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CHAPTER X
MORE STUDIES IN STATUARY
"So he laughs at our warrant?" exclaimed Duncan Cameron. "Hut-tut! We'll teach him to respect warrants issued under authority of 43^d King George III.," and the dictator of Fort Gibraltar fussed angrily among the papers of his desk and beat a threatening tattoo with knuckles and heels.
The Assiniboine enters the Red at something like a right angle and in this angle was the Nor'-Westers' fort, named after an old-world stronghold, because we imagined our position gave us the same command of the two waterways by which the voyageurs entered and left the north country as Gibraltar has of the Mediterranean. Governor McDonell had thought to outwit us by building the Hudson's Bay fort a mile further down the current of the Red. It was a sharp trick, for Fort Douglas could intercept Nor'-West brigades bound from Montreal to Fort Gibraltar, or from Fort Gibraltar to the Athabasca. Two days after our arrival, Cuthbert Grant, with a band of Bois-Brulés, had gone to Fort Douglas to arrest Captain Miles McDonell for plundering Nor'-West posts. The doughty governor took Grant's warrant as a joke and scornfully turned the whole North-West party out of Fort Douglas. On the stockades outside were proclamations commanding settlers to take up arms in defense of the Hudson's Bay traders and forbidding natives to sell furs to any but our rivals. These things added fuel to the hot anger of the chafing Bois-Brulés. A curious race were these mongrel plain-rangers, with all the savage instincts of the wild beast and few of the brutal impulses of the beastly man. The descendants of French fathers and Indian mothers, they inherited all the quick, fiery daring of the Frenchman, all the endurance, craft and courage of the Indian, and all the indolence of both white man and red. One might cut his enemy's throat and wash his hands in the life blood, or spend years in accomplishing revenge; but it is a question if there is a single instance on record of a Bois-Brulé molesting an enemy's family. When the Frenchman married a native woman, he cast off civilization like an ill-fitting coat and virtually became an Indian. When the Scotch settler married a native woman, he educated her up to his own level and if she did not become entirely civilized, her children did. One was the wild man, the Ishmaelite of the desert, the other, the tiller of the soil, the Israelite of the plain. Such were the tameless men, of whom Cuthbert Grant was the leader, the leader solely from his fitness to lead.
It was late in the afternoon when the warden returned from Fort Douglas. I was busy over my desk. Father Holland was still with us awaiting the departure of traders to the south, and Duncan Cameron was stamping about the room like a caged lion. There came a quick, angry tramp from the hall.
"That's Grant back, and there's no one with him," muttered Cameron with suppressed anger; and in burst the warden himself, his heavy brows dark with fury and his eyes flashing like the fire at a pistol point. Involuntarily I stopped work and the priest glanced across at me with a look which bespoke expectation of an explosion. Grant did not storm. That was not his way. He took several turns about the room, mastered himself, and speaking through his teeth said quietly, "There be some fools that enjoy playing with gunpowder. I'm not one of them! There be some idiots that like teasing tigers. 'Tis not sport to my fancy! There be some pot-valiant braggarts that defy the law. Let them enjoy the breaking of the law!"
"What—what—what?" sputtered the Highland governor, springing first on one side of Grant and then on the other, all the while rumbling out maledictions on Lord Selkirk, and Governor McDonell and Fort Douglas. "What do ye say, mon? Do I understand ye clearly, there's no prisoners with ye?"
"Laughs at the Bois-Brulés. The fool laughs at the Bois-Brulés! I've seen gophers cock their eye at a wolf, before that same wolf made a breakfast of gophers! The fool laughs at your warrant, Sir! Scouted it, Sir! Bundled us out of Fort Douglas like cattle!" The warden went on in a bitter strain to tell of the effect of the posted proclamations on his followers.
"So the lordly Captain Miles McDonell of the Queen's Rangers, generalissimo of all creation, defies us, does he?" demanded Cameron in great dudgeon, scarcely crediting his ears.
"Aye!" answered Grant, "but he can ill afford to be so high and mighty. We went through the settlement and half the people are with us——"
"That's good! That's good!" responded Cameron with keen relish.
"They're heartily sick of the country," continued the warden, "and would leave to-morrow if we'd supply the boats. Last winter they nearly starved. The company's generous supply was rancid grease and wormy flour."
"Fine way o' colonizing a country," stormed Cameron, "bring men out as settlers and arm them to fight! We'll spike his guns by shipping a score more away."
"We've spiked his guns in a better way," said Grant dryly. "Some of the friendlies are so afraid he'll take their guns away and leave them defenceless unless they fight us, they've sent their arms here for safekeeping. We'll keep them safe, I'll warrant." Grant smiled, showing his white teeth in a way that was not pleasant to see, and somehow reminded me of a dog's snarl.
"Good! Good! Excellent, Grant." Such strategy pleased Cameron. "See here, mon, Cuthbert, we've the law on our side—we've the warrants to back the law! We'd better give yon dour fool a lesson. He's broken the peace. We haven't. Come out, an' I'll talk it over with ye!"
The two went out, Grant saying as they passed the window—"Let him tamper with the fur trade among the Indians and I'll not answer for it! That last order not to sell——" The rest of the remark I lost.
"'Twould serve him well right if they did," returned Cameron, and both men walked beyond hearing.
Father Holland and I were left alone. The fort became ominously still. There was a distant clatter of receding hoofs; but we were on the south side of the warehouse and could not see which way the horses were galloping.
"I'm afraid—I'm afraid both sides will be rash," observed the priest.
The sun-dial indicated six o'clock. I closed and locked the office desks. We had supper in the deserted dining-hall. Afterwards we strolled to the northeast gate, and looking in the direction of Fort Douglas, wondered what scheme could be afoot. Here my testimony need not be taken for, or against, either side. All I saw was Duncan Cameron with the other white men of the fort standing on a knoll some distance from Fort Gibraltar, evidently gazing towards Fort Douglas. Against the sky, above the settlement, there were clouds of rising smoke.
"Burning hay-ricks?" I questioned.
"Aye, and houses! 'Tis shameless work leaving the people exposed to the blasts of next winter! Shameless, shameless work! Y'r company'll gain nothing by it, Rufus!"
Across the night came faint, short snappings like a fusillade of shots.
"Looting the neutrals," said the priest. "God grant there be no blood on the plains this night! These fool traders don't realize what it means to rouse blood in an Indian! They'll get a lesson yet! Give the red devils a taste of blood and there won't be a white unscalped to the Rockies! I've seen y'r fine, clever rascals play the Indian against rivals, and the game always ends the same way. The Indian is a weapon that's quick to cut the hand of the user."
Little did I realize my part in the terrible fulfilment of that prophecy.
"Look alive, lad! Where are y'r wits? What's that?" he cried, suddenly pointing to the river bank.
Up from the cliff sprang a form as if by magic. It came leaping straight to the fort gate.
"Some frightened half-breed wench," surmised the priest.
I saw it was a woman with a shawl over her head like a native.
"Bon soir!" said I after the manner of traders with Indian women; but she rushed blindly on to the gate.
The fort was deserted. Suspicion of treachery flashed on me. How many more half-breeds were beneath that cliff?
"Stop, huzzie!" I ordered, springing forward and catching her so tightly by the wrist that she swung half-way round before she could check herself. She wrenched vigorously to get free. "Stop! Be still, you huzzie!"
"Be still—you what?" asked a low, amazed voice t
hat broke in ripples and froze my blood. A shawl fluttered to the ground, and there stood before us the apparition of a marble face.
"The Little Statue!" I gasped in sheer horror at what I had done.
"The little—what?" asked the rippling voice, that sounded like cold water flowing under ice, and a pair of eyes looked angrily down at the hand with which I was still unconsciously gripping her arm.
"I'd thank you, Sir," she began, with a mock courtesy to the priest, "I'd thank you, Sir, to call off your mastiff."
"Let her go, boy!" roared the priest with a hammering blow across my forearm that brought me to my senses and convinced me she was no wraith.
Mastiff! That epithet stung to the quick. I flung her wrist from me as if it had been hot coals. Now, a woman may tread upon a man—also stamp upon him if she has a mind to—but she must trip it daintily. Otherwise even a worm may turn against its tormentor. To have idolized that marble creature by day and night, to have laid our votive offerings on its shrine, to have hungered for the sound of a woman's lips for weeks, and to hear those lips cuttingly call me a dog—were more than I could stand.
"Ten thousand pardons, Mistress Sutherland!" I said with a pompous stiffness which I intended should be mighty crushing. "But when ladies deck themselves out as squaws and climb in and out of windows,"—that was brutal of me; she had done it for Miriam and me—"and announce themselves in unexpected ways, they need not hope to be recognized."
And did she flare back at me? Not at all.
"You waste time with your long speeches," she said, turning from me to Father Holland.
Thereupon I strode off angrily to the river bank.
"Oh, Father Holland," I heard her say as I walked away, "I must go to Pembina! I'm in such trouble! There's a Frenchman——"
Trouble, thought I; she is in trouble and I have been thinking only of my own dignity. And I stood above the river, torn between desire to rush back and wounded pride, that bade me stick it out. Over the plains came the shout of returning plunderers. I could hear the throb, throb of galloping hoofs beating nearer and nearer over the turf, and reflected that I might make the danger from returning Bois-Brulés the occasion of a reconciliation.
"Come here, lad!" called Father Holland. I needed no urging. "Ye must rig up in tam-o'-shanter and tartan, like a Highland settler, and take Mistress Sutherland back to Fort Douglas. She's going to Pembina to meet her father, lad, when I go south to the Missouri. And, lad," the priest hesitated, glancing doubtfully from Miss Sutherland to me, "I'm thinking there's a service ye might do her."
The Little Statue was looking straight at me now, and there were tear-marks about the heavy lashes. Now, I do not pretend to explain the power, or witchery, a gentle slip of a girl can wield with a pair of gray eyes; but when I met the furtive glance and saw the white, veined forehead, the arched brows, the tremulous lips, the rounded chin, and the whole face glorified by that wonderful mass of hair, I only know, without weapon or design, she dealt me a wound which I bear to this day. What a ruffian I had been! I was ashamed, and my eyes fell before hers. If a libation of blushes could appease an offended goddess, I was livid evidence of repentance. I felt myself flooded in a sudden heat of shame. She must have read my confusion, for she turned away her head to hide mantling forgiveness.
"There's a crafty Frenchman in the fort has been troubling the lassie. I'm thinking, if ye worked off some o' your anger on him, it moight be for the young man's edification. Be quick! I hear the breeds returning!"
"But I have a message," she said in choking tones.
"From whom?" I asked aimlessly enough.
"Eric Hamilton!" she answered.
"Eric Hamilton!" both the priest and I shouted.
"Yes—why? What—what—is it? He's wounded, and he wants a Rufus Gillespie, who's with the Nor'-Westers. The Bois-Brulés fired on the fort. Where is Rufus Gillespie?"
"Bless you, lassie! Here—here—here he is!" The holy father thumped my back at every word. "Here he is, crazy as a March hare for news of Hamilton!"
"You—Rufus—Gillespie!" So she did not even know my name. Evidently, if she troubled my thoughts, I did not trouble hers.
"He's told me so much about you," she went on, with a little pant of astonishment. "How brave and good——"
"Pshaw!" I interrupted roughly. "What's the message?"
"Mr. Hamilton wishes to see you at once," she answered coldly.
"Then kill two birds with one stone! Take her home and see Hamilton—and hurry!" urged the priest.
The half-breeds were now very near.
"Put it over your head!" and Father Holland clapped the shawl about Frances Sutherland after the fashion of the half-breed women.
She stood demurely behind him while I ran up-stairs in the warehouse to disguise myself in tartan plaid. When I came out, Duncan Cameron was in the gateway welcoming Cuthbert Grant and the Bois-Brulés, as if pillaging defenceless settlers were heroic. Victors from war may be inspiring, but a half-breed rabble, red-handed from deeds of violence, is not a sight to edify any man.
"What's this ye have, Father?" bawled one impudent fellow, and he pointed sneeringly at the figure in the folds of the shawl.
"Let the wench be!" was the priest's reply, and the half-breed lounged past with a laugh.
I was about to offer Frances Sutherland my arm to escort her from the mob, when I felt Father Holland's hard knuckles dig viciously into my ribs.
"Ye fool ye! Ye blundering idiot!" he whispered, "she's a half-breed. Och! But's time y'r eastern greenness was tannin' a good western russet! Let her follow with bowed head, or you'll have the whole pack on y'r heels!"
With that admonition I strode boldly out, she behind, humble, with downcast eyes like a half-breed girl.
We ran down the river path through the willows and jumping into a canoe swiftly rounded the forks of the Assiniboine and Red. There we left the canoe and fled along a trail beneath the cliff till the shouting of the half-breeds could be no longer heard. At once I turned to offer her my arm. She must have bruised her feet through the thin moccasins, for the way was very rough. I saw that she was trembling from fatigue.
"Permit me," I said, offering my arm as formally as if she had been some grand lady in an eastern drawing-room.
"Thank you—I'm afraid I must," and she reluctantly placed a light hand on my sleeve.
I did not like that condescending compulsion, and now out of danger, I became strangely embarrassed and angry in her presence. The "mastiff" epithet stuck like a barb in my boyish chivalry. Was it the wind, or a low sigh, or a silent weeping, that I heard? I longed to know, but would not turn my head, and my companion was lagging just a step behind. I slackened speed, so did she. Then a voice so low and soft and golden it might have melted a heart of stone—but what is a heart of stone compared to the wounded pride of a young man?—said, "Do you know, I think I rather like mastiffs?"
"Indeed," said I icily, in no mood for raillery.
"Like them for friends, not enemies, to be protected by them, not—not bitten," the voice continued with a provoking emphasis of the plural "them."
"Yes," said I, with equal emphasis of the obnoxious plural. "Ladies find them useful at times."
That fling silenced her and I felt a shiver run down the arm on my sleeve.
"Why, you're shivering," I blundered out. "You must let me put this round you," and I pulled off the plaid and would have placed it on her shoulders, but she resisted.
"I am not in the least cold," she answered frigidly—which is the only untruth I ever heard her tell—"and you shall not say 'must' to me," and she took her hand from my arm. She spoke with a tremor that warned me not to insist. Then I knew why she had shivered.
"Please forgive, Miss Sutherland," I begged. "I'm such a maladroit animal."
"I quite agree with you, a maladroit mastiff with teeth!"
Mastiff! That insult again! I did not reproffer my arm. We strode forward once more, she with her face turned sideways remote f
rom me, I with my face sideways remote from her, and the plaid trailing from my hand by way of showing her she could have it if she wished. We must have paced along in this amiable, post-matrimonial fashion for quite a quarter of the mile we had to go, and I was awkwardly conscious of suppressed laughing from her side. It was the rippling voice, that always seemed to me like fountain splash in the sunshine, which broke silence again.
"Really," said the low, thrilling, musical witchery by my side, "really, it's the most wonderful story I have ever heard!"
"Story?" I queried, stopping stock still and gaping at her.
"Perfectly wonderful! So intensely interesting and delightful."
"Interesting and delightful?" I interrogated in sheer amazement. This girl utterly dumfounded me, and in the conceit of youth I thought it strange that any girl could dumfound me.
"What an interesting life you have had, to be sure!"
"I have had?"
"Yes, don't you know you've been talking in torrents for the past ten minutes? No? Do you forget?" and she laughed tremulously either from embarrassment, or cold.
"Well!" said I, befooled into good-humor and laughing back. "If you give me a day's warning, I'll try to keep up with you."
"Ah! There! I've put you through the ice at last! It's been such hard work!"
"And I come up badly doused!"
"Stimulated too! You're doing well already!"
"My thanks to my instructor," and catching the spirit of her mockery, I swept her a courtly bow.
"There! There!" she cried, dropping raillery as soon as I took it up. "You were cross at the window. I was cross on the flats. You nearly wrenched my hand off——"
"Can you blame me?" I asked. "And to pay me back you turned my head and stole my heart——"
"Hush!" she interrupted. "Let's clean the slate and begin again."
"With all my heart, if you'll wear this tartan and stop shivering." I was not ready to consent to an unconditional surrender.
Lords of the North Page 11
