Billy Topsail & Company: A Story for Boys

“‘Will you give him to us in peace and forget that he has gone with us?’

“McLeod was still in the grasp of Red Feather and his brother. Buffalo Horn was facing him. Behind the chief, awaiting his signal, was the band, with knives and hatchets in hand.

“‘No,’ said McLeod.

“The tumult was renewed. The Indians advanced, threatening the factor with their weapons and crying out for his death. But McLeod was not to be terrified.

“‘Let us take the white man,’ said Buffalo Horn, lifting his hand for silence. ‘We have no quarrel with you. Let all be as it was.’

“‘No,’ said McLeod. ‘I will never consent to his murder.’

“‘Let us take him.’

“‘I said I wouldn’t,’ said McLeod, ‘and I won’t.’

“It seemed to me that the end had come. Buffalo Horn looked steadily into McLeod’s eyes. McLeod gave him glance for glance. He was ready to die for the word he had passed. The Indian hesitated. It may be that he did not want to precipitate the slaughter. Then he turned, as if to give the signal. Before his hand was raised, however, the daughter of the Indian interpreter of the post pushed her way through the band of braves and stood before their chief.

“‘Listen,’ said she. ‘Have you come to rob the great company of its goods?’

“‘No,’ said Buffalo Horn. ‘We have no quarrel with the great company.’

“She was a slip of a girl, to whom, in sickness and in health, McLeod had been unfailingly kind. She knew no fear, and in intelligence she was superior to all the other women of her race I have known.

“‘Have you come to take the life of this man?’ she went on, moving closer to Buffalo Horn, and looking deep into his eyes.

“‘No,’ said the chief, ‘we have no quarrel with this man. He is a good man, but he will not deliver the murderer of my child.’

“‘Will you take his life because of that?’

“‘No; we will take his life because he will betray our part in the death of the white man whom he has tried to shelter.’

“‘There are others who might betray you.’

“‘And their lives, also,’ said Buffalo Horn, composedly.

“All that had been implied was now expressed. He was to massacre us all to shield his tribe from the punishment that might follow the discovery of his revenge.

“‘You will lay waste the fort,’ said the interpreter’s daughter, ‘but will the ruins not accuse you to the great company which this man serves?’

“‘We will be far away.’

“‘And will you never care to return to the grounds you have hunted from childhood?’

“To this Buffalo Horn made no reply. He looked at the floor, his arms folded, and he was silent for a long time.

“‘This man,’ said the girl, touching McLeod on the shoulder, ‘has dealt fairly by you. He has kept his faith with you. He said that he would provide you with food through the hard seasons. Has he not done so?’

“‘He has kept faith with us,’ said the chief. ‘Therefore he is a good man.’

“‘He is a good man because he has kept faith with you,’ the girl said, eagerly. ‘Would you, then, have him break faith with some other? He has said to the white man, “I will not give you up.” Would you have him break the word he has passed? For if he breaks it once, will he not break it again? If he should yield up the white man, what security would you have that he would provide for you through the next hard season?’

“‘He keeps his word,’ said Buffalo Horn. ‘He is a good man.’

“He made a sign to Red Feather to release McLeod. Then he gathered his braves about him, and stalking solemnly at their head, led them out of the shop, over the courtyard and through the gate. We were left alone.

“‘Leave the gate open, Tobias,’ said McLeod. ‘Come, boy,’ to me, ‘let us get to work on the quarterly statement again. This interruption came at an awkward time. We’ll have to make up for it.’”

That was the end of David’s story.

CHAPTER XIV

In Which Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg Are Overtaken by the Black Fog in the Open Sea and Lose the Way Home While a Gale is Brewing

Jimmie Grimm and Bagg, returning from Birds’ Nest Islands, were caught by the black fog in the open sea. It had been lowering all day. Dull clouds had hung in the sky since early morning and had kept the waters of the sea sombre. There was no wind–not the faintest breath or sigh. The harbour water was still; and the open–beyond the tickle rocks–was without a ripple or hint of ground swell. A thick, gray mist crept out from the hills, late in the afternoon, and presently obscured the shore. Jimmie and Bagg were then off Mad Mull. Two miles of flat sea and windless space lay between the punt and the harbour.

“Goin’ t’ be thick as mud,” Jimmie grumbled.

“Wisht we was more inshore,” said Bagg, anxiously.

At dusk the fog was so thick that every landmark had been blotted from sight.

“Is you able t’ see Mad Mull?” Jimmie demanded.

“I is not,” said Bagg.

Mad Mull was lost in the fog. It was the last landmark. The tickle rocks, through which a passage leads to the harbour, had long ago vanished.

“Wisht we was home,” said Bagg.

“Don’t you go an’ get scared, Bagg,” Jimmie laughed. “Never you fear. I’ll take you home.”

It was hot, dark and damp–a breathless evening. There was a menace in the still air and heat. A roll of thunder sounded from the northeast.

“I ’low ’twill blow afore long,” said Jimmie.

“’Urry up,” said Bagg.

Jimmie put a little more strength into the rowing. The punt moved faster, but not fast enough to please Bagg, who was terrified by the fog, the thunder and the still, black water.

“Never you fear,” Jimmie grumbled; “you’ll get home afore the wind comes.”

Bagg wasn’t so sure of that.

“An’ it will come,” Jimmie reflected. “I can fair feel it on the way.”

Jimmie pulled doggedly. Occasionally a rumble of thunder came out of the northeast to enliven his strokes. There was no wind, however, as yet, except, perhaps, an adverse stirring of the air–the first hint of a gale. On and on crept the punt. There was no lessening of the heat. Jimmie and Bagg fairly gasped. They fancied it had never been so hot before. But Jimmie did not weaken at the oars; he was stout-hearted and used to labour, and the punt did not lag. On they went through the mist without a mark to guide them. Roundabout was a wall of darkening fog. It hid the whole world.

“Must be gettin’ close inshore,” said Jimmie, at last, while he rested on his oars, quite bewildered.