Lords of the North

by Laut, Agnes C

  "Nonsense, Louis," I expostulated. "'Tis I who am in your debt. I owe you my life twice over. How shall I pay you?" and I made to go down to my canoe.

  "Pay me?" demanded Louis, thrusting himself across my path in a menacing attitude. "Stand and pay me like a man!"

  "I am standing," I laughed. "Now, how shall I pay you?"

  "Strike!" ordered Louis, launching out a blow which I barely missed. "Strike, I say, for kicking me, the son of a seigneur, like a pig!"

  At that, half a dozen more drunken vagabonds of the Hudson's Bay service reeled up from the cellar pit; and I began to understand I was in for as much mischief as a young man could desire. The fellows were about us in a circle, and now, that it was too late, I was quite prepared like the fly and the fish to seek safety in flight.

  "Sink his canoe," suggested one; and I saw that borrowed craft swamped.

  "Strike! Sacredie! I pay you back generous," roared Louis. "How can I, Louis Laplante, son of a seigneur, strike a man who won't hit back?"

  "And how can I strike a man who saved my life?" I urged, trying to mollify him. "See here, Louis, I'm on a message for my company to-night. I can't wait. Some other day you can pay me all you like—not to-night, some-other-time——"

  "Some-oder-time! No—never! Some-oder-time—'tis the way I pay my own debts, always some-oder-time, and I never not pay at all. You no some-oder-time me, comrade! Louis knows some-oder-time too well! He quit his cups some-oder-time and he never quit, not at all! He quit wild Indian some-oder-time, and he never quit, not at all! And he go home and say his confess to the curé some-oder-time, and he never go, not at all! And he settle down with a wife and become a grand seigneur some-oder-time, and he never settle down at all!"

  "Good night, Laplante! I have business for the company. I must go," I interrupted, trying to brush through the group that surrounded us.

  "So have we business for the company, the Hudson's Bay Company, and you can't go," chimed in one of the least intoxicated of the rival trappers; and they closed about me so that I had not striking room.

  "Are you men looking for trouble?" I asked, involuntarily fingering my pistol belt.

  "No—we're looking for the Nor'-West brigade billed to pass from Fort William to Athabasca," jeered the boldest of the crowd, a red-faced, middle-aged man with blear eyes. "We're looking for the Nor'-Westers' express," and he laughed insolently.

  "You don't expect to find our brigades in Fort Gibraltar's cellar," said I, backing away from them and piecing this latest information to what I had already heard of plots and conspiracies.

  Forthwith I felt strong hands gripping both my arms like a vise and the coils of a rope were about me with the swiftness of a lasso. My first impulse was to struggle against the outrage; but I was beginning to learn the service of open ears and a closed mouth was often more valuable than a fighter's blows. Already I had ascertained from their own lips that the Hudson's Bay intended to molest our north-bound brigade.

  "Well," said I, with a laugh, which surprised the rascals mightily, "now you've captured your elephant, what do you propose to do with him?"

  Without answering, the men shambled down to the landing place of the fort, jostling me along between the red-faced man and Louis Laplante.

  "I consider this a scurvy trick, Louis," said I. "You've let me into a pretty scrape with your idiotic heroics about paying back a fancied grudge. To save a mouse from the tigers, Louis, and then feed him to your cats! Fie, man! I like your son-of-a-seigneur ideas of honor!"

  "Ingrate! Low-born ingrate," snapped the Frenchman, preparing to strike one of his dramatic attitudes, "if I were not the son of a seigneur, and you a man with bound arms, you should swallow those words," and he squared up to me for a second time. "If you won't fight, you shan't run away——"

  "Off with your French brag," ordered the soberest of the Hudson's Bay men, catching Louis by the scruff of his coat and spinning him out of the way. "There'll be neither fighting nor running away. It is to Fort Douglas we'll take our fine spy."

  The words stung, but I muffled my indignation.

  "I'll go with pleasure," I returned, thinking that Frances Sutherland and Hamilton and Father Holland were good enough company to compensate for any captivity. "With pleasure, and 'tis not the first time I'll have found friends in the Hudson's Bay fort."

  At that speech, the red-faced man, who seemed to be the ringleader, eyed me narrowly. We all embarked on a rickety raft, that would, I declare, have drowned any six sober men who risked their lives on it; but drunk men and children seem to do what sober, grown folk may not are.

  How Louis Laplante was for fighting a duel en route with the man, who spoke of "French brag" and was only dissuaded from his purpose by the raft suddenly teetering at an angle of forty-five degrees with the water, which threatened to toboggan us all into mid-river; how I was then stationed in the centre and the other men distributed equally on each side of the raft to maintain balance; how we swung out into the Red, rocking with each shifting of the crew and were treated to a volley of objurgations from the red-faced man—I do not intend to relate. This sort of melodrama may be seen wherever there are drunken men, a raft and a river. The men poled only fitfully, and we were driven solely by the current. It was dark long before we had neared Fort Douglas and the waters swished past with an inky, glassy sheen that vividly recalled the murky pool about the beaver-dam. And yet I had no fear, but drifted along utterly indifferent to the termination of the freakish escapade in which I had become involved. Nature mercifully sets a limit to human capacity for suffering; and I felt I had reached that limit. Nothing worse could happen than had happened, at least, so I told myself, and I awaited with cynical curiosity what might take place inside the Hudson's Bay fort. Then a shaft of lantern light pierced the dark, striking aslant the river, and the men began poling hard for Fort Douglas wharf. We struck the landing with a bump, disembarked, passed the sentinel at the gate and were at the entrance to the main building.

  "You kick me here," said Louis. "I pay you back here!"

  "What are you going to do with him?" asked the soberest man of the red-faced leader.

  "Hand him over to Governor Semple for a spy."

  "The governor's abed. Besides, they don't want him about to hear H. B. secrets when the Nor'-West brigade's a-coming! You'd better get sobered up, yez hed! That's my advice to yez, before going to Governor Semple," and the prudent trapper led the way inside. To the fore was the main stairway, on the right the closed store, and on the left a small apartment which the governor had fitted up as a private office. For some unaccountable reason—the same reason, I suppose, that mischief is always awaiting the mischief-maker—the door to this office had been left ajar and a light burned inside. 'Twas Louis, ever alert, when mischief was abroad, who tip-toed over to the open door, poked his head in and motioned his drunken companions across the sacred precincts of Governor Semple's private room. I was loath to be a party to this mad nonsense, but the fly and the fish should have thought of results before venturing too near strange coils. The red-faced fellow gave me a push. The sober man muttered, "Better come, or they'll raise a row," and we were all within the forbidden place, the door shut and bolted.

  To city folk, used to the luxuries of the east, I dare say that office would have seemed mean enough. But the men had been so long away from leather chairs, hair-cloth sofa, wall mirror, wine decanter and other odds and ends which furnish a gentleman's living apartments that the very memory of such things had faded, and that small room, with its old-country air, seemed the vestibule to another world.

  "Sump—too—uss—ain't it?" asked the sober man with bated breath and obvious distrust of his tongue.

  "Mag—nee—feque! M. Louis Laplante, look you there," cried the Frenchman, catching sight of his full figure in the mirror and instantly striking a pose of admiration. Then he twirled fiercely at both ends of his mustache till it stood out with the wire finish of a Parisian dandy.

  The red-faced fellow had perm
itted me, with arms still tied, to walk across the room and sit on the hair-cloth sofa. He was lolling back in the governor's armchair, playing the lord and puffing one of Mr. Semple's fine pipes.

  "We are gentlemen adventurers of the ancient and honorable Hudson's Bay Company, gentlemen adventurers," he roared, bringing his fist down with a thud on the desk. "We hereby decree that the Fort William brigade be captured, that the whisky be freely given to every dry-throated lad in the Hudson's Bay Company, that the Nor'-Westers be sent down the Red on a raft, that this meeting raftify this dissolution, afterwards moving—seconding—and unanimously amending——"

  "Adjourning—you mean," interrupted one of the orator's audience.

  "I say," called one, who had been dazed by the splendor, "how do you tell which is the lookin' glass and which is the window?" And he looked from the window on one side to its exact reflection, length and width, directly opposite.

  The puzzle was left unsolved; for just then Louis Laplante found a flask of liquor and speedily divided its contents among the crowd—which was not calculated to clear up mysteries of windows and mirrors among those addle-pates. Dull wit may be sport for drunken men, but it is mighty flat to an onlooker, and I was out of patience with their carousal.

  "The governor will be back here presently, Louis," said I.

  "Tired of being a tombstone, ha—ha! Better be a champagne bottle!" he laughed with slightly thickened articulation and increased unsteadiness in his gait.

  "If you don't hide that bottle in your hand, there'll be a big head and a sore head for you men to-morrow morning." I rose to try and get them out of the office; but a sober man with tied arms among a drunken crew is at a disadvantage.

  "Ha—old—wise—sh—head! To—be—sh—shure! Whur—d'—y'—hide—it?"

  "Throw it out of the window," said I, without the slightest idea of leading him into mischief.

  "Whish—whish—ish—the window, Rufush?" asked Louis imploringly.

  The last potion had done its work and Louis was passing from the jovial to the pensive stage. He would presently reach a mood which might be ugly enough for a companion in bonds. Was it this prospect, I wonder, or the mischievous spirit pervading the very air from the time I reached the ruins that suggested a way out of my dilemma?

  "Throw it out of the window," said I, ignoring his question and shoving him off.

  "Whish—ish—the window—dammie?" he asked, holding the bottle irresolutely and looking in befuddled distraction from side to side of the room.

  "Thur—both—windows—fur as I see," said the man, who had been sober, but was no longer so.

  "Throw it through the back window! Folks comin' in at the door won't see it."

  The red-faced man got up to investigate, and all faith in my plan died within me; but the lantern light was dusky and the red-faced man could no longer navigate a course from window to mirror.

  "There's a winder there," said he, scratching his head and looking at the window reflected in perfect proportion on the mirrored surface.

  "And there's a winder there," he declared, pointing at the real window. "They're both winders and they're both lookin'-glasses, for I see us all in both of them. This place is haunted. Lem-me out!"

  "Take thish, then," cried Louis, shoving the bottle towards him and floundering across to the door to bar the way. "Take thish, or tell me whish—ish—the window."

  "Both winders, I tell you, and both lookin'-glasses," vowed the man. The other four fellows declined to express an opinion for the very good reason that two were asleep and two befuddled beyond questioning.

  "See here, Louis," I exclaimed, "there's only one way to tell where to throw that bottle."

  "Yesh, Rufush," and he came to me as if I were his only friend on earth.

  "The bottle will go through the window and it won't go through the mirror," I began.

  "Dammie—I knew that," he snapped out, ready to weep.

  "Well—you undo these things," nodding to the ropes about my arms, "and I'll find out which opens, and the one that opens is the window, and you can throw out the bottle."

  "The very thing, Rufush, wise—sh—head—old—old—ol' solemncholy," and he ripped the ropes off me.

  Now I offer no excuse for what I did. I could have opened that window and let myself out some distance ahead of the bottle, without involving Louis and his gang in greater mischief. What I did was not out of spite to the governor of a rival company; but mischief, as I said, was in the very air. Besides, the knaves had delayed me far into midnight, and I had no scruples about giving each twenty-four hours in the fort guardroom. I took a precautionary inspection of the window-sash. Yes, I was sure I could leap through, carrying out sash and all.

  "Hurry—ol' tombshtone—governor—sh-comin'," urged Louis.

  I made towards the window and fumbled at the sash.

  "This doesn't open," said I, which was quite true, for I did not try to budge it. Then I went across to the mirror. "Neither does this," said I.

  "Wha'—wha'—'ll—we do—Rufush?"

  "I'll tell you. You can jump through a window but not through a glass. Now you count—one two—three,"—this to the red-faced man—"and when you say 'three' I'll give a run and jump. If I fall back, you'll know it's the mirror, and fling the bottle quick through the other. Ready, count!"

  "One," said the red-faced man.

  Louis raised his arm and I prepared for a dash.

  "Two!"

  Louis brought back his arm to gain stronger sweep.

  "Three!"

  I gave a leap and made as though I had fallen back. There was the pistol-shot splintering of bottle and mirror crashing down to the floor. The window frame gave with a burst, and I was outside rushing past the sleepy sentinel, who poured out a volley of curses after me.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXII

  A DAY OF RECKONING

  As well play pussy-wants-a-corner with a tiger as make-believe war with an Indian. In both cases the fun may become ghastly earnest with no time for cry-quits. So it was with the great fur-trading companies at the beginning of this century. Each held the Indian in subjection and thought to use him with daring impunity against its rival. And each was caught in the meshes of its own merry game.

  I, as a Nor'-Wester, of course, consider that the lawless acts of the Hudson's Bay had been for three years educating the natives up to the tragedy of June 19, 1816. But this is wholly a partisan, opinion. Certainly both companies have lied outrageously about the results of their quarrels. The truth is Hudson's Bay and Nor'-Westers were playing war with the Indian. Consequences having exceeded all calculation, both companies would fain free themselves of blame.

  For instance, it has been said the Hudson's Bay people had no intention of intercepting the North-West brigade bound up the Red and Assiniboine for the interior—this assertion despite the fact our rivals had pillaged every North-West fort that could be attacked. Now I acknowledge the Nor'-Westers disclaim hostile purpose in the rally of three hundred Bois-Brulés to the Portage; but this sits not well with the warlike appearance of these armed plain rangers, who sallied forth to protect the Fort William express. Nor does it agree with the expectations of the Indian rabble, who flocked on our rear like carrion birds keen for the spoils of battle. Both companies had—as it were—leveled and cocked their weapon. To send it off needed but a spark, and a slight misunderstanding ignited that spark.

  My arrival at the Portage had the instantaneous effect of sending two strong battalions of Bois-Brulés hot-foot across country to meet the Fort William express before it could reach Fort Douglas. They were to convoy it overland to a point on the Assiniboine where it could be reshipped. To the second of these parties, I attached myself. I was anxious to attempt a visit to Hamilton. There was some one else whom I hoped to find at Fort Douglas; so I refused to rest at the Portage, though I had been in my saddle almost constantly for twenty days.

  When we set out, I confess I did not like the look of things. Those Ind
ians smeared with paint and decked out with the feathered war-cap kept increasing to our rear. There were the eagles! Where was the carcass? The presence of these sinister fellows, hot with the lust of blood, had ominous significance. Among the half-breeds there was unconcealed excitement.

  Shortly before we struck off the Assiniboine trail northward for the Red, in order to meet the expected brigade beyond Fort Douglas, some of our people slipped back to the Indian rabble. When they reappeared, they were togged out in native war-gear with too many tomahawks and pistols for the good of those who might interfere with our mission. There was no misunderstanding the ugly temper of the men. Here, I wish to testify that explicit orders were given for the forces to avoid passing near Fort Douglas, or in any way provoking conflict. There was placed in charge of our division the most powerful plain-ranger in the service of the company, the one person of all others, who might control the natives in case of an outbreak—and that man was Cuthbert Grant. Pierre, the minstrel, and six clerks were also in the party; but what could a handful of moderate men do with a horde of Indians and Metis wrought up to a fury of revenge?

  "Now, deuce take those rascals! What are they doing?" exclaimed Grant angrily, as we left the river trail and skirted round a slough of Frog Plains on the side remote from Fort Douglas. Our forces were following in straggling disorder. The first battalions of the Bois-Brulés, which had already rounded the marsh, were now in the settlement on Red River bank. It was to them that Grant referred. Commanding a halt and raising his spy-glass, he took an anxious survey of the foreground.

  "There's something seriously wrong," he said. "Strikes me we're near a powder mine! Here, Gillespie, you look!" He handed the field-glass to me.

  A great commotion was visible among the settlers. Ox-carts packed with people were jolting in hurried confusion towards Fort Douglas. Behind, tore a motley throng of men, women and children, running like a frightened flock of sheep. Whatever the cause of alarm, our men were not molesting them; for I watched the horsemen proceeding leisurely to the appointed rendezvous, till the last rider disappeared among the woods of the river path.