it was near midnight, but far from dark. in the northern heavens a rosy glow proclaimed the midnight sun. somewhere in the willows a robin was chirping, and from the wide bosom of the river, like the thin howl of a wolf, came the mocking cry of a loon still pursuing its finny prey. and in his little canvas tent, sitting just inside, so as to catch the smoke of the fire that afforded protection from the mosquitoes, hubert stane still watched and waited for the coming of his promised visitor. he was smoking, and from the look upon his face it was clear that he was absorbed in thoughts that were far from pleasant. his pipe went out, and still he sat there, thinking, thinking. half an hour passed and the robin making the discovery that it was really bed-time, ceased its chirping; the loon no longer mocked the wolf, but still the man sat behind his smoke-smudge, tireless, unsleeping, waiting. another half-hour crept by with leaden feet, then a new sound broke the stillness of the wild, the tinkling of a piano, sadly out of tune, followed by a chorus of voices lifted up in the homeland song.
"should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to min'?
should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days o' lang syne?"
as the simple melody progressed, a look of bitterness came on stane's face, for the song brought to him memories of other times and scenes which he had done his best to forget. he started to his feet and stepping outside the tent began to walk restlessly to and fro. the music ended and he stood still to listen. now no sound except the ripple of the river broke the quiet, and after a moment he nodded to himself. "now, he will come."
the thin pungent song of a mosquito impinged upon the stillness, something settled on his neck and there followed a swift sting like the puncture of a hypodermic needle. instantly he slapped the place with his hand, and retreated behind his smoke-smudge. there he threw himself once more on the pack that served him for seat and waited, as it seemed interminably.
his fire died down, the smoke ceased to hide the view, and through the adjacent willows came the sudden sough of moving air. a robin broke into song, and once more the wail of the loon sounded from the wide river. away to the north the sky flushed with crimson glory, then the sun shot up red and golden. a new day had broken; and stane had watched through the brief night of the northland summer for a man who had not appeared and he was now assured, would not come.
he laughed bitterly, and rising kicked the fire together, threw on fresh fuel, and after one look towards the still sleeping post, returned to the tent, wrapped himself in a blanket, and shortly after fell asleep.
three hours later he was awakened by a clatter of voices and the clamour of barking dogs, passing from sleep to full wakeness like a healthy child. kicking the blanket from him he slipped on his moccasins and stepped outside where the source of the clamour at once manifested itself. a party of indians had just beached their canoes, and were exchanging greetings with another party, evidently that whose tepees stood on the meadow outside the fort, for among the women he saw the indian girl who had fled through the willows after encountering him. he watched the scene with indifferent eyes for a moment or two, then securing a canvas bucket went down to the river for water, and made his toilet. that done, he cooked his breakfast, ate it, tided up his camp, and lighting a pipe strolled into the enclosure of the post. several indians were standing outside the store, and inside the factor and his clerk were already busy with others; bartering for the peltries brought from the frozen north to serve the whims of fashion in warmer lands. in the square itself stood the plump gentleman who had landed the day before, talking to a cringing half-breed, whilst a couple of ladies with him watched the aborigines outside the store with curious eyes. stane glanced further afield. two men were busy outside the warehouse, a second half-breed sprawled on the bench by the store, but the man for whom he had waited through the night was not in sight.
with a grimace of disappointment he moved towards the store. as he did so a little burst of mellow laughter sounded, and turning swiftly he saw the man whom he was looking for round the corner of the warehouse accompanied by a girl, who laughed heartily at some remark of her companion. stane halted in his tracks and looked at the pair who were perhaps a dozen yards or so away. the monocled ainley could not but be aware of his presence, yet except that he kept his gaze resolutely averted, he gave no sign of being so. but the girl looked at him frankly, and as she did so, hubert stane looked back, and caught his breath, as he had reason to.
she was fair as an english rose, moulded in spacious lines like a daughter of the gods, with an aureole of glorious chestnut hair, shot with warm tints of gold and massed in simplicity about a queenly head. her mouth was full, her chin was softly strong, her neck round and firm as that of a grecian statue, and her eyes were bluey-grey as the mist of the northern woods. fair she was, and strong—a true type of those women who, bred by the english meadows, have adventured with their men and made their homes in the waste places of the earth.
her grey eyes met stane's quite frankly, without falling, then turned nonchalantly to her companion, and stane, watching, saw her speak, and as ainley flashed a swift glance in his direction, and then replied with a shrug of his shoulders, he easily divined that the girl had asked a question about himself. they passed him at half a dozen yards distance, ainley with his face set like a flint, the girl with a scrutinizing sidelong glance that set the blood rioting in stane's heart. he stood and watched them until they reached the wharf, saw them step into a canoe, and then, both of them paddling, they thrust out to the broad bosom of the river.
not till then did he avert his gaze, and turn again to the store. the great man of the company was still talking to the half-breed, and the other half-breed had risen from his seat and was staring into the store. he looked round as stane approached him.
"by gar," he said enthusiastically, "dat one very fine squaw-girl dere."
stane looked forward through the open doorway, and standing near the long counter, watching a tall indian bartering with the factor, saw the beautiful indian girl from the neighbouring camp. he nodded an affirmative, and seeing an opportunity to obtain information turned and spoke to the man.
"yes, but that girl there with mr. ainley——"
"oui, m'sieu. but she no squaw-girl. she grand person who make' ze tour with ze governor."
"oh, the governor makes the tour, does he?"
"oui, oui! in the old style, with a brigade of boats, and a bugler. a summer trip, vous comprenez—a picnic to all ze posts in ze province. thus it is to be a great man!"
"and mr. ainley, what is he doing at fort malsun?"
"ah, m'sieu ainley! he also is ze great man. he is to be among the governors—one day. he also visits ze posts, and will no doubt travel with ze governor, whose protégé he is."
"is that so?"
"dat is so! he is ze favourite, vous comprenez?"
"i did not know it."
"non? but so it ees! and louis and me, we go with heem in ze canoe to serve heem. though by gar, i like to make stop here, an' talk to dat squaw-girl."
stane made no vocal reply to this. he nodded carelessly and passed into the store. factor rodwell looked round as he entered, and surveyed him with a measuring eye, as if taking stock of a new acquaintance, then gave him a curt nod and resumed his barter with the indian. his assistant being also busy for the moment, stane turned towards the indian girl whose liquid eyes were regarding him shyly, and addressed her in her native dialect.
"little sister, why did you run from me yesterday?"
the girl was covered with confusion at the directness of his question, and to help her over her embarrassment the young man laughed.
"you did not mistake me for moorseen (the black bear) or the bald-face grizzly, did you?"
at the question the girl laughed shyly, and shook her head without speaking.
"i am but a man, and not the grizzled one. wherefore should you run from me, little sister?"
"i had never seen such a man before."
the directness of the answer, given in a shy voice, astonished him. it was his turn to be embarrassed and he strove to turn the edge of the compliment.
"never seen a white man before!" he cried in mock amazement.
"i did not say that i had never seen a white man before. i have seen many. the priest up at fort of god, the doctor priest at the last hope, the factor there, and m'sieu ainley who came to our camp yesternight. and there is also this fat man they call the governor—a great chief, it is said; though he does not look as such a great one should look. yes, i have seen many white men, but none like thee before."
hubert stane was routed once more by the girl's directness, but strove to recover himself by a return of compliments.
"well," he laughed, "for that matter there are none so many like thyself in the world. i wonder what thy name is?"
the girl flushed with pleasure at the compliment, and answered his question without reserve.
"i am miskodeed."
"the beauty of the spring! then thou art well-named, little sister!"
the girl flushed with pleasure. the flame that had leapt in her dark eyes at their first meeting burned once more, and where, but for an interruption, the conversation would have drifted can only be conjectured. but at that precise moment the tall indian called to her.
"miskodeed."
the girl moved swiftly to him and with a gesture that was almost royal the indian pointed to a pile of trade goods heaped upon the long counter. the girl gathered as much as was possible in her arms, and staggered with her load from the store, and as factor rodwell nodded to him, hubert stane moved up the counter, and began to give his order. the factor wrote it down without comment, glancing at his customer from time to time with shrewd appraising eyes, and when stane had paid for the goods which were to be ready before noon, he asked a question.
"new to the district, aren't you?"
"i wintered here," replied stane briefly.
"then you did no trapping," said the factor with a laugh, "or you'd have brought your pelts in. i guess you must be prospecting?"
"i have done a little," agreed stane, a touch of reserve in his manner.
"a lonely job!" commented the factor.
"yes," was stane's reply, then he nodded and turned towards the door.
the factor watched him go with frowning eyes, then turned to his assistant.
"not a very sociable sort, hey, donald?"
the assistant grinned, and shook his head. "tongue-tied, i guess."
"i wonder where he has his location."
"somewhere north!" answered donald. "he came upstream, i saw him."
the factor said no more to him, but passed out of the store towards the warehouse. as he did so he caught sight of stane standing in the square watching a canoe far out on the river. the factor's eyes were good and he recognized the occupants of the craft quite easily, and as he saw stane's interest in them, the frown gathered about his eyes once more, and he muttered to himself:
"i wonder what mr. ainley's little game means?"
then as he was unable to find any answer to his question he turned again to his own affairs.
as for hubert stane he stood in the square for quite a long time watching for the return of the canoe, determined to have speech with ainley. then, as it still lingered, he turned and made his way to his own camp.
it was quite late in the afternoon when the opportunity he sought was given to him. impelled by the merest curiosity he had strolled over to the indian tepees and had there encountered miskodeed teaching a puppy-dog tricks. he had stopped to speak to her, and was still engaged in a rather one-sided conversation, when the sound of english voices caused him to turn round.
the governor's party, accompanied by the factor, was moving towards the tepees. his first impulse was to go away, then seeing ainley among the little knot of people, he decided to remain, and to serve his own end, kept miskodeed in conversation, as when left to herself she would have fled to the moose-hide tent.
the party drew nearer. stane was conscious of its attention, and the blood in miskodeed's face came and went in a manner that was almost painful. any one looking at them, and noting the apparent absorption of the man and the certain embarrassment of the girl, must have utterly miscomprehended the situation, and that was what happened, for a moment later, the sound of a laughing feminine voice reached him.
"behold an idyll of the land!"
he looked up with an angry light in his blue eyes. the party was just passing, and nearly every pair of eyes was regarding him curiously. and one pair, the grey eyes of the girl who had been with ainley, met his in level glance, and in them he saw a flicker of contempt. that glance sent the blood to his face, and increased the anger which had surged within him at the laughing remark he had overheard. ainley was among these people, and come what might he would have speech with him before them all. he stepped forward determinedly; but ainley, who had been watching him closely, anticipated his move by falling out of the group.
"don't be a fool, stane! you'll do yourself no good by kicking up a dust here. i couldn't come last night, but tonight at the same time i will not fail."
he turned and moved on again before stane could reply, and as he joined the english girl, the latter inquired in a surprised voice, "you know that gentleman, mr. ainley?"
stane caught the question, but the answer he did not hear, though he could guess its purport and found no pleasure at the thought of what it would be. consumed with wrath and shame he went his way to his own camp, and seeking relief from intolerable thoughts busied himself with preparations for a start on the morrow, then schooled himself to wait as best he could, through the long hours before ainley's appointed time.
again the midnight sun found him sitting behind his smoke-smudge, waiting, listening. all the songs and cries of the wild faded into silence and still ainley had not come. then he caught the sound of light feet running, and looking up he saw miskodeed hurrying towards him between the willows. wondering what had brought her forth at this hour he started to his feet and in that instant he saw a swift look of apprehension and agony leap to her face.
"beware, my brother——"
he heard no more. a man rose like a shadow by his side, with lifted hand holding an ax-shaft. before he could move or cry out the shaft descended on his uncovered head and he dropped like a man suddenly stricken dead. when he came to himself the rosy northland night had given place to rosier dawn, and he found that he was lying, bound hand and foot, at the bottom of a peterboro' canoe. there were three indians in the canoe, one of whom he recognized for miskodeed's father, and after lying for a few minutes wondering what was the meaning of the situation in which he found himself he addressed himself to the indian:
"what is the meaning of this?"
the indian stared at him like a graven image, but vouchsafed no reply. stane lay there wondering if it had anything to do with miskodeed, and finally, recalling the girl's dramatic appearance at the very moment when he had been stricken down, decided that it had.
"what are you going to do with me?" he inquired after an interval.
"nothing," replied the indian. "at the end of five days thou wilt be set free, and the canoe follows behind."
"but why——"
"it is an order," said the indian gravely, and beyond that stane could learn nothing, though he tried repeatedly in the five days that followed.
at the end of the fifth day they pitched camp as usual, at the evening meal, and lay down to sleep, stane tied hand and foot with buckskin thongs. in the morning, when he awoke, he was alone and his limbs were free. scarce believing the facts he sat up and looked around him. unquestionably his captors had gone, taking the peterboro' with them, but leaving his own canoe hauled up on the bank. still overcome with astonishment he rose to his feet and inspected the contents of the canoe. all the stores that he had purchased at the post were there intact, with his rifle, his little tent and camp utensils, so far as he could tell, not a single article was missing. what on earth was the meaning of it all?
"miskodeed!"
as he spoke the name the possibility that his acquaintance with the girl had been misunderstood by her relations shot into his mind. but in that case why had they dealt with him after this fashion? then again he seemed to hear the indian speaking. "it is an order!"
"whose order?"
as his mind asked the question, he visioned gerald ainley, and was suddenly conscious of a great anger. was it possible that he——? he broke off the question in his mind without finishing it; but lifted his clenched hand and shook it before the silent wilderness. his attitude was full of dumb menace, and left in no doubt his belief as to who was the author of the event that had befallen him.
