Gustave Aimard
The Red River Half-Breed: A Tale of the Wild North-West

CHAPTER XXIII
A FOREST LETTER

Leaving the amiable Captain Kidd for the time being, but promising not to be slow in returning to him, we hasten to Old Nick's Jump, where we left a character as important and far more agreeable.

After having carried out their project in favour of the white women and their captors, the hunters deemed it wise to remain sheltered in the cavern. It was not from any likelihood of the Crow Indians making reprisals; it was clear enough that they had not recognized them, and had not lately been trying to trace them. The reason of their "laying low," i. e., lying perdu, was more powerful; Jim Ridge had to wait for intelligence before he would strike out.

The only persons excepted from this embargo were Filditch and Cherokee Bill, thanks to which exception Lottery Paul received the drubbing that gave him "funny bones all over."

These two were outliers to the rest, beating the bushes beyond the Jump-off incessantly.

In their exploration, they found out that they had not helped honest emigrants but the Half-breeds, and that the women were more likely to be their captives than their wives and children. They had been carried almost too far in their love for humankind, and the border law that colour must defend its own colour.

It is only fair to the Yager to admit that, even on learning that he had defended mongrels he was not sorry. He did not trouble himself any farther about them, but still thought of their prisoners.

Such was the state of things four days after the Crows had been beaten off. Some forty trappers, hunters, and the Scotch Canadians were actively cleaning up their firearms, and packing several days' provisions, all in anticipation of an expedition.

It was about midday, and the remains of deer meat and broken biscuit denoted that dinner had not long been finished.

"How are you getting on, boys?" demanded Jim, who had been busied in the same way as the others.

"First-rate, all ready!" replied one for the troop.

"That's the prime article! Now then, put out your feet! We must camp down tonight, a goodish stretch from here."

"You mean business?" inquired a Scot.

"Decided busy business," was the reply; "come this nightfall, we shall know jest whar we are located."

"But Bill and the Californian left us, as usual, at sunrise; whar 'bouts do we gather 'em in?"

"Don't you flurry," said Jim, "they have run on ahead, not to frolic, but to clear the trail and select a camping ground."

"Nothing to keep us here, eh?"

"Not a thing."

"Then we're off!" cried the party, all afoot, and everything buckled on.

"Come on!"

The whole band quitted the retreat by the subterranean way already described.

It was a cold but fine morning, the air pure, the sky blue. The sun had pretty well thawed the snow, and as a grizzled old trapper said: "Just the weather for a feller to go ten miles a-sparking his gal." The party moved in Indian or single file at a good, regular pace, which took them briskly away from the starting point. As the horses were useless, they were left behind under guard.

The course brought the long string of men past the Red River company, and Ridge remarked with some surprise that they who had been so long quiet now showed signs of pulling up stakes and departing. It was to coalesce with Kidd. This set Ridge thinking, and even made him uneasy. Still, he let no evidence of this appear, but went on in meditation. He was not the man to neglect any precaution, or learning what this movement portended. Whilst walking on he was fingering several pebbles which he had merely mechanically picked up, as an observer would have thought.

On coming to a place where their route made an elbow, he stopped, without saying anything to his followers, whom he let pass in review. When the last had utterly gone from sight, and he was sure no one else had an eye on him, he picked out three trees, which naturally formed a very regular triangle. Into each of these three he climbed to the crotch, where he scratched a ledge in the mossy bark, very like what a bird would make hunting for grubs. He kept the moss and grated wood carefully, and laid the stone in the little shelf, where it rested almost invisible, unless to an experienced eye, and that, too, looking for it. After having executed this operation on all three trees, we say, the Yellowstone Yager made a heap of all the moss and débris at the foot of the one which was apex to the trio. Leading up to this cone, scattered over with leaves, he placed lines of stones, to say nothing of other arrangements of pebbles which, though to all seeming in disorder, undoubtedly conveyed a meaning, for he went over them, and, like a printer correcting his types, modified them scrupulously.

Having once more scrutinised the neighbourhood, to be certain he had no spy on him, he took up his rifle and strode off, merrily whistling to himself, to overtake his comrades, who had not slackened their gait for him.

As remarked, Bill the Cherokee and Filditch had gone out scouting at daybreak. Ridge had given them particular instructions, and perhaps was thinking of them when he accomplished the enigmatical work described. It was presumably a signal message. The Yager was much too serious a man to lose his time in jokes. When he rejoined his men he said never a word on his doings, and no one questioned him; they do not question "the old man" of a party when out on the warpath with a variety of deaths at hand.

All the afternoon they marched on without anything notable happening except that a couple of bucks were killed, but shot with arrows, so that no noise was made.

About five p.m., a little after sunset, the band arrived where the halt for the night was decided.

It was on the edge of a rather wide clearing, as generally is the case, to prevent a surprise and attack under cover. Awaiting them, seated near a fire only just kindled, Filditch was puffing at a cigar.

The Cherokee Half-breed was not visible.

Old Jim put no questions concerning him, and did not even seem astonished at not seeing him.

A camp is not long being made by regular hunters. The two or three fires soon burnt up in that clear, smokeless, intensely hot way which is the despair of novices at camping. The supper being "put under the belts," everyone not on watch wrapped up in blankets, and went to sleep with feet to the fire.

At eleven o'clock Jim Ridge rose out of a reverie, went the rounds of the sentries, and finally dived into the underbrush, dropping at once so as to disappear promptly. As soon as he was well out of reach of the low firelight rays, he looked up at the sky and mountain tops to get his bearings, and then strode away, with wide opening of his long legs like one who knew thoroughly what he was about, and how the country was superficially formed.

His course was only an hour long.

Then he stopped at a rock overhanging a waterfall.

He felt that his weapons were in good condition before putting in each side of his mouth one index finger, with which he so changed the shape of that orifice that he was able to imitate to perfection the hooting of the big blue owl. That was a night bird likely to be about at that time.

Almost immediately a swish as of wings in the brambles responded. It was as if a bird had been deluded and rushed to see a mate. But no owl – merely a man emerged from the shadows scarcely twenty paces from the old mountaineer. The man came on with extraordinary confidence, keeping his gun only tolerably ready, and smoking a pipe with its cover off.

"Oh, these young fellows!" muttered the Yager, with a low laugh; "They won't learn nuthin', and it's no use talking to 'em, and, at the same time, this is a most promising one among 'em."

CHAPTER XXIV
THE YAGER'S "TREATY TALK" WITH OUR HERO

In a few minutes the two met, and cordially gripped hands.

"Well?" demanded Jim, curtly.

"An hour after you and your company marched by, so the Cherokee said, I met him. He was puzzling out something of a Chinese puzzle which you left for his wits. He told me that I should meet you here, and the time."

"Jes' so. Why didn't he come along?"

"Really, I do not know, Mr. Ridge," answered Ranald, smiling, for it was our amateur woodman; "I will add, if you will allow it, that you probably know better than I do. All he said was that you had given him something to do that would oblige him to turn back."

"That's so, too. I was afeard he would not understand my 'collar of wampum,' my forest letter," said Ridge.

"Oh, don't you cherish any alarm on that head. It struck me that Williams read your forest letter, as you style it, as easily as I should a page in a book – with this advantage, that he could do it in the dark with his fingers if need be. You are wonderful with your devices! But here I am; deal with me as you see fit."

"I want to hear you first," said Ridge. "We are quite alone here. You have seen the young lady, towards whom I think you feel tenderly, and have brushed up against Captain Kidd, the old pirate! Say your say about them."

The young Englishman reflected a while, and not till then did he reply, in a voice still unsteady with emotion, "If I were facing any other man than one whom I esteem as the King of the Wilderness; if I supposed you had any other sentiments in your heart than those which all, white, red and yellow, acknowledge to be worthy, I should speak out thus – I am a rich man in England, and will give you half my property for your inestimable help to free that poor young lady."

He fixed an anxious gaze on the hunter.

"Well, I ain't that style of man," said the latter; "and seeing you are facing me, what do you say?"

"To you, Jim Ridge," went on the young lover, with tears in his eyes, "I have to say this – I am really in anguish, and my heart is aching with apprehension. Those women surrounded by merciless reprobates – 'tis a horrible situation. Counting that lad Leon the Drudge as a man, he and the Carcajieu and myself are a mere mouthful among the ogres. Except yourself and friends and the kernel of Sir Archie's ill-fated expedition, these wilds seem to swarm with dangers, not the least of which are human. To enable me to help those ladies, I will pledge you my life if I can only lay it down to save you and those dear to you some day. I am a newcomer here, Mr. Ridge, but I have already perceived that all bow to your will. Your incontestable superiority is owned by your enemies themselves."

"Well, Mr. Dearborn, I am inclined to believe we shall weld up the thing. Don't call it a bargain, that's all. But let us step away from here lively. It is no place for a treaty talk. In a short time, by that distant thunder, which is rolling snow and water, there will be a rise here, and we may be drowned, ay and frozen."

Ranald followed the veteran Westerner without a word. This reading signs of natural disturbances from afar impressed him powerfully. His guide went round the worn boulder, ascended some steps rudely shaped by time in the granite, and after gliding in at a cleft hardly at first allowing them to squeeze through, reached a deep cave not perceptible from without.

"One of my favourite nooks," observed Jim, taking matches from a dry corner, with which he ignited an elk fat candle, and then kindling a fire of ready piled wood behind a rocky mantle. "Nobody knows it except Bill Williams and me. You are the first outsider let in. We are quite secure. Neither inquisitive eyes nor greedy ears are open on us here; nothing but the dead are at hand," stamping lightly on a gentle eminence. "They, at any rate, keep a still tongue. Who are they? Men like myself, who show the settler the way to the best sites for towns where thousands of happy children will peacefully learn and play and grow up without even hearing our names. Such is the explorer's fate. But the flame mounts brightly – away with black thoughts. To our concerns; speak out straight and clear. It is needful that I should know your story completely, that I may see how you intend acting by that young lady for whom you own a tenderness. Then, here's my hand."

"I have nothing to keep back, sir. I thank God that even my youthful follies are not such as man blames harshly. My full title is Sir Ranald Dearborn Ivyson, a baronet of Teviotdale. My family, my position in the country and monetarily, are more than merely good. I was amusing myself with travel without any particular aim, when I met Miss Maclan at a garrison ball in Canada, and fell in love with her – at least, I thought the passion not shallow, but its full depth was immeasurable till I found her in danger."

"That's so, boy – it's like the freeze – go sudden to a fire, and mark how it smarts."

"There's not a doubt of it now. When your friend, Williams, directed her to give herself up to Captain Kidd's men, I felt my love almost overthrow my reason, for, though that told me he was ordering the best course, my sentiment urged me to disobey, and throw my life away by desperately preventing her being touched by those scoundrels!"

"Bill is a wise man!" interpolated Ridge. "His father was a large dictionary – he's the pocket-size – but the same amount of larning, pretty nigh, in both. But go on, you must be back within Kidd's camp by sunup."

"I have no more to say. When we rescue that young lady, and I place her in civilisation once more, I shall give her time to let mere gratitude die out, and then offer myself. If she accepts, I shall be a happy man. If she rejects, I – I – well, either a soldier I'll be, or I'll come and join you in your roving career – a miserable, heartbroken man!"

"A desirable recruit!" said Jim, with his low laugh. "Wall, it 'pears you are bound to do the right thing. I believe you, and this is a more solemn engagement than you had before. We shall help you."

"Thanks!"

"How are you thriving with the Cap.?"

"How am I getting on with Kidd? I have succeeded in deceiving him."

"Ah, but for how long? He's a cute devil. At the least suspicion, he will pin you to a tree, or riddle you with a repeater!"

"I shall take care not to rouse his mistrust," answered Ranald, with a smile of confidence.

"Heaven help you – you are the circus boy, who, seeing the lion tamer go into the cage so easily every day, offers to perform the critters the first day he falls sick. However, youth will be boastful. In any case, rely on me. That American girl is the daughter of my brother's son. And another belief of mine is all out of the tie if that poor young lad is not her brother Lewis. This depends, perhaps, on finding out who their gaoler is – this Kidd, in reality. Soon the means of identifying the children will be at hand if the father's loving eyes are baffled. There are more friends and allies yet to be seen by you. An old friend of my nephew Filditch is due right here, and right now. His name is Don Gregorio, Peralta, Lewis's uncle. From him, through a trader, come the 'pointers' that have set me against Captain Kidd. I allow that, so far, he has thrown me out, but I take a heap of beating, and then I am not conquered. But he has even bigger enemies than this child. Into his very camp, travelling along with his crowd from the very jump-off, is one of his foes, sir. He must have been in communication with you first off. He has been signalling to us all over the mountain, from smoke and fires, and played with the axe on trees."

"You allude to the Carcajieu."

"Ay, the Wolverine. You can 'go to sleep in his blanket.' You must put full confidence in him, for, otherwise, he might upset your plans without intending it in performing his special duty."

"There's no fear about that. Joe and I have no secrets for one another."

"So much the slicker! Now, we are full forty strong. Before this gang reaches the Yellowstone Valley, we shall be nearly a hundred, for the trappers are rallying."

"We are certain to succeed!" exclaimed the Englishman, gleefully.

"Certainty is a brittle twig. But 'our cause it is just,' as the song says, and we are going to do our utmost. Our enemies are the more to be dreaded as 'gold or a grave' is a motto that pulls them far. They are not the first band, though about the biggest, that have started for the Wonderland. So far we have driven them back, or Nature's scared them; but that cannot be etarnal. It is not more than a couple of days that I found out that the leader of these banditti is the notorious Captain Kidd. He is far down in my book for being the brother of one Miguel Tadeo, a scoundrel who has dropped through somewhere, though the frontier is alive with inquiries after him. Kidd is a pestilence, but Don Miguel is the black plague itself! He is overflowing with spite against his brother man. If he is hanging around me, why, I haven't seen a trace yet, and that's bitter on an old trail hunter that's consulted by guides with a big reputation. So be prudent, young sir, for you are in the hornets' nest. Kidd will kill you straight, on the faintest doubt, without any challenge. Other hostiles abound, keep before you as a fact: the Indians, and those Canadian Half-breeds. Their chief, Dagard, is a queer mix of good white and bad Injin, and a crime no more burdens his conscience than the last drink he took. Add that all the stray pirates of the prairie, hoss thieves, gold diggers, robbers, and skulks ginerally will flock to Kidd the moment he has an advantage over us which promises him undisputed passage into the Enchanted Valley. You see the scales are pulled down agin us!"

"I even have an idee that there's a secret agreement between Kidd, which includes Don Miguel, and this Dagard. I met more'n once down in Montana, and even farther south, the Half-breed Margottet, now the lieutenant of these Red River Rovers. Thar's some big scheme hatching in the Nor'-West, for the Injins have knocked under to the railroad on the plains as Big Bad Medicine; but cherish hopes, among the Apaches away South and up here towards the Queen's country. Ever since the Sioux were driven over the border, the Half-breeds have been saucy. Wall, you are doubly, trebly warned, young sir, and must abide by the consequences."

"Do all I can, I cannot pierce Kidd's game. Something in his proceedings upsets my calculations. If he were not so notorious during such a long time in the West, I should imagine him – but that's all nonsense! Anyhow, sir, mind that forgetfulness, rashness, blindness – they'll ruin, no – well, worse than that, they'll destroy all those girls and women. There are young men who love as strongly as you, whose sweethearts are in that band; fathers who sorrow like my nephew, whose da'ters are there cooped up. But I am glad to know you, sir! We have had gilt-edged Englishmen out here that brought servants from London, things in the shape of men, but who my lorded them and your graced them, and disgraced themselves! – They thought money would buy every mortal thing even here! No, sir, I am offering you my life, and Cherokee Bill's, and a score more, but not for cash! You have a manly nature, that's enough; that kind comes among the same kind when they talk to the hunter and trapper with no double tongue. The old country is no decaying tree, sir, when thar's young shoots like you!"

The speaker had been so unusually eloquent, unlike his brief, measured sentences, that not till now could his hearer get in a word which he was eager to say.

"I wish to tell you, Ridge, that Joe, whom you praise so highly, while rather mysteriously, assured me that Kidd is living literally behind a mask, and that he has seen it laid aside."

"Do tell?" inquired the Old Man of the Mountain.

"He told me that last night, a little thanks to my having fixed on a capital site over a burrow for the captain's tent, he was able to get a good look at him after he had unsuspectedly laid aside his daily disguise."

"Wagh! This is worth hearing."

"He says that the real face belongs to a noted criminal called Hank, or Henry Brown, which in turn hides one Cornelio de Bustamente."

"Bustamente! Oh! We've heard of him; the great St. Louis Forger!" cried Ridge. "Oh, why is not Don Gregorio on the spot? However, patience, patience. But the time is over for our parting. Haste away. I shall not forget that Kidd is Bustamente. In two days we shall meet again. Trust to Joe, he's not to be tricked even by such hardened rogues."

"But you do not tell me where we meet?"

"There is a swamp and burnt wooded stretch called Winter Black, or the Winter Burning."

"I can remember that."

"Good luck! Thank Joe for the clue he gives me. I'll question the boys on the point. Hurry off to your camp, for you have a distance to go. In two days, same hour, at Winter Black. Good-bye, boys!"

The two shook hands and left the cavern, departing oppositely at the mouth.

The rest of the night passed tranquilly. An hour before the false dawn an owl was heard lamentably hooting as if its night hunt had failed, and it feared it must go supperless to its couch. But Jim Ridge stood up, and answered in the same long-drawn, pitiful tones.

Those of the watch must have been more surprised than edified by the singular dialogue that went on between Old Ridge and his unseen interlocutor. All the wild beasts and birds of the field, forest, and mountain seemed engaged in a concert. The calls and defiant cries of various birds seemed to awaken bears and wild cats, and the coyotes wailed to the sharply yelping prairie dogs. The sounds were so arbitrarily arranged, that a conjurer would be puzzled to distinguish the sense of a single sentence. But the Yager understood it perfectly, of course, and what is more, seemed quite satisfied with the information so strangely conveyed to him. When it was over, he went and awoke an old beaver trapper to take his relief on guard, and remarked:

"Bill has done it! All goes lovely."

At sunrise the hunters resumed their march, though Cherokee Bill had still not joined. But Ridge again passed no comment on the absence.