Dick's Desertion: A Boy's Adventures in Canadian Forests Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  The Call of the Forest.

  From that time onwards throughout the winter, Peter Many-Names wasnever more than a few miles away from the homestead. He did aflourishing business with the Collinsons in the way of small game andso forth, and appeared to think he had come upon a land of plenty, somany were the meals with which kindly Mrs. Collinson supplied him.Soon the farmer began employing him in small jobs about the fences andfarm buildings, which, for some dark reason of his own, Petercondescended to do, and to do well. He was too proud to be dishonest,and he was never there when he was not wanted; so that after a fewweeks the inmates of the homestead looked for his silent presence as amatter of course. Mr. Collinson was interested in him--in his quaintEnglish, his stately ways, his swiftness, and his untiringactivity--and said that he belonged to none of the tribes whichoccasionally visited that neighbourhood, but that he was probably anoutcast from some northern tribe, who, separated from his people forsome reason, and caring little to take up with others, fended forhimself, and lived his own proud, lonely life. And the shrewd farmerwas probably as nearly right as might be.

  After a time it seemed to Dick that he never left the house to go tohis work about the farm without seeing the dark face and the cold greyeyes which had grown so familiar to him. And by degrees Peter's tonguebecame loosened, and he told tales in his odd, sing-song English whichsent Dick about his tasks with wide, dreamy eyes and ears that heardnot. Dick feared the Indian as he might have feared all histemptations embodied in a human form; but he went about with him, andlistened hungrily to his stories, feeling fascinated and attracted inspite of this wise fear. He did not realise what a great influencethat strong savage nature was gaining over his own.

  Thus the winter went on, peacefully and happily to all outward seeming;but as the year drew closer to the spring it was noticed by watchfulMr. Collinson that Dick sought Peter's companionship more and morefrequently, and that the Indian's uncanny eyes often rested upon theEnglish boy with a half-amused, half-malicious expression of power thatwas hard to read.

  The cold weather held until the end of March, with scarcely a break.But at the beginning of the month the monotony was broken by animportant annual event in the lives of all settlers. This was no lessthan sugar-making. Curiously enough, the Collinsons had fewsugar-maples on their farm, so they used to go to their nearestneighbour's, where a certain number of trees were yearly set aside forthem. This neighbour was more than ten miles distant as the birdflies, and the journey there, the sugar-making among fresh surroundingsand with fresh companionship, and the triumphant return through thewoods that were just beginning to awaken, were all looked forward tothroughout the winter.

  This year it was arranged that one of the twins, Dick, Stephanie, andtwo of the farm-hands, should go; William Charles was chosen at first,but he yielded to Roger's evident disappointment, and said he wouldstay at home. "Though I 'm sure," he said to himself placidly, "that Ishould take just as much care of Stephanie as he could. However, if hewants to go, I would just as soon stay at home, for it is hard workthey will get and plenty of it." And stay he did, with completesatisfaction.

  The others started on their journey one chill morning in early March,before day had dawned. In the first sleigh were Stephanie, Dick,Roger, and one of the farm-hands driving the pair of horses. The otherand more roughly built sleigh followed them, loaded with all theappliances necessary for the sugar-making--three great cast-ironkettles, a couple of heavy troughs cut out of pine-logs, and soforth--in charge of the second man.

  Stephanie never in her life forgot that drive through the great woods;there had been heavy snow, which filled up all the hollows betweenstumps and natural roughnesses that generally made the rude trail apath of torment; the snow had been followed by sharp, incessant frost,so the going was good. At first so impressive was the hush of thecold, dim world into which they drove, that only the jingle of harnessand the squeal and bump of the clumsy runners broke the silence. Butas the pale March day dawned in a flood of blue and primrose-yellow,crystal-clear and chill behind the trees, subdued talking and laughterstartled the solitudes as the sleighs passed. The skies, as the sunrose higher, were of a deep translucent blue, and the breeze had anedge as of steel. Nothing seemed at first sight to give promise ofspring. But an observant eye would have seen that the smaller branchesand twigs of the trees had lost their winter hue of dull grey-brown,and shone as the sunlight struck them, in all hues from brightyellow-green to warm deep reddish-brown. The bud-cases, too, were verydark and sticky, and some little birds were feasting on theclose-curled green within, while once, far away, a robin calledhuskily, not yet triumphant in his shrill bubbling whistle.

  Stephanie never forgot that journey. Trees, trees, nothing but treesbefore them behind them, on either side--except where the trail woundonwards, and even that, the low branches and the long-armed bushes werestriving to reclaim. And between these trees the carpet of white layas yet unbroken, though somewhat shrunken here and there. Winterseemed to be still present; but as the day advanced, Stephanie noticedthat the woods were disturbed by an occasional whirr and flutter ofbirds, while in the sunnier spots could be heard the soft insistentmusic of melting snow. The spring melody had not yet begun, but theforests were crooning snatches of it in their sleep.

  That journey was never forgotten, and not forgotten easily was thewelcome extended to the chilly travellers by the warm-hearted Irishfamily they counted their nearest neighbours. Stephanie was to sleepat the house, and all the evening she discussed matters with the eldestdaughter, bright-faced, soft-tongued Nonie O'Brien--matters dear to thehearts of girls; and Nonie exhibited with speechless pride thenever-worn dress of rose-pink tabinet, less pink than her own cheeks,which her father had brought her from distant Cobourg on her lastbirthday.

  Meanwhile, the men and boys had taken the kettles to the sugar-bush,stabled the horses afterwards, then returned to the bush and built therough shelter of boughs they were to inhabit for the nine or ten daysof their stay. This finished, they rolled themselves in theirblankets, and were almost instantly asleep, too tired even to snore.

  The next morning the sugar-making began. Notches were cut in thetrees, and below these the cedar spiles were driven in, down which thesap trickled into little troughs set for the purpose. Several timesduring the day the sap was all gathered in buckets, carried at the endof a yoke which was placed across the shoulders, and taken to the greatstore-troughs. The iron kettles slung over the fires had to be keptfull and constantly watched, until the sap should turn to syrup; andthen came the "sugaring-off."

  Everyone was kept busy almost every hour of the twenty-four, for thesugar-making went on day and night. And on one particular night, abouta week after his arrival, Dick was chosen to sit up and keep watchuntil two o'clock in the morning, filling the kettles and replenishingthe fires when necessary.

  He was quite willing to do so. And after the others had had theirevening meal at the homestead, and had returned to the shelter and topeaceful but noisy slumbers, he cheerfully began his vigil.

  There was no comfortable log at hand, he decided, so he scratched ahole in the snow, lined it with small twigs and pieces of bark, placeda folded blanket over all, and then settled himself in his nest withcomplete satisfaction. He had the happy faculty of adapting himself tohis surroundings, and so was seldom uncomfortable, whatever otherpeople might be.

  The woods were dark, a vast and shadowy background of gloom to thewavering circle of firelight. The calm stars looked down between thedark twigs of the upper branches, and the snow showed red and full ofuncertain gleams in the flicker of the flames. It was all empty andstill, and the silence at first seemed unbroken; but, owing perhaps tothe breeze and the recent thaw, on carefully listening the forest wasfull of very slight sounds--sounds as if living things were movingabout in it with infinite caution and stealth. It was a disturbingidea, and Dick was glad of the heavy breathing of his comrades in theshelter for company.

  The time passed on, and the nest in the snow was very comfortableindeed. The woods were still full of those ghostly rustlings, butafter a while Dick ceased to notice them, and it is probable that hewas asleep.

  But whether he was asleep or not, about midnight he roused quicklyenough, with the instinct that someone was near him. Owing to his wildtraining, he had enough of the savage in him to lie perfectly still andlisten for several minutes before moving. The noise that must haveawakened him was not repeated, but there seemed to be an increase inthose faint, ghostly rustlings and whisperings and half-heard stealthyfootfalls, so at last he climbed reluctantly out of his cosy nest andbuilt up all the fires.

  Having done this, he settled himself once more in the blanket-linedhollow. The fires were now beds of leaping flame beneath the bubblingkettles of sap, and the shifting light made it difficult to distinguishobjects at a little distance. But Dick had sharp eyes; and soon he hadgained the knowledge that someone, he knew not who, was crouching onthe opposite side of the fire nearest his nest in the snow!

  It was disturbing knowledge, for he knew it was not one of hiscomrades; but no one could have accused Dick of physical cowardice, andimmediately he tiptoed round the fire to investigate, with a heart thatbeat a little faster than usual.

  The crouching figure glanced up at him with eyes that shone like a wildanimal's in the glow of the fire, and Dick, thrilling suddenly,recognised Peter Many-Names.

  The Indian did not give him the usual greeting, but remained crouchedas he was, staring across the fire into the black mystery of theforest. His dark face was shaken with some strange excitement, and hiseyes gleamed green like a wolfs behind their grey. He seemed to be inone of those states of wild exaltation to which his race is liable; andas he crouched there, he rocked himself backwards and forwards in asort of ecstasy.

  "I-i-o-i-o-o, I-i-o, I-o-o, I-e-e!" he crooned over and over again, andat each repetition his eyes shone more wildly. He seemed unconsciousof Dick's presence after the first glance, and gave himself up to hisown mad mood and the odd charm of his wild chant.

  Dick's nerves tingled. There seemed to be some curious rhythmicinfection in the whole unexpected performance. The rocking, theswaying, the subdued, incessant crooning were fascinating him, just asthey might fascinate and excite a young brave at his antelope dances.After a few minutes he fancied he felt his own senses urging him tojoin in the monotonous, mesmeric swaying, the soft barbaric chant.

  The suggestion fairly frightened him, and he dropped his hand heavilyon the Indian's shoulder.

  Peter sprang to his feet, his eyes still glittering with that strangeexcitement. For a moment he was silent. Then he flung out his arm,lean, brown, circled with savage ornaments--flung it out with a wildgesture to the north, and began to speak.

  "HE FLUNG OUT HIS ARM, CIRCLED WITH SAVAGEORNAMENTS--FLUNG IT OUT WITH A WILD GESTURE, AND BEGAN TO SPEAK."]

  He spoke in his own tongue, deep-noted, musical almost as Greek, andthough the English boy, standing white-faced and motionless in the glowof the fire, did not understand one word in twenty, there was no needto ask the meaning.

  Many have borne witness to the marvellous charm of Indian oratory, andthe meaning was plainly to be read in the wonderful play of expressionin Peter's dark face and flashing, grey-green eyes, in the faultlessartistic skill of his every gesture, wherewith he painted what he hadin his mind almost without need of words.

  It was a barbaric song of freedom--a song of the rush and roar of thebuffalo hunt, a song of the evening fires before the lodges; of thecall of birds at the dawn, and the evening star hanging silver abovethe pines; of the limitless northward world, and the homeless wind ofthe prairies; of the flowers whiter than snow, redder than blood; ofthe pipe of willow-flutes in the dusk, and the triumph-cry of theraiders as they thunder home to the music of a hundred stolenhoofs--all these things Dick thought of as he listened, onlyunderstanding a word here and there, yet charmed to the bottom of hisrestless soul by the art of Peter Many-Names. It was a chant of thespring, of roving feet and tents that are never in one place for long;a gipsy song of the north. And as such Dick's very soul responded toit.

  He stared at the Indian with fascinated eyes even after that wildspeech was ended.

  Peter came close to him, with those hard glittering grey eyes of hisgazing into the English boy's softer ones. And suddenly he spokeagain, in English. "You come with me?" he whispered.

  And Dick answered, against his own will, in a voice which did notappear to be his. "Yes, I will come!" he said. There was no need ofexplanation.