CHAPTER XXVIII.
A GLEAM OF HOPE.
In the middle of the third day of hard riding over a flower-starred prairie, and through belts of poplar bush, they came to the Kakisa River.
By this time Ambrose had become somewhat habituated to his captivity. At any rate, he was more philosophical. He had been treated well enough.
There was a village at the end of the trail. Hearing the astonishing news of what had happened, the people stared at Ambrose with their hard, bright eyes as at a phenomenon.
Ambrose figured that they had left Fort Enterprise a hundred and fifty miles behind. He looked at the river with interest. He had heard that no white man had ever descended it.
He saw a smoothly flowing brown flood some two hundred yards wide winding away between verdant willows. A smaller stream joined it at this point, and the teepees stretched along either bank.
Across the larger stream loomed a bold hill-point with a striking clump of pines upon it, and under the trees the gables of an Indian burying-ground like a village of toy houses.
The flat where the rivers joined was hemmed all around by low hills. On the right, half-way up the rise, a log shack dominated the village—and to it Ambrose's captors led him.
This was evidently intended to be his prison. Window and door were closely boarded up. The Indians tore the boards from the doorway and, casting off Ambrose's bonds, thrust him inside. They closed the door, leaving him in utter darkness. He heard them contriving a bar to keep him in.
Ambrose, after waving his arms about to restore the circulation, set to exploring his quarters by sense of touch. First he collided with a counter running across from side to side.
Behind, in the middle of the room, he found an iron cook-stove; against the right hand wall were tiers of empty shelves; at the back a bedstead filled with moldy hay; on the left side an empty chest, a table, and a chair.
Thus it was a combination of store and dwelling; no doubt it had been built for Gordon Strange's use when he came to trade with the Kakisas.
The window was over the table. Ambrose found it nailed down, besides being boarded up outside. He had no intention of submitting to the deprivation of light and air.
He picked up the chair and swinging it delivered a series of blows that shattered the glass, cracked the frame, and finally drove out the boards. He found himself looking into the impassive faces of his jailers.
They did not even seem surprised, and made no demonstration against him. Ambrose whistled. Job came running and scrambled over the window-sill into his master's arms.
Later one of the Indians came with strips of moose hide which he pinned across outside the window. From each strip dangled a row of bells, such as are fastened to dog-harness. It was cunningly contrived—Ambrose could not touch one of the strips ever so gently without giving an alarm.
Thereafter, as long as it was light, he could see them loafing and sleeping in the grass outside with their guns beside them. After dark their pipe-bowls glowed.
Three days of inexpressible tedium followed. Had it not been for Job, Ambrose felt he would have gone out of his mind. His window overlooked the teepee village, and his sole distraction from his thoughts lay in watching the Indians at work and play.
His jailers put up a teepee outside the shack. There were never less than three in sight, generally playing poker—and with their guns beside them.
Ambrose knowing the inconsequentiality of the Indian mind guessed that they must have had strong orders to keep them on guard so faithfully. Any thought of escape was out of the question. He could not travel a hundred and fifty miles without a store of food. He sought to keep out a little from every meal that was served him, but he got barely enough for him and Job, too.
On the fourth day the arrival of the main body of Indians from Fort Enterprise created a diversion. They came straggling slowly on foot down the hill to the flat, extreme weariness marked in their heavy gait and their sagging backs.
Only Watusk rode a horse. Every other beast was requisitioned to carry the loot from the store. Some of the men—and all the women bore packs also. This was why they had been so long on the way.
True to their savage nature they had taken more than they could carry. As Ambrose learned later, there were goods scattered wantonly all along the trail.
Ambrose naturally anticipated some change in his own condition as a result of the arrival of Watusk. But nothing happened immediately. The patient squaws set to work to make camp, and by nightfall the village of teepees was increased fourfold.
In the motionless twilight each cone gave a perpendicular thread of smoke to the thin cloud that hung low over the flat.
As the darkness increased the teepees became faintly luminous from the fires within, and the streets gleamed like strings of pale Japanese lanterns. Ambrose, expecting visitors, watched at his window until late.
None came.
In the morning he made the man who brought his breakfast understand by signs that he wished to speak with Watusk. The chief did not, however, vouchsafe him a call.
To-day it transpired that the Indians were only making a temporary halt below. After a few hours' rest they got in motion again, and all afternoon were engaged in ferrying their baggage across the river in dugouts and in swimming their horses over.
On the following morning, with the exception of Watusk's lodge and half a dozen others, all the teepees were struck, and the whole body of the people crossed the river and disappeared behind the hill. All on that side was no man's land, still written down "unexplored" on the maps.
Thereafter day succeeded day without any break in the monotony of
Ambrose's imprisonment. He occasionally made out the portly figure of
Watusk in his frock coat, but received no word from him.
It was now the 20th of September, and the poplar boughs were bare. Every morning now the grass was covered with rime, and to-day a flurry of snow fell. Winter would increase the difficulties of escape tenfold.
Ambrose speculated endlessly on what might be happening at Fort Enterprise. He thought, too, of Peter Minot who was relying on him to steer the hazarded fortunes of the firm into port—and groaned at his impotence.
As with all solitary prisoners, throughout the long hours Ambrose's mind preyed upon itself. True, he had Job, who was friend and consoler in his dumb way, but Job was only a dog.
To joke or to swear at his jailers was like trying to make a noise in a vacuum. Not to be able to make himself felt became a positive torture to Ambrose.
On the night of this day, lying in bed, he found himself wide awake without being able to say what had awakened him. He lay listening, and presently heard the sound again—the fall of a little object on the floor.
The chinks of the log walls were stopped with mud which had dried and loosened; nothing strange that bits of it should fall—still his heart beat fast.
He heard a cautious scratching and another piece dropped and broke on the floor. Now he knew a living agency was at work. Job growled. Ambrose clutched his muzzle.
Suddenly a whisper stole through the dark—in his amazement Ambrose could not have told from what quarter. "Angleysman! Angleysman!"
Awe of the supernatural shook Ambrose's breast. He had come straight from deep slumber. A fine perspiration broke out upon him. It was a woman's whisper, with a tender lift and fall in the sound.
Job struggled to release his head. Ambrose sternly bade him be quiet.
The dog desisted, but crouched trembling.
The whisper was repeated; "Angleysman!"
A man must answer his summons. "What do you want?" asked Ambrose softly.
"Come here."
"Where are you?"
"Here—at the corner. Come to the foot of your bed."
Ambrose obeyed. Reaching the spot he said: "Speak again."
"Here," the voice whispered. "I mak' a hole in the mud. Put your ear down and I spik sof'."
Ambrose identified the spot whence the sound issued. He put his lips to it. "Who are you?" he whispered.
"Nesis," came the softly breathed answer. "I your friend."
Friend was always a word to warm Ambrose's breast, and surely at this moment of all his life he needed a friend. "Thank you," he said from a full heart.
"I see you at the tea-dance," the voice went on.
Ambrose had an intuition. "Were you the girl—"
"Yes," she said. "I sit be'ind you. I think you pretty man. When we run out I squeeze your hand."
Ambrose grinned into the darkness. "I thought you were pretty, too," he returned.
"Oh, I wish I in there," she whispered.
He was a little nonplused by her naïve warmth.
"The men say you strong as one bear," she went on. "They say you got gold in your teeth. Is that true?"
"Yes," said Ambrose laughing.
"I lak' to see that."
In spite of the best intent on both sides conversation languished. It is difficult to make acquaintance through a wall of logs. Finally Ambrose asked how it was she could speak English, and that unlocked her simple story.
"My fat'er teach me," she said. "He is half a white man. He come here long tam ago and marry Kakisa. He spik ver' good Angleys. When Watusk is make head man he mad at my fat'er because my fat'er spik Angleys.
"Watusk not want nobody spik Angleys but him around. Watusk fix it to mak' them kill my fat'er. It is the truth. Watusk not know I spik Angleys, too. My fat'er teach me quiet. If Watusk know that he cut out my tongue, I think. I lak spik Angleys—me. I spik by myself so not forget. I come spik Angleys with you."
"Your father is dead?" said Ambrose. "Who do you live with?"
"Watusk," came the surprising answer. "I Watusk's youngest wife. Got four wives."
"Good Lord!" murmured Ambrose.
"When my fat'er is kill, Watusk tak' me," she went on. "I hate him!"
"What a shame!" cried Ambrose, remembering the wistful face.
"I wish I in there!" she whispered again.
"Will you help me to get out?" Ambrose asked eagerly. "I can make it if you can slip me some food."
"I not want you go 'way," she said slowly.
"I can't live locked up like this!" he cried.
"Yes, I help you," she whispered.
"Could you get me a horse, too?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "But many men is watch the trail for police. Tak' a canoe and go down the river."
"Where does this river go?"
"They say to the Big Buffalo lake."
"Good! I can get back to Moultrie from there. Can you bring me a strong knife?"
"I bring him to-morrow night, Angleysman."
"I will cut a hole in the floor and dig out under the wall."
Nesis was not anxious to talk over the details of his escape. "Have you got a wife?" she asked. "Why not?" There was no end to her questions.
Finally she said with a sigh: "I got go now. I put my hand inside. You can touch it."
Ambrose felt for the little fingers that crept through the slit, and gratefully pressed his lips to them.
"Ah!" she breathed wonderingly. "Was that your mouth? It mak' me jomp!
Put your hand outside, Angleysman."
He did so, and felt his fingers brushed as with rose-petals.
"Goo'-by!" she breathed.
"Nesis," he asked, "do you know why Watusk is keeping me locked up here?
What does he think he's going to do with me?"
"Sure I know," she said. "Ev'rybody know. If the police catch him he say he not mak' all this trouble. He say you mak' him do it all. Gordon Strange tell him say that."
A great light broke on Ambrose. "Of course!" he said.
"Goo'-by, Angleysman!" breathed Nesis. "I come to-morrow night."