South from Hudson Bay: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

Part 19

Chapter 194,169 wordsPublic domain

The wait was not a long one. McNab suddenly raised his head, like a hound listening. Then the ears of the others caught the sounds too,—the crackling of twigs, the clatter of accouterments, as mounted men came through the strip of poplars and willows on the low opposite bank of the stream. Duncan looked to the priming of his musket and dropped a ball into the muzzle. Walter felt for his own weapon. Even in the midst of his excitement, the thought of shooting unwarned men from ambush sickened him. But if Murray and his Sioux were really on the trail, they must not cross. Fear for Elise and for Louis’ mother and sisters steeled the boy’s nerves.

The willows were moving. A horse’s head appeared, then the rider, a slender, bronze figure, brave in red paint and feathered head-dress. It was not Murray. He halted at the edge of the water and turned his head to look back. Another horse was coming, a white one.

“Himsel,” muttered McNab under his breath.

The rider came in view, tall, stately, his painted body naked to the waist, his black head bare. There was nothing about him except his size to distinguish him from any other Indian. The two talked together for a moment. The slender warrior seemed, from his gestures, to object or protest.

The waving and rustling of the willows, the sounds that came across the water, proved that other men were following. But the track was narrow, and they were obliged to check their horses until the leaders should take to the water.

“How many?” Neil whispered to McNab.

“Eight or ten,” was the equally low reply.

The discussion ended in Murray’s going first. When the white horse stepped into the water, a cold shudder passed over Walter. He had every cause to hate and fear the Black Murray. He hoped Scar Face would not miss. Yet, quite unreasonably, he wished the rascally mixed blood might have a chance to fight for his life. He looked a fine figure of a man on his big, white horse.

He came deliberately enough, letting his horse pick its way, as McNab had done. From the willows on the islet there was no move, no sound. He was opposite the tip now. He was past it. He was coming on. Had Scar Face weakened? Had he lost his courage?

The silence was broken by a sudden menacing sound, not loud but strangely blood-chilling; the Ojibwa war whoop. On the near side of the islet a figure leaped into view. At the same instant, it seemed, Murray swung about on his horse’s back, musket raised. He was a breath too late. Scar Face had fired.

The distance was too short, the target too good for the Ojibwa hunter to miss. Even as his own gun went off, Murray swayed forward. The white horse leaped and plunged. More shots came from the island. Horse and rider went down, and the muddy water flowed over them.

On the farther bank, the slender Dakota’s horse was hit. As it fell, the man leaped clear, and darted back among the willows. There followed an exchange of shots between shore and islet, without a man visible in either place. Only the puffs of smoke betrayed the hiding places.

Gray eyes gleaming, Duncan McNab turned to Neil. “Get you awa’,” he ordered. “Ta Traverse as fast as your legs can carry ye.”

“And you?” the boy asked.

“I’ll o’ertak ye. I’ll be seein’ the end o’ this, ta mak sure there’s na followin’. On your wa’, all o’ ye.”

XXXIX SAFE

Not one of the three boys thought of disobeying Duncan McNab’s stern command. On hands and knees, for fear some Indian might catch a glimpse of them and send a shot in their direction, they crawled through the bushes. Not until they were out of sight as well as out of range, did they stand upright.

They tried to follow McNab’s instructions and make good speed towards Lake Traverse, but all three suddenly found themselves very tired. The night before, after a hard day’s journey, they had had not a wink of sleep. It had been a night of continuous physical exertion and intense strain. Then came the meeting with Scar Face, and the anxious waiting for Murray and the Dakotas, capped by the excitement of the brief fight. The time had seemed long, yet in reality events had followed one another so swiftly that the sun even now was scarcely more than half-way up the sky.

“If I didn’t know we were going in the right direction, I should think we were headed north, not south,” said Walter, as he plodded wearily along. “It seems as if the sun must be on the way down, instead of up.”

Neil nodded. “I’m dead sleepy,” he admitted, “but we must try to keep on going till McNab overtakes us.”

“The firing has stopped,” put in Raoul. “The fight must be over.”

“Or else the noise doesn’t reach us here.”

If the fight was over, who had won? The answer to that question might mean life or death to the fugitives. Murray had fallen, but if the Dakotas had destroyed the Ojibwas, they might, even without his leadership, cross the river and continue the pursuit. The boys felt they must go on as long as they possibly could. They trudged doggedly on, casting many a glance behind them.

At last Neil, turning to look back, gave a cry of joy. A single horseman was on their trail, coming at good speed. He raised one long arm in the friendship sign. The three stopped short and dropped down to rest and let him overtake them. They were almost asleep when he reached them.

McNab reined in his horse and looked down at the weary figures with a grim smile. “Weel,” he said slowly, in his peculiar Scots’ English with its guttural suggestion of Dakota, “ye disappeart sa quick I thocht the prairie had swallowed ye.”

“Did the Saulteux win?” Neil roused himself to ask.

“Aye, an’ withoot losin’ a man. Scar Face himsel got a shot in the thigh, but it’s only a flesh wound. The ither side didna ken the number o’ the enemy, an’ they were mair nor a little upset by Murray’s fa’. When they found they coudna drive the Ojubwas fra the wee isle, they turnt tail theirsel an’ were awa’. If ye can mak it, we’d best be gettin’ ta that bit _île des bois_ ower yon, where ye can be sleepin’ in the shade.”

The clump of small trees was only a short distance away. There, shaded from the heat of midday, the boys slept, utterly relaxed, until the sun was far on its downward course. Duncan McNab kept watch. He had had no more sleep than they the night before, but he was more used to going without and needed less than growing boys required.

Neil’s first words, when he woke to find the sun low in the west, were, “How far have we got to go to Lake Traverse?”

“Ta the post thirty mile or mair,” was the reply.

Neil groaned and stretched. “And we’ve got to walk it,” he muttered.

“Weel, ye may be glad ye’ve got twa soond legs left ta walk it wi’,” McNab returned with his grim smile. There were no more complaints.

McNab, old campaigner that he was, carried cooking utensils, pemmican, and a packet of tea in his saddle bags. A hot meal put new courage into the lads. Before the sun was down they were on their way again. The night was clear and light, and they kept up a steady pace till midnight. Then they stopped for a brief rest and more tea.

Luckily for the boys they did not have to walk the whole distance to the trading post. Dawn had not yet come, when McNab made out a party of horsemen coming towards them. The foremost rider waved his arms and shouted. The boys knew that voice. Louis had come back to seek them.

Unashamed to display his feelings, Louis sprang from his pony to hug his brother and his friends. “Thank the good God,” he cried. “I felt like a coward and a traitor to leave you behind.”

“It was the only thing to do,” Walter and Neil exclaimed together. “Are the others safe?”

“All safe, but we did not reach the fort till after sunset. After we crossed the Bois des Sioux we had to rest our horses a little, and the children slept. We dared not stop long. The ponies did their best, but they could not carry double all the time. My mother and M’sieu Perier and I walked much of the way, and sometimes Marie and Elise walked also.”

“And you started right back to find us?” cried Walter.

“I rested a while first, but I could not sleep. M’sieu Renville gave me a fresh horse, and these men offered to come with me. I thought you would follow our trail. If I kept to it, I would find you; if _le Murrai_ had not overtaken you.”

The _bois brulés_ from the trading post gladly gave up their horses to the weary boys, and went afoot. So Lake Traverse and the shelter of the Columbia Fur Company’s fort was reached at last. There, in one of the log buildings within the stockade on the shore of the lake, the rest of the little party were waiting anxiously. The boys, almost dropping from their saddles with sleep and weariness, were embraced and shaken by the hand, and cried over, and questioned, until the trader, Joseph Renville, intervened. He led them away to bunks where they could sleep undisturbed for as many hours as they cared to.

When the boys had had their sleep out, the two sections of the party exchanged stories. Afterwards Duncan McNab had something to add. He had returned to the Indian camp two nights before to find the dance in full swing. Within the medicine lodge, Murray was instructing the chosen initiates in some sort of mystic rites. From time to time one of them would come out to chant or howl a few words or syllables and to go through the steps and posturings of the new dance. The men around the fires would repeat the lesson over and over, until another of the chosen ones appeared to teach them something new.

“As near as I could mak oot,” said Duncan, “it was something like the medicine dance the Mdewakanton Dakota on the Mississippi mak ta their god Unktahi, that Murray was teachin’ yon Wahpetons, but he was puttin’ in some stuff of his ain. Some o’ the words o’ the sangs soundit like Gaelic, but made na sense as far as I could ken, an’ I hae a bit o’ the Gaelic mysel. I’m thinkin’ he picked the words for their mysterious sound like.”

When the excitement had reached the right pitch, Murray began to serve out liquor. “I dinna ken where he got sa mickle,”—McNab shook his head. “He had a cairt loadit wi’ goods an’ kegs an’ what a’. He must be in wi’ ither free traders, some o’ the men on the Missouri most like, or mayhap he stole the stuff fra them. It’s the wrang time o’ year ta be buyin’ furs. It was the good will o’ the sauvages an’ power ower ’em he was after, sa they’d be sure an’ bring him their next winter’s catch.”

As the liquor flowed more freely, the performance grew frenzied. It was a wild night in Tatanka Wechacheta’s village, and McNab spared his listeners the details. He feared every moment that the Indians would raid the neighboring camp, and discover too soon that the white men had gone. But the Black Murray overdid the celebration. He supplied liquor so lavishly that his followers were soon entirely overcome by it. Perhaps he dared not try to withhold what they knew he had. And he failed to curb his own immoderate thirst, but overindulged until, inert in the medicine lodge, he slept as heavily as they. “I’m thinkin’ it was the rascal’s owerfondness for _minnewakan_ that saved a’ your lives,” said McNab. “If he hadna slept sa late, he wad sure hae owertaken the lads on foot an’ maybe the rest o’ ye.”

When Murray finally roused himself, in ugly mood, he gathered together eight or ten reckless young braves who could still sit their horses, and started for the white men’s camp. Up to that time McNab had not felt himself in any great danger, as long as he kept to his own lodge. He was a man of influence among the Dakotas, and back of him was the authority of the Columbia Fur Company and of Joseph Renville. Renville himself was half Dakota and powerful and respected among his mother’s people. But the young chief, still partially drunk, was in almost as savage a mood as Murray that morning, and McNab did not know what might happen.

As soon as Murray had gone, McNab took his leave. On the other side of a tiny clump of trees, he threw his buffalo robe over his horse and himself, hoping that, seen from behind, horse and rider might be taken for a lone bull. He made for the head of the coulee, intending to follow the fugitives and lend his aid if they were attacked. Finding that Murray and his men were coming, he urged his horse to its best speed, to get across the Bois des Sioux before them.

After he had sent the boys on their way, McNab remained to watch the outcome of the fight. It was soon over. The fall of Murray had struck panic into the hearts of his followers. “There was reason for that,” Duncan explained. “Yon Wahpetons are na cowards, but Wechacheta’s chief medicine man was against Murray. The auld fellow claimed Murray was na medicine man at a’ an’ had na _wakan_ or _tonwan_, na magic powers. When Murray was gatherin’ men ta plunder the white men, the auld man tauld ’em they’d gang ta destruction sure. Murray’s time was come, he said. Afore the sun gaed doon, he wad be deed, an’ likewise a’ that followt him. Sa it was na wonder the young braves was scairt when Murray was shot doon at the ford.”

“You’re sure he was killed?” questioned Renville. “From what I have heard of the fellow, he seems to have as many lives as a cat.”

“I made sure afore ever I left the Bois des Sioux,” McNab replied quietly. “An’ there’s his medicine bag ta prove it.” He handed Renville a curious looking pouch made of rattlesnake skin. “An’ a fine lot o’ trash there is in it,—birds’ claws, an’ dried roots, a copper nugget, a snake’s fang, a man’s finger bone, an’ a wee packet o’ black, sticky stuff. Do na handle that, it micht be poison.”

“It is poison,” asserted Walter, and told the story of his infected hand.

XL CONCLUSION

As guests of Joseph Renville, French _bois brulé_, and Colonel Jeffries, Scotchman, partners of the Columbia Fur Company, the Brabant-Perier party remained at Lake Traverse for more than a week. Guided to the spot by Louis, Renville himself went to find the abandoned carts. The vehicles were where the boys had left them, but empty and so badly wrecked that the remains were good for nothing but firewood. Tatanka Wechacheta’s band was gone. From the appearance of the camp ground, the Wahpetons’ departure had been a hurried one. Scar Face and his Ojibwas had vanished also. No doubt they had returned full speed to their own country, satisfied with their revenge and a scalp or two.

Stripped of practically all of their belongings, the Brabants and Periers were obliged to run in debt to the traders for supplies and equipment for the rest of the journey. The boys agreed,—if they could pay the debt no other way,—to work it out the next winter. With that arrangement the partners seemed satisfied.

Of the remainder of the long journey overland and down the St. Peter,—as the Minnesota River was called in those days,—to the Mississippi, there is no room here to tell. The trip was not without hardship and adventure. Fort St. Anthony,—later to be renamed Fort Snelling,—at the junction of the St. Peter with the Mississippi, was reached at last. There a disappointment awaited the immigrants. St. Antoine, in his talks with them, had not overstated the beauty and attractiveness of the country, but his assurance that they might take possession of whatever land they chose was an error. The country was not yet open to settlement. They might squat on or near the military reservation, they found, but could not obtain title to the land or be sure of undisturbed possession. They were treated with kindness at the fort, but were not encouraged to settle near by. Instead, they were advised to go on down the Mississippi.

Neil had a chance to join a party just setting out for the Red River. After parting with him, the others went on again, traveling by river in an open boat not unlike the York boats that had taken them from Fort York to Fort Douglas. At Prairie du Chien, on the east side of the river, they disembarked. Prairie du Chien was in what was then Michigan Territory, but later became Wisconsin. The little settlement resembled Pembina in that many of its people were French Canadians and _bois brulés_. There were, however, some Americans who had come from farther east. There were good farms and a military post. It was not necessary at Prairie du Chien to depend entirely on hunting for a living.

There the weary immigrants decided to try to make homes for themselves. They made friends at once, who helped them to get a start, and prospects seemed more encouraging than in the Red River Colony. The Brabants showed no desire to return, and certainly the Periers and Walter did not want to. When, late in the autumn, Louis and Walter left the settlement to work out the family debts to the Columbia Fur Company, they went well assured that those left behind would be comfortable and well cared for. Other families of the Swiss had already left the Red River and more followed, including the Scheideckers, in the next and succeeding years. Like the Periers, they took the long journey to the Mississippi, and settled at the junction of that river with the St. Peter or lower down its course in what was to become Wisconsin and Illinois.

The Brabants and the Periers had their ups and downs, but on the whole they prospered. In time Mr. Perier’s dream of an apothecary shop in the new land came true. He even had his herb garden, started from the few packets of seeds he had carried in his pockets during all his wanderings. Walter became a successful farmer on his own land and married Elise, as he had dreamed of doing. Little Max was ambitious to be a physician. He helped in his father’s shop and went to school, until he was old enough to go east to study medicine.

Louis and his mother were land owners also, but farming was less to Louis’ taste than following the river. He found employment on a Mississippi steamboat, became a skilled pilot, and in time owned the boat he captained. Of all the boys Raoul was the only one to follow the fur trade. As a clerk and trader with the American Fur Company, he traveled and traded over much of the northwest. The Brabant girls grew into bright, attractive women. Marie married a Canadian settler, Jeanne, a merchant and trader.

Of Neil the others heard nothing for several years. Then, after the disastrous Red River flood of 1826 that almost destroyed the Selkirk Colony, he appeared at Prairie du Chien. His father still refused to leave Kildonan, but Neil had decided to emigrate to the United States. He took up land in Wisconsin, and afterwards, when the Indian lands of Minnesota were opened to settlement, moved to the Minnesota valley.

The bonds of friendship and understanding which had been knit by the long journey together and the perils and hardships undergone, remained firm and strong between the Periers, and Rossels, and Brabants, and MacKays. Even after all had their separate homes and families, they enjoyed many a reunion when they recalled the old days and told children and grandchildren of the long and perilous journey from the Red River to the Mississippi.

THE END

MYSTERY AND ADVENTURE BOOKS FOR BOYS

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SOUTH FROM HUDSON BAY, by E. C. Brill

A thrilling tale of the coming of settlers from France and Switzerland to the wilderness of the Prairie country of the Red River district, and the adventures of three boys who find themselves entangled in the fate of the little colony.

THE SECRET CACHE, by E. C. Brill

The father of two boys, a fur hunter, has been seriously injured by an Indian. Before he dies he succeeds in telling the younger son about a secret cache of valuable furs. The directions are incomplete but the boys start off to find the Cache, and with the help of men from a nearby settlement capture the Indian and bring him to justice.

THE ISLAND OF YELLOW SANDS, by E. C. Brill

An exciting story of Adventure in Colonial Days in the primitive country around Lake Superior, when the forest and waters were the hunting ground of Indians, hunters and trappers.

LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS, by J. A. Lath

Four chums find a secret code stuck inside the binding of an old book written many years ago by a famous geologist. The boys finally solve the code and learn of the existence of the remnant of a civilized Aztec tribe inside an extinct crater in the southern part of Arizona. How they find these Aztecs, and their many stirring adventures makes a story of tremendous present-day scientific interest that every boy will enjoy.

SORAK JUNGLE SERIES

By HARVEY D. RICHARDS

_The name Sorak means War Cry in the Malay country. He grows up among the most primitive of the Malay aborigines, and learns to combat all the terrors of the jungle with safety. The constant battle with nature’s forces develop Sorak’s abilities to such an extent that he is acknowledged the chief warrior in all his section of the jungle._

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1. SORAK OF THE MALAY JUNGLE _or How Two Young Americans Face Death and Win a Friend_

Two boys, Dick and Jack Preston are shipwrecked off the Malay Peninsula and are rescued by Sorak. Their adventures in trying to get back to civilization make an absorbing story.

2. SORAK AND THE CLOUDED TIGER _or How the Terrible Ruler of the North Is Hunted and Destroyed_

A huge clouded tiger, almost human, leads a pack of red dholes into Sorak’s country, and it takes all of Sorak’s ingenuity, and the aid of his friends to exterminate the pack.

3. SORAK AND THE SULTAN’S ANKUS _or How a Perilous Journey Leads to a Kingdom of Giants_

Sorak and his friends are trapped by a herd of elephants, and finally run away with by the leader to an unknown valley where a remnant of Cro-Magnan race still exists. Their exciting adventures will hold the reader enthralled until the last word.

4. SORAK AND THE TREE-MEN _or the Rescue of the Prisoner Queen_

Captured by a band of Malay slavers, Sorak and his friends are wrecked on an island off the coast of Burma in the Mergui Archipelago. Their escape from the island with the Prisoner Queen after a successful revolution brings the fourth book of this series to an exciting and unusual conclusion.