Running Wolf himself gazed upon the incident quite unaffected. He watched his son rise from his ludicrous position, the hawk-like face marred by hideous wrath and the beady eyes glittering with revengeful lights. He observed Three Feathers slink out of sight in the crowd of young bucks. And he nodded sagely.

"So," he commented, "they learn wisdom and come to be head men. But why have you come, Strong Father, with so many canoes? Do you build a new post? Or do you fight the French Hearts?" The French Hearts was his name for the Nor'westers.

"Neither," answered Dunvegan. "The Factor sent me many moons ago to find his daughter and to bring her back to the Fort."

"Ah-hah!" exclaimed Running Wolf. "Then it is even as Three Feathers, the hasty one, said! His guesses are greater than my wisdom."

"Listen," urged the chief trader, putting a hand on the Cree's arm. "The Factor did not know where the girl was. All he knew was that she harkened to the wooing of Black Ferguson, our enemy. She made trysts with him in spite of our vigilance, and finally escaped to his forts and married him. Married him and bore a son to him in the face of Macleod's black wrath! You know the Stern Father, Running Wolf. You know how such a thing would gripe. How he would writhe under the scorn of his foe and under the northland's mocking laughter! You know?"

"_Ae_," answered Running Wolf. "I know."

"Then you understand. 'Go out,' he said to me. 'I will not brook it. Go out. I have never been bent by man or devil. Go out! Raze forts! Burn!

Kill! But bring back her and her boy.' And that I will do, Running Wolf.

I obey his orders. The White Squaw, as you call her, returns with me."

A shade of anger crossed the Cree's copper-colored face. He drew back a step, his shoulders raised in haughty pride.

"Thus at a late day, Strong Father," he said, "you have turned enemy to me and to my people!"

"Not so," Dunvegan contradicted. "I am still your friend, as you have had cause to know. But I have my orders. I must do the Stern Father's bidding. Running Wolf, you say to your young men: 'Go forth and do such a thing.' It is done as you command. You have power and wisdom to rule, and the braves, recognizing your authority and holding the tribe's interests at heart, will do your mission if they die in the doing. Is it not so with your people, my friend?"

"_Ae_," replied the chief with warmth. "It is so, for I have many trusted ones."

"Then"--Dunvegan was quick to follow up his advantage--"it is even so with me. I do my duty to my Company and to my Factor, whom you rightly call the Stern Father. Do you understand, Running Wolf?"

"I understand," responded the Cree. "I see that you come in no bitterness, and the White Squaw shall go as you say."

Flora Macleod was quick to voice her disapproval of his words.

"Have you no spirit?" she cried wrathfully. "Do you give in when there is a tribe at your back? Running Wolf, you haven't the courage of a rabbit. Your son were fitter to rule these wigwams than such an old fool of a father! A pretty mind to guide a people!"

"I give in to save my children trouble and strife," returned Running Wolf gravely. "I know Strong Father well. He would fight for as little as a blanket stolen from his Company, although his heart is friendly.

You shall go, White Squaw, but I go also. I go to take counsel with the Stern Father, to ask that you abide in my lodge."

The tone of his last statement told Dunvegan that on this point he was adamant. Flora Macleod flounced back to her child, the wrath of her soul choking at her lips.

"Make ready," urged the chief trader. "We start at once."

He waited by the chief's tepee while the two set about what slight preparations were needed for departure and watched the clean-limbed bucks idling down to the Katchewan's bank. Three Feathers, brooding in his spiteful anger, loitered with them, on edge to create a disturbance.

Dunvegan saw that the Indians were ma.s.sing at the landing-point, and he shouted a command to his men to keep them away.

Pete Connear, an American and an ex-sailor who had drifted north by the Red River route and entered the Company's service, did as directed, but the braves gave ground sullenly. Three Feathers himself became vociferous.

"Dogs and sons of dogs," he anathematized them, "you have hearts of water to steal about, capturing women."

"Shut up," advised Connear dryly.

"Salt Rat," Three Feathers sent back, stamping in impotent rage, "there is no place for you here in the forest. Get away to your Big Waters."

He emphasized his language with a swift-thrown palmful of slimy sand, which struck the ex-sailor squarely in the eyes. Connear roared like a bull and leaped ash.o.r.e from his birch-bark craft.

"You bloomin' copper-hide," he bellowed in blind wrath, "I'll man-handle you for that."

Three Feathers was swift, but in anger Pete Connear was swifter. Almost before the young chief realized it the sailor was upon him. The Cree's wrists were pinned behind his back in the grip of Pete's left hand; he was whirled over the sailor's knee and given as sound a spanking as ever a recalcitrant child received.

Connear's palm was hard with years of searing brine; and Three Feathers was blessed with no stoicism. He howled pitifully, while the Hudson's Bay men shouted in uproarious mirth.

But the young bucks of the crowd failed to see the humor of the situation. They gathered together with much muttering and gesturing.

Dunvegan, shaking with laughter at the plight of Three Feathers, caught the signs of impending trouble and came running forward as Connear completed his enemy's chastis.e.m.e.nt.

"There!" exclaimed the bespattered Pete. "I've slippered your hide, and now I'll roll you in the scuppers just for sailor's luck!" He shot Three Feathers from his knee and sent him rolling down the bank into the river, from which the young man pulled himself out as bedraggled as a fur-soaked beaver.

The Cree bucks charged on the instant at the lone sailorman, but Dunvegan's arm waved as he ran, and like magic his men were out of their canoes and lined up on the river margin with guns at full c.o.c.k. Connear danced a sailor's hornpipe in the center and hooted in delightful antic.i.p.ation of a fight.

The crisis seemed inevitable. A trade-gun barked in the rear. The braves, with murder in their untamed hearts, shook out their weapons ready to throw their weight against Dunvegan's line, but a deep-throated Cree voice held them on the verge of their madness.

"Stop!" called the vibrant voice of Running Wolf, "or I blast you with the evil spirit."

As one man the crowd turned and looked at the speaker.

The old chief stood behind them with Flora and her child. He was arrayed in the robes of a medicine-maker, for Running Wolf was a man of magic as well as a leader among his people. He carried the full equipment of a head medicine-man of his tribe.

The effect of his appearance on the malcontents was instantaneous. Arms which had raised weapons dropped to the owner's sides. A great awe grew in the eyes of the braves. Running Wolf raised his medicine-wand, sweeping it in a half circle.

"Go back to your lodges!" he ordered.

The Crees obeyed. There arose no murmur, no protest.

Dunvegan knew Running Wolf could not have done this thing by his powers of chieftainship. He marveled how in their wild bosoms the fear of the unknown overshadowed their defiance of the power of personality.

a.s.suredly it was strong medicine.

CHAPTER IV

OMENS OF THE LAW

The chief took the indicated place in Dunvegan's canoe with Flora and her boy. These sat amidships. Wahbiscaw was in his place as bowsman.

Bruce himself occupied the stern. At a sign from him the whole brigade floated off, the prows pointing up the swift-flowing Katchawan. Thus for an hour the paddles dipped in rhythm. They threaded the river's island channels and won through its rushing chutes. Where the rapids proved too swift for paddles they poled the craft up with long spruce poles. Few words were spoken. It was the custom to travel in silence. One reason for this was that Nor'west traders might be lurking anywhere. Another was that game might be encountered around any of the many river bends.

But the brigade left the Katchawan without a sight of game and entered the mouth of Lake Lemeau. Maskwa, the Ojibway fort runner, stood erect, sentinel-like, in the canoe behind Dunvegan, his keen eyes searching the lake waters for sign of friend or foe. Quite suddenly he sat down.

"Canoe, Strong Father," he grunted gutturally.

"Where?" the chief trader asked.