CHAPTER XIII

RUN-ALL-DAY AGAIN MAKES USE OF THE RED FEATHERS

The cry from the lake was heard by Run-all-day and other early risers in the little village. It was also heard by Jumping Wolf’s enemies, who had camped, for the night, on the other side of the lake. But they could not answer it, for they had no canoes.

Run-all-day looked in the direction of the cry and detected the human figure on the distant ice-pan. He saw it fall, move slightly, and then lie quiet. He lifted his great canoe of bark, which, fortunately, he had repaired with resin the day before, in preparation for the spring journey, and carried it to the shore. He shouted for his paddle; and, in a moment, Singing Bird came running from the lodge, with two paddles on her shoulder. She, too, had seen and heard the sufferer out on the drifting ice.

“Let me go with you, and paddle in the bow,” she begged.

As the water was smooth and the ice scattered, the chief nodded his permission. In another second the great canoe was in the water and the white paddles were plying and flashing.

At last the canoe slid softly alongside the pan of ice on which the stranger lay, face-downward.

“Come, friend. We will give you a softer bed than that,” cried Run-all-day.

The young man stirred slightly, but did not raise his head. The bow of the canoe was within a few feet of him; so the girl leaned forward and prodded him sharply with her paddle.

“Harder! Harder!” cried the chief. “If we do not wake him now, perhaps he may never wake. Look, there is blood on the ice.”

Singing Bird reached out again and jabbed the stranger’s ribs with determination but inconsiderable force. At the third jab, he drew himself up on his knees and looked at them with a wide but dim glance. He gazed at the chief and then at the girl.

“I do not know you,” he said, slowly. “You are not from my village. Why did you hunt me so?”

“We are your friends, lad, and we did not hunt you,” replied Run-all-day. “Crawl over here and get into the canoe.”

The young man did as he was told, but in a dazed, half-hearted manner.

“Steady,” cried the chief. “Don’t step on the gunwale. There now, lie down.”

Then Singing Bird pushed the bow of the canoe away from the flat ice-pan with its great, red stain of blood. She wondered what the stranger’s story would be, and her young heart fluttered at the adventure; but she paddled none the less diligently for all that.

Silently crouched in the cover of the woods, the men who had so recently been in murderous pursuit of Jumping Wolf beheld the rescue of their quarry. They were six in number; for, after Jumping Wolf’s first stand against them on the barren, they had returned to the village for reinforcements, carrying their wounded. They had taken up the chase again, with a strong party, urged to the deed by the brother of the dabbler in magic who had slain the old chief and who had been slain, in turn, by Jumping Wolf. But this worthy brother had not joined in the long chase himself. It was wiser and more comfortable to sit at home and plan new campaigns. Now the pursuers were tired of the hunting. They had lost their bravest man by Jumping Wolf’s arrow, the night before. Another had been wounded. They were in a strange country and longed for their own lodges and cooking-fires. So, when they saw the great canoe put out from the opposite shore, and the rescue of their intended victim from the ice, they retreated cautiously and then faced southward and westward for their own country.

Jumping Wolf lay in a raging fever for days. More than once his feet were at the very edge of the long, dark trail which leads, at last, to the hunting grounds beyond the setting sun. But he was well nursed, in a quiet lodge, by old Blowing Fog and Singing Bird. Red Willow brewed herb-waters for him, when she could spare the time from her babies; and all the old men and women in the village gave medical advice, which Blowing Fog told them to keep for their own ailments. The commencement of the northward journey was delayed for two weeks by the stranger’s illness, for Run-all-day would not risk the life he had saved for so small a matter as an early settlement in their summer lodges. But some of the cod-fishers grumbled, and even talked of parting from the other villagers and going about their affairs without the sanction of their chief.

“Go, if you wish,” said Run-all-day. “But if you do, you need not return to this snug village when the frost comes. You will have to find another chief then, and another hunting-ground, and build new lodges.”

After all, they reflected, Run-all-day was a mighty warrior, a friend of magicians. Also, the valley was warm for a winter camp, and the surrounding forests were rich with game. So they agreed that it was better to lose a few cod-fish than their membership in the village and the protection of their big chief.

When the fever had burned itself out of Jumping Wolf’s brain and the awful weights and pains had passed from his chest, he told his story to his new friends. No one doubted a word of the tale. Run-all-day was so moved to anger against the distant villagers, that, had his awe of the red feathers been less, he would have put them within his moccasins and flown southward, to strike terror into those treacherous hearts. But, as it was, he vowed that Jumping Wolf had his love and protection for as long as he wanted them.

“Let me be one of your people, chief,” said the young man. “You waked me from the awful sleep, gave me care and medicine, and turned my feet from the long trail. Only my own father and my mother, when I was a small baby, ever showed me such love as you and your people have shown me. When I am strong again I will hunt and fight for you and your house.”

So Jumping Wolf, the fugitive from the south, became a warrior of Run-all-day’s little clan.

The water was still high in the lakes and rivers, but clear of ice, when Run-all-day and his people at last set out on the northward journey. Now the days were warm, and the willows were bursting their silver buds. The alders were fragrant with yellow blossoms. The snow had faded away, save from the darkest recesses of the forest, and many furtive blooms shone from the moss that floored the woodland valleys. Geese and duck and brant had returned to their northern breeding-places; plover and snipe piped and flew, and the burnished kingfisher flashed along the river, from point to point, grinding out discordant warnings, at the approach of the canoes.

They travelled swiftly, though forced to make many portages by the strength of the swollen water. It was Run-all-day’s intention to go all the way to the great bay of salt water into which the River of Three Fires runs, making his summer camp there so as to keep his village intact. He was proud of his chieftainship. A greater and not less honest ambition than to kill salmon was astir in his manly heart. He dreamed of a strong clan, mighty in peace and in battle, with himself as its head and the friendship of Wise-as-a-she-wolf for its protection. He knew that the future held great adventures; that a day of reckoning must come between the evil and the honest in every part of the island. He knew that Wise-as-a-she-wolf was the enemy of every worker of evil, and he knew that this meant that every other magician in the land, great or small, was the secret enemy of his friend and master. Never before had Run-all-day called a man his master, even in his thoughts; but his brave and steadfast heart had gone out to the good magician. He would fight his master’s battles, when need came, and he would see that his people did not shirk the fray.

He told his ambition to Red Willow, who was not in the least displeased with it. She did not think her husband uncommonly clever, but she was sure that he was wise; and wisdom is a finer thing than nimbleness of wit.

“I shall not be the least of my family,” said Run-all-day. “The world shall hear of me as a warrior and chief. I will care for my people as I care for my family; and there will be talk of my name around the cooking-fires long after my bones have been covered with the heavy stones.”

“You plan too far ahead, chief,” cried Red Willow, tenderly. “Let us not contemplate the talk of the villages, an hundred summers hence.”

On the third evening the whole party camped about a mile above the great falls. There would be a long carry, next morning, around that roaring, smoking tumult of black rocks and white waters. By the clear, early light they would drop down, keeping close to the shore, to a point as near the top of the falls as they dared. But now, with the twilight deepening every moment, it was safer to land well out of reach of the torn currents. The chief’s canoe had leaked slightly during the day; so, while the others made camp, he unloaded it and repaired it with the mixture of melted fat and gum which he had invented for the purpose.

Very early next morning, before the elders were astir, two of the chief’s little boys, one of eight years of age and the other of six, stole from their beds to play. No day was long enough for playtime, so they must begin at the breaking of dawn. They ran over to their father’s big canoe. It lay with its bow at the edge of the water, empty. They played about it for a few minutes, jumping in and out, and sometimes pretending to paddle, each with a little stick. It was not long, however, before the elder of the two began shoving at the stern of the canoe. The six-year-old joined him in the good work. What was the fun of playing ashore when the river lay so near? Now was the time to put pretence away and voyage forth like full-fledged warriors. The canoe touched the water--advanced into the current inch by inch. Now half its length was afloat and the black water tugging at it. The children pushed and heaved, strong with the fire of adventure. They were helped by a current that slanted outward from the shore at this point, turned toward mid-stream by an eddy just below. At last the canoe slipped free, and the children scrambled aboard with a shout of delight; and the slanting current laid hold of the bark and swung it gaily away.

Old Green Bow, attracted by their shout of glee, was the first to discover the children’s danger. He saw the great canoe, riding high on the water, swing in mid-stream and speed down the racing river. He saw the little heads above the gunwale, and the little arms dipping the sticks over-side, as if they would hasten the canoe on her course to the churning falls below. Green Bow’s wits were hopelessly muddled at the sight. He stared, open-mouthed and blank with horror. Then he ran to the edge of the shore and waved his arms frantically and foolishly after the speeding craft. At last a shrill cry broke from him.

When Run-all-day saw what the matter was, his tanned face went pale as the bark of the distant canoe. Uttering a low cry, he sprang for one of the heavy skin-covered boats of his followers, and began unloading it with desperate energy. Even as he worked, the canoe bearing the children rounded a wooded bend and flashed from sight. He was about to hurl the skin-covered craft into the current, still half loaded, when Red Willow touched his arm.

“Quick! Here are the red feathers,” she cried.

He slipped them into his moccasins, snatched a paddle from the ground, and leaped into the air; and the clustered villagers shouted as he rushed through space and beyond their sight, like a great bird. He did not follow the river, but slanted upward and passed over the wooded bluff ’round which the canoe, with its precious freight, had so lately disappeared. He marked it again in an instant, in a sweep of his vision, still unwrecked, but dashing, unsteered, where the water flung itself into white crests against a thousand scattered boulders. The roar of the falls was in his ears, and he saw its crown of spray not half a mile beyond the racing canoe.

He swooped downward and forward, with all the speed of the magic feathers. It was plain to see that no human skill and strength could save the good canoe from that mad tumult, so he loosed hold of the paddle. It fell in the water and swirled away. Next moment he was low above the canoe. His flying feet touched the trembling structure. Close ahead spouted a fountain of white water. The children were lying flat on their faces, sobbing in an agony of fear. He snatched one, then the other, to his breast and let the doomed canoe go from under his feet. He rose a little distance, clasping his children firmly, and watched the canoe fling itself into the white water, emerge bottom-up and swing on, a battered wreck, toward the hungry falls. He had not been a second too soon. He uttered a loud cry of thanksgiving, turned, and set his feet strongly to the currents of the morning air. And when the villagers saw him top the wooded point, with his double burden, they shouted again, and danced wildly with up-flung arms.