Читать книгу The Crimson Sign - H. A. Cody - Страница 6

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He was perched high upon the branch of a towering pine tree, his eyes fixed upon the river which wound like a silver thread through the forest wilderness. There were trees everywhere, trees covering the arching hills, trees in the crouching valleys and standing like great sentinels along the river's banks. No sign of human life could be seen, and silence reigned supreme along the Saint John River in Acadia in the summer of sixteen hundred and ninety-six.

Seeing nothing of importance along that great inland waterway, Grey Martell was about to leave his lofty position when a large eagle swept by on strong majestic pinions, headed westward. It fascinated the watcher and thrilled his soul with a sudden interest.

"Ah, if I could only fly like that, it wouldn't take me long to be away from here!" he exclaimed. "At the rate that fellow's travelling it shouldn't take him long to reach Fort Reliance. I wonder if Helen will see him."

Reseating himself upon the branch which he had partly left, he thrust his hand into a pocket of his buckskin trousers and brought forth a piece of worn soiled paper. As he unfolded this, several capital letters were exposed to view. They formed no words, and seemed meaningless. But to the young man they evidently meant a great deal, for his eyes brightened as he looked at them. Then a smile overspread his healthy sun-browned face.

"Wouldn't Peter King like to know the meaning of these words. But he never will, although he has tried hard to find out. He can boast all he likes about his knowledge of the woods and their secrets, but he can't understand these. Poor Pete!"

A low whistle drifted up through the branches of the pine, causing Grey to thrust the paper back into his pocket. In another minute he was descending the tree from limb to limb. Swift and noiseless as a panther he moved, and when at length he dropped upon the ground he looked cautiously around. This was due to the spirit of alertness which had been instilled into his soul during the years of his wilderness life. When unseen dangers lurked on every side caution was necessary. And it was so now when at any minute the hated enemy might appear.

As Grey Martell stood in this watching attitude, he presented a striking picture. Tall, lithe, and straight as an arrow, his well-shaped head poised upon strong square shoulders gave him a commanding appearance. The sleeves of his brown shirt were rolled to the elbows, exposing sun-tanned arms of great muscular strength. A light deer-skin cap rested jauntily upon his head, on the right side of which was fastened a small blood-red feather. This distinguishing mark was known far and wide, a pride to all entitled to wear it, but a menace to all enemies of the League of the Crimson Sign.

Again came the whistle, low and commanding. Grey smiled as he turned, glided among the trees and made his way carefully down a steep bank. He stopped at last by the side of a man sitting on a log holding a frying-pan over some hot coals. Close by flowed a placid stream, a tributary to the main river. A birchbark canoe, drawn up on the shore, contained several bundles of provisions and blankets, while two muskets were lying nearby ready for any emergency.

"Is supper ready?" Grey asked. "That meat smells good."

"And it's as good as it smells, my boy. It's as tender as a chicken. Try a piece."

Pete King was a powerfully-built man, with great chest and muscular arms. His wealth of iron-grey hair, beard trimmed to a point, and large moustache gave him the appearance of a Viking warrior of olden days. He was dressed in an old well-worn buckskin suit, and his feet were encased in deer-skin moccasins. His forehead, though not high, was broad, and his shaggy eyebrows formed a heavy canopy above his keen gray eyes which peered watchfully over his arching rampart-like nose. He was a king in more than name. He was a monarch among men, where strength, endurance and a shrewd active mind counted for more than a royal sceptre held in a jewelled hand.

As Grey began his attack upon the meat and a slice of coarse bread well soaked in gravy, Pete watched him with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

"I was afraid you had tumbled out of that pine, my boy."

"What made you think that, Pete?"

"A mighty good reason. When a lad like you sits dreaming high up in a tree, there's no telling what might happen."

"But I wasn't dreaming, Pete. I was watching the river, as you ordered."

"And didn't see anything?"

"Nothing of the enemy. But I saw a great eagle flying westward."

"And your thoughts went with it, I suppose?"

"They did, and if I had wings like that bird I'd soon be out of here."

"Yes, I know. You've often told me that before. And you always feel worse after you get a letter from your dream, though it's been some time since you got the last one. It must have had more love-charm in it than the others, for it's taken longer to wear off."

"Wouldn't you like to know what it's all about, Pete?"

"Oh, I can guess pretty well. But how you can make sense out of that jumble of letters is more than I can understand."

Grey laughed as he laid his iron plate upon the ground and drew the letter from his pocket.

"I'm going to tell you something about this, Pete. It is our code system. Only Helen and I know what these letters mean. We have been communicating with each other in this way ever since our fathers became enemies, and Colonel Garland refused to let me visit Fort Reliance."

"It's a wonder the Colonel didn't find out and stop the letters."

"Oh, we have good friends who are helping us. The soldiers at the Fort would do anything for Helen."

"H'm, trust a woman to bewitch men. It won't be well for them if the Colonel ever hears. He's a very stern man."

"Indeed he is, and that was the cause of the trouble with my father. In fact, they are both hot-headed, and—"

"Yes, yes, I know all about that, my boy. Your father was perfectly right, though, in asking the Colonel to send soldiers to protect his trading post from the French and the Indians. But it's none of my business why the Colonel refused. Now, let me hear what that girl has to say."

Grey smiled a little at his companion's curiosity, and remained silent for a while.

"All right, you needn't tell me if you don't want to," Pete declared. "I don't care. Anyway, an old man such as I am should not bother about a silly love letter."

"It's interesting, though, and I know you are anxious to hear. Helen says it's a shame that we have to be kept apart and can't see each other because our fathers have quarrelled. She would like to run away and come here."

"Well, well! So that's what she says, eh? Come here! Lord! What would we do with her?"

"I guess you needn't worry, Pete. She can't come, so that's the end of it."

"True, true, and I'm mighty glad. A girl would turn the heads of our men, and they'd soon be fighting with one another over her. And, besides, we're living too risky a life to be bothered with a girl. But, there, that reminds me, you'd better have another look down the river. We can't tell what minute the raiders might show up. They've been gone about a month, and we've been hanging around here for almost a week. And no matter how they return, it won't be easy for us. If they've been successful, they'll be so full of cussed impudence and pride that they'll try to drive us out. And if they are defeated, they'll strive to wreak their revenge upon us."

"But we'll be able for them, Pete," Grey reminded. "Remember the Crimson Sign."

"I know that, my boy. I'm not forgetting the blood-red feather. It was a bright idea of mine, and it's worked well. It's a good sign for our League. Yes, light and swift as a feather in an eagle's wing must every member be. And each has his dyed with his own blood."

Grey smiled as he lifted his cap from his head and stroked the little emblem.

"It was a proud day for me, Pete, when I earned this."

"And to me, as well, lad. But I was prouder of the way you bore the blood-letting. You stood it like an old ranger, and never winced, although I knew it hurt. It made you one of us by the tie of blood. And by this Crimson Sign we are going to win this land and establish peace and justice in the place of tyranny and war."

"Do you think we can ever do it, Pete?"

"Do it? Certainly we shall. We are steadily winning the confidence of the Indians. They are getting tired of the way Villebon has treated them. He doesn't give them as much as we do for their furs. And, besides, he takes them off on those raids along the New England coast which they do not like. We shall soon be so strong that Villebon will be forced to leave."

"He's a very determined man, though, and he will fight hard to hold this country."

"Oh, he's only a tool. It's old Count Frontenac who is driving him on, and back of him is King Louis of France with his gang of mistresses. I've heard it said that a woman rules the King from her bedchamber. Yes, when there's any trouble you may depend upon it there's a woman somewhere back of it all."

"But surely all trouble is not started by women, Pete."

"Maybe not all, but most of it. And it's a female that's unsettling your mind and making you restless."

Grey's eyes opened wide in amazement, for he had never heard Pete King speak in such a manner before. The old ranger noticed his surprise and smiled.

"There, that's enough about women, my lad. We have other things to think about now. Get away to your look-out."

"I have been perched upon that old pine for the last week, and am getting sick and tired of the job."

"I suppose you are. But you'll have to keep it up a little longer. If I could climb like you I'd take your place once in a while. But I'm too clumsy and stiff, and my head gets unsteady when I go too high. I'll do my part on the ground while you do yours in the air. But don't lose your head dreaming about that girl. Many a better man than you has had a bad fall through thinking too much about women."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Grey laughingly bantered. "You have hinted several times about the same thing."

Pete King made no reply, but a sober expression came into his eyes as he looked out over the river. Grey watched him for a few seconds, and then without another word sped up the bank and disappeared among the trees. Slowly Pete gathered up the few dishes, carried them to the shore and washed them, using sand for soap. He was in a most thoughtful mood, and after his dish-washing was over, he seated himself upon a big stone and remained lost in thought.

As he sat there he was no longer Pete King, the daring leader of the League of the Crimson Sign, the dread of Villebon and his men at the Fort on the Nashwaak. He was a young man again, in Old England, living in a cosey vine-clad cottage, proud of his comely wife and fair-haired boy. But that was long ago, and what changes had taken place since then! Instead of the life he had planned, he was nothing now but a forest ranger, leading a band of men as reckless as himself. And it was all because of one woman who had proven unfaithful. His face hardened as he thought of her. Then a softer expression came into his eyes as he remembered the boy. It was a mercy, perhaps, that he had been taken before he was old enough to know of his mother's shame. Often the longing had come into Pete's heart to visit his old home, go to the graveyard and look upon the little mound where his child had been buried. It came to him again as he sat there by the river. He saw the place, the old stone church, covered with ivy, the trees and that little grave.

He was aroused from his reverie by Grey's sudden appearance as he came bounding towards him from among the trees.

"They're coming, Pete!"

The old ranger was on his feet in an instant.

"Where?"

"Above Point Aux Chenes."

"Ah! They'll soon be here, then. We must hide the canoe. There is no time to lose."

Quickly covering the last remnants of hot coals with sand, and gathering up their few belongings which were lying about, they bore the craft speedily up among the trees and concealed it in a deep gully under a tangle of low thick firs and spruces.

"That's good," Pete declared. "I've had my eye on this spot for some time. Let's get down to the river and watch for the raiders."

With muskets in their hands, they sped among the trees and stopped only when the bright sheen of water beyond met their eyes. They advanced more cautiously now, and when they came to the top of the bank they looked keenly down stream. In the distance, away to the left, they saw the raiders. Crouching low, they crept forward and took up their position behind a big rock surrounded by a mass of bushes. This was an excellent hiding place, as from here they could watch quite unobserved.

Silently and swiftly the flotilla of war canoes swept up stream, wedge-like in shape, resembling the formation of a great flock of wild geese winging northward. As the leading canoes approached, the watchers behind the rock crouched still lower.

"Something's happened to them," Pete whispered. "They've had a reverse. I can tell it by their silence. Villieu and Foulette are in those leading canoes. I wish I could see their faces. And won't Villebon raise hell when they reach the Fort."

"Most likely he'll try to take revenge upon us," Grey replied.

"I wouldn't be surprised, for he'll have to do something to satisfy old Frontenac. That devil's back of this whole raiding business."

The canoes were now opposite the big rock, and were keeping close to the western shore in order to avoid the ebbing tide which here was running strong. The forms of the men swaying to their paddles could be easily discerned, although their faces could not be clearly observed at such a distance. There were thirty crafts in all, containing about two hundred men, most of whom were Indians. Pete watched them with critical, contemptuous eyes.

"The skunks!" he growled. "It seems to me they have a captive, and a woman, at that."

"Where?" Grey asked.

"In that canoe to the left of the leading one. Don't you see her?"

"I do, and it is a woman, Pete. I can only see her head and shoulders."

"May God help her, lad, whoever she is. And if she's young and beautiful she's doomed among those devils."

Grey made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed upon that crouching figure so long as the canoes were in sight. He wondered who she was, and what the raiders intended to do with her. A great desire came into his heart to go to her rescue. He mentioned it to his companion.

"I was thinking of the same thing myself," the old ranger replied. "She must be an English woman, so it's our duty to do all we can to save her from those devils. But we'll need help, so let us get on our way back to the Saganic. We've got nasty work ahead, it seems to me, and we have no time to lose. Most likely Villebon will soon be on the move against us, so we must be ready."