Part 11

Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie in here, and give this child something to eat."

"With pleasure," returned his visitor.

Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.

"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds. They trusted, as we all do more or less, to the expression. A good honest character writes itself on the face. They shook hands.

"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.

"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he sent him to the hunters' camp. "Since then," he added, "your nephew has been wandering among the Indians. It was a Cree who guided him home--the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."

"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said," interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.

"Not one word, uncle. Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred. "He brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain the way in which the warning had been given to him.

Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not quite understand all Wilfred was saying.

"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man, "and one so near to me as Bowkett. What does it mean for Miriam?"

"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier. "We are neither judge nor jury. We are not here to acquit or condemn, but a warning like this is not to be despised. I came to put you on your guard."

The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb. "It is my breath. Let me rest a bit. I'll think this over. Come again."

The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the morning, or earlier if it were wished. He was at the door, when Caleb Acland signed to him to return.

"Not a word to my sister yet. The boy is safe here. Tell him he is not to go out of this room."

Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required promise. There was one more word. "What was that about buying land? I might help you there; a little business between us, you understand."

"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.

"Keep in here. Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be near," was Mr. De Brunier's parting charge to Wilfred as he went back into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one objected to his presence.

The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don't fasten it, lad!" he exclaimed. "It looks too much like being afraid of them."

Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspe and the sledge-driver at their supper. Gaspe watched him attentively as they ate on in silence.

Bowkett came out and spoke to them. "I am sorry," he said, "to seem inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer you any further accommodation. But the men have a sleeping hut round the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night. I'll send one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire."

No exception could be taken to this. The three finished their supper and were soon ready to depart.

"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb's hint.

Bowkett summoned his man, and Diome came out with him. He strolled through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the weather.

Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed. The two met.

"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diome. "Keep a sharp look-out for the boy."

Diome went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony. Maxica stole up to the house. The travellers were just coming out. He gave Yula a call. Gaspe was the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them.

It was hard for Gaspe to go away and leave his friend without another word. He had half a mind to take Kusky with him. He lingered irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather. Bowkett had opened the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between Bowkett's legs.

"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice. "Wilfred got home, and won't show his face!--won't come out amongst us to have his dinner and speak to his aunt! What is the meaning of it? What makes him afraid of being seen?"

There was not a word from Wilfred. It was the feeble voice of his Uncle Caleb that was speaking:--

"Yes, it is Wilfred come back. I've got him here beside me all safe. He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly starved. Don't disturb us. I am getting him to sleep. Tell Miriam she must come here and look at him. You can all come and look at him; Forgill and your Diome too. They all know my boy. How has Miriam managed to keep away?"

"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were saying.

"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the old man quietly.

"That's capital," laughed Gaspe to himself, as he ran after his grandfather.

They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diome trying to catch the horse, and gave him a little help by the way.

"You are not going?" he asked anxiously. "I thought you would be sure to stay the night. You are a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not, Mr. De Brunier? He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was shut up. I thought you would know him; so do I. Mrs. Bowkett says the boy is not her nephew."

"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier quietly.

"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspe; "I see what they are driving at. Her husband told her I was the boy. She came and looked at me. Bowkett knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room, If they could get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in."

"You've hit it," muttered Diome. "But they shan't give him lynch law. I'll not stand by and see that."

"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspe. "Give me one of your English sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it. I'll string them on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with it for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all."

"Not so fast, Gaspard. We should only bring the crisis before we have raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully. "I saw many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."

"That is nothing," put in Diome; "we are never without them."

"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose."

"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diome, "but he wants me to hold his horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for."

"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a great mistake. If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier.

"That's about it," returned Diome. "Now I am going to shut up this horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment's notice, and then I'll try for a word with Forgill. He is working so hard with the carving-knife there is no getting at him."

"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for us," put in Gaspe.

Diome shook his head. "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he would let it all out at the wrong time."

"Is the Cree gone?"

"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diome, whistling carelessly as they parted.

"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you remember passing a policeman on the road. He was watching for a Yankee spirit cart, contraband of course. He will have caught it by this time, and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law. Go back in the sledge--you will meet him returning--and bring him here. If he rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe. As for me, I must keep watch here. No one can leave the house without me seeing him, the night is so clear. A dark figure against the white ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the back of the homestead. Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."

Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh horse. This was easily managed. Bowkett was delighted to think the travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.

The sledge went round to Forgill's hut. Gaspe wrapped himself in the bearskin and departed. No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De Brunier was left behind. He built up the fire and reconnoitred his ground. In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.

"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as he gave it a flourish to try its weight. Then he looked to the revolver in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking backwards, with it still in sight--a self-appointed sentry, ready to challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diome. He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally. There was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of consequences. He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the Indian mind. Revenge is the justice of the savage. It was Maxica's retaliation that he feared. Diome had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count. It was clear he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage. "The moral force will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he said to himself. "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants. I shall find some to second me." He heard the scrape of the fiddle and the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the dancers' footsteps.

Hour succeeded hour. The fire in the hut burned low. De Brunier left his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs. He returned to his watch. The house-door opened. Out came Diome and crossed to the cattle-sheds. Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse. He changed his position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a few yards of the house. The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave him an elevation. He was looking down into the court, where the snow had been partially cleared.

Diome was walking the horse up and down before the door. It was not a night in which any one could stand still. His impatient stamping to warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others. The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the doorway.

"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can count on his neutrality; and Diome must know that a word from me would bring about his dismissal from his new master."

Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter could ride.

"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be speeding on his errand. The hour draws near."

As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diome walked rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's hut. With cautious steps De Brunier followed.

Diome was standing moodily by the fire. He started.

"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"

"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir. They have made this hut the rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diome brightening.

"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

"I was thinking," answered Diome, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."

"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.

*CHAPTER XV.*

_*TO THE RESCUE.*_

Diome had no more information to give. "For the love of life, sir," he entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye, Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows. You mean to hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still. You will be frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."

His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind. De Brunier was examining the fastenings of the door. There was a lock, but the key was with the owners of the hut. There was also a bar which secured it on the inside. Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney.

"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diome.

"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the doorpost?"

Diome hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked in turn.

"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here. Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside. Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching him from the orchard trees. He will listen to that. Two minutes will be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey. I must shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to me."

"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diome. "He would smell treachery in a moment. Not for me."

It went hard with Diome to turn against his old companions. It was clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter. With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed his tactics.

"I am not in their secrets," protested Diome. "I am only here to hold his horse. They don't trust me."

"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief. I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will probably find I have gone in."

Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet, if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspe to intercept the policeman. "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they can arrive." His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit. He crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree. No one better than an Indian for work like that.

The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the gloom of the shadows beyond. A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs with which the house was built. They recognized each other instantly, but not a word was said. They were at the angle of the building where the logs crossed each other.

Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a whispering gallery. The faintest sound at the other end of the log was distinctly audible. They tried each corner of the house. The music and the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long. At the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.

The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound. It was evident both Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their guard.

To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed that Vanner had returned.

Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the other. He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to the storeroom side. Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own to the tier above. Some one had entered the storeroom.

"Anything here?" asked a low voice.

"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.

"A woman's ironing board."

"A woman's what?"

"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed a third impatiently, and they were gone.

But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan. Maxica was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the sledge-bell.

Within the house the merriment ran high. Bridal healths were drank with three times three. The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the galloping of the ponies.

Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm. "I am dizzy with tiredness," she said. "I think I have danced with every one. I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now. What made him fasten his door?"

"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's crotchet, my dear. I have spoken to him. He is all right, and his cry is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett. "You'll give Batiste his turn? just one more round."

Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window. Kusky, who was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept stealthily to Wilfred's feet.

"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.

The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone lured Kusky away. Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not venturing to show himself to he knew not whom. There was a noise at the window. He remembered it was a double one. It seemed to him somebody was trying to force open the outer pane.

A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen. Wilfred sprang upright. Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.

"Look to the door. Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their guns as they ran.

The outer window was broken. Through the inner, which was not so thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man. He knew that Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.

At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm. The Cree, who was holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring. Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar. The thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he was dragged backwards. Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a cry. Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the window, waiting in Vanner's stead. For what? He hardly dared to think. The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's gun was pointed at his ear. He drew a little aside and flattened himself against the building. The gun was fired into the air.

"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier. "They have not seen us yet. When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least, unless we hear the sledge-bell first. It is a question of time. The clock is counting life and death for more than one of us. All hinges on my Gaspe. Thank God, I know he will do his very best. There is no mistrust of Gaspe; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never forget my Gaspe."

The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Are the Indians upon us? Where is Miriam?"

Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back.

"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection. "I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house. First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."

Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.

"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.

"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might. "Let me go, I tell you; let me go!"

The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett. The room was full of men.

Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get him away from his uncle.

"Forgill! Forgill!" he shouted. "Pete! Pete! Help me! help me!"

A pillow was tossed in his face.

"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin would really hurt him. He kicked against his captor, and getting one hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts. "So it's Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice. "Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is a regular mammy's darling for all that. It is Mathurin will put the pappoose in its cradle. Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its little head; Batiste can show you how."

In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution. His frantic struggles were useless. They only provoked fresh bursts of merriment. Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the impotency of his rage! He was forced to give in. They bound him in the sheets.

Mathurin was shouting for--

"A rabbit-skin, To wrap his baby bunting in.

They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred. He was laid on the ironing board.

He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing tighter and tighter.

What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?

The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.