Part 17

Louis’ curiosity was aroused. He drew his finger across his own head, then pointed to his breast.

The Indian shook his head. It was some other white man he meant. Again he made the sign, with his left hand, while he pointed towards the camp with his right. At the same time he spoke the word for trader.

Louis nodded to show that he understood.

The Indian gave a little grunt, and once more pointed to the boys in turn, then to the camp. He repeated the hat-wearer sign and the word trader.

Louis turned to Walter. “There is a white man with that band, a trader. I am sure that is what this fellow means. And he wishes us to go to the camp and see the man. Perhaps the white man has sent for us.”

“Shall we go?” asked Walter. “Do you think it is safe?”

“I do not know if it is safe,” was the thoughtful reply, “but _I_ must go I think. If I do not he will think I am afraid. And I want to discover if there really is a white trader there, and talk with him. He may be our one chance of safety. Sometimes the traders have great influence. Yes, I must go.”

Louis indicated his willingness to accompany the Indians, but the elder man was still unsatisfied. He kept pointing at Walter.

“I am going too, Louis,” the latter decided. He glanced around the little circle. “Do you suppose the others will be all right while we are away?”

“There is risk to all of us, all the time, whatever we do,” Louis returned gravely. “It is not good for our party to be separated. Yet I do not think they try to separate us. Why should they, when we are so few, and they are so many? No, I think that white trader has sent for us, and we had best go.” He turned to Neil and Raoul. “Keep close watch,” he warned, “and you, Raoul, make a big pile of dry grass and wood. If anything happens to alarm you, light it, and we shall see the flames, and come at once.”

“If we can,” Walter added to himself. He did not voice his doubt. He knew they must take the risk; he saw that quite clearly.

There was a frightened look in Elise’s eyes. She laid her hand on Walter’s arm. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

“I must, little sister. I can’t let Louis go alone. We will be back soon.”

Mrs. Brabant’s face had turned pale, but she made no protest. As for Mr. Perier, the news that there was a white man with the Indians had gone far to reassure him of their friendliness and good intentions.

The three braves had come unarmed, so courtesy required that Louis and Walter should not take their guns, reluctant though they were to leave them behind. The Indians were on foot, and all went back in the same manner. The long twilight was deepening, as the five took their silent way towards the firelit group of tipis that had sprung up from the prairie like some strange mushroom growth. The air was hot, still, and oppressive. Dark clouds lay low on the western and southern horizon.

The Indian camp was a noisy place. As the party approached, their ears were assailed by a variety of sounds; the neighing and squealing of ponies, the howling and yelping of dogs, the shouting of children, the voices of the women, the tones of the old squaws cracked and shrill, calling, laughing, and scolding, the toneless thumping of a drum and the clacking of rattles accompanying the harsh monotone of some medicine man’s chant, and a hundred other noises. Hobbled horses fed on the prairie grass around the circle of lodges. A whole pack of snarling, wolfish dogs rushed out as if to devour the newcomers, but did not dare to approach very close for fear of a beating. The buffalo skin tipis were lit up with cooking fires without and within. The mingled odors of wood smoke, boiling and roasting meat, tobacco and _kinnikinnick_,—osier dogwood or red willow bark shredded and added to tobacco to form the Indian smoking mixture,—filled the air.

The little party were close to the tipis, when a man came out to meet them. He spoke to the older brave, and an argument followed. Unable to understand the conversation, the boys stood waiting, and wondering what was going on. Evidently the two Indians were disagreeing, but the only words Louis recognized were _minnewakan_ and the term for trader.

It was the lads’ conductor who yielded at last. He gave a grunt of sullen assent, gestured to the boys to follow the other, turned on his heel, and stalked off. The stranger led the way among the lodges.

Walter had never visited an Indian camp, and curiosity was getting the better of his fears. The squaws and children were quite as curious about the white men. The women left their various occupations, and ceased their gossiping and scolding, the children stopped their play and quarreling, to stare at the strangers. Their inquisitiveness was open and frank, but did not seem unfriendly. The men, lounging about at their ease, eating, smoking, polishing their weapons, or doing nothing whatever, disdained to show interest in the newcomers. Their casual glances were indifferent rather than hostile. Walter noted that these people were in the habit of dealing with traders. Many of the loose, shapeless garments the women wore were of bright colored cotton, instead of deerskin. Some of the men had shirts or leggings of scarlet cloth. The boy’s courage rose. So far there was nothing to fear.

The lodges were arranged in two irregular circles, one within the other. In the center of the inner open space, stood a solitary tipi of unusual size. From it, apparently, came the sounds of drum, rattles, and chant. Walter wondered if it was there that he and Louis were being led. Surely a white man would not—— But the guide had turned to the right, and was pulling aside the skin curtain that covered the entrance to one of the lodges in the circle. He motioned to the boys to enter.

Walter followed Louis in, and looked about him. The fire on the ground in the center of the tipi was smouldering smokily, and the forms of the men beyond were but dimly visible. Louis went forward unhesitatingly. At the right of the fire, he paused, and Walter stepped to his side.

Someone threw a piece of buffalo fat on the fire. The flames leaped up, casting a strong light on the bronze bodies of six or seven seated men. All were nearly naked, except the slender young man in the center. He wore scarlet leggings and a blue coat with scarlet facings; an old uniform coat that must once have belonged to some white officer. The young Indian’s chest was bare and adorned with paint. A necklace of elk teeth, with a silver coin as a pendant, was his principal ornament. There were eagle feathers in his scarlet head band, and his coarse, black hair, which hung in two braids over his shoulders, glistened with grease. The swarthy face of the young chief, as the firelight revealed it, struck Walter with instant distrust and dislike. The wide mouth was loose lipped. The dark eyes—large for an Indian—that he fastened on the boys were bloodshot and fierce.

Louis stood straight and motionless, steadily returning the young chief’s gaze. Drawing himself up to his full height, Walter tried to imitate his comrade’s bold bearing. After a few minutes of this silent duel of glances, during which the fire died down again, the chief deigned to speak.

His first words were apparently an inquiry as to whether the white men were traders. Louis shook his head. Then came a request,—it sounded more like a demand,—for _minnewakan_.

Again Louis shook his head. Stepping forward, he offered the chief the gifts he had brought him, a twist of tobacco, a paper of coarse pins, and a piece of scarlet cloth. Though the boys had expected to be led directly to the white trader, Louis had thought it best to go provided with a few courtesy presents for the head man of the band. The chief accepted the things in silence.

On the chance that the fellow or someone of his companions might know a little French, Louis proceeded to explain that he and his party were peaceful travelers from the Selkirk Colony on their way to the trading post at Lake Traverse. Whether anyone understood what he said the boy could not tell.

When Louis had finished, the chief made a speech, a long speech, delivered in an impressive, even pompous manner, with frequent pauses for effect. At each pause, his companions in chorus uttered an approving “Uho, uho!” That was the way the exclamation sounded to Walter. He could understand nothing of the chief’s oration, of course, but he got the idea that the young man liked to listen to his own voice.

Among the voices that cried out “Uho,” there was one deep pitched one that affected the Swiss boy in a peculiar manner. It sent a sudden chill of fear over him. And there was something familiar about it. He glanced around the group to see to which man that voice belonged. The fire had nearly burned out, and the lodge was so dark he could distinguish the figures but dimly. At the third exclamation of approval, he made up his mind that the voice that affected him so strangely came from the man on the chief’s right. During the few moments when the firelight had been bright enough to reveal the Indians, Walter had noticed nothing about that man except his size. He was a big fellow, broad shouldered and tall, overtopping the chief by several inches, though the latter was not short. The big man’s features the boy had not seen, for they were in the shadow of the scarlet blanket the fellow held up, apparently to shield his face from the heat.

The speaker brought his oration to a sonorous close. There was a chorus of loud “uhos.” As if for dramatic effect, another chunk of fat was thrown upon the fire. The flames shot up again, and cast their light upon the chief and his courtiers.

Walter gasped. He felt Louis’ fingers close upon his arm and grip it tight in warning. The blanket no longer concealed the face of the big brave on the chief’s right. The amazed boys were staring straight at the glittering, bright eyes and thin-lipped, cruel mouth of the Black Murray. It seemed incredible, impossible, but it was so.

The big warrior, a Sioux Indian in every detail; braided hair and feathers, big-muscled, bronze body naked except for the breech cloth and the handsome scarlet blanket about his shoulders, chest and arms adorned with streaks and circles of red and black paint, was the former Hudson Bay voyageur, Murray. If it had been possible to mistake that regular featured, sinister face, with its glittering eyes and scornful smile, the silver chain around his neck, with Mr. Perier’s watch hanging upon his chest, must have removed all doubts. He was the Black Murray beyond question.

XXXVI THE WHITE TRADER

While Louis and Walter stared, amazed and apprehensive, the Black Murray rose to his feet and turned to the chief. He said a few words in Dakota; his all too familiar voice sending another chill up Walter’s spine, gathered his blanket about him, gave the boys one scornful glance, and strode around the fire and out of the tipi.

Louis drew a long breath to steady himself, and spoke to the chief again. Still uncertain whether the Indians understood any French, the boy thanked the young chief for receiving his comrade and himself. They had enjoyed the visit to the village, he said, but must return to their own camp now, as the hour was growing late. They hoped to see more of the chief and his people in the morning. At the close of this speech, Louis bowed slightly, and began to step backward around the fire.

Walter imitated his friend, carefully keeping his face turned towards the chief. That young man waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. Not one of the Indians made a move to hinder the two from leaving.

It was an enormous relief to be out of that tipi, yet both boys knew they were far from being out of danger. From the illuminated lodge in the center of the camp, the thumping of the drum and the clacking of rattles went on tirelessly. Fires had been kindled in a circle around the big tipi, and about them men and women were gathering.

“There is to be some kind of a dance,” Louis whispered. “Look!” he exclaimed suddenly. He gripped Walter’s arm and drew him back into the shadow of an unlighted lodge.

Crossing the open space, in the full light of the blazing fires, was the tall, stately form of Murray. A great, hairy buffalo robe fell loosely from his broad shoulders. His head was adorned with the strangest of headdresses, the shaggy head of a buffalo bull, horns and nose painted red. That stuffed buffalo head must have been exceedingly heavy, but under its weight Murray held his own head and neck proudly erect. Looking neither to right nor left, he strode between the fires, men and women making way for him. He stooped only to enter the big tipi.

The two boys, in the protecting shadow of the dark lodge, had stood apparently unnoticed through this show. After Murray disappeared Louis led Walter around to the side of the unlighted dwelling farthest from the fire.

“We must be away,” he whispered. “This is no place for us.”

Silently, cautiously, they made their way among the tipis. The whole band seemed to have gathered in the central space, yet the boys were not to escape notice. They were passing through the outer circle of dwellings, when a man suddenly appeared in front of them. It was the broad-shouldered warrior who had brought them to the camp. He spoke urgently, pointing again and again towards the inner circle of lodges, and making the hat-wearer sign.

Louis shook his head. “_Non, non_,” he replied emphatically. “We have seen enough of your white trader. A fine white man he is. Go on, Walter,” he ordered, and Walter obeyed.

If the Dakota did not understand the words, he could not mistake the boys’ actions. He tried to seize Louis by the arm. Louis dodged, jumping to one side nimbly, eluded the Indian, and ran after Walter, who also broke into a run. To their surprise, the man did not attempt to follow them. Perhaps the middle-aged, rather heavily built brave despaired of catching the light-footed lads. At any rate he let them go. There was no one else near by to stop them.

As soon as the boys were sure they were not being followed, they slowed to a walk.

“We are well out of that,” said Louis, drawing a long breath of relief.

“Yes. I can’t understand why Murray let us go so easily.”

“I fear we have not seen the last of _le Murrai Noir_ yet,” was the sober reply. “If he had abused us, cursed us, threatened us, I should have less fear. I do not like his silence, the way he allowed us to go without raising a hand against us.”

“The Indians seem friendly. Perhaps they won’t let him touch us.”

“That may be. They may be afraid that any trouble with white men will bring vengeance upon them. Yet I do not like the looks of that young chief. And he did not offer us food. That is a bad sign, Walter. If he had invited us to eat, to smoke the calumet, but he did not.” Louis shook his head doubtfully.

“I can’t imagine,” Walter pondered, “why Murray went out and left us, and then sent that man after us again.”

Louis was equally puzzled. “It is all very strange. _Le Murrai_ sent him for us. Surely that was what he meant. Then, when we reached the camp, another man came and took us away from him. And when we were leaving, the first fellow came again and wished us to go back.”

“Perhaps Murray wanted to see us alone, and the chief interfered,” Walter suggested.

“So he sent for us again? But we saw _le Murrai_ going to join in the dance. The dance will take a long time, all night perhaps, and he is the chief figure in it I think.”

“He certainly looked as if he was. Louis, is there really any white blood in Murray at all?”

“That is another strange thing,” returned the troubled Louis. “It is strange that those Indians should speak of him as a hat-wearer, a white man. Rather he seems one of themselves.”

Discussing and pondering the bewildering events of the past few hours, the boys made their way across the prairie towards their own camp. The moon had risen and lighted their way. The camp fire, a flickering point of light, guided them and assured them that all was well with their companions. Had there been no spark of fire at all, or had a great column of flame sprung up, the two would have been running at full speed. Their puzzlings led to no solution of their strange treatment at the hands of Murray and the chief.

“I am certain of but one thing,” Louis asserted finally. He spoke emphatically and in a louder tone than he had been using. “There is mischief brewing in that camp to-night, and _le Murrai Noir_ is the center of it.”

“Aye, you are right there.”

The words, in a strange voice, came from behind them. With one impulse the boys sprang apart, and turned. Louis’ hand was on the hilt of his hunting knife.

Close to them, leading a horse, was a tall form, a very tall form. Taller he seemed than Murray himself, though perhaps that was because he was so gaunt and thin. In the moonlight the boys could see that his buckskin clothes hung loosely upon his long frame. He wore a cap, and had a bushy beard.

“You were too busy with your talk,” the strange man went on rebukingly. “The whole band might have stolen up on you.” He spoke easy, fluent Canadian French, but with a peculiar accent that reminded Walter of Neil’s manner of speech.

“Who are you?” demanded Louis, his hand still on his knife.

“I’m the hat-wearer that sent for you.”

“You are the white trader? Then it wasn’t _le Murrai_?”

“It was not. But you’re right in thinking he’s the center of the mischief over there. I sent Shahaka to your camp. He was to bring you straight to my lodge, but someone, Murray or Tatanka Wechacheta, interfered. Then I told Shahaka to wait for you at the edge of the village, but you wouldn’t go back with him. I wanted to warn you of what was going on. I thought it wiser not to go to your camp myself. My influence with that young fool of a chief is not so strong as it was before the big medicine man Murray came along.”

“He claims to be a medicine man?” asked Louis.

“Aye, a mighty one, with all sorts of _wakan_. He is teaching a picked few rascals of them a new medicine dance. They will dance and powwow till near the dawn, then Murray will feast them and fill them full of rum.”

“But why?”

“Why? He’s a free trader, that Murray, a clever one and not particular about his methods, his boasts that he got his start by stealing pemmican from the Hudson Bay Company and then selling it back to them, through a friend, for trade goods. If he can make those foolish savages look up to him and fear him as a great _witan wishasha_, he can do anything he likes with them in the way of trade. He has sold them a lot of medicines already, charms against evil spirits and injury in battle, charms to give them power over their enemies and the beasts they hunt.” The tall man changed the subject abruptly. “You have horses and carts and goods with you?” he demanded.

“No trade goods, except a few little things for presents. But we have two carts loaded with our personal things, and four good horses, and an Eskimo dog.”

“You will have none of them by sunrise,” was the grim response, “if you stay here. Murray is not the man to let all that slip through his fingers.”

“Then why did he let us leave the camp?”

“And why not? He can put his hand on you whenever he likes. In a few hours he will have plenty of drunken savages to do his will.”

Walter shivered. He was thinking, not of himself, but of Elise and Mrs. Brabant and the children.

As they drew near the camp, Neil, gun in hand, sprang up from the ground, where he had been lying, watching their approach. He had been worried because, instead of two only, he could make out three men and a horse.

Entering the circle around the fire, Louis introduced the stranger. “This is the man who sent for us, the trader.”

The tall man pulled off his fur cap and ducked his head to Mrs. Brabant. “I’m Duncan McNab, at your service, Madame,” he said. He caught sight of Neil’s freckled face and blue bonnet. “Ye’re a Scot,” he said accusingly in English.

“I am that, and sa are you,” Neil retorted promptly.

“Aye. Ye’ll be fra Kildonan na doot, but there’s na time ta be talkin’ aboot that.” He turned to Louis and spoke in French again. “You are camped on the edge of a coulee. Did you pick this spot on purpose?”

The boy nodded.

“Then you know what to do. The coulee leads towards the Bois des Sioux. Leave your fire burning. The savages will think you’re still here.”

“Our carts make so much noise,” interposed Walter. “If any of their scouts or camp guards should hear that squeaking——”

“Leave the carts behind,” McNab interrupted. “I doubt if you could take them up the coulee.”

“We can go faster without them anyway,” Louis agreed, “and get more out of our horses.”

“Travel light, a little pemmican, your weapons and ammunition, nothing else. It is hard to lose all your things, Madame,” the trader said bluntly to Mrs. Brabant, “but better than to run the risk of your children falling into the hands of Tatanka Wechacheta and the Black Murray.”

“Murray?” cried Mr. Perier.

“You know him?”

“We all know him. We have good cause to,” said Walter.

“That makes it all the worse, if he has anything against you. No, don’t tell me the story now. We have no time to exchange tales.”

“If we must leave the carts behind,” Neil suggested, “why not hide them in the coulee? Then the Indians may think we have taken them along. Later we can come back from Lake Traverse and get them.”

“It micht work oot that wa’,” returned McNab, falling into Scots’ English again, “but I’m thinkin’ they’ll find the cairts easy eneuch.”

“We’ll tak them _doon_ the coulee a bit,” Neil insisted, in the same tongue. “If Murray finds the tracks he’ll maybe think we’ve gane doon ta the Wild Rice and back across.”

The trader shook his head. “He’ll be findin’ your trail all richt, but ye can maybe delay him for a bit. Weel, do what you’re goin’ ta do quick, an’ be awa’ wi’ ye. I maun be gettin’ back or they’ll miss me.”

“You’re na comin’ wi’ us?” cried Neil.

“Na, na, I’m not rinnin’ awa’ yet.” He switched to French and took his leave of the others. “Cross the Bois des Sioux and make speed for Lake Traverse,” he advised. “Tell Renville I’ll be back there in a few days. It was Renville sent me to find out what that rascal Murray was up to. Good speed and God go with you.”

XXXVII FLIGHT

Louis and Walter decided that Neil’s plan was worth trying. They muffled the axles of the two carts with strips torn from a ragged blanket, and carefully cased the vehicles over the edge of the coulee. The moon, shining into the rift, lighted them down the steep slope. Along the bed of the shallow brook that ran through the coulee to join the Wild Rice River, they pushed and pulled the carts, and left them well hidden among willows and cottonwoods where the ravine widened.

“There,” said Neil when the job was done, “if those Indians follow straight up the coulee after us, they won’t find the carts at all. If they come down here and find them, they may think we have gone back across the river.”

“Probably,” Louis returned, “they will divide into two parties, one to go up, the other down the coulee. But if they get all our things they may be content to let us go.”