The Star Woman/Book 3/Chapter 1

 

CHAPTER I

IT DOES NOT PAY TO BE MERCIFUL

NOW the story passes to a mid-afternoon of spring in the far northwest, where as yet spring was only a name of bitter mockery. Hal Crawford and his men, with the terrified Cree guides who led them, staggered over the snow crust of a tree-girded valley, along the open space which held a frozen stream hidden beneath its ice and snow.

Far in the lead went the Cree trail-breaker. Crawford followed him, and behind Crawford came Frontin. The others, Indians and white men, straggled along as best they could, Sir Phelim Burke bringing up the rear and driving them on. As he wearily followed the Cree on between the lines of dark trees, Crawford began to feel the grip of hopeless despair—and with reason.

"Can do no more, lad!" rose the voice of Phelim Burke. "Two men down."

Crawford glanced back to the group of men and halted.

"Make camp and a fire," he called. He met the eyes of Frontin, but neither man spoke.

This valley ran from northeast to southwest. Crawford looked back in the direction whence he had come, and in his mind's eye reviewed all the vast country across which he had struggled during the winter months, working from village to village, from tribe to tribe. Just behind him he saw the country of the Crees; beyond that the villages of the Savanois or plains folk, those of the Monsaunis or swamp tribes, and finally the scattered groups of the Wenebigonhelinis or seashore people, who lived about the edge of Hudson Bay. How far away now seemed that bay, and the dead Moses Deakin!

Into the crawling wilderness had come this masterless master of men, working ever to the west and south. Still he heard new tales of the Star Woman, that half-mythical person whom none had seen but of whom all knew, and who was said to rule somewhere beyond—always beyond; and as he quested forward, slowly winning his way from tribe to tribe, from frozen swamp to frozen hills, the wild tales gradually settled into more sober legends. Now it appeared that the Star Woman was no ruler of vast regions, but a woman of mystical power and influence, a sorceress who lived somewhere near the country of the Dacotah or Nadouisioux; yet even among far peoples, her name was mighty. Ahead of Crawford flitted the word that he sought this Star Woman, protecting him and gaining guides. More, the Star of Dreams that hung upon his breast had swiftly won him the respect and fear of the tribes. To them it was medicine of the strongest, obviously connected with the Star Woman, so that they held Crawford as a man to be aided on his way to her and furthered in all things.

Thus, at least, had gone events; but now he encountered check.

He had sent ahead to get guides from the Stone Men, or Assiniboines, but these had not met him; day after day, only emptiness and bleak snow-desolation greeted him, with no signal smokes on the horizon. The Crees had brought him into that debatable land which they termed the abode of dancing dead men, where the blood of slain folk and the power of devils made all things desolate, where Cree and Stone Man disputed roving bands of Sauteurs or Dacotahs from the south.

It was the dread seventh year, the year of famine, and during the past four days the party had found no game, not even a lone rabbit. Yet, on all sides of their line of march, were recent snowshoe trails, so that the Crees whispered of spirits and were sore adread. His little band were weak with hunger and fatigue. The Englishmen were terrified by this drear land, while the Irishmen talked of banshees and good people. The Cree guides were now held only by fear of Crawford and the dark Frontin; when their fear of spirits bore down their fear of things physical, they would decamp. Then what, in this drear region which Crawford thought himself the first white man to visit?

While Crawford stood there staring bleakly along the valley, the answer came with unexpected suddenness. The Cree trail-breaker had returned, passing Crawford and Frontin, and rejoined the weary men about the fire. From the trees just ahead, there rose a deep voice that spoke in English.

"Crawford! Come forward and talk wi' me."

Frontin's jaw fell. Crawford stared at the trees, utterly aghast for an instant, until he saw a man step from the trees and start forward, across an open space of a hundred yards. A man—a white man!

"Devil take me! Is it real or a dream?" murmured Frontin.

"Real." Crawford came to life abruptly, recovering from his astounded surprise. "Come."

He started forward, and the other followed, staring. The stranger was confidently forging toward them across the snow, and was alone, apparently unarmed.

"Look at his ears!" said Frontin suddenly. "There's an animal for you, cap'n!"

The stranger was bareheaded, wore woollen shirt and trousers, no furs. He was not tall, but very wide, thickly built, long in the arm; his head was well set between broad shoulders. His hair, cut close and ragged by a knife, was a bright flame-colour, and his heavy features ended in a pointed red beard. His skin, too, was red and high-blooded, while his ears were set very high on his head. He had all the look of a vigorous animal alive with power, and his eyes were of a light grey, whitish and almost colourless, but extremely sharp and alert.

The three came together. The stranger stood gazing at the other two—Frontin, hawk-nosed and saturnine, dark and grimly cynical; Crawford, thin and hatchet-faced, his heavy-lidded blue eyes somehow expressing his indomitable spirit. The stranger spoke abruptly.

"Which is Crawford? Workin' for the French company?"

"I am Crawford, but I'm working for myself. Who the devil are you?"

"My name's Maclish, agent of the English company." Maclish spoke with a slight Scots burr. "I've had word of your coming, and I'm here to send ye back."

"Oh!" said Crawford. The other showed yellow fangs in a laugh.

"Don't understand it, eh? Thought you could come up-country for the French and nobody know about it, eh?, Well, you'll learn different."

"I'm not for the French," said Crawford.

"Don't believe a word of it," retorted Maclish cheerfully. "After Iberville swept the north end o' the bay last year, I was at Albany with Kelsey. Lucky Iberville couldn't make a clean sweep o' things! Well, we heard that a fur-pirate named Crawford was heading inland in French employ, so Kelsey sent me along to stop the game. And I'm here. You know about Kelsey, maybe?"

Crawford shook his head.

"Kelsey broke out o' bounds years ago and came up among the Stone Men. He married a red princess and brought down all the trade, so the company made him a blooming lord in high command. And with a bit o' luck, I'll be the same one o' these days."

Maclish paused to stuff a pipe. Crawford stood immobile, his brain racing. So this man had overreached him—had got ahead of him in the dead of winter! Amazing as the fact was, bitter as it was, Crawford instantly gathered himself to face the situation.

"So I'm not the first white man in this country?" he asked, to gain time.

"Devil a bit of it. Kelsey's first, I'm second, and next year the company starts inland. The old orders are dead. No more keeping the company servants cooped up! Iberville's cut us off from the north o' the bay, so we'll work the East Main and the up-country. When your messages came to the Assiniboines, asking for guides, I got 'em." Maclish puffed and chuckled complacently, obviously pleased with himself.

"Pawky devils, those chiefs!" he went on. "They're afraid o' the Star Woman, but they're more afraid o' losing their trade—and not a cursed bit afraid o' you and your Crees! Besides, I've got the young warriors all with me. I've heard tales about that Star Woman myself, and I've an exploring commission from Kelsey; so here I am—and back you go!"

Had not Maclish been so entirely self-satisfied, he might have taken warning from the deadly cold manner of Crawford.

Crawford, however, was far from sure of his course. Had the Crees taken him south to the Lake Superior country, he would have avoided the trap; instead, they had brought him into this disputed region just south of the Assiniboine country, declaring that the Star Woman lived in that direction. While the Assiniboines, or Stone Men, were in much awe of the Star Woman, they stood in no fear of a strange white man seeking her. They had long since been bound to the English cause through Kelsey, and Maclish was clever enough to play his cards well.

"So I go back?" said Crawford.

"If you're wise." Maclish showed his yellow teeth. "And I go on."

"Eh? You go on?" Crawford's eyes narrowed.

"Just that—to find the Star Woman my ain self!" Maclish chuckled. "Until I learned of her, I thought to follow Kelsey's example and take a young squaw from among the Stone Men; but not now. It's a big chance, ay! How much d'ye ken of her?"

"Little," said Crawford shortly. His gaze was stabbing at the trees around, but he could discern nothing at all. Either Maclish had come alone, or had a force of men hidden. Now Crawford understood those strange snowshoe tracks that had been seen. He saw, too, that in this red-faced agent of the English company he had to do with a savage and resolute enemy. This fact cheered him up somewhat, for Hal Crawford had his own way of dealing with enemies.

But now Maclish waxed garrulous. No doubt the sound of his own voice was good to him, after this winter spent among the Stone Men.

"They've uncommon queer tales of her," he went on. "It seems that her people are the Dacotah, but she lives somewhere on holy ground; any place where she is, I gather, is holy. That's the lay of it. A fine bonny lass, I hear, wi' blue eyes and a star of blue stones. White blood in her, most like. Ay, it's a big chance, and ye may be sure the young men are all with Maclish!"

"What's a big chance?" queried Crawford, anxious to keep the man in talk.

"To marry her, o' course! Ye ken, maybe, there's war between the Dacotah and the Stone Men? Ay. All those western tribes down below are at war wi' the Stone Men, while the Sauteurs hang neutral. Those Dacotah, ye ken, are kith and kin to the Stone Men; and they're not so far from here, neither. Well, I'll marry her and then we'll drain all the trade out o' French hands to the bay. All those Lake Superior tribes will obey the Star Woman. And then who'll be the company's lord, eh? Maclish, ye can lay to that! We'll make peace among the tribes, and Maclish bringin' down the beaver!"

Crawford sensed only vaguely the tremendous purpose behind the man, the far-reaching scheme which this Scot had so shrewdly plotted. He was more actively concerned with this actual news of the Star Woman. He had heard much, during the winter, about those fierce tribes who termed themselves by the proudly simple name of "The Men," and were known to others by the generic Algonquin word Nadouisioux or Sioux, meaning "enemies." Between the Iroquois in the east and these Dacotah in the west, the lesser red tribes were as corn between the grinders.

"So you intend to find her, do you?" asked Crawford.

"Ay. Only a few hours' march from here is a place they call the Spirit Lake—some sort of holy ground, it is. The Stone Men tell me a message can reach her from there; just how, I don't rightly ken. But if a message can reach her, then so can a man! So that's the lay of it. You'll go back, and I'll go on."

Only a few hours' march! Crawford laughed suddenly, and his laugh brought crafty guile and alarm into the eyes of Maclish.

"You fool!" said Crawford, a sudden blaze of anger in his face. "You think to stop me, do you?"

"Right, cap'n," said the voice of Frontin, and the dark man smiled terribly. "Now's the time to do the stopping."

Maclish took a backward step, hastily.

"No, no! Will ye ha' patience?" he cried out. "It's only a warning I'm giving ye, no more! If ye go for'ard, it's your ain fault, not mine! I ha' naught to do with it."

Frontin thrust his dark features out.

"Hark to the liar and rogue!" said he. "Cap'n, there's bad guile in this fox. It's in my mind to put a knife in him here and now."

Maclish, who had lost his swaggering confidence, held out his empty hands.

"If I meant ye harm," he said, "would I ha' come without a weapon to meet ye? If ye mean to murder me, go ahead, then. If not, we'll part on it and no more said."

"Right," said Crawford, with sudden decision. "Go your way, and don't cross my road again. I'm no murderer, so be off."

With this, Maclish turned and started for the trees up the valley.

"Devil take me, but we did wrong to let him go!" said Frontin.

Crawford shook his head. The two friends went side by side toward their staring band of men, who had witnessed this amazing meeting without having been able to hear its import.

"No. The rascal changed his tune in a hurry, if you noticed—and why? Because he must have few men with him. He does not dare oppose us. Now, think! If that Spirit Lake is only a short march away, we'll be there to-morrow. You heard what he said about reaching the Star Woman. With luck, we'll not need the Assiniboine guides after all."

"I don't like it," muttered Frontin. "I don't like the very name of these Stone Men!"

Crawford laughed shortly, and they met Sir Phelim Burke and walked with him to the fire, telling of what had passed. Sir Phelim wrinkled up his nose and eyed the trees.

"My word is to get out of this valley," he declared. "We'd best make no night camp with red dogs hanging around. Here, ask the guides if they know about this Spirit Lake!"

Crawford nodded. "Break camp!" he commanded sharply, and beckoned one of the Crees. He was just putting the question to the red man, when from the fringe of trees there roared up the voice of Maclish.

"So I can't stop ye, eh? Then take it, ye lousy rogues——"

A musket crashed, and the Cree beside Hal Crawford plunged and thrashed in the snow like a stricken partridge.

From the trees all around shrilled up a wild chorus of yells. Another musket and another spoke out from that encircling ring of unseen foes; then came a buzz and a hum of loosened bowstrings, and shafts began to pour in from the trees. It was not battle, it was murder. With guns all fur-cased against the frost, unable to sight an enemy, Crawford and his men could strike scarcely a blow. The wild yells of the Stone Men, fierce cousins of the fiercer Dacotah, pealed up in triumph and hideous mockery.

The five Cree guides died where they stood. An Englishman coughed with an arrow through his gullet, and lay reddening the snow. Sir Phelim Burke reeled up to Crawford, a shaft protruding from his side.

"Got us, Hal!" he cried. "At them, lad——"

Crawford caught him as he fell, saw his helpless men dropping, heard the black curses of Frontin, knew that he was utterly lost and all his men. Then, sudden as it had burst, the treacherous storm was stilled. The voice of Maclish lifted again from among the trees.

"There's stoppage for ye, Crawford! Now sit ye down, and I'll talk a bit more with ye presently, when I get these red devils quiet."

Then fell silence, and ghastly horror on the valley where the snow lay reddened. So suddenly had it all passed, that save for the dead men the thing seemed like a dream.

It was Frontin who took charge, his frost-blackened lips cracking out oaths and commands, making the men pile arms and gather around the fire. There was naught else to do, for they were caught in the open and ringed around with foes. Hal Crawford, for once, was incapable of action, as he gently let Phelim Burke sink into the snow, pillowed his head, and sat gazing into that scarred and branded face which was now greying in death.

In this bleak land, with the great silence of the snow barrens pressing down on the white horizon, Phelim Burke's broken body had come to its last peace. Crawford chafed the cold hands, looked once at the dark wound, and could say nothing. Then, presently, Burke's eyes fluttered open; a wistful smile came to his pallid lips, and his fingers pressed those of Crawford.

"Hal! Nay, leave the arrow be. It hurts not."

Crawford choked. This man was more to him than his own father had ever been.

"Take it not so hard, lad; why, lad, what matter?" said Burke. "I go joyful enough, be sure! The leg they broke on the rack will hurt no more. And, Hal, have ye ever known any man to live for ever? Not I."

"Oh, Phelim! If you'd not followed me here——"

"Nonsense!" Phelim Burke smiled again, though sweat dewed his cheeks. "I'll wait for ye over the last horizon, lad. Tush, now! It's little enough to die—what else ha' we lived for? If it was you, lad, ye'd go with a laugh."

"But it's you, Phelim—and I love you!"

"Ay, it's me, save the mark! And if the blessed saints will maybe lend me a hand, Hal, I'll stay with ye till the Star Woman's found. Oh, lad, I'd like to see over that horizon! Ay, I'll stay with ye, for maybe she's the woman for ye after all. Mind ye keep the Star o' Dreams safe, since it's in my mind that your fate lies in the jewel——"

His jaw fell for an instant, and he gasped. Then his eyes opened wider, and he loosed Crawford's hand and reached out at the air in front of him. His childhood's tongue came back to him for the last moment.

"It's not you that will be leaving me a long while alone, Hal—and look—look! The sun's growing brighter—duar na criosd! Oh, the bright glory of it, and little Eileen beckoning to me—oh, and she so beautiful, so beautiful——"

So Phelim Burke, smiling and with the soft Gaelic on his lips, put out his hand into the air and touched fingers with life that none other could see.

Presently Crawford looked up, and saw the Irishmen who had loved Sir Phelim standing around, tears running down their ragged beards, with Frontin and three Englishmen beside; the others were dead. "Mhuire as truagh!" burst out the Irish voices, but at that wail, Crawford came stiffly to his feet and cut short the keen cry.

"Phelim na Murtha is at peace—see you not the smile on his lips? Mourn not. Instead, divide among you what food is left. Frontin, are all the others dead?"

"All warm now, cap'n. Four of us wounded." Frontin showed a rag about his arm where a shaft had torn the flesh somewhat. "Load the guns, break for the trees—eh?"

"No," said Crawford curtly. His gaze swept around, but found only silent trees and bleak white solitude. He was trapped and helpless. "Dig a grave in the snow—it's the best we can do for poor Phelim. Wrap him in the spare furs."

"There comes that red devil down the valley, cap'n."

Crawford looked, and saw the burly figure of Maclish. Then he saw Maclish stop and fling back his head, and caught the insolent call.

"Come ye out and talk, Crawford! Bring your black dog if ye like—there's guns all trained on ye. No talk now of putting a knife in me, eh?"

Crawford beckoned to Frontin and walked out toward where Maclish stood. Desperately, he fought down his raging anger; he must keep cool at all costs. It would do no good to strike down this murderous rogue and then die at the hands of the hidden Stone Men.

"Well, say your word!" exclaimed Maclish, baring his yellow fangs. "Those young men of mine are impatient. Do you go back to Albany, or shall we finish you off?"

"I don't go back, that's certain," said Crawford, eyeing him steadily. "All I ask you is to spare those men of mine. Let them go in peace."

"So!" Maclish laughed at this. "You'd sooner stay under the snow, eh? Have it any way ye like, man. I'll be going on to find the Star Woman—hey! What deil's business is this?"

He swung around, the agile movement betraying that his brawn was all corded sinew. From the trees, near and far, were sounding sharp staccato yelps, indicating the large force of men concealed; then appeared figures leaping into sight, shouts flinging back and forth. Even Crawford comprehended that something eventful had occurred.

After a moment two Indians left the trees, starting forward toward the group. One of them was stumbling, exhausted, his snowshoes draggling as he walked. The other was obviously a chief—the chief of the Stone Men with Maclish. The Scot, who must have comprehended what the shouting meant, spat an oath and then stood frowning. Crawford, alert to snatch at whatever might turn up, waited in silence.

The two redskins came forward across the snow. The messenger panted out swift words, accompanying them by pantomime which showed that he had been drawn to this place by the smoke of Crawford's fire. That he was not one of Maclish's party was fairly evident from his manner. Maclish heard him out, heard a word from the chief, then swore fervently and looked at Crawford.

"The deil's luck! A message for ye, Crawford," he said, snarling. "This lad and two others were hunting, were caught by some Dacotah, and the others were killed. This lad was sent back with a message, and the chief says ye must have it."

"What's the message?" demanded Crawford. Maclish eyed him sullenly, but delivered it.

"That two chiefs sent by the Star Woman expect to meet ye at the Spirit Lake. News of you has gone on, eh? Now, what d'ye know of it?"

Crawford shook his head in negation. Looking from the angry Scot to the Assiniboine chief, he swiftly weighed and sifted the matter, while Frontin muttered behind him. He saw suddenly that Maclish no longer dared murder him; this direct message from the Star Woman had disturbed the Stone Men in most singular fashion—they regarded it as an interposition at a critical moment. Though foes of the Dacotah, these Stone Men greatly dreaded the Star Woman, and would not dare prevent Crawford going to meet her emissaries. At the same time, Maclish was not a man to be easily cheated of his prey.

"I'll trade with you," said Crawford. "Now listen, ye redbeard Scots rogue! For the work ye've done this day, I mean to put ye in hell—mark that well! Your Indians won't stop me now, for fear o' the Star Woman. Shall we make a bargain, or fight it out between us, here and now?"

Maclish was furious, but held his temper back. With a trade in view, no canny Scot has ever been known to lose his head.

"What's the proposition?"

"I'll go on to the Spirit Lake with you and ten of your men. We'll get this message, then settle our own quarrel. Meantime, my men are to be let go unhindered, back to the bay. They're not to be prisoners——"

"Ay." Maclish fingered his red beard, angrily. "Ay, we ha' sore need o' men at the south posts, after the way Iberville stripped us. If they'll take company service, they'll be gladly welcomed. H'm! So you and I go on alone, then?"

"And I," spoke up Frontin. Maclish darted a glance at him.

"And who are ye?"

"My friend," said Crawford. "Take the trade or leave it. After we get the message from the Star Woman, we'll settle our quarrel. I'll put ye in hell for this day's work, mind that!"

Maclish blew on his fingers and pondered. If Crawford were in a trap, Maclish certainly was in a quandary. The Scot had laid out a great programme—alliance with the Star Woman, all the Dacotah and southern trade drawn up to the bay posts, himself a great man after the manner of Henry Kelsey, a lord of the north! And now he was within actual reach of this Star Woman, provided he did not lose his head. Offend the Stone Men he dared not, and to kill Crawford now would certainly offend them.

"I'll do it," he said. "And to-morrow at the Spirit Lake I'll break your bit neck wi' my two hands! The Assiniboine chief and nine men go on with us. The others take your men back safe to the Cree country."

"Agreed."

"Then I'll talk it over wi' this pawky bird of a chief."

Maclish turned his back, beckoned the chief, and drew him somewhat to one side out of earshot. Frontin straightened up, and his hand dropped to his belt. Crawford checked him.

"No."

The dark hawk-face swept around. "Eh? With him dead——"

"No."

Crawford looked at Maclish and the chieftain, who were talking; then the Scot turned and waved his hand.

"All agreed," he said curtly. "We'll start in an hour and reach the lake by noonday to-morrow, or before."

Crawford and Frontin walked back toward their men. Presently Crawford smiled bleakly.

"With that man dead," he said, "who would pay me for the murder of Phelim Burke?"

Frontin looked a little astonished. "Death of my life! Do you want to see him at the stake, then?"

Crawford considered this. "After a fashion, yes. I want him to see himself at the stake."

"You err in the man, cap'n. I know that type, with ears so high set! He has no imagination. He is purely animal."

"Exactly," said Crawford. "Does an animal fear death? Not at all. An animal, however, invariably possesses one high quality, and that is pride!"

"Oh!" Frontin whistled softly. "Well, perhaps you are right. All the same, I tell you that this animal is dangerous."

"So am I," said Crawford. "By the way, does it occur to you that this message reached us just in time? I begin to think that the Star of Dreams is invincible."

"H'm!" Frontin scratched his chin. "Nine men back at Hudson Bay in an English post—now I wonder what's brewing in that devil's brain of yours, my friend?"

"Cortez burnt his ships behind him—I build mine," said Crawford. He clapped Frontin on the shoulder. "Well, the fool has let us live; now let him rue it! We have work to do, you and I. Let's lay Phelim Burke away—poor gallant gentleman who loved his king too well! Damnation to all kings and to all men who inherit what they have no power to earn or take!"

"That," amended Frontin cynically, "is an excellent key to the Scriptures, applicable to heaven as well as to things of this world, since one gains no free passage thither. To those who do not earn, damnation! I have no desire to be critical, my dear cap'n, but it is a pity that you do not turn your talents to theology. Heigh-ho! A queer world."

None the less, as he approached the wrapped body of Phelim Burke, Frontin crossed himself and his lips moved a little. There were gentler things inside this dark man—and crueller things too—than most other men would guess. When Phelim was laid away under the snow, and none could think of what to say above him except perhaps a paternoster and an ave, it was Frontin who spoke a few soft words which Crawford held long in his memory.

"Seigneur," said he, looking up at the sky, "where is Thy guerdon for what hath not been? Receive the soul of this man, and let the stars sing him welcome, and bid St. Michael make a place for him beside Thee; it was not his to seek the grails of pomp and power, for like Thee he knew how weak is strength, and how truth and justice fare not with the strong. Welcome him, Seigneur, for his sure faith in all the things that are not seen; and let the troublesome winds be hushed for him who was a better man than we here left behind. Curam teneamus."

"Ay," murmured Crawford. "We'll remember you, Phelim—and so shall Maclish!"

So there slept Sir Phelim Burke na Murtha, and the long ululation of his Irishmen lifted in a doleful wail of mourning among the trees.