He had known that the road would not carry him far, but he had not realized that it would end as abruptly as though sheared off with a knife. The dense wall of trees and underbrush that had hemmed it in on both sides had closed together before him and completely blocked the way. He could actually see the sharp line where the gravel roadbed ended and the soft leaf-mold began, while just before him he spied in the grass a broken ax and a rusty pick, as though the last workman had ceased his labors so suddenly as to have even left his tools. Hugh had to stand and look for some minutes before he could distinguish the narrow trail threading its way off among the trees, the path that he must now follow.
Down the hillside it led him, over great tree trunks, under low-hanging branches, through thickets that seemed almost impenetrable. The noonday sun began to feel hot, even among the trees, and the air seemed close and heavy as he progressed further and further into the valley. It was a great relief to hear suddenly the cool patter of what sounded like falling water and a great disappointment to find that it came only from a grove of quaking aspen trees where the wind among the leaves made just the sound of rain. Once past these, however, the going was a little easier, for on the next hill the birches and poplars gave way to solid pine forest and the trail led upward between black trunks and over a carpet of fallen needles. He came out, at last, on the summit of the slope and stopped a moment to look back. Nothing but hills beyond hills, forest beyond forest could be seen; the little town of Rudolm had utterly disappeared. Only a sharp glint of blue at the end of the valley and the rising bulk of the mountain to the westward showed the familiar landmarks of Red Lake and Jasper Peak.
He sat down here to eat his lunch and to rest a little, for his knees were beginning to weary and the pack was heavy on his unaccustomed shoulders. When he arose at length and trudged on he found that he could no longer make such good time; he had perhaps set too fast a pace at first and worn himself out too soon. It was a long, long way over the next ridge and down into the valley beyond, so long that the sun had disappeared and the hollows were beginning to fill with shadow when he came finally to the foot of the steep incline. The long, gray northern twilight held, however, so that he had no real difficulty in following the trail, faint as it was, that led him to the edge of a stream, skirted its bank and brought him, just as heavy darkness fell, within sight of a row of fires that must belong to the Chippewa encampment.
Indian dwellings are far more picturesque than imposing, so at least Hugh concluded as he approached the huddle of teepees, mere shelters of skins and blankets stretched over birch poles. A woman was cooking by the nearest fire; she sat back upon her heels and gazed at him stolidly, but made no answer when he asked for the boy Shokatan. Some children came crawling out from one of the tents and also stared at him but not a word could he get from them. He stood irresolute, not quite knowing what to do, when another squaw, who sat at the second fire, holding a baby, suddenly turned and greeted him with a strange, vacant smile, which he recognized at once as Laughing Mary’s. Again he asked for Shokatan, and she pointed silently at a boy who was coming toward him from the edge of the stream where he had evidently been fishing.
“Jethro Brown sent me to you and gave me this letter,” began Hugh, but he received no answer, only the same stolid stare. The boy held out his hand for the paper, turned it over and over without making even a pretense of reading it, then grunted, “No English,” and, turning, walked away.
It was an awkward moment for Hugh and a most discouraging one. Apparently he was to get no help here for the continuing of his journey, while the thought of trying to go back, through the dark, in his present weary state was quite too appalling. Almost without thinking, he unbuckled his pack, laid it down on the grass and seated himself at the nearest fire. Two children and an old man moved over to make room for him, yet no one said a word or regarded his presence with the least surprise. Presently a woman, he thought it was Laughing Mary, but in the uncertain light could not make sure, came over and put down some food before him.
He was hungry enough to have eaten anything, but he thought then and long afterward that it was just as well that he should never know of what that savory stew was made. It might be—no, he concluded firmly, he would make no guess as to what it was—nectar and ambrosia was what it tasted like and he ate it all. Afterward he went down to the river to wash his hands and to have a long drink of the cool, running water. Looking back at the camp he thought what a curious picture it made with the leaping fires, the shadowy teepees and the black figures moving noiselessly to and fro.
Somebody startled him by touching his arm as he sat staring. It was the boy, Shokatan, carrying Hugh’s pack which he had left beside the fire. Not a word did the Indian speak, but he motioned to a canoe that lay bottom upward on the grassy bank, and, by a grunt, indicated that he wished Hugh’s help in lifting it. With some wonder, Hugh arose to assist him, and in a moment had set it afloat on the rippling shallows of the little stream. The Indian produced two paddles and slipped into his place in the stern; Hugh laid his pack in the bottom of the boat, took up a paddle and knelt in the bow, as they launched forth through the reeds and out into the current. Another stream flowed into the first just below the camp, making quite a wide brawling little river that swept away into the dark.
Nothing had yet been said, but Hugh began to realize that this was the second stage of his journey. Shokatan, feigning complete ignorance of all English speech, as is the obstinate Indian habit, had nevertheless read the letter unobserved and had agreed to help Hugh on his way. Silently the canoe slipped out into the stream, was caught by the current and with the aid of the two steady paddles shot swiftly onward upon its course. There was no talk as they sped along, as the dripping paddles rose and fell and mile after mile of river and forest dropped behind them.
The stars began to come out above them and lay reflected in long drifts of shimmering light as they crossed a quiet pool. Hugh began to see more and more clearly the white birches on the shore, the reeds and rocking lily-pads and the two lines of ripples that slanted outward from their swiftly moving bow. There was a long, long reach of steady paddling while the river grew ever wider in its twisted course toward the lake.