Part 11

Thomas, who had long since abandoned his crutches, and was as busy as ever, was openly worried over Jamie’s condition, and more than once Margaret discovered Doctor Joe staring long and steadily at Jamie with what she thought was a look of fear in his face, and it startled her. Was it possible, she asked herself, that the blindness might come too soon for the great doctor to work his marvelous cure?

But Doctor Joe said there was no cause for worry, on that score, and for the most part he was outwardly cheerful enough. There was still time, he declared--unless the eyes darkened much more rapidly in the coming weeks than they had during the early winter, and there was no reason to expect that they would.

“It all depends now upon the furs the boys and Indian Jake bring out,” he said, “and they’ll surely bring enough between them to pay expenses. Four hundred dollars will be plenty, and if we have three hundred I’ll take Jamie, anyhow. My little hunt will fetch a hundred, and they’ll be certain to have enough to make up the balance.”

“O, aye, they’ll sure have that much,” and Thomas brightened.

“The boys should be out the first of June, and Jamie and I will go on the first mail boat, the last of the month,” said Doctor Joe. “It all depends on our getting the furs. We _must_ have the furs, and there’s no reason to doubt we’ll have them.”

Jamie had faith, and plenty o’ grit, too. _He_ had no doubt that David and Andy would come home with a fine lot of furs.

And so they all waited and watched hopefully and expectantly for the return of the hunters, never once dreaming of disappointment or failure, or how strangely awry their plans were to go, as so often is the case with the best laid plans.

XXI

THE TRAIL OF THE DESERTER

Indian Jake took a straight course down the lake and through the Narrows. Crossing the lower expansion he turned upon the broad white bed of the river. This he followed until he reached a point where the ice, covering the swift flowing current, became unsafe. Here he entered the forest skirting the north bank, and under cover of the trees kept his rapid pace until mid-afternoon.

During the forenoon the storm had been steadily increasing in violence. Traveling had become uncomfortable and difficult, and, choosing a convenient place to pitch his tent, Indian Jake stretched it between two trees. A full ten feet of snow covered the forest floor and with no attempt to clear a camping place he proceeded to make himself comfortable on the surface of the snow.

He first secured the tent around the bottom with long pegs that sunk deep into the snow and held the canvas firm and taut. Then with his ax he cut two green butts of trees, and laying them side by side and a few inches apart just within the tent, erected his tent stove upon them. The green butts would not burn easily, and their ends, extending a considerable distance beyond the stove on each side, would support it and prevent its sinking when the snow beneath melted with the heat. From within the stove he withdrew three lengths of stovepipe, joined them and set them in position, and the stove was ready for a fire.

Before kindling the fire, however, Indian Jake gathered several armfuls of boughs, snapping them from low-hanging limbs with a deft twist of the wrist. These he spread with some care, as a carpet for the tent, and as a protection from the snow beneath. Indian Jake’s shelter now prepared to his satisfaction, he unlashed the toboggan, carried the contents within, and stowed them away with a view to comfort and convenience.

Then taking his ax he devoted himself to chopping firewood of proper length for the stove. Swinging his ax dexterously and industriously for thirty minutes, a sufficient supply was accumulated to serve his needs for several hours. This he piled in neat tiers just within the tent entrance, where it would be at hand when required. With a piece of birch bark for tinder, he now lighted a fire in the stove, and taking his kettle and ax went to the river for water.

When he returned a few minutes later the tent was warm and comfortable. He placed the kettle upon the stove, removed his adiky, and turned his attention to the preparation of dinner. Indian Jake had eaten nothing since early morning, and he was hungry.

Some fried whitefish and pork, some generous pieces of camp bread, and several cups of hot tea made a substantial and satisfying meal. When they were disposed of, the half-breed sliced black tobacco from a plug, filled his pipe, lighted it from the fire with a shaving, and settled himself for luxurious rest.

After the manner of those who are much alone, Indian Jake had the habit of thinking aloud, and now he proceeded to converse audibly with himself.

“Fifteen hundred dollars worth of fur,” said he. “It’s a fine hunt, takin’ it all, with what th’ lads got. I never had half as much fur at one time in my life before. I made a good hunt myself. With theirs it makes a fine lot. But they’re dead, and they’ll never know what I got; I never told ’em. And they’ll never know what I does with any of it.”

He was silent for a time, then continued:

“They was good fellers t’ hunt with. They had a good lot o’ grit, too. It was pretty hard for ’em sometimes, on nasty days, but they stuck to it, and got th’ fur. I had some good times with ’em, too. Had a good time Christmas, surprisin’ ’em with th’ goose and puddin’. I wonder why ’tis I like t’ surprise folks, and get a good time out’n doin’ it. I had one surprise for ’em they’ll never know about. I wonder how they’d have liked _that_ surprise.

“They brought th’ fur down to th’ Narrows tilt when I told ’em to. Th’ little feller wanted me t’ bring mine in too, but I wa’n’t goin’ t’ let ’em know what I had. He kinder suspicioned me, or somethin’. The way it turned out their fur was safe enough. I’d have got th’ fur anyhow when I went up t’ look for ’em.

“If I’d known where their traps were set I could ha’ gone over ’em. They might have some fur in ’em. I could ’a’ struck ’em up and took care of ’em, too, like I did on my trail. ’Twouldn’t have hurt me any to do that much for Tom Angus. He let me hunt his trail. But he’ll find ’em when he comes in next fall.”

After a little silence he mused:

“I wonder how Tom Angus is goin’ t’ take it when they don’t show up.”

Indian Jake’s pipe had gone out. He pushed the ashes down in the bowl, relit it, renewed the fire in the stove, and rising looked out between the tent flaps at the falling snow. Returning to his seat he remarked:

“Likely t’ be a nasty day tomorrow, and I may as well stay here. No use travelin’ in nasty weather. They’s plenty o’ time. Guess I’ll take it easy. Nobody to worry about me, and I’m just as much t’ home here as anywhere. I got grub enough. I may meet up with some o’ th’ Injuns, and I can travel with them.

“Home!” said he, after a silence. “Th’ lads were thinkin’ a big lot about th’ time when they’d go home. Now they’ll never go there. Home’s th’ finest place in th’ world t’ be when a feller has one. Huh! What’s th’ use thinkin’ about that. I’ll be gettin’ homesick for a home I ain’t got. This tent’s a good enough home. It’s got t’ suit me, anyhow. It’s all right.”

The next day it stormed, as Indian Jake had predicted, and he did not leave his camp, but the morning following was clear, and he again set forward.

At midday the half-breed halted to boil the kettle, and making his way toward the river to obtain water, he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air. The wind was blowing up from the opposite side of the river.

“Smoke!” he exclaimed. “They’s some one camped across the river!”

Cautiously he stole down to the river bank, and from the cover of brush scanned the opposite shore. His sharp eyes quickly detected half hidden by trees and drift, a small log tilt. Smoke was rising from the protruding stovepipe.

“Who can that be trappin’ in there?” Indian Jake asked himself.

As though in answer to his question the tilt door opened, and Uncle Ben Rudder, with kettle and ax, came down to the river, cut open a water hole, filled his kettle and returned to the tilt.

“Th’ old wolverine!” exclaimed Indian Jake when Uncle Ben had disappeared. “What’s he doin’ in here? Tried t’ keep me from huntin’! If he’d had _his_ way Thomas Angus wouldn’t have let me have the Seal Lake trail! Always meddlin’ with other folks’ business! Well, I got th’ trail, and th’ fur too, you old skunk!”

The half-breed grinned triumphantly, and his face was not pleasant to see then.

“He’ll find out somethin’ before I’m through with him,” added Indian Jake, and turning about with his unfilled kettle he cautiously returned under cover of the trees to his toboggan. “Wouldn’t he like t’ run on me now! Wouldn’t he like t’ know about th’ fur I’ve got!”

Indian Jake resumed his journey. To light a fire would be too dangerous, for even with the wind in an opposite direction, a whiff of smoke carried across the river might disclose his presence to Uncle Ben, and Indian Jake had reason to look upon Uncle Ben as an enemy that just at the present time he did not care to encounter.

Camping at night and traveling leisurely by day, Indian Jake continued down the valley of the Nascaupee until, one afternoon, a little way above the place where the river empties into Grand Lake, he fell upon numerous indications of the presence of bears. A careful examination satisfied him that these were made late the previous fall, and that there were at least two, and possibly more bears, hibernating in the immediate vicinity. His Indian instinct to permit no game to escape him was aroused. Presently the bears would come forth from their long winter sleep. They would be hungry, and could easily be trapped. The temptation was too strong to be resisted.

“I’ll have time t’ get away over th’ ice,” he decided. “I can fix up some sort of a canoe while I’m waitin’, and if I get caught by th’ break-up I can make out. Like as not some of th’ Injuns’ll be along anyhow. They’ll let me go along with ’em. I’m thinkin’ I’ll stay here a while and trap bear.”

And so Indian Jake pitched his camp, made himself comfortable, and began the building of deadfalls, in anticipation of the time when the bears would come forth from their dens.

Here in the seclusion of the forest the half-breed was safe enough from discovery. None would pass this way save the Indians who were his friends, and Uncle Ben Rudder, upon whom he looked as an uncompromising enemy. But not until after the break-up in June would Uncle Ben pass down the river and into Grand Lake in his boat. Indian Jake had the advantage of time. He would break camp and be away before June. In any case there was no probability that Uncle Ben would go ashore here, and even though he did, Indian Jake’s tent was sufficiently hidden to escape detection. He took good care that this should be the case, and he also took good care to leave no trace along the river bank that would give hint of his presence, or arouse suspicion that he was in the vicinity.

XXII

THE BURNING TILT

David and Andy were made as comfortable as ever they could be in a wigwam. Sa-peesh and his family, but particularly A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se, were well pleased to have them there. They had seen none save the members of their own family since the previous autumn, and A-mish-ku, after the manner of boys the world over, craved the companionship of other boys, and he and Ni-pit-se were glad to see new faces and hear new voices.

Ni-pit-se was shy at first, but her timidity passed away quickly enough. And she took it upon herself to minister to David’s and Andy’s needs, and she found a vast deal of pleasure in nursing them. Their coming, and these new duties, made a welcome break in the monotony of the days, for even an Indian maiden wearies sometimes of the changeless solitary routine of her wilderness life.

And so, despite the pain and discomfort of their temporary affliction, David and Andy were well content, and recovered so rapidly from their attack of snowblindness that they might have returned to their trail at the end of a week but for the fact that Andy’s feet were frostbitten, and still too sore to walk so far. And so, of necessity, they tarried another week in the wigwam of Sa-peesh, much to the satisfaction of the A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se.

During this fortnight the days were rapidly lengthening and the sun was growing stronger, though as yet there was no softening of the snow even at midday and the nights and mornings were crisp and frosty enough. With every day, as the sun grew brighter, the glare on the snow increased until the world was a dazzling expanse of scintillating, blinding light. No longer was it safe to go abroad, even for an hour, with naked eyes, save in dull and cloudy weather.

David and Andy had learned their lesson. They had no intention of becoming snowblind again if it could be avoided. And so, while they waited for Andy’s feet to heal, they fashioned, each for himself, a pair of goggles, after the manner of those worn by Sa-peesh and his family.

These goggles were made from round pieces of wood, hollowed out like shells and large enough to cover the eyes comfortably, with the hollows whittled deep enough to permit the eyelids to open and close within them. Two of these were fastened together the proper distance apart to fit the eyes, with a piece of buckskin. In the bottom of each hollow a narrow slit was cut lengthwise of the goggle. Through this slit the wearer was to look. The interior of the hollow was blacked with charcoal from the fire. A buckskin thong fastened to the outer edge of each of the goggles, and tied behind the head, kept them in place.

At length Andy declared that his feet were well enough healed to permit him to return to the trails. Both he and David were anxious to resume their work, for the trapping season was nearing its close. They wished, also, to satisfy Indian Jake’s anxiety as to their safety, for they had no doubt he was anxious, and possibly much troubled and mystified at their long absence.

There was much regret in the wigwam of Sa-peesh, and loudly did Sa-peesh and Mrs. Sa-peesh, and especially A-mish-ku and Ni-pit-se lament that the visit should have been so short. It is the custom of Indian women to bestow gifts upon friends setting out upon a journey. This is a pleasant and profitable custom for the friends, and the women believe that the spirits will bless the giver with much good fortune, and thus they are themselves amply recompensed.

Accordingly, when David and Andy made ready for departure on a bright April morning, Mrs. Sa-peesh presented each with a bladder filled with marrow fat, and a quantity of jerked venison, while each received from Ni-pit-se a beautiful pair of bead-embroidered moccasins which she had made with her own hands.

And when they thanked Sa-peesh and everybody for all the kindness that had been shown them, and said farewell, the whole family came out before the wigwam to shout good wishes after them and to wave their hands to them, until the boys were quite out of their sight.

“We’ll soon be findin’ out, now, what Indian Jake thought when we didn’t get t’ th’ Narrows, and ’twill be three weeks when we gets there Saturday,” remarked David.

“I wonders, now, what he thinks about un!” suggested Andy.

“He thinks we perished,” said David, “and he’s likely been up t’ Namaycush lookin’ for us. ’Twill be a fine surprise to he when he comes back Saturday.”

“’Tis fine t’ be alive!” exclaimed Andy, breathing the good pure air.

“’Tis that!” said David, “and t’ have such a fine hunt t’ take home. Pop’ll be wonderful pleased!”

“Won’t he now!” Andy agreed. “It won’t be much over a month, whatever, will it, Davy, before th’ break up, and we can start for home?”

“No, th’ last of May, _what_ever,” said David, “and won’t it be fine, Andy, t’ go home with all th’ furs? They’s plenty, I _knows_, now, t’ pay for Jamie goin’ t’ have th’ great doctor cure his eyes. Indian Jake said so, and he’s a wonderful good judge. There’s our share of his fur, too. And won’t it be fine t’ have Jamie see again as well as ever he did!”

“Won’t it, now!” exclaimed Andy. “’Tis hard t’ wait till th’ time comes t’ go!”

They were a long distance from the tilt. Walking as fast as ever they could, favoring Andy’s sore feet, and with a stop only to boil the kettle at noon, it was near sundown when they saw the little log building scarcely visible above the drifts.

“There’s no tracks about,” said Andy, as they approached the door.

“If Indian Jake came up ’twas a week ago, whatever,” suggested David. “Th’ snow since then covered his tracks. He was sure t’ be lookin’ for us when we didn’t go t’ th’ Narrows.”

This surmise was confirmed upon entering the tilt. The frying pan used by Indian Jake in cooking his dinner sat unwashed upon the stove, and there were other evidences of his visit. And the boys immediately missed the two marten skins which they had left there, and which the half-breed had taken.

“He were thinkin’, now, we had perished, and so he took th’ fur,” David explained. “He were thinkin’ t’ take all our fur home t’ Pop when he takes his, and he’s feelin’ dreadful bad about our bein’ dead.”

“And won’t he be glad when we gets t’ th’ Narrows!” exclaimed Andy.

“That he will!” said David. “’Twill be a fine surprise for he!”

The following morning, with light, expectant hearts, they set out for the Narrows, attending to their snow-clogged traps in the usual manner, and on Friday evening, highly excited at the expected surprise and pleasure of Indian Jake when they appeared, crossed the river ice opposite the tilt.

“He hasn’t come yet,” said David as they neared the tilt. “Th’ snow fell since he left Monday, and there’s no tracks where he’s come back.”

“We’ll have a fire, and supper cookin’ when he comes, an’ won’t he be surprised and glad t’ see us!” exclaimed Andy.

And so, their hearts filled with the pleasure they anticipated giving Indian Jake, they pushed open the door and entered the tilt. Then they stood aghast, and almost terror stricken.

The place gave unmistakable evidence of having been looted and abandoned. The furs were gone. The tent was not there, nor was the extra tent stove.

“He’s gone!” exclaimed Andy, presently, a frightened look on his face.

“Gone!” echoed David. “And he’s took all our furs!”

“What--will--Jamie do now?” and Andy was making a manly effort to restrain the tears.

“He’ll go--blind!” and David, too, was on the point of tears. “And--we--worked so hard t’--get th’ furs t’--save his eyes!”

Neither of them felt like eating, but, by force of habit they lighted a fire in the stove, filled the kettle from the water hole at the lake, and prepared to cook their supper.

“They’s no tea! And no flour! And no pork!” announced David after a search. “Indian Jake took all th’ grub!”

“Took all th’ grub!” exclaimed Andy.

“Aye, all th’ grub!” David repeated.

“Whatever will we do now?” asked Andy in consternation.

“They’s a bit of tea in our pack on th’ toboggan. Unlash un and bring th’ things right in, Andy,” said David. “We have th’ bladders of fat, and most of th’ dried deer’s meat th’ Injuns gave us, and some hard bread left in th’ bag too. We’ll make out.”

There were also three ptarmigans that Andy had shot during the day, and a rabbit they had taken from one of the traps. An inventory assured him that, so far as provisions were concerned, they would do very well indeed for the present.

“Indian Jake didn’t take any grub out o’ th’ Halfway tilt or th’ Namaycush Lake tilt, either,” said David, as the two stood contemplating their small stock of provisions. “What we has in th’ other tilts ain’t much, but ’twill have t’ do us till th’ break up.”

“’Twon’t last till then!” objected Andy. “And even if it does we won’t have any grub left t’ eat on th’ way home after th’ break up.”

“We’ll have t’ make out somehow,” insisted David. “We’ll fix un this way, Andy. Whilst I tends th’ traps you’ll hunt for pa’tridges and snare rabbits. With what you kills we’ll make out, and save what’s in th’ tilts t’ use goin’ home.”

“Th’ huntin’s about over, why can’t we strike up and go now?” asked Andy.

“We can’t do that,” David objected. “We _has_ t’ wait for th’ break up t’ take th’ boat out. We can’t take un out till th’ lake and th’ river gets free of ice. We’ll _have_ t’ take un, _what_ever, because Pop’ll need un t’ bring in his outfit when he comes back in th’ fall t’ hunt.”

“We’ll have t’ take th’ tilt stove, too, to use in th’ tent goin’ out,” suggested Andy. “Indian Jake took th’ tent stove.”

“We won’t need un,” said David. “We won’t have any tent. Indian Jake took un. We’ll make out though. ’Twill be warm enough then, but ’tis a rainy time of year, and we’ll have t’ sleep wet of nights, without a tent or stove.”

Supper of boiled ptarmigan, hardtack, marrow fat for butter, and tea was as good a meal as any could wish, and quite as good as any to which David and Andy were accustomed on the trail. But there was the future to be provided for.

“’Tis good Indian Jake didn’t take th’ grub from th’ other tilts,” Andy observed, as they made the tilt tidy, for Indian Jake had left it in a state of confusion.

“He took ’most everything else except th’ tilts,” said David a little bitterly. “With havin’ t’ keep most of th’ flour and pork that’s in th’ other tilts to use goin’ home, it’ll take all our spare time huntin’ a livin’, and we’ll have t’ make out that way till we goes.”

“We might catch some whitefish and namaycush,” suggested Andy. “We caught a rare fine lot when we went fishin’ with Indian Jake.”

“We can now!” agreed David enthusiastically. “Oh, we’ll make out fine with th’ birds and rabbits we gets, if we can get whitefish and namaycush too. We won’t have bread, but th’ Injuns mostly does without bread. They make out with what they get huntin’ and fishin’.”

“We’ll try for th’ fish tomorrow _what_ever!” said Andy.

“Th’ first thing in th’ mornin’,” seconded David.

A search, however, for Indian Jake’s fishing tackle disclosed the fact that he had taken it with him, as he had taken nearly everything else of value. No cod line and not a fish hook could be found, though every nook and cranny of the tilt was inspected.

“We’ll have t’ give fishin’ up,” said David, when they had satisfied themselves that no tackle was to be found. “We can’t fish without hooks and line.”

“No,” admitted Andy dejectedly, “we can’t fish.”

“But we’ll make out, _what_ever,” said David confidently. “We’ll get birds and rabbits enough, though they’re wonderful tiresome eatin’, without bread or pork. And goin’ out we’ll be like t’ kill a porcupine or two.”

“We’ll make out,” agreed Andy.

“It’s--it’s th’ fur makes me feel bad,” said David after a moment’s silence.

“Aye; th’ fur,” repeated Andy.

“And Jamie,” added David, sadly. “I can’t get he off my mind. I’d rather be dead myself than have he go blind. ’Tis bein’ dead t’ go blind, but worse. ’Tisn’t natural t’ be blind, and folks has t’ die some time.”

“Th’ thought of un makes me feel almost--sick,” said Andy.

They fell silent, and for nearly half an hour neither spoke. Then David remarked, a more cheerful note in his voice:

“I been thinkin’, now, that we may be misjudgin’ Indian Jake. I been thinkin’ that maybe when Indian Jake makes up his mind we perished, he has no heart t’ keep on trappin’ here alone, and he takes th’ furs and starts right out with un t’ give un t’ Pop, and t’ tell Pop what he thinks happened to us.”

“Do you think that, now?” asked Andy hopefully.

“That’s what I thinks,” said David, reluctant to abandon faith in Indian Jake even now.

“’Twill be--a terrible worry for Pop--and all of un,” suggested Andy.

“Aye,” agreed David, “but think how glad they’ll be when we comes home safe; and it won’t be long, now. Week after next we’ll strike up, and th’ break-up’ll come by th’ last of May, _what_ever, and we’ll start for home.”