The King's Arrow Part 38

At length, however, a sudden weariness came upon her. The walking grew heavy, and she was finding much difficulty in following the trail.

Occasionally she stepped aside and sank into the deep snow, out of which she struggled with great effort. Each time it was harder to extricate herself, and her feet would slip provokingly off the snow-shoes. And all the time the storm increased in fury, reminding her of that other storm when she was at the little lake. But it had a different meaning to her now. As it tore through the branches overhead it sounded like the voice of destruction rather than grand martial music. The swaying and creaking trees seemed like an army of monsters about to fall upon her. The helplessness of her situation overwhelmed her. What could she do against the fury of the elements? Why had she ventured forth alone and unaided? It was foolish to think that she could reach the mast-cutters. But then she knew that the forces of nature were more merciful than those wretched slashers she had left behind. Better to fall in the midst of the great forest, and let the snow enshroud her body, than to allow brutes in the forms of men to lay their vile hands upon her. But she would win. She must not give up.

She would go on.

Step by step she slowly pushed her way through the forest and the night. She longed for morning, for the blessed light of day to dispel the gloomy shades around her. But it was a long time coming, and she was so weary. Often now she paused to rest, each time longer than the last. At length she felt that she could go no farther. She could not find the trail from which she had wandered, and the snow was deep. She floundered about for a few minutes, and then with a cry of despair she looked wildly around. What was she to do? She knew that she was lost, yes, lost in the mighty woods where no aid could reach her. She thought of the mast-cutters. She must reach them, and warn them of their danger. What would her father and Dane think if she failed in her duty? But would they ever know of the efforts she had made? Would her body ever be found? No, no, it must not be. She would not give up. She must not die there. The mast-cutters must be warned.

Under the inspiration of this resolve she again started forward. She pressed bravely on her way, wearily dragging her snow-shoes which now were so heavy. For a few minutes she moved onward. But her strength was soon spent, and a great weakness swept upon her. She staggered from side to side, and fought hard to stand upright. She grew bewildered, and the trees seemed to be whirling around her. The roaring of the storm overhead sounded like the voice of a demon mocking at her despair. She could endure it no longer; she felt that she was going out of her mind.

"Daddy, daddy! Dane, Dane!" she called, but only the wind replied with a wild shriek to her pa.s.sionate appeal for help.

Against a great tree she leaned her tired body for support. But it was of little a.s.sistance in her distress. It could not reach out sheltering arms, neither could it whisper words of comfort and hope.

Gradually her body weakened, drooped, and then like a tired child she sank upon the snow at the foot of the lordly pine. The wind continued its roaring in the trees, and the snow sifting down through their branches whitened the still, huddled form below.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WITHIN THE LONE CABIN

The delay which kept Dane Norwood at Fort Howe as chief witness against the two rebel leaders was hard for him to endure. He longed to be away in his search for the missing girl. At times he was like a caged lion just from the jungle, and threatened bodily harm to a number of soldiers of the garrison. When at last free, he and Pete lost no time in heading up the river, straight for the little settlement below Oak Point. Here he was joyfully received by the Loyalists, and the sc.r.a.ps of news he was enabled to impart were eagerly received and discussed for days. He told them of the trial and conviction of Flazeet and Rauchad, and that their punishment would undoubtedly be very severe.

He related the hards.h.i.+ps of the Loyalists who had come to Portland Point with the fall fleet. Some had gone up river, but others, chiefly disbanded soldiers, were having a serious time. They had pitched their tents in a most exposed place, thatched them with spruce boughs, and banked them with snow. But the suffering was so terrible that numbers had already died. This was sad news to the settlers, and they considered themselves fortunate in their comfortable abodes, with sufficient food and fuel to last them through the hard winter.

Colonel Sterling had aged greatly since Dane last saw him. He was much stooped, and his hair and beard whiter than ever. His eyes expressed the agony of his soul. They, more than anything else, revealed to Dane what he had undergone since the loss of his daughter. He uttered no complaint, and when the young man entered his house he had asked no questions. He knew all too well that Dane's search had been in vain.

He said little that evening, but listened with bowed head as the courier related his experiences during the past few weeks. But Old Mammy was not so reticent, and asked Dane no end of questions, and begged him to bring back her lost darling.

"De Lo'd will not let dem Injuns keep my lil'l lamb," she declared.

"Yo' kin find her, Mistah Dane, an' bring her back to me. I pray fo'

her ebbery night an' all tro de day. I know yo' will come agin, an'

bring my los' lamb wif yo'."

The next day Dane and Pete left the settlement and headed up river.

They started early and travelled hard. They were well aware that a storm was not far off, so Dane wished to be well up the Washademoak before the tempest burst. He knew of the band of Indians far inland, and there he hoped to find Jean. It was the most likely place where she would be taken, so he reasoned. But if he could not find her there, he would no doubt learn something of her whereabouts.

He parted with Pete at the entrance to this stream early that afternoon, as he wished to send the Indian to Oromocto with a message to Davidson. As for himself he could not take the time to go as every hour was precious. With feverish haste he pressed on alone, planning to travel all night, if possible. It was a dreary and desolate region through which he moved, with not a sign of life anywhere. His snow-shoes bent and creaked beneath his great strides, tossing the snow aside like spray from a s.h.i.+p's bow. The weight of his musket, and the pack of food upon his back impeded him not in the slightest degree. He was a giant of the trail, st.u.r.dy of body, sound in wind, and possessed of remarkable endurance. He had to be all these to be chief of the royal rangers in the service of William Davidson. He knew what it was to travel day and night, bearing some message of importance, so the journey ahead was nothing out of the ordinary. But he had a greater mission now than ever before, and this inspired him to more strenuous efforts. The vision of a fair face was constantly with him, and the thought that Jean needed his help drove him forward like the wind.

The short afternoon was waning as he rounded a bend in the stream. To the left was a small cove, and it was here that one of the trails overland to the Great Lake and the river beyond began. Dane knew of the log cabin tucked away among the trees which served as a resting-place to weary travellers. He had often stopped there, but he had no intention of doing so now when every minute was so precious.

Keeping straight on his way, he had almost reached the point on the upper side of the cove, when he came across a well-beaten trail leading to the cabin. He examined it carefully and with considerable interest.

He knew at once that a large body of men had recently pa.s.sed that way, and he wondered who they could be.

Dane's suspicions at once became aroused, for who else but the slashers would be travelling in a body from the Washademoak? He did not relish the idea of stopping to investigate, but he knew that this was his duty as a King's ranger. With a slight exclamation of annoyance, he went ash.o.r.e and plunged into the forest in order to come close to the cabin under cover of the trees. It would not do to follow in on the beaten trail lest the slashers should be near. He must not be seen by his old-time enemies, so caution was necessary.

It took him but a short time to come in sight of the cabin, and when a few rods away he paused and listened. But not a sound could he hear, so thus emboldened, he stepped up close to the door. The snow around the building had been beaten down by numerous moccasined feet, and looking to the right, he saw where the visitors had left the place by the overland route.

And as he stood there a groan from within the cabin fell upon his ears, followed by a weak, wailing cry for help. Quickly he pushed open the door and entered. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he detected a form huddled upon the floor, almost at his feet.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm dying!" was the reply. "Fer G.o.d's sake, help me!"

"Who are you, anyway? and what has happened?"

"I'm Bill Botreau, an' the slashers have fixed me. Tom's dead. That's him jist over there."

Drawing a small candle from his pocket, Dane stepped over to the fire-place, and lighted it at one of the live coals which still remained. He was thus enabled to see more clearly, and the sight which met his eyes gave him a severe shock. Everything in the room was smashed to pieces, table, benches, and bunks. It was evident that a great fight had taken place, and the victors had departed leaving their two victims upon the floor.

Dane paid no heed to the dead man in a corner of the room, but turned his attention to the wounded one near the door. He could not see his face, and as he looked he gave a sudden start, for lying before him was one of the three men who had attacked him at Portland Point.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"Here," and the man placed his hand to his left side. "One of them devils jabbed me with his knife. Oh!" His hand dropped, and his face became distorted with pain.

Dane felt certain that the injured man could live but a short time, so he must gain all the information possible. He stooped and held the candle low.

"Do you know me?" he asked.

The prostrate man stared hard at his face for a few seconds, but manifested no sign of recognition.

"I guess you don't," Dane continued. "But I know you as one of the men who attacked me last May at Portland Point. I am Dane Norwood, the King's ranger."

"Good Lord!" Botreau gasped. "Do it quick, then, fer G.o.d's sake."

"Do what?"

"Finish what them devils nearly did. I deserve it."

"I'm not a brute even if you are," Dane declared. "I want to help you, not kill you."

"But I'm beyond help, an' will soon be like Tom there."

"How did it happen?"

"Too much rum an' a fight. We've not been on good terms with the gang since Seth Lupin's death. They blamed us fer their troubles."

"What! Is Seth dead? Who killed him?" This was important news to Dane.

"Yes, Seth's dead, but who killed him I don't know. It was awful!"

"Where? When?"

"Up stream, just outside the lodge where the Indians had left the Colonel's daughter."

He paused, but Dane laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Go on," he ordered, in a voice filled with intense excitement. "Where is the girl? Is she safe?"

"Blamed if I know. We got them Injuns to carry her off fer Seth. Then that night jist as he was about to enjoy her company something happened. Me an' my pardners were waitin' fer him to come back, but he never came. At last gittin' anxious, we went to see what was the matter, an' there we found Seth layin' on the ground dead. I tell you it was awful. I ain't been any good since."

"What became of the girl?" Dane questioned.