CHAPTER XIV.
BALLOU'S EXPLANATION.
However, I was far too cold and miserable to indulge in self-congratulation. I was shivering like a wet puppy, and my first necessity was warmth. There was plenty of dry wood, and I found a dead cedar and shredded bark from it. I had matches in two empty rifle shells shoved hard together, a contrivance for which I had to thank Ballou. This makes a water-tight joint, just as good as any of the patent match safes that are sold nowadays. I had left my coat in the canoe when I had jumped overboard and the safe in its pocket, but I have left the thing in water for an hour and still had dry matches. Anyway, the first match I struck, after I had found a dry stone to scratch it on, caught, and soon I had a fine fire, before which I revolved like a roast on a spit, my water-shriveled skin sucking in the grateful warmth.
I had built my fire close under a slightly overhanging wall of rock five or six feet high which served as a reflector. As soon as I lost my first chill I stripped and hung my clothes on sticks to dry, squatting on my hunkers like a young cave man in the space between fire and rock, where I was comparatively comfortable by shifting about now and then. When my clothes had pretty well dried I put them on, though they were steaming a little, leaned back against the rock, and slept.
I suppose if I did that now I should wake up with a selection of chills and threatened pneumonia. But when I woke in the gray of dawn I was merely very cold and stiff, and I rebuilt my fire and warmed up again. The wind had blown itself out, and the lake was running in blue ripples in the morning light. The east flushed with rose, and then orange, and the sun came up. I basked in its rays against the rock.
But basking—on an empty stomach—is no occupation for a boy. I had no food, and I wanted breakfast. And so I went up on the island to spy out the land.
It was a small island, not more than four acres or so in area, and I recognized it as one we had passed at a distance on our way up the lake. Farther down was a much larger one. My drift had been about five miles, as nearly as I could judge. Along the distant shores there was neither smoke nor sign of life.
But in the matter of food luck was with me, for I flushed a spruce partridge or fool hen, as we called them. The slow bird took a limb a few feet above my head and sat there blinking at me stupidly. I got her with the second club I threw, and broiled her over the coals on a green, forked stick. It was a poor meal, but a great deal better than none at all. And when I had cleaned up that fool bird to little bare bones I went up on the island to a place where I could see the shore, and sat down, with my back against a tree, to line things up.
In broad daylight my adventure did not look nearly as brilliant as when the idea first struck me. Like most grand-stand plays, it had not accomplished much. I had the canoes, but I had lost my friends. Though Ballou had lost the canoes, he still had the furs, and we were farther than ever from getting them, since he must now know that we were in the vicinity.
It was certain that with the first light the fur thieves would go down the lake, knowing that it would have been impossible for whoever took the canoes to paddle the other way against that wind. They would be searching the shores and watching the lake. They ran a very good chance of finding my outfit, unless the latter had heard the shooting, and, warned by it, had effectually cached themselves. It would never do for me to go paddling out on the lake in daylight, because I should be seen, and if I landed anywhere I would likely be captured if I was not shot. And so I could see nothing for it but to stay where I was until night.
That was a very long day. I found no more fool hens, and not even a rabbit, though I combed the island fine, and when I got into the smallest canoe at night my stomach felt like a slack drumhead.
I paddled up the lake slowly, looking for the wink of a fire, but saw none. The shores stretched black and grim and lonely mile on mile. Now and then a fish jumped, but save for that and the faint dip and drip of my paddle there was no sound on land or water. For the first time that I remember this night stillness and loneliness got on my nerves. It seemed to threaten. And it was not so much the loneliness, for I was sure that there were a dozen human beings within as many miles. The sensation was more as if something impended, as if the darkness spied on me with unfriendly eyes. Perhaps my empty stomach was mainly responsible. But as I drew near the shore I was as jumpy as a wild animal on a strange range.
My only hope of finding my outfit in the night was to see their fire. Otherwise I could do no more than guess at the place where I had left them, and I was pretty sure that, they were no longer there. Finally, after coasting along the shore, and seeing nothing, I made up my mind to land, cache my canoe, and wait for daylight. Then, if I prospected carefully, I might find something. And, anyway, I could kill something to eat.
I spent the night miserably without a fire, because I wished to leave no trace of my landing, and with the light I carried the canoe inland and cached it in thick brush, where it could not be found save by accident. Then I was footloose, and I turned my attention to the fool problem.
There were plenty of ruffed grouse rustling their own breakfasts, but they were more canny than the fool hens, and though they treed and perked their heads at me I could not kill them with clubs or rocks because they flew whenever I got into good position, and I was afraid to shoot lest the sound betray me. But finally luck came my way. Good fortune in this case took the form of a dignified old-man porcupine, ambling along serenely, indifferent to the rest of creation. When I had killed him I skinned him out of his prickly armor, and gathering the dryest wood I could find so as to make a smokeless blaze, cooked him as well as I could, and ate nearly half of him. Having eaten all the straight porky I could hold, I searched for, and finally found, the spot where we had camped, but, as I had thought, there was nobody there, and no message. However, I had little doubt that they had gone toward the lower end of the lake, and accordingly I set out to find them.
I prowled along carefully, keeping near the shore, my eyes peeled for any sign of friend or foe. Going thus cautiously, I nearly scared the life out of a young black bear which was rooting like a pig beside a decayed stump. He scuttled out of sight as fast as he could go, leaving me grinning at his hurry and thinking how much lead he would have got in his system if I had not been afraid to shoot. And so I covered four or five miles without the least sign of man. But just as I emerged from a patch of timber and got well into a little glade perhaps a couple of hundred yards across three men emerged from the farther side. I recognized them, to my consternation. They were old Hayes, Peter the breed, and Nootka Charlie.
We saw each other at the same moment, and halted. But old Hayes waved his hand to me in the friendliest way.
"Hello, Bob!" he called, and began to walk forward.
"Hello!" I returned, and began to walk backward.
"Hold on!" he shouted. "I want to see you. It's all right. You needn't be scared of me, boy."
"Who's scared of you?" I retorted valiantly, but backing all the time.
Nootka Charlie twitched his rifle upward.
"You, kid, stay where you are!" he commanded.
"All right," I answered, and stopped. But as he lowered the weapon I wheeled, took two jumps to the right, swerved to the left like a snipe in a gale, and plunged into the bushes with a bullet ripping the twigs six inches from my cheek.
Perhaps the buzz of it in my ear rattled me. At any rate, I tripped, and pitched, headfirst, into the butt of a ten-inch spruce, so that I saw a bunch of assorted stars.
I must have been knocked out for a minute. I came out of the haze slowly, with the sound of Hayes' voice as if far off.
"You've killed him!" he said.
"Why didn't he stand, then?" asked a strange voice querulously. Somebody rolled me over. "Never touched him," the voice continued. "He's just hit his head on something. He'll be all right in a minute."
I opened my eyes, and sat up.
"Feelin' better, Bob?" Hayes asked solicitously. "That's good. What did you run for?"
"What did he shoot at me for?"
"Why, he didn't shoot at you," Hayes returned. "This here is Nootka Charlie, Bob. You don't want to have no hard feelin's. It was just a fool joke of his. That was all, wasn't it, Charlie?"
"Sure!" the other confirmed. "I wouldn't have hurt you, kid, not for a million dollars. I just banged into the air for hellery when you started to run. Shake, and let's be friends."
I think he knew who I was, and remembered his experience at our house with Dinny Pack. But he said nothing about that, no doubt thinking I did not remember him, and naturally I said nothing either. We shook hands, and he helped me to my feet.
"Well, now, I'm durn glad to run into you, Bob," said Hayes. "Where's the rest of your outfit? Where's Dunleath and Fothergill?"
"I don't know," I answered truthfully.
"You don't! How's that? They must be around here somewhere."
"We got separated. I don't know where they are."
"Did you get separated before they took our canoes, or after?"
"Before," I replied. "I haven't seen them since." I was glad he put it in that way.
"And you don't know where the canoes are?"
"No," I lied. "They wouldn't let me in on what they were going to do that night. I don't know where they are, and I haven't seen them since. If they took the canoes in that wind they'd be blown down the lake. I was just looking for them." Feeling that this explanation was rather bald, I elaborated artistically. "You see, they wouldn't let me in on it because I was a kid. They make me tired. They left me on the shore, and they were going to pick me up when they got the canoes. They didn't do it, and I haven't had any grub since, except a fool hen and a porky."
"Well, we'll fix that grub proposition as soon as we get to camp," he said. "There's been a mistake all round. There wasn't no call for them to take the canoes, though the way it must have looked to them I dunno's I blame them much. That Frenchman's a fool. It's him that's to blame for the whole thing. I told Tom at the time, when Louis showed up, that one of us had better take a canoe and go downriver to find you. But he said you'd know him better than to think he'd, do anything that wasn't right."
I stared at him in amazement.
"Right!" I exclaimed. "Do you call it right to put up a prospecting bluff and then come back to steal our furs?"
"There!" he said. "That's just what I was afeard of. That's just what I told Tom you'd think. Now you come along to camp and see him, and he'll tell you the whole thing. You've known him for years, and I'll bet you've never caught him in a lie."
If they wanted me to go to their camp there was nothing else for it. His words puzzled me very much. I did not see how Ballou could explain satisfactorily, but I had known him for a long time, and we had been the best of friends. Could we have been mistaken in our estimate of his recent actions?
I pondered over this as we went along. There was not the least suggestion that I was a prisoner. I had my rifle. Sometimes I was in front and sometimes behind. They did not seem to watch me at all.
It was afternoon when we reached the camp by the creek. The Indian woman and Louis seemed to be its only occupants. The latter grinned broadly.
"Hallo, mon vieux! So ol' Jackstraws roun' you up, hey? Well, dat's all right. Purty soon we"
"Where's Tom?" Hayes interrupted.
"Tom, he's pass himself up dat creek."
"I'm goin' for him," said Hayes. "It's just as I said. They think we been tryin' to steal them furs. That's what you done by that fool play of yours. I want Tom to explain the whole thing to Bob here. So don't you go muddlin' things up worse. Bob will understand when Tom tells him."
Louis gaped at him for a moment.
"Well, ba gosh" he began, and checked himself. "Sure t'ing," he said. "Yas, for sure he's understan' when Tom tells him. Oh, yas! For sure!" He nodded violently with each syncopated exclamation. But nevertheless he seemed like a man who laughs at a joke because others do, and not because he himself sees the point of it.
However, while Hayes went to find Ballou, he set on the tea pail and gave me bread and cold venison and rice with brown sugar, which was a great deal better than scorched porky.
Nootka Charlie ate also, waited on by his klootchman. She was a young woman, very good looking for a squaw, and neater than most of them; but there was something hard in her face and eye which I did not like. Just once she spoke to Nootka in a tongue that I did not understand, and he answered briefly in the same language. When he had eaten he smoked, and she brought water from the creek and wood for Louis' fire quite as a matter of course, so that evidently Nootka was not trying to convert her to white women's customs. After that she seated herself and went to sewing a pair of moccasins.
Hayes came back with Ballou and Siwash George. But, like Nootka, the latter gave no evidence that he remembered me. Ballou greeted me without the least embarrassment, and went straight to the point.
"Hayes tells me," he said, "'that you all think we double-crossed you—that we was tryin' to steal them furs. Is that so, Bob?"
"Of course it is," I replied. "What else could we think? You took us to the wrong lake. You made a bluff at prospecting to get us out of the way. And then, when we found out about this lake by accident, Louis took a stranger's canoe and came back to warn you. Isn't that plenty?"
"Lookin' at it that way, it is," he admitted. "But there's two sides to every story, Bob, and there's been many an innocent man hanged because appearances was against him. You've known me some years, and we've been friends. You never knew me to do anything that wasn't straight, did you?"
"No," I acknowledged.
"So that if I'm crooked now it'll be for the first time," he went on. "I wouldn't play a low-down trick like stealin' them furs, not if they was worth a million. I ain't built that way. Now let me tell you about it:
"In the first place, I was fooled on that lake. I sure thought she was Ahtikamag. I'd have been thinkin' so yet if we hadn't met up with Nootka and George here, and they told me different. Ain't that so, George?"
"Sure, that's so," the old squaw man confirmed. "It was a horse onto you all right."
"I own up to it," Ballou agreed. "Well, then, when I found that out we turned right around and come back, hopin' you'd maybe stayed on the lake for a couple of days. But you'd went. I didn't know what to do. I ought to have sent a canoe after you, but I figgered you'd got a long start and it would take a week to catch you. And then maybe for nothing. So we come here to see what things looked like. Well, then, along comes Louis, and on the lower lakes he meets up with Nootka and George, that's comin' along easy behind us. So he come with them. And he tells us you'd run into two strangers and was comin' back with them. So, you see, we was expectin' you."
"But what did Louis leave us for?" I asked skeptically. "And why did he steal that canoe and turn ours loose? That looked pretty bad."
"So it did; it looked mighty bad. He shouldn't have done that. But the size of it is he got rattled. He didn't like them strangers, and he had a notion that they wasn't straight. He heard something that made him think they might try to hold you up for the furs, and the best thing he could think of was to find us. To get time for that he turned your canoe loose, knowin' you'd find it after a while, and he took theirs. That's how it was, wasn't it, Louis?"
"Dat's it," Louis agreed. "I ain't lak dem feller, me. I t'ink mebbe dey roll you for dem fur if dey get de chance."
"If Louis bad wanted to set you afoot he would have busted up your canoe," Ballou continued. "I'd have sent him right back, only you was comm' anyhow, and then we found the cache. The very next day we was goin' to load up and start to meet you, only that night our canoes was took. At the time we didn't think of it bein' you, not knowin' you was feelin' hostile, and that's why them canoes got away in the smoke. I guess we didn't hurt nobody, though, and I'm mighty glad of that. Now that's the straight truth, Bob, and so there's no reason for anybody hidin' out. All there is to do is for them to bring back the canoes, load up, and start for home."
Now as he told it, with his steady eyes on mine and his prophetlike beard giving him dignity, the explanation sounded very plausible, perhaps more so than it looks in print. And then I had known him and Louis for years, and they were my friends. Rightly or wrongly, I am slow to believe evil of friends if there is any doubt whatever.
"Well," I said, "that's different, of course. But you can see how things looked to us."
"Sure I can," he said heartily. "Hayes tells me you don't know where Dunleath and Fothergill and the canoes is. Well, of course they're down the lake somewhere. Thinkin' we were out to steal them furs—and specially after that shootin'—they'd lie low, and the more we looked for 'em the closer they'd stay cached. If we went with you they'd think we was maybe puttin' up a job. So the best thing is for you to go out alone and nanitch around and prospect for 'em. You can find sign as well as anybody, and if you go down along the shore and show yourself plenty, and maybe build a smoke or two or shoot a few times, you'll find 'em. Then you can explain to 'em how they've been barkin' up the wrong tree. We'll all stay right here in camp, so's you can deal it any way you like."
"I suppose that's the best way," I agreed.
"Then that's settled," he said, with an air of relief. "Now come and take a look at these furs. They're most of 'em as good as when old Nitche cached 'em. You're sure a lucky kid to find 'em. I'll bet your sister'll have an outfit for winter such as a princess would give half her crown for. I can just see her at the landin' when we come in with the canoes loaded down."