Brothers of Peril: A Story of old Newfoundland

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

CHAPTER XXIX. WOLF SLAYER COMES AND GOES; AND TROWLEY RECEIVES A VISITOR

Wolf Slayer, who had brought warning of the menace of the freshet to Fort Beatrix, soon showed his evil hand. He had arrived at the fort in a starving condition and still weak from wounds received in the battle in which his father had been killed. Had he been well and filled with meat, he would undoubtedly have let the inmates of the fort and the camp lie in ignorance of the danger. For ten days he was fed and cared for by the settlers. By the end of that time, he felt himself again. The old arrogance burned in his eyes; the old sneer returned to his lips. Ouenwa read the signs and wondered how the deviltry would show itself under such unpropitious circumstances.

Ouenwa's sleep was light and fitful on the tenth night after the overflowing of the river. About midnight he awoke, turned over, and could not get back to his dreams. So he lay wide-awake, thinking of the future. He could hear Bernard Kingswell's peaceful breathing. He thought of his friend, and his heart warmed to him with gratitude and comrade-love. He thought of Beatrix, smiled wistfully in the darkness, and put the bright vision away from him. What was that? He breathed more softly and lifted his head. Was it fancy, or—or what? He shifted noiselessly to the farther edge of the couch. A hand brushed along his pillow of folded blanket. Next moment he gripped an unseen wrist and closed with a silent enemy.

Minutes passed before the wrestlers stumbled against a stool, with a clatter that startled Kingswell to his feet. The Englishman leaped to the hearth, kicked the fallen coals to life, and threw a roll of birch bark on top of them. Then he stepped aside until the yellow flame lighted the room. The illumination was just in time, for Wolf Slayer had the lighter boy on the floor and the knife raised, when Kingswell saw his way to the rescue. He recognized the youth, and in a fit of English indignation at such a return for hospitality caught him by neck and belt and hurled him bodily from the prostrate Ouenwa. Wolf Slayer alighted on his feet, snatched open the door (which he had left ajar), and fled into the darkness.

A morning of late May brought a friendly native to Fort Beatrix, with word that three English ships were in Wigwam Harbour. Then Ouenwa and Tom Bent made the journey and returned, in due season, with the welcome news that one of the vessels was the Heart of the West.

Both the new boats and the old Pelican were made ready for the expedition. Kingswell commanded the Pelican, with Ouenwa and six natives for crew. Tom Bent was put in charge of the second boat, and Black Feather of the third. William Trigget and Donnelly were left to see that no harm came to Mistress Westleigh—and, as the boats stole down-stream, in the gray of the dawn, William Trigget treasured in his hand a duly witnessed document, in which Bernard Kingswell, gentleman, of Bristol, bequeathed and willed all his earthly goods to Beatrix Westleigh, spinster, of Fort Beatrix, in the Newfounde Land, and late of Beverly and Randon, in Somersetshire, England.

The parting between Beatrix and her lover had been a fond one, but the man had noticed (and in his heart regretted) the fortitude with which she bade him farewell and godspeed. He worried about it in his sleep, and again, as he looked longingly at her cabin in the bleak dawn. He tried to comfort himself with memories of a hundred incidents that placed the sincerity of her love beyond a shadow of doubt. But, for all that, she might have shed a few tears. Surely she realized the chances of danger?—the risk he was running, for her sake? Love is edged and barbed by just such little and unreasonable questionings.

A white mist wreathed along the surface of Gray Goose River when the three boats swung down with the current. The Beothics were armed with English knives. There were no firearms aboard any of the little vessels. Kingswell and Ouenwa had swords at their belts, and Spanish daggers for their left hands. Tom Bent was armed with his oft-proved cutlass.

The sun did not get above the horizon until the little fleet was clear of the river's mouth. There a breath of wind sighed through the cordage, and the sails flapped up and rounded softly. Kingswell leaned forward and looked under the square canvas of the Pelican's big wing.