The Chief of the Ranges: A Tale of the Yukon

by H. A. Cody

"Very well, little one," was the reply. "Don't worry over it now. A good sleep will do you much good."

Owindia, however, found it hard to follow her father's advice. The hours passed, and the fire burned low. But sleep would not come to her eyes. The storm still raged with unabated fury. Every time the flap moved she imagined she saw that horrible face looking in upon her. When toward morning she did sink into a fitful slumber she was beset by cruel Chilcats, who were leering upon her with merciless eyes. Then a form bounded to her rescue, drove back her assailants, seized her in his arms, and bore her away. She caught one fleeting glimpse of her rescuer ere the vision faded—it was the face of the white stranger.

With the light of day courage returned to Owindia's heart. The fearful scene of the past night was like a horrible dream. Her face was somewhat pale, and a certain listlessness possessed her which she could not overcome. The presence of the white man kept her from brooding over her fears.

The stranger of the storm, much refreshed after his long sleep, opened his eyes and looked around the lodge in astonishment. His last remembrance was of staggering through the forest, battling with the storm, and trying to urge his weary, over-taxed body forward. How had he come to this place? he wondered. Who had rescued him? It did not concern him much, however, for the bed was comfortable, and his eyes were fixed upon a bright scene on the other side of the fire. It seemed like fairy-land to lie there listening to the crackling of the fire, and watching that graceful form now standing erect, and again bending over something which he could not see. Where had such a beautiful creature come from? She surely did not belong to the wilderness. A form such as hers, clad in a neatly fitting dress, soft and clean, he had not expected to find in this far-off Yukon region. And the poise of her head held him spellbound by its every movement. Presently she turned, looked straight toward him, and their eyes met. It was only for an instant, but that glance was sufficient to stir the stranger's heart to its inmost depth.

Never before had he been thus affected by such eyes. They were different from any he had ever seen, so full of tenderness, mingled with sadness were they. A secret fear, as of a hunted animal lurked within their clear orbs. They were eyes which roused in the soul a longing for action, a desire to do something which would cause them to glow with pleasure and pride. The quick glance which had met the stranger's was a questioning one. "Are you worthy to be trusted?" it seemed to say. And in fact the young man wanted to feel that he could be trusted. He could not describe the sensation which came to him now; he had never experienced the like before. To a man whose life had been a roving one full of adventure, it was certainly new to be captivated by a pair of eyes. But in that brief space of time, with not even a word spoken he knew that, for him, life would never be the same again. There was something more to live for than the chase, and no matter where he went those sad dark eyes would ever be with him.

For some time he remained in his recumbent position satisfied to watch her helping her father. The latter was skinning the game he had taken from his traps the day before and Owindia was assisting. There were various animals, fox, lynx, wolverine, and marten, for Klitonda had made a good catch. Owindia was stretching the pelts, and the stranger noticed how deftly she did the work. His eyes roamed from the skins near the fire to the many hanging upon the walls of the lodge. There were fine beaver pelts, and black fox skins, too, of rare quality. With the eyes of a connoisseur he noted them all, and conjectured their various values when laid down in London. And this was only one lodge. There must be hundreds more, he felt confident, each with as rich a supply as this. What prizes he had found here in the wilderness, furs to satisfy the heart of the keenest trader, and a maiden, whose presence stirred his very soul. His weariness and lassitude had left him now. He sat bolt upright that he might obtain a better view of the skins hanging around him. How much would the Indian ask for them? he wondered, or were they already spoken for by some native trader? He did not believe that there were other white men in the country, but he had heard that the coast Indians crossed the mountains, and did considerable bartering. He knew next to nothing about the Chilcats, and had yet to learn the history of that rapacious tribe. He was the trader once more. Keenness mingled with caution, and a smile of satisfaction lurked about the corners of his mouth as he thought of the favourable report he would make upon his return down river.

Owindia, seeing the stranger sitting up, went to the fire, lifted the cover from a kettle, and taking a spoon, artistically made from the horn of a mountain sheep, began to dip out some of the rich broth into a small wooden vessel. This done, she brought it to the white man's side, and without a word held it out for him to take. The stranger was hungry, and he drank eagerly, at the same time noticing how small were the nut-brown hands of the maiden standing before him. Next she brought him a piece of well-cooked moose meat, and the relish with which he ate brought an expression of satisfaction to her face.

"Is the white man better now?"

They were the first words she had uttered, and the stranger was surprised at the soft tone of her voice. He was delighted, too, to find that he could understand her language, which was little different from that he was in the habit of speaking.

"I feel quite well," he replied. "You are very kind to me. But please tell me how I came here. I was battling through the storm, I fell and knew no more until I awoke and found myself in this lodge."