The Lady of North Star
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Half an hour later a fire was roaring in the improvised stove, and by its light Roger Bracknell wandered round the cabin, searching for anything that would give him a clue to the mystery. He found nothing. The hut, save for a couple of rifles reposing in the corner, and some odds and ends of no importance, was quite empty. He looked at the rifles and addressed himself to Sibou.
“Evidently the ammunition was exhausted.”
“Yes! Therefore the rifles were left. But the food was taken. Behold!”
The Indian pointed to a roughly made shelf, which corresponded to the ordinary larder of a Klondyke cabin. There was nothing there but a coffee-sack and an empty syrup-tin.
“They run from the men in the camp, and leave the rifles because they are useless, but they take the food, and they have a start – one hour – two hours – who can tell? But we follow in the morning and we find both. That so?”
“Please God, yes!” answered the corporal earnestly.
Tired out with the labours of the day, Roger Bracknell slept long and well, and woke a little after dawn with the smell of frying bacon in his nostrils. The boy Jim was preparing breakfast, but Sibou was nowhere to be seen. Questioning Jim, he learned that the Indian had gone outside an hour before and had not yet returned. Hastily throwing on his furs, the corporal passed outside, and as he did so, Sibou appeared at the edge of the woods at the back of the cabin. There was an impassive look on his mask-like face, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“Well?” asked the corporal eagerly.
The Indian swept a hand towards the woods.
“That way have they gone. The double trail is there. Also there is a dead man there!”
“A dead man?” cried the white man in sudden fear.
“An Indian! I know him not!”
“Take me to him,” said the corporal imperatively. Without a word Sibou turned and led the way into the wood, and after a few minutes’ walk Roger Bracknell found himself near the mouth of the creek, looking down into the face of a dead man. He recognized him instantly.
“He is known to you?” asked Sibou.
“Yes, he is known to me. He was the servant of the white man who lived in the cabin.”
“He was shot in the back with an arrow.” explained Sibou. “He must have been looking down at the trail when he died.”
Roger Bracknell looked at the dead Indian for a little time without speaking, then fear for what was to come shook him.
“Sibou,” he said, “we must make haste. There is not a moment to waste. Those men in the camp are very desperate men. Two men already have died at their hands, and they are now on the trail of the man who was in the hut and of the ladies whom we seek. We must follow hard!”
“Yes, hard!” answered Sibou simply. “It is a trail of death!”
Half an hour later they were on the way once more. A south wind was blowing, and they travelled with furs opened, for the day was comparatively warm, and there were many signs that spring was at hand. The trail they followed led through the forest for most of the time, but towards the end of the day followed a tributary river, and here it suddenly gathered itself together in a space of trampled snow, which spoke of many pairs of feet. The corporal looked at it in perplexity and watched Sibou, who circled round and round, seeking a solution of the enigma the trampled snow presented.
“What do you make of it, Sibou?”
“I am not sure,” answered the Indian slowly. “Something strange has happened. There has been a meeting here, for there are many footmarks, and there is a trail which goes up the river, and the trail of the ladies is not part of it.”
“But where are they? They certainly came here!”
“So!” answered Sibou. “And they went from here, since they are not to be found in this place. It is in my mind that they were carried – for there were dogs here as well as men.”
“But who – ”
“Indians! The trail is not that of white men’s feet.”
“Then we must follow,” cried the corporal.
“Yes,” answered Sibou gravely. “We must follow. But I shall go first, whilst you remain here. If I find nothing, then I shall be back in one hour or two. It is in my mind that there is an encampment not far away, and it is better that we do not take the dogs till we know. If they are bad Indians – ”
“In God’s name, hurry!” cried Roger Bracknell, his courage shaken by the thought of the new danger into which Joy Gargrave appeared to have fallen.
CHAPTER XXIII
PRISONERS
WHEN Dick Bracknell had led the way from the cabin he knew that he was leading a forlorn hope. It was possible that many hours would pass before the men in the camp discovered their flight; whilst on the other hand the discovery might be made immediately and, in that case, as the ruthlessness of the attackers had shown, there was little hope of escape. But there were dangers before as well as behind, and the wilderness of the North was itself the greatest danger. They had little food, he himself was a very sick man, ill-fitted for the strenuous toil which the situation called for, and in the woods wild beasts and wild men might lurk, against whom, armed merely with pistols and hunting knives, they would be almost helpless. All this he knew, but braced himself for the task before him, determined at all costs to save the two girls and to win Joy’s respect if that was at all possible.
When they won to the darkness of the forest without discovery, he breathed more freely, and pushed on along an ill-defined track, which he seemed to know well. As the night wore on, he grew unutterably tired, and once when he was overtaken by a fit of coughing, which left him terribly exhausted, Joy suggested that they should rest for a little while.
“Are you too tired to continue?” he asked.
“Oh no,” she answered quickly.
“Then we will keep on.”
“But you are not fit to do so,” she protested. “Your cough – ”
“What do I matter?” he replied with a mirthless laugh. “I am done for in any case, and we must be a long way from here before morning. This is the only service I shall ever be able to render you, and you are not going to deny me the chance of atonement which it gives, are you?”
“I was not thinking of that!” answered Joy gently. “I was thinking only of you.”
“And I am thinking only of you!” he retorted quickly. “I have thought of myself too long. I am very glad to have this opportunity of service, however I may regret the circumstances.”
“I am very grateful to you,” was Joy’s reply, and without further words they started anew upon their way.
Once they stopped, and ate a little food which had been prepared before leaving the cabin, and then pushed on until dawn, when a fire was lit, and a halt for a couple of hours was made. At the end of that time they resumed their desperate journey, and an hour later struck the river for which Dick Bracknell had been making. A look of relief came on his haggard face as he saw it.
“It will be easier now,” he said, “and unless the Indians have removed we shall reach the encampment all right now.”
“Unless those men overtake us!”
“Yes! In that case we are up a tree.”
“And of course if the Indians are hospitable we – Ah! Look there?”
She indicated a point a little way up the river. A man had emerged from the trees. He stood there regarding them for a moment, then without a sign he withdrew.
“An Indian,” said Joy quickly. “I am sure of it!”
“Yes,” answered Dick Bracknell slowly, “an Indian. But he may be one of these men who are following us. The question is, what are we to do? Our way lies up river.”
“Perhaps it will be better if we take to the woods again,” suggested Miss La Farge.
“There is little to be gained by doing that,” replied Bracknell. “The man has seen us, and if he is hostile he will follow. The only course, I think, is to keep straight on.”
They were still discussing when Joy broke in.
“The question is solved for us,” she said quickly. “There are men in the wood behind us. See!”
She had scarcely spoken when an Indian stepped from the wood, and another followed, and another until seven men stood on the trail.
“How!” said the leader, approaching them.
Bracknell replied to the salutation, and the man spoke to his companions who drew nearer, apparently quite friendly disposed to them. Then came a change. One of the men stepped forward, looked at the white man, and gave a sudden exclamation. Then he turned towards his companions and addressed them volubly. Joy strove to catch what he was saying, but the dialect in which he spoke was strange to her, and she could make nothing of his words. It was clear to her, however, that the man was excited, and as he spoke the excitement communicated itself to his companions. Joy looked at Dick Bracknell for an explanation, and found that his face was very white.
“What is it?” she asked quickly. “Something has gone wrong?”
“Yes, terribly wrong. These men will be merciless. I have done you my last dis-service.”
“What do you mean?” she questioned, as she looked at the gesticulating natives.
“I did this tribe a grave wrong, two years ago. One of the men has recognized me, and I think there is little hope for us. We might put up a fight, but it would probably be little use, and would certainly jeopardize your life as well as mine. If they get me, they may let you go. It is worth trying. I will explain and perhaps – ” He broke off and took a step forward.
“What are you going to do?” inquired Joy sharply.
“Just going to try what a little explanation will do,” he answered, “a little explanation coupled with persuasion.”
“No!” she replied quickly. “You are going to make a bargain with those men. I know you are, and I shall not agree. We stand or fall together.”
“Do you think you are wise?” he asked.
“I do not know whether I am wise or not,” she answered firmly. “But I keep the faith of the trail, and I shall not leave you in the lurch. Neither will Babette, I am sure.”
As he regarded her, a strange look came into his eyes, a look of mingled pride and pain.
“Joy,” he said brokenly, “you are a great woman and I was never worthy of you!.. You can take your chances with me if you like. When I come to think upon it they are perhaps as good as those that wandering in the wilderness, short of stores, offers. They may spare you; who knows? And it is coming spring. You can feel it in the air. A few days and the river will begin to break up, and then will come white men, prospectors and what not. You may have a chance.”
“It is by that chance I shall abide,” Joy replied, “and not by any that leaves you to the mercy of savages.”
The Indians finished their confabulation and the leader stepped forward again, and with lowering looks addressed himself to Dick Bracknell, who nodded and then handed over his pistol and hunting knife, and with his back to Joy addressed her in warning.
“Keep your pistol out of sight, Joy. These brutes will not suspect you are carrying one, and we may yet find it very useful. They demand that we accompany them to their encampment up the river. I have agreed, since there is nothing else that I can do. I do not think they will hurt you or Miss La Farge – yet.”
A few minutes later they started and presently arrived at an encampment consisting of perhaps a score of tepees. Dogs greeted their coming noisily, children and women came out of the skin tents to look at them, and a few men joined their captors as they moved towards the centre of the camp. Just as they halted, a tall Indian came out of one of the tents, and by his side tottered a man who seemed incredibly old, but though his step was feeble, his eyes were keen, and as they fell on Dick Bracknell they lighted with sudden ferocity, and as she caught the glare he directed towards them, Joy felt the clutch of fear at her heart.
“Who is that old man?” she asked. “He knows you. I saw the recognition leap in his eyes.”
“He is the Shaman – the tribal witch-doctor, you know. I am afraid his recognition of me is not a propitious one. He is a ferocious old beast, and he owes me one.”
“What have you done to the tribe,” asked Joy curiously, “that all of them should be against you?”
Bracknell laughed shortly. “I am afraid I cannot unfold the record of that particular sin for your gaze. It was a wild, mad thing, but it seemed all right at the time. Now I think I shall have to pay for it – and you too. I seem to be your evil genius,” he added penitently.
Joy did not reply. She was watching the proceedings of the Shaman, who after listening to their captors, tottered up to Bracknell and surveyed him with eyes that were gloating and cruel. Joy shuddered as she read the evil triumph in the old savage’s face, and looked at her husband. Apparently he was altogether composed, and there was a contemptuous look on his haggard face. Joy was conscious of a certain thrill of pride as she looked at him. Dick Bracknell might have many weaknesses, but cowardice was not one of them. Then the Shaman spoke, mumbling through toothless gums, and though she did not understand a single word of what he was saying, Joy caught the rasping menace in his voice and shuddered again. The Shaman laughed as he broke off, a throaty, croaking laugh, which seemed unutterably evil; and a moment later they were hurried to one of the tepees and the skin door was thrown together and lashed outside. In the darkness, Joy spoke.
“What was that old savage saying to you, Dick?”
Bracknell laughed shortly. “Oh, he was promising himself pleasure and me pain, indeed my pain was to be his pleasure.”
“Ah! You mean they are going to torture you?”
“I shouldn’t wonder!”
“Will they be long before – ?”
“Tonight, I fancy! It seems the tribe is in luck. A couple of moose were killed this morning, and a potlatch – sort of tribal bean-feast, you know – is arranged for tonight and most of them will gorge. The Shaman will no doubt arrange some form of entertainment in which I shall take a star part!”
“Oh, it is dreadful!” cried Joy.
In the darkness she heard Dick Bracknell draw his breath sharply, and a second later a hand touched hers. She did not shrink, but remained quite still, and then heard him speak in a broken, stammering whisper —
“My dear … I’m infernally sorry … to have brought you into this mess, I … I – ”
“We shall have to get away before,” broke in Joy’s voice. “We can’t remain here and wait for a thing like that to happen.”
“What will it matter?” he asked lightly. “It will be the end – for me. But if it will save you, I do not care.”
Joy did not answer, she knew that he was sincere, but she did not know what to say, and presently he spoke again —
“I do not know what we can do. If we try to get away they will follow, and they will travel faster than we shall. And besides, with the food gone the attempt would be hopeless. One cannot go into the wilderness without grub.”
They sat discussing the situation quietly, and outside, the clamour of the camp grew. Once Joy, finding a small hole in the tent, peeped out. On the edge of the encampment a great fire had been lit, and around it a number of women and men were engaged in trampling the snow hard. She guessed that it was there that the potlatch was to be held, and wondered what would happen when the Indians had feasted. The uncouth figures moving to and fro, and cut out from the deepening darkness by the glow of the fire, seemed inconceivably wild and grotesque, and once, when the strange form of the Shaman shuffled into view, and stood gesticulating and pointing to the tepee, she shuddered.
She knew that these men were as the men of the Stone Age, that pity was a quality to which they were strangers, and that they would do things which, merely to think of, made her shake with terror.
“Oh,” she cried sharply, “is there nothing that we – ”
“Hush!” broke in Dick Bracknell’s voice peremptorily. “Listen!”
All three listened. Some one was fumbling at the back of the tent, then presently there came a ripping noise, and a voice whispered, “Are you there?”
Even at that moment Joy Gargrave’s heart leaped as she recognized it.
“Yes, Corporal Bracknell. Your cousin, Babette and myself are here.”
“Can you move? Are you free?”
“Quite free.”
“Wait a moment, then.” The sound of slitting hide was heard once more, then came the corporal’s voice again, “You must slip out through the hole I have cut. Quickly! There is not a moment to lose.”
Joy felt herself propelled forward and thrust through the opening which the corporal had cut, and whilst another pair of hands guided her, caught Dick Bracknell’s whisper, “Now – Miss La Farge!”
Babette slipped out, and two seconds later Dick Bracknell followed.
“This way,” said the corporal quickly. “As silently as you can.”
He led the way through the darkness to the river bank, and as they began to descend he whispered to Joy —
“Your boy Jim, and my man Sibou, are waiting for us with the dogs, a little way off.”
“Then Jim is safe?”
“Yes, he found me, and told me what had happened to – By George, listen!”
An ear-splitting yell sounded from the direction of the encampment. It was followed by another, and that by a great clamour.
“They have discovered our escape,” said Dick Bracknell grimly. “Hurry! where are you taking us, Roger? Have you a rifle?”
“Yes! I have a rifle – ”
“Then give it me. Listen to that! The hunt is up. Give me the gun. I’ll hold the pass.”
As he spoke he laughed a laugh that sounded harshly in the night, then broke off. “Great Scott! They’re in front of us already! Look there!”
The dark figures had appeared on the snow in front, but the corporal quickly dispelled the fears their appearance had awakened.
“My man, and the boy Jim! Hurry! Those beggars behind are following fast.”
Dick Bracknell looked round. Against the red glare of the great camp fire half a score of dark figures showed plainly. They were running towards the fugitives. An exultant yell told the latter that they had been seen.
“For God’s sake, give me the rifle, and get the girls away, Roger, old man. I’m crocked, and can’t travel fast, but I can hold those devils back.”
“But – but – ”
“Can’t you see this is my chance of doing the decent thing? For God’s sake don’t deny me, man!”
Roger Bracknell looked into his cousin’s haggard face, and understood. Silently he put his rifle into his cousin’s hand, and unbuckling his bandolier, threw it on him.
“Thanks, old man! Thanks, awfully!”
“I’ll send my man to back you, and when I’ve started the girls I’ll return myself.”
“No!” replied Dick Bracknell. “You go with them. You must! It’s necessary.” He lifted the rifle as he spoke and sighting at the foremost of the pursuers pulled the trigger.
“One!” he said exultantly, as one of the running shadows toppled into the snow. “The beggars aren’t thinking of the light behind them… Go!” he said again. “Go with the girls and send your man. Let me play the hero for once… Man!” he blazed suddenly, “can’t you see it is all that is left to me.”
“Yes,” replied his cousin, “I can see it, and I’ll go. But you must promise me that you won’t stay longer than – ”
The rifle cracked again, and then Dick Bracknell replied. “I’ll promise anything you like if you’ll only go and get Joy away.”
Then, very reluctantly, Corporal Bracknell went.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE PRODIGAL MAKES GOOD
“DICK INSISTED,” explained Corporal Bracknell, as with Joy and her foster-sister and the boy Jim he fled down the river. “I could see he wanted the post of danger – and I could not refuse. Sibou is with him, and I think they will hold the pursuit.”
For a moment Joy did not speak. She was thinking of the consideration Dick Bracknell had shown to her during the last two days, and understood quite well that now he was endeavouring to atone for the wrong he had once done her. Pity surged in her heart as she thought of him weak and ill, holding back a horde of savage men, pity and gratitude, but no warmer emotion, for Dick Bracknell had killed all possibility of that in that moment at Alcombe, when, on her marriage morning she had made that startling discovery of his perfidy.
“Do you think that – that Dick will get away also?” she asked at last.
“I hope so,” the corporal answered evasively. “I made him promise not to stay too long. But he is a sick man and in the mood for anything. I believed he rejoiced at the prospect of a fight against odds. It is not surprising and – Listen! There they go again. They were both together that time.”
From time to time as they raced hot-foot down the trail the reports of rifles reached them, and they knew that the fight was still proceeding, and that the two defenders were holding their own. Once when the interval between the shots was especially long, Corporal Bracknell’s face grew very thoughtful, and so absorbed and intent was he that Joy addressed a question to him twice before he heard her.
“Corporal Bracknell, do you think that Dick can recover from his sickness?”
“I am afraid not,” replied the corporal slowly, then gave an ejaculation as the distant report of a rifle broke the silence behind them. “Good! They’re still keeping it up.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“Because I have seen other men like it. I have never known one to recover.”
“Do … do you think Dick knows?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I am sure of it!”
“It is very pitiful,” she said. “He is not all bad – ”
“He is very far from being that,” interrupted the corporal.
“He might have made good, even yet, if he were not so sick.”
“Perhaps he is making good,” replied the corporal gently.
“Yes,” she answered simply. “I think he is trying. In spite of the past I shall be in his debt. Ah! What is that?”
There had been a sudden increase of clamour behind them. Distant yells were sounding, and the two rifles were firing in rapid succession. For perhaps a minute and a half this went on, then came silence, followed by a single shot, and that again by a silence which remained unbroken. Corporal Bracknell stopped irresolutely.
“What do you think?” Joy whispered.
“I think it is the end one way or the other,” was the reply. “The last yell sounded as if the Indians were charging. In that case, unless the rush was stopped – ”
“Dick and your man are dead?”
“Something of that kind. I think I must go back, and try and learn what has happened. There is nothing else for it. I simply can’t desert them without knowing what has befallen. You keep right on until you reach the main river – I will not be longer than necessary.”
“We shall wait at the fork,” she answered quickly.
“But – ”
“We shall wait,” she repeated resolutely, and taking a rifle from one of the sleds, she handed it to him.
“You may need it,” she said quietly. “And we have one left yet.”
He did not speak, but nodding his thanks, turned in the tracks, and proceeded up river once more. He went swiftly but cautiously; and after travelling half an hour, caught sight of a lumpy shadow coming down the river. Hastily he took refuge against the bank, and waited with his rifle ready. The shadow drew nearer, and then he perceived that it was made up of two men, one riding on the back of the other. At the same time he caught the sound of a protesting voice —
“It’s not worth while, old horse. Put me down and quit. They say – ”
A moment later Roger Bracknell was running towards them.
“Dick! Dick!” he cried gladly.
“Where … where … are the girls … Joy?” asked his cousin in a voice that sounded harsh.
“They are all right. They are well in front!”
“Good!” There was a note of relief in Dick Bracknell’s voice, as he spoke, then he gave a little laugh. “Behold the victors! Roger, my son, it was topping. We stood a charge and … and cleared the board. It was gorgeous.”
He laughed weakly, and his cousin looked at him anxiously.
“But you are hurt, Dick, old man?”
“Plugged … with an arrow … in the ribs. Sibou’s all right, though. And I tried to make him … leave me … on the field of glory. B – but he’s a mutinous beggar.”
Weak though he was, there was a reckless gaiety in his manner, which almost moved the corporal to tears.
“Dick, don’t you think you had better not talk? It’s bound to try you, as you are. When we get to the sleds I will look to your wound, and – ”