CHAPTER XXXII
THE INVASION OF THE ISLAND
The westward villages made but slight resistance to the mountaineers. They were taken unawares, scattered blindly and many were slain. Some of the fugitives hid, and others ran to warn the nearer settlements. The invaders travelled slowly, in spite of Bright Robe’s efforts to hurry them, stopping to rest and feast in every village and encumbering themselves with booty and prisoners. Their only prisoners were women. Bright Robe did his share of the fighting, but was careful to make it no more than a man’s share. He fought on the ground, like his fellows, and though he served as guide to the hidden encampments, he played an inconspicuous part. And so they raided, fought and feasted for three days, hearing nothing in all that time of Wise-as-a-she-wolf. The main body held straight to the eastward, and small companies branched off to the north and south.
On the fourth day of the invasion the mountaineers reached a large village of deserted lodges. Even the storehouses were empty. The disappointment angered them, and they pushed forward with more haste. For three days they travelled, without finding anything of the islanders except tracks of their snow-shoes and their empty lodges. By this time, Bright Robe had decided that he had mixed as deeply in the invasion as was wise, and that nightfall should be the signal for his southward flight; for his old enemy, wherever he was wandering, would surely take a hand in the game before long. But he said no word of this to Black Eagle.
“Let the fool suffer for his foolishness,” he muttered.
The mountaineers were careless soldiers, and sent no scouts ahead of their army. “What have we to fear from these men with the hearts of mice and the muscles of women?” sneered Black Eagle. “They run before us, even before they see our spears. In a few days we will drive them into the great salt water in the east.”
Shortly after noon they reached another empty village. They rushed into the lodges, shouted angrily, and fought among themselves for what little the departed inhabitants had left behind. The five hundred warriors crowded into the open space, overturning the lodges, and reviling the islanders. Arrows leaped from the woods on every side. Two flights sprang forth and tasted blood before the mountaineers realized what had happened. Then they rallied and dashed for the hidden enemy. Black Eagle turned furiously upon Bright Robe.
“You have brought us to this trap,” he cried, and struck at him with his club. The blow fell harmlessly on the magician’s shield; and in a second in the crush and tumult of the battle they were separated.
Many of the mountaineers who advanced into the woods, to close with the surrounding enemy, were swiftly forced back to the clearing. Blood melted the snow, and contending warriors, with their racquets slipped or broken from their feet, struggled deep in the drifts, stabbing blindly. Shouts and cries of dismay rang up to the frozen sky. Men fought hand to hand, even breast to breast,--yes, and tooth to flesh. The lodges were torn and overturned, and as more men continued to pour into the clearing the snow was trampled hard as earth and crusted with frozen blood.
Bright Robe dared not fly openly from the scene and yet he was eager to get away, fearing always the arrival of Wise-as-a-she-wolf. At last he broke from the thick of the fight, hurling friend and foe alike from his path by means of his magic strength. Many sturdy strokes were aimed at him, but his magic turned them all aside, and he won to the shelter of the forest without hurt. It was his intention to run to a safe distance from the battle, hide until dark, and then take flight. He ran straight through the woods, beating down the occasional warriors who tried to bar his way. He had travelled nearly a mile, and was clear of the outskirts of the battle, when, in pausing for breath, he heard the springing of parted branches close behind him. He turned with ready club, but saw nothing.
* * * * *
I must turn back a little, and look at the fight from the islanders’ side of it.
From the fugitives from the western villages word of the invasion travelled quickly to the ears of Run-all-day. Swift runners were sent in every direction, to warn the clans of the danger and bid them prepare to fight. The people of the villages which lay in Black Eagle’s course were told to fall back, with all their possessions, upon Run-all-day’s country. Then Run-all-day divided his own warriors and the men who joined him from the other clans, into three bodies of about four hundred men each. One of these armies, under Jumping Wolf, was sent forward immediately to encounter the mountaineers on their probable course. Another was hurried forward in the same direction, but several miles to the southward. The third was held in readiness near the villages where the women and children and stores of the fugitives were sheltered.
Jumping Wolf sent scouts in advance of the little army, to scour the country for miles. These scouts were not long in finding the invaders, and for a whole day before the attack the commander was constantly in receipt of information concerning the approach of the enemy. He did not rush his men, but advanced at an easy pace, ever on the look-out for a suitable position in which to stand and strike. When night fell, his men ate the cooked food that they had brought, dug great trenches in the snow, and slept without fires. Shortly before noon he arrived at a large, deserted village, and halted his men. A scout came running to him.
“They are close at hand,” he said, “and one who guides them is pointing the way to this village.”
So Jumping Wolf placed his eager warriors in the edge of the woods that surrounded the clearing in which stood the empty lodges.
“Now is the time for you to put your magic to good use,” he said, to Featherfoot.
But the youth shook his head. “Unless they have a magician among them, I shall not use my magic,” he replied, placing a common arrow on the string of his bow.
The islanders waited patiently, crouching on their thong-woven racquets, peering eagerly into the clearing. Their bows were strung and the arrows were loose in their belts, and their hearts were hot for the battle. At last the invaders appeared, dashing into the clearing and among the lodges in noisy disorder; and at the sight a thrill of joy and rage ran through the waiting islanders. The notches of arrows met the taut strings; and still the chiefs crouched motionless, giving no sign. The place fairly squirmed with the shouting, dark-skinned mountaineers. Jumping Wolf raised his hand above his head; up went the hands of the other chiefs; out leaped the arrows upon the crowding, struggling invaders. Again the bows were bent and released; and then the islanders sprang to meet the rallying mountaineers, and struck with clubs and spears.
It was soon quite evident to Featherfoot that the Beothics had the upper hand in the engagement, though the invaders were the more numerous. So he fell back from the struggle for a moment’s rest. In surveying the struggle from a vantage point at the edge of the clearing, his attention was attracted by a big stranger who fought for the mountaineers and yet was lighter of skin. He saw this warrior suddenly make his way out of the thick of the fight, dashing friend and foe from his way with a strength that was more than human. He saw him win, unhurt, to the edge of the clearing, and dart from sight among the trees. “He fights with strong magic, and shields himself with magic,” said Featherfoot, and immediately gave chase. As he ran among the snatching, buffeting branches, he drew his most powerful arrow from his belt, and pulled the silver robe above his head.
Featherfoot soon came in sight of the stranger. At the sound of his approach the other turned; but the youth, knowing himself to be invisible by virtue of the silver robe, halted and unhurriedly set the magic arrow to the string of the magic bow. So great was the magic of that arrow, that its weight became as the weight of a small mountain the moment it hit its mark. There was no pity in Featherfoot’s heart, for he had seen the strange magician slay both friend and foe, with weapons from which they had no chance of escape; so he drew the bow calmly and loosed the shaft. The stranger fell, staggered to his feet, struck the arrow from his breast and leaped high above the tree-tops. There he hung for a little, struggling desperately; but when another arrow found him he dropped back to earth, turning over and over in his fall. Featherfoot was upon him as soon as he touched the snow. Knowing now that the stranger was Bright Robe, he bound the nerveless limbs with magic thongs that no giant could break. Then, undoing the moccasins from the unresisting feet, he found the red feathers. Quick as thinking, they were transferred to his own moccasins, and his snow-shoes were cast aside.
No sooner were the magic feathers in place against the soles of his feet, than the shrill note of the whistle which old Whispering Grass had given to Star Flower sounded faintly but terrifically in Featherfoot’s ears. He sprang into the air and ran swiftly in the direction of Little Heron’s village, leaving the evil magician bound and unconscious on the snow.
He caught a blurred glimpse of the battle below, now scattered and abating in fury, but so dazed and breathless was he with the frightful speed at which he rushed through the air, his eyes could not distinguish friend from foe. But whatever the outcome of the battle, he had heard the whistle and must answer the call. So he ran on, though his brain reeled, and his eyes ached, and his breath was like ice and smoke in his throat. Presently, as he became accustomed to the new manner and rate of travelling, the sensations grew less painful. Soon he was able to see clearly, and run steadily, and draw his breath with comparative ease.
Suddenly, as he raced along between the fading sky and the dimming wastes of the earth, he heard the whispering of flight beside him. Then he found that the silver robe had slipped from his head, and he snatched at it with his left hand, to draw it into place.
“Hold,” cried the voice of Wise-as-a-she-wolf, close at his elbow.
“It is I, Featherfoot,” cried the youth in answer, desisting from his efforts to hide himself beneath the robe and at the same time returning his club to his belt. At that, the good magician appeared close beside, and threw his arm about his neck.
“I had my axe raised to strike you, lad,” he whispered. “I thought my old enemy was in my power at last.”
“I have wounded him and bound him, master,” replied Featherfoot, breathlessly. “He lies near Diving Beaver’s village, where the warriors are still fighting. But I have heard the call of the whistle, master, and must hasten to answer it. Star Flower is in need of me.”
“Go, my son. I, too, have heard the whistle. But now I will hasten to my warriors,” said the good magician. And so they parted, between the shadowy wilderness and the darkling sky, with no questions of the months of separation. Wise-as-a-she-wolf turned in the direction of Diving Beaver’s encampment, and ran slowly on the icy currents of the wind. He was still weak with the poison of the little arrow, and felt the weariness of the long flight which he had just made. He wondered to feel so little elation of spirit at the knowledge of Bright Robe’s capture. His thoughts were all of Featherfoot, who was as dear as a son to him. “Star Flower, Star Flower,” he repeated, and smiled pensively. “Whoever this Star Flower is, and however she came to possess the whistle, I think she will teach the lad a magic of which I have no mastery,” he reflected. “He will build a lodge of bark and skins, and it will be more beautiful to his eyes than my great house in the pine wood, with its smokeless lamps and magic walls. He is young, and Youth is the greatest magician. He loves a woman, and that is the strongest magic.” Thus, with mingled tenderness and distress, he considered the case of Featherfoot as he flew to the succour of his warriors.