Menotah Part 7

At one side of this small clearing uprose a single-storey hut. This was built of unshapen logs, whitewashed, the crevices being filled in with mud; while, not more than a dozen yards distant, another equally incomplex building stood close to a lofty fir, which had been denuded of all branches and converted into a natural flagstaff. Here two flags indolently whipped the air. Above flew the ever-victorious ensign of England; below, that of the Hudson's Bay Company.

In a southerly direction, lying between the forest line and cliff brink, were dotted small huts at long intervals. These were all gra.s.s-roofed and innocent of windows, other than a square cut hole at one side of each dwelling, while occasionally the smoke-begrimed apex of an Indian _tepee_ forced itself from the thick of a separate tree clump. Yet, for all this, no human being appeared in sight; no canoe sped bird-like over the waters of the Saskatchewan; no sounds of human activity uprose on the breeze.

In the princ.i.p.al room, or office usually styled, of the log fort, which was the whitewashed hut situated a few yards from the cliff brink, and beside the flagstaff, two men were creating conversation by a simple process of mutual disagreement. A dilapidated sofa, minus legs, supported on two boxes; a deal wood table, well chipped with knives; an aged writing desk, and small bookcase crammed to overflowing with all kinds of literature, ranging from a translation of Homer and yellow-covered narratives of sanguinary impossibilities to a treatise on the parables, and a deep work of Hooker's--such were the chief articles of furniture in the room. Behind the door, unmethodical hands had piled a stack of dirty boots and empty bottles, while hard by an a.s.sortment of guns and rifles stood supported by the log wall.

Behind were two other apartments, used respectively as bed and store room, while, running from the centre of the building, a pa.s.sage had recently been erected, which led into a diminutive kitchen, where at the present moment a half-breed cook was preparing supper for the garrulous mouths within.

From a small window in the back room the great river could be readily scanned. At this point the stream of the great Saskatchewan was unusually wide, being divided by a long, though somewhat narrow island, thickly covered with vegetation, and rising to some height above water level.

Conspicuous in the centre appeared a tree-environed hut. This rough habitation was the property of the H.B.C, and had been erected some years back to afford a harbour of refuge for any officers of the Company who might be compelled to retreat from the fort on the main bank, owing to Indian hostility.

Into the office a subtle aroma of supper stew crept insidiously, while the two disputants became refreshed into other differences by the pleasant antic.i.p.ation of a satisfactory meal. Chief Factor McAuliffe rose from the box on which he had been seated, and having opened the door gazed up and down along the river bank. This representative of the most powerful company in the world presented a strange appearance. His was an average height, yet he was broad and strongly built, of great strength and activity, in spite of his age, which hovered in close proximity to the three score. His immense head, posed on a bull-like neck, and the determined set of every muscle in his face, betokened an obstinate character, which would never allow itself to be thwarted by even a superior--either in argument or actual fight--whether he were in the right or wrong. His black beard and moustache, plentifully besprinkled with grey, had recently been clipped into short lines of bristles, evidently by the amateur hand of one of his companions, while the same inquisitorial agency had ruthlessly reaped the hair on his scalp as close to the skull as scissors could touch. His costume was primitive and economical.

The other occupant of the room was a tall, ungainly man, who moved with stiff motions, and swung his arms with the mechanical action of semaph.o.r.e signals whenever exacted. This was extremely often, for he and McAuliffe were generally bickering over some question, raised by the one, merely for the sake of argument, and as warmly refuted by the other. Externally there was little remarkable about Peter Denton, as this individual was named. He owned a yellow moustache, coa.r.s.e hair of the same complexion, and watery-blue eyes. Internally he was complicated and extraordinary.

The Factor stood at the open door, watching the slowly gathering shadows lengthening upon the trees. At length he remarked abruptly, 'Don't catch any signs of the other boys, Justin. Time they were back, for it's bad travelling in the forest after dark.'

The half-breed was arranging the table. He turned his head, gave a low grunt, then spread out his fingers in the air. 'Moose,' he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

'That's so, I reckon. They're on a fresh track, and don't feel like giving up.'

'Let boy look,' said Justin, pointing a crooked forefinger. 'His eyes good.' Then he moved towards the kitchen with a dull chuckle.

The Factor wheeled round, his great face aglow. 'His eyes! I could make better ones out of a toad's body. They're like a potato's--only fit to be cut out and chucked away.'

Denton's hollow voice sounded from a corner, where he sat mending a coat. 'Make use of your eyes in searching after righteousness, as I've done, Alfred. Perhaps then there would be still a chance of escaping the lake of fire which yawns beneath your feet.'

'I'm glad you allow you haven't found righteousness, Peter. By the way you're searching, you can go on until they want you 'way under. I never found any use striking north when I wanted to get south.'

Denton wagged his head mournfully. 'The time must come when you will be cut down and perish in your sins.'

'Don't take trouble, Peter. The good are taken early, mind; so there's a pile of years ahead for you after I've gone.' And McAuliffe chuckled loudly.

Denton was ready with rebuke.

'I'd like you to listen a few hours to the preaching of our pastor, Dr McKilliam. But that holy man would refuse to cast his pearls before such swine.'

The Factor was more interested. 'None of your ministers could knock spots off my hide. Talk of preaching! Why, I've heard our Dr Bryce preach on h.e.l.l-fire, until everyone in the congregation was fairly sweating.'

Denton groaned and cast his eyes upward. 'Well you might sweat, with your sins staring you in the face. But if you come to preaching, I've heard our minister talk for three hours without a break, except to tell a stranger to quit throwing orange peel around the church. When he'd finished, the congregation clapped so loudly that he had to bow his acknowledgments three times from the pulpit. I tell you, we advertised that in the papers, and filled our church to the doors within the month.'

'With a lot of b.u.mmers who hadn't any comfortable place to sleep in Sunday nights. I heard one of your ministers preach once, and 'twas worse than chloroform. They might have taken a leg off me without my knowing it.'

Here Justin entered with a steaming bowl of stewed moose meat and prairie spinach. This he set on the table, then pointed maliciously at Denton. 'Boy preach,' he said. 'I hear him.'

The Factor at once interposed. 'You're right, Justin. This fifth-rate specimen of humanity the Company's burdened me with, used to be a minister in the summer and a bar-tender in the winter. When it was hot, he cursed fellows for drinking cool-eyes, and reminded them there was a sultry place all ready for their whisky-black souls. During the cold weather, he put in his time making fellows drunk, and getting full himself.'

Denton fired up instantly. 'Whoever told you that is a right friend for you. He's as bad a liar--'

'Then you must have converted him, Peter. He was straight enough when I last came across him,' said the Factor. 'I suppose you'll say next you never ran that menagerie?'

'I do,' said Denton, sullenly. 'My only dealings with menageries were to denounce them as sinful pleasures.'

McAuliffe whistled. 'Better get outside, Justin, before the roof tumbles.' He glanced admiringly at Denton. You're wasting good talents, Peter. If I could lie like you, I'd expect to make my fortune in a few years as newspaper correspondent. See here a minute, Justin, while I show him up. This spot of dirt turned up one Sunday evening at his church, so full he couldn't see straight. He started in to work by cursing all the black sheep that had come to hear him. Of course they couldn't take that. They'd got to obey their natural instinct of hyprocrisy, though they might envy their minister's power of language.

So they took Mister Man, and fired him out of the place, which is the only good deed they're ever likely to have to look back upon. Then he makes off with another deadbeat, and starts a kind of show outside the town--this was in Port Arthur, mind. He used to stand on a chair by the door of the tent, with dollar bills stuck in his hat brim, trying to catch the people's money. I tell you, what with the menagerie by day, and with shooting loaded c.r.a.ps by night, these two blacklegs looted a pile of dollars out of the pockets of decent citizens.'

Denton raised his head from the half-mended coat, and said sulkily, 'You're a shameless liar, Alfred! It stamps a man for life to be seen in your company.'

'So it does, Peter,' said the Factor, heartily; 'let's shake on that. If you're seen along with me a few more months, some folks may begin to think of trusting you. Don't lose heart, lad. There's hope even for the worst.'

'Not when a man gets to your state,' retorted Denton.

The Factor laughed. 'That's a sharp answer for you, Peter. You're learning fast under me. If you keep that pace--steer clear of brain fever and such diseases--you'll perhaps be able to give an answer to a ten-year-old child in another five years. Can't promise all that, Peter; but it's wonderful what perseverance will do.'

Denton extended a denouncing and dirty forefinger at the Factor's broad chest. 'Stop your wicked judgment of fellow creatures!--you, who walk through life with the mark of Satan on your knee!'

McAuliffe's nether garments were fashioned out of sacking originally used for packing liquor cases. Consequently, on that portion of the garment indicated, a lurid red star was visible above the stencilled letters--'Old Rye Whisky.'

'We differ again, Peter. It's better having it on the knee than the forehead. You're wonderful jealous to-night. It's the minister talking, instead of the bar-tender.'

'I never was a bar-tender,' said the other sullenly.

The Factor glanced at the heavens. 'It's going to be a fine night, with full moon. Don't get spoiling it by bringing up a thunderstorm. Were you ever a minister? Let's have a bit of truth. You're getting monotonous, Peter.'

Denton was about to return an angry reply, when the half-breed again appeared and pointed significantly to the waiting supper.

McAuliffe paced to the door with the exclamation, 'Say, Justin, I wish those fellows were back.'

'It's near quarter to nine,' muttered Denton.

'And your insides are aching for grub--might as well say so right out.'

The Factor turned back into the room. 'Well, if they must stay away half the night, they can't expect us to keep a look-out. Come on, Justin.

Pa.s.s me over that sturgeon steak before Peter gets his teeth against it.'

The three gathered round the crazy table, and for a few minutes there was silence of tongues.

Thus quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. Then the Factor cleaned a greasy hand upon his beard, and stretched himself with a sigh of satisfaction. He drew out his pipe, and had just commenced to shave a plug of T.&B., when Justin raised his hand and whistled in a manner peculiar. McAuliffe understood the signal. He listened, and presently there came dull, distant sounds from without.

His face grew very grave, while the knife in his hand tapped gently upon the table. An ashen hue crept over Denton's sallow features. Nearer came the sounds and louder, as they spread towards the fort through thickening shadows and the white dews of night.

Then McAuliffe spoke. 'That's Kitty. I know that gallop of hers. Goldam!

how she's tumbling through the bush!'

The night was fearfully still--not a breath stirring the tree tops.

Above, the stars were lit one by one.

Justin pushed back the door, and listened stolidly to the crashing of green boughs, the snapping of dead branches, the sharp click of hoofs against rock splinters. Inside--no sound, except the Factor's deep breathing, and an irregular tattoo, produced by Denton's heels tapping upon the floor. Then he turned, and, without altering a muscle in his heavy face, began to load the rifles and lay them out upon the table.

The Factor peered into the darkness, for the moon had not yet risen.