CHAPTER XXII AT BAY
So intent was Grey upon listening for any sound from the Indians that he did not notice Donnie rise to his feet and toddle toward him. But when a small hand touched him, he started and looked quickly down upon the forlorn little figure standing near.
"Hello, laddie," he said, placing one hand upon the boy's shoulder. "What's wrong now?"
But the child did not reply. He only stood there looking intently upward. Then Grey noticed how drawn and pinched was his face, while his large eyes gazed straight into his with the pathetic expression of a dumb animal. Stooping, he lifted the waif in his strong arms, and pressed him close to his heart.
"Poor laddie! poor laddie!" he murmured. "Your lot is certainly a hard one. But never mind, I'll defend you to the last."
"I wants my mamma. Oh, take me to my mamma," moaned the child, as he laid his head trustingly on his rescuer's arm.
"I shall take you to your mamma, little one," Grey replied. "All the Indians and white men in the North will not take you from me now."
"Dood man," whispered Donnie sleepily. "I love 'ou, dood man. I'll pray to Dod for 'ou, dood man."
In a few minutes the weary, tired eyes closed, and then Grey laid him upon the ground, and taking off his own jacket he wrapped it carefully about the child. This done he paced slowly up and down listening anxiously for any sound from the silent forest around. Once he thought he heard the Indians coming, and he was about to place Donnie upon the raft, and hurry down-stream. But hearing nothing more he decided to wait a while longer. Night had by this time deepened, and the whole forest was brooding in a sombre shade. Upon the alert ear must he now depend. What was keeping Dan? he wondered. Why this delay? Had something befallen the trapper?
While Grey thought on these things a slight noise to the right aroused him. Grasping his rifle he tried to peer into those gloomy reaches. A twig snapped, and then silence. He was sure that someone was approaching. Presently a peculiar low call of a bird sounded upon the air, and Grey's heart lightened, for he recognised the signal which Dan had taught him some time before to be used in time of need. At once Grey responded with the same call, and a moment later the trapper appeared before him.
"Gee whiz!" he panted. "I got mixed up somehow, an' lost me bearin's, an' have been flounderin' around fer some time. I nearly ran full ag'inst a bunch of Injuns on the shore up yon, an' jist had time to creep back under cover. They're gittin' ready to come down-stream after us in their canoes to head us off, so we must git outer this like lightnin'. But say whar's the kid; did ye git 'im?"
"Yes, he's right here," and Grey stooped and lifted the sleeping child in his arms. "But can we run the stream through the darkness? Would it not be better to let the Indians pass, and try to evade them on land?"
"An' starve in the meantime wanderin' about with this kid? Not on yer life. If the Injuns once git ahead of us we might as well give up fust as last. But we're not goin' to give up. We're goin' down this river, dark as it is. Then, if they do overtake us we'll give 'em the hottest reception they ever got. Is yer gun all right?"
"Yes, the magazine's full."
"How many ca'tridges?"
"Belt full, except for the ones in the rifle."
"Good. Mine's jist the same. Aha, we'll show 'em a thing or two if they're not keerful. They're not foolin' with jack rabbits this time."
In a few minutes they had loosened the raft from its moorings, and were bearing steadily down-stream. Provided with two long slender sticks Grey and Dan managed to steer their frail craft without much difficulty. The current was strong, which held the raft in deep water, and swung it safely around the numerous sand-bars which lined the river. Donnie slept soundly on his hard rough bed, covered with Grey's jacket, with his head pillowed upon Dan's buckskin coat. Little did the bereaved and heart-broken mother at Big Glen know where her darling boy was sleeping this night, nor the efforts of two brave and great-hearted men on his behalf.
No sound broke the stillness as steadily the raft surged forward at the rate of three miles an hour. Slowly the moon rose and swung clear of the horizon. The river for the most part lay wrapped in shadow from the closely crowding forest. But here and there where the trees were low and thin, bright shafts of light shot downward, which falling athwart the rippling water caused it to glitter like polished steel.
Dan, who was standing well astern, kept his eyes fixed upon those gleaming places. In fact ever since embarking his eyes and ears had been strained to their utmost in an effort to detect some sign of their pursuers. At length he started, and reached instinctively for his rifle lying close at hand.
"They're comin'!" he hoarsely whispered to his companion. "The divils are after us!"
Grey looked back, and was able to see dark specks in the distance where the moon shone bright. Fleeting spectres they were, appearing and disappearing, yet drawing steadily nearer.
"What are we to do?" he replied. "We can't fight here, and they'll be upon us in a few minutes."
"Make fer the shore, quick," Dan commanded, and suiting the action to the word he gave the raft a vigorous shove which sent her reeling toward the bank.
With some difficulty they were able to make a landing, and while Dan held the raft Grey carried Donnie quickly ashore. There was now no time to lose, for the Indians were almost abreast of the place. Then a wild blood-curdling yell of derision fell upon their ears. The pursuers had expected to overtake the raft in midstream. They feared the deadly rifles of the pale faces, and followed silently and cautiously. But when they saw them make for land, and disappear among the trees they gave full vent to their savage delight. What could two men and a little child do against such overwhelming odds?
And as Grey and Dan sped forward, carrying Donnie by turns, they felt how almost hopeless was their position. But they determined to fight to the last, and looked anxiously as they ran for some place where they could make a firm stand. Ere long several large boulders were seen, and the sight brought a new hope into Dan's heart.
"We're somewhar near that cave," he panted, "an' if we once git in thar I'll riddle some of them d—d redskins like a sieve."
Presently they reached the open trail, and to the left appeared the dim forms of the two giant shafts of stone.
"Run fer it!" breathed the trapper to Grey, who was now carrying the child. "I'll foller a little behind to cut off them varmints if they come too near. Give me yer gun."
With Donnie enfolded in his arms, and head bent, Grey ran as he had never run before. So much depended upon that last lap—the honour of the Force, the safety of a little child, the happiness of a home far away, and their own lives. And he could run as well as fight, this hound of the North. He was not running because he was afraid, but that he might fight the better later on. How interminably far away seemed those huge columns. Would he ever reach them? He felt his strength growing weaker, for his burden was heavy. Suddenly a report split the air, and a bullet whistled past his head. The effect was magical. Forgotten was his weariness. It nerved him to greater effort, and his feet fairly spurned the ground. How he maintained his footing on that rough and crooked trail he could not tell. But not once did he fall, and at last to his relief he beheld the cave but a few rods away. He glanced back, and saw Dan nimbly speeding after. He was near to shelter now, and as he hurried by the nearer column a bullet spat against the hard stone, telling plainly that the Indians were not far behind, although somewhat astray in their aim.
Having deposited Donnie within the mouth of the cave, he leaped back, seized his rifle from the trapper, and took up his position on the opposite side of the column. Peering cautiously forth he was able to discern several forms lurking in the distance, which he knew to be the baffled Indians.
"What do you say if we pick a few of them off, Dan?" he remarked. "It might teach the others a lesson, and send them back wiser than they came."
"Don't do it, pardner," was the reply. "Ye don't know them Big Lakes. We mustn't shoot unless they come at us fust."
"But, man, we can't stay here very long. We haven't a scrap of grub left, and what about that poor child? Listen to him now crying there in the cave as if his heart would break. What are we to do?"
"I don't really know, pardner," and Dan ran the fingers of his right hand through his long hair. "Seems to me we're in a trap."
"Can't we make peace with the Indians?" Grey questioned. "What have they against us? We never harmed them."
"We pinched the kid, though. Give 'im up, an' mebbe, then, they'd leave us alone."
"Not otherwise?"
"Ye bet yer life, no."
"But they won't have him," cried Grey fiercely. "At least not as long as there's any life in my body."
Dan looked grimly around, and his eyes rapidly scanned the beetling wall of rock towering high above them.
"In a place like this," he slowly drawled, "with grub, water an' ammunition, two of us could stand off a bunch of redskins without any trouble. They can't come down atop of us, an' if they begin pokin' their noses around the front door we'll hand 'em somethin' purty hot. But seems to me they won't come very close. They don't like this place, as I told ye afore, so I guess they'll keep at a distance an' try to starve us out."
"I'd rather face the whole bunch of them, and die fighting like a man, than starve to death here."
Gloomily Grey uttered these words. He was weary after his long tramp and want of sleep. Little food had he eaten since the night before, and there was now no prospect of any for the coming day. He thought of Donnie, who would certainly cry for something to eat. He and Dan could stand starvation and hardships, but to listen to an innocent child pleading for a mere morsel of bread which could not be supplied, would be maddening.
The trapper surmised the thoughts which were throbbing through his companion's mind. He glanced at the tall, erect figure standing before him, and noted the expression of determination upon his strong, tense face. He realised how hard it was to keep such a spirit as his within bounds. He had often secretly marvelled why this sturdy limb of the law should follow him, an old trapper, so implicitly, and yield so readily to his will. But Dan did not know that Grey had been trained to obey as well as to command, and that the former is at times the wiser course to pursue.
The sobbing of the child at the mouth of the cave still continued. It was a pleading, pathetic cry, and sounded strangely unnatural from those dark depths.
"Ye'd better go to the laddie, pardner," Dan remarked. "Ye might be able to comfort the poor chap a little. I'll keep watch, an' call ye if necessary."
Grey found Donnie standing just within the deep shadow of the high wall of rock. The blackness of the cave had frightened him, and he had moved toward the light outside. His little form was quivering with deep sobs, and he gave a cry of joy as Grey drew near, and dropped upon the ground by his side. Placing his arms tenderly about the boy, he drew him to his heart, and tried to soothe his fears.
"I wants my mamma," Donnie moaned. "Take me to my mamma."
"Yes, dear, just as soon as I can," comforted Grey. "You will trust me, will you not?"
"Ya. But I wants my mamma. Why doesn't she tum to her 'ittle boy-boy?"
"She can't come just now, but she will after a while."
"Then I wants Malin. Oh, where is Malin?" and he started suddenly up. "Me saw her go away, and she would not tum back to Donnie."
"You love her, do you not?" Grey queried.
"Ya, me love Malin. Do 'ou?"
"Yes, yes, little one, I love her, too."
"Den me love 'ou," and Donnie threw his arms about Grey's neck. "But I wants Malin, too. Oh, please take me to Malin."
"She is not far away, dearie, and is waiting for you."
Grey spoke bravely for the child's sake. There was no need to alarm the lad now. But his heart was heavy. He thought of the Indians prowling around outside. Then his mind turned to Madeline. What was her condition? he wondered, after her terrible experience in the river. Suppose she— He crushed back the thought. No, it could not be possible. He could not imagine Madeline, his Madeline, lying in that house cold in death. All his old doubts and fears were swept away like chaff before the wind. His love for her filled, his heart with an overwhelming intensity. Let her be what she might, he loved her still, and would love her to the end. She had been sinned against, cruelly and wilfully, he felt sure of that. He saw her as in days gone by; the trim lines of her form, her dark-brown hair, and large affectionate eyes, looking up so trustingly into his. His hands clinched, and his teeth ground hard together.
"Some villain has done this," he muttered. "There has been dark work in connection with this matter. Surely there is a God in Israel who will avenge that innocent woman and this poor child."
Listening attentively he found that Donnie was fast asleep, with his curly head leaning against his breast. Grey's arms closed slightly in a loving embrace. The feeling of affection which had stolen into his heart when he had rescued him from the icy waters below Klikhausia Rapids burned now like a flame. He realised that this child was unconsciously playing an important part in his life. The boy had suffered much, and been cruelly wronged, but for all that he had been the guiding star which had led him to his long-lost loved one.
And while Grey crouched upon the ground with the child in his arms, the trapper stood outside with rifle in hand, and eyes keenly alert. The sun rose slowly above the tree tops, and at its appearing the slinking Indians crouched back among the trees, like tigers lying in wait for their prey.