CHAPTER XV
PREY OF THE PACK
All the next day, the two prepared for their departure. Donald
strengthened the little sledge, and made their goods into a solid
pack, convenient for him to carry when Jean should become tired
and need to ride. She dismantled the shack of the pathetic little
gew-gaws that had been a part of her happy housekeeping, and kissed
them all before she gave them into his hands for packing.
Neither was insensible of the fact that this departure meant more
than the mere ending of their frigid idyl. Both realized that
McTavish was deliberately going back to imprisonment and disgrace,
although no mention was made of the subject. Jean had some vague
notion that, ten miles from the fort, he might leave her, and retire
into the woods without having been seen. The idea had also occurred
to Donald, but he had put it aside unhesitatingly as the act of a
coward. It little mattered to him what was his fate, as long as he
knew that Jean was safe, and was near him.
That evening, the one before their departure, they held mournful
obsequies over the happy two weeks that could never be repeated in
their lives. They had just sat down to a dinner of rabbit (of
which they were getting heartily tired by this time), when the
sound of bells came to them, and they rushed to the door. With
shout and crack of whip, a dog-train roared up from the south, and
came to a steaming halt in the glow of their hearth.
After the first excitement Jean, suddenly realizing her position,
had shrunk back into the farthest corner of the cabin, her face
scarlet and her heart beating. Donald, to spare her as much as
possible, met the man outside, and immediately there were glad
cries of recognition.
“Well, McTavish, how the deuce do I see you here? You ought to be
up at the fort. But, say, old man, I'm glad you broke out. That
thirty-day term smelled to heaven when the old man gave it. Good
for you!”
“And you, Braithwaite?” cried Donald, delightedly; for the man was
an old friend—a store-keeper at the fort. “What are you doing up
this way, and who are the boys with you?”
Donald was greatly surprised that the two men on the sledges did
not rise.
“We've been having trouble at Sturgeon Lake—pretty rough stuff,
too,” was the explanation; “and these boys got shot up a little.
Probably, you know 'em—Planchette and Napoleon Sky, the Indian.”
“Yes, yes! You don't say! So, the Sturgeon Lake trouble has come
to that point, has it? I was afraid of it. I knew those fellows
were desperate. They gave me a taste to show they meant business.”
“They sure did, Mac. But, say, that isn't the worst. The Old Nick
himself is shot up, and hitting the high spots with fever. We're
afraid to move him, and—”
“Wh—what's that?” asked a trembling feminine voice from the doorway.
“Who did you say had fever?”
During an instant of pregnant silence, the universe stood still
for all those there present. The crisis was come more quickly than
Donald had expected.
“Well, by heavens, Mac,” blurted out Braithwaite, “I didn't know
you did this sort of—er, were away on a vaca—”
“Answer her question,” commanded Donald, bluntly; “and then I'll
explain.”
“Oh, yes, who's got the fever? It's the governor, the boss, the
factor—er—Mr. Fitzpatrick. It's not what you call dangerous yet,
but the chances are good, ma'am. Yes,” he added, with evident
relish, “the chances are good.”
The cry that broke from the girl's lips halted any further essays
at humor of this sort.
“Shut up, can't you, Braithwaite?” snarled Donald. “Can't you see
it's Miss Fitzpatrick, and that she wants to know about her father?
“Not the lost one, Mac?”
“Yes, the lost one; I found her, or, rather, we met here quite by
accident, with nothing on earth but the clothes we stood in, and
a knife and an ax. We've been kicking along the best we could ever
since in this cabin. That's all there is to it. Now what about the
factor?
“Well, it was this way, Mac. There was a lively little argument
goin' on out front, where some of our boys were tryin' to capture
some of their'n. You see, the factor thought, if we captured those
fellers, and brought 'em back to the fort prisoners, it would end
the free tradin'. As I say, there had been quite a little argument
out front, and the factor, he didn't like the way things were
goin'—got a little r'iled, as he sometimes does, you remember.
We-ell, darned if he didn't start out to tell 'em how to do it,
when somebody plugs him with a rifle bullet in the collar-bone,
and that's the end of his fightin' for a while. Of course, he's
big and heavy and gettin' old, so the fever that set in came to be
the most important part of the wound, but they think he'll pull
through.”
“Of course, Dr. Craven from the fort is there?” queried Jean, from
the door.
“Yes, ma'am, he went along with the expedition, and it's good
he did.”
“How is the situation down there now?” Donald questioned.
“Well, for our side, it ain't no more'n so-so,” was the somber
admission; “an' mebbe that's stretchin' it.”
After a little more general conversation, Braithwaite, with his
sick, made camp a short distance from the cabin, stoutly refusing
Jean's proffered hospitality, and the two castaways once more
returned inside, and took their places by the fire.
“Well, princess, that changes matters doesn't it?
“Yes, Donald. At least it changes directions.”
“What do you mean?
“That I must go to Sturgeon Lake and father, to-morrow. Of course,
you have already decided to head that way.”
“Yes, but I feel that you ought to go on to the fort with
Braithwaite's party, and not down into the danger zone, where
anything may happen to you.”
“I know it, dear boy,” Jean answered, firmly. “But I can't leave
father as sick as that to the tender care of a lot of fighting
trappers. Can't you see my position? He's all alone there, and I'd
like to know what kind of a daughter I'd be to turn my back and
travel the other way!”
Donald ceased to resist, for he realized she was taking the only
course open to a girl of courage and spirit.
“So, we travel southwest instead of northwest to-morrow,” she mused,
after a while.
“Right into the deuce's own kettle of trouble,” prophesied Donald.
“But now, princess, we had better turn in, for the going will be
hard.”
Two hours before dawn, both camps were astir. Braithwaite and
Donald, both in need of something, met by the former's camp-fire,
and bargained. Because of fast traveling, the sick-train had no
fresh meat; McTavish had no firearms. In ten minutes, a goodly
supply of frozen rabbits had been packed on the north-bound train,
and Donald once more caressed the butt of a revolver with one hand
and the stock of a rifle with the other. He had promised to return
them as soon as possible, along with the pocket compass that one
man had yielded up.
The queer little sled that Mistisi hauled became the object of much
wit, but it held the pack well, and, shortly before sunrise, the
parties waved each other farewell, as they drew farther and farther
apart. Just previous to starting the trains, McTavish had drawn
Braithwaite aside, and requested silence for himself and men in
regard to the secret he had discovered, out of regard to Jean.
“Everything will be all right in a few days, and when we reach Fort
Severn again you can talk all you wish, for then we'll have been
married,” Donald said. Braithwaite agreed without hesitation. He
was a middle-aged man who, despite his roughness, had a great
fondness for Jean; for a daughter of his, had she lived, would now
have been the same age.
Mistisi, with a hoarse bark of joy, leaped into the traces so
vigorously that Jean and Donald on their snowshoes had great ado
to keep up with him. The wind had not yet melted the crust, and
for three hours they made very fast time.
The distance to Sturgeon Lake Braithwaite had verified as being
fifty miles. He had also given McTavish explicit directions where
to find the camp of the men from Fort Severn, outlining the positions
of the enemy, and describing the main features of the situation.
Donald thought that, with good luck and good surfaces, they ought
to make the lake that night. If not, he was prepared to camp in
the woods... In later years, he was sometimes asked why he waited
two weeks in the cabin if the lake was only a day's journey away,
and to this he replied that he was not sure of his bearings or
distances, and had no firearms wherewith to protect himself from
wild beasts, which at this season of the year were hungriest and
boldest. That he had at last decided to go at all was only for the
sake of Jean: he preferred to expose her to the teeth of animals
rather than to the tongues of men.
Although he tempered the speed to Jean's abilities, by noontime
Donald found the girl exhausted, and biting her lips in the effort
to keep up. He at once ordered a halt, and, as quickly as possible,
made a fire and tea, adding to this slender menu boiled fish.
Not until he saw the warm color glow once more in her cheeks did
he cease to ply her with food and drink.
Then, he took the light pack from the little sledge, fastened the
forehead straps around it, and tucked Jean in its place. The crust
had begun to melt shortly before noon, and Mistisi had broken
through. Now, the pathetic animal lay down on his back and held
his feet in the air, “wooffing” gently to attract attention. His
master examined him, and found that his foot-cushions were worn
thin, and that the membrane between the toes had broken and bled,
leaving a trail behind.
Here was an opportunity to use some of Jean's primitive needle
work. McTavish took from his pocket four little rabbit-skin dog-shoes,
and tied them on Mistisi's feet with soft thongs of the same
material. The animal, with a bark of pleasure, leaped to his
feet, and was off on the trail before the man could swing his
pack into place.
Then began the final stage. Donald figured that they had done more
than half the distance in the morning, but the breaking crust made
harder going now, and their progress was much slower. Not until
the sun wheeled under the horizon would things solidify again. In
the middle of the morning, they had crossed the main north branch
of the Sachigo River. The middle of the afternoon should bring
them to the westerly tributary that fed this branch. That passed,
only small occasional streams would interrupt their progress to
Sturgeon Lake.
True to reckoning, they found the west tributary, and set out for
the last reach of their journey. Donald consulted the landmarks he
knew, and laid their course toward the eastern shore, midway the
length of the lake, the spot Braithwaite had mentioned as the camp.
They still had twelve miles or so before them, and a preliminary
chill gave warning of sunset. An hour before, Jean had insisted
on running again, and the pack was once more on the sledge.
Although he said nothing about it, Donald was worried. That little
trail of blood which Mistisi had left behind furnished food for
serious anxiety. Had not Jean's exhaustion given him concern at
noon, he would have noticed it long before. He centered his attention
upon the nervous ears of Mistisi—ears that would have the forest
sounds long before his own. Unobtrusively, he used every means of
increasing speed and shortening distance... For an hour, they
crunched over the hardening crust. The shadows that had kept pace
with them commenced to grow dim. Only five miles more!
Suddenly, the ears of Mistisi twitched nervously, and from the
hollow of his great chest came a gruff, questioning rumble. What
was it he had heard? The mighty muscles rippled and ran under his
skin as he strained at the traces, but there was no looking back.
Fifteen minutes later brought them to a broad expanse of clear
snow. Three miles beyond, the forest that edged Sturgeon Lake loomed
dimly. If they could but reach that shelter, the race would be
safely over. Twice, Mistisi rumbled hoarsely to himself, and then
growled savagely, his hackles beginning to stiffen.
“What is the matter with him?” asked Jean.
“Listen!” Disengaging their ears from the noise of travel, they
suddenly heard a sound behind them, deep and faint as from a hunting
dog in distant cover. McTavish paused a moment to look behind, and
on the snow where it touched the forest they had left, descried a
dark, moving mass, with dark specks flanking it to either side.
Again, to them came the faint sound, an echo thrown from the resonant
face of the woods.
“Wolves!” cried Donald, sharply. “And on our trail! Run, Jean, as
you have never run before. If we can make cover, we're safe...
Mistisi, mush on, you fiend, or I'll break your back!”
But the dog needed no bidding—he had sensed the danger long since.
His swift trot broke into a lumbering lope.
The man swiftly took in the situation. They were in the middle of
the snow-plain. There is but one defense against wolves—fire, and
here there was no wood of any sort. Only one course was open to
them, to go on. Their breath steamed back into their faces in
clouds; the slide and crunch of snow-shoes, and the creaking of
the sledge sounded under foot. The sun had dropped below the horizon,
and the early darkness had come swiftly marching down from the
north, bringing in its train the fickle, inconstant beauty of the
aurora. Great streamers of color shot silently from horizon to
zenith, and flickered with eerie dimness across the white gleam
of the snow.
But Donald did not see these things. In his ears was but one sound,
the baying of the wolf-pack on the hunt. He could almost see them
come, red tongues slavering between white fangs, gray shoulders
rising and falling in uneven rhythm, great, gray brushes flowing
straight out behind... He looked back. They had gained; they traveled
almost two feet to his one. Yet, if there were no accident it was
possible he could reach the forest.
“Damnation!”
Crying to Jean to go on, he halted and stooped over his snowshoes,
the slip-strings of which had loosened. In a minute, he was up
again and off, sliding, leaping from hummock to hummock, glissading
down the little inclines, speeding like a winged Mercury of the
North. How he could run, if alone! In five minutes, he caught the
dog and Jean, and accommodated his pace to theirs.
Now, the forest was a bare half-mile ahead, the pack but a half-mile
behind. The baying was near now, loud, exultant, terrifying. Perhaps,
the huge leader had sighted the swiftly flying figures on the snow.
“Donald! I can't go a step farther. Go on, and leave me!”
Suffocated with her own breathing, each foot seemingly lead, each
muscle and tendon a hot wire, Jean stumbled feebly where she ran.
Donald caught her, and halted the dog, that shook with his panting
like an engine after a long run. Two seconds, and the pack was
cut loose, and lay upon the snow. Two more, and Jean was on the
sledge. Another, and they were away again, with the forest in
plain sight now.
Fighting the hardest battle of all was Mistisi. Every steam-soaked
hair along his great back was erect; every other breath was a snarl;
every instinct in his fearless nature called for the struggle of
fangs against fangs for the protection of his master—the master
that had once saved his life. Big as any wolf, he was the match of
any, and his nature did not take into account the odds against him.
But his master had said to mush on, in words of great emphasis; so
he crushed back all the battle-fury in his pounding heart, and
mushed as he had never mushed before.
There was a pause, as the wolves stopped, and rifled the sledge-pack
—a brief pause filled with horrid snarls and yelps. Then, the
steady, resonant baying again, louder and more triumphant, seemingly
at the very heels of the fugitives. A hundred yards away the woods
stood, impersonal witnesses of the struggle; three hundred yards
behind, the leader of the pack fixed his gleaming green eye upon
the quarry, and let out the last link in his tireless muscles.
Donald realized now what he had feared for the last half-mile—that,
even were the woods reached safely, to build a fire would be out
of the question. It must be a fight to the death, and he could
foresee but one result. For himself, he did not mind. He had brushed
with death too many times to fear its coming. But Jean! What terror
must be hers, to whom the bitter truths of the forest trails were
new! He only hoped she did not remember that wolves tear before
they kill.
Drawing his revolver, he handed it to her, and she, without a
second's wait, turned round, and fired into the thick pack. She
was a good shot, and every bullet told. At the same time, Donald
lifted his rifle, and pumped five smoking shells while he ran,
pulling the trigger as fast as he could, and firing into the air,
since he dared not turn.
Now, they had gained the forest, and Mistisi, responding to the
cry of “chaw,” swerved to the right into the shelter of a breastwork
of underbrush. In a few seconds, with the brush behind them, and
the upturned sledge before, they awaited the attack.
Round the point of the cover rushed the leaders, and two fell
snarling beneath the mass of those that followed. In the struggle
over the bodies, others fell, but the main pack swerved wide, and
commenced their circling attack.
“Donald, my revolver is empty,” suddenly cried Jean.
“Cartridges in my left pocket,” cried the man, and the girl, with
trembling fingers, reloaded the weapon, while the man held the
brutes at bay.
Suddenly, from the left, a dark form shot into the air. McTavish
ducked, and the wolf passed over him. But Mistisi, all his pent-up
fury released, rose on his hind legs, his great mouth open, his
eyes fiery. With a ferocious snarl, he met the savage attack,
and his jaws closed upon the hairy throat in an inexorable death-grip.
Came a great shouting in the forest, and a score of men broke cover
from the depths of the woods. The firing grew swiftly to a fusillade,
and in three minutes the snow was covered with the dark forms of
the wolves. The few that remained turned tail, and sped silently
across the snow-plain, pursued by a parting volley.
A silence followed, broken only by a death-rattle here and there
on the ground; then, the sound of hysterical weeping, as Jean
Fitzpatrick broke down under the reaction.
“Here you, whoever you are!” cried Donald. “Come and help us out
of this.” And the next minute they were surrounded, and friendly
hands lifted them up.
“By heaven! It's Captain McTavish and the girl,” cried a hearty
voice. “Now, I guess the old man'll get well.”
