The Huntress

Sam's heart expanded with gratitude. "That was kind of you," he murmured.

It did not occur to him that her position against the gatepost was carefully studied; that the smile was cloying, and that behind the inviting friendliness of her eyes lay the anxiety of a woman growing old. It was enough that she offered him kindness. Both the gift and the giver seemed beautiful.

"There is a bond between us!" she went on, half coquettish, half serious. "I felt it from the first moment I saw you. Arriving together as we did, in a strange and savage country. Ugh!" – a delicate shudder here. "You and I are not like these people. We must be friends!"

A humiliated and sore-hearted youth will swallow more than this. Sam lingered by the gate. At the same time, somewhere within, was a dim consciousness that it was not very nutritious food.

But it went to the right spot. It renewed his faith in himself a little. It gave him courage to face the night that he knew awaited him in the dormitory.

Events still followed fast at the settlement. Next morning a native came in to Stiffy and Mahooley's with the information that two York boats were coming up the lake in company. One was enough to make a gala day. Later came word that they had landed at Grier's Point. This was two miles east.

Owing to low water in the lake, laden boats could not come closer in. The first was the police boat, with supplies for the post and for the Indian agent. The second carried the Government surveyors, six strong, and forty hundredweight of implements and grub.

Presently the surveyors themselves arrived at the store, making a larger party of white men than had ever before gathered on Caribou Lake. The natives were in force also. Seeming to spring from nowhere, they gathered in quite a big crowd outside the store and peered through the windows at their betters.

Within, a great gossip was in progress. Especially was the story of Sammy, the White Slave, told and retold, amid uncontrollable laughter. At dinner-time they adjourned to the kitchen in a body to have a look at the hero or victim of the tale, according to the way you looked at it.

It was considered that Sam did not take the chaffing in very good part, but they had to confess that he fed them adequately.

As soon afterward as riding horses could be secured, the whole party, excepting the traders, rode off around Beaver Bay. The Government land was to be laid off on the other side, and Big Jack and his pals were looking for locations there. As Graves, the chief surveyor, was mounting his horse, Mahooley said to him casually:

"How about freighting your outfit around?"

"Oh, that's all arranged for," was the answer.

Mahooley shrugged, supposing that the company had secured the contract outside.

When the excitement of the departure died away, Mahooley for the first time perceived a squat little figure in a blanket capote sitting patiently on the platform in front of the store.

"Musq'oosis!" he exclaimed. "Blest if I didn't overlook you in the shuffle. How did you come?"

"Graves bring me in his boat," Musq'oosis answered.

"Come on in."

"I come get trade for my rabbit-skin robe."

"Sure, what'll you have?"

"W'at you got?"

"Damn little. Take your choice."

After due observance on both sides of the time-honoured rules of bargaining, the matter was concluded, and Musq'oosis made a feint of gathering up his bundles. As a matter of fact, the old man had not yet reached what he had come for.

"What's your hurry?" said Mahooley. "Sit and talk a while."

This was not pure friendliness on the trader's part. He had a particular reason for wishing to cultivate the old Indian.

Musq'oosis allowed himself to be persuaded.

"Where's Bela?" asked Mahooley.

"Home."

"What's all this talk about her carrying off the cook?"

Musq'oosis shrugged. "Fellas got talk."

"Well, what are the rights of the case?"

"I don't know," he returned indifferently. "I not there. I guess I go see Beattie now."

"Sit down," said Mahooley. "What do you want to see Beattie for? Why don't you trade with me? Why don't you tell all the Fish-Eaters to come here? They do what you tell them."

"Maybe," said Musq'oosis, "but we always trade wit' Beattie."

"Time you made a change then. He thinks he's got you cinched."

"Gilbert Beattie my good friend."

"Hell! Ain't I your friend, too? You don't know me. Have a cigar. Sit down. What do you want to see Beattie about in such a rush?"

"I goin' buy team and wagon," said Musq'oosis calmly.

Mahooley laughed. "What are you goin' to do with it? I never heard of you as a driver."

"I goin' hire driver," asserted Musq'oosis. "I sit down; let ot'er man work for me. So I get rich."

This seemed more and more humorous to Mahooley.

"That's the right ticket," he said. "But where will you get the business for your team?"

By way of answer Musq'oosis produced a folded paper from inside the capote. Opening it, Mahooley read:

This is to certify that I have awarded the Indian Musq'oosis the contract to freight all my supplies from Grier's Point to my camp on Beaver Bay during the coming summer at twenty-five cents per hundredweight.

Richard Graves,Dominion Surveyor.

Mahooley whistled. This was no longer a joke. He looked at the old man with new respect.

"Well, that's a sharp trick," he said. "How did you get it?"

"Graves my friend," replied Musq'oosis with dignity. "We talk moch comin' up. He say I got good sense." The old man got up.

"Sit down!" cried Mahooley. "I got as good horses as the company."

"Want too much price, I t'ink," said Musq'oosis.

"Let's talk it over. There's my black team, Sambo and Dinah."

This was what Musq'oosis wanted, but nothing of his desire showed in his face. "Too small," he said.

"Small nothing!" cried Mahooley. "Those horses are bred in the country. They will thrive on shavings. They run out all winter."

"How moch wit' wagon and harness?" asked Musq'oosis indifferently.

"Six hundred and fifty."

"Wa!" said Musq'oosis. "You t'ink you got race-horses. I give five-fifty."

"Nothing doing!"

"All right, I go see Beattie."

"Hold on."

Thus it raged back and forth all afternoon. Half a dozen times they went out to look at the horses. Musq'oosis had to admit they were a nervy pair, though small. A dozen times the negotiations were called off, only to be renewed again.

"Be reasonable," said Mahooley plaintively. "I suppose you want a year's credit. I've got to count that."

"I pay cash," said Musq'oosis calmly.

Mahooley stared. "Where the hell will you get it?"

"I got it now."

"Let me see it."

Musq'oosis declined.

Mahooley finally came down to six hundred, and Musq'oosis went up to five-seventy-eight. There they stuck for an hour.

"Five-seventy-eight!" said Mahooley sarcastically. "Why don't you add nineteen cents or so?"

"Tak' it or leave it," said Musq'oosis calmly.

Mahooley finally took it. "Now, let me see the colour of your money," he said.

Musq'oosis produced another little paper. This one read:

I promise to pay the Indian, Musq'oosis, five hundred and seventy-eight dollars ($578.00) on demand.

Gilbert Beattie.

Mahooley looked discomfited. He whistled.

"That's good money, ain't it?" asked Musq'oosis.

"Sure! Where did you get it?" demanded the trader. "I never heard of this."

"Beattie and me got business," replied Musq'oosis with dignity.

Mahooley was obliged to swallow his curiosity.

"Well, who are you going to get to drive?" he asked.

Musq'oosis's air for the first time became ingratiating. "I tell you," he returned. "Let you and I mak' a deal. You want me do somesing. I want you do somesing."

"What is it?" demanded Mahooley suspiciously.

"You do w'at I want, I promise I tell the Fish-Eaters come to your store."

Mahooley's eyes gleamed. "Well, out with it!"

"I want you not tell nobody I buy your team. Nobody but Stiffy. I want hire white man to drive, see? Maybe he not lak work for red man. So you mak' out he workin' for you, see?"

"All right," agreed Mahooley. "That's easy. But who can you get?"

"Sam."

Mahooley indignantly exploded. Sam, the white slave, the butt of the whole camp, the tramp without a coat to his back or a hat to cover his head. He assured Musq'oosis more than once that he was crazy.

It may be that with his scorn was mixed a natural anxiety not to lose a cheap cook. Anyhow, Musq'oosis, calm and smiling, stuck to the point, and, of course, when it came to it the chance of getting the Fish-Eater's trade was too good to be missed. They finally shook hands on the deal.

Of the night that followed little need be said. As a result of the day's excitement the crowd stopping at the kitchen was in an uplifted state, anyway, and from some mysterious source a jug of illicit spirits was produced. It circulated in the bunk-room until far into the night.

They were not a hopelessly bad lot as men go, only uproarious. There was not one among them inhuman enough of himself to have tortured a fellow-creature, but in a crowd each dreaded to appear better than his fellows, and it was a case of egging each other on. Sam, who had thought he had already drained his cup of bitterness, found that it could be filled afresh.

If he had been a tame spirit it would not have hurt him, and before this the game would have lost its zest for them. It was his helpless rage which nearly killed him, and which provided their fun. Mahooley, keeping what had happened to himself, led his tormentors. Sam was prevented from escaping the place.

Next morning, after he had fed them and they had gone out, he sat down in his kitchen, worn out and sick with discouragement, trying to think what to do.

This was his darkest hour. His brain was almost past clear thinking. His stubborn spirit no longer answered to his need. He had the hopeless feeling that he had come to the end of his fight. What was the use of struggling back to the outside world? He had already tried that. He could not face the thought of enduring another such night, either. Better the surrounding wilderness – or the lake.

He heard the front door flung open and Mahooley's heavy step in the mess-room. He jumped up and put his back against the wall. His eyes instinctively sought for his sharpest knife. He did not purpose standing any more. However, the jocular leer had disappeared from the trader's red face. He looked merely business-like now.

"Ain't you finished the dishes? Hell, you're slow! I want you to take a team and go down to Grier's Point to load up for Graves."

Sam looked at him stupidly.

"Can't you hear me?" said Mahooley. "Get a move on you!"

"I can't get back here before dinner," muttered Sam.

"Who wants you back? One of the breed boys is goin' to cook. Freighting's your job now. You can draw on the store for a coat and a pair of blankets. You'll get twelve and a half cents a hundredweight, so it's up to you to do your own hustling. Better sleep at the Point nights, so you can start early."

Sam's stiff lips tried to formulate thanks.

"Ah, cut it out!" said Mahooley. "It's just a business proposition."

CHAPTER XVII

AN APPARITION

On the way up the lake the surveyor's party had been driven to seek shelter in the mouth of Hah-wah-sepi by a westerly gale. They found the other York boat lying there. Its passengers, the bishop, the Indian agent, and the doctor, after ministering to the tribe in their several ways, had ridden north to visit the people around Tepiskow Lake.

The Fish-Eaters were still in a state of considerable excitement. The Government annuities – five dollars a head – changed hands half a dozen times daily in the hazards of jack-pot. All other business was suspended.

Musq'oosis called upon the chief surveyor, and the white man was delighted with his red brother's native courtesy and philosophy.

When finally the wind died down Musq'oosis had only to drop a hint that he was thinking of travelling to the settlement to receive a hearty invitation. Musq'oosis, instructing two boys, Jeresis and Hooliam, to come after him with a dugout in two days' time, accepted it.

Whatever may have been going on inside Bela during the days that followed, nothing showed in her wooden face. Never, at least when any eye was upon her, did she cock her head to listen for a canoe around the bend, nor go to the beach to look up the lake.

The Fish-Eaters were not especially curious concerning her. They had heard a native version of the happenings in Johnny Gagnon's shack from the boatmen, but had merely shrugged. Bela was crazy, anyway, they said.

Finally on the seventh day Musq'oosis and the two boys returned. Bela did not run to the creek. When the old man came to his teepee she was working around it with a highly indifferent air.

Once more they played their game of make-believe. Bela would not ask, and Musq'oosis would not tell without being asked. Bela was the one to give in.

"What you do up at settlement?" she asked carelessly.

"I fix everyt'ing good," replied Musq'oosis. "Buy team for Sam wit' your money. Mahooley's black team."

"It's too good for Sam," said Bela scornfully.

The old man glanced at her with sly amusement, and shrugged. He volunteered no further information.

When Bela could stand it no longer she asked sullenly:

"You hear no news at the settlement?"

Musq'oosis laughed and took pity on her. He told her his story, suppressing only certain facts that he considered it unwise for her to know.

"I glad the men mak' mock of Sam," she said bitterly. "Maybe he get some sense now."

"Well, he all right now," observed Musq'oosis.

"All right!" she cried. "I guess he more foolish than before, now he got a team. I guess he think he bigges' man in the country."

Musq'oosis stared at her. "W'at's the matter wit' you? You send me all the way to get him team. Now you let on you mad 'cause he got it."

"I didn't send you," contradicted Bela. "You say yourself you go."

"I go because you say you got go if I don't go. I don't want you to mak' anot'er fool lak before. I go for 'cause you promise me you stay here."

It was impossible for poor Bela to justify her contradictions, so she kept silent.

"You lak a woman, all right," declared Musq'oosis scornfully.

Bela had an idea that she could obtain a freer account of what was happening at the settlement from Jeresis or Hooliam, but pride would not allow her to apply directly to them.

Whenever she saw either of the boys making the centre of a group she managed to invent some business in the neighbourhood. But the talk always became constrained at her approach, and she learned nothing. The youngsters of the tribe were afraid of Bela. This had the effect of confirming her suspicion that there was something she needed to learn.

Word was passed around camp that there would be a "singing" on the lake shore that night. Bela, who had her own ideas about singing, despised the crude chanting of her relatives and the monotonous accompaniment of the "stick-kettle"; nevertheless, she decided to attend on this occasion.

Waiting until the party was well under way, she joined it unostentatiously and sat down in the outer circle of women. None but those immediately around her saw her come.

These parties last all night or near it. It needs darkness to give the wild part-song its full effect, and to inspire the drummers to produce a voice of awe from the muttering tom-toms. They work up slowly.

During a pause in the singing, while the drummer held his stick-kettle over the fire to contract the skin, some one asked Jeresis if he had seen Bela's white man. This was what she was waiting for. She listened breathlessly.

"Yes," answered Jeresis.

"Is he big, fine man?"

"No, middle-size man. Not much. Other men call him white slave, 'cause Bela take him away."

"Bela is crazy," said another.

The speakers were unaware that she was present. The women around her eyed her curiously. Bela smiled disdainfully for their benefit.

"Other woman got him now," Jeresis went on indifferently.

The smile froze on Bela's face. A red-hot needle seemed thrust into her breast.

"Who?" someone asked.

"The white woman that was here. Make her head go this way, that way." Jeresis imitated.

"The chicadee woman," said another.

"I see them by the company fence," Jeresis went on idly. "She stand on one side. He stand on other side. They look foolish at each other, like white people do. She make the big eyes and talk soft talk. They say he goes up every night."

The matter was not of great interest to the company generally, and Jeresis's story was cut short by a renewed burst of singing. Bela continued to sit where she was, still as a stone woman, until she thought they had forgotten her. Then she slipped away in the dark.

Musq'oosis was awakened by being violently shaken. He sat up in his blanket in no amiable frame of mind.

"What's the matter?" he demanded.

Bela was past all make-believe of indifference now.

"I promise you I not go to settlement," she said breathlessly. "I come tell you I got go, anyhow. I got tak' my promise back. I got go now – now! I got go quick!"

"Are you as crazy as they say?" demanded Musq'oosis.

"Yes, I am crazy," she stammered. "No, I am not crazy. I will go crazy if I stay here. You are a bad friend to me. You not tell me that white woman is after my man. I got go to-night!"

"Oh, hell!" said Musq'oosis.

"Give me back my promise!" begged Bela. "I got go now."

"Go to bed," said Musq'oosis. "We talk quiet to-morrow. I want sleep now. You mak' me tired!"

"I got go now, now!" she repeated.

"Listen to me," said Musq'oosis. "I not tell you that for cause it is only foolishness. She is an old woman. She jus' a fool-hen. Are you 'fraid of her?"

"She is white," said Bela. "She know more than me. She know how to catch a man. Me, I am not all white. I live wit' Indians. He think little of me for that. Yes, I am afraid of her. Give me my promise back. I not be foolish. I do everything you say. But I got go see."

"Well, if you got go, you got go," said Musq'oosis crossly. "Don't come to me after and ask what to do."

"Good-bye!" said Bela, flying out of the teepee.

One day as Mrs. Beattie and Miss Mackall were sewing together, the trader's wife took occasion to remonstrate very gently with her sister concerning Sam. Somehow of late Miss Mackall found herself down in the road mornings when Sam was due to pass with his load, and somehow she was back there again at night when he came home empty.

Mrs. Beattie was a quiet, wise, mellow kind of woman. "He's so young," she suggested.

Her sister cheerfully agreed. "Of course, a mere baby! That's why I can be friends with him. He's so utterly friendless. He needs a kind word from somebody."

"But don't you rather go out of your way to give it to him?" asked Mrs. Beattie very softly.

"Sister! How can you say such a thing?" said Miss Mackall in shocked tones. "A mere child like that – one would think – Oh, how can you?"

Mrs. Beattie let the matter drop with a little sigh. She had not been home in fifteen years, and she found her elder sister much changed and difficult to understand. Somehow their positions had been reversed.

Later, at the table, Miss Mackall suggested with an off-hand air that the friendless young teamster might be asked to supper. Gilbert Beattie looked up quickly.

"This is the company house," he said in his grim way, "and we are, so to speak, public people. We must not give any occasion for silly gossip."

"Gossip?" echoed Miss Mackall, raising her eyebrows. "I don't understand you."

"Pardon me," said Beattie. "I think you do. Remember," he added with a grim twinkle, "the trader's sister must be like Cæsar's wife, above suspicion."

Miss Mackall tossed her head and finished her meal in silence. Persons of a romantic temperament really enjoy a little tyranny. It made her seem young and interesting to herself.

That afternoon she walked up the road a way and met Sam safely out of view of the house. Sam greeted her with a beaming smile.

It seemed to him that this was his one friend – the only soul he had to talk to. He was little disposed to find flaws in her. As for her age, he had never thought about it. Pressed for an answer, he would probably have said: "Oh, about thirty!"

"Hello!" he cried. "Climb in and drive back with me."

"I can't," she replied with a mysterious air.

"Why not?"

"I mustn't be seen with you so much."

"Why?"

"It seems people are beginning to talk about us. Isn't it too silly?"

Sam laughed harshly. "I'm used to it," he said. "Of course, it's a different thing for you."

"I don't care for myself," she returned. "But my brother-in-law – "

"He's been warning you against me, eh?" asked Sam bitterly. "Naturally, you have to attend to what he says. It's all right." He made as if to drive on.

Miss Mackall seemed to be about to throw herself in front of the horses.

"How can you?" she cried reproachfully. "You know I don't care what anybody says. But while I'm living in his house I have to – "

"Sure!" replied Sam sorely. "I won't trouble you – "

"If we could write to each other," she suggested, "and leave the letters in a safe place."

Sam shook his head. "Never was any hand at writing letters," he said deprecatingly. "I run dry when I take a pen. Besides, I have no place to write, nor anything to write with."

"There is another way," she murmured, "but I suppose I shouldn't speak of it."

"What way?" asked Sam.

"There's a trail from the back of our house direct to Grier's Point. It is never used except when they bring supplies to the store in the summer. We keep very early hours. Everything is quiet by nine. I could slip out of the house and walk down the trail to meet you. We could talk a while, and I could be in again before dark."

Sam felt a little dubious, but how can a young man hold back in a matter of this kind? "All right, if you wish it," he agreed.

"I am only thinking of you," she said.

"I'll be there."

No better place for a tryst could have been found. No one ever had any occasion to use the back trail, and it was invisible for its whole length to travellers on the main road. After issuing from the woods of Grier's Point it crossed a wide flat among clumps of willows, and, climbing over the spur of a wooded hill, dropped in Beattie's back yard.

They met half-way across the flat in the tender dusk. The fairy light took away ten years of her age, and Sam experienced almost a bona fide thrill of romance at the sight of her slender figure swaying over the meadow toward him.

In his gratitude for her kindness he really desired to feel more warmly toward her, which is a perilous state of mind for a young man to be in. He spread his coat for her to sit on, and dropped beside her in the grass.

"Smoke your pipe," she said. "It's more cosy."

He obeyed.

"I wish I had a cigarette myself," she added with a giggle.

"Do you smoke?" asked Sam, surprised.

"No," she confessed; "but all the girls do, nowadays."

"I don't like it," said Sam bluntly.

"Of course I was only joking," she returned hastily.

Their conversation was not very romantic. Sam, with the best intentions in the world, somehow frustrated her attempts in this direction. He was propped up on one elbow beside her.

"How thick and bright your hair is!" she murmured.

"You've got some hair yourself," returned Sam politely.

She quickly put both hands up. "Ah! don't look at it. A hair-dresser spoiled it. As a child it hung below my waist."

Sam not knowing exactly what to say to this, blew a cloud of smoke.

"What a perfect night!" she breathed.

"Great!" said Sam. "That near-horse of mine, Sambo, picked up a stone on the beach this morning. I didn't discover what was making him lame until we were half-way round the bay. I wish I knew more about horses. I pick up all I can, but you never can tell when these fellows are giving it to you straight."

"It's a shame the way they plague you!" she exclaimed warmly.

"Oh, it's nothing, now," replied Sam. "I can stand anything now that I've got a man's job. I'll make good yet. I think I can see a difference already. I think about it day and night. It's my dream. I mean, making good with these fellows. It isn't that I care so much about them either. But after what's happened. I've got to make them respect me!"