Now Moon, after giving his men orders, went with his lieutenant to rejoin the waiting Indians. Deakin was placed against a tree and lashed fast to it, Crawford was dragged to another—and then Deakin’s one surviving man broke free and made a dash for safety. He was shot down before he had gone twenty feet, and died there. Crawford offered no resistance, and was glad enough to be mistaken for one of Deakin’s crew, lest worse befall him. If he were posted in Boston as a pirate, news of him must have reached London ere this. He stood bound to the tree and surveyed the scene before him, while Moses Deakin hung in his lashings, and the eighteen men who survived the wreck sat to one side talking and smoking, watching their officers parley with the redskins.
Moon, speaking in a mixture of French and English, demanded that the Indians supply him with canoes and guides down the coast, and that they follow him to Nelson with their beaver. There was some hitch about this. Crawford could not uncover it, nor could Moon, until at last a chief arose, threw aside his blanket, and spoke in excellent French.
“We have a message for the Big Bear,” and he pointed to the figure of Moses Deakin. “We have traded with the Bostonnais because the Anglais have not come here. Now the Anglais have very strong medicine. They have destroyed the ship of the Big Bear, have killed his men, have captured him. We shall trade with them, and bring the packs of castor from our camp across the bay. But first we must give this message to the Big Bear. This message has been brought to the Crees from far away, by a chieftain of the Sauteurs or Chippewas, who had it from another nation called Nadouisioux. If this message is not delivered to the Big Bear, our father Kitchimanitou who lives in the sun will be displeased and will hide his face from us, because this message comes from his daughter the Star Woman.”
At this name, Crawford started. Moon, who did not know what to make of this talk about a message, made a curt response.
“Big Bear is to be hanged.”
“That is good,” said the Cree chief. “But first let him receive this message, if he will accept it.”
Moon had no choice but to obey, and ordered his men to revive the senseless Deakin. Crawford watched in wondering surmise. Beyond a doubt, then, the Star Woman was no Indian myth, but a real person! Deakin’s insolent summons had gone to her, passed from tribe to tribe—and here was the answer to be delivered!
Now Moon strode over to the two captives, gave Crawford one curious glance, then turned his attention to Deakin. The latter, under the impact of icy water from the bay, was glaring and blinking around, helpless to move; a furious thing he was, and grim to behold, all his grizzled beard being dribbled and matted with blood from his wounded forehead. Moon stood laughing at him.
“It was kind of ye to give us warning wi’ shot and shout!” he exclaimed. “Well, Moses Deakin, shalt have thy head lying in salt when we leave here; the company hath twenty pound on those moustachios. And why? For that broadside ye poured into us last year i’ the straits, and killed poor Cap’n Allen—ay, into a royal navy ship too! Dost mind how ye slid out from among the bergs and poured in shot, and went scooning down the wind and away? Ay, and now that work is to cost ye a head.”
The Bostonnais spat at his tormentor.