The King's Arrow Part 19

"A-ha-ha," Pete replied, lifting his head, and holding forth a tiny shred of cloth.

Dane seized it and examined it most carefully, while his heart gave a great bound.

"It is a piece of Jean's dress!" he exclaimed. "I would know it among a thousand. Where did you find it?"

"On dat," and the Indian laid his hand upon a sharp-pointed p.r.o.ng which jutted out from the great root of a fallen tree. "White woman carried off, eh?"

"It seems like it, Pete. Her dress must have caught on that snag.

Have you found anything else?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun track, see," and he pointed to the ground just in front of him.

Dane stooped and without much difficulty he was able to discern the imprint of a moccasined-foot where it had pressed a small mound of sand. He straightened himself up and looked around.

"Any more such tracks, Pete?"

"A-ha-ha, down on sh.o.r.e. Canoe come dere. Injun carry off white woman, eh?"

"There is no doubt about it. And we've got to find her. Are you ready to help me?"

"A-ha-ha, Pete ready. Pete get canoe, eh?"

"All right, and I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Half an hour later Pete's canoe, the old reliable, which the rangers had brought back to the settlement, was again headed up river. Dane sat astern and drove his paddle into the water with the force of a t.i.tan. He had been greatly stirred at times in the past, but never such as now. The blood surged madly through his veins, and the muscles of his bared arms stood out like whips of steel. He thought of the cowardly attack upon the helpless girl, the one he loved better than life. Where was she now? Perhaps already she had become the victim of Seth Lupin. The idea was horrible, and his paddle bent as the glittering blade carved the water. But the base Lupin should not escape. He would track him, if necessary, to the farthest bounds. He would find him, and when he had found him . . .

The sun of the now shortened day dipped below the far-off western horizon. A chilly breeze drifted up with the tide. Gradually the trees along the sh.o.r.e became indistinct. The stars tumbled out one by one. Silence reigned on water and land. But still the canoe sped noiselessly onward. Not once had Dane spoken to the Indian; his mind was too much occupied with other things. The picture of a white head bowed with grief as he had last seen it at the settlement, rose before him. What agony of soul was that silent man now undergoing. He emitted a slight groan, which caused Pete to glance quickly around.

"Dane seek, eh?" he queried.

"Not sick, Pete; only mad. I'm in h.e.l.l."

"A-ha-ha, me know. Bad, eh?"

Dane's only reply was a more vigorous stroke than ever, which caused the canoe to quiver as it leaped forward. He was too much excited as yet to form any definite line of action. He thought only of the Indian encampments along the river and the various tributaries. Surely at one of these he would find out something which would guide him in his search. There was no time to be lost. Winter was not far away, and the river would soon be frozen from bank to bank. Already the wild geese had gone South in great wedge-like battalions, and any day the wild nor'easter might sweep down, and with the blast of its cruel breath strike rivers, lakes, and babbling brooks into a numbing silence.

For days and nights they continued their search. From camp to camp they sped with feverish haste, but not a clue could they find. The Indians had heard nothing of the missing girl, and Dane's heart sank within him at each fresh disappointment. What was he to do? Where was he to go? These were the questions he asked himself over and over again. Both he and Pete were weary, for they had slept but little, and had only eaten what they could obtain at the various encampments. How much longer could they continue? Soon the river would be frozen, and then the search would have to be carried on by land. And all this time what untold hardships was Jean undergoing, providing she was still alive?

At length when hope was almost gone, an Indian pa.s.sing up river gave him a glimmer of light. He had been at the mouth of the Washademoak the night the white girl had been carried off. A strange canoe had pa.s.sed by swiftly in the darkness, and he had heard a slight moan of distress. This was all, but it aroused in Dane a new spirit of hope.

There might yet be time to follow this clue, and the Washademoak was a likely place to hide the girl.

It was morning, and they were far up the river when this information was received. The setting sun found them resting upon the sh.o.r.e not far from the entrance to the Washademoak. They had just finished their frugal supper, and were about to continue on their way, when the white sails of the little schooner _Polly_ hove in sight, bearing steadily up stream. Captain Leavitt was on deck, and catching sight of the two rangers, he hailed them. As the vessel approached, Dane and Pete launched their canoe, and awaited her coming. The wind was not strong, and when the _Polly_ at last drew near, they could see the deck filled with men, women, and children. In another minute the canoe was alongside, and Captain Leavitt leaning over the starboard rail.

"h.e.l.lo, Dane," he accosted. "You're just the man I'm on the lookout for. Here's a letter from Davidson. I didn't expect to find you so easily. Any word of the missing girl?"

"Not much, Captain. We have a slight clue, though. What's the news at Portland Point?"

"Stirring times there, Dane. The town is building up fast, and more people have arrived." He then lowered his voice. "These are some of the late-comers. They are going up river to settle."

"At this time of the year?" Dane asked in surprise.

"Yes, and mighty hard luck, isn't it? We are bound for St. Anne's, but I question whether we can make it with this cold weather upon us. I must get back before the river freezes. Some are following in open boats, just think of that! I don't know what will become of them."

Dane's eyes turned to the Loyalists who were watching him and Pete with considerable curiosity. They formed a most pathetic group of people shivering there upon deck. They seemed weary almost to the point of exhaustion, and yet in their eyes and bearing could be observed a spirit that nothing could daunt.

"Did Davidson get the prisoners down all right?" Dane asked as he was about to let go of the rail.

"Yes, they're waiting trial now. But that letter will tell you all about it."

In another minute the canoe was adrift, and the Loyalists were waving their hands as the _Polly_ sped on her way. Dane at once opened the letter, and read its contents. As he did so, his face became very grave, and a spirit of rebellion welled up within him.

"Look at this, Pete," and he held forth the letter as soon as he had stepped ash.o.r.e. "Davidson has ordered us both to Fort Howe."

"Why?" the Indian asked.

"To tell what we heard at the Wedneebak. We are wanted as witnesses against Flazeet and Rauchad. What do you think of that?"

"We go, eh?"

"How can we? What about Jean?"

"Dane always go when chief call, all sam' wild goose, eh?"

"I always have, Pete. But it is different now. Jean needs me. She is in danger. She may be cold. She may be hungry. She may be----"

Dane did not finish his sentence, for Pete had suddenly stooped, and with a small stick was drawing a line upon the sand, east by west.

"See," he said, "King dere," and he touched the ground on the south side of the line with the point of his stick. He did the same on the north side, adding, "white woman dere. King, white woman, eh?"

"That's just it, Pete. It's between Jean and the King, between love and duty. I must think it out. You sleep."

For over an hour Dane paced up and down the sh.o.r.e, his mind rent by conflicting emotions. He was in the King's service, and it was his duty to respond whenever called. But why did not Davidson leave him alone now? What right had he to send for him when he knew of the importance of his mission in searching for the missing girl? At times he felt inclined to disobey the summons. He could make a living in some other way. It was not necessary for him to remain in the King's service. Some one else could do the work. But each time a voice whispered that such a course would not be honourable. He had not yet taken his discharge, and so was not free. How could he ever again face Davidson and the rangers? They would consider him a traitor, and he well knew how they would discuss him around their camp fires. To them his deflection from duty would be an unpardonable offence. They would condone almost anything rather than disloyalty to the King. Duty to him overshadowed every other matter, even that of the heart.

As Dane paced up and down thinking of these things, his mother's words flashed into his mind. "Be always loyal to G.o.d and the King above all things," she had impressed upon him. "The King is G.o.d's anointed one, and he rules by divine right." Dane had never doubted this, neither did he do so now. But he had since learned that love, too, is a divine thing, and cannot lightly be disobeyed. What is the King to me? he asked himself. A mere name. But Jean is a living reality. The King lives in luxury, and has millions to look after his interests. But Jean is now wandering somewhere in the wilderness, in great need, and with no one to help her. Why should I not go to her first of all? I can live without the King, but not without Jean.

The more he thought, the fiercer became the battle. Night had closed around him, and the steadily increasing nor'east wind sang the prelude of a coming storm. Dane glanced at the moon riding high above the tops of the pointed trees. He knew the meaning of its overcast appearance, and the circle which surrounded it. There was no time to be lost. He must decide at once. But which should it be? Pete was asleep, and the fire was low. Mechanically he stooped and threw a few sticks upon the hot coals. As the flames leaped up they illuminated the ground for some distance around. They brought into clear relief the line made by the Indian upon the sand. This primitive symbol arrested his attention, and a sudden fancy entered his mind. Picking up a small stick, he wrote in the sand on the south of the line the word "King,"

and on the north "Jean." These he compared with critical eyes.

"Same number of letters in each," he mused. "One stands for duty, the other for love. K-i-n-g, J-e-a-n," he spelled. "They both sound good, and have a fine ring about them. I am bound to both, and must decide now. Oh, Lord, which shall it be!"

The perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, so intense was his emotion.

"I can't decide against Jean!" he groaned. "And I can't be disloyal to the King!"

Again his mother's words came to his mind. "Be loyal to G.o.d and the King above all things." How would she choose if she were in his place?

Yes, he knew. Not for an instant would she have hesitated. For a few minutes he stood staring straight before him. His face was pale, and his hands clenched hard, and his lips were firmly compressed. At length he turned, walked over to where Pete was lying, and touched him upon the shoulder. The Indian opened his eyes and looked around.

"Come, Pete, it's time we were away."