ON THE WAY.
A visitor of any sort was the last thing we could have expected, and the reader can imagine what a surprise and scare the interruption gave us. We leaped to our feet with such haste that several of the benches wore knocked over, and Christopher Burley, who was in the act of sitting down at the time, landed on the floor with a heavy crash. But there was no occasion for alarm—no need to rush frantically for our muskets. The intruder was not an Indian, not an enemy. In the open doorway, framed against the whiteness of the storm, stood a big, bearded man clad in the winter uniform of the Hudson Bay Company.
And the moment I saw him I recognized an old acquaintance—a hunter who had of late years served at Fort Charter.
“Tom Arnold!” I cried gladly, as I hurried forward to greet him.
“By Jupiter, if it ain’t Carew!” he shouted, clasping my hand. Turning round, he called loudly: “Come in, boys, it’s all right!”
At the bidding five more men stamped noisily into the house, shaking the snow from their clothing, and dragging a well-laden sledge behind them.
“I left these chaps outside, not knowing who might be in the fort,” Tom explained; “but when I listened a bit I reckoned it was safe to enter. I heard a couple of voices that sounded kind of familiar. And no mistake either! We’re in luck to find friends and shelter at one stroke. What a snug place you’ve got here!”
A scene of merriment and excitement followed, and hands were clasped all round; for the most of our party and of the new arrivals were acquainted with one another, even Captain Rudstone finding a friend or two.
After a generous glass of wine, Tom Arnold lit his pipe, stretched his feet to the blazing logs, and volunteered explanations, which we had been waiting anxiously to hear. He and his party, it seemed, had left Fort Charter on a hunting trip three days before. On the previous night they had chosen a poor camping-place—it afforded little shelter against the storm, and so, in the morning, they determined to try to reach old Fort Beaver.
“That’s my yarn,” Tom concluded, “and now let’s have yours, Carew. What are you doing in this part of the country, and with a pretty girl in tow?”
As briefly as possible I related all that had happened, from the swift beginning of trouble at Fort Royal to the night when we escaped by the secret passage. Every word of it was new to Tom and his companions, and they listened with breathless interest and dilated eyes, with hoarse exclamations of rage and grief. And when the narrative was finished a gloom fell upon all of us.
“So the country is quiet down your way?” asked Captain Rudstone.
“Yes, as far as Fort Garry and the Red River,” Tom replied. “We had dispatches within a week, and though they mentioned bad feeling and a few rows in which men were killed on both sides, there has been no general outbreak. As for the trouble up north, we hadn’t an inkling of it.”
“Apparently, then,” said the captain, “the attack on Fort Royal was a private grudge—an act of revenge instigated solely by Cuthbert Mackenzie, who stirred up the redskins to help him. There was motive enough, you know, for a man of his nature.”
“It’s likely as you say,” Tom answered, “but at the same time I’m afraid the Northwest Company knew what was on foot, and will declare open war as soon as they hear of the fall of Fort Royal. The Indians may have gone north to attack other forts on the bay, or possibly they will march to Fort Charter next. We must lose no time in getting back and giving the alarm. This is the worst of news.”
“I am sure there is no danger,” I said hurriedly, noticing that. Flora looked disturbed and anxious. “The Indians must have gone toward Fort York to cut us off; if they had come this way you would have heard of them long ago.”
“Yes, that’s right,” assented Captain Rudstone. “It will be time enough to start in the morning, when the storm will likely be over. If you set off now, you have ten chances to one of perishing in the snow. You can’t do better than share our cozy quarters.”
“I’ll think about it,” Arnold answered doubtfully. “At all events, we’ll have a jolly good feed together, and then we’ll see what the weather promises. I ought to be back at the fort long before to-morrow morning.”
By this time the dinner was ready. Carteret had found a packet of cornmeal that had been overlooked before, and our visitors contributed freely from their own ample store of food. So our spirits brightened a little, and while we ate and drank we chatted of more pleasing things than Indians and warfare. But Christopher Burley was in a sullen mood and showed a very curt manner to Captain Rudstone. Why the latter had cut the law clerk’s speech short so brusquely, and why he had been disturbed by it, were mysteries to which I could find no solution. Indeed, I felt keenly disappointed, for I knew that Burley had been on the point of explaining the task that had brought him out to the Canadas.
The meal over, a surprise was in store for us. We observed that more light shone through the frosted window panes, and Tom Arnold rose and opened the door. He gave a shout that drew most of us after him, and we were amazed to see the change that had taken place in so short a time. Of the howling storm there was not a trace, save the fresh snowdrifts. It was still blowing a little, but no snow was falling, and through the clear air the clouds gave signs of breaking.
“Hurray! We can start now!” cried Tom.
“Yes, if the calm lasts,” added Captain Rudstone.
“What do you think of it?” I asked of Carteret, who was considered an authority on the weather.
The old voyageur sniffed the air for a moment.
“It’s hard to tell in this case, sir,” he replied. “The clouds may break and clear away for good; and then ag’in, the storm may come on as bad as ever, within the hour. But it’s worth risking the chance.”
Some held Carteret’s opinion, and others were in favor of waiting till morning. But in the end the latter were won over, and we decided to start at once. For a little while there was bustle and commotion as the men repacked the sledges, donned their furred coats and snowshoes, and looked to the priming of their muskets.
In less than ten minutes we were ready, and with a last lingering look at the room which had sheltered us so well, we left the house. I saw Captain Rudstone glance keenly at the spot where the cryptogram was hidden, and he muttered something under his breath as he turned away. We passed across the inclosure, out at the ruined gates, and struck off in the direction of Fort Charter. We were soon in a heavy forest, where it was necessary to march two or three abreast. Tom Arnold, Captain Rudstone and another led the way. I was in the next file of three, with a couple of Fort Charter men for company. Flora was a little distance in the rear, strapped to our half-empty sledge, which Baptiste and Carteret were drawing. From time to time I glanced back for a sight of her pretty face looking out from a dainty headdress of fur.
The storm did not recommence, though the clouds, instead of breaking, hung low and heavy over us. We marched as rapidly as possible through the wilderness, gliding over the drifts and dislodging miniature avalanches of snow from the drooping limbs of the trees.
At about three o’clock in the afternoon, when we had covered some six or seven miles, we were filing along a deep and narrow valley, over the bed of a frozen stream. The snow covered the undergrowth and rocks, making a fairly good road. On both sides of us rose mighty hills, densely covered with timber, and seared with granite crags. Of a sudden, from a point slightly ahead on the left, rang the dull report of a musket.
“I’m shot!” cried Tom Arnold, clapping a hand to his arm.