Menotah Part 17

The Factor beamed. 'We'll have a good night, liquoring up and poker.'

A short figure appeared on the summit of a black rock in the distance, waving his straw bonnet.

'There's Justin signalling. Hungry, Davey?'

'I'd be a liar if I said no,' replied the Captain.

They turned away together, while Lamont still remained on the wet logs, despite the Factor's cheery invitation for him to join them. For some time he stood motionless, regardless of Nature's appeal for breakfast, troubled, be it said, more by fear for the future than reflection on the past. Indeed, he was only stirred by hostile interruption.

A tall figure glided quickly from the bush behind, and crossed the rock-strewn s.p.a.ce. When he saw Lamont he paused, as though he had unexpectedly come upon the object of his search and doubted how to act.

For the young man's growing intimacy with the fair forest queen of the Saskatchewan could not escape the naturally keen eyes of her watchers.

The aged Chief but shook his weak head, as he watched the light-hearted girl dancing along the sunshine with laugh and happy song. Antoine, gloomy as was his wont, limped from hut to hut, muttering low-voiced imprecations against all white men, and those around in particular. The youngest and most formidable--Muskwah, leader of the warriors, who looked upon the beautiful girl as his own life prize, yet with that reverential sense of ownership the dreamer might regard some glorious phantasy of his imagination--only awaited opportunity to strike at the pride of his rival; for surely the imperious white could never descend to the poor level of the Indian, nor choose a bride from the tents of the down-trodden race.

So, shadow-like, he had crept behind the young man to the meeting place, where the dry bones of the dead creaked in the night wind. There, with burning eyes and throbbing brain, he had listened to a soft-voiced conversation, yet one in which eyes and hands were more expressive than tongue. He had stolen away with madness at the heart, with wild desire to obtain her who was now slipping beyond reach on the ebb-tide of fate.

He would risk his life to obtain its highest desire.

Lamont turned quickly when he heard a guttural exclamation at his side.

With his usual contemptuous air he regarded the young Indian, who was unarmed, save for the sheathed hunting knife. 'What do you want?' he muttered angrily.

Then Muskwah raised a hand to point at the boat, rising and falling on the heavy river swell.

'The white chief will listen to his servant? For his heart bids him speak, and there is much to say.'

Lamont had started violently and turned pale, when the words 'white chief,' spoken in a tongue unpleasantly familiar, smote upon his ear.

Then he repeated his question.

The Indian made a strange answer,--

'Is not this land lonely and vast to the white man? See how the black boat rides upon the waters. In he you may sail away, along the mighty river, and out upon the Great Water.[1] So you shall come to the cities of the plain, and be again among the tents of your own people. Also, you will leave to the Indian the little he may now call his own. Then the peaceful air will lie like a bird in the sail, while the men's muscles will swell with rowing. The boat will leap over laughing waters and flit home, as the musk.a.w.k to its lair when the sun dies. In your own tents you may find happiness, and a white bride, whose face shall be as the blush of early morning.

'And I--I also shall know the beauty of life. For I may live beneath the sunshine of Menotah's smiles.'

[1] Lake Winnipeg.

CHAPTER III

THE RIVALS

Ignoring the presence of his rival, Lamont pa.s.sed aside and entered the scrub bush which fringed the odorous forest. But, noiseless and agile as the overhead chipmunk, Muskwah followed in his track, scarce ever ceasing from his melodious and heartfelt appeal. Since he played the part of suppliant, he argued with his opponent without heat, though pa.s.sion might not be denied. He invoked the higher sense of right.

Surely only the Indian was fit mate for the Indian. Where would be the 'heart of joy' when the brain had been touched by fancy, the mind spoilt in imagination? Love was the choicest gift of the _Heelhi-Manitou_, a thing not to be lightly taken, and never to be cast aside as worthless.

In such manner he pleaded, with all the native picturesque imagery of word expression and imagination.

At length Lamont turned upon him in anger. 'What about the night of the fight? Perhaps you don't know that my rifle was once sighted for your heart. A motion of the finger, and you would have gone to your fantastic paradise. But I spared you, for you were more of the man than your followers.'

Not a muscle stirred along Muskwah's stolid countenance. 'The gift which is unsought is no gift. Mayhap I might even now be happier, had you sent my soul to join those who fell in death. For with one hand you have held out life, yet with the other have you taken away its light.'

'So now you follow me with the request that I should give you that which is as much mine as yours. You seek Menotah's love--'

'Surely!' broke in the Indian, with a fury of pa.s.sion. 'What other woman is there who can so stir the heart within a man? Who would not die for her favour, or fight for her love?'

A sneer crossed Lamont's face, while his eyes grew cold. The keen-sighted Indian marked the change. 'Let not the white chief mock at my poor words. It is the heart that speaks, and the tongue must obey the thought. The white chief knows that my love is for Menotah, that my life joy lies at the utterance of her voice. He would not take away the sun, the day shine, and leave only the black night of despair.'

'Wouldn't he?' said Lamont, coolly. 'Why not?'

'Because he is merciful,' cried Muskwah, clasping his sinewy hands.

'Every man may love, yet none may resign the heart already bound.'

Lamont laughed. 'What a sickly sentiment,' he muttered carelessly.

The eyes of the Indian flashed, while his bosom heaved. He raised his hands, with head erect, in a pose of proud defiance. Then in a soft monotone he poured forth the emotional phrases of his heart,--

There is yet the great truth, which is spirit sent, behind my weak words. Listen, white chief, while I teach you the power of love.

When I was a stripling youth around the tents, before I was of age to be made brave, often would I cast eye of longing on some fair maiden as she pa.s.sed. So when her eyes met mine with silent message, the heart would bound within, and I called it love. Yet it was not so, since the pain would die down, while the wound would leave no scar. Then many moons grew round and faded in their light as the young Menotah pa.s.sed from childhood to youth. Her beauty opened like the flower bud moistened by the softness of light, and painted with the coloured breath of morning.

For those the G.o.ds love are beautiful, and the seasons bring them gifts.

So was it with Menotah. To her, spring came with heart of joy, and summer with a smile; fair blush, gift of autumn, and winter last with health.

'But as I watched her, with wonder that the Spirit could make anything so beautiful, my whole being fled away as the soul at time of death.

Where the heart had once throbbed lurked a living flame, which burnt by day and night and grew ever fiercer. So I waited for that fire to burn out, as it had done before. During the clear day, when the strength rose high and I tracked the musk.a.w.k or snared the wolf, I thought I was once again master of my life. But as night rose and stillness crept through the tents, the limbs sank in weariness and the fire returned to burn away manly strength and courage. With it, also, came the loneliness and a great longing. So I knew that this was love, the sickness that knows not healing. I knew that the fire would burn, unless desire were satisfied, until there should be nothing left to consume, until life reason should have pa.s.sed, and loneliness be satisfied in the silence.'

They stood together beneath the softly stirring pine branches, where the green-tinted sunlight stabbed down in narrow rays. Civilised and barbarian almost; cultured and the untaught. Yet surrounding Nature might have hesitated in choosing out the Man.

Lamont slunk away sullenly. 'I have no wish to hear your wild love songs. The feelings are things to be repressed, not blasted into the ears of those who do not wish to listen.'

The Indian turned too, and with growing pa.s.sion caught him by the arm.

'I but follow the teaching of my own mind. A man must obey the love call, though the world rise to hold him back.'

Muskwah spoke from his own by no means narrow philosophy. The workings of the world were certainly beyond his understanding; the ways of Nature he was in close touch with. He was pushing dimly towards one definite aim in life. The Chief was tottering to his death. When the funeral smoke had cleared, he might well be chosen head of the tribe. Power he cared not for, except as a path which might lead to happiness. For none but the heart which knew not sorrow[1] could be the Chief's bride, and she, Menotah, would surely give all that a man could wish for.

The Chief had placed his footsteps in the right direction, and, in the callous Indian s.e.x love, had regarded the young warrior with special favour. Indeed, he had bidden him plead his own cause, but the lover's bashfulness could not be overcome. Whenever she pa.s.sed, he trembled beneath the bright gaze. But then came the message from Riel and the subsequent struggle, where Lamont had appeared, surrounded most with the mystery of a G.o.d. Menotah beheld the skill and courage of the handsome white. Such things are pleasing to women. She had looked upon the one conquered and rope bound; the other victorious and confident. The latter had addressed her with the soft voice that maidens love; the former was ignorant of such love artifice. Moreover, she had cast at the white man smiling glances, for which the Indian would have dared the fire and mocked the powers above.

And yet the wide world course lies open to all. Prizes are set in the open, but they are few and the compet.i.tors many. The strongest, most eloquent, highest in skill, take of the best, while the mult.i.tude fight for the poor consolations remaining.

Muskwah still held Lamont back. His flashing eyes and pa.s.sioned face were not to be safely trifled with. 'I love,' he cried blindly. 'Nothing can heal the wound, or soften that suffering. Were Menotah to strike me down in death, I should fall blessing her.'

Lamont tried to free his arm, but the Indian's fingers closed it round like steel springs. 'You are a fighter and hunter. Keep your strength, and do not waste it in the arms of a woman.'

'The white chief is also a warrior. When the blood runs hot, the heart may thirst for nothing but war and power. But when the fight is done, and darkness creeps around, he stretches forth his limbs in the tent and calls for love.'

Lamont feared lest the impetuous lover should again burst into his pa.s.sion song. He made a quick movement, released himself, then stepped back.

'I am going,' he said coolly. 'But I will first tell you that if you would win Menotah, you must plead for yourself--and against me.'