# The Star Woman/Book 3/Chapter 2
### CHAPTER II
#### A KNIFE DOES DIFFERENT THINGS IN DIFFERENT HANDS

IN the heart of this northland wilderness, set amid trees like a green crystal jewel, was a hard-frozen little lake, solidly rimmed in by heavy evergreens, its ice blown clear and smooth by the keen winds. To-day it was calm and deathly still; the very air seemed heavy, bitter with the doom of men, chilled by the unseen breath which struck so terribly. In the centre of the lake thrust up a tiny islet of bare and jagged rock, now blown partially grey and naked, now cloaked with masses of ice. About the edge of this islet the first ice of winter had been flung up to form fantastic ridges and caverns.
This was the Spirit Lake. In this spot, to-day, was being enacted a singular and frightful drama, the more terrible because of its uncanny certainty, its mystery, its silence and absolute precision. The lake and islet were not sacred to peace, for no spot in this land was untouched of blood; but the islet, being the abode of spirits, was shunned by common consent. The red men did not like the looks of it on general principles.
No canoe furrowed this lake in summer. Around it for league on league were to be seen neither lodge-poles of the living nor tree-scaffolds of the dead. To north and northwest roamed the Stone Men; when they came down into this country of lakes and streams to seek game, they encountered the parties of Dacotah upsurging from the south. To the east, yet keeping careful distance, roved the Crees. The Sauteurs or Chippewas also came up from the south, but these kept out of strife, standing neutral between Stone Men and Dacotah. While this islet in the Spirit Lake was a good place for young warriors to seek medicine and dream dreams, most of them preferred other quarters for this work.
It was still morning when the heavy green rim of the icebound lake gave birth to the figure of a man clad in wool capote and sash, short wide snowshoes slung over shoulder; he was followed by a second in like guise, both carrying French fusils. They were Sauteurs, belonging to a band out on winter hunt. They had no enemy to fear, yet approached the islet warily. Their reason for this approach was a faint trail across the smooth ice, a trail as of sharp caribou hooves which here and there had slipped or left distinct marks on the glassy surface.
These two hunters gradually drew closer to the islet, toward which ran the trail in a direct and undeviating line; that actual hunger drove them to follow such a trail was evident in their gaunt and famished aspect. Their eyes searched the jutting mass of ice and rock with sharp suspicion and wonder. To all appearance the islet was empty of life. Now the leading warrior drew near to the ice-rimmed shore, his brown features wrinkled by some indefinable perplexity, by a half-sensed warning. He came to the fantastic line of icy hummocks, looked down to be sure the caribou trail led into them, then slowly strode in among their masses. He vanished instantly. The second warrior stopped short, uttered a low word, put hand to fusil. Something flashed red in the air, a streak of vivid scarlet cutting athwart the blue sky. The Sauteur clutched at his throat and toppled over; he lay motionless, dead ere he struck the ice, the shaft of a crimson arrow protruding from his gullet.
Some little time elapsed. Then, although no sign of living men appeared, there was a movement at the islet's verge—something uncoiled, mounted in the air. Out toward the prostrate figure shot a thin hide rope, unlooping and flying with the certainty of a darting snake. Its noose caught on the upturned foot of the dead man. The rope drew taut, the body slowly slid in toward the shore, still tightly gripping the fusil, and there vanished from sight. All was silent again, motionless, breathless.
Presently, at a point around the lake shore where the fringe of trees opened out a little, thirteen men appeared. They doffed snowshoes and made camp, their fire-smoke rising greyly against the sky. Three of these were white men, the others Assiniboines or Stone Men; and almost immediately these latter scattered out to hunt, leaving Crawford and Frontin alone with Maclish. The three stood gazing about, scanning the lake, the quiet sky, the silent trees.
"No sign of 'em," said the Scot, scratching his pointed red beard. His whitish eyes probed the shores around, and the treetops. "Likely they'll come to us when they see our smoke. Let's find some wet wood and make a good signal."
The three turned in among the trees.
After a time, at another point around the lake, a man emerged upon the ice. He, too, was following the trail of sharp hooves; it was quite singular that such a trail should have been left, running straight to the little islet, and so he found it. He was the Assiniboine chief, and alone. Had he known that there were more than one of these caribou trails, all converging on the islet, each made with great cunning to simulate the stagger of a hurt or wounded beast, he might not have followed on—but he perceived only the one trail.
All the same, he was uneasy. He stared from ice to islet, paused now and again to touch a medicine bag at his throat, examined the open ice around him as a fox scrutinizes the openings about a bait. He slowly drew in toward the islet, showing on this side the naked rock to face the wind-blown north. He was taking no chances, either on angry spirits or maddened beasts. As he approached the shore he primed his musket afresh, narrowly examining the rocks. Little by little he drew closer, and presently leaped up to the nearest rock. One instant he stood there peering around, his figure sharply outlined against the sky—then he was gone, dragged down by some sinuous, uncoiling thing. A long cry started up, the death-yell of a chief; it was quenched midway. After that, the islet was silent again.
For some time the three white men waited about their built-up fire, which now sent a goodly column of smoke drifting upward. They were not at ease, however. Frontin was dark and snarling, Crawford moody and depressed; this contact with the man who had murdered Phelim Burke was something hard to endure. Maclish knew this, and watched them narrowly, and after a bit rose. He went to the lake shore and stood gazing out at the island. The other two exchanged a glance, then joined him.
"Shall we have a look at it?" asked Frontin. "I'd like to see the spirits there."
"Ay, let's have a look," grunted Maclish. Crawford assented silently.
The three men started off across the smooth, glistening ice. All three were bareheaded, having doffed their furs, for now the winter chill was out of the air.
If this were gone, there was another sort of chill which reached them before half the distance to the islet was covered. Crawford, in the lead, felt it and knew that the others were also touched by the same perturbation. Perhaps it came from the tales of the red men, perhaps from some sixth sense; at all events, that silent mass of rock and ice imparted a strangely weird and uncanny impression. The feeling that unseen eyes watched them was acute. Two-thirds of the way to the island, Frontin suddenly halted.
"Me, I do not like this," he exclaimed. "If the trail were covered, it were better. Prime your gun, cap'n."
Crawford half turned. His moccasined foot slipped on the ice, and he fell heavily on hands and knees. Maclish grunted with swift malice.
"A bad omen for ye." Then the words died in a gasp of surprise.
Crawford rose. He fumbled at his breast, where a splendid thing now glittered. That fall had shaken from inside his coat the star which he wore there on a thong. He held it up, examining it to see if the jewel had suffered; the raw gold, the massy emeralds, glinted and glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Maclish stared in speechless wonder; it was his first sight of the thing, his first indication that Crawford bore such a treasure.
Maclish was not the only one to stare. From the islet ahead rang out a sharp exclamation, and the three men looked up. They saw a queer creature standing there on the rocks gazing at them—a tall Indian, over whose head was flung the skull and robe of a bison, the fur cloaking his body. At that grotesque and horned apparition all three gazed, transfixed.
"Come!" To their still greater astonishment, the crested figure spoke in French. "Smoke the calumet. Come!"
Crawford could not tell whether this were an invitation or not, but he comprehended that sight of the star at his throat had brought the apparition.
"Kola! Friend!" said that singular creature perched against the blue sky, and flung out empty hands. "The Star Woman sent us to meet you. Come."
Then the figure vanished. The islet was bare and empty again.
"No spirit, but a trap," said Frontin, first to recover speech. "There are our messengers—and have a care, cap'n!"
"Deil take me," snorted Maclish, "but yon man spoke French! From the south, belike."
"Of course," said Crawford quietly. "Frontin, wait here with the muskets. It's no trap, but we'll not take chances." He passed his musket to Frontin. "Coming with me, Maclish?"
"Oh, ay."
Crawford resumed his course, Maclish at his elbow. Between these two men had passed few words since the previous day. Hatred lay between them, and fear. Maclish was a subtle and a canny man, but he could not fathom the stern silence and self-control of Crawford. Nor had the latter missed certain indications which warned him that Maclish was even now carrying on some treacherous game. The Stone Men had sent up lengthy smoke-signals which he could not read, and messengers had departed. It was tacitly understood that after meeting the Dacotah envoys, the quarrel between the two men would be settled—Maclish doubtless counting on murdering both Frontin and Crawford.
Now, gaining the shore ice, Crawford passed in among the hummocks, gained the rocks beyond, and mounted them. He heard Maclish coming to his side, and then jumped down. It was a hideous scene which greeted the two men, a scene which could not fail to give the impression intended.
Here was a hollow among the rocks, and in the centre of it a blackened space of old fires showing that the Dacotah envoys had been camped here for some little time. In the centre of this blackened area now blazed a fire of a few dry sticks—a very tiny fire, without smoke or heat, serving only to keep the red spark of life in being. Across from this fire sat in grave silence the man who had summoned them, his face streaked with white and vermilion under the horned bison robe; with him was a second man who wore the head and pelt of a grey timber wolf in similar fashion. Both of them regarded Crawford and Maclish with steady scrutiny—but the two white men were staring hard at the lifeless things behind the two Dacotah.
These had been men, all six of them. Two Sauteurs, three Crees, and the Assiniboine chief of Maclish's party; they were dead, sitting in frozen silence as though watching the council fire, cunningly placed soon after death so that their rigid bodies assumed the sitting posture naturally. They had not been scalped. Only the horrible fixedness of eye and sinew betrayed their condition. A cry of fury broke from Maclish at sight of the chieftain.
"I'll have your scalps for this, ye rogues!"
"My brothers are welcome," said the bison-chief in French. "We do not understand the strange talk that is like the crackling of dried leaves."
"You'll understand it soon enough," retorted Maclish, in groping and barbarous French, and added an oath. "You've murdered the chief!"
Crawford, inwardly laughing at all this, struck in smoothly. The fact that these chiefs spoke French, which was obviously difficult for Maclish, was a godsend.
"This man is an Englishman," and he gestured toward Maclish, who was purple with fury. "He is my enemy, and leads the Stone Men. He seeks the Star Woman, and so do I. Presently he and I will settle our quarrel. We await your message."
"That is good," said the Dacotah. "Standing Bull and Yellow Sky have brought belts from the Star Woman. We are of the nation of The Men, the Issanti clan of the Dacotah. The Star Woman ordered us to meet in this fashion the white man who came to seek her, and to give him the belts. We have waited long. Now we do not understand who is to receive these belts. It was said that the white man was an Englishman, having red hair."
At these words Crawford started slightly. It was true that his hair was a reddish brown.
Maclish did not comprehend all that was said, between his poor command of French and his overpowering rage. Crawford, however, made a swift and shrewd guess that the message from the Star Woman was not a nice one; remembering the token she had sent Moses Deakin, he resolved to gamble heavily on this presumed fact. Now, as Standing Bull produced a calumet and a bag of willow bark, Maclish spat hot words at him.
"I will not smoke with you! Am I to smoke with you while the eyes of that dead chief reproach me?"
"The calumet has not been offered you," was the calm response. "We do not smoke with Englishmen, who are enemies of our brothers the French. Which of you is to receive the belts?"
Crawford intervened with precision.
"This man Red Bull seeks to marry the Star Woman and to carry her off among the Stone Men. It is to him that your belts are sent. I am an Irishman. With me is my friend, who is a Frenchman. I will call him."
This drew an approving grunt of surprise and pleasure. "Was-te! Was-te!" The burly Scot, with the game thus taken out of his hands, scowled. Crawford touched his arm.
"Watch yourself, Maclish! There may be other Dacotah stationed among the rocks, so go slowly. Their message seems to be for you." He lifted his voice and called. "Ho, Frontin! Leave the guns and come along."
"You will see that I speak truly," he said to the two chiefs. "My medicine has sent me to meet you, that you may take me with you to seek the Star Woman. I shall go with you, and her heart will be glad. Look, here is my medicine!"
He laid bare the star of gold and emeralds, and at closer sight of this Star of Dreams, astonishment seized the two red men. Obviously, they had heard that the man seeking the Star Woman carried this jewel; they were visibly shaken by sight of it, knowing not what to say or do. Its effect upon them was profound, and it also plunged them into perplexity.
Now Frontin came scrambling over the rocks, and their eyes shifted to him. When he spoke in French, they grunted in recognition.
"Death of my life!" said he coolly, looking at the dead men. "This is a pretty scene!"
"Join me and smoke." Crawford seated himself opposite the Dacotah. The younger of these leaned forward and pointed at the star.
"What is the name of this medicine? Why does not the Red Bull wear it?"
Crawford laughed slightly and evaded. "It is the Star of Dreams, and it came to me from afar, in order to lead me to the Star Woman."
There was in his voice a certain surety which was impressive—for he himself had now come to believe in this jewel. This sincerity made itself felt as no mere words would have done.
Yet the gamble was a stiff one; and had not Maclish been so fumbling with his French, the affair might have gone otherwise, for the Scot was nobody's fool. He, however, comprehending that the message had somehow been turned to him, mastered his anger and once more became the coolly dangerous rascal. Seating himself, he growled that he would accept the belts which had been sent.
Crawford now waited to see whether the calumet would be offered him. He was confident that this acquiescence from Maclish had settled the matter of the message, but he depended on the two Dacotah to get him and Frontin safely away, as he had implied to them. Sight of the Star of Dreams had confused the whole issue for the two chieftains.
They were in no haste, those redskins; this affair was so extraordinary that they were somewhat at a loss. Finally Standing Bull got the pipe stuffed, and held a brand to it. When the pipe was lighted, he puffed ceremoniously to the winds, the sun and the earth. His companion did likewise—and the pipe was then handed to Crawford.
So far, the game was won.
While Frontin smoked in turn, then handed the pipe back, Maclish sat waiting, intent and narrow-eyed, fully aware by this time of his own impotence. The pipe was refused him, and he knew what this meant; It was doubtful if the Stone Men were yet aware that the three whites had gone to the islet. Maclish would be in sharp jeopardy unless he were careful, so the burly Scot bottled up his anger and settled down to play his game.
Laying aside the pipe, Standing Bull now came to his feet. He put a hand beneath his robe and produced a belt of ordinary porcelain trade-beads, which he dropped at the feet of Maclish.
"This belt," he began, "says that the Star Woman has heard of your search for her. It says that her manitou does not love Englishmen, who are allies of the Iroquois and enemies of our father Onontio at Montreal."
Standing Bull produced a second belt of the same material, turned to the circle of dead men, and laid that belt across the knees of the Assiniboine chieftain, whom he addressed.
"This second belt is for the Stone Men; let their eyes look upon it, let their ears be opened to it! It says that their manitou is bad, and therefore the Star Woman has punished them. It says that they have done wrong to befriend the English, for the Dacotah people have a French father."
Now, turning back to Maclish, Standing Bull produced a third belt—not of white porcelain this time, but a flaming crimson belt of valuable wampum shells, which he dropped before the Scot.
"This third belt is for you, Red Bull. It says: 'You cannot go farther; the trail is closed against you. The Star Woman knows your people for bad men and does not desire to look upon your face. Go back. If you come farther your scalp will be dried in the lodges of The Men, your skin will be stretched on the bark wall of the council house; your manzakawan, your iron tube in which dwells a spirit, will sit in the lodge of the above the lake of many stars, and will spit no more bullets.' I have spoken."
Standing Bull seated himself and drew his robe about his knees.
For a long moment, Maclish was absolutely beyond words with torrential fury. He saw now that he had been tricked into receiving these belts, which had been meant for Crawford. More, the Dacotah were openly hostile to him and friendly to Crawford, while he himself was trapped and helpless on this islet. A slight stir among the rocks betokened that at least one other redskin lay hidden. His red features whitened and became almost livid, then crimsoned again. His breath came hoarsely. Yet he tried to master himself, his big bearded jaw jutting forth, his hands clenched until the knuckles showed white. The effort succeeded.
He moved, stirred his broad bulk, opened his wool coat and flung it off. One hand went out to the red wampum belt and drew it in; the other went to his belt and produced a long knife. With a swift motion he drove the knife through the centre of the wampum belt, which he twisted about the haft; he flung belt and knife at the feet of Standing Bull.
"There is my answer to the Star Woman," he said, and with an angry laugh rose to his feet. "So her lodge is pitched at the lake of many stars? Good. I shall come and take her as my squaw. The Stone Men shall dance with your scalps and put you into the kettle, taking your women as slaves. That is my response. As for this rascal," and he whirled on Crawford with a baleful glare, "stand up and fight, ye vagabond rogue! Settle our affairs, as ye said, and I'll crop your ears for ye."
Crawford rose, his face very bleak and hard.
"Fight? Who said fight?" he demanded, giving Maclish a cool stare. "I've no intention of fighting with you. I said we'd settle our business—ay! But we'll not fight."
The Scot stared at him, amazed, jaw fallen in sheer astonishment.
"Eh, man? But——"
Swift as light, his careless attitude giving no warning of his intention, Crawford swung on his heel and drove his fist into the pit of the big man's stomach. It was a terrific blow, with body weight behind it. Caught all astare and unsuspecting, Maclish grunted as the breath was smashed out of him. An expression of mute agony swept into his face, and he slowly toppled forward, gasping and senseless.
"Was-te!" came the guttural approval of the two chiefs. Crawford, standing above the unconscious Maclish, looked at them for a moment.
"The star fights for me. Will you take us with you or not?"
"Our brother Wandering Star shall go with us, and his friend."
"This is a red bull who never gives up," and Crawford stirred the senseless Maclish with his toe. "He will lead the Stone Men after us."
"Let my brother drink his blood," said Standing Bull.
"The time for that has not come. Later on I shall kill him, but first I shall put my mark upon him, so that all men may know that he belongs to me. If he does follow us, the Dacotah will capture him, then I shall take him and kill him."
Crawford did not scrutinize the brown faces as he said this, or he might have noted that the chiefs showed no great delight in his prediction. He took out his knife and stooped over Maclish. With deliberation, he slit the skin on that sweating, agonized forehead; when he had finished, the Scot was branded with a five-pointed star. It bled copiously.
"He has lived well, the bleeding will give him strength," said Frontin cynically. "You mistake, cap'n, not to put the knife into his heart. He promised to crop your ears."
"Let him live with this brand on him," said Crawford. "I shall find him again."
Frontin shrugged. The two red men rose and bestirred themselves. From among the rocks came a third warrior, bearing a pack of dried meat. When the three had obtained snowshoes and warbags, they took the short forest snowshoes belonging to the two dead Sauteurs, and gave these to their white companions. Frontin retrieved the muskets he had left at the shore.
"Come, my brothers!" said Standing Bull. "Even if they see us go, the Stone Men will not follow us—until after they have found their chief."
Crawford followed them to the edge of the islet, on the side farthest from the camp of the Stone Men. There, as all five came to the open ice, with the islet to cover them from sight of Maclish's men, Frontin suddenly halted.
"I'll be along in a moment, don't wait," he said, then darted back and vanished among the rocks.
The others went on. They were halfway across the open ice to the shore, when Crawford saw Frontin running and sliding after them. He was wiping his knife as he came, and Crawford turned upon him with an angry look. Frontin laughed and made answer to the tacit question.
"No, my cap'n! I did no more than crop the rogue's ears," and with this he flung two small objects on the ice. "I, too, loved Phelim Burke a little."
There were strange things beneath the shell of this dark Frontin.