III
RONALD MAKES AN ENEMY
During the days that passed before their departure from the Portage, thetwo lads saw Etienne only twice more and then for but a few minutes. Thelast of the northmen arrived, the portaging was completed, the furssorted and made into packages of ninety to one hundred pounds each, andeverything was ready for the homeward trip.
One fine morning, when the sky was blue and the breeze light, the firstcanoes of the great return fleet put out from shore. The birch canoes ofthe traders were not much like the small pleasure craft we are familiarwith to-day. Frail looking boats though they were, each was betweenthirty and forty feet long, and capable of carrying, including theweight of the men that formed the crew, about four tons. In each canoewere a foreman and a steersman, skilled men at higher wages than theothers and with complete authority over the middlemen. The foreman wasthe chief officer of the boat, always on the lookout to direct thecourse and passage, but he shared responsibility with the steersman inthe stern. Three or four boats made up a brigade, and each brigade had aguide who was in absolute command.
The long, slender, graceful canoes, picturesque in themselves, werefilled with even more picturesque canoemen: Indians, French half-breeds,many of them scarcely distinguishable from their full-blooded Indianbrothers, and white men, French-Canadians for the most part, in pointedscarlet caps that contrasted strongly with their swarthy, sun-bronzedfaces. Singing boat songs, the men dipped their paddles with swift andperfect unison and rhythm, and the canoes slipped over the quiet wateras smoothly and easily as if they were themselves alive. The cleardepths of the lake reflected the deep blue of the sky, while the rockyshores, crowned or covered to the water's edge with dark evergreens andbright-leaved birches, made a fitting background.
The canoes of each brigade kept as close together as possible, but allthe brigades did not start at the same time. When the last one was readyto put off, the first was apt to be a number of days and many milesahead. In calm weather the canoes, though heavily loaded, made goodspeed, four miles an hour being considered satisfactory progress. Thetrips to and from the Sault were always made as rapidly as wind andwaves would permit, but the number of days required depended on theweather encountered. The birch canoes could not plow through the middleof the lake as the steamers of to-day do, but were obliged to skirt theshore and take advantage of its shelter. The daring voyageurs often tookchances that would seem reckless to us, and paddled their frail boatsthrough seas that would have swamped or destroyed them, had they notbeen handled with wonderful skill by the experienced Canadians andIndians. But there were always periods of storm and rough weather whenthe boats and their precious cargoes could not be trusted to the mercyof the waters. Then the canoemen had to remain in camp on shore orisland, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days. During theoutward trip delays had not disturbed Jean and Ronald, but had beenenjoyed as welcome periods of rest from the hard and incessant labor ofpaddling. On the return journey, however, the two were all impatience.
On the way out the two lads had traveled in the same canoe, but for thetrip back, they were assigned, much to their disgust, to differentboats. It did not add to Ronald's satisfaction to find that he had beenplaced in the same canoe with the man whom he had suspected of listeningwhen he and Jean had been talking over their plans. Le Forgeron Torduwas the steersman. The foreman was Benoit Gervais, Benoit le Gros or BigBenoit he was usually called, a merry giant of a Frenchman, with astrain of Indian blood, who, in spite of his usual good nature, could betrusted to keep his crew in admirable control and to handle even theevil tempered Le Forgeron. The latter was known far and wide throughoutthe Indian country. He was always called Le Forgeron, the blacksmith, orin Ojibwa, Awishtoya. His real name no one seemed to know, but thenickname had evidently been given him because of his unusual skill as ametal worker. The epithet "tordu" or "twisted" referred to hisdeformity, his right leg from the knee down being twisted outward, andhis ankle stiff. His nose also was twisted to one side, and there was anugly scar on his chin. It was said that these disfigurements were themarks of the tortures he had suffered, when scarcely more than a boy, atthe hands of the Iroquois.
Skilled smith though he was, Le Forgeron Tordu did not choose to settledown and work at his trade. Occasionally he took employment for a shortperiod at one of the trading posts or as a voyageur. He had tremendousphysical strength and far more intelligence than the average canoeman,but his violence, ugly temper, and treacherous craftiness made him adangerous employee or companion. Most of the time he lived with theIndians, among whom he had the reputation of a great medicine man ormagician. Yet he professed to be of pure Norman French blood, and didnot have the appearance of a half-breed, though cruel enough indisposition for an Iroquois.
For the first two days everything went well with the brigade to whichthe boys belonged, for the skies were blue and the winds light. To makethe most of the good weather the men paddled long hours and slept shortones. On the beaches where they camped, after they had made their firesand boiled their kettles, they needed no shelter but their blanketswrapped about them, as they lay stretched out under the stars.
The two lads' muscles had been hardened on the outward trip, and theywere in too much haste to reach the Sault to complain of the long hoursof work. Neither did they have any fault to find with the food,monotonous enough as such meals would seem to boys of to-day. The fareof the voyageurs consisted almost entirely of corn mush. The corn hadbeen prepared by boiling in lye to remove the outer coating of thekernels, which were then washed, crushed and dried. This crushed cornwas very much like what is now called hominy, an Indian name. It wasmixed with a portion of fat and boiled in kettles hung on sticks overthe fire. When time and weather permitted, nets and lines were set atnight and taken up in the morning, supplying the canoemen with fish, butthere was never any time for hunting or gathering berries, except whenbad weather or head winds forced the voyageurs to remain on shore.
The third day of the trip a sudden storm compelled the brigade to seekthe refuge of a sheltered bay. The two canoes in which the boys traveledwere beached nearly half a mile apart. During the storm, which lastedinto the night, the lads were unable to get together. The next morningthe sky was clear again, but a violent northwest wind prevented thelaunching of the boats. Since they could not go on, the canoemen were atliberty to follow their own devices. Some of them sat around the firesthey had kindled in the lea of rocks and bushes, mended their moccasinsand other clothing, and told long tales of their adventures andexperiences. Others wandered about the beach and the adjacent woods,seeking for ripe raspberries or hunting squirrels, hares and woodpigeons. A group of Indian wigwams on a point was visited by a few ofthe men, who bartered with the natives for fish, maple sugar anddeerskin moccasins.
For Ronald the Indian fishing camp had no particular attraction, and hestarted to walk around the bay to the place where Jean's canoe wasbeached. On the way he climbed a bluff a little back from the water, andlingered to eat his fill of the ripe wild raspberries that grew alongthe top. As he pushed his way through the brush, he heard the sound ofvoices from the beach below and recognized the harsh, rough tones of LeForgeron. Just why he turned and went to the edge of the bluff in thedirection of the voices, Ronald did not know. Instinct seemed to tellhim that the Twisted Blacksmith was up to some mischief. Parting thebushes, he looked down on an Indian lodge. He was surprised to see awigwam in that place, for it was at least a quarter of a mile from thepoint where the temporary village stood. Near the wigwam Le Forgeron wassitting cross-legged on a blanket, smoking at his ease, while a squaw,bending over a small cooking fire, was preparing food for him, venison,the boy's nose told him, as the savory odor rose on the wind.
"Make haste there, thou daughter of a pig," the Blacksmith was sayingroughly, "and take care that the meat is not burned or underdone or Iwill burn thee alive in thine own fire."
The Indian woman shrank back as if frightened, and, as she turned herhead, Ronald saw that she was old and
withered, and, from the way shegroped about, he judged her to be nearly if not quite blind. She made amotion to withdraw from the fire the piece of venison she was broilingon a wooden spit, that rested on two sticks driven into the ground, but,whether through fear or blindness, she struck the stick with her handinstead of grasping it, and spit and meat went into the fire.
Le Forgeron uttered an ugly oath and sprang to his feet. "I'll teach youhow to broil meat, old witch," he cried. Before Ronald could freehimself from the bushes, the Blacksmith had seized the frightened oldwoman and had thrust her moccasined foot and bare ankle, for she wore noleggings, into the fire. She gave a scream of pain and terror, andRonald, without pausing to think, launched himself over the edge of thebluff in a flying leap. He landed on the sand close to where the oldsquaw was struggling in Le Forgeron's grasp, and brought a stout stick,that he had used a few moments before to kill a snake, down on theBlacksmith's neck and shoulder. Surprised at the attack, Le Forgeronflung the squaw from him and turned on the boy, reaching for his knifeas he did so. He made a quick lunge at Ronald, who jumped aside just intime and seized him by the arm that held the knife. At the same momenthe heard a shout from beyond the lodge and recognized Jean's voice.Ronald, though a strong and sturdy lad, was no match for Le Forgeron,but he hung on to the Frenchman's right arm like a bulldog. TheBlacksmith flung his left arm out and around the boy's waist, to crushhim in his iron grasp. Ronald heard Jean's shout close by, and then,just as he thought his body would be crushed in the Blacksmith'sterrible grip, there came from the top of the bluff a roar like that ofa mad bull, and Benoit le Gros launched his great body down on thestruggling pair as if to bury them both.
But Big Benoit did not bury Ronald. The boy went down on the sand, foundhimself loose, rolled completely over and picked himself up, just intime to see the giant foreman hurl his steersman into the breakers thatwere rolling on the beach. Then he strode in after him, seized him bythe back of the neck and pulled him out again, dazed, bloody, chokingwith the water he had swallowed. Le Forgeron Tordu was beaten. There wasno fight left in him for the time being, but he was far from beingsubdued. He cast an ugly look at the two boys, but for the moment he wasunable even to swear. With an imperious gesture Big Benoit motioned himto go back down the beach towards camp. Le Forgeron went, but as hepassed Ronald he gave him a look so full of vindictive hatred it fairlychilled the lad's blood. There was no need of voice or words to expressthe threat of vengeance. That look was enough.
In the meantime the Indian woman had disappeared, and, though the boyssought for her to discover how badly she had been burned and to see ifthey could do anything to relieve her suffering, they could not findher. When Ronald returned to the camping place of his own crew, he foundthe brigade guide in conversation with Big Benoit. The boy was summonedto tell his story, and did so in a few words. He admitted havingattacked Le Forgeron first and gave his reason. Benoit added hisevidence, for he had seen the Indian woman crawl away and thrust hersmoking, blackened moccasin into the water. The guide grunted amalediction upon Le Forgeron, whom he called the "king of fiends," anddismissed the boy. Later Benoit informed him that he had beentransferred to the canoe where Jean was, and added, with a grin, that hewas sorry to lose a lad who was not afraid to attack the Blacksmith, butthat it was best the two should be separated. "Look to yourself, myson," he said, laying a kindly hand on the boy's shoulder. "Le Forgerondoes not forget a grudge."
For two days strong winds prevented the continuance of the journey, butRonald, having been transferred to the same canoe with Jean, kept clearof Le Forgeron.
The delay vexed the impatient boys, who felt that every lost hour wasshortening the time they could give to the search for the strangeisland. At last, during the night, the wind changed to another quarterand went down, and for the remainder of the voyage the weather wasgenerally favorable. There were several delays, but none so long as thefirst, and the Sault was reached in fairly good time.
The visits of the brigades were the great events of the year at thetrading post of Sault de Ste. Marie. The few whites and half-breeds thatformed the little settlement, and most of the Indians of the Ojibwavillage near by, were on hand to receive the voyageurs. But Nangotook,who should have been awaiting the boys, was nowhere to be seen.
The Northwest Company's agent and Jean's friends had expected the ladsto go on to Montreal with the fleet, and the two were hard put to it tofind excuses for lingering. The men who had been injured in the accidentof the spring before, and who had been left behind to recover, werestrong enough to resume their places at the paddles, so the lads'services were not actually needed, and no pressure was put upon them togo on. As day after day of impatient waiting passed without any sign oftheir Indian guide, Jean and Ronald began to wonder if they had beenfoolish to remain behind. Until the prospect of adventure and riches hadopened before them, they had not dreamed of spending another winter atthe Sault. Even when they had decided not to go on with the fleet, theyhad hoped that they might accomplish their treasure-seeking trip in timeto allow them to return to Montreal or at least to Michilimackinac,under Etienne's guidance, before winter set in.
The Island of Yellow Sands: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys Page 3
