Читать книгу The Chief of the Ranges: A Tale of the Yukon - H. A. Cody - Страница 6

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Steep wooded banks lined both sides of the Yukon River for many miles. On one of the highest hills stood Klitonda, keenly watching the crooked stream as it wound like a silver thread through its setting of dark green trees. He might have been a stump, for not the slightest movement did he make.

Far away in the distance toward the left his eyes were resting upon two specks gliding steadily up stream. That they were Chilcat traders and plunderers he was well aware. As he looked his right hand closed fiercely upon the stout bow which only his arm could bend to its full capacity. The day was cool, and a keen wind careening over the land presaged a coming storm. But Klitonda heeded it not.

Since that terrible night, over a year before, when he had watched the burning embers in front of the lodge wherein his wife was lying cold in death, the fire raging within his heart had not subsided. Time had only added fuel, and a deeper intensity to the flames. The Chilcats had vowed revenge for the brave who had been slain. "Blood for blood" was their cry, and they had mercilessly hunted Klitonda from place to place. They had threatened to exterminate the whole Ayana tribe if the chief were not delivered into their hands. But this threat had never been carried out, for the Chilcats could not well afford to slaughter the hunters and trappers who supplied them so regularly with an abundance of game and valuable furs.

But Klitonda had not been idle. He had roamed the land like a weird spectre, appearing suddenly in the most unlikely places, and at times when least expected. He had visited every band of his scattered flock by river, lake, and in forest depths. Wherever a camp fire had been lighted there Klitonda's voice had been heard, pleading with his people, and urging them to arouse to action and drive back the haughty, insulting Chilcats beyond the mountain ranges. But his efforts seemed all in vain. A spirit of base fear pervaded the hearts of even the lustiest of the warriors. They had been too terribly crushed and held in subjection so long to be stirred easily to action. The old men and women who had survived that slaughtering carnage had passed away, but not without instilling into the breasts of their children their own overwhelming dread of that cruel coast tribe.

With Klitonda it was different. Fear to him was unknown, and he despised the cringing spirit of his people. Two forces now governed his very being: one, the love he bore to his only child, Owindia; the other, the hatred to the Chilcats, and his determination to free the land from their dominating sway. So on this late fall afternoon as he watched the two canoes out upon the river an almost overpowering passion possessed his soul. This was due to the visit he had just made to his wife's grave near at hand. He had not previously returned to the place since he had borne her body up that steep hill over twelve months before. But the longing had been strong within his heart to look upon the spot where she was lying. And so he had come back, and had stood for a long time by the lonely mound upon the hilltop.

Having watched the advancing canoes until the trees along the shore hid them from view, Klitonda left the summit and glided swiftly down through the forest toward the river. Ere long he moved more cautiously, and at length coming to the brow of the bank he dropped upon his knees, and crept warily forward. Under the shelter of a small thick fir tree he paused and from his place of concealment he was able to obtain an excellent view of all that took place below. He could see that the Chilcats had landed, and were bartering with a number of Ayana Indians encamped at that very place. Klitonda well knew that moose meat and skins were being exchanged for trinkets of little value. In fact the Chilcats set the price, and if they had nothing to give would always take what they wanted as a matter of course.

Klitonda breathed hard, and his dusky face grew darker than ever as he watched the unscrupulous barter. How he longed to leap down the hill and meet those plunderers face to face. He believed he would be a match for all of them, even though they were ten to one. But he well knew that such an act would be useless. Nothing would be gained. Only by the united efforts of the Ayana could anything of a definite nature be accomplished.

Presently an expression of anxiety came into Klitonda's eyes. For a while he remained lost in thought. His mind turned toward his daughter whom he had left that morning in a temporary lodge farther upstream. The Chilcats would pass that way, and he must get there first. It would not do for those human wolves to see Owindia.

Slipping quietly back from the brow of the hill until he had gained the safety of the forest, he sped with nimble feet among the trees. No trail marked the way, and Klitonda needed none. He was as certain of his steps as if he walked on a well-beaten road. Ere long the river appeared to view, and warily approaching the shore he looked carefully up and down the stream. Then drawing a small dug-out canoe from a concealed place he pushed it gently into the water and stepped in. Seizing one of the two paddles lying in the bottom he sent the rocking craft speeding on its way. The wind was in his teeth, blowing strong and keen from the great lake two miles beyond.

Klitonda had gone but a short distance, when, happening to look back, he saw the two canoes of the Chilcats rounding a bend in the river several hundred yards behind. They had evidently caught sight of the craft ahead, and were bending strongly to their paddles in an effort to overtake the lone voyager.

The sight of his pursuers affected Klitonda like magic. With a jerk he settled himself into a better position, and drove the blade of his polished paddle into the cold water with a sudden swish. The canoe responded like a thing of life, and bounded forward as if eager to do its master's bidding. Only occasionally did Klitonda glance back, and each time he noticed that the Chilcats were steadily gaining. There were ten of them, and each wielded a paddle.

The current was now swift and Klitonda was compelled at times to keep close to the shore. Eagerly he looked ahead and at length saw far beyond the faint outline of the lodge he had recently erected. The sight lent new strength to his arms. He must reach the place before his pursuers overtook him. Soon the rain, which had been threatening for some time, met him. It drove lashingly into his face, impelled by the ever increasing wind. But neither rain, wind nor current could stay the onward rush of that trim little craft. The paddle bent beneath Klitonda's tremendous sweep. He felt that the Chilcats were not far behind, but he could not afford to turn around even for one fleeting glance. His eyes were constantly fixed upon the lodge ahead, which was now becoming quite distinct. He watched for Owindia as he approached. Would she be near the shore, waiting his return, or had she strolled off into the forest a short distance as was sometimes her custom?

Nearer and nearer swept the canoe. He could see the opening of the lodge, but no one was in sight; all was in silence about the place. A few more mighty strokes, and then a wild, piercing whoop broke from his lips. It was answered by yells of derision from the pursuing Chilcats. They knew the man now as the outcast chief whom they longed to capture. He could not escape them they felt sure, and what could one man do, armed only with bow and arrows, against their fire-vomiting guns? They would take him alive, if possible, in triumph back to the coast. And his daughter—they saw her emerge from the lodge—would be theirs, too. There was not a Chilcat but had heard of her remarkable beauty, and longed to possess her as his own.

Owindia comprehended the whole situation at a glance. With her to think was to act, so hurrying forward she reached the shore just as Klitonda ran the canoe alongside. Words were unnecessary, and as Owindia stepped lightly and quickly aboard, she seized the unused paddle, dropped upon her knees, and began to assist her father. They were now close to the large lake, and the swells rolling in through the narrow channel ahead gave evidence of the roughness of the water beyond. But not for an instant did Klitonda hesitate. Pointing the canoe for the opening it bounded forward as if anxious to do battle with the tempest outside. The white-capped waves rushed to meet it; the spray dashed over the bow at each headlong plunge, and the racing wind strove to turn it from its course.

Klitonda steered straight for the open. Owindia's lithe form bent and swayed at each dip of her paddle. No word was spoken, for father and daughter realised the seriousness of their position. Both knew what fearful odds they were facing. It seemed the wildest folly to attempt to run over that lake in such a frail craft. But better far to brave the fury of the elements than to fall into the hands of their pursuers. With the former there was the possible chance of mercy and escape; with the latter none.

Klitonda did not believe that the Chilcats would attempt the pursuit across the lake. Great was his surprise, therefore, when glancing back he saw that they were holding firmly to their course. So set were they upon making the capture that their inborn discretion was for the time overcome by the spirit of rashness. Where such a small canoe could go they could follow, so they fondly imagined. But they forgot how heavily their crafts were freighted, not only with the men, but also with the large supply of moose meat they had obtained down the river. At first the canoes were able to stem the waves which beat against their bows. They rent them asunder and threw them easily aside. At length, however, the waves became larger and as the curling whitecaps reared up angrily in front, the canoes plunged heavily and began to ship water. Seeing this the Chilcats realised their imminent danger, and in a moment of panic swung the canoes to the left as if to make for the shore. It proved a fatal mistake, for the next oncoming wave broke right over them, completely swamping both canoes. In an instant the ten Chilcats were struggling desperately in the icy water. They were all good swimmers, and at once struck out for the land. But their efforts were in vain, and soon the last had disappeared beneath the surface of that rough inland lake.

When Klitonda saw what had happened, a grim triumph shone in his clear dark eyes. He spoke a few words to Owindia, who drawing in her paddle turned herself deftly about in the canoe. Klitonda did the same, and soon they were driving before the wind back over the very course they had just taken. Night had shut down dark and cold by the time they reached smoother water, and passed down the narrow channel. Soon they were before their own lodge, and the canoe drawn well up on the shore. Then a fire was lighted, and supper prepared.

Klitonda sat that evening by the fire, while Owindia lay on several skins just within the door of the lodge. The bright light fell upon her strongly moulded face, and played with her dark hair. Her eyes were gazing dreamily before her, out upon the leaping flames. Occasionally Klitonda looked in her direction and his eyes were full of tenderness.

"I nearly lost you to-night, little one," he began. "Things looked very bad for a time."

"Oh, it was terrible!" and Owindia clasped her hands before her as she replied, while a slight shiver shook her body. "When will we be safe from the cruel Chilcats? Why do they hunt us all the time? Why can't they leave us alone?"

"They will never do that, child, until our people make up their minds to drive them back beyond the mountains of the setting sun, and I fear that will not be for some time. I am dreading the outcome of the death of those ten men to-night."

"In what way, father?"

"The Chilcats will think that the Ayana killed them, and they may come in great numbers to seek revenge. Anyway no matter what happens we are never safe. They hate me because I have always opposed them, and have been trying to stir up our people against them. And they want you because you are so beautiful. I understand there is great rivalry among the coast Indians over you. The chief's son, a very determined man, has made up his mind to have you as his wife. Oh, little one, my heart is sore all the time. I am ever thinking how those wolves are trying to steal you away. How could I live without you? Since your dear mother died you have been my only comfort."

"But why should the chief's son want me, father?" Owindia replied. "There must be many women along the coast more pleasing than I am."

"But you are different from them, child. You know that yourself. There is white blood in your veins, and your mother taught you many things which the coast women do not know."

"Yes, father, my mother taught me much, and I have forgotten nothing. I think over everything day and night. I would die rather than be the wife of a Chilcat brave, even though he were the chief's son. There is something here, father," and she placed her hand upon her breast, "which gives me no peace. It is like a voice telling me of a life different from this such as we are living. My mother often told me about the wonderful things beyond the great mountains of the rising sun, where there are no cruel Chilcats; where people live in lodges so different from ours, and know, oh, so many things. And she told me something else, father."

"What is it, little one?"

"She said that there were no medicine men out there; that the white people believed in the Great Father who cares for each one. She told me many beautiful stories about Him, and I remember them all."

For a time Klitonda did not speak, but gazed thoughtfully into the fire. This noted hunter and dreaded warrior was now as quiet as a little child. Years before the tiny seed of a new power had entered his heart. It had been slowly growing, and was steadily contending with his wild savage nature.

"Your mother often told me about the wonderful ways of the white people," he after a while began. "She taught me many things, and I have always wanted our own race to understand the feeling that is in my heart. Why do we ever remain the same? We are no better than our fathers and forefathers. They hunted, fished, trapped and fought. We are doing the same. This land is ours, and has been ours for ages. Shall we let the Chilcats have it, or shall we drive them back, and learn the secret of the ways of the white people? I cannot tell all that's in my heart and mind, but I see and hear things, and when I try to tell them to my people they shake their heads, and think there is something wrong with me."

Klitonda rose slowly to his feet, and stood erect before the fire. His gaunt face was drawn and tense, and in his eyes dwelt a wistful, yearning expression.

"Little one," and he looked down earnestly upon his daughter as he spoke, "I have a strange feeling to-night. Something tells me that we are soon to break the influence of the Chilcats over this land. I see a new power coming to our aid, though I cannot tell what it is. My heart is much lighter than it has been for months. We must get away from here, for we are never safe so close to the coast. Sleep now, Owindia, for we must leave very early in the morning."