CHAPTER XXXI

THE FREEZING OF THE NARROW SEA

Events had moved swiftly in the great northern island during Wise-as-a-she-wolf’s absence.

As autumn stole over the forests and barrens, ripening, searing, and slaying, old men predicted a winter of more than usual severity. They read the signs in the moss, in the flight of certain fowl, in the fur and intestines of animals. Then came the frost, and gripped the island in an aching, relentless vise for ten days before the sky thickened to snow. The snow fell steadily, for two days and two nights; and with the passing of the frozen clouds came pitiless winds from the north, sweeping between the blue and the white. The snow, dry as dust, was blown into long ridges, and beaten to the firmness of packed sand, and banked high against the lodges of men and the lairs of beasts.

Beyond the Narrow Sea the mountaineers were called together, from their several villages, by Black Eagle. Bright Robe was summoned from his hiding-place, and took his seat on the chief’s right hand.

“This will be a hungry winter,” said the chief. “Hunting will be difficult, for the caribou have travelled far. Bright Robe will not be able to feed us all, for his heart has so softened of late, that he will rob no village unless it be distant a three-days’ journey.”

The warriors grunted agreement to the chief’s words, but the magician held his peace and wondered what was in the other’s mind.

“The Narrow Sea is frozen,” continued Black Eagle. “A safe way leads to the island, where the warriors are feeble as old women and the storehouses are full. We shall march across the frozen water and take the richness of that old island.”

The warriors shouted approval, for they loved easy fighting and full meals.

“I do not advise it,” said Bright Robe. “Wise-as-a-she-wolf would scatter and slay you with his magic.”

Black Eagle looked at him with an evil smile.

“With you on our side, why need we fear the magic of Wise-as-a-she-wolf?” he said. “You are the greatest magician in the world. You are too modest, my friend, and have hidden so long in the mountains that you have forgotten your strength.”

“I will not fight the men of the great island,” said Bright Robe.

“You have the heart of a mouse,” returned Black Eagle, with a smile on his lips, but a gleam of rage in his eyes. “If you do not help us against the people of the island, then shall we sit peacefully here, while our swiftest runner carries word of you to Wise-as-a-she-wolf.”

“Unless he is fleeter than the red feathers, he will not run very far,” said Bright Robe, dangerously calm.

The chief glanced at him again. “So you have a little courage, after all,” he cried, in feigned amazement. “No messenger will be sent,” he added, “but when next Wise-as-a-she-wolf comes to the village, he will be told of how you have made such a fool of him.”

Bright Robe moved uneasily, and his sinister eyes flashed over the company of squatting warriors. They were all armed with bows, clubs, and spears; but he knew that, by the help of his magic, he could scatter and slay them at but small risk to himself. What would the routing of these people avail him, however? Word of the fight would travel swiftly to the ears of his powerful enemy; and who would then hide him from that awful meeting with lies and cunning? He realized that the time was not yet ripe for him to disagree too violently with Black Eagle and his people.

“Let us not talk any longer like enemies and fools,” he said. “It would be useless for me to deny my fear of Wise-as-a-she-wolf, for you know what is in my heart concerning that bloodthirsty magician. But I will first cross to the island, to spy upon my enemy. It may be that he is far away, hunting for me at the other end of the earth.”

Black Eagle did not answer for a long time. At last he said, “A swift runner can go, and inquire of the villages on the coast as to the whereabouts of the one you fear. Each way is but a half-day’s journey for a seasoned runner.”

“I think, chief, that the villagers are more likely to kill your messenger than to answer his questions,” replied Bright Robe, sneeringly.

Black Eagle realized that it was now his turn to practise diplomacy. He knew that his only hold on the other was that evil magician’s fear of Wise-as-a-she-wolf. He did not think that Bright Robe would desert him, and all claim on future services, except in an extreme case; and he was sure that he would not try to make peace with his enemy by carrying word to him of the intended invasion, for Wise-as-a-she-wolf would not forget past injuries for so small a favour.

“Go, then,” said the chief. “We will await your return.”

“It will be dark in a few hours, and then I will go,” replied Bright Robe, with dignity.

When he set out, through the starlight, for the land of his enemy, his heart was torn with uncertainty as to how he should act in this unforeseen dilemma which the freezing of the Narrow Sea had forced upon him. To openly assist the mountaineers against Wise-as-a-she-wolf’s own people, would be madness; to desert the men who had helped him deceive his enemy for the past nine years would be as fatal in the end. His only hope lay in the chance that the good magician might be far from home, in which case he would help the mountaineers, unobtrusively, until they had fully committed themselves, and then flee under cover of night. He reflected that, while Wise-as-a-she-wolf was busily engaged in punishing the men from beyond the Narrow Sea, he would have ample time to find a new hiding-place, far, far away from the scenes of his failures. Then he would get rid of the feathers in some way, and live quietly, relinquishing all hope of future greatness.

When Bright Robe reached the coast of the island, he was still struggling with the problem. The temptation to turn southward and continue his flight was almost too strong to resist; but the thought of how the mountaineers would explain to his enemy all his nine-year scheme of evasion, making similar practices useless in the future, daunted him afresh. For a moment his brain turned, in brief consideration, on surrender. He would seek the just and angry magician (whose people he had so often despoiled and slain) and give him the feathers, and confess his sins, and--and? Neither brain nor heart had courage to answer the unasked question. His enemy was just--and what was he to gain by surrendering himself to justice?

Bright Robe went dully about his work. He discovered a cluster of lodges, drifted deep in snow. He approached them, and raised a feeble voice. “I am cold, I am hungry,” he cried. “I have been lost in a storm.”

A figure crawled from the nearest lodge. Bright Robe staggered forward and fell. Strong arms lifted him and carried him to warmth and shelter. He was fed, and soft furs were laid over him, and all the while he played the part of one brought close to death by cold and exhaustion. He spent several hours in the lodge, and learned from the honest fellow whom he questioned that Wise-as-a-she-wolf had not been seen in the western villages since autumn. After learning this, he pretended to sleep; but he soon crawled from the lodge, leaving the hospitable, unsuspecting hunter snoring peacefully. He flew eastward and inland, now with some assurance of spirit. The night had clouded, though it was still bitterly cold. He found several villages in the darkness and, by using the same tactics as before, learned again that the good magician had not been seen for two moons. Then he faced westward again and ran at his best speed.