Menotah Part 24

The ex-minister droned forth his Jeremiads, swinging his angular body in regular motions.

'Do you hear? Quit it, or the river will have a drowning job first thing.'

Then Denton looked up, and closed the book mournfully. 'Did you speak, Alfred?' he asked smoothly.

'I just whispered,' shouted the Factor. 'You're a peach of a Christian, ain't you? Who told you to dump your carcase here, eh?'

'You turned me out of the fort without authority. I had to find a place for myself,' said the ex-minister, who was more afraid of McAuliffe than in the days previous to the fight.

'This shack's owned by the Company. I tell you that.'

'Well, and I'm one of their officers,' said Denton, sulkily. 'I sent a letter by this morning's boat to Garry. I've just put them up to how I've been used by the Chief Factor. The answer may bother you a bit, I reckon.'

'That'll be a sure thing,' said McAuliffe, rubbing his hands delightedly. 'But it's no good your going in for fiction. There's too many at it already. Mind you, lad, my report went along by same mail.

There was some reading in it which would have made you fairly blush. I recommended you for promotion, hinted at a Victoria Cross, to say nothing of a pension when you were past lying. You're tough, Peter, and there's no denying it. I wonder that Bible don't burn a hole in your pants.'

Justin interposed. 'He no good. Make boy worse,' pointing to the Icelander.

'He's a waste of breath wherever he is. Fellows like him ain't a bit of good, until they're planted. Then they do keep a few worms going and enrich the ground a bit.'

Denton drew himself upright with poor dignity. 'I have my call, and I obey it. I am here to care for the soul of our sinful brother.'

McAuliffe burst into a l.u.s.ty roar. ''Scuse me smiling, Peter. Think he wants you to trouble? Tell you, he'd be a lot more interested if you looked a bit after your own. How's the fellow, Justin? Going to snuff out?'

The half-breed gave a loud grunt of dissent, then bent again over the sick man, who was apparently asleep.

'He's not, eh? Well, you'll do fine, boy, if you drag him back.' He pulled forth a ma.s.sive watch and continued, ''Bout time for my grub.

Suppose you fix him up and hustle across to the fort. I've got a hungry sort of faceache on me just now. So long, Peter; it's made me regular tired seeing you again. Why don't you croak off, and make some of us happier?'

Followed by an indistinct reply to this gracious sentiment, the two left the hut and pa.s.sed along in the white sunlight, taking the narrow s.h.i.+ngle path which ran between the cliff base and low ebb of the waters.

The taciturn half-breed was kept at a short double by McAuliffe's long strides, but at the tree-covered headland the latter paused to get a light for his pipe. There was a cool patch of shade beneath the overhanging rock, so Justin stopped willingly and rubbed the heat from his wrinkled forehead. Then he bit deeply into a black plug, while McAuliffe swore at the pungent sulphur which had found its way up his nose.

The great river swirled along, with a lazy gurgling beneath the bright light. Sweeping kanikaniks bent over and lay upon the cool surface, entangling small driftings that occasionally came down on the stream.

There was something caught in the red strands now, and the half-breed's keen eyes soon perceived it. He pointed with his usual sonorous grunt.

McAuliffe puffed blue smoke through his moustache. The sunlight was dazzling, so at first he saw nothing but the red lines crossing and recrossing foam patches. Then, beyond the small waves which licked the s.h.i.+ngle, he caught sight of a s.h.i.+ning surface rising and falling feather-like, fretting at the restraint. 'Goldam, boy!' he exclaimed, 'it's a paddle.'

Justin grunted and again pointed, this time to a fragment of bark twisted up among the pendulous strings.

'Looks as if a _nitchi_ had been overset here,' said the Factor.

'There's been a canoe smashed, and it's a sure thing he didn't escape.

He wouldn't have gone off without the paddle. Must have been in the storm, boy.'

Justin merely expectorated skilfully across the flat of the white blade.

'May have been monkey work going on,' continued McAuliffe. 'I was too everlastingly raddled to know anything. See here, boy, you were around best part of the time. Anyone cutting a crooked dido, you reckon?'

The half-breed shook his head slowly. 'Lightning, thunder, wind, rain.'

He waved his hands towards the white rolling cloud ma.s.ses. 'I in the hut--all night.'

'Did Peter s.h.i.+ft his carcase outside any time?'

The decided shake of the half-breed's head was sufficient to exonerate the ex-minister.

McAuliffe pulled a deadwood stick from the bush, then brought the paddle to sh.o.r.e. 'One fellow gains by another's loss. It's a first-cla.s.s paddle, boy.'

They continued along the s.h.i.+ngle, worked up the cliff, and were already within sight of the fort, when the old Chief crawled painfully from the dim forest track and waited for the representative of justice to come up. With his great hand McAuliffe screened his eyes from the white stream of light, and presently observed the bent figure.

'h.e.l.lo, whisky bottle! What're you after?'

The old man replied in his weak tones, 'I wish to speak to the white father. Now I have found him on the way.'

'That's what. No charge for talking to-day. Pump it out quick, though, for I'm wanting my grub.' He stopped, but Justin went on to the fort.

Then the Chief came nearer, and stretched out a skinny hand.

'Muskwah answers not when we call. The leader of the young men has departed from us as the star before the light of day.'

McAuliffe whistled and grew interested. 'What's that? Quit your foolery about the sun and stars. Tell me straight what you're driving at.'

The young man went forth to hunt in the forest of the north. Then the Storm Spirit spoke and all trembled at his voice; but in the morning, when many of the tribe came for water to the river, there were portions of the canoe lying upon the stones. Then we knew Muskwah had gone to the unknown; also that there had been treachery in the manner of his death.'

The Factor shook his s.h.a.ggy head slowly. 'That's bad; I'll have to look into this. We've no right to shoot down the boys, 'cept in self-defence.

Besides, it's bad for trade.'

The old man feebly pointed with his staff. 'The father remembers the promise he made to his servants--they should no more be punished for the fight of rebellion. Also have we sworn not to fight against the white men. Yet none of my children could have slain the leader of the young men.'

McAuliffe was much perplexed. 'I'll have to think over it, boy. I'm derned sure I didn't fix Muskwah. Can show an empty brandy bottle, and prove an _alibi_.' Then he reflected; Peter wouldn't have owned the pluck to be round in the storm. That only leaves Lamont, and he's not likely to have done it. Why should he? He wouldn't want to be practising long shots, especially on such a night. Besides, a fellow doesn't go around potting others as though they were tree-partridges, just to see if he can hit them. Then to the Chief, 'Keep your old eyes awake, boy.

Might have been someone in the camp who had a sort of feeling against him.'

The other shook his head. 'There is no such man.'

'Look around, anyway, and come to me if you pick up anything.'

He began to move, for a thin line of smoke was ascending invitingly from the stove pipe which marked the fort kitchen, but the Chief still detained him with the words, 'I would speak on another matter with the white father. Que-dane, the half-breed, has stolen the wife of one of my young men. He is not of us, therefore will not obey my word The messenger whom I sent he beat with a heavy stick. My children fear him, for he is a mighty fighter. Will the father command Que-dane to give back the wife?'

'I'll go round this evening and fix things up with him. Glad of the chance, too, for he's a crooked lot.'

He walked off as he spoke, still holding Muskwah's paddle, which the Chief's dim eyes had not perceived. The latter turned back to the forest, and made his slow way in the direction of the camp.

Denton, in the meantime, left in charge of the sick Icelander, found himself situated in an entirely agreeable position. Justin had given him to understand that his patient was not to be disturbed, but the ex-minister had no idea of allowing a man to remain in comfort, when he imagined he could easily make him miserable. So, directly the door closed behind the two, he shut the Bible with unnecessary commotion and crossed over to his victim's side. Then he squatted upon a log of wood, aroused the sleeper, and commenced operations with an ominous groan.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, in a voice suggestive itself of a funeral procession.

Like most northerners, the Icelander could understand English perfectly, and speak it fairly. When he heard the sepulchral voice, he stirred and turned his blue eyes upon the speaker.

'You needn't bother to speak,' continued Denton, zealously. 'You are not half so strong as you were this morning. You're getting worse every minute.'

The man groaned and tried to speak, but Denton flowed on. 'The pain's getting duller all the time, isn't it? That's a sure sign of death.'