Menotah: A Tale of the Riel Rebellion
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Menotah had quickly commenced to ridicule her companion upon his singular want of graceful motion. The Captain recognised his persecutor, and smiled broadly with pleasure. 'You're a fine gal, and good-looking gal,' he declared. 'Come and sit on my knee.'
Which pleasant invitation was scornfully refused. 'I shall stay here, and you can sit by yourself,' she said. 'What have you been doing to-night?'
'Thinking of you,' replied Dave, effusively. 'Always doing it – first thing in morning, last thing at night.'
She regarded his wobbling figure with a laugh. 'It has been too much for your feet. If you think any more, your legs will give way.'
Dave whined at the imputation. 'I'm all right. See me walk the chalked line.' Then he commenced to gyrate towards her.
She doubled her little fist. 'If you come any nearer, I shall hit you in the face.'
The Captain chuckled happily, and made a fresh lurch onward. 'I know you gals – all the same. Never let a fine-looking man alone. Lots have tried to catch Dave Spencer – shook 'em off, though, every time. Always said – going to marry Menotah and settle down comfortable.'
The girl laughed. 'Why,' she cried frankly, 'you are uglier than a jack-fish, and as stupid as a tree-partridge! Don't you know that?'
The Captain was in a condition only to appreciate compliments. 'You agree to that quick enough. I know you gals – never let a good chance slip. Come, give me a kiss.'
Menotah turned to escape, but in doing so stepped upon a fragment of Lamont's broken glass. She cried sharply, for she was barefooted; but the next instant Dave had flung two unsteady arms round her, while his hot tainted breath struck against her cheek.
Yet, before he could put his amorous designs in execution, Lamont was across the floor, and had seized him angrily by the collar. He dragged him away, struggling violently, and shouting like a maniac.
'Unfix me. I'll pay you for mauling my carcase. You don't know Dave Spencer, I guess. Who the devil are you, anyway?'
Menotah nursed her foot upon the lounge, watching her protector with soft eyes. Dave slobbered along the floor, cursing and groaning, then turned his dull head round and looked up into Lamont's face. The same moment Menotah turned up the lamp flame, though scanty light could penetrate the blackened chimney. Still, the incessant lightning, across window and half open door, was sufficient by itself.
Suddenly Dave shot a shaking finger upward. 'I know you!' he cried madly. 'White Chief! Ho, ho! White Chief!'
It might have been the electric light that cast the livid hue across Lamont's features. Certainly he started wildly, then recollected in whose presence he stood, and laughed.
'Pshaw!' he muttered, 'if you weren't three sheets in the wind, I'd stuff you with lead for that.'
The Captain kept his strange dark eyes fixed vindictively. 'I saw you once,' he shrieked; 'saw you one evening without your paint. White Chief! I'll hand you over. You will swing along with Riel. You will be hung!'
The thunder rose from the heart of the great silence, and roared fearfully. When it died into mutterings, the thick breathing of the sleeping Factor within was distinctly audible. Lamont kicked the drunken body, and turned to Menotah with a gesture of contempt.
'Come,' he said, 'I will take you to your home.' She looked at him pathetically, almost as a wounded stag who expects the death blow. Then she silently pointed to a scarlet line across the little brown foot.
He fell to his knee and kissed passionately the spot indicated. Then he drew the silk scarf from his throat and bound up the delicate limb. While doing so, she bent down and pressed her lips fervently to the white skin at the back of his neck.
Dave had forgotten his accusation, and, still muttering upon the floor, was rapidly sinking into a natural stupor. The boat departed in the early morning, and in her Lamont had sworn to take passage. But much might be performed before the dawning. McAuliffe lay in a dead sleep; Justin tended the Icelander in a riverside hut; Denton was safely out of the way. Good.
'Shall I carry you in my arms, chérie?' he asked.
'I can walk now,' she replied. 'We must go before the wind strikes us.'
They stepped from the fort during one of the short, terribly intense periods of silence. Immediately there rang forth the sullen report of a muzzle-loader. It came from the opposite shore, and hung over the forest until dispelled by the thunder.
'It is Muskwah,' said the girl. 'He has hunted the moose since morning, and now returns. That is his signal. The Chief would marry me to him,' she concluded indifferently.
They came to the edge of the cliff. The electric fire blazed with stronger fury, yet not a drop of rain fell from the copper sky to the parched ground, not a motion of air stole through the solemn pines. Beneath, the mighty Saskatchewan swelled away, its oil-like water converted into a sea of fire, overhung by ever-changing blood shadows.
Menotah released his arm with a little cry of fear, as a narrow ribbon of flame darted along his back and struck across the rock. 'Why have you the rifle?'
Lamont feigned surprise. 'I forgot,' he said quickly. 'I will cover it with my coat.' He did so, then turned to the girl again.
'It is not far through the forest, Menotah. I wish you to go to the encampment by yourself.'
She demurred, but obeyed. He made as though he would return to the fort, but she gave a little cry, and he turned, to find her standing beside him with uplifted face. 'You forgot me,' she said pitifully.
'No, chérie; I was only afraid of the fire striking you.' He kissed her many times, then she stepped into the bushes with a backward glance.
So he was alone. The rifle was again uncovered, while he knelt on the rocky headland, with eyes fixed upon the dark shadows beneath the opposing bank. Minutes dragged along slowly as he crouched, like a dark statue, until eyes dimmed with the strained gaze and, in the intervals of great silence, heart-beats rose in loud pulsations. But it was not for long he waited. A canoe shot suddenly forth from the dark shadows beyond. It carried a single occupant, one who headed the frail craft with dexterous paddle strokes straight for the point. He knelt to his work; the figure was erect, rejoicing in strength and manhood. It was the bearing of one who has secured the victory, who sees happiness before him on the life pathway.
Now he had reached the centre of the great river, and the white paddle shone like a glass beneath the fire. Then the stern-faced watcher perceived in the illumination the features, the swelling muscles, the proud might of the warrior Muskwah. Another stroke, and the canoe half sprang from the water like a graceful bird, to fall back and dart along, cutting through the sanguine waters and casting aside two wide lines of ruddy waves.
'He must not land. The time has come.'
Such words were spoken by an avenging voice from the heart of the storm. He raised and levelled that murderous rifle; the stock burnt his cheek: lightning confused the sights; then he settled himself like a rock, as the forefinger caressed the trigger. The reverberating crack was swallowed by the revelry above, the gleaming river received in its bosom the harmless missive.
'Again!' The single word circled from the red mystery of the tempest. The warrior approached the shore. Should he reach that dark shelter of the cliff, he must escape beneath the forest shadows, while another life would pay the penalty of failure.
The rifle came up, with the wild lights playing and leaping along its narrow length. A bullet darted forth and pierced the brown bark at the side.
'Again!'
He could see the Indian's frightened face, as he struggled madly towards the rock-lined shore, the friendly shadows, where he might creep away in safety; but there was no thought of pity, no compunction at depriving mortality of its best. Only he passed a hand across his eyes and straightened himself for a more resolute effort. Then the keen eye glanced again from sight to sight, while the storm fiend spoke for the last time, —
'The wind is coming. There will be opportunity only for two more shots.'
Half lifting the gaze from his glowing weapon, he perceived the heads of the most distant pines on the heaving sky line bend almost double, yet amid a silence most intense. That fearful calm could have no other ending. In three minutes the tornado must burst upon them.
An unearthly moaning shuddered over forest and river. At the same moment the heavens divided into a myriad fiery serpents, writhing and hissing to every point of the compass. As this avenging host convulsed the livid sky, a death bullet shrieked from the shore and savagely bit the warrior's left shoulder.
He dropped with a wild cry; the birch bark overturned, scarlet waters foamed and twisted like a furnace with the grim struggle. And after came the common end of all.
In the last interval of stillness, Lamont wiped the sweat from his forehead, and again covered the rifle. The wind approached. He prepared to move towards the fort, but the small bush behind trembled with motion. Then a figure crept forth and caught at his arm with soft fingers. He cried aloud, when the frightened face and wide-open eyes appeared in the strange lights.
'Menotah! You here!'
She pointed below to the fire-like river, while her lips moved. At length words dropped forth. 'Why did you kill him?'
There was time for a hasty reply, though the trees across the water bent and cracked. Flinging down the weapon, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to him, until heart beat with heart. Then he whispered against her ear, 'Because I love you.' Then the wind came.
With a mad fury it drowned the sonorous bursts of thunder. The Saskatchewan was lashed into white billows of foam; a drifting canoe was torn into fragments by sharp rocks. Trees groaned and tossed appealingly heavy plumes to the violent sky; branches and small stones hurtled on the wings of the tempest.
It was the murderer's storm, and for him alone. As he clasped Menotah, beneath the raging bush, it poured all its message of retribution around his head, and shrieked the red words of fate into his ears. His unworthy love was blood purchased. It was a thing accursed. It would end in blood.
And, after the wind, came the rain.
CHAPTER V
PACTOLUS
The following morning dawned with clear light in a radiant softness. Bright sunshine glistened joyfully upon dripping pine needles, drawing fragrance from the damp ground and dew-lined bushes.
Dave, sulky and forgetful of events closely preceding, partook of a greasy breakfast prepared by Justin, then slouched outside, where he might relieve his feelings by swearing at the slowness of his half-breed assistants. The Factor was abroad yet earlier. Half a bottle of black H.B. had little subsequent effect upon his vigorous constitution. He ate with Dave, continually disburdening himself of badly-received jokes at his companion's expense.
The Captain rose presently with a curt farewell, and blundered finally from the fort. But McAuliffe was not to be shaken off. He followed, borrowed a plug of T.& B., then walked along, peeling off thick strips and reminding Dave of several commissions to be executed prior to a next meeting. 'Shouldn't have taken so much liquor, Dave. You've got a sore head this morning, sure.'
The other mumbled an indistinct reply. Then they came down to the river's edge. Here the boat was lying, bales of furs for English shipment ready stowed, an Icelander waiting to cast off the last rope. Dave swore at this latter, then stepped on board. The next minute the black monster drew slowly away. The Captain took up a stolid position in the bows, and lifted the torn flag he was grasping in response to McAuliffe's parting shout. Then the unwieldy craft gurgled round the bend and disappeared. The Factor turned, to discover Lamont approaching him from the forest. 'Where you been?' he called, as the young man came up.
'Around early. Tracked a muskawk, but couldn't get in a shot.'
'That was the old bull's luck. Say, we had a bit of a jamboree last night, eh?'
'I reckon you did. What with liquor splashing and a tornado howling, it was a fairly wild night.'
'Don't often get off on a jag,' said the Factor. 'When I do, I'm a rocket. Bound to go off full rip. Guess you found me a bit of a teaser, eh?'
'Not so bad as Dave. I've no use for him.'
'He's not much of a chap. Told him that straight lots of times. I shouldn't have cut such an everlasting dido if he hadn't been monkeying around. Drank more than I did, too. Dirty mean trick that, for he can get lots across lake. Quite a little storm rustling most of the while, eh?'
Lamont smiled feebly. 'Just a bit,' he said slowly.
The Factor looked at him critically. 'Darn it, Lamont, a fellow might think you'd been on the jag stead of me.'
He was right. The young man's face was colourless and heavy; his eyes dull and deeply marked with black lines; his appearance thinner and older. The Factor, on the other hand, represented the perfection of health. His great face glowed with colour beneath a wide straw bonnet; his eyes shone; his step was firm and vigorous.
'I'm a bit played out. Up most of the night; out first thing without grub.'
'That's what,' returned McAuliffe, heartily. 'Come off now; there's a decent chunk of moose steak lying inside.'
They disappeared within the log fort, while the silence and desolation grew again.
Through the fresh dampness of the forest came Menotah, with her wonted happiness and joy of heart. Her hair was unbound as usual; she wore a tiny pair of beaded and grass-worked mocassins, with dainty leggings of fringed buckskin. Light notes of joyous music dropped from her smiling lips as she danced along with scarce a limp or a pause – for the old Antoine, with the miraculous native art of healing, had rubbed an ointment upon the wounded foot.
She passed along like a butterfly floating with the wind, threading an unmarked track for some distance, then glided through torn and rugged bush, to finally emerge at the edge of a gloomy swamp, where strange creatures croaked and crawled, where poisonous herbs reared fetid heads aloft.
Here an unmistakable odour permeated the air. A thick film coated nauseous puddles of silent water, where circles of bright colour curled and twisted beneath the bright sunlight. A colossal fortune, open gift of Nature, lay beneath that lonely wilderness, only awaiting someone to seize upon it. Yet neither the old Antoine, nor the light-hearted girl, the two who alone knew of the place, ever had the imagination troubled with the golden vision of an oil king's dream.
Black rocks pressed closely upon the limit of this slimy expanse, which spread away to the distance, broken by occasional solemn bushes, or gaunt stone masses like huge creatures of mythology. Between this cliff and the precarious edge Menotah picked her light-footed way, until she came to an open spot fronted by a thick bush clump, which seemed to bar all further progress.
She stepped across and pulled at a pliant bough. It came back, and she passed through a dark aperture, the branch closing behind her with considerable force, like a spring door. Ahead lay another smaller clearing, with three trees in the centre, growing to form an almost perfect equilateral triangle. These had been utilised as corner posts for a small hut constructed out of thick kanikanik rods, overlaid with white reeds plaited with red wands of the same bush. The roof was thatched in by layers of leaves and dry grass, the whole being sheltered by pendulous tresses of the overhanging trinity of pines. At the forest side a roughly-cut aperture did duty for a window, where a cloth was stretched across at night, to exclude, as far as possible, the noxious vapours and the no less unpleasant insects.
Menotah had reached her destination. She stopped and hooted thrice in soft cadence. Scarce had the low cry passed drearily over the swamp, when the reed door was pushed back, while a figure, bent and completely enveloped in a sweeping black cloak, crawled forth slowly. This apparition the girl regarded with every sign of complacent satisfaction.
'I have come early,' she began in glad tones, 'for last evening I could not find you. I came to the hut before the storm arose, but it was empty.'
The figure raised a thin, bearded face, and spoke in a weak voice. 'I went into the forest – to escape the stench of the swamp for a few hours. I thought I knew the way, but it gave me trouble to return.'
'You should not have left this place. Some might see you.'
'Don't fear, my girl. I shall lie quiet, till the strength comes. I sha'n't show my face till the proper time. No one comes here?'
'None can, but old Antoine, for they do not know the path. He comes but seldom, to gather foul plants and collect creatures from the mud. Then he makes great medicines and strong poison. Are you not satisfied here?'
The figure shivered, and drew the mantle more closely round his lean shoulders. 'It is an awful place at night – especially on a quiet night. Mists rise and hang upon yonder dark pools, while blue lamps shudder along the marsh.'
Menotah gave a fearful little laugh. 'But you should not venture forth when the cold moon shines.12 The Mutchi-Manitou is then abroad, and his home is in the swamp. He it is who lights those fires, that you may come to the edge and gaze upon them. Then he would drag you in to feed upon your blood, while your soul would make another blue lamp. But the dim shadows are powerless to harm, for they are only poor spirits who have been sent to the other world without food or light by the way. So they have lost the right path, and must search through the long night for it.'
The huddled figure, who already seemed overridden by superstition, bent still lower in a fit of coughing. Menotah, with her inborn knowledge of the unseen, had no idea of easing his mind.
'You have not seen that which the Spirit has shown to me,' she continued, in a half whisper. 'When I was younger, I would sometimes be very foolish, and would even walk by the edge of the swamp when the moon was cold and round. I wished to learn some of the mysteries of the future. So as the night grew older and the south wind blew more strongly,13 there rose around me groanings, with louder cries of souls in torture. Fires darted from side to side, while shadow figures floated in such numbers that the sky became hidden. Sometimes, when I came by a black pool, where red patches lay without motion, a blue-veined hand darted upward, making horrible clutches with bony fingers at the life air, which the body might not reach from the bondage of death. Then a ghastly head, with starting eyes and awful features, would be cast up at my feet, only to roll back into the slime with fearful cries. I could see the agony in the eyes as the dark water closed around. Also, voices would call my name, and feet tread beside me as I trembled along. Invisible hands pulled at me, while hollow eyes rolled and burnt in the air at my side. Yet I kept to the path and never lost courage. Had I done so, one of those blue lamps which now frighten you at night would mark that spot where I had made entry into the other world.'
'You imagined this!' cried the figure. 'It was a dream. I have seen nothing like that – '
'Because the Spirit has not given you the double vision,' she said eagerly. 'Some may see more than others can even imagine. These have an inner pair of eyes with which they may look into the mysteries, to read the future and the fate of others, though we may never find or learn our own.'
'Have you the double pair?'
'I cannot tell yet; I am still so young. But I can see very well, and I know – I know – '
She stopped, then widened her lustrous eyes and gazed on him with a smile, in which there was certain pride.
'Now I must go,' she said suddenly. 'See how the sun is creeping up from the low ridge of cloud. Is there anything I should bring you?'
'No. Only keep your tongue as you have managed so far. Then everything ought to turn out well.'
She stepped back to the leafy wall. 'Last night there was a moose brought into the camp. I have cut off some nice pieces for you, and will bring them this evening. Do not lose yourself again.'
She nodded with a radiant smile, the bushes closed behind her flowing hair as a last bright note of farewell floated back to the stagnant swamp pools. Then her happy steps turned lightly in the direction of the dismal death tree, where she was to meet the one to whom she had dedicated her fresh young heart.
Quickly she came across him, stretched at his ease in the soft green shade beneath the tinted light. She came to him, full of that love and trust which is in itself a thing of perfect beauty, yet which so often proves a serpent to its owner. She knelt by his side, under the interlacing tangle of boughs, to throw her warm young arms around his neck in the passion of her innocent devotion. Her tantalising hair waved round his neck and fondled each feature. It intoxicated the sense, so he returned her embrace, drew her down beside him, whispering soft words into her ear, caressing the flushed face with the careless touch of a man who understands a woman's weakness.
Jealousy had awakened the love flame in his heart. Now the opposer had been destroyed, and no further obstacle stood in his path. Menotah was for him. He had but to put forth his hand and receive a bride – surely she was worth the taking. What mattered the stiff body drifting down an unknown reach of the Saskatchewan? That could no more interfere between him and desire. For the time he was sincere. This warmth at the heart was love; the beautiful being then caressing him with soft fingers had been the kindling of it.
Nor had she any great consideration for the dead Muskwah. He himself had explained the truth, when he said that none could think of the moon while the sun gave light. She breathed within a golden flood of ecstasy, in which time and season were empty phrases. The warmth and beauty of that summer day had been created for her alone, while she, in her turn, had been brought to the world that she might bring joy and satisfaction to another. Had not the heart been free from sorrow all the days of life? And now the happiness had been idealised. How magnificent, how wonderfully coloured, how fantastic and exquisitely enervating was this supreme intensity of heart joy!
She murmured to him softly, 'You have given me love. I know what it is now. And the more you give me, more I shall ask for.'
'You shall have it, chérie!'
'It is my life now. I should die if I looked for it – and it never came.'
He turned her face up inquiringly and gazed into it.
'Ah! You do not understand that. But, if I thought you had ceased to love me, it would kill me. You may not live without a heart. We are given but one, and we cannot part with our best more than once.'
'But when it is returned to you?'
'No; it is a different thing. You then offer that which belongs to another.'
Lamont looked long into her serious eyes. 'Ma mie,' he said tenderly, 'all of your age and sex speak so. They mean it, when they give the thought utterance, yet in a short time they will gladly transfer affection, and call it again love.'
'I do not understand the world ways. I do not wish to, if such is custom. Such women cannot possess hearts, or know truth.'
'It is nothing,' he said carelessly. 'Husbands tire of wives, wives desert husbands. It happens every day.'
'But what comes after that?'
'Often they separate.'
Menotah shuddered, while her face grew very grave. 'When you speak such words, a cold pain passes over me. It makes me lonely and unhappy. But tell me more; when the wife is deserted for another woman, what does she do?'
Lamont shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 'Takes somebody else,' he said lightly.
Yet he was astonished at her manner of receiving his words. She pushed him away with a sudden impulse, while her bosom heaved and the bright eyes flashed.
'Surely she would seek after vengeance? She would punish him?'
'You do not understand the workings of the world, Menotah,' came the careless answer.
'No – I go higher. For I know the call of Nature. If animals seek to obey the will of the Spirit, why should men and women do less? I will tell you what I myself saw last spring. Many herons nested among the river reeds, and I would watch them often while they fashioned homes and brought up their young. But one day a female deserted her mate and chose another. What do you think happened then? The others would not allow themselves to be thus disgraced; for they were wiser than those men and women of whom you speak. They waited, until the female bird came to the encampment, then set upon her, and tore her body in pieces. After that they turned upon her mate and beat him from the camp. All this I saw with my own eyes.'