CHAPTER XVIII THE CRUEL TRAIL
Standing upon the bank Madeline clutched Donnie in her arms, and gazed at the surf beating and chafing against the shore. She was bewildered and her brain whirled. The wind raved about her, tossing her hair in wild confusion. Her clothes were wet, and she shivered with the cold. She looked at the lad lying in her arms. He was very still. It was the silence of fear, and he gazed up wonderingly into Madeline's eyes. His lips quivered as he noticed her drawn, tense features. He was about to cry, when Madeline suddenly bent her head, and rained a shower of passionate kisses upon the little white face. Tears came to her eyes and fell upon the boy's soft cheeks.
"What's the matter, Malin?" he asked. "What are 'ou crying for? Why don't 'ou take me home to my mamma?"
"I can't, Donnie," was the sobbing reply. "I would if I could. We are alone here with these people, and we must cling together. I want you to be a man, Donnie, and help me to be brave."
For a few brief heart-beats the little lad looked intently into Madeline's face, his bright eyes filled with a questioning, wondering light. Then something seemed to dawn across his mind, and placing one small hand into hers he straightened himself up, and stood proudly by her side.
"I'll take care of 'ou, Malin," he cried. "I'll fight for 'ou. I'll—"
His words were cut short by a gruff voice near at hand. They both started and looked quickly around. The Indian woman was standing near, ordering them to make haste as the men were about to move forward.
Then Madeline noticed that the canoe had been drawn ashore and hidden in a secret place among the trees. The men were making ready to depart, with their few belongings thrown over their shoulders. What did it all mean? She wondered. Why were they leaving the lake, and where were they going? The water, rough and tumultuous though it was, seemed like a friend, and to leave it was to abandon hope. She looked away to the left and beheld a long valley opening up between the shoulders of two mountain ranges. Through this they were to travel. It seemed to her like the gate of death, dark and horrible.
Taking Donnie's hand in her own she followed the natives. The trail, though worn by many feet, was rough. There were rocks, and snags which had not been removed, and over these the boy at times stumbled. He tried bravely to keep up with his companion, but his little legs wearied, and his breath came hard and fast. Madeline looking down saw the effort he was making to be a man. Compunction smote her heart, so, stooping, she lifted the lad in her arms and struggled forward. At times the Indians turned and scowled darkly when she lagged too far behind. But no one offered to assist her with her burden. When her arms ached she would place the boy upon the ground for a brief respite, but only to lift him up again after a few minutes. Thus all through that long day she battled onward. How her strength endured she could not tell. Often she was at the point of sinking upon the trail and giving up in despair. But that little clinging form depending upon her always nerved her to action. For his sake she would be brave and keep up. She longed to lie down and rest, for she was very tired. The strain of the night before and the lack of sleep were telling plainly upon her now. She thought she knew what it was to be weary, but never anything like this. Her whole body ached, her eyes were tired, and her long dark lashes would continually droop. Her head throbbed, and her face was hot and feverish.
"Oh, God!" she mentally prayed. "Why this chastening? Why is the rod so heavy?"