CHAPTER XI THE CAPTURE
When Madeline opened her eyes after Grey had left she imagined it was all a horrible dream. But the sight of Old Meg standing by her side and her own great weakness of body told her that it was too terribly true. A shiver shook her form as she thought of Siwash Bill, his impudence, and insulting request. She longed to inquire about the man who had rescued her and carried her into the house. What had become of him? she wondered. She was tempted to ask Old Meg to tell her what she knew. But each time she hesitated, and found herself unable to form the words which were trembling upon her lips.
Meg asked no questions about the occurrence of the night. That something more than usual had taken place she was well assured. But Madeline's reserved manner restrained even this woman, noted for her boldness and curiosity. There was some mystery, she believed, concerning this stranger who had arrived so unexpectedly in Hishu. Did Madeline know anything about him? Had she seen him before? These thoughts puzzled and worried her throughout the day. Often she would pause in the midst of her work and gaze for some time out of the open door.
Most of the day Madeline spent with Donnie. He had awakened feeling much better, and the wheezing cough had disappeared. He soon became quite friendly with the woman sitting by his side, who looked upon him with such big pathetic eyes. Madeline told him simple childish stories, at which he would often clap his hands with delight. When night arrived Donnie was much like his former self. Madeline rejoiced to have the child near her. She knew that Hishu was no place for a boy like this, and her heart ached to think that such a delicate lad should be so far away from his parents' tender care. As the darkness deepened, and Donnie sat in her lap he asked for his mother.
"Why doesn't she tum to me, Malin?" he said. "Why does she 'tay away so long?"
Such a question Madeline could not answer. She endeavoured to soothe him, and gently stroked his curly silken hair. Long after he had fallen asleep she sat by his side and gazed upon the little face. And so the boy was stolen away, too, she thought. Why should an innocent child be made to suffer by reason of cruel, wicked men? She recalled Siwash Bill's vile proposition, and shuddered. She knew something of his persistency, and of the length he would go to carry out his base designs. Money and revenge the man wanted. She was sure of that, and had torn away the lamb from the fold to further his object. What could she do to save the boy? She longed to seize him in her arms, and hurry off into the forest; anywhere would be better than Hishu. But this she realised would be futile. Her face darkened, and her tense hands gripped each other in her lap as she thought of her own fruitless attempts in the past. She could not escape from the Argus-eyed Meg, and what could she do with a little lad in a dreary wilderness, with Siwash Bill and his gang in pursuit? She thought of Norman, and a flush mantled her face. Would not he help her? But why should she go to him? He had kept clear of her; had not even come to inquire after the lad. And yet she felt it was Norman and no one else who had saved her from Siwash Bill. Why did he leave so soon? What was the meaning of his strange behaviour? Was it because he believed her to be—? The words would not come to Madeline's lips. Would Norman think such things of her, of Madeline whom he had known and loved in the happy days of old, which now seemed so far away?
The next day Donnie was well enough to run about the house. Everything interested him, and his cheery laugh caused even Old Meg's face to soften with a new light.
"Donnie," said Madeline that evening, "how would you like to walk to the river with me? I go there sometimes by myself, but would like to have you this time to take care of me."
Donnie clapped his hands with delight, and chatted incessantly while Madeline wrapped a small shawl about his body, and tied a hood, much too large for him, upon his curly head.
Together they soon set off down the trail, Donnie holding Madeline's hand, and plying her with all sorts of questions.
"Will ou take me home some day, Malin?" he asked.
"I should like to do so, dear," was the reply. "I know your father and mother must be anxious about you. But what will Madeline do without her little boy?"
"Oh, ou will tum, too. Ou must tum, and live right wif me. We have a big, big house. I will let ou sleep in my room, play wif my horse and tin soldiers. Wouldn't ou like to tum?"
"Very much, dearie," and tears stood in Madeline's eyes at the child's innocent prattle.
"Is this your home, Malin?" and the lad looked up inquiringly into her face.
"Why do you ask that, Donnie? Don't you think this is my home?"
"I don't know. But it seems such a funny home. Is dat woman your mother? And where is your daddy?"
A lump came into Madeline's throat, and she pressed Donnie's hand more firmly.
"I haven't any father and mother now, Donnie. But I have a home, far, far away, oh, so beautiful, which I have not seen for a long time."
"Tell me about it, Malin," and the child perched himself upon an old fallen log which stretched itself along the trail.
By this time they had drawn very close to the river, where the bank was steep. All around stood the silent forest of firs and jack pines, with the cold, dark stream drifting noiselessly by. No sense of fear came into Madeline's heart as she obeyed Donnie's behest. So often had she come to this place that it was like an old friend, full of understanding and sympathy.
Seating herself by the lad's side she told about her old home, the house among the trees, the garden with the many beautiful flowers, where the birds sang and the bees hummed.
To all this Donnie listened with wide-eyed pleasure, occasionally interrupting with a question about the birds and flowers.
So engrossed did Madeline become with her story that she forgot how the time had flown and how late was the hour. Neither did she notice a dark form gliding silently toward her through the shadowy forest, nor a trim canoe which had dropped down-stream and was now lying below the bank not far away.
"Come, Donnie!" she exclaimed; "it's getting dark, and we must hurry home."
And even as she spoke and rose to her feet, a powerful Indian leaped from a thicket of trees a few yards away, and arrested her further movement. Too startled to cry Madeline gave one lightning glance at the intruder, and then caught Donnie in her arms. At once the child was torn from her grasp, and borne swiftly to the river by the native.
Forgetting her own danger, and thinking only of the lad, with a cry Madeline sprang forward. She leaped down the bank toward the canoe, which was lying near, held close to the shore by a swarthy Indian. Him she saw not, neither did she notice a figure crouched in the bow, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, watching everything with cruel, sparkling eyes. Donnie was in the canoe! He was to be taken away, and she must save him! That was all she could think about. She saw him struggling in the arms of his captor, and reaching out appealing hands to her. She beheld the look of terror blanching his little face, and heard his piercing cry of "Malin! Malin!" ere he was silenced by a dark hand placed suddenly and roughly across his mouth.
Throwing discretion to the wind Madeline sprang into the canoe, nearly capsizing it as she did so, and snatched Donnie out of the Indian's arms. That the latter relinquished the child so readily was at first somewhat of a surprise. It was soon explained, however, for, upon turning to step ashore she found that the craft was several yards from the bank, and drifting down-stream. The Indians had seized their paddles, and the canoe was now cleaving the rippling water in its onward sweep.
Madeline at once realised her desperate situation. What did it all mean? Why was she being taken away? Had some cruel plot been formed against her?
She looked at her captors. They were calm and alert, swinging their paddles with a steady rhythmical motion. She glanced around, and the figure crouched in the bow arrested her attention. A shiver shook her form as she noted the fierce malicious gleam of the eyes which met her own. What did that woman mean by glaring at her in such a manner, and what did that look signify? What had she done to merit such action, and what lay ahead of her? That great silent river flowed on down into the vast unknown wilderness—and what then? The thought was more than she could endure. She looked wildly toward the shore. She clutched Donnie close to her breast. She scanned the banks for signs of life, some human being who would come to their rescue. The helplessness of her position overwhelmed her. Lifting up her voice she gave several wild, piercing cries for aid, and then sank to the bottom of the canoe, forced down by strong, rough hands laid fiercely upon her. This insult sent the blood surging tumultuously through her veins. But what could she do? What power had she, a woman, against these uncouth natives? She crouched there in the bottom of the craft, her hands clinched together, and her dry, clear eyes staring out over the water through the deepening gloom.
She was presently aroused by a movement near her side, and then a little soft hand stole timidly into her own. Glancing quickly down she noticed Donnie nestling close to her, and looking up appealingly into her face.
"Malin, I'm cold," he whimpered, and a slight shiver shook his frame. "I want my mother. Oh, please take me home."
A throb of compunction smote Madeline's heart as she looked upon the lad. Thinking of her own trouble she had forgotten him.
Drawing the warm shawl from her shoulders she wrapped it carefully about the lad's body. Nearer and nearer he nestled until he felt quite comfortable, and leaned his head against her side.
"Tell me a 'tory, Malin," he requested. "I'm very sleepy."
Tell a story! What story could she tell at a time like this, with so many thoughts surging madly through her brain? And yet here was this child lying so trustingly by her side, and looking up to her for comfort.
"What story do you want, dearie?" she asked after a brief pause.
"Tell me 'bout the baby Moses in the ark of bulwushes," replied Donnie, as he snuggled up closer than ever.
With an effort Madeline forced herself to the task, and there in that great wilderness, in the midst of fears and unknown dangers, she told gently and softly the old, old story, which in all ages has thrilled the hearts of countless children. And as she talked the little head at her side drooped lower until it touched her lap. The big blue eyes winked hard in an effort to remain open. But nature was too strong, and ere long the lad was wrapped in slumber, far beyond all worldly care. As Madeline looked down upon the sleeping boy, and watched him lying there, with one little dimpled hand clutching at her dress, a deep, wonderful love for the child stole into her heart. In the telling of the story she had been much strengthened. In ministering to another she herself had been comforted. She knew that the same loving Father who had shielded Moses so long ago from his enemies was as able and willing to save now as then. "Oh, Father in Heaven," she prayed, "guard us to-night. Give me strength to defend this little child, and to restore him safely to his parents."
Thus all through the long, lonely hours of darkness she remained crouched in the bottom of the canoe. At times her cramped position was almost unbearable. But she must not disturb that child lying so calmly with his head resting upon her lap. But no sleep came to her own eyes. Her brain was too active for that. The swish of the water as the canoe sped forward almost maddened her. Occasionally the natives spoke to one another in their strange guttural language. But Madeline understood not what was said, and each word rasped forth only tended to increase her watchfulness and loneliness.
After hours of steady paddling a sharp word of command rang out. Immediately the canoe was turned toward the shore, and soon the keel was grating upon the pebbly beach. It was very early in the morning, what time Madeline could not guess.
Almost mechanically she watched the natives as they left the canoe and proceeded to build a small fire upon the bank. This accomplished they proceeded to cook some moose steak they had brought with them.
No one seemed to take any notice of Madeline, and for a while she remained in the canoe. At length, arousing Donnie, she attempted to rise to her feet, but sank down again with a slight cry, so numb was her body from her cramped position. The boy opened his eyes and looked around in a startled manner.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"
"No, dearie," was the reply. "I shall be better soon. Will you help me out of the canoe?"
At once the little fellow sprang to his feet, took her hand in his, and proudly led her ashore, and up the steep bank. With difficulty Madeline made her way by his side, pretending to lean upon him for support. Ere long the numbing sensation passed away, and she walked slowly around, watching the men preparing their breakfast.
The Indian woman took no part in their proceedings, but sat upon a stone a short distance away. She appeared to be gazing far off into space. But her sharp eyes noted Madeline's every movement.
The latter was strangely fascinated by that silent figure. At times she was seized with a nameless fear at the thought of what this woman might be planning down deep in her heart. Of the men, wild and uncouth though they were, she had little anxiety. Their faces at any rate were not crafty or cruel. But this woman with that strange light in her eyes made her tremble with apprehension.
When the breakfast had been prepared Madeline was offered some meat, and black tea in an old filthy tin can. The sight of the latter almost sickened her, and she turned away her head in disgust. The meat she took, ate some, and gave a little to Donnie, who was hungry, and enjoyed it thoroughly. It did not take them long to complete their frugal meal, and soon they were all again in the canoe, moving once more down that sombre stream.
Before long they entered upon a large, broad lake, and, instead of skirting the shore, the Indians struck straight away to a point of land dimly seen in the distance. This body of water, some thirty miles long, by three to five wide, was dotted here and there with small wooded islands. It was almost completely surrounded by towering, rock-ribbed mountains, whose peaks, devoid of life, were covered with snow for the greater part of the year.
Away to the left appeared a huge draw, well known for the violent gales it frequently vomited forth. Many were the native legends concerning this place; of the monster of the mountains who made his abode there, and who when angry would hurl forth his overwhelming spleen upon unwary navigators.
Often Tonda and his companions cast furtive glances toward the yawning draw, and drove their paddles with greater energy than ever. On and on they sped. They reached the mouth of the gap. They came opposite the place. They were almost past, and the Indians breathed more freely. The monster was not angry, or had not noticed them. Perhaps he was asleep at that time of the morning. But, alas! they were doomed to disappointment. Without one warning sign a gale ripped down the draw with a wild concentrated fury, and spreading over the lake lashed the water into a yeasty foam.
With dismay the Indians beheld the onrushing storm, and headed the canoe for shore. How they did work, and the craft leaped on her way like a thing of life.
Nearer and nearer they approached the beach. Would they win? Yes. No, for the tempest struck them full abeam. It whirled and roared about them in mad glee. It tossed the canoe like a cork, and dashed the water over the crouching forms.
Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and drew him close to her breast. His white, scared face looked up appealingly into hers, though he uttered not a word, nor did a cry escape his lips.
Steadily and calmly the natives plied their paddles, and managed the canoe with considerable skill. But as they neared the shore the large ground swells formed a menace to their advance. Into them they ran, for there was no other course to pursue. From crest to crest they were hurried, each growing larger as they surged forward. When only a short distance from land, a wave larger than usual curled angrily right astern, broke over the canoe, completely submerging everything. Instantly the craft was caught by another roller, which tossed it forward, and, retreating, left it stranded upon the beach. At once a rush ensued. Madeline with Donnie in her arms sped up the bank, with Nadu in advance. The Indians seized the canoe, dragged it after them just in time to escape the next breaker which broke, grinning upon the shore.