand on either of his shoulders. + +"Bernard--my dear lad--why all this talk of pardon, and duty, and +delinquencies, and God knows what else? If you believe that I consider +you guilty of any carelessness, you must think me ungrateful indeed." + +His voice, his look, his gesture, all convinced Kingswell that the words +were sincere, and so did something toward the mending of his injured +feelings. To the baronet, his eyes brightened and his manner unbent. He +took his departure immediately after. + +Sir Ralph turned to his daughter as the door closed behind Kingswell. + +"I do not understand your treatment of him," he said. "Surely you +realize that he is a friend--and friends are not so common that we can +afford to flout them at every turn." He did not speak angrily, but the +girl saw plainly enough that he was seriously displeased. + +"The boy is so insufferably self-satisfied," she explained, weakly. "How +indignation would have burned within him had some one else allowed the +prisoners to escape." + +The baronet gazed at her pensively for several seconds, and then took +her hand tenderly between his own. + +"You do the brave lad an injustice, my sweeting," he said. "What you +take for conceit is just youth, and strength, and fearlessness, and a +clean conscience. He has nothing of the braggart in him--not a hint of +it. I am sorry you like him so little, my daughter, for he is a good lad +and well-disposed toward us." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER + + +For a time after D'Antons' departure into the unknown, the little +garrison of Fort Beatrix turned day into night. Not a man indulged in so +much as a wink of sleep between the hours of dusk and dawn; but from +sunrise until afternoon the place was as if it lay under an enchantment +of slumber. On the sixth day after the flight of the Frenchman and Red +Cloud, Ouenwa approached Kingswell with a request to be allowed to leave +the fort, in company with Black Feather. He told how Black Feather was +of the opinion that many of the tribesmen were against the leadership of +Panounia, and that, if they could be found, it would be an easy matter +for Ouenwa to win their support. He, Ouenwa, was of the blood of the +greatest chief they had ever known. They would gather to the totem of +the Bear. Assured of the friendship of the English people, they could be +brought to the rescue of the settlement. So Black Feather had told the +tale to Ouenwa, and so Ouenwa believed. + +"And you would have to go with Black Feather?" inquired Kingswell, none +too cheerfully; for he looked upon the lad as a very dear younger +brother. + +"Truly, my friend-chief, for I am the grandson of Soft Hand," replied +the boy. "When they see me, their blood will rise at the memory of Soft +Hand's murder. I will talk great words of my love for the English, and +of my hatred for Panounia, and of the great trading that will be done at +the fort when the night-howlers have been driven away. Thus we shall all +be saved--thus Mistress Beatrix shall escape capture." + +At that Kingswell started and eyed his companion keenly. "You think +Panounia can break into the fort?" he inquired. + +Ouenwa smiled. "Hunger can do it before the snow melts," he replied, +"and hunger will fight for Panounia and the black captain." + +"What do you know of the black captain?" + +"He is with the night-howlers. He will keep their courage warm. He will +struggle many times to bring us to our deaths and to capture the lady. +That is all I know." + +"But how do you know so much, lad?" asked Kingswell. + +Ouenwa looked surprised. "How could I know less, who dwelt within +eyeshot of the black captain for so many days, and who have learned the +ways of such wolves?" he asked, in his turn. "You know it already +without my telling, friend-chief," he added. + +"Let us to Sir Ralph for his advice," said the other. + +Master Kingswell had not crossed the threshold of the baronet's cabin +since the time of his rebuff at the hands of Mistress Beatrix. Of course +he had seen the baronet frequently, and they had smoked some pipes of +tobacco together by the hearth of the departed Frenchman; but from the +presence of the lady he had kept off as from a lazaretto. At the voice +of duty, however, he sought the baronet in his own house with excellent +composure. Anger at the knowledge that a girl could hurt him so nerved +him to accept the risk of again seeing the displeasure in her dark eyes. + +Mistress Beatrix was not in the living-room when they entered. Sir Ralph +welcomed them cordially. Upon hearing Ouenwa's and Black Feather's plan +for winning some of the tribesmen to the succour of the fort, he was +deeply moved. He took a ring from his own hand and slipped it over one +of Ouenwa's fingers. He gave the lad a fine hunting-knife for Black +Feather, and a Spanish dagger for himself. He told Kingswell to supply +them unstintingly from the store, with provisions and clothing for +themselves and gifts for the natives whom they hoped to win. + +"'Tis a chance," said he to Kingswell. "A chance of our salvation, and +the only one, as far as I can see." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix entered the room. At sight of the +visitors by the chimney, she swept a grand curtsey. The visitors bowed +low in return. Her father advanced and led her, with the manner of those +days, to his own chair beside the hearth. He told her, in a few words, +of the venture upon which Ouenwa and Black Feather intended to set +forth. The thought of it stirred the girl, and she looked on Ouenwa with +shining eyes. + +"'Tis a deed for the great knights of old," she said. "Lad, where have +you learned your bravery?" + +Unabashed, Ouenwa stood erect before her. "Half of it is the blood of my +fathers," he replied, "and half is the teaching of Master Kingswell--and +half I gather from your eyes." + +The girl flushed with suppressed merriment. The baronet concealed his +lips with his hand. Kingswell clutched his outspoken friend by the +shoulder. + +"Brother, you have named one-half too many," he said, laughing, "so your +reason will carry more weight if you leave out that in which you mention +my teaching. But come, we must find Black Feather, and make arrangements +to leave as soon as dusk falls." + +At that Beatrix tightened her hands on the arms of the chair and turned +a startled face toward the speaker. "Surely, sir, you do not mean to +leave us, too!" she exclaimed. + +Neither the baronet nor Kingswell were looking at her; but Ouenwa saw +the expression of eyes and lips. Kingswell, however, did not miss the +note of anxiety in the clear young voice. + +"I do not go with them, mistress," he said, "because my company would +only delay their movements. And perhaps even spoil their plans. I am a +poor woodsman--and already our garrison is none too heavily manned." + +"I am glad you are not going," replied the girl, quietly. "I am sure +that my father looks upon you as his right hand, and that the men need +you." + +Sir Ralph looked at his daughter with ill-concealed surprise. +Kingswell, murmuring polite acknowledgment of her gracious words, strove +to get a clearer view of her half-averted face. He failed. Ouenwa was +the only one of the three who knew that the words were sincere; but he +had the advantage of his superiors in having caught sight of the sudden +fear in the lady's face. + +Sir Ralph and Kingswell lowered the light packs over the stockade to +Ouenwa and the big warrior. When the figures merged into the gloom, +heading northward, the two commanders descended from the storehouse and +entered the baronet's cabin. Beatrix was by the fire, radiant in fine +apparel. + +"I am in no mood for chess," said Sir Ralph. "The thought of those two +brave fellows stealing through the dark and cold fidgets me beyond +belief." + +He began his quarter-deck pacing of the floor--up and down, up and down, +with his head thrust forward and his hands gripped behind his back. + +"The wind is rising," said the girl to Kingswell. "It will be bleak in +the forest to-night--away from the fire." + +She shivered, and held her jewelled hands to the blaze. + +"It is blowing for a storm," replied the young man. "The sky was clouded +over when they left. 'Tis safer for them so. The snow will cover their +trail and, very likely, will keep the enemy from prowling abroad for a +good many hours to come." + +Mistress Beatrix crossed the room to a cupboard in the wall, and from it +produced a violin. Kingswell stood by the chimney, watching her. The +baronet continued his nervous pacing of the floor. The girl touched the +strings here and there with skilful fingers, resined the bow, and then +returned to the hearth and stood with her eyes on the fire. Suddenly she +looked up at Kingswell. Her eyes were as he had never seen them before. +They were full of firelight and dream. They were brighter than jewels, +and yet dark as the heart of a deep water. + +"Please do not stand," she said, and her voice, though free from any +suggestion of indifference, sounded as if her whole being were far from +that simple room. Her gaze returned to the fire. Kingswell quietly +reseated himself; and at that she nestled her chin to the glowing +instrument and drew the bow lightly, lovingly, almost inquiringly, +across the strings. A whisper of melody followed the touch and sang +clearer and more human than any human voice, and melted into the +firelight. + +At the first strain of the music, the baronet sat down and reclined +comfortably with his head against the back of his chair. For awhile he +watched his daughter intently; then he turned his eyes to the heart of +the fire and journeyed far in a waking dream. + +The girl played on and on, weaving enchantments of peace with the magic +strings. Kingswell, leaning back with his face in the shadow, could not +look away from her. The minutes drifted by unheeded behind the singing +of the violin. The candles on the table flared at their sockets. The +logs on the hearth broke, and the flames sprang to new life. Outside the +wind raced and shouldered along the walls. And suddenly the player +stilled her hand, and, without a word to either of the men, took up one +of the guttering candles from the table and went quickly to her own +chamber. She carried the fiddle with her against her young breast, and +the bow like a wand in her hand. + +Sir Ralph started and sat erect in his chair. Kingswell got to his feet +with a sigh, and lifted his heavy cloak from the bench. + +"I must go the rounds," he said. "Good night, sir." + +With that he went out into the swirling eddies of the storm. The baronet +sat still for another hour. The music had uncovered so many ghosts of +joy and song, of love and hate and shame. It had rung upon past glories +and called up more recent dishonours. And still another matter occupied +his mind, and was finally dismissed with a smile and a yawn. It was that +Beatrix had indulged in one of her deliriums of music in young +Kingswell's presence, and that she had never before played in any mood +but the lightest in the hearing of a stranger. + +Kingswell paced beside the sentry at the drifted gate; but he kept his +thoughts to the picture of the girl, the glowing fiddle, and the music +and firelight that had seemed to pulse and spread together about the +long room. Again he saw the candle flames leap high and waver, as if +lured from their tethers by the crying of the instrument. But clearest +of all was the player's face. His heart was filled to suffocation at the +memory of it. Had other men seen her so beautiful? Had other men heard +her soul and her dear heart singing and crying from the strings of the +violin? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN + + +Ouenwa and Black Feather turned their faces from the little fort and the +hostile camp beyond the white river, and set bravely forward into the +darkness. Black Feather led the way, avoiding hummocks, bending and +twisting through the coverts, crossing the open glades like a +shadow--and all without any noise except the scarcely audible padding of +his stringed shoes. Ouenwa trod close after. They had not gone far +before the snow began to fall and puff around them in blinding clouds. +The trees bent tensely under the lash of the wind. More than one +frost-embrittled spire came crashing down. Still the warrior and the lad +held on their journey, for they were both fresh and strong, and eager to +widen the spaces of wilderness between themselves and the camp of +Panounia. + +Shortly before dawn they dug a trench in the snow on the leeward side of +a thicket of low spruces, broke fir-branches for a bed, built a fire +between the walls of white, and cooked and ate a frugal repast, and +then rolled themselves in their rugs of skin and fell asleep. They had +no fear that any of Panounia's people would disturb their slumbers. They +lay as motionless and unknowing as logs for several hours. Then Ouenwa +turned over and yawned, and Black Feather sat up, wide-awake in an +instant. The morning was bright and unclouded. The white sun was +half-way up the blue shell of the eastern sky. All around the new snow +lay in feathery depths. On the dark firs and spruces it clung in even +masses, which showed that the wind had died down long before the flakes +had ceased to fall. Ouenwa and his comrade ate frugally of cold meat and +bread, swallowed some brandy and water, and resumed their journey. + +Not until the afternoon of the third day following their departure from +Fort Beatrix did the travellers sight the smoke of a fire. It was Black +Feather, attaining the summit of a ridge a few paces ahead of Ouenwa, +who caught the first sight of the thin, melting signal of human life. It +wavered up from a wood in a valley a few hundred of yards in front. On +their right hand lay the ice-edged gray waters of an arm of the sea. On +their left stretched dark forest and empty barren to a mountainous +horizon. In front lay hope, and behind the spur of menace. + +"Is there a village yonder?" asked Ouenwa. + +Black Feather replied negatively. + +"The stream is Little Thunder," he said, in his own language, "and there +was no lodge there when last I saw it. We will approach under the +shelter of those spruces in the hollow. It makes the journey a few paces +longer, and perhaps the arrival twenty times safer." + +Ouenwa nodded his sympathy with the caution expressed by his friend. + +"But let us hurry," he said. "Remember that around the stockade the +black captain is ever stirring the courage of the night-howlers." + +At last, creeping on all fours, they peered from the screen of brush +into a tiny clearing on the north bank of Little Thunder. The stream was +not ten yards across at this point. On its white surface ran several +trails of snow-shoes. The smoke which had attracted them to the place +curled up from the apex of a large, bark-roofed wigwam. As the +travellers watched, an old woman appeared in the doorway of the lodge. +Ouenwa recognized her as a wise herb-doctor who had been a friend and +adviser of Soft Hand. He whispered the information to Black Feather. + +"Then we may show ourselves," said the other, "for if this woman was +the great chief's friend you may be sure that death has only +strengthened her loyalty. It is so with women--with the wise and the +foolish alike. A man will stand close to his comrade in the days of his +glory and in the press of battle; but it is the squaw who keeps the +fallen shield freshly painted and the cause of the departed ever before +the matters of the present day. A man must have the reward of his +friend's praise and the joy of his companionship; but a woman makes a +god of the departed spirit and looks for her reward beyond the red +gates." + +Ouenwa had nothing to say to his friend's sage reflections, for all he +knew of women was that a radiant creature far back in Fort Beatrix had +his heart in thrall. So he led the way from cover, and down the bank, in +silence. + +The old squaw in the doorway of the lodge caught sight of them +immediately. She turned into the dark interior of the wigwam, but +appeared before they were half-way across the frozen stream, with a bow +in her hand and an arrow on the string. Black Feather and the lad raised +their right hands, palms forward, above their heads, and continued to +advance. The old hag lowered her weapon, but did not relax her attitude +of vigilance. Close to the rise of the bank the travellers paused, and +the lad called out that he was Ouenwa, grandson of Soft Hand, and that +his companion was Black Feather, the adopted son of Montaw, the +arrow-maker. At that the guardian of the wigwam forsook her post and +advanced to meet them. + +The herb-doctor, who had been one of Soft Hand's advisers, was not +attractive to the eye. She was bent hideously, though still of +surprising bodily strength. Her head was uncovered, save for the matted +locks of hair that clung about it and fell over her ears and neck like a +wig of gray tree-moss. Her eyes were deep and black and fierce. One +yellow fang stood like a sentinel in the cavity of her mouth. Her hands +were claws. Her skin was no lighter in hue and no finer in texture than +was the tanned leather of her high-legged moccasins. Her garments were +unusually barbaric--lynx-skins shapelessly stitched together and hung +about with belts and charms, and a great knife of flint nearly as long +as a cutlass. Her corded, scraggy arms hung naked at her sides, as +indifferent to the nip of the frost as to the regard of strange eyes. + +"Child," she said, "I heard that you were killed--that Panounia's men +had slain you and a party of English; but that I knew to be false, for I +saw not your spirit with the spirits of your fathers. So I believed +that you had crossed the great salt water with the strangers." + +Ouenwa told his story, to which the old woman listened with the keenest +interest and many nods of the head. + +"It is well," she said. "They are scattered now, some in hiding, some +sullenly obedient to Panounia, and some in captivity. Your need will +bring them together and awake their sleeping courage. I know of a full +score of stout warriors who will draw no bow for Panounia, and who are +all within a day's journey of this spot, but sadly scattered,--yea, +scattered in every little hollow, like frightened hares." + +"Do you live in this great lodge all by yourself?" inquired Black +Feather. + +"My sons are in the forest, seeing to their snares," replied the woman, +eying the tall brave sharply, "but within are a sick woman and a small +child who escaped, ten days ago, from one of Panounia's camps." + +She stood aside and motioned them to enter the lodge. Ouenwa went ahead, +with Black Feather close at his heels. Within, it took them several +seconds to adjust their eyes to the gloom of smoke and shadow. Presently +they made out a couch of fir-branches and skins beyond the fire, and on +it a woman, half-reclining, with her arm about a child. Both the woman +and the child were gazing at the visitors. The child began to whimper. + +Black Feather uttered a low cry, and sprang over the fire. He had found +his squaw and one of his lost children. + +The sickness of Black Feather's wife was nothing but the result of +hardship and ill-treatment. Already, under the herb-doctor's care, she +was greatly improved. The meeting with her warrior went far to complete +the cure of the old woman's broths and soft furs. The child was well; +but the woman knew nothing of the whereabouts of their elder offspring. + +Ouenwa and Black Feather did not tarry long at the lodge beside Little +Thunder. With the younger of their aged hostess's sons for guide, they +set out that same day to find the hidden warriors who were against the +leadership of Panounia. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +BRAVE DAYS FOR YOUNG HEARTS + + +Back at Fort Beatrix the time passed in weary suspense. The wounded men +recovered slowly. The enemy remained inactive beyond the river and the +dark forest. Only the haze of their cooking-fires, melting against the +sky, told of their presence. The inaction ate into the courage of the +English men and women like rust. The boat-building and the iron-working +at the forge were carried on listlessly, and without the old-time spurs +of song and laughter. Even William Trigget and Tom Bent displayed sombre +faces to their little world. + +Bernard Kingswell, however, found life eventful. He was not blind to the +danger of their position, and he continued to do double duty in +everything; but for all that he awoke each day with keen anticipation +for whatever might befall, and, sleeping, dreamed of other things than +the poised menace and the monotony. Why should he regret Bristol, or any +other city of the outer world, when Beatrix Westleigh was domiciled +within the rough walls of the fort on Gray Goose River? His heart would +not descend to those depths of despondency in which lurk fear and +hopeless anxiety. What power of man, in that wilderness, could break +down his guard and harm the most wonderful being in the world? The +girl's brief season of unkindness toward him was as a cloud that her +later friendliness had dispersed as the sun disperses the morning fog. +He had caught a glimpse of her heart in her music, in her eyes, in her +voice, and on several occasions something that had set his heart +thumping in the touch of her hand. At least she was neither averse nor +indifferent to his society, and the glances of her magnificent eyes were +open to translations that set him looking out upon life and that +wilderness through a golden haze. Let a dozen black-visaged D'Antons +draw their rapiers upon him--he would out-thrust, out-play, and +out-stamp them all! Let a hundred fur-clad savages howl about the +fort--he, Bernard Kingswell, with his lady's favour on his breast, would +scatter them like straw! And all this because, for the first time in his +life of twenty-one years, he was bitten with love for a woman,--and +twenty-one was a fair, manly age in those days. He had won to it +unknowingly, by the brave paths of adventure and the sea. So let not +even the oldest of us criticize his attitude toward life. A man's +emotions cannot always be herded and driven by the outward circumstances +of need and danger, like a flock of sheep at the mercy of a dog and a +dull countryman. That to which cautious Worldliness has given the name +of madness, from the earliest times, is nothing but a spark of God's own +courage and imagination in the heart of youth: the years having not yet +smothered it with the ashes of cowardice and calculation. + +Bernard Kingswell had never displayed any but an assured front to the +world. Now this love that had him so irresistibly in its services only +heightened the confidence of his address toward men and events; but in +the presence of its inspiration it clothed him in unaccustomed and +unconscious meekness. You may be sure that Beatrix had been quick to +notice the change. It pleased her mightily, of course; for was it not a +greater and a more pleasant matter to have brought a high-hearted, +adventure-bred youth like this to bondage and slavery than to have a +dozen idle courtiers bowing before one, and a dozen sentimental poets +mouthing verses that could, with equal sincerity, be applied to any +charming lady? So Mistress Beatrix decided, and could not find it in her +heart to regret the beaux of London Town. But she did not know her +heart as the man knew his--and as she knew his. + +One morning they walked together along the river-bank, before the open +gate of the fort. The air was clearer than any crystal. The shadows +along the snow were bluer than the dome of the sky. The girl talked +cheerily; for in the bright daytime, with the sounds of peaceful labour +rising from the fort so close at hand, and with a strong and worshipping +man, sword-girt, within arm's length, it was hard to remember the menace +concealed by the southern woods. Her eyes were very bright, and the +blood mantled under the clear skin of her cheeks at the wind's caress. +Now and then, for a bar or two, she broke into song. + +Their path was one that Kingswell had beaten firm with his snow-shoes, +after the last storm, expressly as a promenade for Mistress Westleigh. +It was about a hundred yards in length, and broad enough for two persons +to walk in abreast, and firm enough to make the wearing of snow-shoes +unnecessary. It ran north and south, parallel with the stockade and the +course of the river at that point. When the turn was made at either end +of the beat, Kingswell's glance searched the horizon and every tree, +every knoll, and hollow. It was done almost unconsciously, as a +traveller instinctively loosens his sword in its sheath at the sound of +voices ahead of him on a dark road. + +After a time the girl noticed her companion's vigilance. "What do you +expect to see?" she asked, touching his arm lightly and swiftly with her +gloved hand. For a moment he was confused, but recovered his wits with +an effort. + +"Nothing," he replied, "or surely we would not be walking here." + +She smiled at that. "Are you afraid?" she inquired. + +He looked down at her, displayed the desperate condition of his heart in +his eyes, and then looked back again to the strip of woods that +approached them along the back. + +"I am not afraid," he said--and then, with a gasp of dismay, he caught +her and swung her behind him. She did not resist, but cowered against +his sheltering back. + +"We must return to the fort," he said. "Something is going on in that +covert." + +"Come! We will run!" she whispered, pulling at his elbows to turn him +around. + +"No," he replied. "I shall walk backwards, and you must keep behind me, +and guide me. It is no great matter to avoid an arrow, if one knows in +what quarter to look for it." + +She made no reply. They began the retreat along the narrow branch path +that led to the gate of the fort, he stepping cautiously, heels first, +and she pulling at his belt and gazing fearfully past his shoulder at +the woods. They were within a few yards of the gate when he suddenly put +his arms behind him, caught her close, and lurched to one side. The +unexpected movement threw the girl to her knees in the deep snow beside +the path. Her cry of dismay brought her father and two others from the +fort. They found Kingswell staggering and confusedly apologizing to +Beatrix for his roughness. In the thickness of his left shoulder stuck a +war-arrow. Supporting Kingswell and fairly dragging the frightened girl, +they rushed back to safety and closed and barred the gate. + +Hour after hour passed without the hidden warriors of Panounia making +any further signs of hostility, or even of their existence. The watchers +on the stockade scanned the woods in vain for any movement. A shot was +fired into the nearest cover from one of the cannon, but without +apparent effect. + +Kingswell was on duty again within an hour of the receiving of his +wound. The ragged cut caused him a deal of pain; but the salve that +really took the sting and ache out of it was the thought that he had +been serving Beatrix as a shield when the arrow struck him. He went the +rounds of the stockades with a glowing heart and dauntless bearing, and +his air of calm assurance put courage into the men. He saw to the +strengthening of several points of the defence, cleared the loopholes of +drifted snow, and gave out an extra supply of powder and ball. + +It was dusk of that day before Kingswell again saw Mistress Westleigh. +He was passing the baronet's cabin, and she opened the door and called +to him shyly. He turned and stepped close to her, the better to see her +face in the gathering twilight. She extended her hands to him, with a +quick gesture of invitation. He dropped his heavy gloves on the snow +before clasping them in eager fingers. + +"But you must not stand here, without anything 'round your shoulders," +he said; but, for all his solicitude, he maintained his firm hold of her +hands. She laughed, very softly, and a slight pressure of her fingers +drove his anxiety to the winds. He would have nothing of evil befall +her, God knows!--nay, not so much as a chill--but how could he keep it +in his mind that she wore no cloak when his whole being was a-thrill +with love and worship? So he stood there, speechless, gazing into her +flushed face. Presently her eyes lowered before his ardent regard. + +"I called to you to thank you for saving my life," she murmured. He had +nothing to say to that. Perhaps he had saved her life--and again, +perhaps he had not. At that moment he was the last person in the world +to decide the question. His heart and mind were altogether with the +immediate present. He realized that her hands were strong and yet tender +to the touch of his. The faint fragrance of her hair was in his brain +like some divine vintage. The sweet curves of cheek and lips--how near +they were! She had called to him with more than kindness in her voice. +God had made a high heaven of this fort in the wilderness. + +"You were very brave," she said, leaning nearer ever so slightly. Sweet +madness completely overthrew the lad's native caution, and he was about +to catch her to him bodily, when she slipped nimbly into the cabin, and +left him standing with arms extended in silent invitation toward the +figure of the imperturbed Sir Ralph. + +"Well, my lad?" inquired the baronet, calmly. + +"Good evening to you, Sir Ralph," replied Kingswell, hiding his chagrin +and confusion with exceeding skill. + +"You looked just now as if you were expecting me," said the elder. "Come +in, come in. We can talk better by the fire." + +Kingswell's blushes were safe in the dusk. He picked up his gloves from +the trampled snow by the threshold, and silently followed the baronet +into the fire-lit living-room. Beatrix was not there--which fact the +lover noticed with a sinking of the heart. He was alone with her father, +and evidently under marked suspicion,--a fearful matter to a young man +who aspires to the hand of an angel, and has not yet his line of action +quite laid down. He took a deep breath, trembled at thought of his +presumption, called the respectability of his parents and his income to +his aid, and was ready for the baronet when that gentleman turned and +faced him in front of the fire. + +"I love your daughter," he said, with his voice not quite so cool and +manly as he had intended it to be. + +Sir Ralph bowed, but said nothing. His back was to the fire, and so his +face was in heavy shadow. + +"I love her very dearly," continued the other. "I believe no man could +love a woman more, for it is with my whole heart, and with every fibre +of my being. I know, sir, that my rank is not exalted, and that she is +the--" + +The baronet raised his hand sharply. + +The gesture silenced Kingswell in the middle of his sentence more +effectively than a clap of thunder would have done it. + +"Yes," said Sir Ralph, harshly, "she is the daughter of a blackleg. She +is the daughter of a criminal exile. She is the daughter of a broken +gamester. Ay, Bernard, you do indeed look high,--you, the son of a +humble merchant of Bristol." + +Kingswell was dismayed for the moment. Then, with a hardy oath, he +slapped his hand to his hip. + +"Though she were the daughter of the devil himself," he began, and came +to a lame stop. The baronet's smile passed unseen. It was a kindly +smile, and yet a bitter one by the same tokens. Kingswell gave up all +attempt at politic speech. He had his own feelings to express. "Your +daughter, sir, is the best and the loveliest," he said, huskily. +"Whatever your backslidings and misfortunes have been, they can reflect +in no way on her sweetness, and wisdom, and virtue. But, sir, I do not +mean to sit in judgment on any man, and last of all on the father of the +most glorious woman in the world. I remember you in your strength,--the +greatest man in the county and my father's noble friend. The world has +taken a twirl since then, but you may be sure that, whatever betide, my +heart is with you warmer than my worthy father's ever was." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +BETROTHED + + +That Bernard Kingswell had accepted the baronet's own estimation of his +(the baronet's) character so frankly, in the heat of sentimental +disclosure, did not trouble Sir Ralph by more than a pang or two. What +else could he expect of even this true friend? He was a broken gamester +and a criminal exile by all the signs and by the verdict of the law; but +whether or not he was a blackleg was a matter of opinion and the exact +definition of that word. He knew that Kingswell was well disposed toward +him, and that he believed nothing vile or cowardly of him; but, best of +all, he was sure that, in Kingswell's love, his daughter was fortunate +beyond his hoping of the past two years. Should they get clear of the +besieging natives and out of the wilderness, her future happiness, +safety, and position would be assured. As Mistress Bernard Kingswell, +she would live close to the colour and finer things of life again, +gracing some fair house as a former Beatrix had done in other days--to +wit, the great houses of Beverly and Randon. The mist blurred his eyes +at that memory and dimmed his vision against the rough log walls around +him. + +Another thought came to the broken baronet, as he sat alone by the +falling fire, after Kingswell's departure, and awaited his supper and +the reappearance of his daughter. The thought was like a black shadow +between his face and the comforting fir sticks--between his heart and +the knowledge of a good man's love and protection for Beatrix. Knowing +the girl as he did, he felt sure that she would never leave him, her +exiled father, even at the call of a more compelling love; and, as a +return to his own country meant prison or death to him, she would hold +to the wilderness, thereby leaving the new-found happiness untouched. On +the other hand, should death come to him soon, and in the +wilderness,--by the arrows of the enemy, for choice,--his daughter's +fetters would be filed for ever. He sank his face between his hands. The +desire to live out one's time clings about a man's vitals against all +reason. Even an exiled and broken gamester, stockaded in a nameless +wilderness and hemmed in by savages, finds a certain zest in day and +night and the winds of heaven. With nothing to live for--even with the +scales decidedly the other way--Death still presents an uninviting face. +It may be the inscrutable mask of him that fills with distrust the heart +of the man who contemplates the Long Journey. In that inevitable yet +mysterious figure, showing as no more than a shadow between the bed and +the window, it is hard for the sinful mortal, no matter how repentant, +to read clear the promise of eternal peace. What dark deed might not be +perpetrated by the shrouded messenger between the death-bed and +Paradise? + +Sir Ralph bowed his head between his palms, and hid the commonplace, +beautiful radiance of the hearth-fire from his eyes; and so, while he +waited for his supper of stewed venison, he reasoned and planned for his +daughter's future to the bitter end, seeing clearly that, should the +chances of battle turn in favour of the little plantation, he must +readjust his sentiments toward death. A man of lower breeding and +commoner courage would have groaned in the travail of that thought, and +cursed the alternative; but the baronet sat in silence until he heard +his daughter at the door, and then stood up and hummed softly the +opening bars of a Somerset hunting-song. + +Beatrix tripped close to her father and raised her face to him. He bent +and kissed her tenderly. For a little while they stood without speaking, +hand in hand, on the great caribou skin before the hearth. Suddenly the +girl pressed her cheek against his shoulder. + +"What was it," she whispered, breathlessly,--"the matter that held you +and Bernard in such serious converse?" + +"And has your heart given you no hint of it?" he laughed. + +"And why, dear father? What has my heart to do with your talk of guards +and ammunition and supplies,--save that it is with you in everything?" + +The baronet released her hand and, instead, placed his arm about her +slender and rounded waist. "It is a story that I cannot tell you, +sweet,--I, who am your father," he said. "But I think that you shall not +have to wait long for the telling of it, for both youth and love are +impatient. And here comes the good Maggie with the candles." + +During the meal the baronet was more lively and entertaining than +Beatrix had seen him for years, and Beatrix, in her turn, was unusually +untalkative and preoccupied. The girl wanted to give her undivided +attention to the quiet voice of her heart. The man was equally anxious +to avoid introspection as she to court it. But he, for all his laughter +and gay stories of gay times spent, displayed a colourless face and +haunted eyes behind the candle-light; while she, sitting in silence, +glowed like a rare flower. Her dark, massed tresses, her eyes of +unnamable colour, her throat and lips and brow, were all radiant with +the magic fire at her heart. + +Sir Ralph, after bringing a disjointed tale to a vague ending, sipped +his wine, put down the glass clumsily, and suddenly turned away from the +table. The bitterness of his lot had caught him by the throat. But she +noticed nothing of his change of manner; and presently they left the +table and moved to the fire. He busied himself with heaping faggots +across the dogs. Then she filled his tobacco-pipe for him, and lit it +with a coal from the hearth, puffing daintily. He had just got it in his +hand when a knocking sounded on the door, and Maggie Stone opened to +Kingswell. + +Upon Kingswell's entrance, Sir Ralph, after greeting him cordially but +quietly, donned his cloak and hat, and begged to be excused for a few +minutes. "I have a word for Trigget," he said. Then he pulled on his +gloves, pushed open the door, and stepped out to the dark. + +Two candles burned on the table. Maggie Stone snuffed them, surveyed +the room and its inmates with a comprehensive glance, and at last forced +her unwilling feet kitchenward again. Her heart was as sentimental as +heroic, was Maggie Stone's, and her nature was of an inquisitive turn. +She sighed plaintively as she left the presence of the young couple. + +The door leading to the kitchen had no more than closed behind the +servant than Bernard, without preliminaries, dropped on one knee before +the lady of his adoration, and lifted both her hands to his lips. She +did not move, but stood between the candles and the firelight, all +a-gleam in her beauty and her fine raiment, and gazed down at the golden +head. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were grave. + +"Dear heart," murmured the lad, without lifting his face or altering his +position,--"dear heart, can it be true?" + +She bent her head a little lower. Her heart seemed as if it was about to +break away from its bonds in her side. She could not speak; but, almost +unconsciously, she closed her fingers upon his. + +"Tell me," he cried. And again, with a note of fear in his voice: "Tell +me if I may win you! Tell me if your heart has any promise?" + +Before she could control her agitation sufficiently to answer him, the +outer door of the cabin was swung open without ceremony, and Sir Ralph +stamped in. He caught Kingswell by the wrist and wrenched it sharply. + +"We are attacked," he cried. "They have piled heaps of dry brush along +the palisades--and they have set the stuff on fire! It burns like mad. +Lord, but it looks more like hell than ever!" + +Even as he spoke, the fragrant, biting odour of the smoke from the +burning evergreen-needles invaded the room. Kingswell got quickly to his +feet, still holding the girl's hands. He did not look at the baronet. +For a second he paused and peered, questioning, into her wonderful eyes. + +"Oh, I love you, dear heart," she cried, faintly. "I love you, Bernard." + +He stooped quickly (and how eagerly every lover knows), and even while +the first brief and tremulous kiss was sweet on their lips, the muskets +clapped deafeningly, savage shouts rang high, and the baronet thrust +sword and hat into Bernard's hands. + +"Come! For God's grace, lad, come and rally the men!" he shouted. + +Then the lover turned from his mistress and saw the shrewd work that +awaited him. He ran to it with a leaping heart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +A FIRE-LIT BATTLE. OUENWA'S RETURN + + +The heaps of brush outside the palisades burned with a long-drawn +roaring, like the note of a steady wind. It was a terrifying sound. The +glare of the conflagration lit the interior of the fort, staining the +trampled snow of the yard to an awful hue, staining the faces of the +desperate settlers as if with foreshadowing of blood, and painting the +walls of the cabins as if for a carnival. The platform upon which the +guns stood was a mass of flame before any use could be made of the +pieces. The breastwork of faggots burned with leapings and roarings, +flinging orange and crimson showers to the black dome above. The savages +skirmished behind the girdle of flames, like imps along the +blood-coloured snow. The settlers discharged their muskets through the +singed loopholes, firing low, and taking the chances with heroic +fortitude. Sir Ralph and Bernard Kingswell were here and there, with +their swords in their hands and encouragement in speech and bearing. +Both knew that this engagement would be a fight to the finish; and both +felt reasonably sure that a shrewder and braver commander than Panounia +was against them. + +The ammunition was carried from the storehouse to the shed over the +well, for the fire was already crackling against the log walls of the +buildings. Suddenly a sharp report and a high shower of sparks and +burning fragments broke from the gun-platform; and, for the moment, the +warriors were scattered from that side. One of the cannon had exploded. +That corner of the stockade immediately fell and settled to the snow. +Next instant the second gun was fired by the flames. It sent its whole +charge into the uncertain Beothics, scattering them to cover in yelling +disorder. At that the Englishmen cheered, and set about fighting back +the encroaching flames. + +Inspiration, or a font of courage to be drawn upon at need, must have +dwelt behind the shelter of the spruces; for within a very few minutes +of the retreat, all the warriors, save the wounded, were about the fort +again. Kingswell took note of it, and suspected the inspiration to be +nothing else than Pierre d'Antons' insinuating presence and dazzling +smile. A spur, too, he suspected--the spur of the mongrel Frenchman's +evil sneer and black temper. He knew enough of the aboriginal character +to feel that it would prove but a plaything for such a personality as +the buccaneer's. He looked across the glowing, smoking breach in the +fortifications with hard eyes. He voiced his desire to have the fellow +by the throat, or at the point of his sword, in tones that rang like a +curse. + +Suddenly Kingswell left his post and ran to the well-house. + +He knew where the _Pelican's_ powder lay among the stores, done up in +five canvas bags of about twelve pounds each. With two of these under +his cloak, he returned to his place a few paces from the subsiding red +barrier that still held the enemy from the interior of the fort. By this +time the back of Trigget's cabin was smouldering. The roofs of the +cabins, deep with snow, were safe; but the rear walls were all in a fair +way of being ignited by the crackling brushwood, which the warriors of +Panounia diligently piled against them. + +Kingswell left the protection of the rest of the square to Sir Ralph, +William Trigget, and all the men of the garrison save Tom Bent. The old +boatswain was, by this time, a very active convalescent. Kingswell +whispered a word or two in his ear. They kept a sharp lookout across the +wreckage of the fallen corner of the stockade. They saw a party of the +enemy gather ominously close to the glowing edge of the breach. +Kingswell passed one of the bags of powder to his companion. "When I +give the word," he said. + +Suddenly the black knot of warriors dashed into the obstruction, +brandishing spears and clubs, and screaming like maniacs. Kingswell +uttered a low, quick cry, tossed his bag of powder into the glowing +coals under the feet of the enemy, and ran for the shelter of the +well-house at top speed. Tom Bent followed his movements on the instant. +Together they reached the narrow shelter; and, before they could turn +about, the air shook and reeled, as if a bolt of wind had broken upon +them, a blinding flash seemed to consume the whole night, and a puffing, +thumping report stunned their ears. They stumbled against the sides of +the shed, clawed desperately, and fell to the ground. + +When Bernard Kingswell and the trusty boatswain regained their senses +(which had left them for only a few seconds), they crawled from the +well-house and stared about them. The square was not so bright as it had +been, and, save for a few huddled shapes on the snow, was empty. By the +shouting and mixed tumult, they knew that the fighting was now farther +away--that the settlers had sallied forth on the offensive. They could +not understand such recklessness; but they decided, without hesitation, +to take the risk. They ran to the now black gap in the palisades. Fire, +coals, wreckage, and even the snow had been hurled and blown broadcast. +They crossed the torn ground and headed for the tumult in the fitfully +illuminated spaces beyond. Native war-whoops and English shouts mixed +and clashed in the frosty air. On the very edge of the shifting +conflict, the old sailor clutched his master's arm. "Hark!" he cried. +"D'ye hear that now? It be the yell o' that young Ouenwa, sir, or ye can +call me a Dutcher!" + +At the same moment, before Kingswell could reply to Bent's statement, a +club, thrown by a retreating warrior, caught the gentleman on the side +of the head and felled him like a thing of wood. He moaned, as he +toppled over. Then he lay still on the ruddy snow. + + +Beatrix had a dozen candles alight in the living-room of the baronet's +cabin. Word had reached her that Ouenwa and Black Feather had arrived in +time to take advantage of the rebuff dealt the enemy by the explosions +of the bags of powder. When victory had seemed to be hopelessly in the +hands of the determined savages, Ouenwa and his followers, though spent +from their journey, had made a timely and successful rear attack. + +The girl was radiant. She moved up and down the room, eagerly awaiting +the return of Bernard Kingswell. She questioned herself as to that, and +laughed joyously. Yes, it was Bernard, beyond peradventure, whom heart, +hands, and lips longed to recover and reward. A month ago, a week ago, +it would have been her father--even a night ago he would have shared, +equally with the lover, in her sweet and eager concern. But now she sped +from hearth to door, and peered out into the blackness, with no thought +of any of those brave fellows save the lad of Bristol. + +The burning brush had all been trampled out, and the fires in the walls +and stockade had been quenched with water. The little square was dark, +save for the subdued fingers of light from windows and doors. Beatrix +peered from the open door, regardless of the cold. She was outlined +black against the warm radiance inside the room. Her silken garments +clung about her, pressed gently by a breath of wind. She rested a hand +on either upright of the doorway, and leaned forward as if, at a whim, +she would fly out from the threshold. Presently shadowy figures took +shape in the gloom, and she heard her father's voice, and William +Trigget's, and the high pipe of Ouenwa. But she caught no sound of +Bernard Kingswell's clear tones. A sudden fear caught her, and she +stepped out upon the trampled snow and called to Sir Ralph. In a moment +he was at her side, and had an arm about her. + +"Sweeting," he said, "you must stay within for a little. The night is +bitterly cold, and--" + +"But where is Bernard?" she whispered, staring past him. + +"He is with the others," replied the baronet,--"with Ouenwa and his +brave fellows, and the dauntless Trigget." + +He spoke quickly and uneasily, and led her back to the cabin at the same +time. He closed the door, and laid a wet sword across a stool. + +"What is it?" she cried, facing him, with wide eyes and bloodless +cheeks. "Tell me! Tell me!" + +"The lad is hurt," admitted Sir Ralph. + +"Hurt?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Hurt? How should he be hurt?" + +She shivered, and gripped her hand desperately. Could it be that the +High God had been deaf to her prayers? + +Sir Ralph's face went as pale as hers; for all he knew of Kingswell's +condition was that he still breathed, and that his hat had saved his +head from being cut. Whether the skull was broken or not, he did not +know. He braced himself, and smiled. + +"My dear," he said, "he is not seriously hurt, so do not stand like +that--for God's sake!" + +At the last words his voice lost its note of composure, and broke +shrilly. He caught her to him. "Rip me," he cried, "but if you act so +when he is simply knocked over, what will you do if he ever gets a real +wound!" + +The girl was comforted. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the blood returned +to her cheeks. She clung to the baronet and sobbed against his shoulder. +Presently she looked up. + +"Take me to him," she begged, "or bring him here." + +"So you love this Bernard Kingswell?" inquired her father, looking +steadily into her face. + +Her gleaming eyes did not waver from his gaze. "Yes," she replied, +quietly. + +The man turned away, took his blood-wet sword from the stool, eyed it +dully, and leaned it against the wall. He was trying to imagine what the +lad's death would mean to his daughter's future; but he could only see +that it would mean a few more years for himself. He started guiltily, +and returned to his daughter. His face was desperately grim. + +"Wait for me," he said. "I'll see how the lad is doing now; and shall +return immediately." + +Sir Ralph crossed to the cottage that had been built for D'Antons, and +which had passed on to Kingswell. He opened the door softly and stepped +within. He found the wounded gentleman lying prone on his couch, +half-undressed, and with bandaged head. Ouenwa, gaunt and blood-stained, +was beside the still figure. + +"He opened his eyes," whispered the boy; "but see, he has closed them +again. His spirit waits at the spreading of the trails." + +Sir Ralph bent down and examined the linen dressings on Kingswell's +head. They were exceedingly well arranged. He saw that the hair had been +cut away from the place of the wound. + +"Your work, Ouenwa?" he inquired. + +The boy nodded. The baronet felt his friend's pulse. + +"It beats strong," he said. "The heart seems sure enough of the path to +take." + +Ouenwa's face lighted quickly. "He has chosen," he said, gravely. "He +has seen the hunting-grounds shining beyond the west, but the beauty of +them has not lured him along that trail." + +The baronet smiled quickly into the Beothic's eyes. "You are a brave +lad, and we are deep in debt to you," he exclaimed. "Your bravery and +wit have saved the fort and all our lives. Watch your friend a few +minutes longer; I but go to bring another nurse to help you. Then you +may sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +FATE DEALS CARDS OF BOTH COLOURS IN THE LITTLE FORT + + +From that brisk fight, in which Ouenwa and his twenty braves and the +little garrison of Fort Beatrix defeated Panounia, Black Feather brought +a confirmation of Pierre d'Antons' concern in the last attacks upon the +settlement. It consisted of a sword-belt and an empty scabbard. He had +torn them from the person of a tall antagonist during a brief +hand-to-hand encounter. The owner of the gear had won free, Black +Feather regretted to say. Sir Ralph, too, felt the escape of his enemy, +and sincerely hoped that the defeat had ended his power over Panounia, +and brought down that wolfish chief's hatred instead. + +On the morning after the battle, the little plantation presented a busy +though sombre appearance to those of its people who were in condition to +view it. Along the woods and rising ground to the north, the snow and +frozen soil were being hollowed to receive the bodies of those slain in +the fight. The dead of the enemy had been carried far into the woods, +and piled together with scant ceremony. The settlers had lost three of +their number,--young Donnelly, Harding, and the younger Trigget. Four of +the rescuing party were dead and wounded. Tom Bent was on his back +again, and Kingswell's head was ringing like a sea-shell. William +Trigget was cut about the face and sore all over; but he kept on his +feet. + +After the graves were chipped in the iron earth, and the shrouded bodies +lowered therein and covered, the tribesmen, under Black Feather's +orders, set about building themselves lodges outside the stockade. It +had been decided that, for mutual support, the friendly Beothics should +camp near the fort, at least for the remainder of the winter. With axes +borrowed from the settlement, they soon had the forest ringing with the +noise of their labour. Though they had travelled light, in their hurry +to rescue the friends of Ouenwa and Black Feather, they had dragged +along with them a few sled-loads of deerskins and birch bark, with which +to cover their wigwams. So the shelters sprang up quickly about the torn +and scorched palisades; for it was a small matter to trim the poles and +fit the pliable roofs across the conical frames. + +The dusk gathered over the wilderness, dimming the edges of white +barren and black forest and round hill. The stars shone silver above, +and the fires of the victorious men of the totem of the Bear glowed red +below. In the outer room of the cabin that had been Pierre d'Antons', +Beatrix sat alone by Kingswell's bed. Her eyes were on the leaping +flames in the chimney, and his were on the fair lines of her averted +face. The top of his head was so swathed in bandages that he looked like +a turbaned Turk. Cheeks and chin were white as paper in the unstable +light. His eyes were bright with a touch of fever brought on by his +suffering. His mind was in a fitful mood, for a minute or two steady +enough and concerned with the present and the room in which he lay, and +then wandering abroad, exploring vague trails of remembrance and +imagining. Sometimes he murmured words and sentences, but in such a +gabbling style that his nurse could have made nothing of what was +passing in his brain even if she had taken such advantage of his +condition as to try. + +After a long spell of uneasy mutterings, followed by a profound silence, +he suddenly flung out one arm. The movement startled Beatrix from her +dreaming, and she turned her face back to him from the fire. + +"Twenty days without water," he whispered, distinctly. "Twenty +days--and that beast Trowley is laughing to see my tongue between my +teeth like a squeezed rag." + +The girl caught up a mug of water and held it to his lips. He drank +greedily, and then took hold of her hand. His head was against the +hollow of her arm; for, to give him the drink, she had knelt beside his +low bed. + +"Beatrix," he said, gravely, "let us pretend that you love me." + +She was strangely moved at that, and bent closer to see his eyes. + +"Why pretend, dear heart?" she answered. "I do love you, as you very +well know. Sleep again, Bernard, with your head so--pressed close." + +"I feel your heart," he said, simply as a child. The fever was as a fine +haze across the mirror of his brain. + +"It beats only for you," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. +The lad's eyes shone with a clearer light at that. + +"Tell me that this is no vision of fever," he said. "Tell me, or +strength will bring nothing but sorrow. Better death than to find your +kisses a trick of dreaming." + +"Is it not a pleasant dream?" she asked, softly, smiling a little. + +"Ay; to dream so, a man would gladly have done with waking," he replied. +"If it were not in life that Beatrix were mine, then would I follow the +vision through eternal sleep--as God is my judge." + +"Hush, dear lad," she murmured, "for the heart and the body of Beatrix +are of right Somersetshire stuff, to fade not at any whim of fever--and +the love she gives you will outlast life--as God is our judge and love +His handiwork." And she kissed him again, blushing sweetly at her +daring. And so they remained, she kneeling beside the couch, and he with +his bandaged head against her lovely shoulder, until Sir Ralph entered +the cabin, fumbling discreetly at the latch. + +The days passed slowly in the heart of that frozen wilderness between +the white river and the long graves. Stockade and wall were repaired. +Fresh meat was trapped and shot in sheltered valley and rough wood. The +forge rang again with the clanging of sledges, and the tracts of timber +with the swinging axes. Hope reawoke in hearts long dismayed, and blood +ran more redly to the stir of work and freedom. Master Kingswell gained +fresh strength with the rounding of every day, and Mistress Westleigh +recovered all her glory of eyes and lips and hair. Ouenwa, honoured by +all, carried himself like a gentleman and a warrior. Black Feather, with +his wife and his surviving child in a snug lodge, felt again the zest +and peace of living. Only Sir Ralph seemed to find no ray of comfort in +the days of security. He brooded alone, avoiding even his daughter. His +face grew thinner, and his shoulders lost something of their youthful +vigour. The desolation and bitterness had, at last, dimmed his courage +and his philosophy. The very relief at Panounia's defeat and D'Antons' +supposed overthrow had, somehow, weakened his gallant endurance. He +counted it a grievance that God had not led him to his death in the last +fight, as he had prayed so earnestly. He had been eager then. Now he +must plan it over again--over and over--in cold reasoning and cold +blood, and alone by the fire. A foolish, causeless anger got hold upon +him at times; and again he would be all repentance, telling his heart +that, no matter how bitter his fate, it was fully deserved. And so, day +by day, the shadows grew behind his brain, and a little seed of madness +germinated and took root. + +For a time Beatrix did not notice the change in her father's manner and +habits. The thing disclosed itself so gradually, and she was so intent +upon the nursing of her lover; and yet again, the baronet had been +variable in his moods, to a certain extent, ever since the beginning of +his troubles--years enough ago. It was Ouenwa who first saw that +something had gone radically wrong in the broken gentleman's mind, and +his knowledge had come about in this wise. + +The young Beothic, though an ardent sportsman and warrior, was a still +more ardent seeker after bookish wisdom. Kingswell, before his hurt, had +taught him something of the art of reading. Later, Mistress Westleigh +had carried it further. By the time that Kingswell was safely on the +road to his old health and a mended head, Ouenwa could spell out a page +of English print very creditably. His primer was one of those volumes of +Master Will Shakespeare's plays, which the Frenchman had left behind +him. One day Beatrix entered the cabin to take her turn at tending the +invalid, and found Ouenwa with the drama in his hands, and his youthful +brow painfully furrowed with thought. She took the book from him and +fluttered the pages, pausing here and there to read a line or two. + +"Run away," said she, "and on a shelf beside our chimney you will find a +book with easier words than this contains. There is matter here, I +think, that is beyond a beginner." + +At that Kingswell raised himself to his elbow and nodded his sore head +eagerly. + +"Ay, lad, run and find yourself an easier book," he said. + +Nothing loath, for his quest of learning was sincere,--as was everything +about him,--Ouenwa left the presence of the lovers and ran across the +snow to Sir Ralph's cabin. He told his errand to the baronet. That +gentleman looked at him long and keenly, so that the boy trembled and +wished himself out of the house. Then, with a sudden start and a harsh +laugh, "Help yourself, lad," said Sir Ralph. Ouenwa found the shelf of +books, and, kneeling before it, was soon busy looking over the divers +volumes and broad-sheets with which it was piled high. He found a rhymed +and pictured chap-book greatly to his liking. He was spelling out the +first verses when a movement behind his back brought him to a sense of +his whereabouts. He turned quickly. There stood the baronet, with a +walking-cane in his hand, making lunge and thrust at a spot of resin on +the log wall. The poor gentleman stamped and straddled, pinked the +unseen swordsman, and parried the unseen blade, with a dashing air. +There was a light in his eyes and a twist of the lips that struck +Ouenwa's heart cold in his side. The light was that which, when seen in +the eyes of a man of a primitive people, divides that man from the laws +and responsibilities that are the portion of his fellows. It was the +gleam of idiocy--that sinister sheen that cuts a man from his +birthright. + +The boy knelt there, motionless with fear, with his face turned over his +shoulder. He watched every movement of the fantastic exhibition with +fascinated eyes. He fairly held his breath, so terrible was the display +in that quiet, dim-lit room. Suddenly the baronet lowered the point of +the modish cane smartly to the floor, and turned upon the lad with a +smile, an embarrassed flush on his thin cheeks, and sane eyes. + +"'Tis a pretty art--this of the French rapier," he said, "and I make a +point of keeping my wrist limber for it." + +"Yes, sir," said Ouenwa. + +Sir Ralph flung the walking-cane aside, and sat down despondently in the +nearest chair. Ouenwa saw, at a glance, that his presence was already +forgotten. With furtive movements and such haste as he could manage, he +began replacing some of the books and selecting others to carry away +with him. + +"Sweeting," said the baronet, "a pipe of tobacco would rest me." + +Ouenwa realized that the gentleman, in his strange mood, believed that +Mistress Beatrix was in the room; but Ouenwa had tact enough not to +point out the little mistake. He got up noiselessly and filled the bowl +of a long pipe from a great jar on the chimney-piece. He took a splinter +of wood from the basket by the hearth and lit it at the fire. Stepping +softly to the baronet's side, he placed the pipe in his hand, and held +the light to the tobacco while the baronet puffed reflectively and +unseeingly. Then the lad gathered up his books and left the cabin. Fear +of Sir Ralph's wild manner was cold in his veins. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS PARRIES ANOTHER THRUST + + +And now to tell something of the movements of Pierre d'Antons, which, of +late, have been carried on behind the screen of the forest and beyond +the ken of the reader. + +The defeat of Panounia's warriors, on that night of fire and blood, +knocked the adventurer's fortunes flatter than they had ever been. You +may believe that he cursed Ouenwa bitterly, and wished that he had +killed him long ago, when the lad threw his followers into the battle. +It was then that D'Antons himself left his post beyond the scuffle, and, +with desperate efforts, tried to turn the reverse back to victory. His +swordsmanship and energy availed him nothing. He missed capture only by +slipping the buckle of his sword-belt. Then, a fugitive from both sides, +he ran to the woods, avoiding the scattered and retreating warriors who +had so lately been struggling in his behalf as fearfully as he would +have avoided William Trigget or Sir Ralph Westleigh. One of his late +comrades, trailing wounded limbs along the snow, hurled a Beothic curse +after him. Another, better prepared, let fly a war-club, and missed him +by an inch. He slashed on, through the underbrush, the drifts, and the +dark, sure that capture by any of the defeated savages would mean death +and perhaps torture. + +The black captain did not run on any vague course, despite his haste. He +knew where a possibility of help awaited him. He had given his wits to +more than plans of revenge and kidnapping during his sojourn with +Panounia. In winning the men to him, he knew that his hold upon them +would not outlast defeat; but in winning the love of the Beothic maiden +Miwandi, he had laid up store against an evil day. But he had not won +her heart simply on a chance of defeat--far from it, for he had not +dreamed of such a chance. It was a pleasant thing in itself to be the +lover of that nut-brown, lithe-limbed, warm-hearted young girl--for +Miwandi suspected nothing of his desire for, and plans concerning, the +lady in the fort. She loved the tall foreigner quickly and surely. She +was extravagantly proud of his power over the warriors of her people. He +was her brave, and as such she cherished him openly, to the envy rather +than the criticism of the other women of the encampment. + +Miwandi was the daughter of a lesser chief of Panounia's faction. She +was seventeen years of age. Her skin was ruddy brown, darker than the +skins of some of her people and lighter than that of others. Her hair +was brown and of a silken texture, very unlike the straight locks of the +savages of the great continent to the westward. Her features were good, +and her eyes were full of life and warmth. D'Antons' conquest rankled in +the breasts of more than one of the young bucks of the camp. + +Pierre d'Antons, fleeing from the fighting men of both parties, shaped +his course for the lodge in which Miwandi dwelt. As he ran, with fear at +his heels, he forgot to regret the girl in the fort; instead, a pang of +honest affection for the comely young woman toward whom he was flying +for help stirred in him. He stumbled into the lodge, and Miwandi caught +him in her arms. In a few quick words, he told her of the defeat, and of +the anger of Panounia's warriors toward him. She kissed him once, +passionately, and then fell to collecting a few things--a quiver of +arrows, a bow, furs, and some food. She pressed a bundle into his arms. +He accepted it without a word. She bound her snow-shoes to her feet, and +retied the wrenched thongs of his. Then they slipped from the dark +lodge to the darker woods; and his sheathless sword, damp with blood, +was still in his hand. They heard the cries of the wounded behind them, +and other cries that inspired them to flight. + +They fled for hours, without pausing to ease their breathing. Of the +two, it was the man who sometimes lagged, who often stumbled, and who +cried once that he would rather be captured than strain limb and lung to +another effort. D'Antons had been actively employed throughout the day, +and again during the most desperate passages of the battle, and his +strength was well-nigh exhausted. At last he fell and lay prone. In an +instant the girl was beside him, pillowing his head and shielding his +body from the cold, and revived him with brandy from the scanty supply +in his flask. By that time the dawn was breaking gray under the stars, +and all sounds of the chase had died away. She cut an armful of +fir-branches, and with them and the skins she and D'Antons had carried, +she made a rude bed and a yet ruder shelter. So they lay until high +noon, fugitives in a desolate wilderness, with death, in half a dozen +guises, lurking on either hand. + +Behind D'Antons and Miwandi, the broken band of Panounia's followers +soon gave up the hunt. Matters were not in condition to be mended by +killing a long-faced Frenchman and a pretty girl. The defeated savages +had their own wounds to see to, and already too many dead to hide under +the snow. A matter of sentiment, like the torturing and killing of their +false leader D'Antons, would have to wait. Now, of all those valorous +warriors who had menaced the little fort since the very beginning of +winter, only ten remained unhurt. Panounia was dead. He had breathed his +last in the edge of the woods, while the battle was still raging, and +had been carried farther in by one of his men. Thus his death had +remained unknown to the victors; as had also the deaths of many more of +the besiegers. Wolf Slayer, that courageous savage lad who had once +boasted of his deeds to Ouenwa, was desperately hurt. Painfully and +hopelessly, those of the wounded who could move at all, the women, and +the unhurt of the band, retreated toward farther and surer fastnesses. +The wounded who could not drag themselves along were left to perish in +the snow. Some were frozen stiff before morning. Some bled to death +within the same time. A few lived until they were discovered by Ouenwa's +men in the bright daytime,--they were reported as having been found +dead. + +D'Antons and Miwandi travelled, by forced marches, until they reached a +wooded valley and a narrow, frozen river. Along this they journeyed +inland and southward. At last they found a spot that promised shelter +from the bleak winds as well as from prying eyes. There they built a +wigwam of such materials as were at hand. Game was fairly plentiful in +the protected coverts around. They soon had a comfortable retreat +fashioned in that safe and voiceless place. + +"It will do until summer brings the ships," remarked D'Antons, busy with +plans whereby he might give Dame Fortune's wheel another twirl. +Sometimes he spent whole hours in telling Miwandi brave tales of far and +beautiful countries. He spoke of white towns above green harbours, of +high forests with strange, bright birds flying through their tops, and +of wide savannahs, whereon roved herds of great, sharp-horned beasts of +more weight than a stag caribou. + +"Oh, but you do not mean to leave me, Heart-of-Life," she cried. + +So he swore, by a dozen saints, that she, Miwandi, should be his queen +in a palace of white stone above a tropic sea. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +A GRIM TURN OF MARCH MADNESS + + +Day by day, Sir Ralph Westleigh's mental sickness increased. It +strengthened in the dark, like a blight on corn. Very gradually, and day +by day, it grew over the bright surface of his mind and spirit. The +sureness of its advance was a fearful thing to watch. + +By the time March was over the wilderness, with a hint of spring in the +morning skies, the baronet's condition was noticeable to even the +dullest inmate of the settlement. The poor gentleman spoke little--and +that little was seldom to the point. It seemed as if he had forgotten +how to smile, or even to make a pretence at mirth. He walked alone for +hours on the frozen river and through the woods. The Beothics of the +camp before the fort stood in awe of him. At times he treated Beatrix +and Bernard Kingswell as strangers; but he always knew Maggie Stone, and +chided her often on the scantiness of his dinners. All day, indoors and +out, he wore a rapier at his side. In the cabin he spent half of the +time inert by the fire, without book, or cards, or chess, and the rest +of it in sword-play with an imaginary antagonist. + +It was well for Beatrix that she had found Bernard's love before the +fresh misfortune descended upon her. But even with that comfort and +inspiration, her father's derangement affected her bitterly. They had +been such friends; and now he had blank eyes and deaf ears for all her +actions and words. It was twenty times harder for her than to have seen +him struck down by knife or arrow. Death seemed an honest thing compared +to that coldness and vagueness of spirit that gathered more thickly +about him with the passing of each day. It was as if another life, +another spirit, had taken possession of the familiar body and beloved +features. After two weeks neither her kisses nor her tears had any +potency to break through the awful estrangement. Her prayers, her fond +recollections of their old companionship, brought no gleam to the dull +eye. + +By the end of March the busy boat-builders and smiths of the +settlement--and every man save Sir Ralph was either one or the +other--had two new boats all but completed. They were staunch crafts, +of about the capacity and model of the _Pelican_. They were intended for +fishing on the river and the great bays and for exploration cruises. + +William Trigget, who was a master shipbuilder as he was a master +mariner, entertained great ideas of fishing and trading more openly than +Sir Ralph had sanctioned in the past. He was for carving out a real home +in the wilderness, and his wife was of the same mind. + +"We couldn't bear to leave the boy's grave," he said. + +Kingswell promised that, should he win back to Bristol, and find his +affairs in order, he would use his influence in behalf of the settlement +on Gray Goose River. Donnelly, too, was all for holding to the new land. + +"It be rough, God knows," he said, "but it be sort o' hopeful, too. If +they danged savages leaves us alone, an' trade's decent, I be for +spendin' the balance o' my days alongside o' Skipper Trigget. There be a +grave yonder the missus an' me wouldn't turn our backs on, not if we +could help it." + +Kingswell himself was not building any dreams of fixing his lot in that +desolate place; and neither was old Tom Bent, though he spoke little on +the subject. Ouenwa's ambitions continued to point overseas. Beatrix, +now despondent at her father's trouble, and again happy in her love, +gave little thought to the future of the settlement, or to any plans for +the days to come, save vague dreamings of an English home. + +March wore along, and in open spaces the snow shrank inch by inch. Then +rain fell; and after that a time of tingling cold held all the +wilderness in a ringing white imprisonment. A man could run over the +snow-fields and the bed of the river without snow-shoes; for the surface +was tough as wood, white as the shield of that sinless knight, Sir +Galahad, and glistening as a thousand diamonds. The mornings lifted +clear silver and pale gold along the east. The evenings faded out in +crimson and saffron, and the twilights, even when the stars were lit, +made of the dome of heaven a bubble of thinnest green. And back of it +all, despite the frost, hung a suggestion of sap-reddened twigs and +blossoming trees. + +The lure of the season touched every one in the fort, and the camp +beside it. It ran in Sir Ralph's blood like some fabled wine--for what +vintage of France or Spain is the stuff of which the poets sing. It +mounted to his head with a high, unregretting recklessness, and doubled +the madness that already lurked there. Something of his old manner +returned, and for a whole evening he sat with Beatrix and Kingswell and +talked rationally and hopefully. Also, that same night, he played a game +of chess. He spoke of the future as one who sees into it clearly and +without fear. He recalled the past without any sign of embarrassment. +But Kingswell, meeting his eyes by chance, caught a light of derision in +them. + +Very early in the morning, while the stars still glinted overhead, and +the promise of day was no more than a strip of pearl along the east, Sir +Ralph Westleigh unbarred the door of his cabin and slipped out. He was +warmly and carefully dressed in furs and moccasins. He carried his sword +free under his arm. Very cautiously he scaled the palisade and dropped +to the frozen crust of snow outside. The Beothic encampment lay around +the corner of the fort, so he was safe from detection from that quarter. +He looked about and behind with a cunning smile. Then he ran lightly +into the woods. + +Sir Ralph followed his aimless course for miles, and his soft-shod feet +left no mark on the hard surface of the snow. Then the sun slid up and +over, and in the warmth of high noon the frozen crust of the wilderness +thawed a little, and here and there the baronet's feet broke through. At +that he began to feel fatigue and a disconcerting pang of doubt. He +flung himself down in a little thicket of spruces, and called for Maggie +Stone to bring him food and drink. He called again and again. He shouted +other names than that of the old servant. In a sudden agony of fear, he +jumped to his feet and plunged through the evergreens. At every third +step he sank to his knee, or half-way up his thigh. He screamed the name +of his daughter, "Beatrix, Beatrix"--or was it his dead wife he was +calling? He cried for guidance to many great gentlemen of England who +had been his boon companions in the old days, forgetting that death had +taken some of them away from him, and that the rest, to a man, had +turned of their own accord. Presently he ceased his foolish outcry and +plodded along, with no thought of the course, sobbing the while like a +lost child. + +The sun began its downward journey, and still the baronet, with his +sheathed sword under his arm, staggered across the voiceless wilderness. +Toward mid-afternoon the thawing crust froze again, and he travelled +with less difficulty. Ever and anon his poor eyes pictured a running +figure in an edge of blue shadow before him. At times it was the figure +of the nobleman he had killed in England, in the dispute at the +gaming-table, and again it was a friend,--Kingswell or Trigget, or +another of the fort,--and yet again it was Pierre d'Antons. But no +matter how he strove to run down the lurker, he lost him every time. +Thirst plagued him, and he ate the clear ice and snow off the fronds of +the spruces. Hunger gnawed him awhile, but passed gradually. The west +took on the flame and glory of sunset. The east darkened. The stars +pricked through the high shell of the sky. Night gathered her cloudless +darkness over the wilderness; and still the demented baronet followed +his aimless quest. + +Toward evening of the day following Sir Ralph Westleigh's departure from +Fort Beatrix, Pierre d'Antons and Miwandi were startled by the sudden +and noiseless appearance of a gaunt and wild-eyed person in the doorway +of their lodge. The woman cried out, and ran to the farthest corner of +the wigwam. D'Antons staggered back, and his face turned gray as the +ashes around the fire-stone. The unexpected visitor drew his blade, +flung the sheath behind him on the snow, and advanced upon the fugitive +adventurer. D'Antons sprang back and caught up his own sword from where +it lay on a couch of branches and skins. He swore, more in wonder than +anger. + +"Westleigh!" he cried. "What brings you here, you fool--and how many +follow you?" + +The baronet halted and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He reeled a +little, but his eyes changed in their light and colour. + +"I am alone," he said. "Yes, I am alone." His voice was quiet. He seemed +sorely puzzled. D'Antons' face regained its swarthy tints, and he +laughed harshly. + +"So you have hunted me down, old cock," he said, smiling. "You'll find +that the quarry has fangs--in his own den." + +The red of madness returned to Sir Ralph's eyes. He advanced his rapier. +In a second the fight was on. For a few minutes the strength of insanity +supported the baronet's starving muscles and reeling brain. Then his +thrusts began to go wide, and his guard to waver. A clean lunge dropped +him in the door of the lodge without a cry. The life-blood of the last +baronet of Beverly and Randon made a vivid circle of red on the snow of +that nameless wilderness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +THE RUNNING OF THE ICE + + +It was Beatrix who first discovered her father's flight; but that was +four hours after its occurrence. The fort was soon astir with the news. +Men set out in all directions, in search of the missing one. Half a +dozen of the friendly Beothics joined in the hunt. They went east and +west, north and south. The sharpest eyes could detect no trail of the +madman's feet. Beatrix insisted upon accompanying Bernard and Ouenwa. +She tried to show a brave face; but something in her heart told her to +expect the worst. The three travelled southward, and shortly before +sunset returned to the fort, unsuccessful. They found that all the other +searchers had got back, save Black Feather and a young brave named +Kakatoc, who had set out together. + +By the merest chance Black Feather and his companion happened upon the +place where the baronet had first broken through the melting crust. With +but little effort they found where he had rested and taken up his +journey again. Farther on, the faintness of the trail put an edge to +their determination to find the unfortunate gentleman. It was a +challenge to their woodcraft, and they accepted it eagerly. But within +two hours of finding the marks, they lost them again. They ranged wide; +and at last Black Feather discovered a footprint in a little pad of snow +beside a stunted spruce. In several places the branches of the tree +showed where the snow had been broken away, as if by a man's hand. It +was enough to keep them to the quest. + +Not in the next day, but in the early morning after that, the two +Beothics happened upon a sheltered valley and a snow-cleared space, with +a fire-stone in the middle of it, where a lodge had lately stood. As for +signs of blood, there were none. Snow had been deftly spread and +trampled over it. All around the so evident site of a human habitation +the hard crust gleamed unbroken, save for a little path that ran down to +a hole in the ice of the stream. After considering the place, and +shaking their heads, the two ate the last of the food they had in their +pouches and turned their feet back to the fort. They passed within a few +paces of a dense thicket, in the heart of which the baronet's body lay +uncovered. But how were they to know it, when even the prowling foxes +had not yet found it out! + +For several days the search was continued by the settlers and their +allies, but all in vain. It was not even suspected that the deserted +camping-place which Black Feather and Kakatoc had seen had so lately +been warmed by the feet of Pierre d'Antons and the blood of the lost +baronet. For a few days longer the business of the settlement lagged, +and the place wore an air of mourning, despite the ever-brightening and +mellowing season. Then the axes struck up their chant again, and the +little duties of the common day erased the forebodings of Eternity from +the minds of the pioneers. Only Mistress Beatrix could see nothing of +the reawakening of life and hope for the sorrow in her heart and the +mist across her eyes. She had loved her father deeply and faithfully, +with a love that had been strengthened by his misfortunes. She had felt +toward him the combined affections of daughter and sister and friend. +She had made allowances for the weaknesses of his later years that +equalled the ever charitable devotion of a parent for a best-loved +child. She had not been, and was not now, blind to the passion of gaming +that had forced him to exile and an unknown death; but she had forgiven +it long ago. As to the alleged murder that had made such an evil odour +in London, she believed--and rightly--that hot blood and overmuch wine +had been to blame, and that her father's sword had been drawn after the +victim's. + +Bernard Kingswell did all in his power to comfort the bereaved girl. He +urged her to spend much of her time out-of-doors. He told his plans for +their future, and to cheer her he built them even more hopefully than he +felt; for he realized that many difficulties were yet to be overcome +before Bristol was safely reached. With Ouenwa, the two often went on +long tramps through the woods. Their evenings were always spent +together. Sometimes he read aloud to her, and sometimes they played at +chess. One evening she got her violin, and played as wonderfully as she +had on that other occasion; but instead of leaving him afterward without +a word, as she had done, she laid the fiddle aside and nestled into his +arms. He held her tenderly, patting the bright hair against his +shoulder, and murmuring broken assurances of his love and sympathy. She +wept quietly for a little while; but when she kissed him at the door, +her face and eyes shone with something of their old light. + +By mid-April knobs of rock and moss pierced through the shrinking snow +in the open places; but in the woods the drifts continued to withstand +the wasting breath of the spring winds. Gray Goose River was no longer +a broad path of spotless white. Its surface was mottled with patches of +sodden gray; and an attentive listener on the bank might hear a myriad +of tiny voices, some sibilant and some tinkling and liquid, in and under +the enfeebled ice. Up and down the valley, between the knolls and wooded +hills, the little streams were already snarling and roaring, and here +and there flashing brown shoulders to the sunlight. Through all the +wilderness ran a tingling whisper; and twilight, midnight, and dawn were +stirred by the falling cries of wild-fowl on the wing. A faint, alluring +fragrance was in the air--the scent of millions of swelling buds and +crimson willow-stems. + +About that time three warriors of the following of the dead Panounia +arrived at the fort, with prayers for peace on their lips and gifts in +their hands. They were received by Kingswell, William Trigget, and +Ouenwa from the fort, and Black Feather and two of his chiefs from the +camp. A lengthy business was gone through with, and much strong +Virginian tobacco was burned. Documents were written in English and in +the picture-writing of the natives, and read aloud, by Ouenwa, in both +languages. Then they were solemnly signed by all present, and peace was +restored to the great tribe of the North, and protection, trade, and +lands were granted for all time to the inhabitants of Fort Beatrix and +their descendants. The three visitors went back to their people with +rolls of red cloth and packets of glass beads, pot-metal knives, and +other useless trinkets on their shoulders. + +Shortly after their departure from the fort, a storm of rain blew up +from the sou'east. All day the great drops thumped on the roofs of the +cabins, on the skies of the lodges, and spattered on the sodden snow. +The firs and spruces gleamed clean and black under the drenching +showers. A veil of smoke-gray mist lay above the farther woods and along +the black tangles of alders and gray fringes of willows. All night the +warm rain continued to fall and drift. When morning lifted along the +pearly east, a cry rang from the camp to the fort that the ice in the +river was moving. The settlers hastened to the flat before the stockade. +Beatrix was with them. + +"See how the torn edge of ice overtops the bank," said Kingswell, +pointing eagerly. "And there is an open space. Ah, it has closed again! +How slowly it grinds along!" + +"It will run faster before night," replied the girl, and Ouenwa, who was +versed in the ways of his northern rivers, nodded silently. + +While they watched, admiring the swelling, swinging, ponderous advance +of the great surface, and harkening to the booming thunder of its agony +that filled the air, a breathless runner joined the group and spoke a +few quick words to Black Feather. That chief approached Ouenwa and +whispered in his ear. The boy glanced quickly at Beatrix and Kingswell, +and then questioned Black Feather anxiously. Presently he turned back to +the lovers. + +"The ice is stuck down-stream," he said. "Blue Cloud has seen it. He +fears that the water will rise over the flat--and the fort." + +The river continued to rise until evening. After that the waters +subsided a little, great cakes of rotten ice hung stranded along the +crest of the bank, and the main body ceased to run downward. But from up +the valley the thunder of a hidden disturbance still boomed across the +windless air. + +"The jam had broken down-stream," said Ouenwa. + +Kingswell, unused to the ways of running ice, was satisfied, and retired +to his couch with an easy mind. He slept soundly until, in the gray of +the dawn, Ouenwa shook him roughly, and all but dragged him to the +floor. + +"Wake up, wake up," cried the boy. "Damn, but you sleep like a bear! +The fort is in danger! We must run for higher land." + +"Rip me!" exclaimed Kingswell, springing to his feet, "but what is the +trouble? Are we attacked?" + +"The river is all but empty of water," replied Ouenwa. "The ice sags in +the channel, like an empty garment. The water hangs above, behind the +third point where we cut the timber for the boats." + +Kingswell, all the while, was busily employed pulling on his heavy +clothes. Though he did not fully understand the threatening danger, he +felt that it was real enough. While he tied the thongs of his deerhide +leggins, Ouenwa told him that warning had reached the fort but a few +minutes before. + +"How?" inquired Kingswell, hurriedly bestowing a wallet of gold coins +and some other valuables about his person. + +Ouenwa, already loaded down with his friend's possessions, threw open +the door and stepped out. + +"Wolf Slayer brought it," he said, over his shoulder. "And I do not +understand," he added, "for Wolf Slayer hates us all." + +The other, close at his heels, made no comment on that intelligence. He +scarcely heard it, so anxious was he for the safety of Mistress +Beatrix. The whole fort was astir; but Kingswell ran straight to his +sweetheart's door. It was opened by the maiden herself. She and the old +servant were all ready to leave. + +An hour passed; load after load of stores and household goods was +carried to the low hills behind the fort; and still the river lay empty, +with its marred sheet of ice sagging between the banks; and still the +unseen jam held back the gathering freshet. The women wept at the +thought that their little homes were in danger of being broken and torn +and whirled away. But Beatrix was dry-eyed. + +"It will be no great matter for them to build new cabins in a safer +place," she said to Kingswell. + +He was looking at the natives dragging their rolled-up lodges to higher +ground. He turned, smiling gravely. + +"You have no love for the wilderness?" he asked, "and yet but for this +forsaken place, you and I might never have met." + +She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted a flushed face to his tender +regard. + +"So it has served my turn," she said. "Now that I have you, I could well +spare these wastes of black wood and empty barren." + +Kingswell had been waiting patiently and in silence for that confession +ever since their betrothal. Hitherto she had not once spoken with any +assurance of their future together. She had treated the subject vaguely, +as if her thoughts were all with the past and with the tragedy of her +father's death. + +"Would you face the homeward voyage in one of the little boats?" he +asked, softly. + +"Ay, with you at the tiller," she replied. + +"Dear girl," he said, "I think that a stout ship called the _Heart of +the West_ will be setting sail from Bristol, for this wilderness, before +many days." + +"Would the fellow dare return?" she asked; for she had heard the story +of Trowley's treachery. + +"He will think himself safe enough," replied Kingswell. "No doubt he +owns the ship now--has bought it from my mother for the price of a +skiff, after telling her how recklessly he battled with the savages to +save her son's life." + +He laughed softly. "The old rogue will be surprised when I step aboard," +he added. + +Before she could answer him a booming report shook the sunlit air. It +was followed, in a second, by a long-drawn tumult--a grinding and +crashing and roaring--as if the firmament had fallen and overthrown the +everlasting hills. The sagging ice below them reared, domed upward, and +split with clapping thunders. It broke its plunging masses, which were +hurled down the stream and over the flats. A thing of brown water and +sodden gray lumps tore the alders and swung across the meadow where the +Beothic encampment had stood an hour before. The eastern stockade of the +fort went down beneath its inevitable, crushing onslaught. + +All day cakes and pans of sodden ice and snow raced down the river, and +the air hummed and vibrated with their clamour. But the weight of the +released waters had passed; and the fort had suffered by no more than an +exposed side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR + + +Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to +Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a +starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in +which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, +he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie +in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the +settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old +arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa +read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under +such unpropitious circumstances. + +Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the +overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and +could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake, thinking of the +future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought +of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and +comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, +and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more +softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or--or what? He shifted +noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his +pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and +closed with a silent enemy. + +Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a +clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to +the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch +bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame +lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had +the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw +his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English +indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt +and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on +his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into +the darkness. + +A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with +word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and +Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome +news that one of the vessels was the _Heart of the West_. + +Both the new boats and the old _Pelican_ were made ready for the +expedition. Kingswell commanded the _Pelican_, with Ouenwa and six +natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and +Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to +see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh--and, as the boats stole +down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his +hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, +of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix +Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of +Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England. + +The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the +man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which +she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, +and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He +tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that +placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all +that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances +of danger?--the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and +barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings. + +A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the +three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with +English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. +Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for +their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass. + +The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear +of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, +and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward +and looked under the square canvas of the _Pelican's_ big wing. + +"An extra man," he remarked to Ouenwa, sharply. "Who has taken it upon +himself to improve on my orders?" + +A blanket-swathed figure, forward of the mast, turned and crawled aft. +Then the blanket fell away, and Mistress Westleigh, rigged out in an +amazing mixture of masculine and feminine attire, laughed up at the +commander. + +"Promise to shield me from the wrath of Maggie Stone, when we go back," +she whispered, in mock concern. + +For a moment Bernard stared, with wonder and embarrassment in his eyes, +the while Ouenwa hid a smile. Then he doffed his hat and caught the +queer figure to his knee; and in the flush of the morning, under the +grave regard of the Beothic warriors, he kissed her on lips and brow. + +"What authority has Maggie Stone?" he cried. "If any one has a right to +control your actions, surely it is I." + +She slipped to the seat beside him. "And you told me I could not +accompany you--that it would not be safe," she replied. + +"Ay, but it was my duty to bid you remain behind," he said. "God knows +it hurt me to refuse your so--so flattering a wish. But you accepted it +calmly, dear heart." + +"I accepted it for what it was worth," she laughed. "I could not shed +tears over a parting which I felt certain was not to take place." Her +face changed quickly from merriment to gravity. "I could not have stayed +in the fort without you," she whispered. "Dear lad, I am afraid to +death whenever you are out of my sight. I do believe this love has made +a coward of me!" + +For a little while there was no sound aboard the _Pelican_ save the +tapping of the reef-points on the swelling breast of the sail, and the +slow creak of the tiller. Ouenwa, leaning far to one side, gazed ahead, +while the warriors crouched on the thwarts. Then the man stooped his +head close to the girl's. + +"But on this trip," he whispered, "you must obey me--for both our sakes, +dearest. It would be mutiny else." + +"I shall always obey you," she replied--"always, always--so long as you +do not again leave me alone in Fort Beatrix." + +"William Trigget was there," he ventured. "And Maggie Stone." + +She laughed at that. "Poor Maggie!" she sighed. "Poor Maggie! She will +rate me soundly for my boldness. She has ever a thousand discourses on +the proprieties ready on the tip of her tongue." + +"Ah, the proprieties," murmured Bernard, as if caught by a new and +somewhat disconcerting idea. "Rip me, but I've never given them a +thought!" + +Beatrix laughed delightedly. "You must not let them trouble you now," +she said. "When we get back to Bristol, I will guard myself with a +dozen staid companions, and--" She paused, and blushed crimson. "I +forget that I am penniless," she added. + +Kingswell's left hand closed over hers where it lay in her lap. "How +long, think you, shall you stand in need of chaperons in Bristol?" he +asked. + +The three boats sought shelter in a tiny, hidden bay, and Kingswell, +Mistress Westleigh, Ouenwa, and Tom Bent made an overland trip to a +wooded hill overlooking Wigwam Harbour. There lay the _Heart of the +West_, close in at her old anchorage after the day's fishing. Work was +going briskly forward on the stages at the edge of the tide. The other +vessels, which were much smaller than Trowley's command, lay nearer the +mouth of the river harbour. The declining sun stained spars and furled +sails to a rosy tint above the green water. + +"Hark!" whispered Kingswell, touching the girl's arm, as she crouched +beside him in the fringe of spruces. + +A bellowing voice, loud and harsh in abuse, reached their ears. + +"'Tis Trowley," he said, and chuckled. "How will he sound to-night, I +wonder?" + +"You will not be rash, Bernard,--for my sake," pleaded the girl. + +He assured her that he would be discreet. + +It was dark when they got back to the little cove in which the boats +were beached. About midnight, with no light save the vague illumination +of the scattered stars, they rowed out with muffled oars. They moved +with such caution that it took them two hours to reach Wigwam Harbour. +They passed the outer ships unchallenged. Then Beatrix was transferred +from the _Pelican_ to Black Feather's boat, and Tom Bent joined the +commander. A veil of drifting cloud shut out even such feeble light as +had disclosed the course to the voyagers. Before them the _Heart of the +West_ loomed dark, a thing of massed shadows and a few yellow lights. + +The new-built boats lay about thirty yards aft and seaward of the ship. +The _Pelican_ stole in under the looming stern, with no more noise than +a fish makes when he breaches in shallow water. The crew steadied her +beside the groaning rudder with their hands. Kingswell stood on a thwart +and peered in at the cabin window, as Ouenwa had peered on a night of +the preceding season. The low, oak-ceiled room was empty. A lantern hung +from the starboard bulkhead, and two candles, in silver sticks that bore +the Kingswell crest, burned, with bending flames, on the table. On the +locker under the lantern lay a cutlass in its sheath, and a boat-cloak +in an untidy heap. The edge of the table was within two feet of the +square stern-window. + +For a little while Kingswell listened with guarded breath. Then, +swiftly and lightly, he pulled himself across the ledge of the window, +scrambled through, and crouched behind the table. Very cautiously he +drew his rapier with his right hand and his dagger with his left. For a +minute or two he squatted in the narrow quarters, breathing regularly +and deeply, and harkening to the innumerable creaking voices of the +decks and bulkheads, and the muffled voices and laughter from forward. +For the occasion he had donned the hat, coat, breeches, and boots--all +now stained and faded--in which Master Trowley had last seen him. + +Suddenly a heavy, uncertain step sounded on the companion ladder just +forward of the cabin door. A volley of stout Devonshire oaths boomed +above the lesser sounds. The door flew open, smote the bulkhead with a +resounding crack, and swung, trembling. The bulky figure of Trowley +entered, and the heady voice of the old sea-dog cursed the door, and +big, red hands slammed it shut again. Kingswell drew a deep breath, and +composed his dancing nerves and galloping blood as best he could. His +emotions were disconcertingly mixed. + +The masterful old pirate (for such he surely was, deny the charge if you +like) seemed to fill the cabin to overflowing with his lurching, great +body. He tossed boat-cloak and cutlass on the deck, and yanked up the +top of the locker. With muttered revilings at the excessive cost of West +Indies rum, he produced a bottle of no mean capacity from its +hiding-place, and a fine glass sparkled in the candle-light like +diamonds. Kingswell recognized the glass as one from which he had often +drunk his grog--a rare piece from his house in Bristol. Those articles +the mariner placed on the table, scarcely a foot from the watcher's +head. Next he loaded himself a china pipe with black tobacco, and lit it +at one of the candles. In doing so, Master Bernard heard the puffings +and gruntings with which the deed was accomplished, like half a gale in +his ear. At last the fellow sat down with a thud, squared his elbows on +the table, gazed for a second at the square window that opened on to the +mysterious gloom of the night, and tipped the bottle. The liquor gulped +and gurgled in its passage to the glass. The reek of it permeated the +air. + +"Dang it," grumbled the mariner, "d'ye call this rum! Sink me, but it be +half water!" + +However, he swallowed the dose with gusto, and smacked his lips at the +end of it as he never would have after a draught of water. + +Very steadily and quietly Bernard Kingswell arose to his feet and +looked down at Master Trowley with inscrutable eyes shadowed by his +wide, stained hat. The silence that followed lasted only a few seconds, +but to the staring mariner it seemed a matter of hours. He sprawled on +his low stool, open-mouthed, red-eyed, with his big hands nerveless on +the table, and the lighted pipe unheeded at his feet. + +"Traitor!" said Kingswell, coldly; and leaning across the table he +tweaked the purple tip of Trowley's nose between thumb and finger. To do +so, he laid his dagger on the edge of the mahogany for a second. The +indignity called forth no more than a gurgle of terror from the master +mariner. Kingswell plucked up the thin blade and flashed it within an +inch of the whiskered face. Still the fellow sagged on his stool, unable +to stir a muscle. Kingswell whistled three low notes. Ouenwa crawled +through the port, with a coil of light rope in his hand. Tom Bent +followed. Trowley threw off the spell of the supposed ghostly visitation +and got to his feet with a bellow of rage and fear. In an instant he was +flat on his back, with a gagging hand across his mouth and another at +his throat. He was soon bound hand and foot, and securely gagged with a +strip of his own boat-cloak. + +Ouenwa stuck his head through the open port, and whispered a word or +two. One by one, four of his braves entered, with their knives +unsheathed. Kingswell motioned them to follow, and softly opened the +cabin door. On the port side of the alley-way, beside the companion +ladder, Trowley's mate lay asleep in his bunk. Kingswell bent over him +and saw that he was a stranger. He nodded significantly; and in an +amazingly short time the mate of the _Heart of the West_ was as neatly +trussed up as the master. + +Fifteen minutes later, Tom Bent hung over the rail, aft, and waved a +lantern in three half-circles. And not long after that, Mistress +Westleigh, Master Kingswell, and Ouenwa filled glasses with Canary wine, +in the cabin of the _Heart of the West_. In the waist of the ship the +stout English sailors and the skin-clad Beothics drained their +pannikins, and eyed each other with good-natured curiosity. Old Tom Bent +was toast-master; and also he told them an amazing story. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MAGGIE STONE TAKES MUCH UPON HERSELF + + +Shortly before midnight, Tom Bent went quietly about the task of waking +both watches and the Beothics. The three boats from Fort Beatrix were +manned, with the muffling oars. The two small anchors by which the +_Heart of the West_ swung in the tide were fished into two of the boats +by hand. It was a tough job; but, when it was accomplished, the ship was +free without so much as a clank of cable or a turn of the noisy capstan. +Hawsers were passed from the small craft over the bows of the ship, and +at a signal from a lantern in Kingswell's hand, the men bent their backs +to the oars. Then all lights aboard the _Heart of the West_ were +covered, and in the darkness, beside the great tiller, Kingswell caught +his inspiration and his reward to his heart again. + +The girl did not leave the commander's side, but kept watch on the high +poop-deck throughout the journey. Until dawn the rowers held to their +toil, and after them, drawn by lines that were sometimes taut and +sometimes under water, but always invisible in the darkness, the ship +stole like a shape of cloud and dream. It was hard work, and slow. With +the breaking of dawn, the leviathan took on signs of life. By that time +she was hidden from Wigwam Harbour by more than one bluff headland. The +pulling boats drifted to her bows, the capstan was manned, and the +anchors were lifted to their places on the forecast rail. Headsails were +set, and the square mizzen was run up. The boats dropped astern and were +made fast, and the weary men climbed aboard the ship. + +All day the _Heart of the West_ threaded the green waterways of the +great Bay of Exploits. A light and favourable breeze lent itself to the +venture. After the midday meal, Beatrix, wrapped in a blanket, lay down +by the mizzen and fell asleep. She was tired. The easy motion of the +ship, and the song of the wind in ropes and canvas, sank her fathoms +deep in slumber, with the magic of a fairy lullaby. Kingswell rigged a +piece of sail-cloth from the bulwarks to the mast to shade her face from +the sun. + +At last the wide estuary, which ends in Gray Goose River, was reached. +By sunset the mouth of the river was entered. Just then the wind +failed. The boats were manned again, and the ship taken in tow. + +Still Mistress Westleigh slumbered peacefully, with the rough blanket +about her dainty body and her head pillowed on Kingswell's folded coat. +Kneeling beside her, Kingswell peered under the shelter of canvas, and +saw that she was smiling in her dreams. How white were her dropped +eyelids, and how clear and rose-tinted her small face. Her lips were +parted a little, as if to whisper some sweet secret. A strand of her +bright, dark hair was across her forehead, and one arm, clear of the +blanket and the deerskin on which she lay, rested on the deck. The rosy +palm was upturned. Kingswell stooped lower and kissed it softly. +Standing up, he found Tom Bent beside him. The mahogany-hued mariner +grinned sheepishly, and gave a hitch to his belt. + +"Beggin' the lady's pardon," he whispered, "but, if the angels in heaven +be half so sweet to look at as herself, I'm for going to heaven, in +spite o' the devil. Sink me, but I'd play one o' they golden harps with +a light heart if--if the equals of herself were a-listenin' on the +quarter-deck." + +Kingswell blushed and smiled. "You, too?" said he. "You are in love, Tom +Bent." + +"Ay, sir," replied the boatswain, "for it can't be helped. I'm in love +and awash, and danged near to sinkin'. Might as well expect a man to +keep sober in the 'Powdered Admiral' on Bristol dock as within ten +knots, to win'ward or lee'ard, o' your sweetheart, sir." + +"I agree with you," replied the gentleman, bowing gravely. + +Tom Bent pulled his scant forelock, and rolled away about his duty. He +was mightily pleased with himself at having expressed his admiration for +his young commander's choice in such felicitous terms. He prided himself +on his eye for feminine beauty, no matter what the race or the rank of +the fair one,--and a fairer than Mistress Westleigh he swore by all the +gods of the Seven Seas he had never laid eyes on. + +The long spring twilight was gathering into dusk when the toiling boats +and the tall ship rounded the point, and opened the fort to the view of +the daring cruisers. Directly in front of the stockade the anchors +plunged into the brown current. The rattle of the cables through the +hawse-holes awoke Beatrix. She had been dreaming of a great garden in +Somerset, and of walking along box-hedged paths with her father on one +side and her lover on the other. Opening her eyes upon the canvas +shelter which Kingswell had spread above her, and with the clangour of +the running cables in her ears, for a second she did not know where she +was. A vague fear oppressed her for a little. Then she recalled the +incidents of the last two days, and was about to crawl from her +resting-place, when the edge of the shelter was lifted, and Kingswell +looked down at her. + +"Wake up," he said. "We are at the fort, and Trigget and Maggie Stone +are coming off in a canoe." + +"Nay, then I'll stay here until you explain matters," she replied. "You +must bear the brunt of Maggie Stone's displeasure for my sake." She sat +up, laughing softly, and lifted her face in a way that only a dunce +could fail to comprehend. Under cover of the strip of sail-cloth, he +kissed the warm lips and the bright hair. + +"Trust me," he laughed; and at that moment Trigget and the servant +climbed to the poop by way of the ladder from the ship's waist. He +advanced to meet them. He saw that Trigget held a folded paper in his +hand, and that the honest eyes of that bold mariner were red and moist. + +"What is it?" he inquired; for he had entirely forgotten, for the time +being, the manner of Mistress Westleigh's joining with the expedition. + +"Here be your will, sir," said Trigget, handing him the paper. +"It--it--well, maybe it'll not be o' any use now." + +"Of course not," replied Kingswell, cheerfully, tearing it across. + +Maggie Stone burst into tears. "Jus' the way Sir Ralph went," she +sobbed. "Oh, my beautiful little lady--an' her fit mate for any nobleman +of London town!" + +"What the devil do you mean?" cried Kingswell. Then the truth dawned in +his preoccupied brain. "Dry your eyes," he said. "She is safe and +sound." + +"Thank God for that," exclaimed William Trigget, devoutly. + +"What--the mistress be safe, d'ye say?" cried Maggie Stone, with a +sudden change of face. + +Kingswell nodded curtly. He did not like being bawled at on the poop of +his recaptured ship, even by an old serving maid. "Your mistress is +safe--and in my care," he said. + +"Indeed, sir?" she queried. "An' may I make so bold as to ax when ye +married Sir Ralph Westleigh's daughter?" + +William Trigget murmured something to the effect that his presence was +required forward, and took his departure. Kingswell bit his lip and +stared haughtily at the woman; but he was at a loss for words fully +expressive of his feelings. His indignation brought a flush to his +cheeks which even the dusk of evening could not hide. + +"Ye may well redden," cried Maggie Stone. "Ay, ye may well redden, after +sailin' away with an unprotected lass, an' near terrifyin' her old nurse +into fits." + +The gentleman recovered his power of speech. "My good girl," he said +(and she was a full twenty years older than his mother), "your joy at +hearing of your mistress's safety takes a wondrous queer and unseemly +way of expressing itself. You seem to forget that you, the lady's +servant, are addressing the lady's betrothed husband." + +The old maid glared and drew her scanty skirts about her. + +"Maybe so," she retorted. "'Twould never have happened in Somerset." + +At that moment Mistress Beatrix appeared suddenly from the other side of +the mizzen. + +"How dare you!" she cried. "How dare you speak so to Master Kingswell!" + +Anger--quick, scathing anger--rang in her voice. Standing there in her +short skirt, high, beaded moccasins, and blue cloth jacket, she looked +like an indignant boy, save for her coiled hair and bright beauty. + +"I am ashamed of you," she added; and then, turning quickly, she flung +herself into Kingswell's ever ready embrace. + +Maggie Stone was flustered and somewhat awed by the sudden attack. She +had not been spoken to so for years and years. Would she resort to tears +again, or would she answer back? She was jealous of the girl's love for +Kingswell--and yet she had thanked God many times that that love had +been won by the young Englishman instead of by the swarthy D'Antons. She +sniffed, and mopped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she changed +her mind and bridled. + +"What would the countess, your aunt, say to such behaviour?" she asked. +"Her who watched over ye like a guardian angel in London town." + +Beatrix turned, and, still holding her lover's hands, faced the carping +critic. + +"And who turned me out of her house at the last of it," she cried, +scornfully. "Who is she, or who was she ever, to question my behaviour? +And who are you, woman, to insult your mistress and the gentleman who +saved you from the knives of the savages? Go back to the fort." + +Maggie Stone saw that she had made a serious mistake,--a mistake which, +perhaps, would alienate the lady's affection for ever. She turned, a +pitiable figure, and made to descend the steep ladder which stood close +to the starboard side of the ship, and led to the waist. Her foot caught +in a loop of rope that had not been properly stopped up to its +belaying-pin. She lurched against the line that ran from the break of +the poop to the bulwarks below, made a blind effort to right herself, +and pitched over into the shadowed water below. She did not even scream. + +Kingswell dropped his sweetheart's hands, ran to the side and jumped +after the foolish old woman. By that time the twilight had left the +river. The current carried him swiftly down-stream, close under the side +of the ship. The water was uncomfortably cold, and his thick clothes +dragged at his limbs. He cleared his hair from his eyes. A disturbance +appeared on the surface of the stream a few yards ahead. With a quick +stroke or two, he reached it, and caught Maggie Stone by a thin +shoulder. She struggled desperately, mad with fright. Both were pulled +over the gunwale of the _Pelican_ not a moment too soon. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED + + +It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the +good ship _Plover_ and _Mary and Joyce_, when the gray light of dawn +disclosed the fact that the _Heart of the West_ had vanished completely. +What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of +whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths! + +"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner. + +"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate. + +"Cut an' run," suggested another. + +"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin' +else," replied the cook of the _Plover_. + +The captain of the _Mary and Joyce_ scanned the inner harbour and what +he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon +the cliffs and hills and inland woods. + +"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last. + +No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were +searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a +deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the +skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that +Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next +morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from +which to reap the harvest of the great bay. + +To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a +great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak, +Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St. +John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife, +to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had +not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in +the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking +now that they had accepted it. + +"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl. + +"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell, lifting the glowing +face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin. + +"Nor I, dear heart," she replied. + +To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter +than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets, +inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were +bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red, +patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the _Heart of the West_. +The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even +Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet +(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a +beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and +silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny +Beothic always stalked. + +The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked +pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during +the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines, +cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master +Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son. +He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It +had been as he had hinted to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful +and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence, +during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made +such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship +that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of +fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley, +Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really +anger him. + +"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to +Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of +joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor +devil. I can afford to be charitable now." + +They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at +the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping +the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's +underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward +Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for +having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts +flitted pleasantly through her mind. + +"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of +the whole thing. + +"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in +Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and--and I was mightily surprised +to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were +bright." + +"Do you mean that you--do you mean that it happened on the first day of +your arrival at the fort?" she queried. + +"Surely," said he. + +"And you loved me then?" + +He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his +ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English +rose-garden. + +"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an +impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so +self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm." + +He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while, +they were silent. + +"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day +you came to the fort, or was it just--just surprise at seeing a--a +civilized girl in so forsaken a place?" + +He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to +kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given +ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your +hands. Was that love, think you?" + +"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but +tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying +water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the +_Heart of the West_. + +"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St. +John's--and then for home." + +The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was +weeping. + +"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded, +and choked with a sob she could not stifle. + +"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked. + +"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered. + +He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the +anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that +held the fate of the mad baronet so securely. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE FIRST STAGE OF THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE IS BRAVELY ACCOMPLISHED + + +At nine o'clock of the morning of the twenty-second day of June, the bow +of the _Heart of the West_ was towed around and pointed down-stream by +willing boats and canoes; a light wind filled such sails as were set, +and the voyage was begun. Trigget fired a salute from a new gun which +Kingswell had given him from the armament of the ship. It was answered +by the barking of cannon and the fluttering of sails. + +Ouenwa stood with Mistress Westleigh, Kingswell, and Maggie Stone, aft +by the tiller, which was in the hands of Tom Bent. The lad was fairly +wild with excitement. Now, it seemed to him, his great dreams were +assured; and yet a pang of homesickness went through the joy like the +blade of a knife, as he watched the faces of the clustered people along +the meadow and in the boats grow dim,--the faces of William Trigget and +Black Feather, and of a dozen more who were dear to him. He shouted back +to them in English and in his native tongue, and waved his cap +frantically. The faces blurred and wavered. The ship swam around the +wooded point, and meadow and stockade and camp of wigwams vanished like +a picture withdrawn. The lad turned and glanced at Mistress Westleigh. +Then he walked forward to the break of the poop, and blinked very hard +at nothing in particular in the belly of the maintopsail. + +Soon the wooded banks fell away on either side, and the water changed +its tint of amber for wind-roughened green. The gray, purple, and brown +shores of the roadstead widened and dropped lower, and azure uplands +shone beyond their frowning brows. The wind freshened, and white flakes +of foam whipped from crest to crest across the ever-shifting, +ever-vanishing valleys of green. Along the fading cliffs white sea-birds +circled and settled like flakes of snow. A few great gulls winged around +the ship, fleeing to leeward like bolts of mist, and beating up again +with quivering pinions. + +Kingswell had taken the duties of sailing-master upon himself. He was as +good a deep-sea navigator as any man on the whole width of the North +Atlantic. When the outer bay was reached, yards were swung around, and +the stout bark headed due east at his orders. To see old Tom Bent push +the tiller over, and other seasoned mariners man brace and sheet, at the +command of that gold-haired youth, made the heart of Beatrix Westleigh +flutter with pride. Her dark eyes, already bright and lovely beyond +power of description, shone yet more brightly; and her cheeks, already +flushed to clear flame by the wind, deepened their glow. As the ship +answered to his will, so would he answer to her whim. It was a pleasant +reflection to the lady; and to realize it she called softly. Without a +glance at the straining sails, he turned and hastened to her side. + +The voyage from Fort Beatrix to the wonderful harbour and brave little +town of St. John's was made without accident, though not without +incident. In Bonavista Bay, at a gray hour of the morning, the stump of +a great iceberg was narrowly avoided. A day later, a large vessel that +was evidently employed at fishing evinced an undesirable interest in the +business of the _Heart of the West_. She was not a quarter of a mile +distant when first sighted, for a light fog was on the water. She flew +no flag, and changed her course and altered her speed with sinister +promptness. Kingswell, and every man of the ship's company, knew that +pirates of many nationalities infested those waters during summer. The +worst of the thieves were Turks; and the fishing-ship or store-ship that +was overhauled by those gentry usually lost more than its cargo. +Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Spaniards also had a weakness for playing the +part of the bald eagle, with their heavy metalled and wide-sailed craft, +to the role of the fishhawk so unwillingly played by the merchantmen. +Happily for Kingswell's command, the stranger was inshore and to +leeward. Both watches were piped up by Tom Bent. The gunners went to +their quarters. Sail after sail unfurled about the already straining +masts and yards. The brave little ship answered willingly to the +pressure, and her cutwater broke the flanks of the waves into sibilant +foam. + +A rumour of the chase reached Mistress Beatrix and her old maid, in the +seclusion of that snug cabin in which Master Trowley was, at one time, +wont to revel. Maggie Stone drew the curtains across the thick glass of +the after-port (as if fearing that the eagle glance of one of the +pirates might pierce the privacy of her retreat), and then devoted +herself to tearful prayer. Beatrix completed her toilet, threw a cloak +over her shoulders, and climbed the companion. She joined Kingswell by +the tiller, and, after saluting him tenderly and with a composure that +took no heed of the sailor at the helm, watched the chase with interest. + +"They outsail us," she said, presently. + +Kingswell nodded. "But she'll never get near us on that course," he +replied. "She is for heading us off, and getting to windward. If she +gets to windward of us--Lord, but I scarce think she will." + +He said a word of preparation to the man at the tiller, and then gave a +few quick orders from the break of the poop. In half a minute the _Heart +of the West_ headed out on an easy tack. When every sail was drawing to +his liking, he returned to the girl. + +"How glorious!" she cried. "A good horse, a singing pack, and an old fox +make but slow sport compared to this." + +"We are the fox on this hunting morning," smiled Kingswell. + +"With teeth," she hinted. + +He noticed that the unwelcome stranger was shouldering the wind on the +new course. He looked at the girl. + +"Ay, we have teeth, sweeting," he said, "and soon we'll be gnashing +them." + +Though the _Heart of the West_ sailed well, to windward, the big craft +astern sailed even better. The ships, crowded with canvas, the dancing +blue water and cloudless sky, and the brown and azure coast to leeward, +made a fine picture under the white sun. As the stranger drew near and +nearer, excitement increased aboard the merchantman. Old Trowley bawled +to be set free, that he might not die in the sail-locker like a rat in a +hole. Tom Bent spat on his hard hands, and pulled his belt an inch +shorter. Ouenwa lugged up shot and powder, and was for opening fire at +an impossible range. Beatrix roused Maggie Stone from her devotions, and +took her forward to a place of greater safety in the men's quarters. + +Along either side of the after-cabin of the _Heart of the West_ ran a +narrow passage. Each passage ended in a blind port, and behind each port +crouched a gun of unusual size for so peaceful an appearing ship. Now +Kingswell blessed the day that a youthful love of warlike gear and a +heart for adventure had led him to add these pieces to the armament of +his ship. He remembered, with a contented smile, how Master Trowley had +growled at the delay caused by getting the great guns aboard and +partitioning off the passage. Even his mother had urged him to put more +faith in the great ship which the king was so gracious as to send to +Newfounde Land each spring, as a convoy to the fishing fleet. But +Master Bernard, spoiled child, had had his way; and now he thanked the +gods of war for it. + +Both ships sailed as close to the wind as their models and rigging and +the laws of nature would allow. They went about often on ever shortening +tacks. The hunter outsailed the hunted, though it is safe to say that +her seamanship was no better. Suddenly she luffed until her sails +quivered, and from her bows broke two puffs of smoke with inner cores of +flame. Both shots flew high, and fell ahead of the quarry in brief +spouts of torn water. At that, the blind ports in the stern of the +merchantman opened up, and the sinister muzzles of the guns were run out +with a gust of English cheering. Then their sudden voices boomed +defiance, and the smoke rolled along the water and clung to the leaping +waves. + +Kingswell felt the deck jump under his feet. His pulses leaped with the +good planks. "Hit!" he cried--and sure enough, one of the enemy's upper +spars, with its burden of flapping canvas, tottered desperately, and +then swooped down on the clustered buccaneers beneath. Half an hour +later the _Heart of the West_ was spinning along on her old course, and +far astern the stranger lay to and nursed her wound. + +Three days later, at high noon, the Narrows opened in the sheer brown +face of the cliffs, and the people of the _Heart of the West_ caught a +glimpse of the harbour and the shipping beyond. Then the rocky portals +seemed to close, and the spray flew like smoke along the unbroken +ramparts. The ship was put about, and again the magic entrance opened +and shut. + +"I knows the channel, sir," said Tom Bent. "Ye needn't wait for no +duff-headed pilot." + +So the stout ship went 'round again, with a brisk shouting of men at the +braces and a booming of canvas aloft. Her colours flew bravely in the +sunlight, answering the colours of the fort and the battery on Signal +Hill. She raced at the towering cliff as if she would try to overthrow +it with her cocked-up bowsprit. Even Kingswell caught his breath. +Beatrix looked away, so fearful was the sight of the unbroken rock that +seemed to swim toward them with a voice of thunder and the smoking surf +along its foot. Ouenwa wondered if Tom Bent were mad. But the boatswain +gripped the big tiller, and squinted under the yards, and cocked an eye +aloft at the flags and men on the cliff. Then, of a sudden, the narrow +passage of green water, spray-fringed, opened under their bows, and the +walls of rock slid aside and let them in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN THE MERRY CITY + + +The _Heart of the West_ was boarded by a lieutenant of infantry, inside +the Narrows, and was quickly piloted to a berth on the north side of the +great harbour, where her anchors were merrily let go. The lieutenant +welcomed Master Kingswell in the governor's name, and vowed to Mistress +Westleigh that the old shellback (with so little respect will a +subaltern sometimes speak of his superior into safe ears) would never +have allowed his gout to keep him ashore had he guessed that the new +arrival carried such a passenger. + +"But his Excellency is a sailor," he added, "so, after all, he'd blink +his old eyes at you unmoved. These sailors, ecod, are not the +worshippers of beauty that the poets would have us believe." + +He bowed again, very fine in his new uniform and powdered hair. Beatrix +shot a glance at Kingswell, who seemed in no wise conscious of the +dimness of his own attire and the rents in the silk facings of his +coat. Then she smiled upon the soldier. + +"Both the army and navy have my esteem," she said, "but my particular +fancy is for the Church." + +The lieutenant seemed overwhelmed. "Say you so?" he cried. "And to +think, mistress, that I refused to take Holy Orders, despite the +combined persuasion of both my parents and my uncle, the Bishop of Bath. +Stab me, but why did not my heart give me a hint of your preference?" + +"Perhaps you have a parson ashore," suggested Kingswell. + +"Ay, we have a parson--a ranting old missionary," replied the +lieutenant. + +"He'll serve my turn," said Beatrix, "so long as he can read the +marriage service." + +"Ay, he'll serve our turn," said Kingswell. + +The soldier sighed, and smiled whimsically from the one to the other. He +was not much older than Bernard Kingswell, and of a pleasant, boyish +countenance. + +"You have a story," he said, "with which I hope you will honour us in +the governor's house. A brave tale, too, I'll stake my sword." He smiled +good-naturedly at Master Kingswell. "But d'ye know," he added, gazing at +Mistress Westleigh, "I had quite set my heart on it that you two were +brother and sister." + +The governor received them in his best coat, with one foot in a boot, +and the other swathed to the bulk of a soldier's knapsack. His face was +of the tint of russet leather, and, roughened by many inclement winds +and darkened by high living. His voice was of a rancorous quality, as if +he had frayed it by too much shouting through fogs and against gales. +His hands were big, knotted, and tremulous, and his eyes not unlike +those of a new-jigged codfish. Altogether he was a figure of a man for +his place as king's representative. He led Mistress Beatrix to a chair +with such grace as he could command, and presented a ponderous snuff-box +to Master Kingswell. Then he called for refreshments. The lieutenant +made himself at home beside the lady, and waited upon her with wine and +cakes. When the servants were gone and the door closed, Kingswell stated +his name and degree. + +"Let me shake your hand again, young sir," cried his Excellency, +extending an unsteady hand. "Your honoured father dined and wined me +more than once in his great house in Bristol,--ay, and treated the poor +sailor like a peer of the realm." + +Kingswell leaned sideways in his chair and gave a brief account of Sir +Ralph Westleigh's and Mistress Westleigh's sojourn in the wilderness, +and of the baronet's death. He did not mention the fact that the fort +was still inhabited, nor did he give a very definite idea of its +whereabouts. It was well to be cautious in regard to unchartered +plantations in those days of greedy fishermen. He mentioned the brief +engagement with the buccaneer. He told of his betrothal to Mistress +Westleigh, and of their anxiety to be married immediately. The governor +was deeply affected by the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's last days. He +murmured an oath. "And the day was," he said, "that not a duke in +England was more looked up to than that same baronet of Somerset. Well +do I recall the pride that inflated me when Lady Westleigh--ay, the +young lady's mother--bowed to me in Hyde Park. Only once had she met me, +and that in a crush to which I'd been invited through my commander. And +she was as beautiful as she was gracious, sir. 'Twas after her death +that Sir Ralph threw over his ballast, poor devil." + +Kingswell nodded, and remembered the winter of alarms and loneliness. + +"They were bitter years for the daughter," he said, softly. "Motherless, +and with a father whom she loved letting slip his old pride and honour +day by day, she shared his downfall and his exile with fortitude, sir, +I can assure you." + +"Ay, as became her brave beauty," replied the governor, with a gleam in +his staring eyes. + +Now fate would have it at that time the only divine in the great island, +the Reverend Thomas Aldrich, M. A., was away from the little town of St. +John's, on a preaching tour among the English fishermen in Conception +Bay. He might be back in a day's time; he was more likely not to return +within the week. + +"In the meantime," said the honest governor, "my house is at Mistress +Westleigh's service. Let her send for her maid and her boxes. My good +housekeeper will tidy up the best chamber. Gad, Master Kingswell, but +we'll cheer this God-forsaken, French-pestered hole in the rock with a +touch of gaiety." + +His Excellency's hospitality was accepted, and for eight days the little +settlement gave itself over to merrymaking. There were dances in the +governor's house every night, at which Beatrix was the only lady. There +were great dinners, during which Beatrix sat on his Excellency's right +and Kingswell on his left. There were inspections of the fort, boating +parties on the harbour, and outings among the woods and natural gardens +that graced the valley at the head of the beautiful basin. + +The beauty and graciousness of Mistress Westleigh, and the knowledge of +her loyalty to her father, and her bravery won the heart of that rude +village. From the governor to the youngest sailor lad, every man in the +harbour was her humble and devoted servant. + +Before the kindly soldiers and merchants and adventurers, she was always +merry. The main street along the water-front took on a light of distant +England did she but appear in it for a minute. The three officers of the +garrison swore that they preferred it to the most fashionable promenade +on London. But, alone, or with her lover, she eased, with tears, the +grief for her father's fate, which all the junketing and gaiety but +seemed to uncover. + +On the eighth day after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_ in the +harbour of St. John's, the parson returned from his preaching among the +boisterous fishing-ships in Conception Bay. He shook his head at the +state in which he found his home flock; for he was of that gloomy +persuasion known as low church, and held little with frivolity. But, +after meeting Beatrix, he thawed, and even went so far as to attempt a +pun on his willingness to marry her. The sally of wit was received by +the lady with so lovely a smile that the divine forgot his austerity so +far as to poke Kingswell in the ribs, and call him a sly dog. + +The ceremony took place in the little church behind the governor's +house; and, after it was over, his Excellency, the parson, the officers +of the garrison, the merchants, the captains of the ships, and many +more, accompanied the happy couple aboard the _Heart of the West_, where +sound wines were drunk by the quality, and rum and beer by the +commonalty. All the shipping, the premises of the merchants, and the +forts flew bunting, as if for a demonstration to royalty itself. At noon +farewells were said, and a dozen willing boats towed the _Heart of the +West_ down the harbour and through the Narrows. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +PIERRE D'ANTONS SIGNALS HIS OLD COMRADES, AND AGAIN PUTS TO SEA + + +The wilderness, that grim thing of naked rock, brown barren, gray marsh, +and black wood, which had claimed the mad baronet so surely, was unable +to keep Pierre d'Antons in its spacious prison. With the return of +summer, the dark adventurer and the Beothic girl deserted their inland +retreat, and set out for a certain grim cape which thrusts far into the +Atlantic. The crown of that cape affords an uninterrupted view to +seaward and north and south across the waters of two great bays. A fire +at night, or a column of smoke in the day, glowing or streaming upward +from that vantage place, would be sighted from the deck of a passing +ship at a distance of many miles. + +The journey proved a long and trying one, through swamps and barrens, +and over rock-tumbled knolls. Streams were forded, lakes +circumambulated, and rivers crossed on insecure rafts. Through it all, +the native girl, Miwandi, kept a brave heart and bright face. D'Antons, +however, was preoccupied in his manner, and even gloomy at times. The +hardships of that wild existence had begun to tell on his body, and the +loneliness to fret his nerves. His infatuation for Mistress Westleigh +had dimmed and faded out altogether, leaving only a mean desire for the +salve of revenge with which to soothe his injured pride. He would wound +her through Kingswell. Sometimes a fear oppressed him that his men might +have forgotten his mastery by this time, and might fail, after the two +seasons of silence, to continue their cruising of those northern waters +throughout June and July, as he had commanded. But that doubt only +troubled him in his darkest moods. The loyalty of his subordinate +buccaneers of the _Cristobal_ was not to be questioned seriously, for it +had been tested in many tight places. Comradeship often forms as trusty +ties between the hearts of pirates as between the hearts of honest +gentlemen. Once grown beyond the temptations of greed and treachery, it +is a safe thing, this loyalty of desperate men for their messmates. + +It was Pierre d'Antons' dream to regain the deck of the _Cristobal_ +(with Miwandi, of course), and to appear, some fine day, before the +little fort of Gray Goose River; to put the settlers to the sword, the +buildings to the torch, and to carry the English beauty away with him. +He felt that his passion for the proud lady might be easily and +pleasantly refired. But he made no mention of Mistress Westleigh to +Miwandi, the Beothic girl. + +After more than a week of hard travelling, the two ascended the wooded +ridge which runs seaward to the bleak and elevated acres of the grim +cape of their desire. In a shaggy grove they set up their lodge. At the +extremity of the headland, high above the wheeling, screaming gulls and +noddies, D'Antons built a circular fireplace of the stones that lay +about. Completed, it looked like an altar reared by some benighted +priesthood to the gods of the wind and the sea. But no such thought +occurred to its architect. His case was too desperate to allow his mind +to indulge in such whimsical fancies. + +While the woman went in quest of food--fish, flesh, or fowl, what did it +matter which?--the man gathered wood and piled it near the queer hearth. +He worked without intermission until Miwandi returned from her foraging +with a string of bright trout in her hand. Then he built a modest fire +within the rough walls of his furnace, and helped the girl clean and +cook the fish. By that time the glow of the afternoon was centred +behind the gloomy hills, and a clear twilight was over the sea; but as +yet the atmosphere held no suggestion of dusk. No sail broke the wide +expanse of dark blue ocean with its flake of gray; but to the nor'east a +whale breached and blew its little fountain of spray across the still +line of the horizon. D'Antons and Miwandi noted these things as they +ate, but made no comment upon them. + +For several days after the arrival of the two upon the overseeing +headland, D'Antons made no other use of his furnace than for the cooking +of meals. For that purpose it served admirably, for the walls protected +the flame from the ever-flying winds that prevailed over that exposed +spot. The adventurer knew that he was early for the _Cristobal_. Several +sails were detected; but of them the only heed taken was the precaution +of blanketing the little fire in the hearth with damp soil. The +Frenchman did not desire a visit from fishermen of any nationality +whatever. He might find it difficult to explain his presence in so +unfavourable a spot for either a fishery or a settlement. No doubt they +would persist in rescuing him, and, in that case, what reason could he +give for wishing to stay in his cheerless camp? So he lay low and +watched the passing of more than one stout craft without a sign. + +The time arrived when he must set his signals, despite the risk of +attracting unwelcome visitors. So he closed the front of the furnace +with a boulder, built a brisk fire within, which he heaped with damp +moss and punk, and then laid a large, flat stone over the opening in the +top of the unique structure. By removing the flat stone, he allowed a +column of dense smoke to issue into the air, stream aloft and scatter in +the wind. By replacing the stone, the smoke was cut short off. Finding +that the contrivance worked to his satisfaction, he let the smoke stream +up, uninterrupted. The signalling would only be resorted to when a +vessel, which might possibly be the _Cristobal_, should be sighted. When +darkness fell, the fire was allowed to die down. A night signal was +unnecessary, as the _Cristobal_, should she keep the tryst at all, was +sure to make an examination of the cape by daylight. D'Antons' last +orders had been strictly and particularly to that effect. + +A week passed, during which a sharp lookout was kept by the fugitives on +the brow of the cape, and the signal of smoke was operated a dozen times +without the desired effect. In fact, a large vessel, attracted by the +smoke (which was due to D'Antons' tardy realization that the +approaching ship was not the _Cristobal_) altered her course, sailed +close in, and sent a boat ashore to investigate. D'Antons and Miwandi +had just enough time, with not a minute to spare, to roll up their +wigwam and hide it in the bushes, gather together their most valuable +belongings, and flee inland to a shelter of tangled spruces and firs. +The boat's crew was composed of peaceful fishermen, who were free from +suspicion and malice. They climbed to the brow of the promontory with +fine hardihood, but once there did little but examine the marks where +the lodge had so lately stood and partially overthrow the queer +fireplace. They believed that structure to be an altar, built to the +glory of some unorthodox god. Then they retraced their perilous way to +the little cove under the cliff, and rowed back to the ship. D'Antons +stole from his retreat and crawled to the edge of the cliff. He felt a +glow of satisfaction when the big vessel stood away on her northward +course. + +Another week drifted along, and hope wavered in the buccaneer heart. His +gloomy moods began to wear on the young squaw's spirits. She begged him +to return to the inland rivers--to make peace with her people--to cease +his unprofitable staring at the sea. + +"The sorrow of the great salt water has entered your heart," she said, +"and the moaning of it has deafened your ears to my voice." + +He did not turn his eyes from the undulations of the gray horizon. +"Would you have me rot in this place for the remainder of my life?" he +asked, harshly, in her language. + +The poor girl sobbed for an hour after that, and reproved her heart for +the image of a god it had set up. She tried to overthrow the idol from +its inner shrine; she tried to change it to a grim symbol of hate; she +pressed her face to the coarse herbage, and tore the sod with her +fingers. + +"Miwandi! Come to me, little one," cried the man from the edge of the +cliff. + +Her anger, her bitterness, vanished like thinnest smoke. She sprang up +and ran to him. He drew her to his side, and with his right hand pointed +southward across the glinting deep. + +"The _Cristobal_!" he cried. "Good God, I'll stake my life on it!" + +So intense was his satisfaction at the sight of those unmistakable +topsails that his selfish affection for the woman lighted again. He +pressed his lips to the tear-wet cheek; and immediately the simple +creature was in the seventh heaven of bliss. + +While the gray flake of sail expanded on the horizon, Pierre d'Antons +and the woman hurriedly and roughly rebuilt the walls of the fireplace, +lit and fed a blaze, and piled it high with moss and rotten bark. The +thick pillar of smoke arose like a tree, and bent in the moderate wind. +Miwandi busied herself with breaking the wood to the required length and +carrying damp moss. For several minutes the smoke was allowed to ascend +in an unbroken shaft. Then D'Antons cut it off for a few seconds, let it +rise again, broke it again, and again let it stream aloft, +uninterrupted. He had signalled his name according to the code of the +_Cristobal_. + +The welcome ship gradually enlarged to the eager eyes of the watchers on +the cape. North, east, and south there was no other sail in sight. At +last three flags ran up to the topforemast and fluttered out. The +question was read instantly by D'Antons, who returned to his fire and +interrupted the stream of smoke five times in quick succession. The +translation of that was "All's well. You may approach without danger." + +A message of congratulation appeared promptly against the bellying +foresail of the _Cristobal_; and the watchers saw the rolls of white +foam gleaming like wool under the forging of the bow. + +D'Antons was cordially welcomed aboard the _Cristobal_. Miwandi was +received without question. The acting commander of the ship was a +grizzled Spanish mariner by the name of Silva,--a fellow steeped in +crime and uncertain of temper, yet possessed of a marvellous devotion +for D'Antons, which was due to an act of kindness performed by the +Frenchman years before, in the town of Panama. + +Silva was delighted to find his captain alive and ready for the high +seas again. He asked no questions concerning his adventures until more +than one bottle of wine had been emptied, and the captain's +travel-stained garments had been exchanged for the best the cabin +lockers contained. Miwandi, too, was reclothed; and the beauty and +softness of the silks that were presented to her fairly turned her +little head. She did not know that the fair French lady for whom they +had been made, in gay Paris, and who had worn them only three months +ago, was somewhere in the dredge of emerald tides between the Bahaman +reefs. She knew only that the texture and colours delighted her skin and +her eyes. So, in her narrow room, she attired herself in the finery, +toiling at the ties and lacing with unfamiliar fingers. + +In the captain's cabin D'Antons motioned to his friend to close the +door. He had consumed a soup, and was still engaged with the wine. +Silva returned to his seat at the table, after a final reassuring push +on the bolt of the door. It is always wise to be sure that the door you +considered fastened is fastened indeed. Then, with their elbows on the +table and their heads close together, the more salient incidents of +D'Antons' sojourn in the wilderness were rehearsed and keenly listened +to. Silva displayed a prodigious indignation at the story of the +captain's failure to win the affections of Mistress Westleigh. At word +of Sir Ralph's death (and the murder became a desperate duel in the +telling), a crooked smile of satisfaction distorted his face. As to what +he heard of Kingswell--ah, but oaths in two languages were quite +inadequate for the expression of his feelings. + +"We'll inspect the heart of that cockerel--and the gizzard as well," +said he, and drank off his wine. + +"Leave him to my hand," replied D'Antons, darkly. + +Silva nodded, with a sinister leer. + +"So it's 'bout ship and blow the little stockade into everlasting +damnation," he said. + +"Ay, but the lady must come to no harm in the attack," warned the +captain. + +So the _Cristobal_ headed northward, and the evil-looking rascals of +her crew were informed that the morrow would bring them some work to +limber their muscles. The information was received with cheers, in which +hearty English voices were not lacking. + +However, in the early morning, Fate, in the shape of the _Heart of the +West_, turned the danger away from the little fort. + +"She looks like a likely prize," said D'Antons, when he sighted the +ship. The old fever awoke in his blood. He longed for the old +excitement. + +"Give chase," he ordered. "The fort can well do without the honour of +our attentions for a little while." + +So the chase was carried on, as has been described in a previous +chapter, and went merrily enough for the _Cristobal_ until the +unexpected shot from the stern of the quarry brought down her +foretopmast and its weight of sail. But before that had happened, +D'Antons, unrecognizable himself in new clothes and a great hat, marked +Bernard Kingswell on the poop of the _Heart of the West_. He cursed like +a madman, or a true-bred pirate, when his ship was crippled. + +"The fort may rot of old age in the midst of its desolation," he cried +to Silva, "for what I would have is aboard that cursed craft ahead." + +A few days later, with their spars repaired, they picked up a small +fishing-boat, and learned from the skipper that a great ship from the +north had entered the harbour of St. John's. So, knowing the virtue of +precaution, they impressed the master and crew and scuttled the little +vessel. Then, with admirable patience, they cruised up and down, far to +seaward of the brown cliffs which guarded that hospitable port. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE BRIDEGROOM ATTENDS TO OTHER MATTERS THAN LOVE + + +The dainty bride leaned on her husband's arm, and together they looked +back and waved farewell. Flags answered them from the battery above the +cliff. Then she turned to the bridegroom and gazed into his eyes with so +radiant and tender a smile that, all forgetful of the abashed salt at +the tiller, he drew her to him and kissed her on brow and lips. + +"Dear wife," he murmured, and could say no more. + +Both were brave in marriage finery,--she in a pearl gown of brocaded +silk, a scarlet cloak lined with white fur, and a feathered hat, and he +in buff and blue from the wardrobe of the commandant of St. John's. + +They gazed astern, across the dancing azure, to the brown and purple +rocks beautified by the sunlight and crystal air. "Homeward bound," she +whispered, happily, and turned her face from the mellowing coast of the +wilderness to the wide east. + +Together they walked forward to the break of the high deck. A fair wind +bellied the sails. The tarred rigging and scraped spars shone like +polished metal. The men, in their brightest sashes and cleanest shirts +(in honour of the occasion), went about their duties briskly. The mates +wore their side-arms; both watches were on deck, with the gaiety of the +days ashore still in their hearts. Not a soul was below save the cook +(who sorted provisions in the forward lazaret), Maggie Stone (who sulked +in her mistress's cabin because she had not been asked to act as +bridesmaid), and old Trowley, with wrists and legs in irons and a +dawning repentance in his sullen blood. + +An hour later Ouenwa ascended the starboard ladder from the waist, and +stood beside Master and Mistress Kingswell. He wore a dashing outfit, +which had been made to his shape by the garrison tailor in the days +preceding the marriage. A sword was at his belt; lace hung at his +wrists; his dark hair, slightly curled, fell to his shoulders. His +tanned cheeks were flushed with the excitement passed and the adventures +anticipated. Only the dark alertness of his eyes and the litheness of +his actions bespoke his primitive upbringing. Though he had been named +"dreamer" by his people, he gave promise now of a life of deeds rather +than of dreams. + +"Do you mourn the little stockade and the great river, lad?" queried +Kingswell, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. + +Ouenwa shook his head emphatically and glanced knowingly aloft. "Why +should I mourn them?" he asked. "Am I not bound for castles and great +houses, for books in number as the leaves of the birch-tree, and for +villages filled all day with warriors, and with ladies almost as fair as +Mistress Beatrix? Shall I not read in the books, and see horses, greater +than caribou, bearing gentlemen upon their backs? Then why would you +have me mourn? The land behind us is not a good land. My fathers were +brave and wise, and led their warriors to a hundred victories; but they +were murdered by their own people. I care not for such a country." + +"True, lad," replied Kingswell, "and yet, even in glorious England, you +may find ingratitude as black as that of Panounia. Even kings and queens +have been guilty of ingratitude." + +Beatrix patted the moralist's arm. + +"Why think of it now?" she said, gently, "and why fill the dear lad with +doubt? Only if he climbs high need he fear disloyalty. As a plain +soldier, he shall never lack the protection of such humble friends as +ourselves." + +Just then a lookout warned them of a sail on the larboard bow. Kingswell +and Ouenwa went forward to the forecastle-head. Tom Bent (now of the +rank of chief gunner) was already there, peering away under the lift of +the jibs. The second mate was with him. + +"A large vessel," remarked Kingswell. + +"Ay, and we's spoke mun afore now, sir," replied Bent. He was too intent +on gazing ahead to see the question in the captain's face. But the mate +saw it and answered it. + +"She's run up a new spar, sir, an' mended her for'ard riggin'," said he, +"an' like enough she thinks she'll take the cost of damages out o' us." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Kingswell, with a note of relish. Then he remembered +Beatrix, and a shadow darkened his eyes for a moment. "Pipe both +watches," he said, quietly. "Arm all hands. Clear decks for action. +Master Gunner, you must fight your barkers to-day for more than the +glory of England." + +He returned to his wife and told her of the menace. She heard the news +with an inward sickening, but with no outward tremor. All her fear was +for him. + +"Promise me that you will go to our cabin when I give the word," he +asked. + +She nodded and smiled wistfully. "Your obedient, humble wife, my lord," +she whispered, with a brave attempt at gaiety. + +He caught her hands quickly to his shoulders and kissed her lips. He +felt them tremble against his. + +"I must help with the preparations, dear heart," he murmured, and +hurried away. He consulted the mates and Tom Bent as to the advisability +of beating back for St. John's. The mariners shook their heads. They +held that the _Heart of the West_ could make a better fight on her +present course; and that the battle would be decided, one way or +another, before the garrison could send them any help. As if to confirm +their views, the wind freshened to such a degree, and held so fair +astern, that to beat to windward would require all hands at the sails, +and put gunnery out of the question. + +"Like enough they be double our strength in men," said Tom Bent, "but we +equals 'em in guns and seamanship, sir, an' ye may lay to that." + +So the _Heart of the West_ held on her course under a press of canvas. + +After Kingswell and Beatrix had talked together for some time, they +went forward, hand in hand, to the break of the poop. Tom Bent called +the ship's company to attention. The brave fellows, stripped to their +breeches and shirts in readiness for the approaching encounter, looked +up, and such as wore caps doffed them respectfully. + +"My brave lads," cried the lady, in a voice that rang clear above the +stir of wind and wave and tugging cordage, "but this morning you made +merry for my sake; and now, in so little a while, you will risk your +lives in defending your ship and me from that pirate whom we have +already encountered. My husband,--your captain,--like a true-bred +English sailor, is already sure of victory. A generous mariner, he has +promised me the prize; and now I promise it to you. In a few weeks' +time, my lads, we shall sell our enemy in Bristol docks. Not a penny of +her price shall go to owner or captain; but all into the pockets of this +brave company. And should any man fall in the encounter, I pledge my +word that those dependent upon him shall lack nothing that money can +give them during the remainder of their lives. Now, fight well, for God +and for England." + +She looked down at them, smiling divinely. + +"And for the Lady Beatrix," shouted a youthful seaman. + +Cheers rang aloft; bearded lips and shaven lips bawled her name; and +great, toil-seared hands were brandished, and stark blades gleamed in +the sunlight. + +"God bless you, lady," they roared. + +She leaned forward and blew a kiss from her lips with both dainty hands. + +"God strengthen you, brave hearts," she cried, softly; and the nearer of +the loyal mariners saw the tears shimmering beneath her lashes. + +The _Heart of the West_ held on her course, breaking the waves in +fountains from her forging bow. The _Cristobal_ raced down upon her with +the wind square abeam. It was evidently her intention to cross the +merchantman's bows and rake her with a broadside. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ every man was at his post, and the +matches were like pale stars in the hands of the gunners. The second +mate was on the forecastle-head, beside the bow-chaser. The first mate +stood in the waist. Kingswell paced the poop, fore and aft. Each +measured and calculated the brisk approach of the _Cristobal_ with +unwinking eyes, and considered the straining sails overhead and the +speed of the wind. + +Still the pirate boiled down upon them, leaning over in the press of +the half-gale. It was evident to Kingswell that she would pass across +his bows within a distance of a hundred yards, unless something was done +to prevent it. He spoke quietly to the men at the tiller, and called an +order to the officer amidships. Twenty seconds later he gave the signal. +The tiller was pushed over, the yards were hauled around, and the good +ship swung to the north and took the wind on her larboard beam. Now the +vessels leaned on the same course, and were not two hundred yards apart. +Almost at the same moment they exchanged broadsides, and the challenging +shouts of men mingled with the roaring of the little cannonades. The +smoke from the merchantman's ports blew down, in a stifling cloud, upon +the enemy. The _Cristobal_ fell off before the wind in an unaccountable +manner. The _Heart of the West_ luffed, in the hope of bringing her +heavy after-battery to bear, saw that the manoeuvre could not be +accomplished, and flew about on her old course. + +"Her tiller is shot away," cried Kingswell. A cheer rang along the decks +and penetrated the cabins fore and aft. Beatrix heard it, and thanked +God. Old Trowley heard it, and, beating his manacled wrists against the +bulkhead, roared to be cast loose that he might bear a hand in the +fight. + +From that first exchange of round-shot, the _Heart of the West_ escaped +without hurt, owing to the fact that the enemy's guns, elevated by the +pressure of the gale upon her windward side, sent their missiles high +between the upper spars of the merchantman. The _Cristobal_, however, +was hulled by two balls, and had her tiller carried away by a third; +for, just as her guns were elevated to harmlessness by the list of the +deck, so were the merchantman's depressed to a deadly aim by the list of +hers. + +Taking every advantage which a sound tiller and perfectly trimmed sails +gave her over her enemy, the _Heart of the West_ raced after the +buccaneer. Passing close astern, she raked her with her three larboard +guns. Running on, and slanting across the wind's course more and more, +she presently had her two after-guns to bear on the three-quarter target +of the _Cristobal's_ starboard side. The range was middling; but, even +so, the gunners sent up a prayer to Luck, so violent were the soarings +and sinkings of the deck. The shots were followed by a tottering of high +sails above the _Cristobal_, and with a flapping and rending, the +mizzenmast fell forward and stripped the main of three of her yards. + +Now the disabled, tillerless _Cristobal_, kept before the wind by a +great sweep, fled heavily. Her decks were cluttered with snarled +wreckage. Half a dozen of her crew were injured. Her commander and +Master Silva were mad with rage at the unexpected turn of events. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_, Ouenwa had just pointed out to Kingswell +the dashing figure of Pierre d'Antons. + +"I take it that this is his last play," remarked the young captain, with +a grim smile. + +For another hour the merchantman sailed about the pirate at her will, +pouring broadside after broadside into hull and rigging, and sustaining +but little damage herself. Now and then musket-shots were exchanged. Two +of Kingswell's men were wounded, and were promptly carried below, where +their hurts were tenderly bandaged by Mistress Kingswell and Maggie +Stone. + +In a lull of the firing, the cook came running to the poop, with word +that Trowley was in a fair way to make matchwood of his surroundings. + +"What ails him now?" inquired Kingswell. + +"He be shoutin' for a chance at the Frenchers," replied the cook. +Kingswell considered the matter, with a calculating eye on the enemy. +"Cast him loose," said he, "and give him a chance to prove himself an +English sailor man." + +Trowley appeared on deck just as a shot from the _Cristobal_ struck the +teakwood rail of the _Heart of the West_ amidships. A flying splinter +whirred past his head. He brandished his cutlass, and bawled a threat +across the rocking water. The men at the guns welcomed him with laughter +and cheers. + +"Ye be in for the kill, master," cried one. + +Kingswell beckoned the ex-commander aft, and met him at the top of the +ladder. Trowley looked guiltily this way and that. + +"I have let you up, my man," said the captain, "that you may bear a hand +in the fight. I am willing to forget your knaveries of the past, and +remember only your actions of to-day." + +Trowley nodded, and for an instant his eyes met Kingswell's. + +"You can see what we have done to the enemy," said the other. "But I am +in no mind to break her up with this everlasting cannonading. What would +you suggest?" + +Trowley straightened his great shoulders and lifted his head. "Lay her +aboard, sir," said he, "an' make fast." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +OVER THE SIDE + + +With a fearful grinding of timbers and rattling of spars, the +merchantman's larboard bow scraped along the enemy's side. +Boarding-irons were thrown across from the forecastle-deck. With a yell, +the men of Devon sprang from rail to rail, and hurled themselves upon +the mongrels who clustered to repulse them. Cutlasses skirred in the +air; and some struck clanging metal, and some met with a softer +resistance. Screams of rage and pain, and shouts of grim exultation, +rang above the conflict. + +Old Trowley hacked a place for himself in the thickest of the press, and +laid about him with such desperate fury and such fearful oaths that the +buccaneers hustled each other to get out of his way. + +Kingswell, in the waist of the _Cristobal_, encountered D'Antons, and +claimed him for his own. As their blades rasped together, D'Antons began +the story of Sir Ralph Westleigh's death in the wilderness. Kingswell +heard it without comment. The tumult about them gradually subsided, as +man after man of the pirate crew was cut down or bound. Sail was +shortened on both vessels, and the victors, sound and wounded alike, +gathered about the two swordsmen. A strained silence took possession of +the watchers. The rough fellows understood that their captain had an old +score to settle with the buccaneer. They were fascinated by the +lightning play of the rapiers. They noted every movement of foot and +hand, blade and eye. When D'Antons snarled an insulting taunt at his +adversary, they cursed softly. When their captain pricked the pirate's +shoulder, a husky murmur of admiration went through them. So intent were +they on the fight that they failed to notice the approach of Miwandi, +the Beothic woman, until she was in their midst. But they became aware +of her presence when she screamed with rage and flung herself upon +Kingswell. + +"Pull the wench off," they cried, and made a futile grab at the mad +figure. + +Kingswell, quick as a cat for all his Saxon colouring, wrenched himself +clear of her, avoided the slash of her knife by a half-inch, and lunged +through D'Antons' guard. The buccaneer pitched forward so suddenly and +heavily that the rapier was wrenched from the Englishman's hand. The +hilt struck the deck. The slim blade darted out between D'Antons' +shoulders a full two-thirds of its length. He sprawled on his face, +gulping his last breath; and the hilt of Kingswell's weapon knocked +spasmodically on the red planking of the deck. The woman, stunned with +grief, was led away by two of the seamen. + +By the time the duel was over, the long, northern twilight was drawing +to a close. The decks of the _Cristobal_ were cleared of the dead bodies +and the wreckage of guns and spars. The torn rigging was partially +repaired; a few sails were set; and the shattered tiller was replaced. +The prisoners (wounded and bound together, they did not number a dozen) +were divided between the ships. A prize-crew of seven, under the first +mate's command, went aboard the _Cristobal_. Then the boarding-irons +were cast loose, and the vessels fell away from each other to a safe +distance. + +Miwandi's grief was desperate. Beatrix strove to comfort her, but failed +signally. Her position was evident enough to every one who had seen her +frantic attempt to assist D'Antons in the encounter with Kingswell. +Beatrix guessed the story. Her face burned at remembrance of her +one-time companionship with D'Antons--of the days before she fully knew +his nature, and often sat at cards and chess with him in the little +cabin in the wilderness--and of the days before that, when he was one of +her admirers in London. Even now she did not know him for her father's +murderer. Kingswell had decided to keep that to himself, until some day +in the happy future, when the wilderness should be fainter than the +memory of a dream in his wife's mind. + +For three days the ships kept within sight of each other. On the fourth, +a gale of wind drove them apart; but Kingswell felt no anxiety for the +prize, for she had received no serious damage to her hull in the bitter +encounter that had befallen on his wedding-day. + +Aboard the _Heart of the West_ the wounded improved daily; the prisoners +cursed their irons and their luck; the crew never pulled on a rope +without a song to lighten the task; old Trowley, promoted from +imprisonment to the position of second mate, worked like a Trojan, and +Beatrix and Bernard sped the hours in the high and golden atmosphere of +love and youth. The Beothic woman, however, felt no response in her +heart to the stir and happiness about her. Her world had fallen in a +desolation of emptiness, and her very soul was weary of the sequence of +day and night, night and day. She would not eat. She sobbed quietly, +without rest, in her darkened berth. Her ears were deaf to words of +comfort, even when they were spoken in her own language by Ouenwa. She +asked no questions. Ever since that first outbreak, at sight of her +lover's danger, she accepted the will of her pitiless gods without signs +of either anger or wonder. + +One still night, when the waves rocked under the faint light of the +stars without any breaking of foam, and the wind was just sufficient to +swell the sails from the yards, the man at the tiller was startled from +his reveries by a splash close alongside. He called to the officer of +the watch, who had heard nothing, and told him of the sound. They +scanned the sea on all sides and listened intently. They saw only the +black, vanishing crests. They heard only the whispering of the ship on +her way. + +"A fish," said the mate. The other agreed with him. + +In the morning Miwandi's berth was discovered to be empty,--no trace of +her was found alow or aloft. + +The remaining days of the passage slipped by without any especial +incident. Winds served. Seas were considerate of the good ship's +safety. No fogs endangered the young lovers' homeward voyage. Every +night there was fiddling in the forecastle and the chanting of rude +ballads. And sometimes in the cabin a violin sang and sang, as if the +very heart of happiness were under the sounding-board, and Love himself +in the strings. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE MOTHER + + +Dame Kingswell, the widow of that good merchant of Bristol whom Queen +Elizabeth had knighted in her latter days, sat in her chamber and looked +down upon a pleasant garden beneath the window. She was alone. Her +garments, though of rich materials, were sombre in hue. She wore no +personal ornaments save two rings on her left hand, and a chain of gold, +bearing a small cross of the same metal, at her breast. Her thick hair +was snow-white. In her youth it had been as black as her husband's had +been flaxen. Her complexion held scarcely more colour than her hair. On +her knees a book of devotional poetry, splendidly illuminated about the +margins, lay open. But her thin hands were folded over the page, and her +gaze was upon the shrubbery of the garden. The time was early evening. +The sunlight was mellow gold. The hedges, shrubs, and fountain on the +lawns threw eastward shadows. + +The chamber in which the widow sat was large and scantily furnished. A +few portraits, by masters of the brush, hung along the walls. A +prayer-desk, with a red hassock before it, stood in a corner. + +A light rapping sounded on the door. The lady turned her eyes from the +bright garden below her window. She saw the door open, and a beautiful +girl in cloak and hat enter the room. The stranger advanced quickly, in +a whispering of silks, and in her glowing hands took the widow's +bloodless fingers. + +"My dear," said the elder woman, kindly, "I fear my memory is flitting. +I do not recall your winsome face. Can it be that you are one of Sir +Felix Brown's lasses, grown to such a fine young lady in London?" + +The girl sank on her knees and kissed the pale hands lightly and +prettily. + +"My name is Beatrix Kingswell," she murmured. + +The good dame was sorely puzzled. She tried, in vain, to connect this +lovely creature with any branches of the late knight's family. + +"Then you are a kinswoman of mine?" she queried. "Pray do not kneel +there, my dear. Come sit in the window and tell me who you are." + +But the stranger did not move. + +"I am your daughter," she said. "And--oh, do not swoon, my +mother--Bernard is at the door, awaiting your permission to enter." + +The widow closed her eyes for a second, leaning back in her chair. She +recovered herself swiftly and clutched the skirts of the girl, who was +now standing, ready to run to the door and admit her husband. + +"What story is this?" she cried, incredulous. "I have no daughter. And +Bernard, my son, has lain dead in a far land these weary months." + +"Nay, dear madam," replied the girl. "Nay, he is not dead. But let me go +to the door, and you will see him with your own eyes. He waits at your +threshold, happy and well." + +The older woman maintained her hold of her visitor's gown. "And who are +you, to bring me word of my son's return?" she asked, with a ring of +shrewdness and suspicion in her voice. Dimly, she feared that she was +affording sport to some heartless person; for this sudden tale of her +son's safety, brought by this gay young lady, had broken upon her +pensive reveries like an impossible scene out of a play. + +"I am his wife," replied Beatrix. With an effort, she pulled her skirts +away from the clutching fingers, and sped to the door. Throwing it open, +she admitted Bernard. The youth sprang to where his mother sat, and +caught her up from her chair against his breast. With a glad, +inarticulate cry, she slipped her arms around his neck and clung +hysterically. + + +Five days after the arrival of the _Heart of the West_, the _Cristobal_ +sailed into port. By that time the story of her capture was well known +in the town, and a crowd of citizens gathered on the docks to welcome +her. Master Kingswell put her up for sale. In the end, he bought her +himself, for something more than she was worth. Every penny of the money +Beatrix gave to the brave fellows who had fought and sailed their ship +so valorously on her eventful wedding-day. Only that rugged and wayward +master mariner, John Trowley, failed to show himself for a share of the +gold. He had not the courage to run a chance of another meeting with +Lady Kingswell. + +Of the future of Bernard, Beatrix, and the lad Ouenwa, something is +written in the old records in an exceeding dry vein. Of the fate of the +little fort on Gray Goose River, little is known. Some chroniclers +maintain that the French overpowered it; others are as certain that the +settlers moved to Conception Bay, and there established themselves so +securely that, even to-day, descendants of those Triggets and those +Donnellys cultivate their little crops, cure their fish, and sail their +fore-and-afters around the coast to St. John's. + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Brothers of Peril, by Theodore Goodridge Roberts + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROTHERS OF PERIL *** + +***** This file should be named 44387.txt or 44387.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/4/3/8/44387/ + +Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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