VI
ALONG THE NORTH SHORE
Apparently the great Nanabozho looked upon the treasure-seekers withfavor, for the next morning dawned bright, clear and with a favorablebreeze. They started early to the tune of
"Fringue, fringue, sur la riviere, Fringue, fringue, sur l'aviron."
"Speed, speed on the river, Speed, speed with the oar."
Making good time, they continued northward into Michipicoten Bay. On theMichipicoten River, which empties into the head of the bay, was atrading station. They did not wish to land there, but hoped to passunobserved and to avoid any one going to or coming from the post. It waslate in the season for white men to be traveling towards the western endof the lake, and questions or even unspoken curiosity might beembarrassing.
So, on reaching a beach, the only one they noticed along that bold,steep stretch of shore, they decided to land and wait for darknessbefore running past the post.
The manito continued to be kind to them, for during the afternoon a hazespread over the sky. When the fog on the water became thick enough tofurnish cover, the adventurers set out again, paddling along the steepshore, gray and indistinct in the mist, the Indian keeping a sharplookout for detached rocks. As they neared the mouth of theMichipicoten, they went farther out, and passed noiselessly, completelyhidden in the fog. Not caring to risk traveling in the thick obscurityof a foggy night, they made camp before dark a few miles beyond theriver.
The next morning they embarked at dawn and went on under cover of thefog, but the rising sun soon dispersed it. They were now travelingdirectly west. After passing Point Isacor, they could see clearly, tenor twelve miles to the south, Michipicoten Island or Isle de Maurepas,as the French named it, after the Comte de Maurepas, minister of marineunder Louis XV. Alexander Henry the elder visited that island, and itwas the Indians who guided him there who told him of another islefarther to the south, where the sands were yellow and shining. Accordingto Nangotook, those Indians had deliberately deceived the white man,taking him intentionally to the wrong island. The boys gazed with newinterest at the high pile of rock and forest, and Jean related to Ronalda legend that one of the old French missionaries had heard from thesavages more than a century before and had written down.
"The savages told the good Father," began Jean, "that four braves werelost in a fog one day, and drifted to that island. Wishing to preparefood, they began to pick up pebbles, intending to heat them in the firethey had lighted, and then drop them into their basket-ware kettle tomake the water boil. But they were surprised to find that all thepebbles and slabs on the beach were of pure copper. At once they beganto load their canoe with the copper rocks, when they were startled by aterrible voice calling out in wrath. 'Who are you,' roared the greatvoice, 'you robbers who carry away my papoose cases and the playthingsof my children?' The slabs, it seems, were the cradles, and the roundstones, the toys, of the children of the strange race of manitos orsupernatural beings who dwelt, like mermen and mermaids, in the waterround about the island. The frightful voice terrified the savages sothey dropped the copper stones, and put out from the shore in haste. Oneof them died of fright on the way to the mainland. A short time later asecond died, and then, after he had returned to his own people and toldthe story, the third. What became of the fourth the savages did not say.It is said," concluded Jean, "that the island is rich in copper andother metals, so it well may be, as Etienne suggests, that such taleswere told to frighten the white men and keep them from the place."
That night the eager gold-seekers traveled until after midnight, pausingat sundown only long enough for supper and a brief rest. As the darknessdeepened, the wavering flames of the aurora borealis, or northernlights, began to glow in the northern and western sky. From the sharplydefined edge of bank of clouds below, bands and streamers of white andpale green stretched upwards, flashing, flickering and changeable.Sometimes glowing spots appeared in the dark band, again streamers oflight shot up to the zenith, the center of brightness constantlyshifting, as the flames died out in one place to flare up in another.
The Ojibwa hailed the "dancing spirits" as a good omen, and the boyswere inclined to agree with him. All the evening the lights flashed andglowed, but when, after midnight, the travelers rounded the cape knownas Otter's Head, from the upright rock surmounting it, the streaks andbands were growing faint, and by the time a landing had been made in thecover beyond, they had faded out entirely.
Whether the aurora borealis was to be considered a good sign or not,fortune continued to favor the voyageurs the next day. They put up ablanket sail attached to poles, and ran before a favorable wind most ofthe twenty-five miles to the mouth of White Gravel River. There theyremained until nightfall, for they were anxious to avoid another tradingpost some twenty miles farther up the shore, near the mouth of the PicRiver.
Glad of exercise after being cramped in the canoe, the boys made theirway along the bank of White Gravel River for about two miles, where theydiscovered a round, deep, shaded pool, alive with darting shadows. Theycut fishing poles and had an hour of fine sport. As they were going onup-stream, they heard the calling and cooing of wood pigeons, and sooncame upon a great flock of the birds. The trees were covered with them,and the air fairly full of them, flying up, darting down, and wheelingabout in the open spaces, singly and in squads and small flocks. Soplentiful were the pigeons, and so little disturbed by the lads'presence, that the two might have killed hundreds had they chosen, butthey were not greedy or wanton sportsmen, and shot only as many as theythought they could eat for supper, reserving the trout for breakfast.
A grove of trees and bushes hid the camp, and the canoe was beached onthe inner side of the sand-bar that partly concealed the entrance to thestream. Ever since Etienne had seen Le Forgeron Tordu at Montreal River,he had taken precautions to select camping places where the three wouldnot be noticed by any one passing on the lake. If the Twisted Blacksmithwere coming up the shore on some business of his own that had nothing todo with them, the gold-seekers had no wish to attract his attention. Ifhe was following them, they hoped to give him the slip. Just as the sunwas setting that night, as Jean was plucking the pigeons and Ronald waspreparing to kindle the cooking fire, their attention was attracted bythe harsh screaming of gulls. Looking out through their screen ofbushes, the lads saw a canoe, about the size of their own, passing alittle way out. It was going north, and contained two men, one evidentlyan Indian, the other from his dress a white man or half-breed. The boyscould not see him plainly enough to be sure, but they had little doubtthe white man was Le Forgeron. Etienne was some distance away gatheringbearberry leaves to dry and mix with his smoking tobacco to makekinni-kinnik. So he did not see the canoe go by.
The sight of the passing voyageurs caused the three to delay going onuntil twilight had deepened to darkness, and then they traveled insilence, and watched the shore closely for signs of a camp. They sawnone, however, ran past the mouth of the Pic without encountering anyone, and landed in a bay a few miles farther on. Ahead of them lay avery irregular shore with many islands, rocks and reefs, which they didnot dare to try to thread in the darkness.
In spite of their night run, they embarked early and passed through alabyrinth of islands. In a winding passage they met a canoe containingan Indian, his squaw, three children and two pointed-nosed, fox-eareddogs. The boys thought this Indian family particularly unattractivelooking savages. They had very flat faces and large mouths and wereragged and disgustingly dirty, but they were evidently good-natured andready to be friendly, for man, woman and children grinned broadly asthey called out "Boojou, boojou," the Indian corruption of the French"Bonjour." The man held up some fish for sale, but Nangotook treated himwith dignified contempt, grunting an unsmiling greeting, shaking hishead at the proffered fish, and passing by without slowing the strokesof his paddle. As he left the Indian canoe astern, he growled out a namethat Ronald could not make out, but that Jean understood.
"Gens de Terre," the boy exclaimed. "These are t
he shores where theybelong. They seldom go as far south as the Sault. Some call them Men ofthe Woods. They are dirty, but very honest. The traders say it isalways safe to give them credit, for rarely does one of them fail to payin full. They are good tempered too, but when food is scarce I haveheard they sometimes turn Windigo." The lad shuddered and crossedhimself. Windigo is the Indian name for a man who has eaten human fleshand has learned to like it. Both Indians and white men believed thatsuch a savage was taken possession of by a fiend. Men suspected of beingWindigos were shunned and feared by red men and white alike.
The voyageurs made a traverse of several miles, and ran among a clusterof little islands abreast of Pic Island, a rock peak rising about sevenhundred feet from a partly submerged ridge. Fog, blown by a raw, gustywind delayed them considerably that day. After running on a hidden rockand starting a seam in the canoe, they were finally compelled to camp ona rock islet near shore. There they dined on blueberries, and slept onthick beds of moss and low growing blueberry and bearberry plants.
The following day, after a sharp north wind had driven away the fog,they went on, and passed the Slate Islands, high and blue, seven oreight miles across the water. At supper time they entered a little cove,where they were horrified to find signs of a recent tragedy. A canoe wasfloating bottom up, the beach at the head of the cove was strewn withpelts, the sand trampled and blotched with dark patches. Near by werethe ashes of a camp-fire.
Nangotook looked the place over carefully, then remarked, "Awishtoyabeen here."
"Why do you say that?" exclaimed Jean. "What makes you think so?"
"Trapper going to Pic with winter's catch," the Indian explained."Awishtoya found him, attacked him, killed him maybe," and he pointed tothe blood stains in the sand. "Broke open his packs and took best furs.These no good," touching one of the abandoned skins with his foot.
"Something of the kind must have happened here," Ronald agreed, "and LeForgeron would not be above such a deed. Do you see anything to prove hedid it, Etienne?"
The Ojibwa shook his head. "No need to prove it," he said. "Awishtoyacame this way. Always there are evil deeds where he goes."
From the ashes of the fire and the condition of the sand, the Indianthought the deed a recent one, committed not longer ago than the nightbefore, perhaps that very day. The three righted the canoe, but foundnothing about it to show its owner. Though they searched the shores ofthe cove, they did not discover the body of the murdered man, if he hadbeen murdered, or any further traces of him or of the man or men who hadattacked him. The marks in the sand were so confused, indicating adesperate struggle, that not much could be read from them, but Nangotookthought there had been at least three men in the affray.
The boys had no desire to linger in the cove. As soon as the eveningmeal was over, they launched their canoe, and traveled far into thenight, most of the time against a troublesome head wind. Near theentrance to what is now called the North Channel, which leads intoNipigon Bay, they made camp.
The lads were growing very impatient. It seemed to them they never wouldreach the Rock of the Beaver, as Nangotook had called the spot wherethey were to strike south across the open lake. They were beginning towonder if he were taking them clear back to Grande Portage, for they hadnow come considerably more than two-thirds of the way. Up to that timethe Ojibwa had given them no hint of the location of the Rock, except tosay that it was on the north shore, but that night he volunteered someinformation. "Only one day more," he said, "one good day."