Part 13 (2/2)

With a convulsive wriggle the youth freed his mouth, and uttered a shriek of genuine alarm, but Bane's strong arm pinned him to the earth.

”Ye dirty loon,” growled the man in great wrath, ”wa.s.s you thinkin' to get the better of a Heelandman? Come along with ye. I'll give you a lesson that you'll not forget--whatever.”

Despite his struggles, Bane held Salamander fast until he ceased to resist, when he grasped him by the collar, and led him towards the little fort.

At first, Salamander had been on the point of confessing the practical joke, but the darkness of the night induced him to hope for another escape from his position. He had not yet uttered a word; and, as he could not distinguish the features of the Highlander, it was possible, he thought, that the latter might have failed to recognise him. If he could give him the slip, he might afterwards deny having had anything to do with the affair. But it was not easy to give the slip to a man whose knuckly hand held him like a vice.

”Shames,” said Bane as he came near the fortress, ”I've cot the peast!

come oot, man, an' fetch a stick wi' you. I'll ha'd 'im while you lay on.”

Salamander, who understood well enough what he might expect, no sooner heard Dougall clambering over the barricade than he gathered himself up for a tremendous wriggle, but received such a fearful squeeze on the neck from the vice-like hand of his captor that he was nearly choked.

At the moment a new idea flashed into his fertile brain. His head dropped suddenly to one side; his whole frame became limp, and he fell, as it were, in a heap on the ground, almost bringing the Highlander on the top of him.

”Oh! the miserable cratur,” exclaimed Bane, relaxing his grasp with a feeling of self-reproach, for he had a strong suspicion that his captive really was Salamander. ”I do believe I've killed him. Wow! Shames, man, lend a hand to carry him to the fire, and plow up a bit flame that we may see what we've gotten.”

”Iss he tead, Tonald?” asked Dougall, in a pitiful tone, as he came forward.

”No, Shames, he's no tead yet. Take up his feet, man, an' I'll tak' his shouthers.”

Dougall went to Salamander's feet, turned his back to them, and stooped to take them up as a man takes a wheelbarrow. He instantly received a kick, or rather a drive, from Salamander's soles that sent him sprawling on his hands and knees. Donald Bane, stooping to grasp the shoulder, received a buffet on the cheek, which, being unexpected, sent him staggering to the left, while the sly youth, springing to his feet bounded into the bushes on the right with a deep-toned roar ending in a laugh that threw all his previous efforts quite into the shade.

The Highlanders rose, but made no attempt to pursue.

”My friend,” said Bane, softly, ”if that wa.s.s not an evil speerut, I will be fery much surprised.”

”No, Tonald, it wa.s.s _not_ a speerut,” replied the other, as they returned to their fortress. ”Speeruts will not be kickin' an' slappin'

like that; they are not corporeal.”

While these scenes were enacting on the margin of Lake Wichikagan, Lumley and Mozwa arrived at the enemy's camp. It was a war-camp. All the women and children had been sent away, none but armed and painted braves remained.

They were holding a palaver at the time. The spot was the top of an open eminence which was so clear of underwood that the approach of a foe without being seen was an impossibility. Although the night was rather dark, Lumley and his guide had been observed the instant they came within the range of vision. No stir, however, took place in the camp, for it was instantly perceived that the strangers were alone. With the grave solemnity of redskin warriors, they silently awaited their coming.

A small fire burned in their midst, for they made no attempt at concealment. They were prepared to fight at a moment's notice. The red flames gleamed on their dusky faces, and glittered in their glancing eyes, as Lumley and Mozwa strode boldly into the circle, and stood before the chief.

Intense surprise filled the hearts of the warriors at this unexpected apparition of a white man, but not an eye or muscle betrayed the smallest symptom of the feeling.

”The pale-face is welcome,” said the chief, after a short pause.

”The pale-face is glad to meet with his dark-skinned brother, and thanks him,” returned Lumley.

If the surprise at the sudden appearance of the pale-face was great, the astonishment to find that he spoke the Indian tongue was greater; but still the feeling was not betrayed.

After a few short complimentary speeches, our hero came at once to the point.

”My brothers,” he said, looking round on the dusky warriors, who remained sitting all the time, ”the white chief of the fur-traders has sent me into this country to trade with you.”

This statement was received with a ”waugh” of satisfaction from several of the warriors.

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