REJECTED
The next morning the sky was clear, the tempest having beaten out its fury during the night. It had been the heaviest storm of the season, and in fact for several years. The snow was piled high around the lodge, and it was with difficulty that Klitonda forced his way through the yielding mass to gain the outer world. It was necessary for him to hasten forth as the last stick had been thrown upon the fire, and he must seek for more dry fuel amidst the forest. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees. They stood shrouded and heavily laden with their white burden. Not a sound broke the intense silence, and no track of man, beast or bird marred the snow.
Within the lodge stood Natsatt and Owindia. The former was girt for a long journey, and a pair of snow-shoes, borrowed from Klitonda, leaned against the wall. He was holding Owindia's hands in his, and his eyes were looking lovingly into her blushing downcast face. There was not the slightest doubt as to the attitude of the two. A love deep and tender burned within their hearts. They had waited years for such a meeting. Natsatt had wandered far and wide, but not until he had reached this spot in the forest did he find the one to whom his heart responded.
"And you will come back—some day?" Owindia was asking. "You will not forget?"
"Forget? How can I ever forget?" was the passionate reply. "And you will be waiting for me, will you not, little one? You will be glad to see me?"
"Ah, ah. The days will be like years while you are away. But sometimes I fear you might never return. Since you came life has been so different. There is much to live for now. And yet—"
Here she hesitated, and paused.
"What is it?" questioned Natsatt.
"I have been wondering how you, a white man, can love Owindia. There must be so many maidens of your own race beyond the mountains of the rising sun. I know so little, while they must be so wise and beautiful."
"Oh, that's what's troubling you," Natsatt laughed, pressing her hands more firmly in his. "But I am as much an Indian, nay more so, than you are. I speak several Indian languages better than the English; I was born in the wilderness, and have spent most of my life there. And I am going to tell you something now which may astonish you. My father was a white man, but my mother was an Indian woman. So you see I am what is called a 'half-breed.'"
Owindia started at these words, and looked keenly into Natsatt's eyes to make sure that he was speaking the truth.
"But you seem like a white man," she replied. "Maybe you are laughing at Owindia in your heart."
"No, no, I am not," protested the young man. "What I tell you is true. People at times will not believe me because I look so much like a full-blooded white man. But surely you will believe me. Why should I lie to you?"
"I know now you tell me true when you look at me that way," and Owindia glanced shyly at him as she spoke. "My heart is, oh, so happy. It sings all the time."
In response to this Natsatt stooped, and imprinted a fervent kiss upon her lips. It was the first time that she had known a lover's kiss, and it thrilled her whole being. Owindia did nothing by halves. She was a creature of the wild. Her likes and dislikes were strong. When her heart was stirred it was intense, overwhelming. Lifting her long slender arms she twined them suddenly around Natsatt's neck, and laid her cheek against his. Never had she known such real happiness, not even in the days when her mother had enfolded her in her loving embrace.
And thus all through that day she lived in a world of dreams. Her mind was ever with Natsatt, and she pictured him speeding over the snow on his way down to the trading Post.
Her father did not notice her far away look, nor her abstracted manner, for he himself was lost in a world of deep thought. He sat hour after hour before the fire with his knees close up to his chin, staring straight before him. He only bestirred himself to replenish the fire or to eat his frugal meal which Owindia prepared. He sat in this position until midnight. Then he rolled himself up in his blanket and slept till morning. When he awoke his every movement spoke of definite action. Owindia was surprised to see him set to work to take down the numerous pelts from the walls and arrange them in two piles. Sometimes he would stand for a while as if debating with himself into which pile he would put certain valuable furs. When at last all the skins had been taken down he tied the two bundles together with stout moose-hide thongs.
Owindia asked no questions. She understood her father's peculiar moods and knew when to be silent. He would tell her his plans at the proper time, she felt sure.
Putting on his snow-shoes, and swinging the larger bundle upon his shoulder, Klitonda left the lodge and strode rapidly across the open until he came to a place where three trees stood quite close together. Up among the branches was his cache, where he kept his supply of moose meat safe from prowling dogs and wolves. Tying a long moose-hide cord to the bundle, and taking the other end in his hand he climbed one of the trees to the scaffold of poles above. Then drawing up the heavy bundle he placed it in the centre of the cache, and with a grunt of satisfaction returned by the way he had come. Once back in the lodge his tongue became unloosened.
"Little one," he began, "my heart is much stirred by what the stranger told us. The white men have come, and have built the trading Post. They will help us to drive back the Chilcats. As I sat by the fire last night I saw a strange sight. Klota, your mother, seemed to be standing by my side, and she was pointing toward the mountains of the rising sun. And as I looked I saw the passes filled with people of the white race coming toward me. I am sure now that they are on their way into this country, and will help us."
"Perhaps you were dreaming, father," Owindia replied.
"No, no, it was no dream. I was awake, and know it was real. So, little one, we must hurry away from here, and bear the great news to our people. They will not refuse to rouse to action when I tell them about the white men, and what they will do for us. I shall take these furs as gifts to the scattered bands. You must come with me. We shall hasten away at once, for there is no time to lose."
Owindia knew how useless it would be to argue with her father when once his mind was settled upon some definite line of action. With a sigh she gathered up her few belongings, tied them in a small bundle, and took down her light snow-shoes from two pegs driven into the wall. She did not cherish the idea of leaving the snug cabin for the long marches over the dreary wastes of a snow-shrouded land. She wished to remain where she was, for the hope was strong within her heart that Natsatt would shortly return, and what would he think when he found the place deserted? She kept these thoughts to herself, however, and obediently followed her father out of the cabin, with her small pack suspended over her shoulders.
Once outside the lodge Klitonda paused and stood for a few moments lost in thought. Then lifting up his face, he uttered words such as Owindia had never heard him speak before.
"Great Spirit," he began, "and Klota's Great Father, listen to Klitonda. Give the Ayana people hearts of fire, and strength of grizzlies of the mountains, that they may rise and drive back the Chilcats. Send the white people into this land like the wild geese when the ice leaves the rivers, and the snow disappears, that they may help us."
He ceased, and stood for a few moments looking straight before him. Then without another word he strode forward into the sombre forest, with Owindia following silently after.
For days they threaded their way over the great silent land. Spectres they seemed gliding through forests, climbing steep hills, winding along sloping mountain sides, and dotting here and there large inland lakes. Occasionally they stayed their steps where a few lone hunters and trappers had their camp. At each place Klitonda would spend the whole night talking to the eager few gathered about the camp fire. Formerly one topic, and only one, was the theme of vital importance, and that was the hated Chilcats. Now the interest was greatly intensified by the story of the advent of the white men. Deeply interested in his subject, and a natural orator of much repute among the tribes of the North, Klitonda as a rule succeeded in imparting to his hearers some of his own enthusiasm. But, alas, after he left, the fire generally burned low, and sometimes went out altogether. In the presence of their chief the Ayana people could be stirred for a time, but the fear of the Chilcats was too strong for the impression to last.
Klitonda's stay at such places was always short. Miles beyond he knew there was a large band of Indians, and thither he and Owindia turned their faces. It was a cold late afternoon as weary with their long march, they reached the encampment, and here that night Klitonda related again the marvellous tale he had come so far to tell. For this moment he had been longing since the day he had started forth from his lonely lodge in the wilderness. Surely now these hunters would respond as they listened to the story of the white man, the opportunity for better trade, and the assistance they would receive in driving back the Chilcats. But as he talked his keen eyes noted the apathy upon the faces of those before him. He even detected signs of hostility, which was different from anything he had ever experienced in their midst. They had always treated him with marked respect even though they did not carry out his wishes. When at length he ceased the usual exclamations of assent were wanting. A deep silence prevailed, which to Klitonda was most ominous. He could not understand the meaning of such action. When, however, old Nagu, the crafty medicine man, rose slowly to his feet, light dawned upon the chief's mind. In this man he saw his bitter opponent, his violent enemy. He recalled the day, over a year ago, when he had mortally offended this wily impostor. He had refused to pay the customary tribute, or "medicine," of valuable furs and skins to this man. He had told him that his incantations were all a farce, and that he himself was a useless humbug. For years Klitonda had despised the vain pretensions of this creature. He had kept his thoughts to himself, however, and had paid the required tribute, until that day, when roused by the insolence of the man, he had expressed his feelings in no moderate terms. Klitonda had yet to learn that the way of the reformer is hard, and that people held in thrall by the ingrained superstition of ages, are not easily taught to open their eyes to the bright light of a new and an ampler day. Such a task at any time is difficult, but it is increased tenfold when the acknowledged leaders, whether they be prophets, priests or medicine men are themselves debased, and are seeking for material gain and personal influence.
And such was Nagu. Those who honoured him, he favoured; but woe betide the man or woman daring enough to offer any opposition. So standing there in the midst of his people, he hurled his pent-up anger at Klitonda. Subtly concealing his own personal injury he upbraided the chief as the cause of all their present trouble. He had been stirring up strife, had killed the Chilcat brave, and thus brought upon the Ayana people the extra vengeance of the coast tribe. And what were they now to do? The Chilcats were coming in full force, and if Klitonda were not delivered up terrible would be the consequences.
During his harangue the medicine man had worked himself up to the highest pitch of fury. He foamed, raved, and gesticulated like a madman, while all the time his eyes glared upon Klitonda with the most intense hatred.
During this attack the chief stood like a statue, with Owindia crouching near at his feet. The latter was terrified by the scene before her. But not a movement of her father's face betrayed the state of his feelings. It was only when the medicine man had ceased and the murmurs of approval had subsided, that he took a step forward, and looked around upon the assembled natives. A sadness, mingled with pity might have been detected in his eyes as he stood there. Then he lifted his right arm and pointed to the medicine man.
"Will the Ayana people listen to such words as that creature has just uttered?" he asked. "They know it is not Klitonda who is to blame for all their trouble; it is their own cowardly hearts. Where is the spirit of our ancestors? Where is the power of our once famous Ayana tribe? There was a time when the call to battle was like the sweetest of music to our people. They gloried in war. Klitonda would rouse the Ayana to action. But they would rather be slaves. They wish to crawl like dogs at the feet of the Chilcat wolves. Klitonda is your chief. He has never failed his people yet. He stands here to-night; his daughter is there," and he partly turned as he spoke and pointed to the pathetic figure of Owindia crouching upon the snow. "Take your chief; take his daughter, and give them to the Chilcats that you may be safe. Then go and tell your little ones, and when they are grown let them tell their children that you were afraid to fight; that your hearts were like water, and your arms like straw, and you gave up your chief and his daughter to those wolves of the coast. How will it sound? You hunters and trappers, answer me that. Klitonda is willing to give himself, nay to die for his people. Here he stands, come and take him."
He paused, and waited for some one to advance. But none moved. What hunter would dare to lay hands upon that chief, of whose courage and prowess they were well aware? They did not even look upon his face, but sat or stood with downcast averted eyes. Their chiefs words had cut deep, for they knew that they were true. Only the medicine man glared like a wild beast, but to him Klitonda gave no heed.
The latter waited to see what the people would do. But finding that they remained silent and inactive, he turned to Owindia and took her by the hand.
"Come, little one," he said. "Let us get back to the wilderness. Our people do not want us."
Not a word was uttered, and not a hand was raised as father and daughter left the camp, and turned their faces toward the black, silent forest. The chief had come to his own, to help, to uplift them; but his own received him not. They preferred the flesh pots of serfdom to the freedom of a larger and a fuller life.
Klitonda was accustomed to discouragements. He could meet death without a tremor. When face to face with avowed enemies his heart thrilled with the joy of conflict. But when it came to downright opposition and repulsion by his own people it was different. Next to Owindia they were nearest his heart in affection. For them he had toiled and suffered, and for them he was willing to die. Their pitiable downtrodden condition moved him deeply. Though he had often lashed the men with stinging words in the hope of stirring the spirit of manhood within them, there was really no anger in his heart. He had looked upon their strong, lithe forms; he had studied them at their games, in which they rivalled with one another in feats of endurance. Oh, if he could only utilise such strength in a more worthy cause, how much might be accomplished. He had watched the bright-eyed comely maidens, and a sadness always filled his heart, for he knew that the more beautiful they were the sooner would they be likely to fall captives to the wily Chilcats. Even the little babes in their moose-skin bags touched him. What trials and sorrows they had ahead of them—the same life of serfdom as their parents. For the cowardice of their forefathers the little ones must tread the cruel trail of affliction.
So on this night of the rejection as he and Owindia pushed speedily on their way, there was no feeling of bitterness within his heart except for the medicine man. He knew that that wretched creature had much to do with his present failure. He himself was free from his dominating power. But not so the rest of the tribe.
Owindia uttered not a word as she followed her father through the shadowy forest. She was tired not only in body but also in mind. The trying ordeal through which they had just passed had almost overcome her. She knew that now they were exposed to two dangers, one from the Chilcats; the other, from their own people. Surely no outcasts were ever placed in a more lamentable position than were these two waifs of the night.
No word of complaint, no outcry at the injustice done to him, broke from Klitonda's lips. He was not like the cur, which rushes away at a kick it has received. He was rather like some lordly monarch of the forest, which deeply wounded seeks some quiet spot to be alone in its great agony. No sleep came to his eyes that night. Amid a friendly thicket of fir trees he made their camp, and while Owindia slept, he either sat before the fire, or paced restlessly up and down among the trees. He was most alert, and at every sound he listened intently, partly expecting an attack from his own people. That they were contemplating handing him and Owindia over to the Chilcats he had not the slightest doubt. When he was present with them he knew they had not the courage to seize him. But under cover of night they might make the attack, expecting to find him asleep.
All the next day they continued on their journey, back to the lodge in the wilderness. Owindia was well accustomed to the trail, and did not find it difficult to keep up with her father. Although grieving over what had recently taken place, a sweet peace dwelt in her heart. Natsatt was constantly in her mind, and the thought of him cheered her through the long hours of the day, and she fell asleep at night thinking of her lover. Could Natsatt have seen the graceful swing of her lithe form, and beheld the rich colour of perfect health mantling cheeks and brow, he would have been more enamoured than ever. Owindia confided none of her happy thoughts to her father. He was too much engrossed with his own cares at present. She was content to keep them hidden away within her own breast, like dew-kissed flowers nestling in some secret dell.
The second night Klitonda was too weary to keep watch. He felt safer now, and believed that they would not be followed so far into the forest. He remained for a while, however, after Owindia had fallen asleep, watching the dying embers. Then he rolled himself up in his warm wolf-skin blanket, and was soon in slumber deep.