CHAPTER IX.
MENEHWEHNA SETTLES ACCOUNTS.
Weary as they were, there could be no thought of halting. The riverand the plain lay far below them yet, and they must push on throughthe darkness.
Hitherto the forest had awed John by its loneliness; itsnight-voices, falling at rare intervals on his ear and awaking himfrom dreams beside the camp-fire, had seemed to cry and challengeacross immense distances as though the very beasts were far astray.But now, as he crouched behind Menehwehna, he felt it to be no lessawfully inhabited. A thousand creeping things stirred or slunk awaythrough the undergrowth; roosting birds edged towards one another inthe branches, ever on the point of flapping off in panic; thethickets were warm from the flanks of moose and deer. And all thiswild life, withdrawing, watched the four fugitives with a thousandeyes.
These imaginary terrors did him one service. They kept him awake.By and by his brain began to work clearly, as it often will when thebody has passed a certain point of fatigue. "If these Indians on theridge are Iroquois, why should I run? The Iroquois are friends ofEngland, and would recognise my red coat. The man they killed was aCanadian, a _coureur de bois_; they will kill Barboux if they catchhim, and also these two Ojibways. But to me capture will bringrelease."
He understood now why Menehwehna had called him a fool.Nevertheless, as he went, the screams on the cliff rang in his earsagain, closing the argument.
Muskingon still led. He had struck a small mountain stream and wastracking it down towards the river--keeping wide of it to avoid theswampy ground, relying on his ears and the lie of the slope.Menehwehna followed close, ready to give counsel if needed; but theyoung Indian held on in silence, never once hesitating.
The debate in John's brain started afresh. "These Iroquois mean _me_no harm. I am sure enough of that, at any rate, to face the risk ofit. Barboux is my enemy--my country's enemy--and I dislike in himthe little I don't despise. As for Menehwehna and Muskingon--they, Isuppose, are my enemies, and the Iroquois my friends." Somehow Johnfelt that when civilised nations employ uncivilised allies, thesimplest questions of ethics may become complicated. He remembered ahundred small acts of kindness, of good-fellowship; and he recalled,all too vividly, the murdered man and his gory head.
But might he not escape back and show himself without lessening hiscomrades' chances? It was a nuisance that he must always be thinkingof them as comrades. Was he not their prisoner? Would theircomradeship help him at the end of the journey? . . .
The moon had risen over the hills when Muskingon's piloting broughtthem out once more under open sky, at a point where the mountainstream met and poured itself into a larger one hurrying down from thenortheast. A few yards below their confluence the riverbed narrowed,and the waters, gathering speed, were swept down through a rockychasm towards a cataract, the noise of which had been sounding inJohn's ears while he debated.
Hitherto he had weighed the question as one between himself and histhree companions. For the moment he saw no chance of giving them theslip; and, if a chance occurred, the odds must be terribly unequal.Still, supposing that one occurred, ought he to take it? Puttingaside the insane risk, ought he to bring death--and such a death--down upon these three men, two of whom he looked upon as friends?Did his country, indeed, require this of him? He wished he had hiscousin Dick beside him for counsellor, or could borrow Dick'spractical mind. Dick always saw clearly.
And behold! as he stepped out upon the river bank, his wish was givenhim. He remembered suddenly that this Barboux carried a message--ofwhat importance he could not tell, nor was it for him to consider.Important or not, it must be to England's detriment, and as asoldier, he had no other duty than to baulk it. Why had he notthought of this before? It ruled out all private questions, eventhat of escape or of saving his own life. The report of a gun wouldcertainly be heard on the ridge above; and if, by forcing Barboux toshoot, he could draw down the Iroquois, why then--live or die--thesignal must be given.
He scanned the chasm. It could not measure less than twenty feetacross, and the current whirled through it far below--thirty feetperhaps. He eyed his companions. Barboux leaned on his gun a fewpaces from the brink, where the two Indians stood peering down at thedim waters. John dropped on one knee, pretending to fasten a buttonof his gaiters, and drew a long breath while he watched for hischance. Presently Muskingon straightened himself up and, as ifsatisfied with his inspection, began to lead the way again, slantinghis course away from the bank and back towards the selvage of thewoods. Menehwehna followed close, and Barboux shouldered his musketand fell into third place, grunting to John to hurry after.
And so John did--for a dozen paces back from the river.Then, swinging quickly on his heel, he dashed for the brink, andleapt.
So sudden was the manoeuvre that not until his feet left the rock--itseemed, at that very instant--did he hear the sergeant's oath ofdismay. Even as he flew across the whirling darkness, his ear waslistening for the shot to follow.
The take-off--a flat slab of rock--was good, and the leap well timed.But he had allowed too little, perhaps, for his weariness and hisrecent wound; and in the darkness he had not seen that of the twobrinks the far one stood the higher by many inches. In mid-air hesaw it, and flung his arms forward as he pitched against it littlemore than breast-high. His fingers clutched vainly for hold, whilehis toes scraped the face of the rock, but found no crevice tosupport them.
Had his body dropped a couple of inches lower before striking thebank, or had the ledge shelved a degree or two more steeply, or hadit been smooth or slippery with rain, he must have fallen backwardinto the chasm. As it was, his weight rested so far forward upon hisarms that, pressing his elbows down upon the rock, he heaved himselfover on the right side of the balance, fell on his face and chest,and so wriggled forward until he could lift a knee.
The roar of the waters drowned all other noise. Only that faint cryof Barboux had followed him across. But now, as he scrambled to hisfeet, he heard a sudden thud on the ledge behind him. A handclutched at his heel, out of the night. At once he knew that hisstratagem had failed, that Barboux would not fire, that Muskingon wasupon him. He turned to get at grips; but, in the act of turning,felt his brain open and close again with a flame and a crash,stretched out both arms, and pitched forward into darkness.
It seemed--for he knew no break in his sensations--that the ground,as he touched it, became strangely soft and elastic. For a while hewondered at this idly, then opened his eyes--but only to blink andclose them again, for they were met by broad daylight.
He was lying on the grass; he was resting in Muskingon's arms amid aroaring of many waters; he was being carried between Muskingon andMenehwehna beneath a dark roof of pines--and yet their boughs weretransparent, and he looked straight through them into blue sky.Was he dead? Had he passed into a world where time was not, that allthese things were happening together? If so, how came the twoIndians here? And Barboux? He could hear Barboux muttering: no,shouting aloud. Why was the man making such a noise? And who wasthat firing? . . . Oh, tell him to stop! The breastwork will neverbe carried in this way--haven't the troops charged it again andagain? Look at Sagramore, there: pull him off somebody and let himdie quiet! For pity's sake fetch the General, to make an end of thisfolly! Forty-sixth! Where are the Forty-sixth? . . .
He was lying in a boat now--a canoe. But how could this be, when theboat was left behind on the other side of the mountain? Yet here itwas, plain as daylight, and he was lying in it; also he couldremember having been lifted and placed here by Muskingon--not byMenehwehna. To be sure Menehwehna crouched here above him, musket inhand. Between the shouting and firing he heard the noise of watertumbling over rapids. The noise never ceased; it was all about him;and yet the boat did not move. It lay close under a low bank, with apatch of swamp between it and the forest: and across this swamptowards the forest Muskingon was running. John saw him halt and lifthis piece as Barboux came bursting through the trees with an
Indianin pursuit. The two ran in line, the Indian lifting a tomahawk andgaining at every stride; and Muskingon had to step aside and let themcome abreast of him before he fired at close quarters. The Indianfell in a heap; Barboux struggled through the swamp and leapt intothe canoe as Muskingon turned to follow. But now three--four--fiveIndians were running out of the woods upon him; four with tomahawksonly, but the fifth carried a gun; and, while the others pursued,this man, having gained the open, dropped swiftly on one knee andfired. At that instant Menehwehna's musket roared out close aboveJohn's head; but as the marksman rolled over, dead, on his smokinggun, Muskingon gave one leap like a wounded stag's, and toppled proneon the edge of the bank close above the canoe.
And with that, and even as Menehwehna sprang to his feet to reach andrescue him, Barboux let fly an oath, planted the butt of his musketagainst the bank, and thrust the canoe off. It was done in a second.In another, the canoe had lurched afloat, the edge of the rapidwhirled her bow round, and she went spinning down-stream.
All this John saw distinctly, and afterwards recalled it all inorder, as it befell. But sometimes, as he recalled it, he seemed tobe watching the scene with an excruciating ache in his brain; atothers, in a delicious languor of weakness. He remembered too howthe banks suddenly gathered speed and slid past while the boatplunged and was whirled off in the heart of the rapid. Muskingon haduttered no cry: but back--far back--on the shore sounded the whoopsof the Iroquois.
Then--almost at once--the canoe was floating on smooth water andMenehwehna talking with Barboux.
"It had better be done so," Menehwehna was saying. "You are youngerthan I, and stronger, and it will give you a better chance."
"Don't be a fool," growled Barboux. "The man was dead, I tell you.They are always dead when they jump like that. _Que diable!_ I haveseen enough fighting to know."
But Menehwehna replied, "You need much sleep and you cannot watchagainst me. I have reloaded my gun, and the lock of yours is wet.Indeed, therefore, it must be as I say."
After this, Barboux said very little: but the canoe was paddled toshore and the two men walked aside into the woods. The sun wassetting and they cast long shadows upon the bank as they stepped out.
John lay still and dozed fitfully, waking up now and then to brushaway the mosquitoes that came with the first falling shadows toplague him.
By and by in the twilight Menehwehna returned and stood above thebank. He tossed a bundle into the canoe, stepped after it, andpushed off without hurry.
John laughed, as a child might laugh, guessing some foolish riddle.
"You have killed him!"
"He did wickedly," answered Menehwehna. "He was a fool and pastbearing."
John laughed again; and, being satisfied, dropped asleep.