CHAPTER XIII.

"WHERE IS RED-EYE? I WILL KILL HIM!"--A SOLEMN SCENE--THE MOONLIT FOREST.

On his way to the wigwam camp, as that of the Indians was called, he met stalwart McLeod.

"Ah!" said the soldier-surgeon, "I see you have heard the bad news."

My grandfather's face was set and stern, but very pale.

"No, Doctor," he replied. "Tonal's wife could tell me nothing, only that her husband and my child have disappeared."

"Yes, and--but can you bear the evil news, my good fellow?"

"I can bear anything--anything except suspense."

"Well, the facts, as far as we know them, are these. Our friendly Indians had arranged to-day to hold a feast far away in the forest. They went off in their war-paint. The pipe-major, with one man--Roberts, of your company--went with them, and poor wee Mary would not be left behind. You know your wife will trust her anywhere with Tonal."

"Yes, yes. O Doctor, pardon my impatience, but go on--go on."

"The Indians went off with great rejoicing, Tonal good-naturedly playing in front of them.

"At three o'clock the scattered remains of our Indians came into the camp by twos and threes, some sadly wounded, but no Tonal, no Mary, and no Roberts."

"Killed?"

"Roberts was killed at the first volley. For the Micmacs are on the war-path, and have come from afar to take revenge on our Indians. They seem to have known the very day they would hold this feast."

"Dr. McLeod, there is treason in the camp.

"Where is Red-Eye? I will kill him!"

"Stay, stay," cried the doctor; "do not be rash. I believe Red-Eye to be as faithful as he is simple and brave."

"Where is he, I say?"

"He has gone alone into the forest to seek for your child. If there is any man in our camp who can pick up a trail, it is he."

"Dr. McLeod, sir, he will never return; and I here make a vow--and let it be registered in heaven--I will follow him to the wilds of the farther west, and, when I find him, will slay him in his tracks."

"Robertson, my boy," said the kind-hearted doctor--"for you are but a boy to me--Red-Eye may be a savage, but he is also a Christian, and to the lake-side, after sunset, he has gone every night to pray. I happened to be there but two nights ago, when he stalked silently down, and knelt with his face to the west. Me he could not see, Robertson. I have heard eloquent prayers from many a pulpit, and at many a humble fireside far away in bonnie Scotland, but I never listened to so simple yet heart-o'erflowing prayer before. And you and your little daughter were prayed for in words of such passionate tenderness that I shall ne'er forget them."

There was a reaction now.

"God forgive me, Doctor, if I wrong the man."

Then he covered his face with his hands.

"Come, come, Robertson, do not take on so. There yet is hope, you know. Come, I shall have your wife and yourself on my hands as patients, if you break down thus."

* * * * *

A party, that had gone out to bury the dead and bring in more of the wounded, now came in. They bore, on a litter of branches, the lifeless body of Roberts, a young fair-haired lad, who had joined in Canada.

His terrible wounds were all in front, showing how well he had fought.

He, like all the other dead, and some of the wounded had been scalped.

The assault by the Micmacs, it seems, had been terribly sudden.

It was a wild _mêlée_, and terrible tulzie, but soon over.

As neither Tonal nor the child was found in the forest, it was evident that they had been taken prisoners.

Tonal would doubtless be tortured at the stake, but how about Mary? She would either be flung into the river or over the cliff, or stripped and dressed as a papoose, then handed over to the tender mercies of some horrid squaw, to be reared as a little savage.

Poor wee wonder! she had often expressed her wish to become a savage, and roam through the woods and wilds with the braves. Little did she know then what was about to befall her.

There would be no sleep for grandfather to-night, and little for anyone else.

Preparations were being hastily made, however, for an expedition against the Micmacs. It was hoped that, secure in the depth of the forests, and in their mountain fastnesses, they would not hurry homewards, but follow the chase for a time. But this was only conjecture. If they went directly towards their own country, there was but little chance of our people being able to overtake them.

Besides, there were no good guides. The knowledge of even the friendly Indians, concerning this hostile tribe, was but small, but they would do all they could.

The expedition would not start until daybreak; so it was at first arranged. Without proper guides, rashness would only mean disaster.

My grandfather lay down for a time, but sleep was, for once, banished from his eyes.

He was restless, wildly restless. So he got up and left the hut. He left his wife asleep, for sorrow, in some, often causes drowsiness.

He would have bent down and kissed her, had he not feared it would wake her, for her cheeks were even now wet with tears.

Grandfather passed the sentry, and went on towards the lake. The sight of a placid sea or lake seems to have a soothing effect upon the nerves.

What a beautiful night it was! Not a breath of wind!

The great round moon was struggling up through a ghostly fog, and her red beams turned the waves to a yellow-pinkish hue. The forest all around looked like rolling clouds of vapour, and the ground itself was so white, that at a little distance it seemed covered with snow. It was a solemn scene!

Nothing was heard, except now and then the mournful cry of a night-bird, and the shout of a watchful sentry. But the drone of the distant waterfall filled all the air, and the very trees appeared to vibrate to its rhythm.

No life was visible anywhere.

Grandfather was alone. Alone with his grief. Alone with God.

Yes, He could see him. He loved him still.

A very bright star shone high up in the east, and appeared to look down on the sorrowing father with kind and pitying eye.

He knelt near the lake to pray. It was no presumptuous prayer.

"If it be Thy will, O Father, who have always been my Guide and Friend----"

That was the first of it.

"If it be Thy will."

And prayer should never go further than this.

As he still knelt there, and the waters of the lake grew more and more silvery every minute, as the moon rose higher and higher, a tall figure came gliding from the forest, walking in its moccasins as silently as, they tell me, ghosts walk.

"Ugh!"

Grandfather started to his feet.

The moon shone full now in the face of the Indian, Red-Eye.

"Red-Eye, it is you. What is it you carry?"

Red-Eye held his burden by the hair aloft.

An Indian head, with half-open eyes and drooping jaw.

"Red-Eye, how came you by that ghastly trophy?"

The Indian only pointed to the west, threw the head down carelessly, and sat down.

"I tire, much tire," he said, as he leant on one arm and commenced to fill his wooden pipe.

Grandfather sat down beside him and waited. He knew the habits of Indian warriors.

He felt sure the man would speak anon.

The moon was in full silver flood now, and grandfather could watch Red-Eye, and note every expression on his wild uncouth face.

"Red-Eye's heart is heavy," he said at last.

"And my heart is heavy, Red-Eye."

"Indian can love more--much more than pale-face. I loved your lost child."

Grandfather drew nearer to him. He felt he could trust this strange man. He felt that now, for the first time.

"Long ago--long before the pale-face was sent by your great white chief to fight bad 'Merican man--I live in the sunset west. Soon quarrels rise. I love one Indian. Grat Pike love her too. We fight. All braves fight--but I kill my chief. Then I fly and live in the forest. Every man want to kill Red-Eye then. For years I live so. Meemee come too, but one night she die."

He paused for a minute, as if the memory of his grief had made him dumb.

"Then when pale-faces come, I come to your camp-fire. You not trust me. You think poor Red-Eye traitor and thief. You think I steal the child for my tribe."

"No, no, no, Red-Eye! I did doubt you, but now I think my eyes have been opened."

Red-Eye pointed with his pipe to the ghastly head.

"He one scout. One spy. Yes, he belong to my tribe. Ugh! He not tell more tale."

"And whither, think you, have they taken my child and my friend?"

"When I kill he, I go after my tribe. Your child I cannot see. Your friend play in my tribe's camp."

"Tonal playing! He must be mad!"

"No. Suppose not play, then----"

Red-Eye touched his neck with the point of his finger.

This was significant enough.

Then up sprang Red-Eye, tall, defiant, determined.

"Your men ready?"

"They will start to-morrow morning early."

"Too late! They start now!"

He pulled out his knife and quickly scalped the hideous head.

The scalp he hung to his girdle.

"Come," he said.

And grandfather followed mechanically, as it were.

His head was bent downwards. He walked as soldiers walk at the funeral of a well-beloved friend.

But he was hopeless. He would never see his little Mary-again. Of this he felt certain.

The Indian led the way to the hut occupied by Major Drake, and quickly that gallant officer responded to the summons.

Dr. McLeod came out with him. Both started when they saw the tall Indian with scalp and tomahawk in his girdle.

"Red-Eye, I am happy to see you," said the doctor.

"Come _now_," said Red-Eye, pointing to the moon. "I will guide you to the camp of the Micmacs. Come quick."

In less than half an hour O'Reilly, Drake, and McLeod, with fully half of my grandfather's company, had fallen in.

They were silent and grave, but the look of sternness on each face told that they meant business.

My grandfather ran in to say good-bye, and bid his wife and Tonal's be of good cheer and--just _pray_!

Then, in double file, and still in silence, men and officers marched away, guided by Red-Eye, and soon were lost to view, swallowed up, as it were, in the depths of that great white, moonlit forest.