Lords of the North Part 12

"Go," she commanded with a furious little stamp. "You lose time!

Stupids! Do you think I stay here for nothing? We may have been followed and I shall stay here and watch! I'll hide in the rushes! Go!" And there was a second stamp.

That stamp of a foot no larger than a boy's hand cowed two strong men and sent us rowing meekly across the river.

"Did ye ever--did ever ye see such a little termagant, such a persuasive, commanding little queen of a termagant?" asked the priest almost breathless with surprise.

"Queen of courage!" I answered back.

"Queen of hearts, too, I'm thinking. Arrah! Me hearty, to be young!"

She must have smothered her torch, for there was no light among the reeds when I looked back. We crossed the river slowly, listening between oar-strokes for the paddle-dips of approaching canoes. There was no sound but the lashing of water against the pebbled sh.o.r.e and we lay in a little bay ready to dash across the fleet's course, when the boats should come abreast.

We had not long to wait. A canoe nose cautiously rounded the headland coming close to our boat. Instantly I shot our skiff straight across its path and Father Holland waved the torches overhead.

"Hist! Hold back there--have a care!" I called.

"Clear the way!" came an angry order from the dark. "Clear--or we fire!"

"Fire if you dare, you fools!" I retorted, knowing well they would not alarm the fort, and we edged nearer the boat.

"Where's Eric Hamilton?" I demanded.

"A curse on you! None of your business! Get out of the way! Who are you?" growled the voice.

"Answer--quick!" I urged Father Holland, thinking they would respect holy orders; and I succeeded in b.u.mping my craft against their canoe.

"Strike him with your paddle, man!" yelled the steersman, who was beyond reach.

"Give 'im a bullet!" called another.

"For shame, ye saucy divils!" shouted the priest, shaking his torch aloft and displaying his garb. "Shame to ye, threatenin' to shoot a missionary! Ye'd be much better showin' respect to the Church. Whur's Eric Hamilton?" he demanded in a fine show of indignation, and he caught the edge of their craft in his right hand.

"Let go!" and the steersman threateningly raised a pole that shone steel-shod.

"Let go--is ut ye're orderin' me?" thundered the holy man, now in a towering rage, and he flaunted the torch over the crew. "Howld y'r imp'dent tongues!" he shouted, shaking the canoe. "Be civil this minute, or I'll spill ye to the bottom, ye load of cursin' braggarts! Faith an'

ut's a durty meal ye'd make for the fush! Foine answers ye give polite questions! How d'y' know we're not here to warn ye about the fort? For shame to ye. Whur's Eric Hamilton, I say?"

Some of the canoemen recognized the priest. Conciliatory whispers pa.s.sed from man to man.

"Hamilton's far ahead--above the falls now," answered the steersman.

"Then, as ye hope to save your soul," warned Father Holland not yet appeased, "deliver this young man's message!"

"Tell Hamilton," I cried, "that she whom he seeks is held captive by a band of Sioux on Lake Winnipeg and to make haste. Tell him that and he'll reward you well!"

"Vary by one word from the message," added the priest, "and my curses'll track your soul to the furnace."

Father Holland relaxed his grasp, the paddles dipped down and the canoe was lost in the darkness.

More than once I thought that a shadowy thing like an Indian's boat had hung on our rear and the craft seemed to be d.o.g.g.i.ng us back to the flats. Father Holland raised his torch and could see nothing on the water but the gla.s.sy reflection of our own forms. He said it was a phantom boat I had seen; and, truly, visions of Le Grande Diable had haunted me so persistently of late, I could scarcely trust my senses.

Frances Sutherland's torch suddenly appeared waving above the flats. I put muscle to the oar and before we had landed she called out--

"An Indian's canoe shot past a moment ago. Did you see it?"

"No," returned Father Holland.

"I think we did," said I.

"How can I thank you for what you have done?" I was saying to Frances Sutherland as we entered the fort by the same sally-port.

"Do you really want to know how?"

"Do I?" I was prepared to offer dramatic sacrifice.

"Then never think of it again, nor speak of it again, nor know me any more than if it hadn't happened----"

"The conditions are hard."

"And----"

"And what?" I asked eagerly.

"And help me back the way I came down. For if my father--oh! if my father knew--he would kill me!"

"Faith! So he ought!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the priest. "Risking such precious treasure among vandals!"

Again I piled up the benches. From the bench, she stepped to the bucket, and from the bucket to my shoulder, and as the light weight left my shoulder for the window sill, unknown to her, I caught the fluffy skirt, now bedraggled with the night dew, and kissed it gratefully.

"Oh--ho--and oh-ho and oh-ho," hummed the priest. "Do _I_ scent matrimony?"

"Not unless it's in your nose," I returned huffily. "Show me a man of all the hundreds inside, Father Holland, that wouldn't go on his marrow-bones to a woman who risks life and reputation, which is dearer than life, to save another woman!"

"Bless you, me hearty, if he wouldn't, he'd be a villain," said the priest.

CHAPTER IX

DECORATING A BIT OF STATUARY

I frequently pa.s.sed that window above the stoop next day. Once I saw a face looking down on me with such withering scorn, I wondered if the disgraceful scene with Louis Laplante had become noised about, and I hastened to take my exercise in another part of the courtyard.

Thereupon, others paid silent homage to the window, but they likewise soon tired of that parade ground.

Eastern notions of propriety still clung to me. Of this I had immediate proof. When our rough crews were preparing to re-embark for the north, I was shocked beyond measure to see this frail girl come down with her father to travel in our company. Not counting her father, the priest, Duncan Cameron, Cuthbert Grant and myself, there were in our party three-score reckless, uncurbed adventurers, who feared neither G.o.d nor man. I thought it strange of a father to expose his daughter to the bold gaze, coa.r.s.e remarks, and perhaps insults of such men. Before the end of that trip, I was to learn a lesson in western chivalry, which is not easily explained, or forgotten. As father and daughter were waiting to take their places in a boat, a shapeless, flat-footed woman, wearing moccasins--probably the half-breed wife of some trader in the fort--ran to the water's edge with a parcel of dainties, and kissing the girl on both cheeks, wished her a fervent G.o.d-speed.