Forty paces!--the impaled whitefish before the fires looked ludicrously large, like young sharks. Thirty paces!--the ruddy blaze limned the dark, lean-featured countenances of the Nor'westers, resting in natural unconsciousness of impending disaster. Twenty-five!--the nervous tension snapped with a sudden mental jerk that set every sinew in the men's bodies tingling!

The suspicious huskies blew loudly and growled. Instinctively the Nor'west guards reached quickly for their guns, only to be seized by the shoulders and hurled back into the snow. The camp turned instantly to a ma.s.s of rolling, grappling bodies. Red coals kicked into the banks sent forth hissing steam clouds. Feet stamped and plunged and twisted here and there, throwing up white spurts of snow, knocking burning branches through the air, tripping opponents with savage force.

The struggle took place practically in silence except for the uneasy snarling of the dogs and the heavy breathing and occasional oaths of the men. Often a knife blade gleamed redly as it poised for a blow. The thud of steel on flesh and the groan of pain followed.

Then, bringing the climax of brute savagery, the growling huskies charged, indifferent whether their chisel-like fangs sliced master or master's foe. But they had waited too long! The moment when their a.s.sault might have seriously hindered the Hudson's Bay men--in the initial minute of the fight--was past. A half dozen of Dunvegan's followers sprang out of the melee, and, catching up dog whips, flayed neutrality through their tough hides.

The cowing of the Nor'westers' huskies was coincident with the overpowering of the Nor'westers themselves. Held in the grip of two, and often three, antagonists each of the guards and the Indian drivers was subdued, bound, and laid beside the raked-up fire.

In a sullen line they lay, beaten but full of stubborn enmity. To that line Dunvegan added Gaspard Follet when the Company's sledges came on.

The capture of the Niskitowaney fur train was complete.

CHAPTER XVII

THE HEART OF THE SAVAGE

Immediately the Oxford House men re-established the camp to suit their own requirements. Then they devoted themselves to a long-delayed supper till their ravenous appet.i.tes were fully appeased. The dogs of the Nor'westers had been fed to keep them quiet. The turn of the newly arrived teams came when the masters were satisfied. Baptiste Verenne and the drivers arose, taking the allotted portion of thawed whitefish. They took their dog whips also.

"_Ici, giddes_," Baptiste called.

The animals leaped forward on the instant, growling and slavering for the whitefish. One meal in twenty-four hours was not in any wise sufficient for their savage stomachs, and now it was three hours past the end of that customary s.p.a.ce of fasting. A sound kicking met their energetic advance, and they were scattered out that they might be more easily fed. Then the Nor'westers' dogs jumped in, making a tangle of furry backs, bushy tails, and snapping jaws.

On these intruders the heavy whips smote viciously. They retreated, thoroughly cowed, and with sharp commands, kicks, and blows the food was at length distributed. The more cunning beasts bolted their two whitefish in a flash and fought with slower comrades for their remaining portion. Slowly the tumult died down and the dogs crept up close to the lower end of the fire, where brush beds had been thrown for them.

Having indulged in a brief after-supper smoke, the Hudson's Bay men began to prepare for immediate slumber. They removed their outer parkas with the capotes and hung them on sticks to dry before the fire, together with gauntlets, leggings, and traveling shoepacks.

They put on great, fur-lined sleeping moccasins and rolled themselves in thick fur robes designed for preserving the body warmth during slumber. Against the abnormal frost it was imperative to cover their heads with the upper folds of these sleeping garments, as any part of the face left exposed would be frozen in a solid mask by morning. Weary with the long day's trail, the men lay motionless beside the banked-up fires.

Only two, Dunvegan and Maskwa, remained sitting upright, talking together in low tones over their plans, the crucial point of which was not far away.

"At three in the morning we break camp," the chief trader announced. "By nightfall we must be within sight of Brondel. I think with a few hours'

rest that we might take them by surprise in the very early dawn."

The Ojibway fort runner smoked slowly, pondering. He offered no word.

Squatting squarely on his haunches, he stared at the fire with a sort of somnolent vacancy on his countenance. Yet the Indian brain was active!

Beneath their gla.s.sy surface lights his eyes studied future events. When he saw things as clearly as his shrewd discernment demanded he would speak, and not before!

"You understand, my brother," continued Dunvegan, "that it is necessary for me to succeed in my enterprise. The seizure of this fort of the French Hearts is so necessary to the Factor's whole plan that we cannot think of failure. If I accomplish the capture he will join me after he has taken Fort Dumarge. Then, together, we purpose to besiege the third, last, and strongest of the Nor'west posts in our district."

Maskwa grunted noncommittally and for an instant took the pipe from his lips.

"Fort La Roche of the French Hearts is powerful," he commented briefly.

"So powerful," supplemented Dunvegan, "that it will test even our combined forces to rush its stockades. Otherwise it is impregnable. Fort Dumarge must go, Maskwa; also Fort Brondel! The enemy's opposition must be wiped out as we proceed. Having no hara.s.sing foes at our backs, we will at the last stand an equal chance against the defenders of Fort La Roche."

"So," remarked the Ojibway. "It is a good plan, Strong Father. And should we stand inside La Roche we may see some old friends."

"That may be." The unconquered bitterness surged up in Dunvegan.

"No doubt we shall see the Wayward One, the daughter of Stern Father."

"Yes, doubtless."

"Also Soft Eyes, the traitor, who came from over the Big Waters."

"Aye, indeed," murmured Dunvegan, "and the Factor proposes to deal with him. It will be dark dealing, I fancy, for Edwin Glyndon."

"We shall meet, too," Maskwa went on oratorically, "the wise Chief Running Wolf and his hasty son, Three Feathers."

"In the fight we may meet them, for we know Running Wolf has added his tribe's strength to that of Black Ferguson in defense of Fort La Roche."

"There at the last will we stalk the Black Ferguson in his lair,"

rejoiced the Ojibway. "It will be a good stalk, Strong Father. The old wolf is worthy of a hard chase. And, Strong Father, there is one other we shall see!"

"Whom?"

"The Fair One! The niece of old Pierre--her that Soft Eyes took to wife!"

Dunvegan winced, finding no words. Maskwa voiced something that had evolved in his facile mind.

"Strong Father is my brother," he declared, "and I have read my brother's thoughts. It was his wish to place the Fair One at his own fireside. That is still his desire, although he does not fulfill it. If Strong Father were an Indian, it would swiftly be done. Yet the Indian's ways are not the ways of the white man. He must not steal his brother's wife till that brother dies. Is it not so, Strong Father?"

"Even so, Maskwa," sighed Dunvegan, burdened by his grim thoughts.

"Then Strong Father shall have the Fair One to wife. I, Maskwa, will see when it comes to the last that Soft Eyes falls in the attack."

"No!" cried Dunvegan vehemently, "a thousand times, no! Not a p.r.i.c.k of the skin will you give Edwin Glyndon. I warn you once. Let that stay your hand!"

The Ojibway grumbled at the adjuration of restraint, for although he did not quite comprehend its moral motive he fully understood its decisiveness.

"Be it so," he observed. "What I say is wisdom. I have also other wisdom for Strong Father."

"How?"

"I would have him enter the gates of Fort Brondel by cunning."

"Explain, Maskwa," commanded the chief trader quietly.

"In the night of to-morrow let ten men drive this Niskitowaney fur train inside the stockades, the rest of the Company's servants lying in wait outside. When the gates are won, the rest is easy, Strong Father."

The chief trader turned to Maskwa with an exclamation of amazement.

"By Rupert's bones, but you are bold," he cried admiringly.

"The move of the bold often wins," remarked Maskwa.