Part 11

When Walter had written his letters to the Periers and had read theirs aloud, Louis had admired and envied his knowledge. Noticing the Canadian boy’s interest in the lessons, Walter offered to teach him to read his native tongue, French. Among the Swiss lad’s few possessions was a small Bible that had belonged to his mother, the only thing he owned that had been hers. He had always carried it about with him, and now he used it as a text-book. Louis entered into the new task with enthusiasm and surprised Walter by learning rapidly. In fact Louis proved quicker than Neil, whose restless nature disinclined him to study of any kind. In physical activity the Highland boy delighted, but working his mind bored and wearied him. Louis, however, grew so interested that even after the storm was over, he spent a part of every evening in a reading lesson by firelight.

A period of clear, cold weather followed the blizzard. There was little wind, but more than once the stillness of the night was shattered by a sharp crack, almost like the report of a musket, when, in the intense cold, some near-by tree split from freezing. In hunting and visiting the traps the boys felt the cold far less than at a higher temperature with wind. Fingers and faces became frost-bitten quickly though, and Walter had to be careful of his frosted cheek.

Following the trap lines necessitated long tramps, sometimes of twelve or fifteen miles, through the hills. Accompanying his comrades, Walter learned something of the lay of the land. He found that the cabin was located on what Louis called “the first mountain,” a rough and partly wooded plateau that rises rather abruptly from the prairie of the Red River valley; which is really not a valley but a plain. This hilly plateau is about eight miles across its widest part, and reaches its greatest height a mile south of where the Pembina River cuts a deep valley through it. On the west of the plateau is the “second mountain,” an irregular ridge. Though the second mountain rises nowhere more than five hundred feet above the first, it is wild and rugged. Walter was forced to admit that in some places, especially where the streams that crossed it had eroded steep-walled ravines, three or four hundred feet deep, it was almost mountain-like on a small scale. To a mountain-bred boy this was mere hill country, but he felt more at home in it than he had felt anywhere since coming to the strange new world. Climbing was a real joy to him, and he loved to choose the steepest rather than the easiest routes.

As game grew scarce in the vicinity of the cabin, the boys pushed their trap lines farther and farther into the hills, until whoever made the rounds was forced to be away at least two, and sometimes three, nights. They built two overnight shelters, one a lean-to against an abrupt cliff, the other a roof of poles over a snug hollow in the rocks. In one of these lodges Louis or Neil, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Walter, would spend the night; with a blazing fire at the entrance to keep away wolves and wildcats.

For several weeks a thievish wolverine annoyed the trappers. The clever, bloodthirsty beast followed the trails, broke into deadfalls, and skilfully extracted the catch from traps and snares. What it could not devour it carried away and hid, after mangling the creature until the pelt was ruined. Louis swore vengeance on the thief, and tried in every way to trap it. At last, by going out at night to follow the wolverine’s fresh track against the wind, he came upon the greedy beast in the act of breaking into a deadfall from the rear. A quick and lucky shot, and Louis triumphantly carried home the robber. Walter had never seen a wolverine, and Neil knew it from its tracks and skin only. With its long body, short, strong legs, and big feet armed with sharp, curved claws, it looked a most formidable creature for its size.

February was a stormy month, until near the close, when there came another period of clear, calm cold. In this fine weather Louis laid a new trap line extending seven miles or more north to _Tête de Boeuf_, Buffalo Head, one of the highest points in the range. After accompanying his friend over the new trail, Walter climbed Buffalo Head for the first time one bright, windless noonday. He found the view from the top impressive, but the name puzzled him.

“Why do you call this hill Tête de Boeuf?” he asked his companion. “I can’t see that it is shaped like a bull’s head, looked at from below or from up here.”

“No,” Louis replied. “I think the name does not come from the shape of the hill, but from a curious custom of the Indians. Do you see those red things over there?”

He pointed to an irregular line of objects in an exposed, wind-blown spot at the very rim of an escarpment.

“Those queer looking stones? They look as if someone had laid them there in a row, and then daubed them with red paint. Did the Indians put them there? What for?”

“You think they are stones? Go and look at them,” returned Louis with a smile.

Walter walked to the edge of the bluff, looked down at the objects, and exclaimed in astonishment, “They’re skulls; skulls of some big animal.”

“Buffalo,” said Louis. “To the Assiniboins and the Sioux this mountain is sacred. They bring buffalo skulls, daub them with red earth, and place them as you see, noses pointing to the east. The skulls are offerings to some heathen god. There is another spot up here where the Indians burn tobacco as a sacrifice.” He stooped to examine one of the skulls. “This one has not been here long. See how fresh the paint is. It is trader’s vermilion mixed with grease.”

“That skull was put there since the last storm,” Walter agreed. “There are little drifts of snow against the others, but hardly any around that one.”

Louis had turned his attention to a shallow, snow-filled hollow in the rock. “Here are tracks. Truly someone has been here since the last snowfall.”

Although the weather had been unusually calm for several days, every breath of breeze swept the exposed spot. The prints in the snow were partly obliterated. If the boys had not found the freshly painted skull, they would scarcely have guessed that the tracks were those of men. With some difficulty they traced the footprints to the edge of a steep, bare, rock slope. There they lost the trail. They were out after game and did not care to waste time tracing a couple of wandering Indians, so they gave up the search.

Nevertheless the recent offering of a buffalo skull on _Tête de Boeuf_ aroused the lads’ curiosity, and set them wondering if there might be Indians camped somewhere in the neighborhood. In all their wanderings heretofore the three had seen no recent sign of human beings.

“We must keep a better watch of our things,” Louis decided, as he sat by the fire that evening preparing the pelt of a red fox. “The Assiniboins are great thieves. Stealing horses is a feat they are proud of. We have no horses, but we do not want to lose our dogs.”

“Or our sled and blankets and all our furs,” Neil added. “One of us must stay home after this to look after things.”

“Yes.” Louis was silent for a moment considering. “I think,” he said at last, “that you and I, Walter, will try to follow that trail to-morrow. It may lead to some camp. Neil will stay here to guard the cabin.”

“Why not let Walter stay?” demanded the Scotch boy, who preferred a more active part.

“Because he cannot talk to the savages or understand them, if any come this way. He knows no Assiniboin.”

“I don’t know much myself,” Neil protested.

“But you know a little, and you have dealt with Indians. He has not. He does not even understand their sign language.”

Neil could find no answer to that argument. He was forced to consent to the arrangement, though he was far from pleased.

XXIII UNWELCOME VISITORS

The period of bright, calm weather seemed to be over. The next morning was dark and cloudy, with a raw wind. In accordance with Louis’ plan, he and Walter climbed Buffalo Head again. At the foot of the bare rock slope, they succeeded in picking up the trail from the painted skull. Two men, Louis concluded, had come and gone that way. He traced the trail easily enough for a short distance, but in the woods it became confused with that of several wolves. Probably the beasts had followed the men at a safe distance. Where the snow lay deep the men had taken to snowshoes.

By the time the lads had reached a puzzling spot, where the tracks seemed to branch into two trails, the threat of the morning had been fulfilled. Snow was falling. Selecting the more distinct trail, Louis led on, but the thick-falling flakes were rapidly obliterating the tracks. He grew more and more doubtful of them, until at last he was sure that he had lost the trail entirely. After circling about, attempting in vain to pick it up, he gave up the chase.

“It is of no use to go on,” he said to his companion. “If this snow had waited a few hours,—but no, it comes at just the wrong time.” With a resigned shrug of his shoulders, he turned back.

For a time the snow came thick and fast, but before the boys were half-way home, it had almost ceased. When they reached the cabin, the wind had changed and the sun was shining. The storm had lasted just long enough to defeat their purpose. Their hard tramp had been for nothing. The stay-at-home, however, had news; news he was impatient to tell.

“I have had a visitor,” he burst out the moment Louis opened the door.

“A visitor!”

“A visitor?” echoed Walter, entering close behind his comrade.

“Yes, and I have found out about the new skull on Buffalo Head.”

“That is more than we have done,” Louis admitted, shaking the snow from his capote. “There have been Indians here?”

“No, a white man.”

Louis and Walter were too amazed even to exclaim. They stared unbelievingly at Neil.

“A white man,” the Scotch boy repeated. “He came a little while after you left. I didn’t know he was anywhere around till he knocked on the door. I _was_ surprised, I can tell you, when I heard that knock. An Indian would have walked right in, so, even before I opened the door, I knew there must be a white man there. And there was,—a broad-shouldered fellow with a shaggy beard. He said ‘_Bo jou_’ and I said ‘_Bo jou_, come in.’ Then we stood and looked at each other. Just as I opened my mouth to ask him where he came from, he began asking me questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Louis interrupted.

“Who I was, and what I was doing here, if I was trapping or trading with the Indians. He could see the pelts all around the room. He was so sharp about it, I thought he might be a Hudson Bay man out on the track of free traders. I told him we hadn’t seen an Indian since we came and didn’t expect to see one. Then he wanted to know what we were going to do with our furs. Of course I said we were going to take them to the Company at Pembina.”

“Did that satisfy him?”

“It seemed to. He isn’t a Company man, it appears.”

“A free trader?” questioned Louis.

“He didn’t say. He is on his way from _Portage la Prairie_ to Pembina.”

“_Portage la Prairie_ is on the Assiniboine. Why did he come this way?”

“He said it was shorter and he wanted to make speed.”

Louis shook his head doubtfully. “Shorter? No, I think not. He must be off his course. How many are in his party?”

“No one but himself. He didn’t even have a sled, only a pack and his snowshoes.”

“But that is strange. You are sure he had no comrades?”

“I asked him if he had come all the way alone,” Neil explained, “and he said that at first he had traveled with two others. Yesterday or last night, he left them. He had quarreled with them I think. When he went away, he warned me to look out for them and not to trust them. I asked if they were coming this way. He didn’t know where they were going, he said, but they were somewhere around here in the hills.”

“What about the painted skull?” inquired Walter.

“I told him about our finding it and the tracks. He said the other fellows put the skull there. One of them is an Assiniboin.”

Walter was puzzled. “If that is true,—if those men really did that, they must have reached the hills two or three days ago. We found the skull yesterday.”

“That’s so.” Neil rubbed his red head thoughtfully. “That rather spoils his story of making speed straight through from _Portage la Prairie_, doesn’t it?”

“He lied,” concluded Louis emphatically. “Somewhere he lied, either about himself or about the placing of the skull on the _Tête de Boeuf_. What was he like, that fellow, and who is he? What is his name? Where does he belong?”

“He didn’t tell me his name, but he is a DeMeuron from St. Boniface. He asked so many questions that I didn’t think till afterwards that he hadn’t mentioned his name. He asked mine and yours.”

“He knew you were not here alone then?”

“Oh yes, I told him I expected you two back any moment. He kept looking at our furs, and I thought he had better know we were three to one.”

“Three to three perhaps,” said Louis thoughtfully, “if the others are still near here. They may not have parted at all.”

“I’m sure they have quarreled. He was telling the truth about that. You should have seen his face when he spoke of those other fellows, and he warned me against them, you know.”

“That is true,” Louis conceded, “but his stories do not agree and we had best not trust them too far.”

One of the trap lines had not been visited for two days, so Neil went out to examine the nearer traps while daylight lasted. Doubt of the white traveler’s story made Louis decide to remain at the cabin. The boys had a fairly good catch of furs, and Louis knew that wandering trappers and free traders were not always above robbing weaker parties. If the stranger returned or his former companions happened along, Louis wanted to be at home.

The sun was sinking behind the hills as Walter, accompanied by Askimé, went down to the creek. He found the water hole frozen and was chopping it out when the dog began to growl uneasily. The boy paid little attention, thinking Askimé had scented some wild animal. Suddenly Askimé threw back his head and howled. His fellows replied from near the cabin. Then, as all three were silent for a moment, there came other answers from farther away; up the creek somewhere. In doubt whether the answering voices were those of dogs or wolves, Walter filled his kettle and hastened back to the cabin.

Outside the house, Louis was trying to quiet his beasts. “We shall have visitors soon,” he announced. “You heard?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure whether they were dogs or wolves.”

“Dogs,” Louis asserted confidently. “Those men have heard ours. They will come this way.”

Louis and Walter tied their dogs at the rear of the cabin, and lingered outside, watching for the strangers. It was not long before a howl from the opposite direction, together with the voice of a man shouting, as he belabored some unfortunate beast, announced the arrival of the visitors.

Through an opening in the woods, into the cleared space before the cabin, came a tall fellow in buckskin leggings and blue capote, the hood pulled low over his face. He was followed by two lean, shaggy dogs drawing a toboggan. It flashed into Walter’s mind that these were the very men and sled he had seen upside down against the sky during the mirage.

“_Bo jou_,” called Louis in a friendly tone, as a second man appeared and the sled came to a halt.

“_Bo jou_,” returned the tall fellow in a deep voice.

At the sound of that voice Walter started with surprise. The newcomer pushed back his hood, and the boy found himself gazing into the face of the half-breed voyageur Murray. The sun was down behind the mountain, but even in the waning light, there was no mistaking that face; that dark, aquiline, beardless, hard, cruel face, that he had seen day after day during the long journey from Fort York to Fort Douglas.

If Murray recognized the two lads, and he must recognize them Walter knew, he made no sign. He merely stood impassive, looking at them, until Louis recovered his wits sufficiently to act the host. Under the circumstances he could do no less, even though the guest was an unwelcome one. After all there had been no open breach between Murray and the boys, and what had happened at Pembina was not their business. It would be better to show no knowledge of that affair.

At Louis’ invitation, the newcomers entered the cabin and were given the stools by the fire. They had unhitched their dogs from the sled and tied them to a tree to keep them from Louis’ beasts, but Murray was hardly seated when the noise of battle sounded from without. Louis ran out and Murray followed to find that one of his dogs had broken or gnawed off his rawhide rope and was engaged in a fight with Askimé who had broken his rope also. The beasts were separated, Murray’s dog, after being well beaten by his far from merciful master, was tied more securely, and Askimé was taken into the cabin.

Walter was already getting the evening meal, which, as a matter of course, the visitors would share. The second man, it was evident, was not the one who had been with Murray at Pembina. This fellow was an Indian, a young man, slender, well built, but insignificant beside the Black Murray. He understood scarcely a word of French or English, and spoke only when addressed in his native Assiniboin. It seemed to Walter, as he covertly watched the two, that the young Indian was completely under Murray’s domination, and stood in fear or awe of him.

Before the meal was ready, Neil returned. He had heard unfamiliar dog voices, as he approached the cabin, and had seen the loaded sled before the door, so he was not surprised to find strangers sitting by the fire. He it was who first mentioned the visitor that had come earlier in the day.

“I suppose,” he said, “you two are the ones that fellow was traveling with.”

Murray grunted an assent. After a moment he asked, “How long ago he here?” He grunted again at Neil’s reply.

The warm meal, eaten for the most part in silence, seemed to thaw Murray’s sullenness somewhat. Suddenly he began to talk; his usual mixture of bad English, worse French, Cree, and Dakota. Like the DeMeuron, he asked questions about the boys’ trapping, and inquired if they had seen any Indians and had done any trading. Questioned in return, his replies were brief and evasive. He and Kolbach had been to the west. They had come back to the hills expecting to meet a band of Assiniboins. “We waited,” he said, “but the Assiniboins not come.”

Walter and Louis were not surprised to learn that Murray’s former companion was Fritz Kolbach. They had guessed that already.

“It was here at the mountain you expected to meet the Assiniboins?” Louis inquired.

Murray shot a keen glance at him, and nodded.

“Then you camped near here for several days?” persisted Louis.

“To the north, other side _Tête de Boeuf_.”

“You left the fresh buffalo skull on the mountain?” put in Neil.

Murray silently pointed to his Assiniboin companion, who apparently understood nothing of the conversation. Then the half-breed asked abruptly, “Who told you that? Kolbach?”

“We found the newly painted skull and your tracks,” said Neil. “I spoke to him this morning about them and he said you put the skull there.”

_Le Murrai Noir’s_ face had darkened at every mention of the DeMeuron. He demanded savagely, “What else he tell you?” And, before Neil could answer, added a string of violent abuse of his former companion.

“Kolbach told me nothing,” the boy hastened to reply, “nothing except that he had been traveling with you, but had left you and was going on alone. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

Murray’s eyes were fastened on Neil’s honest, freckled face. His only reply was an abrupt grunt, he turned to Louis. “You stay here long? I sell you bag pemmican, good pemmican, for furs.”

Louis ignored the question. “We thank you for your offer,” he said, “but we have no need of pemmican. We have plenty of food.” This was not strictly true, but he wanted no dealings with Murray.

Murray cast a look about the cabin, dimly lighted by the fire on the hearth. “We go now,” he said abruptly.

“You’re not going on to-night?” Neil asked in surprise.

“You are welcome to spread your blankets here by the fire,” Louis added, he would not break the rules of hospitality even though he felt the guest to be an enemy.

Murray did not even thank him. “The moon is bright. We go on.”

The Indian had risen and moved towards the door. Murray pulled on his capote and looked up at the bark and pole roof. An evil smile showed his strong, yellow-white teeth. “It burn?” he inquired.

“You set it on fire,” accused Louis.

Murray grinned mockingly. “Not me,—Kolbach.”

“But why did he want to burn the roof off?” cried Walter.

“Why leave a cabin for other traders?” Murray spoke contemptuously. Undoubtedly he felt contempt for Walter’s innocence. “Only the roof burn well,” he added. His left hand on the door latch, he turned and held out the right to Walter.

The Swiss boy, surprised at this courtesy from the man he had believed an enemy, could not refuse his own hand. Murray’s sinewy fingers clasped it firmly for an instant. A scratch in the palm,—a deep scratch made by a rough splinter of wood when Walter was renewing the fire before supper,—tingled sharply with the pressure.

“_Bo jou!_” said Murray, and opened the door and went out.

The Assiniboin repeated the words and followed. In a moment both were arousing and harnessing their dogs. The men’s shouts, the whines and howls of the tired beasts, lashed and beaten to force them to speed, could be heard long after men and sled had disappeared into the woods and the night.

XXIV A SORE HAND

“Now we know it was Murray and Kolbach who camped here the night before we came,” said Louis, after the guests were gone. “Then they tried to burn this old cabin so no one else could use it. That is a trick of rival traders to make each other as much trouble as they can.”

“The Northwest Company used to destroy Hudson Bay houses whenever they got a chance,” put in Neil.

“Yes, and the Hudson Bay men did the same to the Northwesters.”

“That was a queer way to try to burn a house though,” Neil remarked, “to begin at the top. Kolbach must have had to clean off the snow before he could set the fire.”

“Perhaps it was Kolbach who cleaned away the snow, but I think the plan to burn the cabin was as much _le Murrai’s_ as Kolbach’s,” Louis asserted. “I believe they tried to start fire in other places as well as the roof. At the back there is a place where a fire has burned close to the wall. The logs are charred and black. They started several fires, I think, but they did not stay to watch them. As _le Murrai_ said, only the roof burned well. What do you think, Walter?”

Walter had scarcely been listening. He was examining his right hand, which still smarted. Raising his head at the question, he replied carelessly, “About the fire? They set it, of course. Lucky for us it didn’t burn better.” He looked again at his stinging palm. “I wonder if Murray ever washes his hands. The dirt came off on mine. It makes this scratch sting.”

“Let me see.” Louis seized his friend’s hand, turned the palm to the firelight and bent over it. “That is no dirt,” he exclaimed. “It is sticky, a gum of some sort. You say it was not there before Murray shook hands with you? And now it hurts?”

“My hands were clean. I washed them before we began to get supper. That scratch certainly does hurt; much more than it did at first.”

“Put some water on the fire, Neil, just a little, to heat quickly. We must do something for this hand.” Louis spoke anxiously. “_Le Murrai_ has tried to poison you, Walter. Perhaps I can suck it out like snake venom.”