What with the fear of bob-cats and panthers, the Indian had pa.s.sed a harrowing half-day, and, as soon as loosed, he started straight for Sturgeon Lake. The reason Maria had traveled around with him so long, Peter explained, was that they wanted to be sure of McTavish"s death before the old trapper should be released, and could start in search of his master.
When the narrative of danger and duplicity was finished, Donald took hold of Peter"s arm.
"How long were you with my father?" he asked.
"From the time he came to York factory until he was married in Montreal. I stayed a year with him there, but found I was dying of homesickness for the woods, and had to get back to them. But I went up when you were born, and saw him and you regularly every year after that, until he was ready to send you into the woods in the summer-time."
"But before he came to York factory? Do you know anything of his life then?
"Only hearsay. Stones of his brave deeds and big hunting on the Labrador and westward! He had a sense of game that comes very rarely; he moved with the animals instinctively, so that the best pelts were always his. And he had luck. One year, he brought in three of the six silver-fox skins taken that winter in the whole of Canada. He was a wonderful hunter."
"But, Peter, did you ever hear anything about his relations with the Indians?" Donald demanded. "Was he ever fond of a chiefs daughter? Did he ever mar--?" One look at the old Indian"s face stopped the question, for, caught unaware, the rising of this skeleton shook Rainy to the depths.
"No, master, no, n-o, n-n--"
"Peter, don"t lie to me! You"ve never done it yet. I"m in too much trouble to be lied to. I know the truth now, despite your denials, so you might as well admit it. Didn"t my father marry old Maria at one time?
"Yes," said Peter simply. "But how did you know it?"
Then, Donald told his story in full, closing with his determination to go to the factor and accept the conditions imposed.
But, at that, Peter Rainy protested violently.
"No," he cried, "never! Put no trust in that old wolf, Fitzpatrick.
Once he has got you under his heel, he"ll grind and grind, until there"s not as much as powder left. What good for you to go away West, eh? He"ll let you get started well, and then along will come queer rumors and unexplained things about you. At last, something will drive you away, and you"ll start again. Once more, you"ll be driven out, and so it will go. Do I not know? Have I not seen it work?
"But I can"t resist him, and have my whole family dragged through the mud, can I?" Donald remonstrated, in despair.
"Yes, this man Fitzpatrick is bound to drag it through the mud anyway. He hasn"t waited all these years for his revenge to let it slide through his hands that easily, has he, do you suppose? His whole happiness in life now rests on your disgrace and that of your family. It will come, whatever you may do, and it"s much better to fight to the last wolf than put your trust in a man like the factor."
So, they talked for more than an hour, Peter Rainy heartening his young master in this desperate plight. The old Indian declared that a woman as malicious as Maria must have her vulnerable spot, that she might be bribed; in fact, that a hundred ways of removing the obstruction might be come at. Presently, Donald caught a little of his companion"s fire, and began to warm to the project.
"Peter," he cried finally, "I"ll do it on one condition, and that condition may be the death of you."
"What is it?"
"That you start to-night for Winnipeg, and bring my father North.
Upon him really rests the burden of blame and of proof; if he wants to save himself and the rest of us, he must come out here and do it."
"Wisely spoken, my son. The thought was in my mind. When I arrive in Winnipeg, your father will know I have crossed the wastes for only one thing--and he will come."
"Then, you go willingly?
"I should never forgive you, if I hadn"t been sent."
"Brave old Peter!" McTavish put his arm across the old Indian"s shoulders affectionately, as had been his custom when, a boy, he had gone on his first, short canoeing expeditions. "If it weren"t for you, where would the McTavishes be? If we come out of this safely, you can have a house and servants of your own the rest of your life."
"I know; your father has told me that for the last ten years; but I can"t stand it, Donald. My little money in your father"s hands has grown big the way white men make it grow in banks, but I shall never touch it. The wild is too much part of me. I"d rather battle with winter"s cold under an _abuckwan_, and running my line of traps, than live in the finest house in Winnipeg. Some time, when I"m old, and the winter winds shake me to the marrow, I"ll build a little cabin by a fishing stream or lake, and live happily until the coming of the shadow. Many young men and maidens will look after me, for I"m rich. So, I"ll never want for anything in my old age, except the sight of my master, who will then be gone from the forest trails."
"Good old Peter!" Donald exclaimed, huskily. He rose suddenly, the tears in his eyes. He fumbled with his gun uncertainly while the Indian filled a pipe. Then, he gave his directions.
They were far enough from the camp for Rainy to remain un.o.bserved all day. McTavish would return among his companions, and buy a dog-train if he could get one, giving as an excuse the fact of his own being drowned. He would secure provisions, and meet Rainy on the edge of the camp at night. He specified where.
Both knew that to get the Indian off unknown and unseen on his long journey would be a desperately difficult thing to do, particularly as the young man would be watched; but, as the need was great, so was the determination, and Donald started for the camp with a light heart.
CHAPTER XVIII
IN NEW CLUTCHES
Four hundred and fifty miles southwest of Sturgeon Lake, as the hawk flies, is Winnipeg--formerly the Fort Carry of Hudson Bay fame, and before that the Fort Douglas of battle, murder, and sudden death. As Peter Rainy expected to make the journey, the distance was nearer seven hundred miles. From Sturgeon Lake, he would strike east to the north branch of the Sachigo, and follow that down to its junction with the main river. Then, turning south, for two hundred miles, his would be a straight course up the Sachigo and through a chain of lakes that almost would carry him to Sandy Lake.
Southwest, he would rush through Favorable Lake, Deer Lake, Little Trout, and unimportant waterways, until he reached Fort Alexander on a thumb of Lake Winnipeg (that three-hundred-mile terror).
Discounting blizzards, he could make seventy-five miles a day down that fine waterway to the mouth of the Red River, and, from there, thirty-five miles would land him in the thriving capital of Manitoba.
Such was the course that McTavish p.r.i.c.ked for him on a map, and the old Indian studied it all that day, until it was a part of the vast lore that lay behind his expressionless eyes.
Night fell, and a pure moon rose out of the east, spreading a flood of light over snow-fields and through forest aisles. Peter Rainy cursed heartily at the misfortune, and, as if the sky spirits were afraid of him, a great ma.s.s of solemn clouds bulked out of the northwest, and extinguished the gay young moon forthwith. They brought with them a bitter wind and a snowstorm, so that when he finally struggled down the blast, Donald almost overran his objective point. With him were a sledge, dog-train, and provisions. In answer to Rainy"s inquiries, he merely said:
"I"m on parole, and can go anywhere, and, as for these things--I have friends in the camp!"
Loath to part with his faithful companion, he accompanied the Indian a little way on the journey, and then returned to the camp, happier and more hopeful than he had been in many hours.
Because of the storm, shed-tents had been set up, and the men were gathered under them for the night. Entering that of the trappers with whom he had camped the night before, Donald comfortably lighted his pipe, and started in to satisfy his curiosity in regard to the campaign that had already been carried on against the Free-Traders"
Brotherhood. His companions, one of whom was Timmins, a clerk in the Company"s store at Fort Severn, and the other a trader at the warehouse, enlightened him.
"For a week now," said Timmins, spitting into the fire contemplatively, "there hasn"t been much doing. But, before that, shots popped around here considerable. Fitzpatrick thought, and still thinks, I guess, that the only way to nip this free-trader business in the bud was to go at it in the old-fashioned way, with bullets. So, as soon as we had a camp here, we started after those fellows. But they were ready for us, and, when it was all over, three or four of our men were wounded, and nothing was accomplished.
The factor got a touch himself, as you know, and, since that, there hasn"t been much doing. The old bear is trying to work out a scheme that"ll finish things once and for all."
"I expect there"ll be action pretty soon, won"t there?" Donald asked.
"Yes, I reckon there will. Now that you"ve brought Miss Jean back, and the old man"s mind is easy, I imagine he"ll have a brand new way for us to die worked out in a short while."
"What are these fellows free trading for, anyhow? Don"t we treat them right?" Donald questioned, with loyal indignation.
"Aw, sure we do," drawled Buxton, the trader; "too right, I guess.
If they had the old discipline in force, I guess they"d know who was good to them. These fellers have got a grand idea of their own importance, that fellow Seguis especially, and they"ve bargained with a French fur company, as far as I can gather. The Frenchies have been successful in the Rockies and on the Mackenzie, and they"re figuring on starting a post or so in this territory. Of course, they offer better terms than we do--more tobacco and flour and truck for a "beaver" of fur--but I don"t think they can make headway--at least, not against old Fitzpatrick. He"s as set as a hill, as tough as an old oak limb, and as cussed as a stoat."
From time immemorial in the fur trade, all bartering has been carried on in terms of "beaver." That is, a prime beaver skin is the unit of currency between the Company and its hunters. Not long since, an otter skin equaled ten "beaver," twenty rabbit equaled one "beaver," one marten equaled two and a half "beaver"; and so on down, or up, the scale. ... This, from the Company"s point of view.
From that of the hunter, a "beaver" in trade (usually represented by a stamped leaden counter), was worth so much in merchandise--a large red handkerchief, or a hunting-knife, or a looking-gla.s.s.
Two "beaver" would buy an ax, twenty a gun of a certain quality, and so on through the list of necessities.
When a hunter brings in his bales of fur, he takes them to the warehouse, where they are a.s.sorted and appraised by the chief trader, after much haggling. When the value is determined, the trader pushes over the counter as many "beaver" (lead pellets), as the furs are worth. The hunter takes these to the store, and, after much travail and advice, exchanges them for winter supplies and gewgaws that strike his fancy. In this primitive way is wrought the gigantic trade that covers woman with fur, from queens with their ermine to the shop-girl with her scraggly muskrat or rabbit.
As the talk went on around him, McTavish recognized the old story of the free-traders, men who hunted and trapped without any definite allegiance to one company or another, and disposed of their catch to the best advantage. As he had known all his life, the "barrens"
about Hudson Bay remained the only country that had successfully kept the independents at bay. There had been other attempts at intrusion, many of them; but none so well organized or determined in spirit as this present one. The old, inbred loyalty to the Company told him that free-traders must be got out of the way. As far as he was concerned, he hoped action would come quickly--he did not wish too much time by himself to think.