Evening star., 1941-12-28
THIS WEEK MAGAZINE

gleam as he drove the craft into the
wind He knelt to paddle, and prayed.
At the foot of the lake he beached
his craft and trod the long portage,
gliding quiet as the redmen themselves
along a tortuous trail that ran twi-
light-dim beneath scented pine. This
stealth was habit, born of hungry days
when life had four swift legs and had
to be stalked. Today, unarmed, he
had a smile ready for the moment
when painted shapes should suddenly
block the way. The way was blocked.
Macleod stood ringed, and read his
peril in the painted scowls. 81 bring
gifts and talk, he said, "for kowassik.
your O-ghe-mah."
They took him to a camp cunningly
hid, where shafts of rock rose from the
lake to fatten the smoke of their fires.
No permanent camp was this. No
toiling women, no children. Charley
Red Deer had not lied.
Their tall chief confronted him,
war knife in one vast hand, pipe of
peace in the other Macleod gravely
touched the pipe. 81 bring talk"
On the way back. his pockets were
lighter. and he was surprised little
to find his head not lighter, too, by
the weight of his scalp.
lHAT day passed and another. The
cabin deserted, Macleod lay through
the second night on high ground by
the river, mile or more above its
sluggish juncture with his lake. His
eyes ached from watching.
The nights chill lay clammy in his
bones, and hunger was ill appeased
by stolid chewing of biscuits and penn
mican. Fire was out of the question.
for others watched too - sharp-eyed
scouts farther down the stream -
and the smoke would be seen.
The night dimmed. The silent
stream breathed mist that caught
the jeweled glow of new sun. Then,
morning that swelled hot as stove lid.
Now where rank vegetation swarmed
the curved shore, canoe came glid-
ing, in its bow a white man garbed in
clothes more civilized than Macleod
had seen in three years; with him in
the boat three Indians who were Iro-
quois, and lashed store of luggage.
Macleod moved on his belly to
the shore. In waist-high weeds he rose
to beckon, with warning finger on
his lips to forestall any shout of greet
ing He caught the craft as it swung
toward him. I'm Macleod" he said
simply. 'of the H. B. Company. I've
trouble for you"
The man listened and did not like
it. There must be some better way"
he insisted. Three canoes follow. If
we wait, and make stand -"
Against a hundred hungry devils"
Then it's best to turn back"
They'd follow, and swiftly. They
must be faced somewhere.
"Damnation! You'd risk your life!
mime" said Macleod. mot yours"
The man yielded reluctantly. and
surrendered his fine coat, his hat. He
stepped ashore and Macleod took
his place, firing orders at the Iroquois.
Downstream the big craft glided.
MacLeod's dark eyes alert.
He saw them, too, and was proud
of it. for even the Indians behind him
missed those furtive movements in
the reedy watch posts as the canoe
slid past. Swift ghosts, gliding to tell
their fellows of the victims approach!
The stream broadened. Through
greasy channels its sluggish waters
met the muskeg. The lake lay windy
ahead, and Macleod thought, rising.
''Now we shall know The anticipa-
ton of knowing made white his lips,
as with less steady hands he swapped
paddle for pole and bent to showing
Slow, slow progress! On all sides the
dismal swamp, thick-grown with
weeds and grass and dead or dying
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