Part 28 (1/2)
”He came to me then. I was but a boy myself, but his grandson, and he loved me. He told me this strange tale, adding: 'Queetah, my feet must soon travel up the long trail. I would know what peace is like before I go on the journey--come, we will unearth the knife.' I followed where he led. We found the weapon three feet down in the earth, where the years had weighted it. In places the steel was still bright, but in others dark patches of rust covered the scarlet of Black Star's blood, [Fact.]
fresh seventy-three years before.
”'It is yours,' said Ok-wa-ho, placing it in my hand. 'See, the sun s.h.i.+nes on it; perhaps that will lessen the darkness of the deed, but I obeyed the Indian law. Seventy-three years this knife has lain buried. [Fact.] It was the last law, the last law.'
”That night Ok-wa-ho began to hammer and beat and mold these silver links. When they were finished he welded them firmly to the tomahawk, and, just before he went up the long, long trail, he gave it to me, saying, 'This blade has never tasted blood, it will never have dark spots on it like those on the knife. The silver chain does not tarnish, for it means peace, and brotherhood of all men.'”
Queetah's voice ceased. The tale was ended.
”And peace has reigned ever since?” asked the boy, still looking at the far-off sky through the branches overhead.
”Peace has reigned ever since,” replied Queetah. ”The Mohawks and the palefaces are brothers, under one law. That was the last Avenging Knife.
It is Canadian history.”
The Signal Code
Ever since Benny Ellis had been a little bit of a shaver he had played at ”railroad.” Not just now and again, as other boys do, but he rarely touched a game or a sport before he would ingeniously twist it into a ”pretend” railroad. Marbles were to him merely things to be used to indicate telegraph poles, with gla.s.s and agate alleys as stations.
Sliding down hill on a bobsleigh, he invariably tooted and whistled like an engine, and trudging uphill he puffed and imitated a heavy freight climbing up grade. The ball grounds were to him the ”Y” at the Junction, the shunting yards, or the turn bridge at the roundhouse, for Benny's father was an engineer, who ran the fast mail over the big western division of the new road, where mountains and forests were cut and levelled and tunnelled for the long, heavy transcontinental train to climb through, and in his own home the boy heard little but railroad talk, so he came by his preferences honestly.
”Well, Benny, been railroading to-day?” his father would often ask playfully, on one of the three nights in the week when he was home, with the grime of the engine coal-oiled from his big hands, and his blue over-jeans hanging out behind the kitchen door.
”Yes, daddy,” the youngster would begin excitedly, and climbing on to the arm of his father's chair, he would beat his little heels together in his eagerness to get the story out in speech, and proceed to explain how he had built a ”pretend” track in the yard with curves and grades, over which his little express cart ran ”bully.” ”And 'round the curves we just signal to the other train and have whistles with real meanings to them, like a really big train.”
”Oho! getting up the signal system, are you, now?” his father would grin. ”Why, you'll be big enough and wise enough soon to come on Number 27 and wipe the engine or 'fire' for daddy. Won't that be nice?” Then the big man would set the chubby child of six years down on the floor to play, as he winked knowingly at Benny's mother, who nodded a smiling reply.
But it did not take many years to make Benny a pretty big boy, and one of the boy-kind who always start schemes and devices among their schoolfellows. He seemed to be a born leader, with a crowd of other boys always at his heels ready to follow where he ventured, or to mimic what he did. No one ever walked ahead of him, no one ever suggested things to do or places to go, when the engineer's son was around. He was always the vanguard, but fortunately was the kind of boy who rarely, if ever, led his followers into trouble. Finally someone nicknamed him ”the Con,”
as short for ”Conductor,” for he still played at railroading, and had long since decided that when school days were over he would go as a train hand, and perhaps be lucky enough to be sometimes in his father's crew. It was about this time, when Benny was twelve, that he invented the signal code, and more than once it got ”the gang” out of serious trouble. The little divisional town where he lived was shut in between hills so closely that it was a veritable furnace in summer, and all who could went out camping, or built shacks on the Three Islands in the little lake two miles farther down the track. So Benny and his little brother and sister went with their mother to join some neighbors camping, and dad would come down on a hand-car on off nights to get a breath of air, and the coal dust blown out of his keen eyes. It did not take the shrewd engineer long to discover that the boys on the islands had a signal code. One would stand on his boat landing and wave a strip of white cotton into a lot of grotesque figures, and far off on another island some other boy would reply with similar figures, and after much ”talking,” the various boys would act with perfect understanding, either meeting out on the lake, in the boats, or going swimming, or building camp fires--it did not matter much what they decided upon, but after these signals they all worked in unison.
And one night something happened of real import. It was just sunset one beautiful August day, and Mr. Ellis, wearied with a long, hard run, lay drinking in the wild beauty of the lonely lake, with its forest-covered sh.o.r.es and its rocky islands. Over on the mainland the McKenzie's camp gleamed white in the sunset. One could discern every movement in the clear air, although the tents were a full mile, if not more, from where the wearied engineer lay, grateful for the stillness, after hours of the heated convulsions of the great steed he drove, day after day.
”There go the McKenzie boys for a swim, Benny,” called out his father.
”Too bad you're not with them, but you and I'll go in together here, if you like.”
”All right, dad,” answered Benny, leaving his fis.h.i.+ng tackle to watch his young neighbors. Then, ”Say, the boys have a dandy beach there. I wish ours was as good. The only trouble is you've got to swim around that big rock to it. There's no climbing over it, and there's only one resting place on the way, but we always go. It's great! See, dad, there they go!” as the two white, gleaming young bodies plunged into the lake. No sooner were they well out than right at the base of the rock, and along the very beach they were heading for, came, stealthily and ponderously, a huge black bear and two woolly cubs. Straight for the water's edge they paddled their way; then stood drinking, drinking, endlessly.
”Great Caesar! Benny, look, look!” yelled Mr. Ellis, sitting upright and rigid. ”The boys, the McKenzie boys are heading right round that rock.
They'll head on right into that she-bear!” Benny stood, perfectly voiceless, paralyzed with the sight. ”The animal's savage with heat and thirst. They always are when they have cubs along, and there are those naked boys making straight for her.”
Then he sprang to his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs, ”Take care!
Go back! Go back!” But the boys still swam on. They either could not hear him, or else his voice carried no warning. ”Quick, Benny!” he shouted, ”get my revolver on the shelf. I'll get the boat out. We must go to help them. They're dead boys, as sure as anything.”
But Benny had found his tongue and his wits. ”There they go, climbing on to the resting-place. They'll stay a second there, and--”
But at that instant he broke off, and das.h.i.+ng into the shack, seized the white tablecloth, scattering the supper dishes far and wide. With a rush he was at a point of rock which the dying sun flooded with a brilliant red light. In this radiance the boy stood, swinging about his head the white cloth until it circled five times, then dropped to his feet.
Seizing it again, he held it at arm's length in his right hand, then dexterously tossed it over his head and caught it in his left.
”Oh, I wonder if they see me!” he cried, shakily, then once more went through the signals. A faint, far whistle reached his ears. Then, in a weakness of relief, he dropped down on the rocks, shouting, ”They'll never budge, dad. They understand.”