The King's Arrow Part 25

After Jean had eaten a hurried breakfast, the few belongings were again packed up, and once more they started forward. The morning was cold, and the trees were swaying and creaking like great masts at sea beneath a whipping wind. Jean s.h.i.+vered as she bravely and patiently followed Sam through that trackless wild. All through the morning they toiled onward, and the afternoon was waning when the rain swept down upon them. It froze as it fell, and ere long the ground was covered with a coating of ice. At times Jean slipped and would have fallen but for Kitty, who caught her by the arm and helped her over the rough and treacherous places. The clothing of the three wayfarers soon became stiff with the frozen rain, and resembled ancient armor. But still they pressed onward, and night was again shutting down when another and a larger lake burst suddenly into view.

On the sh.o.r.e of this fine body of water were several Indian lodges, completely deserted. To Jean they looked cold and forbidding, so very glad was she when Sam led the way to a dense thicket of young fir and spruce trees. Nestling in their midst was the cosiest lodge Jean had ever beheld. In fact, it consisted of a couple of lean-tos, facing each other, between which was an open s.p.a.ce a few feet in width. This latter served as the fire-place, the smoke ascending through the opening above.

In a short time a bright fire was burning, and Jean comfortably ensconced upon the blankets and furs. Not a drop of rain touched her, for the roof of this abode was covered with long strips of birch bark.

This, so Kitty explained, would be their home until the streams froze hard enough to carry them. How pleasant it was to Jean to lie there and rest. She felt that she could not endure another day of travel through the forest. She had been tired the night before, but it was little compared to now. Every bone in her body ached, and her feet were sore and blistered. It was good to lie there listening to the rain beating its tat-too upon the roof, and watching the smoke scurrying upwards. She could hear the wind howling among the trees, and vainly striving to force an entrance into their snug retreat.

Nearby Sam had his cache among the lower branches of four spruce trees, and high enough from the ground to be safe from prowling animals. From this he brought down some provisions, including a piece of moose meat, tea, and a little flour. With the latter Kitty baked several bannocks before the fire, which tasted especially good to Jean after her sole diet of meat. These were eaten with the honey of wild bees which the Indians had gathered during the summer.

"These are good," Jean remarked, as she helped herself to a second bannock. "Where did you get this honey?"

Kitty laughed as she pointed to her husband, who was dragging in several large sticks.

"Sam get'm last summer. Bees bite Sam, see?" and she put her hands to her face and neck. "Sam head beeg. Hurt." Again she laughed at the recollection of her husband's swollen face.

When Sam had finished his task of bringing in the wood, he squatted before the fire and ate his supper. Then he brought forth a plug of tobacco, whittled off several slices with his hunting-knife, filled his blackened pipe, and lighted it with a small brand from the fire. His wife did the same, and soon the two were smoking in great contentment.

Jean, watching, thought how little it took to satisfy such people.

Their belongings were few, and their places of abode many. She longed to know more about these two Indians, why they were living apart from their tribe, and whether they had any children. They must have mingled with white people, for they readily understood everything she said, although they themselves spoke in broken English.

She thought of these things the next morning as she and Kitty were comfortably seated near the fire. The rain had ceased during the night, the clouds had rolled away, and the ice-laden trees, touched by the sun, shone and sparkled with surpa.s.sing loveliness. It seemed like fairy-land to Jean when she first looked forth that morning, and she exclaimed with delight. From the lake to the high peak off toward the west millions of icy diamonds had caught the bright beams, and were scintillating their glory far and wide.

"I never saw anything like it" Jean told Kitty. "Have you seen it?"

"A-ha-ha, me see'm," the Indian woman replied without the least sign of enthusiasm. "Kitty see plenty. Trail bad. Ice heavy. Branch hang down. Bad. Ugh!"

"Perhaps it will keep back those men who are following us," Jean suggested. "They may not be able to get through the forest."

Kitty shook her head as she looked out upon the lake.

"Ice no stop white man. Trees beeg, no ice, trail good. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."

"Where is Sam now?"

"Sam watch slashers. Sam gone long tam. Come bimeby."

"What will he do if the white men come here?"

"White man no come."

The woman rose to her feet and looked off to the high peak in the distance. Then she sat down near the opening where she could watch the hill without too much trouble. Jean wondered at this, although she made no comment. No doubt she would understand in time.

"Have you lived long in this place?" she asked.

"Two, t'ree winter, mebbe."

"Where do you live in the summer?"

"Many place; Wa-sit-um-o-wek; Wu-las-tukw; Beeg Lake, some tam."

"Where is Big Lake?"

"Way dere," and Kitty motioned westward. "Go dere bimeby."

"You often meet white people, I suppose?"

"A-ha-ha."

"Do you and Sam always travel alone? Are there other Indians around here?"

"Plenty Injun sometam'. See'm bimeby, mebbe." Again she glanced toward the distant hill.

"Have you any children?" Jean asked.

"No babby now. Babby all die."

"But Pete has children, has he not?"

"A-ha-ha. Pete plenty babby."

"Why, then, did he bring his baby to me when its mother died? Why did not you take care of it?"

Kitty looked quizzically at the girl before replying.

"Dane no tell, eh?" she queried.

"Tell what?"

"Why Pete leave babby."

"No, he never told me. Perhaps he didn't know."

"Pete know. Pete find out 'bout King George peep'l. See?"

Noticing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, the woman smiled.

"Pete no sure 'bout white peep'l," she continued. "Pete leave leetle babby. All good t' leetle babby. Pete trust King George peep'l. Pete no forget."

A new light now came into Jean's mind, and she partly understood why the baby had been left at the settlement. It was simply a plan on Pete's part to learn whether the Loyalists were worthy of his trust and special attention. Never for an instant had she thought of such a thing. When that little waif had been brought to her home that night of the wild storm, she and old Mammy had taken it to their hearts, and had done all they could for its welfare. But how much it had meant to her. Pete had spread the word abroad among his own people, and because of the care of a little Indian child, she herself had been saved from a terrible fate. She thought of the arrow Dane had given her. She knew that it had a great deal to do with her rescue, but not all. The care of the baby was back of that. But did Dane know? Had he any idea that the baby and the arrow were so closely connected? Was that the meaning of his words when he had given her the arrow? Did he think that some day she might need protection, and that the Love-Token would prove of great value?

"Dane told you about this, didn't he?" and she touched the brooch.

"A-ha-ha. Dane tell Injun."

"And you knew me by this?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun know all sam' white woman take care babby."

She paused abruptly, sprang to her feet, and pointed excitedly to the high hill.

"See! See!" she cried. "Pu-kut! Pu-kut!"