Munroe Kirk
Under the Great Bear
CHAPTER XIX.
A MELANCHOLY SITUATION
In Labrador, under ordinary circumstances, the loss of such a quantity of provisions as Arsenic had carried away would have been a very serious misfortune. But food was the one thing our lads had in abundance, and they were more unhappy at having lost a guide, who might have shown them a way out of their prison, than over the theft he had so successfully accomplished.
"The next time we catch an Indian we'll tie a string to him," said Cabot.
"Yes," agreed White, "and it will be a stout one, too; but I am afraid there won't be any more Indians on the coast this season."
"How about Eskimo?"
"Some of them may come along later, when the snowshoeing and sledging get good enough, for they are apt to travel pretty far south during the winter. Still, there's no knowing how far back from the coast their line of travel may lie at this point, and dozens of them might pass without our knowledge."
"Couldn't we go up or down the coast as well as an Eskimo, whenever these miserable waterways freeze over?" asked Cabot.
"Of course, if we had sledges, dogs, snowshoes, and fur clothing," replied White; "but without all these things we might just as well commit suicide before starting."
"Well, I'll tell you what we can do right off, and the sooner we set about it the better. We can go inland as far as possible, and leave a line of flags or some sort of signals that will attract attention to this place."
"I don't know but what that is a good idea," remarked White, thoughtfully. "At any rate, it would be better than doing nothing, and if we don't get help in some way we shall certainly freeze to death in this place long before the winter is over."
So Cabot's suggestion was adopted, and the remainder of that day was spent in preparing little flags of red and white cloth, attaching them to slender sticks, and in making a number of wooden arrows. On a smooth side of these they wrote:
"Help! We are stranded on the coast."
"I wish we could write it in Eskimo and Indian," said Cabot, "for English doesn't seem to be the popular language of this country."
"The flags and arrows will be a plain enough language for any natives who may run across them," responded White, "and I only hope they'll see them; but it is a slim chance, and we'll probably be frozen stiff long before any one finds us."
"Oh, I don't know," said Cabot, cheerfully. "There's firewood enough in the schooner itself to last quite a while."
"Burn the 'Sea Bee'!" cried White, aghast at the suggestion. "I couldn't do it."
"Neither could I at present; but I expect both of us could and would, long before our blood reached the freezing point."
"But if we destroyed the schooner, how would we get out of here next summer?"
"I'm sure I don't know, and don't care to try and think yet a while. Just now I am much more interested in the nearby winter than in a very distant summer."
The next day, and for a number of days thereafter, our lads worked at the establishment of their signal line. They erected stone cairns at such distances apart that every one was visible from those on either side, and on the summit of each they planted a flag with its accompanying pointer. In this way they ran an unbroken range of signals for ten miles, and would have carried it further had they dared expend any more of their precious firewood.
While they were engaged upon this task the weather became noticeably colder, the mercury falling below the freezing point each night, and the whole country was wrapped in the first folds of the snow blanket under which it would sleep for months. About the time their signal line was completed, however, there came a milder day, so suggestive of the vanished summer that Cabot declared his intention of spending an hour or so at the lookout. "There might be such a thing as a belated vessel," he argued, "and I might have the luck to signal it. Anyhow, I am going to make one more try before agreeing to settle down here for the winter."
As White was busy moving the galley stove into the cabin, and making other preparations for their coming struggle against Arctic cold, Cabot rowed himself ashore and left the dinghy on the beach. Then he climbed to the summit of the lofty headland, where, for a long time, he leaned thoughtfully on the rude Alpine-stock that had aided his steps, and gazed out over the vacant ocean.
While Cabot thus watched for ships that failed to come, White was putting the finishing touches to his new cabin fixtures. He was just beginning to wonder if it were not time for his comrade's return when he felt the slight jar of some floating object striking against the side of the schooner. Thinking that Cabot had arrived, he shouted a cheery greeting, but turned to survey the general effect of what he had done before going on deck. The next minute some one softly entered the cabin and sprang upon the unsuspecting youth, overpowering him and flinging him to the floor before he had a chance to offer resistance. Here he was securely bound and left to make what he could of the situation, while his captors swarmed through the schooner with exclamations of delight at the richness of their prize.
As White slowly recovered from the bewilderment of his situation he saw that his assailants were Indians, and even recognised in one of them the hideous features of the lad whom Cabot had named Arsenic.
"What fools we have been," he thought, bitterly. "We might have known that he would come back with the first band of his friends that he ran across. And to make sure that they would find us we filled the country with sign posts all pointing this way. Seems to me that was about as idiotic a thing as we could have done, and if ever a misfortune was deserved this one is. I wonder what has become of Cabot, and if they have caught him yet. I only hope he won't try to fight 'em, for they'd just as soon kill him as not. Probably they'll kill us both, though, so that no witnesses can ever appear against them. Poor chap! It was a sad day for him when he attempted to help a fellow as unlucky as I am out of his troubles. Now I wonder what's up."
A shrill cry of triumph had come from the shore, and the savages on the schooner's deck were replying to it with exultant yells.
The cry from shore announced the capture of Cabot by two Indians who had been left behind for that express purpose. Of course the new-comers had known as soon as they discovered the dinghy that at least one of the schooner's defenders was on shore, and had made their arrangements accordingly. As we have seen, the naval contingent experienced no difficulty in capturing the schooner, and a little later the land forces carried out their part of the programme with equal facility. They merely hid themselves behind some boulders, and leaping out upon the young American, as he came unsuspectingly swinging down the trail, overpowered him before he could make a struggle. Tying him beyond a possibility of escape, they carried him down to the beach, where they uttered the cries that informed their comrades of their triumph.
Until this time the schooner had been left at her anchorage, for fear lest any change in her position might arouse Cabot's suspicions. Now that they were free to do as they pleased with her the Indians cut her cable, and, after much awkward effort, succeeded in towing her to the beach, where they made her fast.
As the darkness and cold of night were now upon them, and as they had no longer any use for the dinghy, they smashed it in pieces and started a fire with its shattered timbers. At the same time they broke out several barrels of provisions, and the entire band, gathering about the fire, began to feast upon their contents.
In the meantime Cabot and White, in their respective places of captivity, were equally miserable through their ignorance of what had happened to each other, and of the fate awaiting them. Of course Cabot had seen the schooner brought to the beach, while White, still lying on her cabin floor, was able to guess at her position from such sounds as came to his ears.
During that eventful afternoon, while the savages were still preparing the plan that had resulted in such complete success, a white man, setting a line of traps for fur-bearing animals, had run across the outermost of the signals established by our lads a few days earlier. Its fluttering pennon had attracted his attention while he was still at a distance, and, filled with curiosity, he had gone to it for a closer examination. On reaching the signal he read the pencilled writing on its arrow, and then stood irresolute, evidently much perturbed, for several minutes. Finally, heaving a great sigh, he set forth in the direction indicated by the arrow.
He was a gigantic man, and presented a strange spectacle as he strode swiftly across the country with the long, sliding gait of a practised snowshoer. Although his wide-set blue eyes were frank and gentle in expression, a heavy mass of blonde hair, streaming over his shoulders like a mane, and a shaggy beard, gave him an air of lion-like ferocity. This wildness of aspect, as well as his huge proportions, were both increased by his garments, which were entirely of wolf skins. Even his cap was of this material, ornamented by a wolf's tail that streamed out behind and adorned in front with a pair of wolf ears pricked sharply forward. He carried a rifle and bore on his shoulders, as though it were a feather weight, a pack of such size than an ordinarily strong man would have found difficulty in lifting it.
As this remarkable stranger, looking more like a Norse war god than a mere human being, reached one signal after another, he passed it without pausing for examination until he had gained a point about half way to the coast. Then he came to an abrupt halt and studied the surrounding snow intently. He had run across the trail made by Arsenic and his fellows a few hours earlier. After an examination of the sprawling footprints, the big man uttered a peculiar snort of satisfaction, and again pushed on with increased speed. An hour later he stood, concealed by darkness, on the verge of the cliffs enclosing Locked Harbour, gazing interestedly down on the fire-lit beach, the half-revealed schooner, the feasting savages, and the recumbent, dimly discerned figure of Cabot Grant, their prisoner.
CHAPTER XX.
COMING OF THE MAN-WOLF
Once Arsenic went to where Cabot was lying, and, grinning cheerfully, remarked: "Tea, shug. Plenty, yes." Then he laughed immoderately, as did several other Indians who were listening admiringly to this flight of eloquence in the white man's own tongue.
"Oh, clear out, you grinning baboon," growled Cabot. "I only hope I'll live to get even with you for this day's work."
The Indians were evidently so pleased at having drawn a retort from their prisoner that he declined to gratify them further, or to speak another word, though for some time Arsenic continued to beguile him with his tiresome "Tea, shug," etc. When the latter finally gave it up and started away to get his share of the feast, Cabot's gaze followed him closely.
All this time our lad was filled with vague terrors concerning White, of whose fate he had not received the slightest intimation, as well as of what might be in store for himself. Would he be carried to the distant interior to become a slave in some filthy Indian village, or would he be killed before they took their departure? Perhaps they would simply leave him there to freeze and starve to death, or they might amuse themselves by burning him at the stake. Did these far northern Indians still do such things? He wondered, but could not remember ever to have heard.
While considering these unpleasant possibilities, Cabot was also suffering with cold, from the pain of his bonds, and from lying motionless on the bed of rocks to which he had been carelessly flung. But, with all his pain and his mental distress, he still glared at the young savage who had so basely betrayed his kindness, and at length Arsenic seemed to be uneasily aware of the steady gaze. He changed his position several times, and his noisy hilarity was gradually succeeded by a sullen silence. Suddenly he lifted his head and listened apprehensively. His quick ear had caught an ominous note in the distant, long-drawn howl of a wolf. He spoke of it to his comrades, and several of them joined him in listening. It came again, a blood-curdling yell, now so distinct that all heard it. They stopped their feasting to consult in low tones and peer fearfully into the surrounding blackness.
Cabot had also recognised the sound, but, uncanny as it was, he wondered why the howl of a wolf should disturb a lot of Indians who must know, even better than he, the cowardly nature of the beast, and that there was no chance of his coming near a fire.
Even as these thoughts passed through his mind, the terrible cry was uttered again—this time so close at hand that it was taken up and repeated by a chorus of echoes from the nearby cliffs. The Indians sprang to their feet in terror, while at the same moment an avalanche of stones, gravel, and small boulders rushed down the face of the cliff close to where Cabot lay. From it was evolved a monstrous shape that, with unearthly howlings, leaped towards the frightened natives. As it did so flashes of lightning, that seemed to dart from it, gleamed with a dazzling radiance on their distorted faces. In another moment they were in full flight up the rugged pathway leading from the basin, hotly pursued by their mysterious enemy.
The latter seemed to pass directly through the fire, scattering its blazing brands to all sides. At the same time he snatched up a flaming timber for use as a weapon against such of the panic-stricken savages as still remained within reach.
The flashes of light that accompanied the apparition, while illuminating all nearby objects, had left it shrouded in darkness, and only when it crouched for an instant above the fire did Cabot gain a clear glimpse of the gigantic form. To his dismay it appeared to be a great beast with a human resemblance. It had the gleaming teeth, the horrid jaws, the sharp ears, in fact the face and head of a wolf, the tawny mane of a lion, and was covered with thick fur; but it stood erect and used its arms like a man. At the same time, the sounds issuing from its throat seemed a combination of incoherent human cries and wolfish howlings. Cabot only saw it for a moment, and then it was gone, leaping up the pathway, whirling the blazing timber above its head, and darting its mysterious lightning flashes after the flying Indians.
As the clamour of flight and pursuit died away, to be followed by a profound silence, there came a muffled call:
"Cabot. Cabot Grant."
"Hello!" shouted our lad. "Who is it? Where are you?"
"It is I, White," came the barely heard answer. "I am here in the cabin. Can't you come and let me out?"
"No," replied Cabot. "I am tied hand and foot."
"So am I. Are you wounded?"
"No. Are you?"
"No. What are the Indians doing?"
"Running for dear life from a Labrador devil—half wolf and half man—armed with soundless thunder-bolts."
During the short silence that followed, White meditated upon this extraordinary statement, and decided that his comrade's brain must be affected by his sufferings.
"If I could only twist out of these ropes," he groaned, and then he began again a struggle to free his hands from their bonds. At the same time Cabot, who had long since discovered the futility of such effort, was anxiously listening, and wondering what would happen next.
With all his listening he did not hear the soft approach of furred footsteps, and when a blinding light was flashed full in his face he was so startled that he cried out with terror. Instantly the light vanished, and he shuddered as he realised that the furry monster had returned, and, bending over him, was fumbling at his bonds.
In another moment these were severed, he was picked up as though he had been an infant, and carried to the fire, whose scattered embers were speedily re-assembled. As it blazed up, Cabot gazed eagerly at the mysterious figure, which had thus far worked in silence. Curious as he was to see it, he yet dreaded to look upon its wolfish features. Therefore, as the fire blazed up, he uttered a cry of amazement, for, fully revealed by its light, was a man; clad in furs, it is true, but bare-headed and having a pleasant face lighted by kindly blue eyes.
"You are really human after all!" gasped Cabot.
The stranger smiled but said nothing.
"And can understand English?"
A nod of the head was the only answer.
"Then," continued Cabot, hardly noting that his deliverer had not spoken, "won't you please go aboard the schooner and find my friend? He is in the cabin, where those wretches left him, tied up."
This was the first intimation the stranger had received that any one besides Cabot needed his assistance, but without a word he did as requested, swinging himself aboard the "Sea Bee" by her head chains and her bowsprit, which overhung the beach. Directly afterwards a flash of light streamed from the cabin windows. Then White Baldwin, assisted by the fur-clad giant, emerged from his prison, walked stiffly along the deck, and was helped down to the beach, where Cabot eagerly awaited him.
After a joyous greeting of his friend the young American said anxiously: "But are you sure you are all right, old man—not wounded nor hurt in any way?"
"No; I am sound as a nut," replied White. "Only a little stiff, that's all."
"Same here," declared Cabot, industriously rubbing his legs to restore their circulation. "I was rapidly turning into a human icicle, though, when our big friend dropped down from the sky in a chariot of flame and gave those Indian beggars such a scare that I don't suppose they've stopped running yet. But how did you happen to let 'em aboard, old man? Couldn't you stand them off with a gun?"
For answer White gave a full account of all that had taken place, so far as he knew, and in return Cabot described his own exciting experiences, while the stranger listened attentively, but in silence, to both narratives. When Cabot came to the end of his own story, he said:
"Now, sir, won't you please tell us how you happened to find us out and come to our rescue just in the nick of time? I should also very much like to know how you managed to tumble down that precipice unharmed, as well as how you produced those flashes of light that scared the savages so badly—me too, for that matter."
For answer the stranger only smiled gravely, pointed to his lips, and shook his head.
"Oh!" exclaimed both Cabot and White, shocked by this intimation, and the former said:
"I beg your pardon, sir. While I noticed that you didn't do much talking, it never occurred to me that you were dumb. I am awfully sorry, and it must be a terrible trial. At the same time, I am glad you can hear me say how very grateful we are to you for getting us out of a nasty fix in the splendid way you did. Now, I move we adjourn to the cabin of the schooner, where we can make some hot tea and be rather more comfortable than out here. That is, if you think those Indians won't come back."
The stranger smiled again, and shook his head so reassuringly that the lads had no longer a doubt as to the expediency of returning to the cabin. There they started a fire in the stove, boiled water, made tea, and prepared a meal, of which the stranger ate so heartily, and with such evident appreciation, that it was a pleasure to watch him.
While supper was being made ready, the big man removed his outer garments of wolf fur and stood in a close-fitting suit of tanned buckskin that clearly revealed the symmetry of his massive proportions.
"If I were as strong as you look, and, as I know from experience, you are," exclaimed Cabot, admiringly, "I don't think I would hesitate to attack a whole tribe of Indians single handed. My! but it must be fine to be so strong."
After supper Cabot, who generally acted as spokesman, again addressed himself to their guest, saying:
"If you don't mind, sir, we'd like to have you know just what sort of a predicament we've got into, and ask your advice as to how we can get out of it." With this preamble Cabot explained the whole situation, and ended by saying:
"Now you know just how we are fixed, and if you can guide us to the nearest Mission Station or, if you haven't time to go with us, if you will give us directions how to find it—we shall be under a greater obligation to you than ever."
For a minute the stranger looked thoughtful but made no sign. Then, dipping his finger in a bowl of water, he wrote on the table the single word: "To-morrow." Having thus dismissed the subject for the present, he stretched his huge frame on a transom and almost instantly fell asleep.
Our tired lads were not long in following his example, and, though several times during the alight one or the other of them got up to replenish the fire, they always found their guest quietly sleeping. But when they both awoke late the following morning and looked for him he had disappeared.
