Part 7

We ate the rich red berries, and drank the sweet water, while the madman muttered and crawled overhead. When we had done, I declared that I could move. Akshelah divided her red shawl in the middle, and having secured the ends, tied one part about me under my arms. Climbing out, she instructed the guardian of the “grave” to lay hold and pull. Now that it was daylight, he had lost his great fear of her, and obeyed, pulling wildly, until I was brought back to liberty.

The stone building stood upon a clear circular space, some four hundred yards in diameter, the circumference being the dense lumber forest. Round my late prison a broken circle of huge monoliths occupied the turf, some erect, some leaning, others recumbent; in later years I saw in a book an illustration representing a similar circle of such stones, which this book informed me were to be found at a place called Stonehenge, somewhere in England. On the south side I could see the beginning of the dip, which the old man called the Creek of Corpses. Formerly, I presume, a fight had taken place in the neighbourhood between the natives and the Hudson Bay Company, and the dead had been buried along this creek. Redpath had discovered this spot, which formed the centre of a veritable natural labyrinth, as he had a faculty for finding out most things, and had conjectured that it would make a safe and suitable place to entomb me in return for the blow I had given him.

It became a problem how to rid myself of the ragged, hairy old creature who clung to my arm, babbling unceasingly. At length I decided to go with him, because he had a log hut near the beach, and I was too weak to walk any distance. We made our way by easy stages through the forest, until a strong sheet of light flashed before us, and I felt that I was indeed alive. I shared all the native love, and in part their superstition, for the water; and here it was--bright and beautiful Lake Peace! My exclamation found its echo from the mad hermit who claimed me for his son:

“You mind it, Rupe? Course you mind it! Round the point, jest roun’ yon tamarac bluff, there’s the ole shanty same as ever. You mind our fishin’ nights, when the moon was good, an’ how we pulled out the white-fish? Mind ole Bill Alloway, wi’ his face like a cat-fish? Mind one time, when we was fishin’, an’ Bill Alloway pulls off his shirt an’ pants, an’ swims an’ dives around? Sudden, yer line gits a holt on something big, an’ you pulls an ole cat-fish half outer the water in the moonlight. ‘Father,’ ye lets out, ‘father! Darned if I haven’t caught ole Bill Alloway!’”

The old man tumbled upon the grass, laughing, and picked the white moss.

His shanty stood on the edge of the cliff, where the tamaracs overhung the rocks, and a wonderful white beach, a hundred yards in width, and fantastically marked with the pattern of webbed feet, ran down to the lake. The hut was so dirty that we made a camp outside. I quickly caught some white-fish, thus proving my skill as a fisherman, despite my failure on the evening when I first met Akshelah. When night had fallen, the girl left me to find her way to Gull. The old man’s madness came on again with the moon, and he implored me to escape with him, so that I had little sleep; but I could not be hard upon the poor creature, because, had it not been for him, Akshelah would probably never have found me, or have only done so when Redpath would have been satisfied with my state.

In the morning, when the lake was a cold grey, and the white mist hung in ghost-wreaths, Akshelah returned, and brought MacCaskill, weary and short of breath, with her.

Between the saw-mills and the shingle beach which brought out to Gull Island was a long building of rough lumber, roofed with shingles. Over the entrance appeared a long board, bearing in large, irregular capitals the information, “Tommy’s Restaurant-Hotel.” Underneath hung a square board, upon which was inscribed the tariff of the house, which read, according to MacCaskill, exactly as follows:--

Square Meal 25c. One-Day-Filler 50c. Gorge 75c. Straight Drink 20c. Mixed Drink 25c. Bed 1dol.

No Bugs, unless you bring ’em.

We reached this rough but isolated hostelry about midnight, the four of us, because the madman followed me persistently, and we went inside to rest. MacCaskill explored the silent house, and when he returned, his face looked as though he had received a fright.

“Come wi’ me,” he whispered. “Take hold of me arm, and walk careful. Don’t let ’em see you.”

Along the passage were several compartments reserved for gambling, and we could look into any of these without well being seen, because the passage was unlighted, and the tobacco smoke inside hung in clouds. In the compartment indicated by the factor I saw a poker four deep in their game, and I was able to name each man.

The gamblers were--Jim Morrison, the sailor who had accosted me from the car my first morning in Gull; Gedeon Leblanc, the half-breed; Olaffson, the unmitigated scoundrel; and the man who had called himself Father Lacombe, the well-known missionary of Three Points.

III

ON A FRESHWATER SEA

MORNING

At last the rumbling motion overhead had ceased. The hum of the screw and the beat of the engine, with the back-wash of the water as the keel slipped through, told me that the _Carillon_ had cast off from Gull Harbour, and was away on her north-eastern trip for the Little Peace River.

I rose from my recumbent position behind the fish barrels in the hold, but I went down again, and as promptly as though a pistol had been levelled at my forehead. A couple of sailors stood together in the half-light, and I had recognised them at once as the half-breed Leblanc and the ill-favoured Morrison, who had presumably slipped away together from deck, so soon as their labours were over, that they might discuss certain plans of their own out of earshot.

“Gimme a bite of eatin’ tobaccer,” growled Morrison at the outset, and set me reflecting that the man was always asking for something. I heard the shuffling of cowhide shoes, followed by sundry unhealthy sounds of expectoration, then the same voice said, “There’s a-goin’ to be scrappin’?”

“You min’ yer talk. See, Bill? If you’d ben made wi’ no tongue you’d be better fixed right now.”

I reflected that Leblanc was master here.

“When I talk, I watch who listens. Gimme a drop o’ liquor.”

“Ain’t got none.”

The men shuffled closer to my hiding-place.

“Do we scrap, or don’t us?” demanded Jim Morrison.

“We don’t have to,” said Leblanc. “It’s skin eyes and shut mouth. When they done the findin’, than up we come. See?”

“Say, but what about this Redpath? Teaser, ain’t he?”

“Do what he tells ye, Jim,” said the half-breed, and I could tell by his voice that he was ill at ease. “Redpath don’t have no monkeyin’. If we ain’t clean to him, he’ll start to work an’ snuff us out, same as he’s done to Rupe Petrie. If he says ‘Lick me boots,’ we goter lick. See?”

“Will I talk to Olaffson?” suggested Jim Morrison. “Maybe he’d come useful.”

Leblanc grunted.

“He’ll chalk his own track. There’s only one man, ’sides Redpath, what could spile us, an’ he’s ben spilt hisself. He could have bruke the lot of us, same as he bruke Jake Peterssen.”

“Ole Mac, he ain’t no sort er good?” muttered Morrison.

“No sort, now his pard’s gone.”

“Gimme a match.”

A high-pitched voice came sounding into the hold, and I recognised the cry of Sandy, the mate.

The men separated at once, climbing out of the hold at opposite ends; while I jumped over the barrels, and stretched myself in the open, feeling strong and fit again.

MacCaskill and I had foreseen that the ship would be full of plotting, but I had now learnt that the cross-plots were likely to prove of a more serious nature than we had anticipated.

Leblanc knew something of old Fagge’s secret, and he had taken Morrison into his confidence; while assuming to be in abject submission to Redpath, they were planning how to best him. I was sorry for them.

In determining the position, I made it out to be that Leblanc and Morrison were against everyone; MacCaskill and myself against Redpath and the Icelander, with, incidentally, the two thick-skulled sailors; Redpath always for himself; Olaffson nominally for the adventurer, actually for himself. MacCaskill and myself formed the only genuine alliance, with Akshelah to aid us, and I felt we were good enough to carry the position.

After recognising Redpath under the disguise of Father Lacombe, the factor made the plan to keep me hidden. He had brought me on board the _Carillon_, and stowed me away below the night before sailing; while he had come aboard in the ordinary way with Akshelah, who, of course, could not be induced to return to Yellow Sands.

It was while waiting for the vessel to get well out to sea from Gull that I had overheard the conversation between the two sailors.

Swinging myself up out of the hold, I made along the lower deck, enjoying the prospect of the consternation my presence must cause.

Suddenly a very different voice came to me.

One more step over the greasy boards, and I caught a side glance of the entrance to the engine-room, and my heart went a little faster, because I had seen the abrupt flicker of a black skirt.

Scarcely five yards away, blocking the entry, stood my hereditary enemy, his back towards me, still preserving the disguise of the black-bearded priest.

Without a sound, I seated myself upon one of the numerous barrels, full in the open, the gloom of the ship falling behind me. I knew that Redpath must turn and see me sitting there, silent and motionless, with my eyes fixed upon him. I thought it possible that the sight might scare him pretty badly.

Thus situated, I could hear the adventurer speak, and at the same time I imagined that the engineer could not be very happy at being examined by this particular passenger.

It was impossible to hear Pete’s replies, but Redpath’s questions were sufficiently audible.

“You must often find the heat down here intolerable?” he suggested, in his kindly tones. “Ah, yes, it would reduce a fat man considerably. While the weather remains as at present you must find your duty a pleasure. What? No, I did not observe the sound. My ears are not trained like yours.”

He stepped back until he was quite outside the engine-room, and I made certain that he would turn and discover me. But after listening, he returned to his former position, and went on:

“I suppose we must expect a fresher wind, now that we are approaching the open sea. Ah, I heard it then. What effect does the moving of that lever have?”

He waited for the reply, which was inaudible to me, and continued with increased interest:

“For reducing the pressure. I see. If you desired to lower the speed so as to stop the vessel? Yes. And for starting? Ah, I quite understand. What? Shift the lever gently and gradually, as she gains way. Ah, yes, it is all very interesting, and equally instructive. To a man of my calling, a very full, general knowledge becomes indispensable. It will be obvious to you that at some future date a contingency might possibly befal, which would make it imperative upon me to understand how to control such a vessel as this. The knowledge you are now giving me in an idle moment might well lead to the saving of many precious human lives. Thank you, my son!”

How could the man do it?

A great wave flung itself against the side; and when it had beaten back, Redpath was saying:

“Quite so. I can easily believe that in the hour of danger the engineer’s position becomes especially full of peril. Now, if this fair weather continues, when may I expect to be landed at the mouth of the Little Peace?”

I suppose the engineer referred to the chance of delay, because the adventurer said presently:

“You need not remind me. I know this dangerous lake, with its mysterious storms, which, as you say, spring up suddenly under a clear sky, and vanish with the speed of their coming. I have heard so many sad tales from my own flock, so many poor Indian fishermen lost, so many lumber scows wrecked. It is very pitiful!”

The rascal coughed sanctimoniously. His back was still towards me; I wondered that he had not felt my presence so very near to him.

A big shaft of light fell through the hatchway ahead, and suddenly a couple of burly legs appeared on the ladder in that light. Then Factor MacCaskill trod heavily down, and saw me when he had made a few paces; and he saw also the mock priest between us, and was quick-witted enough to grasp the situation, and clever enough to use it to the full. He checked himself abruptly when a couple of short paces divided him from Redpath, and his glance went heedlessly past the masquerader, to settle upon me with a well-simulated expression of fear and amazement.

“Golden gates of Jerusalem!” called the old fellow, making his voice thick and unsteady, and allowing his pipe to drop upon the deck.

The adventurer swung round between us, and in one moment his face became like the underpart of a fish. The flesh seemed to shrink up under its covering of false hair, and his eyes were like two little pits of oil. He had confessed that his body was weak--he had almost boasted of it--but his will was like steel. For the moment only it bent, and the next was strong again. His eyes left me and settled upon MacCaskill, and the factor looked him back like an honest man, without yielding an inch or ceding a wink. I left my barrel, and stepped forward with all the indifference I could muster.

“Where in the name of everything upon earth have ye sprung from, Rupe?” exclaimed MacCaskill.

“I only stowed myself among the cargo,” I said, for the benefit of listeners. Then I turned towards Redpath and Pete, who put his startled face out of the hot oil-smelling recess, “How are you, father?” I said, with all the confidence of having the stronger hand.

The adventurer stuck to the rules of his game.

“My dear young man!” he exclaimed, with splendid affection, emphasising each syllable with ease and unction. “This is, indeed, a joyful surprise. Why, we have all been in mourning for you!”

AFTERNOON

Lennie’s mask-like face became animated when I was introduced at dinner-time into the deck-cabin where meals were served. Questions began to buzz about my ears like mosquitoes on a damp evening. I told the story of my kidnapping, although I professed to be ignorant of my captors’ names, and when I had said all I intended to, the captain began to talk.

“Jake Peterssen never done it,” he stated. “You beat Jake, an’ he took his beatin’. There wasn’t one madder than him when ’twas told you’d ben misplaced. No, sir, Jake was fair spoilin’ to fix the man what took you foul. He said right through you’d ben took foul. Ain’t that so, Pete?”

Pete acquiesced, and Lennie disregarded his dinner and talked on.

“Well, now, there’s ben strange doings at Gull this trip.” He lowered his voice, peered about, and whispered, “Where’s the father?”

“Outside,” said the steward. “Said he wasn’t wantin’ his grub till some of ye was through.”

Lennie became mysterious.

“Some of ye must have heard tell of Father Lacombe of Three Points. They say he’s a priest what always wants to stretch the days out at work, and don’t have no use for settin’ around. They do say he’s a-goin’ to be next archbishop, ’cause he went to a place called Rome two year ago, a-payin’ calls on ole Father Holiness. Well, now, we don’t give a darn whether he’s goin’ to be archbishop or church-scraper; but here’s the trouble: What’s the father’s racket a-bummin’ around Gull these days on the idle, watchin’ the boys at scrap, and going inter Tommy’s Restaurant wi’ a bad crowd? Tommy wouldn’t get to give him away, ’cause that sort of thing ain’t bis’ness; but some of the boys saw him go in along wi’ toughs. Well, there’s that, an’ there’s the boy bein’ took foul, an’ there’s that steamer.”

It became my turn to ask a question.

“We’d got away from Gull this mornin’, when Sandy sights a steamer runnin’ at the island from the south,” went on Lennie sadly. “She was comin’ full rip, an’ not flyin’ any flag far as we could see. Sandy made out she was the _Firefly_ of the Force, but I’ll take me oath she was the _Sault Ste. Marie_ of the Hudson Bay. Don’t matter which she was. What does she want around Gull, anyhow? This is the only boat that goes to Gull, ’cept the lumber scows.”

Lennie looked round the table sourly, and went on:

“We’re goin’ to have a bad trip. That’s a dead sure thing. When I set down to breakfast before startin’ I found a flap-bug in me porridge. Takes a black dog wi’ a wall-eye to beat that for luck.”

After dinner MacCaskill and I talked upon deck, while Akshelah sat herself in the sun, her deft fingers engaged in repairing certain ravages in my coat. The factor thought that the opposition threatened by Leblanc and Morrison would be more likely to benefit than to injure us. “Sort of divides the aces,” was his comment. He went on to impress upon me the necessity for deceiving Redpath by making him believe that he was deceiving us, and here I had a question to ask, because I wanted to learn how the adventurer had come by his disguise.

“It’s as clear as sky, Rupe, that he brought the fixings along to Yellow Sands,” the factor said. “He’s ben playin’ some lively game down east, or down south, and havin’ to get out at a small hole he fixed himself up as a priest and came north for his health. Likely he didn’t change that rig until he got to Yellow Sands River, and heard tell of ole Petrie. By that time he reckoned he’d show up as his own ugly self.”

I was for telling Lennie the truth, but MacCaskill, who knew the world, pointed out danger. Redpath would never allow himself to be taken without bloodshed. Even if placed under confinement, he would possibly win over the crew by promising to share his secret with them. By this time I began to understand what men will do for “the dirt.” A mutiny might follow, and we should certainly be worsted.

“We’ll have a chance to get ahead of him,” went on the factor. “The _Carillon_ drops us at the Little Peace, and from there we work our way north along the coast.”

He called to Akshelah.

“Know what sort of folk live at the mouth of the river, my gal?”

Akshelah looked up, her eyes full of thought, and said presently:

“If the people of Mekawask are there, they are our friends.”

“They will let us have a big canoe?”

“I will get you a canoe,” said the girl proudly.

“And Redpath will steal one,” added the factor morosely.

“I will tell the tribe,” went on the girl. “They will watch their canoes, and if the man comes to steal, they will shoot at him.”

MacCaskill chuckled, “I guess we’ve got his reverence.”

Hardly had he spoken when the man himself came out of the cabin, and began to pace the deck on the opposite side to us. His cassock was held up behind by a safety-pin, and he wore the hard felt hat in which he had landed at Gull. He carried his disguise well.

That he was promenading with a motive beyond mere exercise was soon made evident; he gave a side movement with his head. I could not be sure that he was signalling me, but when I made no response, he boldly beckoned me with his hand.

“See what his game is, but don’t let him fool you, or take you from deck,” said MacCaskill.

“If you go to him I shall come with you,” said Akshelah, flinging down my coat, her eyes lighting. “He will overcome you with his eye, and throw you into the water.”

“Stop where you are,” I ordered, quite sharply, but apparently young women delight in disobedience.

Akshelah immediately rose up and accompanied me.

I felt a sense of shrinking as I came up to the big, strong-willed man. His keen eyes passed over me, before he spoke in his courteous manner.

“Can we not dispense with the--er--young lady, Petrie?”

He was not going to play the priest with me, because he understood that I had seen through his disguise.

Akshelah faced him at once.

“I am going to stay here,” she said angrily.

The adventurer nodded and smiled at me.

“A positive young Xantippe, my dear fellow. Do you speak French?”

I did not know what he meant, but rightly replied in the negative, and motioned Akshelah to stand a little aside. She took her stand to the right of me, watching Redpath unflinchingly. Farther along I could see the factor’s straw bonnet bobbing up and down excitedly.

“Have you anything to say to me?” I said, feeling how much rather I would openly fight with this man, because when it came to a contest of tongues I had no chance.

“In the first place, I have to congratulate you upon your escape from Olaffson and his gang of rascals,” said Redpath heartily. “I did what I could for you. Little, I confess, but I was powerless to do more. By the way, did this disguise deceive you at all?”

“Yes, at first.”

I tried not to be staggered at his coolness.

“I never intended to deceive you. I was compelled to assume these--er--priestly habiliments in order that I might be able to conceal my identity from our mutual enemies. The plan succeeded well enough with these unobservant creatures, though I never flattered myself that I had misled an intellectual and social equal.” He was playing with his false beard while he spoke. “I had more than one narrow escape myself, which I will tell you of later--these wretched men are so suspicious.” He came a little closer, his glance falling upon MacCaskill in the distance. “You think your servant is to be trusted?”

I knew that he was playing with me, yet I could not retaliate upon this calm, cynical gentleman. He managed to exert a marvellous power over me. I answered him as meekly as possible.

“He is my friend, and I know I can trust him.”

Redpath looked surprised, and a little concerned.