The King's Arrow Part 30

The Indian smiled as he stooped and arranged his right snow-shoe.

"Kitty no starve, Babby no starve," he replied. "Sam come bimeby.

Plenty grub."

This was an anxious day for Jean, as she was well aware that the entire camp was on the verge of starvation. The children were already picking and sucking the bones of the partridges, and there was no food in the place. Even the little they had brought with them was gone, so she and Kitty went without any dinner. She did her best to cheer and encourage the dispirited Loyalists, telling them that Sam would soon return with plenty of meat. He was their sole dependence now, and suppose anything should happen to him! But she had confidence in his skill and judgment, so hoped for the best.

Much of the day she spent with the women and children, listening to the hardships they had endured, and playing with the little ones. At times she visited the men, and watched them as they toiled bravely at their houses. They were weak and hungry, but they uttered no word of complaint. Occasionally she saw them gnawing and chewing the bark of tender birch twigs, while some tried to find sustenance in pine, spruce, and cedar cones. But for the hope that Sam would return with a supply of food, they would have given up in despair.

The day was drawing to a close when the women and children were transferred to their new abodes. Fires were burning brightly, and fresh fir boughs made soft beds. The children were delighted with this change, and the expression in the women's eyes showed their pleasure.

As Jean watched the mothers making up the beds for the night she noticed how few and thin were the blankets. She well knew that they must have more clothing if they were to be kept from perishing during the long winter ahead. And other food they must have than meat, especially the children. Her mind turned naturally to the King's mast-cutters. She must go to them, for no doubt they had a supply of provisions on hand, as well as extra blankets. She was sure that they would be willing to help these needy people.

At first she thought of getting Sam and Kitty to go. But thinking the matter over, she decided that it would be better to go herself. The Indians might not be able to explain fully the serious condition of the Loyalists, or else the mast-cutters might not pay much attention to what they said. She mentioned this to no one, however, preferring to wait until Sam returned that she might talk it over with him.

There was little rest that night for the older ones. The hungry children had cried themselves to sleep, while the helpless parents watched and listened with heavy hearts. They were beyond tears now, having shed so many in the past. The men were weary to the point of exhaustion after their day's work without any food. As they huddled there they often cast anxious glances out into the night, hoping to see the Indian coming from the forest. They themselves had done the best they could to provide game, but they were unused to hunting, and when they became weakened through lack of food, they were able to do but little. All they could do now was to trust to the Indian and await his return.

Jean decided to watch with Kitty, as she felt sure that Sam would come back before morning. But as the hours wore on, her eyes became heavy.

The bed of fir boughs and blankets was comfortable, so at length she pa.s.sed into a sound sleep, leaving Kitty awake and watchful.

When she opened her eyes it was daylight, and the delicious odor of frying meat pervaded the air. Kitty was stooping before the fire, while Sam was squatting but a short distance away. They both turned and smiled as the girl awoke and spoke to them.

"When did you get back, Sam?" she asked.

"Short tam' go. Plenty meat now."

"Oh, I am so glad! What did you get?"

"Feesh, Injun turkey, hut-tok."

"What, a deer!" Jean exclaimed, for she knew the meaning of the Indian word.

"A-ha-ha, hut-tok. Beeg."

"Good for you, Sam! You are a great hunter. Where is the deer?"

"White man eat'm," he replied with a smile.

"And did you haul it into camp?"

"A-ha-ha. Sam strong, beeg."

This supply of meat was a G.o.d-send to all, and there was great rejoicing among the Loyalists. They praised the Indian for what he had done, and he was looked upon as a hero, especially by the children.

When breakfast was over, and Sam was enjoying his pipe near the fire, Jean spoke to him about going to the mast-cutters for a.s.sistance. The Indian listened intently, and when the girl had finished speaking, he remained for awhile in deep silence.

"Can we do it?" Jean at length asked. "How far is it?"

"Sam go wan sleep, babby two sleep," was the reply.

Jean smiled as she drew herself to her full height.

"Don't you think I can do it in one sleep as well as you?" she bantered. "Why, I am strong now, almost like an Indian."

"Babby no all sam' Injun yet," Sam reminded. "Bimeby, mebbe."

"But will you go, Sam?"

"A-ha-ha. Wan sleep, Sam go."

"In the morning?"

"Mebbe. Sam see."

With this Jean had to be content. She was pleased that the Indian was willing to go with her, although she was well aware that he would start only when he was ready. She talked it over with the women, and a new hope rose in their hearts when they learned about the King's mast-cutters.

"What should we have done without you?" one woman remarked with a sob in her voice. "The Lord surely must have sent you and those Indians just when our needs were so great. We can never repay you for what you have done for us."

CHAPTER XXIII

SIX CANDLES AND ONE

The short winter day was drawing to a close as Jean and her two Indian companions moved down the western side of a long hill. They were making for the valley below through which ran a small brook, where they hoped to camp for the night. They had been abroad since morning, and Jean was now very tired. Her strength was not so great as she had imagined, and she recalled with amus.e.m.e.nt her proud boast the day before. Sam had been right, and she was glad that he did not try to reach the mast-cutters in "one sleep." She could not possibly do it, although it would have been easy for the Indians. They had this day regulated their speed to her feeble steps. But without her how they would have sped through the forest. They were both wonderful snow-sh.o.e.rs, and on several occasions she had watched them as they bounded over the snow with great swinging, tireless strides. Her admiration of these faithful, self-reliant people was unbounded.

They had almost reached the valley when the report of a gun rang through the forest, followed in a few seconds by a cry of distress.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks, gripped hard his musket, and peered keenly among the trees. The next instant he was bounding forward, leaving Jean and Kitty staring after him.

"What is it?" the girl asked, her face white with fear.

"Kitty no say now," was the reply. "See bimeby."

And as they waited and listened with fast-beating hearts, another report echoed through the forest, and then all was still.

"Sam shoot," Kitty explained. "Come."

Hurrying forward, they soon reached the valley, and ere long they saw Sam bending over some object. Nearby was a large moose, with its great body and branching antlers half buried in the snow. But to this Sam gave no heed. His attention was centred upon a human being, moaning and writhing in pain. Jean saw at once that it was a man, with white hair and long, flowing beard. With a cry she rushed forward and knelt by his side.

"Are you hurt?" she asked in a tremulous voice.

At this question the man started, lifted his head, and looked curiously at the girl. An expression of defiance glowed in his eyes, which caused Jean to wonder.

"Are you hurt?" she repeated. "Can we help you?"

"Am I hurt?" the man growled. "Do I look hurt?"

These words instead of frightening the girl only tended to make her somewhat angry. She wished to do what she could to help the man, but she did not like his sarcasm. It was altogether uncalled for, so she thought.